He picked up his own mirror, which was still on the cardboard box he used as a bedside table. He saw his thin face looking back at him: wide eyes, untidy hair and pale skin above his bright blue tunic. Then his mirror did what it always did and his reflection was replaced, this time by a vision of the painting of the grinning woman in the mad hat from the first-floor landing. He put it down hurriedly.
Nightshade stirred, stretched out her front paws, clawed at the bed covers and arched her back with a baleful look at Seth, grumpy that he’d woken her. Then she fell on the fish head hungrily.
‘Talking of trouble. Nightshade, I need a recipe rather desperately. That pavlova is the best thing I’ve ever done,’ he sighed, taking out the gold coin and showing it to Nightshade. ‘But I need something even better for Dr Thallomius.’ Seth dragged a hand through his hair. ‘I just don’t seem to be able to come up with the perfect idea.’
Nightshade gently padded over to him as he shifted on the thin mattress, making the springs protest. She leapt on to his lap and started digging her needle-sharp claws into his leg as if he were a cushion.
‘You watched Dad for years. What d’you think, Nightshade? Ever see him do anything brilliant with apricots? Got any bright ideas?’
He tipped her on to the floor and she started clawing at a small hole. She’d probably seen a spider.
‘You know, you’re really in trouble when you start asking your cat for help.’
Seth went across to one of the places in his room where the plaster near an ancient beam had started to crumble away. Here was a large hole that was great for hiding things. He reached in and took out a glass jar with a worn label that had once said Gilbert’s Extra-Strong Pickles, into which Seth had saved every penny of his meagre tips over the years, and thoughtfully added the gold coin. Nightshade was still clawing.
‘What is it, a mouse? Or a spider?’ She adored spiders. Sometimes he’d catch her looking gruesome with a couple of legs dangling out of her mouth.
She wasn’t stopping. In fact, she was scrabbling and clawing a sizeable hole in the wall. Plaster was flying everywhere.
‘Nightshade, stop! Last thing I need is a load of mess to clear up.’
She was covering herself in plaster.
Despite the mess and the hole in the wall Seth couldn’t help laughing. ‘You don’t look black any more, you look grey. I’m going to have to change your name to Smoke.’
But when he bent down to examine the mess, he wasn’t laughing any more. Then Nightshade started to paw at the hole again. ‘No, Nightshade. Enough!’
He moved her roughly away, but she twisted from him and again stuck her paw deep in the hole and started clawing.
‘What is it? You’re not after a mouse or a spider, are you?’
Seth bent down and peered into the hole. There was something there. Seth reached in, feeling gently with the ends of his fingers, hoping it truly wasn’t a mouse or a spider. He drew out what was hidden inside.
He could see right away it was a book, a small black book, well-used and so ancient he was afraid it might fall apart in his hands. As Seth lifted it, he could see its black cover had no markings, no lettering at all. But although it was old, someone had treasured it enough to bind it together by a thick scarlet thread.
He was so stunned to suddenly find something so unusual, so old, and possibly very valuable in his drab and familiar room that before he’d even thought about it he found his fingers had unlaced the thread and opened the book.
8. The Strange Black Book
The book felt warm, as if it was giving off a glow, and it seemed almost to settle and mould itself to his touch like it belonged there.
He perched on the end of his narrow bed, holding the book in his lap, and soon he was lost in thick pages full of jottings, doodles, pictures and angry crossing-outs.
Seth was thrilled to see that the book was mostly full of recipes, unusual recipes. A recipe for quince posset . . . one for roast pigeon . . . swan with chestnut stuffing. If there was one thing Seth loved, it was new recipes. And he had never seen recipes like these before.
The book was impossible to resist. Page after page of hints for making your own shoe polish and oven cleaner alongside a recipe for Dundee cake or a drink crammed with lots of different herbs and berries marked ‘works well on dogs’.
Seth carried on leafing through the pages, desperately hoping to find something he could make for Dr Thallomius. He paused to peer at a sketch of a birdcage, very similar to the tiny birdcage that hung from the ceiling in the room where Mr Bunn secretly skulked with the newspaper most of the day. Only this birdcage seemed to be on fire and beneath it was written, ‘firefly cage’.
Nightshade slipped smoothly on to the bed beside him and Seth reached out to stroke her fur. She still looked unlike her usual self, not being sootily black, but her green eyes stood out, looking at him with the wisdom of twin moons.
‘It’s like a gathering together of all sorts of homemade ideas for making stuff. Weird stuff some of it.’ He was staring at a description of a small mirror, named a ‘ruhnglas – for if your way is secret’. That was no good.
‘It’s not just recipes, Nightshade. Someone must have liked collecting and experimenting. A bit like me. But what I really need is something new and delicious with apricots. There was a section here somewhere called family favourites.’
He flicked the pages back again and there it was. ‘Apricot Delice’. Seth scanned the recipe. Simple, yet delicate. Perfect. Seth closed the book and breathed a sigh of relief. For once, it almost seemed as if things were on his side, almost as if time had even slowed for him.
‘Right, Nightshade! I need you. We have to be quick. We are on the hunt for apricots.’
He turned to where Nightshade was busy cleaning the light covering of dust with her paws. She stopped and her low silhouette slunk behind him without hesitation, moving as fluidly as a liquid shadow as Seth headed down the stairs and out into the hotel’s garden on his quest for apricots. The daylight was already disappearing fast. Time was running out.
9. An Accusing Finger
Seth slipped back in through the lobby, his tunic pockets bulging with apricots, listening out anxiously to see if he had been missed. But as he passed the hotel lounge, he was relieved to hear Horatio Bunn being jolly and offering drinks. Count Marred had said something about a game of cards and it sounded like they were all getting to know each other.
That meant no ringing bells. Even so, that dessert was literally going to have to be the work of a moment.
First, Seth laid the long gleaming table in the dining room, under a painting of two men sharing a meal of bread and cheese. He was almost out of time and just hoped no one would notice he hadn’t polished the candlesticks.
Eight chairs waited in anticipation. The great ornate carved chair at the head of the table was where Dr Thallomius would sit.
Seth set up heated trays so the food would be kept warm in the centre of the table, as no one was allowed in to serve the guests. The meal was to be eaten in private, with only the guests present, behind closed doors.
Mr Bunn had drilled into his staff every small detail of what was requested for this secret feast. Except telling anyone what the occasion was. Seth could not help but wonder about it as he moved a small table to just behind Dr Thallomius’s chair that would be perfect for the apricot dessert, picturing the exact glass dish he would serve it in.
He had caught that tiny glimpse of the paper in Dr Thallomius’s room. Something about being invited for a demonstration, candidates for something called ‘the Prospect selection procedure’. What on earth was that? And why did everyone react so strongly to hearing Dr Thallomius was here? Who exactly was their VIP guest? Seth was just about to head back to the kitchen when he stopped and counted the places again.
Dr Thallomius, Professor Papperspook, Gloria Troutbean, Darinder Dunster-Dunstable, Angelique Squerr, Gregorian Kingfisher, Count Marred.
There were only s
even guests. So why had he been told to lay the table for eight?
Laughter drifted from the lounge, along with the chiming of the grandfather clock’s musical striking of the hour, which reminded Seth it would soon be time to bring in the food from the kitchen. And he still had a dessert to do.
Seth passed the lounge again and peeked in to where Dr Thallomius, Count Marred, Professor Papperspook and Darinder Dunster-Dunstable were squashed in around a low table in comfy chairs, playing cards, next to the fire Seth had laid earlier, which cast a lively flickering glow on their laughing faces. Others were having drinks at the shiny chrome cocktail bar.
The lounge was the cosiest room in the hotel. No heavy wood panelling here, it was painted in a pale colour that reflected the light, with a modest fireplace in white marble. Even the paintings were cheerfully framed scenes of people partying and diving into swimming pools.
Marred made a joke and everyone burst into peals of laughter. Good, everyone was occupied.
When Seth arrived back at the kitchen, Henri greeted him angrily and pointed to the teetering pile of washing up, but Seth walked straight past him and told him he would do it after the dinner.
He took a deep breath and propped up the mysterious black book in front of him on the counter. He followed the instructions exactly, separating eggs then whisking the yolks, frothing them to a thick creaminess with a little lemon zest, then adding the flesh from the apricots, a sprinkle of cinnamon and carefully dribbling in just the right amount of Marsala wine. In just three minutes he spooned his dessert into an elegant stemmed dish. It was light and fluffy, smooth and a buttery yellow like custard.
He closed his eyes and hoped, as he took a nervous taste.
It was as utterly perfect and as delicious as he had hoped. Seth felt a fluttering that told him with certainty that today was his day.
‘Is this it?’ Tiffany was by his side, jolting him back to the present.
She bestowed one of her most winning smiles that replaced just the vaguest hint of an anxious look that had crossed her face. ‘For a moment I thought you were going to let me down, pot washer. And I really wouldn’t be in your shoes if you ever risked anything so stupid.’
Seth carried the dessert carefully though the kitchen. He had added a finishing touch of slices of plump, fresh apricot and placed the whole perfect confection ready in a bowl of ice to keep it at the correct temperature. He checked that the label, which read For the special delight of Dr Thallomius, was in place and held his creation out to Tiffany as they arrived at the lobby, where Mr and Mrs Bunn were hovering anxiously.
Kingfisher, Dr Thallomius and Count Marred were outside the dining room and Professor Papperspook, Gloria Troutbean, Angelique Squerr and Dunster-Dunstable were watching from the stairs, waiting for the announcement that the food for the feast was ready.
All eyes were on the exquisite dessert in Seth’s hands as he tried to carefully hand it to Tiffany. Tiffany turned and gave one of her sugary simpers.
‘Oh Seth,’ she said, in a pathetic voice, ‘as I slaved so hard on the dessert, perhaps you can do a little work and wouldn’t mind placing it on the table.’
He felt eyes boring into him as he walked into the dining room, past where Kingfisher was impatiently holding open the carved wooden door to where the rest of the feast lay ready.
‘It seems that the feast will be starting a few minutes later than the appointed hour of six-thirty.’ Kingfisher snapped as Seth flew past him. ‘The ritual is aimed at being both fair and understanding and allows for these sorts of blunders,’ continued Kingfisher, throwing Seth a withering glance that said in no uncertain terms that Seth had unwittingly managed to annoy the young man again.
Kingfisher checked his watch in an impatient manner. ‘So take this as your official five-minute warning of the start of the feast. The door will now be locked, as part of strict procedures to prevent any last-minute tinkering or sabotage. The feast is held in secrecy, away from prying eyes. We know you would never want outsiders bustling in and out of the room,’ he said as Seth scuttled back out of the room, just as Kingfisher started to close the door.
‘We understand that some of you may be bringing precious and secretive devices to the feast and would want to keep them away from the prying eyes of outsiders,’ he said smoothly. ‘So, candidates, now is the time. Go and fetch anything you need for your demonstrations. Please return here in exactly five minutes with anything you need. Then the doors will be unlocked. Do not be late.’
The heavy door was slammed shut and Mr Bunn and Kingfisher locked the door with the two keys – one at the top, one at the bottom – and all the guests began a rush upstairs.
Seth hadn’t a clue what precious and secretive devices Kingfisher could possibly be referring to, or what anyone would be demonstrating. He didn’t understand why the whole meal was cloaked in secrecy or why it needed such fancy procedures. He was fascinated by it all. But at that moment, none of that mattered. He knew that the dessert was beautiful and perfect and he felt this was definitely the day his life was going to change.
10. It Was All Seth
Seth couldn’t help but return in five minutes to watch as Mr Bunn and Kingfisher unsealed the room. First, Angelique Squerr and Dr Thallomius took their seats on the far side of the table and then there was a flurry of excited chatter as Professor Papperspook guided in Gloria, followed by a clearly excited Dunster-Dunstable rubbing his hands, with Count Marred and Kingfisher bringing up the rear.
Seven guests. Seth looked around eagerly to see who the eighth might be, but he suddenly felt a heavy hand on his collar and smelt Henri’s garlicky breath as he was hauled towards the kitchen to face the pile of washing up that had grown to such a tower it was almost waving at him.
Seth rolled up his sleeves and started to run foamy water, unable to suppress his curiosity about what was happening behind that closed door.
If kindly Dr Thallomius was seriously impressed by the dessert, might Seth have someone he could confess his dreams to? Someone he could maybe ask for help in getting away and finding somewhere he could practise his cooking and not to have to do it in secret?
But his insides seemed to sink under the weight of knowing that he would first have to stand up to Tiffany if he was going to announce that both the pavlova and the apricot delice were his creations. Would anyone believe him?
As he prepared for battle with the crusted saucepans and overflowing bins, Tiffany’s words came back in a rush to haunt him.
‘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 will never be like your dad.’
He rolled up his sleeves and moved towards the terrifying pile. He lifted the first saucepan into the soapy water.
His real life was about a million miles from his dreams. How would he ever become a great chef like his father? It was never going to happen. He was never going to be able to prove to Tiffany – to everyone – that he wasn’t simply fit for washing-up.
He picked up the first plate and dunked it in the water. Then he stopped, bent his head and groaned with a deep weariness.
‘The only way it’s going to happen is if I make it happen,’ he said. He was talking to himself. The kitchen was completely deserted, not even Nightshade was around. No one was checking on what he was doing.
He slipped the black book out from where he had tucked it inside his tunic and found this time it was so warm his hands dried the instant he touched it.
‘My only way out of here is if I practise and practise and become as good a chef as my father, not if I spend my time washing up!’ He flicked through the pages of the black book, the most exciting and enticing book of recipes ever.
Seth felt that stirring thrill of excitement in his chest. There really were the most incredible ideas in there.
Swan with chestnut stuffing. Well he wasn’t going to rustle that up in a hurry.
But there was o
ne here that he could try. And it would take his mind off what was happening behind that closed door. How long would it take them to eat the main course and get to dessert? Seth checked the clock again. He had at least an hour to fill and he’d only be nervously twitching – cooking would take his mind of things.
And that washing up would still be there in the morning.
He propped the book up in front of him and began to cook.
11. Something He Ate
The guests had been cocooned in the dining room for two hours now and Seth decided to tiptoe into the cramped writing room next door and put his ear to the wall to see if he could find out anything. But before he could even start to listen, there was a terrific crash. Seth stepped back from the wall in alarm. What had happened? It sounded like a chair falling over.
He heard the door to the dining room burst open. As he dashed into the lobby, he saw that Mr Bunn had got their first and was flapping about in a daze, looking around wildly, waving his hands in panic.
‘Help!’ he cried. ‘HELP!’ he added more loudly, tearing at his hair and staring around.
Seth peeped around the door frame into the dining room, unsure what to do. What on earth was happening?
Everyone was on their feet crowding around something.
Norrie Bunn, Henri and Tiffany all rushed past Seth. Pointy-eared Darinder Dunster-Dunstable was waving something around. It was the long-stemmed dish that had contained the apricot dessert.
Then the group parted and Seth could see that everyone was crowding around the small figure of Dr Thallomius, who was clutching his hands to his throat. His face was turning purple, he was staggering and fighting for breath.
Professor Papperspook rushed forward and slapped him vigorously on the back, there was a terrible cry from someone, Seth thought it was Count Marred, as Dr Thallomius flailed at the air and collapsed into a heap on the carpet.
There were confused cries of ‘Is he choking?’ ‘It’s something he ate!’ and, ‘There must be something we can do!’
The Last Chance Hotel Page 3
