Stepping aside to let Althea exit next, Caroline followed behind, keeping a respectful distance. At 1106, she paused. So did Althea.
“It’s not late,” the old woman announced.
Caroline checked her watch. It was after eleven. “I know, but—”
“Join me for a nightcap.”
Casting a longing glance at her room, she continued to follow Althea, all the way to the corner suite.
Chapter Eleven
When Caroline entered Althea’s room, she gasped. Classier than Marilyn’s room – no chintz to it at all – it was as though she’d travelled back in time, all the way to when the hotel was first built: the early 1920s. Recalling an interior shot from one of the photos in the lobby, it resembled that exactly – with everything brand new instead of nearly a hundred years old. Surfaces were dust free, shiny; the carpet beneath her feet still had a spring to it. At the windows, curtains were the same colour as hers – burgundy – no sun damage at all. Double doors sealed the bedroom from view, but the living room housed an elegant sofa with a curved back and two deep-seated armchairs, all of which framed an oval two-tiered coffee table. Beneath the window, in a similar position to hers, was a writing bureau, the flap open, and with various papers scattered on top. Ornaments included a bronze of a girl in a short dress, her arms outstretched, and a globe balanced in her hands, from which a soft glow emitted. Various artworks on the walls caught her eye too, including one she’d like to get a closer look at if she had the chance. Very much lived in, it was definitely more a home than a room for hire.
“Please, take a seat.”
It wasn’t Althea instructing her this time, another woman had stepped forward – Althea’s assistant – the first time she’d heard her speak.
Althea introduced them. “This is my maid, Jenna.”
Maid? Caroline worked hard to conceal her surprise. Althea really was stuck in the past. Who called their assistants maids nowadays?
Once seated, Jenna, a young woman of similar age to Caroline, highly courteous in her manner with plain but somehow appealing features, offered them a glass of sherry each.
As Caroline took hers, she smiled. “I haven’t drunk sherry in years.”
Althea’s lips curved but only slightly. “I find it pleasurable to begin a meal with sherry and to end the night with a glass too. Creatures of habit, aren’t we, in so many ways.”
That phrase had crossed her mind earlier too, in the ballroom, when David had chosen to sit at the same table as the night before; John Cole too. David… she winced to think of him. As soon as she could, she’d apologise, resurrect their friendship, and not play the saboteur.
“Are you enjoying your stay here?”
Jenna, ever discreet, had melted away, leaving Caroline to ponder Althea’s question.
“I didn’t intend to stay here,” she answered at last. “And now I’m stuck for a day or two, or at least until the roads are cleared. But yes, it’s a very pleasant hotel, as one of the other guests said it’s more personal, not as generic, as bland, as so many hotels tend to be nowadays. How long have you…” she hesitated, “lived here?”
“Since the beginning,” Althea replied, sipping at her sherry.
“Since the…” Again, Caroline’s voice trailed off. The hotel opened its doors to the public a long time ago – ninety-four years to be exact. Althea was old, but that old? If she’d been born here, it was nothing less than incredible. Glancing over the top of her glass, she noted the woman’s face was heavily powdered, a glint of light in her eyes – dark brown originally perhaps, now more sepia in colour – her white hair carefully styled but wispy in places. If she were born here, perhaps it was to a maid, or a housekeeper, who’d lived in too.
“You seem curious,” Althea remarked.
“Oh no, not at all, I’m just… taking in my surroundings. This room is wonderful. You must have seen a lot of people come and go during the years.”
“I have.”
“I can’t imagine what it’s like, to live in a hotel.”
Her smile vanished. “Not as easy as you might think. But we make do.”
We? Did she mean Jenna and her?
“Have you never wanted to move somewhere more private?” Despite fearing she was being too inquisitive, Caroline couldn’t seem to stop asking questions. Althea fascinated her, perhaps as much as Edward had.
“I will, when the time is right.”
At her age, the time might never be right, not anymore. Fearful her expression might convey her thoughts, Caroline turned her attention to the artwork, to the picture that had intrigued her earlier. Pointing to it, she said, “Can I take a closer look?”
“Go ahead.”
Rising from her chair, she crossed over to it. It was chillier around the edges of the room, causing her to shiver a little as she leaned forward to get a good look at what was in front of her: an artist’s rendition of The Egress, a pen and ink drawing that had been printed onto paper, another promotional piece. Accompanying it was what looked to be an extract from a newspaper article. Wishing the room was lighter, she began to read it: A New Hotel for Williamsfield! Grand but accessible, formal but friendly, it is somewhere to celebrate every type of occasion; a social center, a gathering place. From diplomats to downtown workers, all are welcome! Below that was another extract, perhaps from a different article. Experience the sheer luxury of this new hotel spanning eleven floors. Every one of our 100 rooms is as unique and as special as you are. A final piece of text read: A place to rest, to relax, and to make memories. Every day is special at The Egress.
Having digested all this information, one thing stood out – the pride that had been taken in the planning and construction of this building. There’d been a lot of love, a lot of hope behind it; the word ‘special’ repeated on the page and repeating in her mind also.
“It’s such a special place.”
Althea’s voice made her jump – so did the realisation that the woman was standing behind her, not seated at all.
Caroline turned to face her. “My mother and father stayed here once,” she explained. “They spent their honeymoon here. My mother’s from Williamsfield originally, you see, although she moved to England to live there with my English father, and that’s where I live, where I was brought up. She always talked about The Egress fondly; she insisted it was special too. They were caught in a snowstorm, just like I’ve been; they holed up here, on the second floor, in the corner suite, a room like yours. That’s why I came here. I wanted to get a look at the hotel they’d talked about, to connect with them again, their memory, I mean. It may sound silly, but it’s what I wanted. They’re dead now, both my parents. My mother died only last year. Cancer. It was cancer that killed them both.”
It was only when she stopped speaking, babbling even, that Caroline realised she was crying. Just like the words that had burst from her, so had the tears, as if she’d held onto them for too long and finally the dam had burst. “I’m sorry,” she spluttered, horrified at her behaviour, for bringing her sorrow to this woman’s door. “I’m really, really sorry.”
There was only concern on Althea’s face. “That’s it, let it out. It’s not good to keep emotions trapped. Certain things must be faced up to.”
Faced up to? Was she referring to her grief? But it was so hard to give it free reign. There was always that fear it might overwhelm her.
“Face up to your fears too. You might not find them as bad as you think.”
Caroline started. Had the woman just read her mind? Get a grip, Caroline! Of course she hadn’t, she was simply reacting to the state that she was in – the obvious state. “Do you have a tissue?” Her voice was tremulous as she asked.
Jenna drifted forward as silently as Althea tended to do. In her hand was a lacy handkerchief – ‘A’ embroidered into the corner in a fancy gold script.
“Oh no, I don’t want to ruin it. I meant a paper tissue. Toilet roll will do.”
“Take it,” Althea said, re
lieving Jenna of it and handing it to Caroline herself. “I insist.”
Caroline obeyed, it was hard not to where Althea was concerned. As she wiped at her tears and blew her nose, she studied Althea again, the regality of the woman. This was no daughter of a maid or a housekeeper, she realised. This was a woman born into a far more privileged family than that; a woman whose status was inbred, who carried her superiority in a genteel but thorough manner. Perhaps she was the daughter of the owner of The Egress and therefore instrumental in drafting that welcome note left on her pillow?
“Did you write it?” she asked.
“Write what?”
“The welcome letter.”
“You like it?”
“Very much,” Caroline replied, “and the idea that we’re all on a journey.”
“We are, even those like me who settle.”
“Does it ever end?”
“The journey?”
Caroline nodded.
“Would you like it to?”
“No, I don’t mean that, I’m just wondering that’s all.”
“Caroline…”
“Sorry, I have to go back to my room. Do you mind? It’s been another long day.”
At once Althea stood aside.
Handing the sherry glass back to Jenna, Caroline thanked her. “It was lovely.”
“The handkerchief,” Jenna said.
“Oh, but—”
“Please.”
Embarrassed, Caroline handed that over too. It wasn’t until she was at the door that Althea spoke again.
“So your parents spent their honeymoon here?”
Caroline only half-turned. “They were supposed to go to the Pocono Mountains, but the weather…”
“Ah yes, the weather, of course. How old are you, Caroline?”
It was the second time she’d been asked that today. “Thirty three.”
“It was the 1983 storm that trapped them?”
Caroline nodded.
“When did you turn thirty-three?”
“Only just, at the beginning of this month.”
“Which means you could have been conceived here?”
“My mother said something on her deathbed—”
“But you suspected it anyway.”
“Yes, I’ve always suspected it.”
“Interesting.”
Caroline reached for the door handle.
“Goodnight,” she said, leaving before another word could be exchanged.
Chapter Twelve
Who is it? Who’s there?
There was someone in the room again, pushing against that invisible barrier, trying to reach out. Not just someone, a whole army of people, if they could be described as people. Mere shapes, no substance to them at all, but their emotions were real enough: raw and hard hitting, causing Caroline to turn her head away, to screw her eyes shut.
Hiding again, Caroline?
She drew a sharp breath inwards. Who’d said that? One of the tormented? Because that’s what they were, these strange, terrible invaders – every last one of them. Or was it her thought, manifesting, just as those in the room were trying to do?
She had to see, she couldn’t continue hiding. Face up to her fears, as Althea had said. Only then might they subside. When she opened her eyes, she gasped. She was no longer in her room, in bed, with the sheets wrapped around her. She was in the corridor and David was too, just a few feet in front – not dressed in black this time, he was all in white. Staring at something to the left of him, he didn’t seem to notice her. Should she speak, attract his attention, or seize her chance, and walk hurriedly away? Hide again.
No, she mustn’t.
David, it’s me. I’m right in front of you.
He continued to stare, but at something other than her.
David!
Gradually, he turned his head, she braced herself, but he looked right through her, turned to the right instead, to stare at something there.
What is it? What can you see?
There was something about him that was so vulnerable, that easy grin of his wiped away, as though it had never existed.
What should she do, reach out, and comfort him?
Commit to him?
She shook her head.
This wasn’t about commitment; it was about being a friend.
That’s right, Caroline, kid yourself further.
I’m not, I’m—
You’re so deluded, so afraid.
Who are you?
She was arguing, but she couldn’t see who with.
What are you frightened of? That you’ll get hurt? Of course you’ll get hurt! Everyone does. It’s part of the game. Might as well play it.
Rather than reach out, she copied David, turning her head from side to side, the walls of the corridor closing in on them, the tunnel ever narrowing.
And then further movement caught her eye.
Edward and Tallula were striding towards her, their legs so long, almost spiderlike, able to cover large distances, able to see her when David couldn’t. Where was he? Where had he gone? In the moment that the other two had captured her attention, he’d disappeared.
Having replaced David, Edward gave her no choice; he grabbed her hand and brought it up to his lips once more, the feel of them as soft as velvet, lingering there. As he did so, Tallula glanced from one to the other, adoration for him, and savage dislike for Caroline.
But he’s kissing me. I’m not kissing him!
Which only made Tallula hate her more.
Where the hell was David? And Althea, where was she? Would she see what Edward was doing, Tallula too, and intervene? Would she save her?
Why don’t you let me be the one to save you?
Something in Edward’s words made her skin crawl. She didn’t want him to save her, to touch her even, not again. Did she?
Mesmerising. There is something just so mesmerising…
The green of his eyes matched her own, his gaze as penetrating as Althea’s, more so. Able to worm its way inside her, grow claws, digging deeper and deeper.
My, he said, as if he’d found something. My, oh my, oh my.
What is it, Edward? What’s there?
His expression changed. He looked stricken all of a sudden, or at least he was pretending to be.
Interesting, he murmured, echoing Althea.
Hearing that, she started to back away.
But, Caroline, I thought you wanted to know?
No, no, I don’t, not anymore.
Tallula grinned, or was it grimaced? She knows already.
Liar! Caroline shot back at her. I don’t know anything. I don’t!
Really, Caroline, you must stop hiding. Edward seemed so disapproving.
Hiding from what?
The truth. It seems you’re diseased too.
Diseased? Her mouth fell open. You bastard! You vicious, vicious bastard!
From stricken to crestfallen, he almost pouted. I can’t help it if the truth hurts.
She’ll start crying in a minute, Tallula taunted. Crybaby, crybaby, yeah, baby, cry!
Who were these people? What were they?
This hotel, she had to get out. It wasn’t special at all.
Which way should she go? Towards the elevator or the stairwell? Which was safest?
Opting for the stairwell, she broke into a run.
But David’s the other way, Edward called.
David?
Forgotten about him already?
She shook her head. Of course she hadn’t.
Some girlfriend you are.
I’m not his girlfriend.
Leave him to die then.
What was that? He was going to die as well?
Coming to a standstill, she sunk to her knees, the weight of grief so terrible.
No, she screamed, the tears that Tallula had predicted starting to fall.
She wouldn’t – couldn’t – bear such agony again.
No! No! No! No! No!
* * *
>
Sitting up in bed, the darkness surrounding her, Caroline brought her hands up to her ears to drown out the screams that still reverberated around her head.
“Oh Christ, another bad dream.”
She was awake now though, definitely awake. So why wasn’t it fading into nothing? How she wanted it to fade.
Reaching out, she switched the bedside light on – shadows! Her room was filled with them. But that’s all they were, no figures of any kind, with their hands up in front of them, their faces turned to the side, trying to break free. Even so, her nerves still jangled.
There were other noises, she realised; the night not as quiet as it should be. A door opening and closing, footsteps too, their pace urgent.
The screaming – it wasn’t just an overhang from her dream. Someone was actually screaming! Right here, right now, on the eleventh floor.
Jumping out of bed, Caroline grabbed the clothes she’d discarded earlier, and tugged them on. Not bothering with her boots, she headed for the door, pulling it open to stand in the corridor. The commotion was coming from one of the rooms closest to the elevator, Marilyn, or Elspeth’s? The door to 1107 was ajar too – Tallula’s room. Further along, where the corner suite was, she thought she heard a click as if the door had been shut rather than opened. If Althea and Jenna had decided not to investigate on this occasion, she didn’t blame them. They could be dialling down to reception for back up.
Having tried to understand the situation, she padded towards the elevator, whose doors remained open. Why was that? Had they got stuck or something? The screaming had stopped – thankfully – but she could hear the low murmur of voices, both male and female, sometimes urgent, sometimes soothing. They were coming from Elspeth’s room.
She stopped and had to take a breath. This was as surreal as any dream.
The Eleventh Floor Page 10
