by SL Beaumont
Chapter 11
Wednesday 21st December
Stephanie was woken early when Toby slipped into her bedroom and climbed into bed beside her, bringing a cuddly teddy bear and a stack of books with him. He snuggled down and cuddled into her.
“Wake up, Stephie,” he said. “I’ve brought books.”
Stephanie groaned and rolled over, rubbing her eyes. Toby planted a kiss on her lips and gave her an angelic smile. She sighed.
“Morning, beautiful boy,” she said, smiling back at him and reaching for the first book.
Stephanie’s mobile chimed with a text a little while later. She retrieved it from her bedside table. James.
Can u come 2 the hotel now?
Can it wait until lunch?
No. Come now. Please
Stephanie frowned.
* * *
The lobby of the Queensgate Mews Hotel was a hive of activity. The hotel exuded a quiet elegance, reflected in the polished marble foyer and flashes of gold-plated trimmings. Smartly dressed businessmen congregated in groups and constantly checked their mobile phones. Tourists sat on a row of couches ready to set off on their guided tours of the city. The check-in desk was busy. Stephanie smiled at the concierge and made her way to the bank of lifts. The lift came almost immediately. She stood to one side to let a family group alight and then entered, pressing the button for the sixth floor.
Stephanie turned right as she exited the lift and walked down a well-lit, plushly carpeted corridor. James’s room was at the far end. She pulled the spare key card from her pocket and went to insert it in the slot. Strangely, the door swung open before she had the chance.
“James,” she called. “Hi. It’s just me.”
There was no reply. She called his name again, louder this time. Stepping into the room, she walked past the bathroom door to where the room widened to reveal the king-sized bed. James was lying across it, naked from the waist up, a sheet pulled loosely around his legs. Stephanie stepped forward to wake him, when movement on the far side of the bed caught her attention. A tall, slim girl with short dark hair rolled over and yawned loudly. The girl swung her long legs over the edge of the bed and looked up at Stephanie.
“You can come back later, we don’t need housekeeping,” she said, stretching her arms above her head, causing her red crop top to ride up and reveal deeply tanned and toned abs.
Stephanie glared at her. “Excuse me?” she asked.
James murmured and rolled over, opening one eye and then the other. His eyes rested on Stephanie and he gave her his lazy grin. “Hey, babe,” he said.
“Babe?” Both James and Stephanie’s attention swung to the other girl.
“Who the hell are you?” James asked, sitting up, rubbing a hand over his face.
“My question exactly,” Stephanie replied through gritted teeth.
“Steph—this is not what it looks like,” he said. “Where the hell did you come from?” he asked the girl.
She pouted. “What? You don’t remember last night?”
James shook his head, as though trying to clear it. “Actually, no.”
“Yeah, right,” Stephanie scoffed. “How could you?” she spat. She turned to leave, tears welling in her eyes as she ran straight into Andy.
“What the hell?” he asked. He looked from James to the girl to Stephanie.
Stephanie pushed past him and ran down the corridor towards the lifts. She banged on the call button but both lifts were at the ground floor. Frustrated, she pushed open the door to the stairwell and ran down three flights of stairs before stopping to lean against the wall, her tears now turned to sobs as her whole body shook. She gasped for air.
“Steph.”
She heard James calling her name from several flights above. She pushed off the wall and kept moving, running down the remaining flights of stairs which curled around a central atrium hung with a large chandelier at each level. She ran through the lobby and down the front steps of the hotel and onto Queensgate. She looked both ways and started running towards Brompton Road.
“Steph. Wait,” James called again. She turned and saw him sprinting down the hotel steps, dressed in just jeans and a t-shirt, his feet bare. She looked around. In the centre of the road was a queue of black cabs with their yellow hire lights on. Dodging the traffic, she crossed at a run, pulled open the back door of the front taxi and climbed in.
“Hyde Park. Kensington High Street end,” she instructed the driver. She glanced out of the side window of the cab as it pulled away. James was standing directly across the street from her, looking frustrated.
Stephanie sat back, tears pouring down her face. Her chest tightened and a sharp pain spread across her belly, as her mobile rang. She fished it out of her bag and looked at the caller ID. James. Turning to look out of the back window, she could just make him out standing on the footpath. Her fingers hovered over the ‘call end’ button on the screen. Instead she pressed answer.
“Not a good time,” she said, her voice breaking.
“Steph. Nothing happened. I’ve never seen her before in my life,” he said.
“Didn’t look like nothing,” she said and hung up, switching her phone completely off and searching in her bag for a tissue.
“Is here okay, love?” the driver called as he pulled over a few minutes later.
She nodded and placed a ten pound note on the tray in the partition separating the driver and passengers, and muttered thanks.
She ran through the gates into Hyde Park, stopping beside a bench and sucking in deep breaths in an attempt to calm down. Wiping the backs of her hands over her wet cheeks, she wandered along the broad pathway before coming upon the Albert Memorial. Prince Albert looked down benevolently from his throne. The sun broke through the cloud and reflected on his golden magnificence. Above him, the spire of the monument towered skyward. Stephanie shaded her eyes and gazed up at him. She recalled reading somewhere that during World War I he had been painted black, so that he wouldn’t be a shining target for the German Zeppelins to locate the nearby Kensington Palace. It wasn’t until a major restoration project in the 1980s that the gold leaf was rediscovered under the black paint and Albert was re-gilded to his former glory.
Stephanie slowly walked around the enormous memorial. The plinths at each corner were topped with marble figures representing Europe, Africa, Asia and America, along with additional figures depicting Victorian achievements in manufacturing, commerce, agriculture and engineering. The friezes around the base celebrated Albert’s love of the arts—painters, poets, sculptors and musicians. The memorial was an extravagant homage to the Victorian age and to the love Victoria must have had for Albert. Stephanie rounded the front of the statue again. The irony of it was not lost on her.
She continued wandering aimlessly. The slightly milder weather had encouraged people out of doors and a few were walking their dogs. She came to the Serpentine Bridge. A few hardy souls were peddling around in the little blue pedalos on the water. Stephanie leaned on the bridge and watched them for a while. A single tear rolled unchecked down her cheek. The cold began to seep into her bones and she continued walking to keep warm. The horse track was busy with mounted police and army officers in fatigues exercising their animals. The horses trotted along the track, the breath from their nostrils condensing into white puffy clouds. Stephanie wrinkled her nose. The horse manure smelt really bad.
“Look out, love,” a voice called. Stephanie jumped back, narrowly avoiding a collision with several lycra-clad cyclists speeding along a cycle path.
She looked at her watch. It was twelve-thirty, she was going to be late for lunch. She looked around, trying to get her bearings. She had wandered further than she had realised and was in an unfamiliar part of the park. She increased her pace, stepping through the long grass of a meadow until a road on the far side of the park came into view. Retrieving her abandoned phone from the bottom of her bag, she switched it on. It immediately chimed with notification of no less than ten miss
ed calls and as many missed texts—all from James. Ignoring them, she put a call through to her mother.
“Mum. I’ve been held up. Can you and Toby just meet me at the restaurant?” she asked, trying to keep her voice even. She listened to her mother’s response.
“Has he? I will explain when I see you. Okay, bye.” She pressed ‘end’.
Heading for the nearest exit, she found herself on Bayswater Road. There were no cabs available so she started walking back along West Carriage Drive, which cut through the park. She stopped outside the Serpentine Sackler Gallery with its unusual curving white roof, which always reminded her of melting ice cream. Finally after ten minutes a square black taxi came into view with its yellow light on. She stuck her hand out for it to stop and gave the driver the name of the restaurant before climbing in the back. She took a deep breath.
She pulled her compact from her bag and proceeded to fix her make up. Her eyes were red and puffy and most of the mascara she had applied that morning was streaked across her cheeks. She stifled a slightly hysterical giggle and wiped her face with a tissue then carefully reapplied her make up. By the time she arrived at the restaurant she was looking a lot more like her usual self, even if inside she felt like she was dying.
Her mother was waiting on the footpath and wrapped Stephanie in her arms as soon as she stepped from the cab.
“Careful or I will cry again,” Stephanie murmured.
The pizza restaurant on the Kings Road was packed with noisy families. Toby was very excitable, which was exactly the distraction that Stephanie needed. She picked at her food, but was delighted with his childish enthusiasm for everything around him. He frowned when she didn’t order an elaborate ice cream dessert and said with the intuition of a child, “You should, Stephie, it will make you happy.” His comment almost undid her composure, so instead she scooped him into her arms and hugged him tightly.
They decided to walk back along the Kings Road to Max’s apartment after lunch. Toby skipped happily ahead, giving Stephanie and Marie time to talk.
“Are you sure that she was actually in bed with him?” Marie asked after Stephanie had relayed the morning’s events.
“Yes. At least I think so. It was weird that the door was open. But yeah, she didn’t have many clothes on and she was gorgeous,” Stephanie said, her tears starting again.
“Oh, sweetie, you’re gorgeous too, you know.” Marie stopped and put her arms around Stephanie.
“Not like that. She was like a model, big boobs and so thin,” Stephanie mumbled.
They walked arm in arm, Stephanie silently crying, Marie silently fuming and Toby skipping ahead of them, singing Christmas carols loudly, until they reached Max’s apartment building. As they walked up the front steps, someone called her name. They turned, Marie shielding Stephanie with her body.
Crossing the street towards them was Eric. “It’s okay, Mum, he’s a friend from Oxford,” Stephanie said as she walked down the steps toward him. “I’ll be up in a minute.”
“Hi,” Eric said. “I didn’t realise you were going to be in London. Are you staying around here? I thought you were going to Carlswick for Christmas.”
“My mother and brother are visiting, so we are having a few days in London first. My dad lives here,” she explained waving her hand vaguely towards the building.
He frowned and looked down at her as she got closer. “Are you okay?
Stephanie gave a watery smile and shrugged.
“Don’t tell me. The guitarist strikes again,” Eric said.
Stephanie nodded.
Eric opened his arms. She stepped into them, slipping her arms around his back. “Oh, Steph. He doesn’t deserve you, if he makes you this unhappy.” Stephanie nodded. Eric rocked her gently and stroked her hair.
“Jeez, that didn’t take long,” James’s angry voice broke in.
Stephanie frowned and pulled back from Eric. James was standing about ten metres away, thumbs tucked into the belt loops on his jeans, scowling, his green eyes blazing with anger.
“James. I don’t want to do this right now,” Stephanie said.
“Too busy making out with the professor, here,” he replied.
“Oh please, I wasn’t the one with a half-naked groupie in my bed this morning.” Stephanie could feel her anger rising.
“If you’d given me the chance to explain,” James began.
“A bit of a tricky one to explain.” Stephanie dropped her voice to a sultry whisper and mimicked the girl from James’s room. “Don’t tell me you don’t remember last night?”
James ran a hand through his hair. “Look, can we discuss this without an audience?”
Eric slipped his arm around Stephanie’s shoulders. “I think you’ve done enough for today.”
“Who the hell asked you?” James said darkly, his lip curled in disgust.
“He’s right,” Stephanie replied. “I’m done. There’s nothing more to discuss. Come on, Eric, would you like a coffee?”
She turned, taking Eric’s hand and led him up the stairs to her father’s flat, leaving James fuming on the footpath.
Chapter 12
Morning, Friday 23rd December
Stephanie was dozing when the ringing of her mobile infiltrated a strange dream about snow and chocolate animals. She quickly reached for it, hoping deep down it might be James. When it wasn’t, her heart sank a little. She answered with a sleepy hello.
“Steph, I heard about James. You know me—I have no idea what to say,” Michael said by way of greeting.
Stephanie smiled at his forthrightness, despite her churning insides. “'S’okay, Michael. Who told you?”
“I had a drink with Victoria last night and she mentioned it,” he replied.
“Good news travels fast. How the hell did she know?”
“Not sure,” Michael said. “Anyway, I’m coming up to London for the day and I thought we should check out Alex’s shop.”
“I dunno,” Stephanie hedged. “I’m not sure I want anything to do with the Knox family right now.”
“Come on. Don’t you want to find Alex? Something’s still going on and we might find a clue at the shop,” he said.
* * *
It was a bitterly cold morning. As Stephanie walked up the steps out of Green Park station, a sharp cold wind hit her and she wound her red and black striped scarf more tightly around her neck. The sky was a slate grey and appeared to cover the city like a dome, trapping the cold beneath it. Stephanie shivered and shoved her hands deeper into the pockets of her overcoat. She swore that she could feel the wind cutting right down into her bones.
“Hi.” Michael bounced up beside her, wearing a thin black parka and jeans, seemingly not feeling the cold at all. “Come on, it’s this way,” he said turning left and striding along Piccadilly.
Knox Antiques was two blocks along, sandwiched between an upmarket shirt maker and a shop selling all manner of tea and tea-making apparatus. Stephanie allowed herself a small smile at the Englishness of it—a tailor, antiques and tea.
One window of Knox Antiques had a large, very old-looking wooden sideboard displaying a full dinner set, in front of which a low coffee table was set for afternoon tea with a fine bone china tea service. The other window housed a display of antique chairs. To their surprise, the shop was open for business. A bell above the door rang announcing their arrival. The shop was eerily quiet—they were the only visitors and spent several minutes looking around before a young woman entered from a back room and greeted them with a clipped upper class accent.
“Good morning, may I be of any assistance?”
She was short and slight with shoulder length, mousey brown hair. Her two-piece deep brown wool suit was flecked with cream stitching and she wore matching high-heeled chocolate brown pumps.
Stephanie was studying a wall of framed charts and maps of England’s south coast, at the rear of the shop. Michael was hovering around the sales desk, trying to ascertain whether they were alone.
&n
bsp; “Hi,” Michael mumbled, readjusting his glasses. “I, ah, am looking for something for my mother for Christmas.”
“Is she a collector? We have several lovely ranges of china and crystal,” the young woman began.
“Hey, Michael—look at these old maps,” Stephanie called him over. The young woman followed.
Michael raised his eyebrows at Stephanie.
“The owner has a thing for old maps,” the young woman offered.
“So does my uncle,” Stephanie replied. “Is the owner here? I’d love to talk to him about these.”
“Oh, he’s abroad right now, but if you wish to leave your details, I am sure he would be very happy to discuss any of these,” she replied.
“Well, it’s more my uncle than me,” Stephanie said. “But he has loads of maps that I am sure would be of interest.”
“Well, Mr Knox is always interested in old maps,” the young woman said. Lowering her voice, she confided, “he even thinks that there is still buried treasure out there somewhere.”
“Does he? Where?” Stephanie asked.
“Are there any treasure maps here?” Michael added.
“No—not that I’m aware of,” the young woman replied.
“Where overseas, did you say he was?” Stephanie asked.
The young woman straightened up and narrowed her eyes at them. “I didn’t. Why are you asking all these questions? You’re not with the police, are you?”
“No, of course not,” Stephanie said with a laugh. “Why would you ask that?”
“Ah, no reason.” The young woman was flustered. “Now, about that crystal.” She said turning to Michael.
