She struggled as they carried her to the trough and dunked her in cold, greasy water. Cat scratched and clawed. One apprentice tried to force her head under the dirty water but Chef yelled, ‘Stop! That’s enough, lads. We don’t want to overdo it now, do we? Let’s not forget that Dog is related to the boss lady.’
They sniggered and filed out. Cat dropped onto a sack of potatoes and wept.
After the dunking incident Cat’s resolve hardened. And for the next three days she turned up in Chef’s kitchen wearing a clean, neatly pressed uniform. The labyrinth staff urged her to chuck it in but she refused. Cat declared that if any of the staff blabbed to Mary or Sean about what was going on, she would lock them in a cool room and let them freeze to death. Nobody believed her but she succeeded in making her point.
Jules reported to Bertha, ‘Mrs du Barry is subdued. She’s lost interest in her usual kicks, and her lover hasn’t been summoned to her bed for days. Belinda told me Edwina was down in the labyrinth, asking for directions to the Grill kitchen. Then she changed her mind and quickly went back upstairs. She and Cat are well matched in bloody-minded stubbornness.’
On the eighth day when Cat turned up for kitchen duty, Belinda was waiting for her in the Grill kitchen. She whispered, ‘You’re sending Chef around the bend. The old bastard didn’t expect you to come back after they dunked you. For heaven’s sake, Cat, go speak to Mrs du Barry or at least let Bertha speak to her. Everyone’s upset, and Henri, Doc and Jim are desperate to intervene on your behalf. Get this sorted. This is no place for the likes of you. I’m begging you, put down that peeling knife and leave now.’
‘No, Belinda. I know what I am doing.’
‘If only that was true, luv.’
An hour later Chef rushed into the kitchen and thrust a limp, peeled carrot in Cat’s face. ‘What the fuck is this, eh?’
‘I assume it is the vegetable commonly known as a carrot.’
Chef flung the offending vegetable in her face. ‘How can I make Carrots Vichy with this!’
‘Perhaps you should buy better quality carrots. I’m not a miracle worker.’
‘Don’t backchat me! Boys, get in here now! Dog is ready for another dunking. Johnny, fetch the liquid insecticide and we’ll do her fleas too.’
Cat seized a heavy iron frying pan from the sink. She gripped the pan with both hands and swung it over her head like a tennis professional. ‘The first bastard who touches me gets a pasting!’
The apprentices hovered in the doorway, glancing at each other. They didn’t know what to do. Chef screamed, ‘Do as I say or I’ll sack the lotta ya. For Christ’s sake, it’s only a kitchen slapper!’
But despite his threats, the apprentices remained frozen in the doorway. Johnny put down the tin of commercial-grade insecticide, folded his arms and refused to budge.
Chef grabbed Cat by the hair and the pain brought tears to her eyes. She slammed the heavy pan down on his head. His face showed intense surprise as he slowly crumpled onto the tiles. He tried grabbing Cat on the way down, so she kicked him in the balls. Hard. He curled up in agony as he tried to protect his genitalia and in doing so rolled into a tall rack of iron saucepans.
Cat saw it happen in slow motion. The rack teetered towards her as pans slid from their moorings. She shielded her face and tried to stop the avalanche from burying her alive. Too late. A large iron soup pot clipped Cat’s skull and she slipped all the way down into blessed unconsciousness.
Her last thought was, I am Cat du Barry and I have no fear. I am mistress of my own destiny.
18
Walking Shadows
As she dozed, Cat became aware of the sound of someone crying. Her head was excruciatingly sore but the pain lessened when hypodermic syringes popped her skin. Nurses in white uniforms swam in and out of her vision but she could still hear the relentless sound of a woman weeping. At regular intervals someone would lift her eyelids and shine a bright light onto her eyeballs. She was prodded and poked unmercifully. They pressed their fingers against her pulse spots and shoved cold instruments into her orifices. And still she slept. Liquids dripped into her body and she was rolled around and sponged by gentle hands. She was lifted up by orderlies as sheets were changed under her and fresh bandages wound around her head. She heard men muttering and arguing. Cat opened her eyes and glimpsed a group of doctors in white coats clustered around her bed. But before they’d even noticed she was conscious, she lapsed back into a deep sleep.
Cat’s dreams reclaimed her and she felt herself to be a baby again, swinging on the clothesline. Mary was gently rocking her cradle back and forth. The sky grew dark. A black shadow fell across the laundry yard. Chef was an obese giant, blocking out the sun. Each leg the size of a monstrous tree trunk and with every step he took, the ground trembled and cracked. The staff shrank away. Chef reached down and flicked Cat’s cradle from the clothesline. She was flung high in the air before plummeting downwards.
Mary yelled, ‘Spread your wings! Do it now.’ The ground rushed up to claim her but she clumsily flapped her wings and lurched upwards into the sky. Chef tried to grab her but he got entangled in the clotheslines and fell down heavily onto the hotel’s rooftop. His buttocks obliterated the Winter Garden glasshouse and he bellowed as large shards of glass pierced his fat arse. People fled in all directions as Chef hopped from foot to foot in agony before collapsing face down onto Westminster Abbey. A sharp spire plunged through his heart and came out the other side of his body. The staff cheered as Cat flew effortlessly towards the sun. The crying stopped.
Cat surfaced from her deep sleep. It was dark and there was only a dim light glowing at the end of the ward. A blonde nurse was writing at a desk beneath a green lampshade. When she heard Cat stir, she threw down her pen and rushed over. ‘Thank the Lord!’
Cat turned over and closed her eyes.
The next morning Cat awoke to the sound of trolleys whispering past and the unmistakable aroma of sun-ripened peaches. Sitting between vases of hothouse blooms was a basket of twelve perfectly plump peaches. Each downy peach nestled in a bed of tissue paper. Cat knew intuitively that Henri Dupont had been working his magic. And somewhere in the upper echelons of the Hotel du Barry an heiress was staring morosely at a dish of stewed rhubarb and whining, ‘What’s this muck? I was told my imported peaches had arrived.’
Cat gingerly touched her head. The sharp pain in her skull had dulled to an ache. She struggled to sit up but the pain increased. The blonde nurse had disappeared and in her place was a young brunette. Cat whispered, ‘Who was that weeping woman?’
‘Your stepmother. She’s been here the whole time. Matron came down last night and insisted she go home.’
‘Edwina was crying?’
‘Yes. She was beside herself. The poor woman blames herself for your accident. You’ve also had several visits from Mr Blade and Mrs Brown, but unfortunately we only allow family members onto this ward. And someone called Miss Maguire was here with the gentleman who brought the peaches and someone she called Doc. They were having a bit of argy-bargy with your stepmother. Mrs du Barry instructed Matron not to let any of them visit you at this stage.’
‘It’s really important that I get to see Mrs Brown, Mr Dupont, Mr Blade, Mr Kelly, Doc Ahearn and Miss Maguire. Please. It would mean a lot to me. They’re my real family.’
‘Ah. I’ll see what I can do for you. Perhaps Matron can authorise your transfer to another ward, and then you’ll be allowed more visitors.’
‘Thank you.’
The nurse reverently stroked a velvety peach. ‘The card says, Compliments from Mr Henri Dupont. Real class. How did he get hold of summer fruits this time of year, eh? Never seen such gorgeous peaches. Ever.’
‘They’re flown in from warmer climates. Henri can get hold of anything.’
‘Anything?’
‘Yes. Anything.’
The nurse blushed and giggled. Cat added, ‘I’ve got no appetite and it’s a pity to waste them. Why don’t you and the other
nurses have them?’
‘Gosh. Thanks ever so much. The girls will be real chuffed. So, what about that handsome young man? Bet you’re dying to see him.’
‘Who?’
‘The night Charge Sister spotted him as he shimmied up the drainpipe in the middle of the bloody night. It was just like that Douglas Fairbanks picture. She tore strips off the lad but he charmed the socks off her and she let him stick around for a while. He had a bit of an Irish accent but an English name. A couple of times he sounded French. Think he said John Barthe or was it Julian Brown?’
‘Julian Bartholomew?’
‘Yep, that’s it. Apparently he was watching over you like you was Sleeping Beauty or something. Cor, lucky you, eh? You’re sweet on him, aren’t you?’
‘I can’t say.’
‘Lovers’ tiff, eh?’
‘Look, he’s my stepmother’s butler. So it’s kind of awkward, and I’d rather she didn’t know he’s been in here or that I’m involved with him. I don’t want things to be any more difficult than they already are.’
‘Ah, I understand. Don’t worry, I’ll sort it with the Charge Sister.’
‘Thank you. Tell me, is the man I assaulted with the frying pan in hospital too?’
‘Well he . . . you know, I think I can hear a patient calling me. Gotta go.’
She glided away quickly and quietly on her rubberised shoes.
Several hours later, Cat opened her eyes. Edwina was sitting there, immaculately groomed but with dark circles around her eyes. Restlessly twisting a gold bracelet around her thin wrist and staring into space. Cat fought off the desire to sleep by breathing the way Dr Rubens had taught her. When she tried to sit up, Edwina rushed over and rearranged the pillows. ‘Is that better, sweetie? Is there anything I can get you?’
Cat looked around but there was no one else in the ward. She sank back down onto the pillows and tried not to look surprised. They eyed each other warily. Edwina was brisk. ‘I want you to know, Caterina that I’d like to start over with you. I’m sure we can get along if we put our minds to it.’
‘Sure. We could try.’
‘Look, I’ve never understood females. Women always think the worst of me. When I worked at the theatre I was blamed for everything. One girl even accused me of setting her apartment on fire. Can you imagine? Small wonder that I find it easier being friends with men. Did you know I was a twin?’
Cat shook her head.
‘My mother gave birth to twins and she resented me. She’d only ever wanted one child, a son. But she then got stuck with two children. She rejected me completely and only looked after my brother. He got to stay at home when I was packed off to boarding school. I was too young, so she falsified my birthdate to make me older and eligible for enrolment. You know, I’ve got no recollection of my mother holding me unless she had to. I used to love it when she trimmed my fingernails because then I got to sit on her lap and she had to touch me.’
‘What was your twin’s name?’ Cat asked, even though she already knew the answer.
‘Matthew. We were very close. He tried to shield me from my mother’s anger. He and I were rarely apart when I wasn’t at school. He died in a horrific car accident before you were born.’
‘You must miss him.’
‘Yes, the grief never goes away. It’s always there. Like a nagging pain. We were the same person, split into two separate beings.’
‘I’m sorry. And I’m sorry about everything that happened.’
Edwina daintily blew her nose and then switched into business mode. ‘Enough of that. Mustn’t get tedious. Let’s focus on the positive. I’ve decided there’s no need for you to work in our hotels. Just concentrate on making art. Everyone keeps telling me how gifted you are.’
‘Thanks Edwina, but when I inherit the du Barry hotels, I want to take a hands-on approach. Daniel told me that a good hotel is a living, breathing organism and it needs to be understood and nurtured to reach its full potential. He also reckoned Jim’s in perfect synchronisation with the Hotel du Barry’s biological rhythms. So I’d like to continue working with Jim for maybe just three or four hours a week. I’ve already learnt so much.’
‘As you wish. Did you know that when we were first married, Danny insisted upon the gardeners playing phonograph records of Beethoven and Tchaikovsky in the Winter Garden? He told the gardeners that plants respond to classical music and express their appreciation with vigorous growth.’
‘How marvellous.’
Edwina carefully smoothed down her skirt. ‘There’s something unpleasant I should tell you.’
Cat struggled to remain awake. ‘I already know. Chef is dead.’
Edwina froze. ‘Who told you?’
‘Nobody. I dreamt it.’
‘His death had absolutely nothing to do with you. He was only out cold for a few seconds after you walloped him. He then got up off the floor and rang for an ambulance to come and get you. Doc Ahearn treated Chef and sent him home.’
‘I get the feeling that there’s something you’re not telling me, Edwina.’
Edwina fumbled around in her handbag and took her time lighting a cigarette.
‘Chef discovered his wife had scarpered. She’d taken off for France with our Blue Room maître d’. Chef apparently guzzled a bottle of cheap whiskey, got maudlin and jumped off London Bridge. It’s a real tragedy. Highly skilled maître d’s are damned hard to come by. I’m trying to poach one from the Ritz.’
‘Oh.’
Cat collapsed back on the pillows and stared at the ceiling. She was asleep within seconds.
Scooping up her handbag, Edwina walked with graceful dancer’s steps to the balcony. Winter was yielding to spring and the trees were in bud. She tossed her lit cigarette over the balcony and watched two young pigeons savagely pecking each other. Peck, peck, peck.
Edwina pictured the great Sigmund Freud standing next to her and explaining that the pigeons were jealous siblings locked in a subconscious drive for power. She often held imaginary conversations with Freud. He was smitten with her beauty and brilliant mind. Freud was also impressed with her daring psychological insights.
At a very young age Eddie Lamb had learnt to escape into a fantasy world of her own making. And now after years of practice, her ability to transcend reality was firmly embedded in her psyche.
19
Women Who Drink Alone
It was late at night and Edwina was snug as a bug in a rug. She was reclining in bed with Dr Sigmund Freud and a warm brandy eggnog. Freud’s book The Interpretation of Dreams was providing Edwina with much-needed intellectual stimulation and conversation topics. She was keen to travel down the royal road to the unconscious, and waiting on her bedside table was a blank notebook and a pen. Each night she’d gone to sleep hoping for insightful dreams, but they’d eluded her. Indeed, she had no recollection of ever having had pleasant dreams; nightmares had consumed her since boarding school. Sometimes the only way to avoid night terrors was by staying awake all night.
She snuggled further under the quilt and listened to Big Ben striking three. The hotel was quiet at last. Edwina’s hot-water bottle was still warm and her feet were toasty. Just as well for Julian that the hot-water bottle was doing its job, for she was not above summoning him from his bed to organise a prompt refill.
Edwina held her breath and focused on a new sound. There was no doubt about it, somebody was quietly inserting a key into her apartment door. She exhaled slowly. Nobody would be foolish enough to try to rob her. The hotel was as secure as Lloyd’s of London. After all, that shyster Jim Blade employed moonlighting policemen to cover the night watch. And recently she’d changed the lock on the apartment door. So who could it be now? She heard heavy footsteps crossing the parquetry. It’s a man. The intruder wasn’t making any effort to conceal his presence. Good grief, he was heading straight to her bedroom. Edwina shrank further under the quilt.
He opened the door, leant against the door jamb and lit a cigarette. Obviously he’d
been out on the town as he was wearing a tailored tuxedo. It must have been raining as his shoulders were wet and his hair looked damp. Edwina recalled the sexy way his dark hair curled on the back of his neck. She wanted to touch him, kiss him, stroke him, take him into her bed and lie skin to skin with him. She yearned to have him make love to her.
He was watching her through narrowed eyes. As usual he was trying to assess the situation without revealing his own thoughts. ‘Good evening, Eddie. It’s just like old times, isn’t it? Me standing in the doorway and you feigning shock at my timely intrusion.’
Edwina yawned, pretending to be bored. ‘Why are you here, Sean?’
‘I thought I’d pay you an evening visit since you’re refusing to take my telephone calls or even acknowledge my presence in public.’
‘I’m terribly busy these days. And it’s no longer evening. It is three in the morning. Furthermore, I will not tolerate you smoking in my boudoir.’
Edwina rearranged her negligee so her breasts were decorously covered.
Sean Kelly nonchalantly flicked ash onto the floor. ‘Since when, darling? We’ve shared many post-coital cigarettes in this room. Tell me, who is warming your bed these days? Own up – it’s one of the new Dublin lads isn’t it?’
‘My affairs are no longer any of your business. And who the hell gave you a key?’
‘That would be telling now, wouldn’t it? You seem to forget that I was once a Hotel du Barry manager.’
‘Leave, or I’ll ring for the night watchmen.’
Sean strolled across the floor and sat down on the bed. He flung off his silk evening scarf. ‘Don’t do that. I have something that simply cannot wait a moment longer.’
Edwina shrank back against the bed head. ‘Don’t touch me!’
Sean pulled down the front of her negligee and lightly caressed her small breasts.
‘I have to know why you refused to confirm to the police the fact that I was here, in your bed, on the night Daniel died.’
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