The Last Chance Hotel

by Nicki Thornton

  ‘The pavlova?’

  ‘That’s it. And if we say, lemon-head, that if you manage to make the best pavlova the world has ever seen, then I might just be able to forget what I saw.’

  Seth hesitated, looking at Tiffany’s evil smile, and they both knew he had no choice. ‘I might be able to – if you polish the candlesticks and lay the table.’

  Tiffany responded with one of Seth’s most hated sounds – her awful barking laugh.

  ‘We both know that’s not going to happen saucepan scrubber.’ She tossed a piece of pastry in the air and caught it neatly in her upturned mouth. ‘If you’ve got one or two things to do, I have a little word of friendly advice. Jolly well get a move on, and don’t hang around here yakking.’

  4. Dr Thallomius Himself

  A call went up from the lobby. ‘More guests Seth. Bags! Quickly! Get a move on.’

  In response to Mr Bunn’s summons, Seth moved swiftly into the entrance lobby, where the crystal chandelier twinkled an inviting party atmosphere over the dark panelling. He only just stopped himself skidding on the floor he’d finished polishing at five that morning and narrowly avoided colliding with an extraordinary-looking boy about his own age.

  The boy was dressed in a tight green velvet suit and his oversized grin and enormous pointy ears seemed to be doing their best to make up for the rest of him being undersized.

  ‘Steady,’ the boy said, flinging up his arms and spinning around on his surprisingly short legs, as if Seth had actually cannoned into him. Then his face cracked into a mischievous smile and he gave Seth a cheeky wink. ‘No harm done.’

  ‘Watch out Seth!’ snapped Mr Bunn, clicking his fingers. ‘Master Darinder Dunster-Dunstable needs help with his luggage, not to be sent flying into next Christmas. And ask Count Marred if he has a bag too.’

  As Seth bent to pick up two huge bags, he eyed the hooded figure that towered next to Darinder, shrouded in a black travelling cloak that smelt of a long journey from a cold place.

  The traveller flung back the hood, revealing a dark domed head, the skin hatched with wrinkles like a raisin, and a monstrous scar running from the bottom of his bulbous nose to the corner of his lip so it was lifted as if in a permanent sneer. It was much the same look as Tiffany achieved without needing the scar. Seth took a small, alarmed step backwards.

  ‘Room Seven, if you need me, young man,’ the cloaked count said cheerily to Darinder, heading for the stairs, his smile revealing missing and blackened teeth. He ducked to avoid the low ceiling as he began to climb the stairs. ‘Can’t believe old Torpor Thallomius himself is here. We’ve got catching up to do. Room One did you say?’

  ‘Dr Thallomius himself is here?’ repeated the boy, his eyes widening. ‘Really?’

  The heavy wooden front door creaked as it slowly swung inwards, announcing another arrival.

  In strode an imposing woman who flapped towards them in a cloud of tropical perfume. She wore a huge tent-like dress of a hundred different hues, and took up more than her fair share of the hotel lobby. Her tower of blonde hair, streaked with colour, was piled so high on her head it almost scraped the low ceiling of the Last Chance Hotel.

  ‘Professor Papperspook, welcome,’ said Mr Bunn, bowing so low his nose almost touched the carpet and Seth could see his trousers straining at the back. ‘We are honoured to have a guest of your immense reputation.’

  A small girl emerged from behind the professor’s voluminous skirts. She looked about nine and as if she’d arrived straight from school in a straight black skirt and cardigan and a stiff white blouse buttoned to her neck.

  Professor Papperspook shooed the girl out and pushed her forwards. ‘Gloria Troutbean, daughter of my oldest friend. I have always been proud of my connections to the great and glorious Troutbeans.’ She gave a proud and wintry smile.

  Gloria could almost be trying to be the negative of her colourful companion. Straight, jet-black hair fell evenly either side of her face, which was the colour of last week’s milk. She didn’t even nod in greeting, just glared down at the faded red swirls of the worn carpet, glancing up just once and blinking her peculiar, colourless eyes.

  Darinder Dunster-Dunstable scampered towards the newcomers on his short little legs. He was only a head taller than Gloria. He gripped first hers, then Professor Papperspook’s hand with his surprisingly wide and strong fingers, which reminded Seth of chicken drumsticks.

  ‘Dunster-Dunstable – where have I heard your name?’ asked the professor, rattling her fingers thoughtfully on her chin.

  ‘Maybe you are more familiar with the Great Gandolfini? My stage name.’ The short boy made a poor attempt to sound modest.

  ‘The talented young illusionist? That’s you? No? Amazing! I keep saying how I must take Gloria to see your show.’

  Darinder gave a bow. ‘Let me know a date. I’d be chuffed to bits if you’d let me get you the best seats in the house.’

  Mr Bunn cleared his throat. ‘Dear Professor, I expect you would welcome some refreshment after your journey.’ He clicked his fingers at Seth, who was still trying to shoulder Darinder Dunster-Dunstable’s heavy bags. ‘And some help with your luggage.’

  Mr Bunn disappeared through the door into the kitchen with a wave of his hands, leaving Seth to lead the way up the winding, uneven stairs, past a painting of a tiger and reaching a portrait of a woman in a madly fruited hat on the first-floor landing.

  Dunster-Dunstable turned to Professor Papperspook while Seth fumbled with the keys to his room.

  ‘Have you heard the news? Dr Thallomius is here. We will be showing our skills to the great man himself.’

  His face puckered in excitement, but Professor Papperspook paled and her gaudy clothes appeared to shift then resettle.

  ‘Dr Thallomius is here?’ She folded her arms across her chest. ‘Then I must tell him exactly what I think. Getting some of the very oldest and most noble families to go through this ridiculous procedure. Shameful.’

  Seth puzzled over these words as he deposited Darinder’s bags in his room. What ‘procedure’ was Professor Papperspook referring to? Something to do with ‘showing their skills’ to Dr Thallomius, whatever that meant.

  But if Papperspook looked distressed about this, Dunster-Dunstable’s grin only grew wider and he rubbed his hands. ‘Sounds like this evening is going to be even more fun than I hoped.’

  5. The Final Plump Raspberry

  Back down in the kitchen after settling the new arrivals into their rooms, Seth whipped up a froth of cream for the pavlova, amazed to think the important guests would get to try something he’d made all by himself, even though he knew Tiffany would get all the credit. When he placed the final plump raspberry on the swirled meringue creation, Seth knew the dessert looked absolutely stunning.

  ‘You colossal idiot,’ came a voice from behind him.

  He hated the way she always sneaked up on him.

  ‘You’ve used raspberries, dimwit.’

  ‘They are kind of an important part of a raspberry pavlova.’

  ‘Not if this main guy, this Thallomius, is allergic to them. You brainless wonder. You actually are even worse than your good-for-nothing dad, aren’t you? I said strawberries. I said a strawberry pavlova. Are you trying to make me look the world’s biggest piece of stupid?’

  Had Tiffany deliberately mixed him up? Seth knew she found nothing more fun than having him on the end of a hook, how she loved to see him dangle and squirm. But there was never any point in arguing with her. What was crucial was making sure their VIP guest would get a dessert he wasn’t allergic to.

  But Seth was also cross with himself. It was drummed into him to always know the guests’ special requirements and he should have known his VIP guest was allergic to raspberries. He should have seen Tiffany’s scheme coming and he fumed inwardly.

  ‘It wouldn’t be good to have a guest die on us, Seppi. Particularly if it looks like it’s my fault,’ yelled Tiffany in his ear. She made a sudden lunge and Seth fe
ared she would grab his wonderful creation and smash it to the ground. Or worse, right in his face. He snatched the pavlova out of her reach and clasped it protectively, making the whipped cream wobble.

  ‘Well at least I haven’t spent years at a school for chefs without even knowing what a pavlova is,’ Seth snapped back, the words out of his mouth before he could stop them.

  Tiffany’s eyes narrowed with anger and malice. Seth took a deep breath. He had never spoken back to her before.

  There was a long moment while Seth tensed, felt the air charge and waited for the whiplash that was coming.

  ‘I’ll do something else for Dr Thallomius,’ he stammered quickly, before she could even speak. ‘Something just for him. Something really special,’ he promised, carefully sliding the perfect pavlova inside the huge refrigerator and slamming the door before Tiffany could get her delicate, mean, milk-white hands on it.

  ‘You’ll do something outstanding,’ said Tiffany.

  The jangle of a bell made them both look up. There was a line of old-fashioned bells above the kitchen door that connected to each of the bedrooms. If they rang it meant someone wanted room service.

  Room Six. Gregorian Kingfisher was requesting room service

  Seth nodded, eyes glued to that ringing bell, desperate to flee.

  Tiffany watched the bell chime again as she lolled against the refrigerator giving a slow, wide, pink yawn.

  Then her blue eyes snapped wide open.

  ‘Hey. It could be your big chance, Seppi. Get your talent spotted. They might offer to take you away from all this. You’ll be set on a road to fame and fortune.’

  ‘No, Tiffany.’ He paused in the doorway. ‘Because you’ll make sure you tell everyone you made it.’

  She tilted her head to one side and gave a gloriously winning smile. ‘Or this time I might tell them that it was really all you. All your work,’ she crooned. ‘What do you think?’

  Seth looked into Tiffany’s beautiful eyes and couldn’t help feel a flash of hope.

  Just for a second she had him believing her. Just for a second he thought she was dangling a chance. Then her face creased up and she barked out her hateful laugh.

  ‘Oh, that is good! Believe that’s going to happen, do you? Dream on Seppi. I know you are not completely awful at cooking.’ She prodded at a gravy stain smeared on the apron over his blue tunic. ‘But don’t forget you are just a washer of saucepans. Always will be. You’ll never leave this place. Every time I come home you will still be here in your rightful place, up to your elbows in potato peelings. You know you will. You’ll never be like your dad.’

  Seth felt his insides tightening into a fierce ball again. He backed away slowly and made a dash for the stairs, Tiffany’s barking laughter echoing in his ears.

  Only a brilliant recipe was going to keep Tiffany from tormenting him. And she would take all the credit. She always would. No wonder he could never see himself ever escaping from this place.

  6. Herb Tea and Shortbread

  As Seth reached the guest floor, Count Marred’s face appeared from Dr Thallomius’s room.

  As his eyes locked with Seth’s his face changed, the wrinkles in his face scrunching like paper.

  ‘Um. Oh, we were wondering. Any chance of a cup of tea? And a jug of just hot water for me and my good friend Doctor Thallomius here – when you have a moment, no hurry at all.’

  ‘Yes, of course,’ said Seth.

  Seth finally reached Gregorian Kingfisher’s room along the hall to answer the summons of the bell. He knocked twice and, getting no reply, stepped inside cautiously, wondering if he was too late. Then something immediately caught his attention.

  On the desk opposite the door was a mirror with the same dark glass and dark wood as the one his father had left him. Seth crossed to the desk and picked it up, thinking the mirror was his.

  The minute he held it in his hand, two things happened.

  He could tell right away that the mirror felt quite different to his own, even though, as he caught the reflection of his pale face and worried eyes, he felt the same strange sensation as he did whenever he looked into his own mirror, as if he wanted to dive right into the glass.

  And a voice behind him barked, ‘What on earth are you doing?’

  Seth turned clumsily, his elbow catching the corner of a mottled box made of a bumpy wood marked ‘moustache care kit’. He only just stopped the neatly assembled combs and brushes tumbling on to the floor.

  Seth also dropped the mirror.

  Gregorian Kingfisher darted to catch it and so did Seth and they nearly crashed heads.

  Seth felt his face turn crimson, garbling that he was room service.

  ‘Are you indeed? Well, a bit late!’ said Kingfisher acidly, looking at Seth as if he’d caught him stealing. ‘I sorted myself out. Just get out.’

  ‘Yes sir. Of course, sir.’

  Apologizing once again, Seth fled back down to the kitchen, not forgetting he had to fetch tea for Room One, aware that the pile of washing-up was forming into an impossible tower and he still had to think of a new dessert for Doctor Thallomius.

  He arrived, slightly breathless, at the door of Room One a few minutes later. ‘Tea and hot water. And shortbread – lemon and cinnamon. I hope you like it crumbly.’

  Seth crossed the room to the table where the man with the disfigured face was silhouetted in a chair, teasing out something from a small orange pouch. There was a herbal smell in the room and Seth smelt tea, green with a hint of grass.

  Dr Thallomius approached him with tiny steps, a kindly look in his eye and an apology for Seth having to bring them something when he was so obviously busy.

  Placing the tea tray down, Seth caught sight of a yellow sheet of paper and couldn’t stop himself sneaking a little look:

  You are cordially invited to the

  Last Chance Hotel to oversee a demonstration

  by the following candidates who have applied to

  go through the Prospect selection procedure.

  A list of names followed.

  Dr Thallomius was at his side. ‘Let me introduce my old friend Count Marred, my lad. What is your name?’

  No guest in his whole life had ever been interested in his name before.

  ‘Seth Seppi,’ he managed to reply.

  Dr Thallomius seized him by the hand as if delighted to meet him and Seth thought the old gentleman must have made a mistake. He didn’t like to explain that he was only the kitchen boy.

  The Count smiled widely. ‘Who’d have thought my old friend Thallomius would be here,’ he chuckled. ‘Glad I decided to put myself through this infernal procedure the day you were in charge old fella. Should make things easier.’

  ‘I am always completely fair,’ twinkled Thallomius, shaking his head. ‘Even to you.’

  He reached to pat Count Marred on the shoulder and leant against the wall and Seth had the strangest sensation, almost as if the wall sighed as the old man touched it.

  Dr Thallomius followed Seth to the door. ‘Quite remote here isn’t it? Do you have family, Seth?’

  Seth found himself smiling. ‘Just trees for ever, really. Guess my parents must have liked trees.’

  ‘Liked? They’re no longer around?’

  ‘Not any more.’ Seth felt the choke in his voice as he said it. He didn’t know exactly how long it had been since he’d last seen his father. But it had been so long that Seth had given up hope of ever seeing him again.

  ‘Sorry to hear that,’ said Dr Thallomius, and he pressed something into Seth’s hand.

  Seth had discovered people didn’t usually tip the kitchen boy – the boy who laid the tables and took out the rubbish and polished the candlesticks. If anyone left tips they were normally grabbed by Mr and Mrs Bunn.

  But Dr Thallomius had given him a thick, heavy coin. Seth opened his mouth to protest, but Dr Thallomius closed Seth’s hand over the gift.

  ‘If I were you I’d put that somewhere safe. Now, off you go and
get your work done. It’s been an honour to meet you.’

  Seth swallowed, convinced Dr Thallomius was mixing him up with someone else. ‘What is your favourite food, sir, I mean for a dessert, sir?’ It was all he could think of to say, because he really wanted to thank this wonderful old gentleman somehow.

  ‘Apricots,’ said Dr Thallomius.

  ‘Apricots,’ nodded Seth, his mind quickly beginning to whir through possible recipes.

  ‘Come on, Thallomius,’ said Count Marred, in a gravelly voice. ‘Let’s have this tea, catch up on old news, then there’s a game of four-handed brag being set up downstairs. I’d like to meet our fellow Prospect contenders. See who I’m up against. And if at all possible, I should like to win some money off them first.’

  The mention of money made Seth feel for the coin in his pocket. It felt thick and heavy and when he took it out to look at it, his heart gave a start to see the glint of yellow like it was real gold. But why would Dr Thallomius give him a gold coin? Surely it had been a mistake, but then the old man had been very insistent.

  All Seth knew was that no matter how little time he had left and how many candlesticks needed polishing, he would find the time to make a dessert to bring a smile to the face of this old gentleman.

  7. Grinning Woman in the Mad Hat

  But first, finally, Seth was able to make it all the way to the top floor to feed his poor cat. He reached his room, relieved to rid himself of the incriminating stolen fish head, tossing it into Nightshade’s bowl, which lay in the middle of the scrap of very worn carpet.

  ‘Nightshade . . . Nightshade? You have no idea the trouble I got into getting that meal for you.’

  He moved past the narrow wardrobe that tilted to one side like the Leaning Tower of Pisa and sank on to his narrow bed. Its mattress was even lumpier than Henri’s mashed potatoes. His black cat was curled asleep in the middle of his bed, melting into the dark, scratchy blanket, almost invisible in the gloom.