“Don’t be picky, it’s the best I can do on short notice,” Tilly said as she soaked a face-cloth in the water. “Hold on, this will hurt.”
As gently as she could she placed the wadded cloth over the bruise. Fliss moaned and bit her lip but took the cloth and held it place on her cheek.
“Let me know as soon as that needs changing.” Tilly dropped another cloth into the pot. She swirled it around, her anger building with each slow motion of her fingers. It was just not right that Frederic could treat her friends like this and get away with. His treatment of Burma was bad enough. If she wanted to she could tell her father. Whether he believed her not would be another matter. But Fliss did not have that luxury. She had no one to turn to.
As much as Tilly believed Saul would defend Fliss the best he could, the simple fact remained that if he showed any retaliation, Frederic could get them both fired. There was no one they could appeal to, no one to whom they could turn for help without creating an even worse situation.
Tilly changed the cloth and sat down again. “I’ve got some aspirin if the pain’s too bad,” she offered but Fliss shook her head.
“It’s feeling better already.” Her voice was still shaky but her sobs had subsided.
“Can you tell me what happened?” Tilly asked.
Fliss swallowed hard. “Saul and I try to be discreet. It’s not always easy and I think Frederic saw us together. He followed me and grabbed hold of me. He said if I was dishing it out, he’d have some too. I struggled and managed to kick him, and that’s when he hit me. Someone was coming so he let me go and I came straight back here.”
Tilly thought for a moment. “Those girls you told me about from last year. Did he hit them?”
“I don’t really know,” Fliss said, reaching for a fresh compress. “I wasn’t friends with them and didn’t talk much to either of them—I only know that he caused them problems.”
“Then we have to cause him a problem.” Tilly’s chin jutted forward.
“But what can we do, Tilly?” Fliss reached for another cloth and Tilly wrung it out and handed it to her. “We’re just two girls who count for nothing.”
“Speak for yourself, Fliss.” Tilly sent her a stern look. “I count for something, or at least I think I do and that’s all that matters.”
“What are you going to do?” Fliss glanced at her warily.
“I’m not sure yet,” Tilly said slowly. “I’m going to have to think on it. How’s that compress doing?”
They changed it one more time and agreed that Tilly should report to Miss Richards that Fliss was sick.
“She won’t believe it,” Fliss said. “I’m never sick.”
“She will the way I tell it,” Tilly insisted. “By the way, have you ever handled mules?”
“What? Mules?” Fliss could not keep the surprise out of her voice. “Why would I? I’m a city girl through and through. I’ve never been on a farm in my life and, from what you’ve told me, you’d never been off one.”
Tilly laughed. “That’s true. But mules are great teachers.”
“They’re just horses with long ears.”
“That is just where you’re wrong, missy.” Tilly settled herself on her bed, her back propped against the wall. “My dad didn’t talk about the war much, but he preferred mules because he said they’re smarter than horses. They have more stamina, can manage on less feed if they have to and can carry proportionately more weight than a horse. They can kick forwards, backwards, or sideways. They can be sweet and forgiving or ornery as all get out. It all depends on how you treat them.”
Comprehension blossomed in Fliss’ eyes. “So if you treat them badly—”
“They will never forget or forgive you.” Tilly leaned forward. “You’re my friend, Fliss. I won’t forget or forgive Frederic Vanderoosten for what he’s done to you.”
“So, stubborn as a mule really is the truth.”
Tilly was relieved to hear Fliss laugh. “But what you have to remember is that a mule is stubborn for a reason. It usually means he’s thinking something through. Don’t worry, we’ll get this straightened out.”
The following morning Tilly reported early to Miss Richards’s office.
“She’s never sick,” Miss Richards said, just as Fliss had predicted.
“I’m sorry, Miss Richards, but she is.” Tilly folded her hands in front of her and tried to look demure. “I’m afraid it might be my fault. We were talking about blueberries and how good they are, but Fliss picked juniper berries, which aren’t.”
“And you know the difference?” Miss Richards shot Tilly a suspicious glance.
Tilly shrugged. “Yes, but she doesn’t. She’d eaten some before I got in and now she has a really upset stomach. I’ll take her rooms if you like.”
“You will never get through both your quotas.” Miss Richards pulled out a staff schedule and ran her finger down the sheet. “You have thirteen regular rooms and Miss Evans’s suite. You can take six of Felicity’s regular rooms and I’ll reallocate the rest for today. And she can make up for today by forfeiting her next day off. Does she have everything she needs?”
“Yes, thank you, Miss Richards, but if I could take some ice for her? She needs fluids to top up—”
“Yes, yes. There’s no need for details.”
With a wave of her hand Miss Richards dismissed her and Tilly went straight to the kitchen for a bucket of ice. Grabbing it with both hands she rushed back to their room where Fliss waited anxiously.
“Well, what did she say?”
Tilly placed the bucket on the nightstand. “I’ve got you today off. I’m taking six of your rooms.”
“Well for heaven’s sake don’t make a muck of them,” Fliss ordered and then softened her voice and added, “Thank you. What’s supposed to be wrong with me anyway?”
“I told Miss Richards you have an upset stomach after eating juniper berries which you thought were blueberries. My fault, of course. I should have warned you.” Tilly grinned. “Here, let me have a look at your face.”
She turned Fliss’ face to the light and thoroughly inspected it. “Hmm. It’s better than I expected it would be, but use this ice to carry on with the cold compresses. I’ll see you later.”
With so much extra work to do Tilly could have done without Burma, who seemed in the mood to talk and followed her around the suite as she cleaned it.
“Why are you in such a rush today?” Burma complained.
“Fliss is sick,” Tilly explained. “Apparently she ate something that disagreed with her.”
She went into the bathroom to empty the waste bin and noticed several discarded tubes of lipstick and face-cream containers. A thought struck her.
“Burma,” she called, “what did you use to disguise your bruises?”
“Tinted pan-cake foundation.” Burma came to the bathroom door. “Why?”
“I know someone who has a bruise that could do with some camouflage. You wouldn’t be able to spare any of that pan-cake, would you?”
Burma went to her dressing table and came back with a small container. “There you go, courtesy of Mr. Max Factor, Hollywood’s top cosmetician. I don’t need it back as I brought two of everything. Just apply it with a damp sponge, let it dry and then add more if necessary.”
“Burma, you’re a star. Thank you.” Tilly slipped the container in her pocket and left the room.
By the end of the day she was not only physically exhausted but mentally exhausted. To how many people had she told the berry tale? By now she almost believed the story herself but, all the same, she had to swallow hard when Saul approached her.
“Can I get her anything?” he asked after Tilly had told her story yet again. “Should I go and sit with her?”
Tilly shook her head emphatically. “She’s really not up to it, Saul. Between the bucket by her bed and a direct route to the bathroom, she’s better off alone.”
“All right.” Saul still looked doubtful and Tilly hurried off before he c
ould question her further.
She sat with Fliss until late in the evening. When the night shadows crept through the trees, casting long fingers of shade across the paths surrounding the hotel, she dressed in her corduroy pants and laced up her boots.
“Where are you going?” Fliss asked as Tilly pulled on her jacket.
“Just out to get a breath of fresh air, Fliss. Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.”
But she wasn’t fine. Her head told her she was being stupid. Butterflies thudded around in her stomach. But she had to find out where Frederic Vanderoosten was, and what he was doing, if she was to figure out a plan to give him a taste of his own medicine. Ryan and Saul had put the word around to watch him, but nothing had come back to her or Fliss of the man’s movements, so she doubted their efforts had been productive. Going to Sam’s, knowing full well that Ryan would not be there, was a risk she was prepared to take if she could discover anything that she could use.
She stood in the doorway of the bar. Smoke drifted in a blue haze below the low ceiling. Instructions delivered in rapid Chinese and accompanied by utensils being slammed around told her the chef was not in a good mood. She scanned the room, not recognizing any of the packers at the bar and only two of the hotel staff playing cards. Plenty of people had seen her and Ryan together. Any one of them could suppose she was looking for him, including Frederic, who she’d spotted sitting in a back corner.
Her heart hammered as she ducked back outside. Had he seen her? She thought not as he’d been talking with Jeffrey Sachs, both of them laughing and joking with the two ladies from the hotel who she’d last seen flirting with Ryan.
Her thoughts brought a frown to her face as she walked back the way she came. Burma had told her she had broken her engagement to Frederic, but that news had not yet filtered into the gossip telegraph in the hotel. That Frederic was a notorious flirt was common knowledge. Even people who did not much like Burma thought she deserved better. And now, it seemed, Frederic was not even trying to hide his flirtations. Was this something she could use to discredit him? Should she tell Burma what she had seen, or was Burma well aware of her ex-fiancée’s behaviour?
Telling Ryan or Saul what had happened would result in nothing but the trouble Fliss so feared. Both men would likely take Frederic out behind the woodshed and give him the hiding he so deserved. She would have to think of something subtle, something that would stick. But what? And whatever plan she devised, how could she achieve it?
Lost in thought, she was not immediately aware of footsteps on the path behind her. But, as the back of her neck began to tingle, she knew who was there.
“Looking for me, were you?” His voice slid over her already sensitized nerves as smoothly as whiskey over ice.
Her pulse thudded in a beat heavy enough to shorten her breath. Her palms became clammy and she shoved her hands into her jacket pockets.
“Not at all.” She kept walking. “I was looking for Ryan.”
“And lucky you found me instead.” Frederic took hold of her arm and tried to push her into the shadow of the trees.
“Leave me alone, Frederic.” Her initial fear now turned to cold anger as he continued to manhandle her.
“Why should I?” A nasty tone crept into his voice as she continued to evade him. “You have to know such a pretty thing as you is like honey to a bee. A fatal attraction, if you will, and there’s nothing you can do about it.”
“No?” Tilly broke free, breathing hard, and took a step back.
Frederic’s eyes glittered with excitement. His face bore a feral expression, that of a hunter after its prey as he moved towards her. Tilly took a deep breath. She had stood toe-to-toe with farm boys. Slapping them had been no more than a pat on the cheek, making them laugh and tease her even more. That was until her father explained that men punch and women slap. Then he taught her to punch and the farm boys didn’t laugh at her anymore.
Her lungs tightened and her breath shortened as she looked into Frederic’s pale eyes.
His laugh held not a hint of humor, more an edge of cruelty as he sneered at her. “Got you a little scared, have I?”
She thought of Burma’s necklet of bruises and formed a fist, knowing that Frederic would not be able to see what she was doing in the darkness that surrounded them. She stood her ground and waited.
Frederic took another step towards her. Tilly didn’t even have to close her eyes to see the bruise flaring across Fliss’ cheek. She tightened her fist.
As soon as Frederic took his next step, she swung her fist up with all her strength. It connected with a solid, smacking sound under the point of his chin. His head snapped back and, with a grunt, he collapsed on the ground.
Panting hard, Tilly shook the pain out of her hand and then leaned over him. His eyes were closed and he was unconscious, but still breathing. A quick look around assured her they were completely alone. There had been no one to see what had happened. As an additional precaution she pulled off Frederic’s shoes and set them down an arm’s length away from him. Even if he came round quickly, he would not go far without them.
Her heart raced as she hurried home. She had set out to see where Frederic was and what he was doing but achieved so much more. He could not complain about her without revealing his part in the matter. Nor, she suspected, would he want anyone to know he had been knocked out by a girl. But men like him did not give up.
Had she just made the situation better, or worse?
Chapter Sixteen
A few anxious days later, Tilly finally began to relax. Between the cold compresses and Burma’s pan-cake make-up, the bruise on Fliss’ face was barely noticeable. Saul noticed it, of course, but Fliss brushed it off as having tripped and fallen on the stairs. A perfectly feasible excuse, but one Tilly was not sure he believed. There was no gossip around the hotel, no murmurs of anything untoward having taken place. Wealthy and elegant visitors from Boston and New York, from Chicago and San Francisco, from Europe and the Far East, continued to arrive and depart, all delighted with the size and amenities of the magnificent hotel cradled in the heart of the Rocky Mountains.
All seemed routine, and yet she could not shake off the feeling that something unpleasant hovered on her particular horizon. She had not seen or heard Frederic but sensed he would not leave well alone. She tried to put him in the back of her mind and looked forward, instead, to Ryan coming back from his pack trip.
Would she tell him what had happened? She decided not. He would be angry with himself for not being there to protect her, and then angry with her for taking such a risk.
Hindsight is wonderful, she told herself as she cleaned a bathroom. She was sure that, given the same circumstance over again, she would not have wandered out into the night and dangled herself like a dang carrot. She had been too angry to think straight and, but for being farm strong, might have fared far worse.
Finished for the day, she thankfully stowed her service cart and turned in her uniform. As she started down the stairs she heard music, and slowed her steps, listening carefully. She could determine no particular tune and then realized that the violin, piano and cello strains that drifted up to her were not in tune with each other. Continuing down the stairs, she followed the sounds to the foyer where the trio, which played for the dinner hour, were practicing. She listened for a while longer, quietly humming along when she recognized the sets they played.
She listened to the babble of conversation in languages she did not understand from people walking past her and could only guess at their origins. More and more people came through the foyer and she decided she should go. Taking the stairs, she went down one more flight and exited onto the Garden Terrace. She knew she should not be here but could not help but take a deep breath, enjoying the scent of the blooms on the terrace. For a moment she rested against the parapet and looked down along the valley, sighing at the grand sight of the river below her and the soaring mountains beyond.
It gave her a badly needed lift and now, feeling more s
ettled and at peace with herself, she returned to her room to tidy up for the evening. Fliss was waiting for her and Tilly was relieved to see how much better her face looked.
“All thanks to your administrations and Burma’s make-up,” Fliss said. “By the way, did you hear what happened to her?”
Tilly shook her head, her curiosity roused by a glint of indignation in her friend’s eyes.
“She finished up in the swimming pool, gala ball gown and all.”
“Oh, no. Not the strapless, sequinned red gown?”
“That’s the one.” Fliss settled back against the wall as if ready to gossip. “She was overheard arguing with Frederic. He and Jeffrey and those two hangers-on Sylvia Turville and Cecily Waters were having drinks by the pool before dinner. He said she was drunk, and she said two drinks didn’t even make her head swim and if he wanted to see her drunk then she’d show him what drunk was. She called a waiter and ordered a bottle of champagne. She wanted Veuve Clicquot but the waiter told her he could only offer her Dom Perignon or Bollinger. She went off like a rocket about the lack of amenities and what sort of hotel didn’t stock Veuve Clicquot and, before anyone knew it, she was in the pool.”
“Didn’t she know she was so close to the edge?”
“Apparently not.” Fliss shrugged. “Although, it’s being said she was pushed.”
“By the waiter?” Tilly asked.
“Could have been him, could have been Frederic, could have been Sylvia. By all accounts there’s no love lost between those two and no wonder at it. No one knows for sure. Frederic offered her a hand up, but she refused and waded to the ladder where she bunched up all her wet skirts and climbed out of her own accord.”
“Do you see it happen?”
“No, one of the waiters did and told Saul—”
“Who told you,” Tilly finished for her.
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