Hotel du Barry

by Lesley Truffle

And while he weaved for her a tale of mystery and imagination, Cat closed her eyes and inhaled the powerful scent of seventy-two hothouse roses.

  That night Cat slept peacefully. But at three in the morning the telephone rang in her apartment. She fumbled for the receiver and knocked over a jug of water sitting on the bedside table. Her pyjamas and bedding were drenched but the chilly water had snapped her awake.

  It was Charlie calling from the Reception desk. ‘Sorry to wake you. I’ve just been told that Mrs du Barry is rat-faced and running half naked all over the goddamn roof. Cat, you’d better get up there. She’s in danger. Should I call the night watchmen?’

  Cat rubbed her bleary eyes. ‘No, nobody needs to know about this. I’m on my way. Ring Doc Ahearn and get him to meet me up there. Tell him he may need to sedate her again but he needs to stay out of sight for the time being. Eddie will be furious if she knows we’ve been talking about her behind her back.’

  Cat quickly threw on some clothes and ran up the back fire escape to the Winter Garden. Inside the shimmering glass cathedral only one candelabrum had been lit. The effect was eerie. Strange shadows refracted against the glass and in the warmth of the jungle a palm tree shuddered as a hotel cat savagely clawed its trunk. The cloying perfume of exotic blooms hung heavily in the night air. The phonograph was playing a popular love song. A song of yearning, delusion and sadness.

  At first Cat assumed Eddie had gone back downstairs. Then she saw her outside, teetering on the edge of the parapet. Wearing nothing but Daniel’s favourite black silk kimono; it was far too big for her and fell in silken waves over her bare feet. A breeze played with the folds of the garment and her bare breasts were revealed, as the kimono’s red satin lining flashed. She seemed impervious to the cold night air.

  Edwina swung around when she heard Cat’s footsteps. Her face was unusually pale. Cat tensed as Edwina weaved back and forth on the brick ledge. What the fuck is she on? She’s obviously been drinking but she seems only half-cut.

  Cat leant against the brickwork and pretended to yawn. ‘Ah, I see you couldn’t sleep either. I thought I’d take a stroll; the cool night air usually does the trick. Isn’t it a lovely night?’

  Edwina didn’t respond. The song lyrics drifted away into the inky blackness of the night sky. Her voice came from far away. ‘This was your father’s favourite song.’

  ‘I used to love it when he played it on the piano at parties. He had a terrific voice.’

  ‘He was a terrific man. But I could never replace my brother. Matthew was just too fucking perfect. You know what? Towards the end I don’t think Danny even liked me.’

  From the corner of her eye Cat glimpsed Doc Ahearn’s lanky figure crossing the terrace and disappearing into the shadows of the Winter Garden. ‘I don’t think he was cut out to love women.’

  Edwina sighed and picked up an empty champagne glass. She held it over her ear.

  ‘I can hear the sea far, far, far away. Your father loved the sea. He was going to climb aboard his new yacht and leave me behind. Imagine that. Only one of us wanted a divorce. Could you get me another drink, poppet?’

  ‘Sure, but only if you get down off the ledge. Sit down on that deckchair and I’ll be right back.’

  Edwina did as she was told and Cat rushed into the Winter Garden. Doc was lurking near the bar. His hair was standing on end and he was wearing disreputable striped pyjamas and tartan slippers. At any other time Cat would have been amused at catching the suave doctor looking so dishevelled.

  She grabbed a bottle of champagne. ‘Doc, sorry to drag you out of bed, but she needs heavy sedation.’

  ‘All right, Cat. I’ll alert the night watchmen. We’ll need help restraining her.’

  ‘No! I don’t want anyone else up here, they’ll just make her paranoid. I’m used to her moods, I know how to manage her.’

  ‘If you insist, my dear. But I don’t like your chances if she’s doped up and been at the gin. The combination makes her dangerous.’

  ‘What’s she on, Doc?’

  ‘Don’t know, I haven’t treated her for months. She stopped consulting me after I refused to provide prescriptions for the recreational drugs she wanted. I suspect she’s now seeing the infamous Doctor Eel. An alias of course as he’s actually a respectable Harley Street specialist during office hours. He’s the slippery bastard who got rich prescribing drugs with no questions asked. Edwina’s entourage adore him.’

  ‘Ah, I see. Back soon, Doc.’

  Cat took the champagne out to Eddie, while Doc pulled up a chair and sat down in the shadows. He listened to the song and, in his mind’s eye, he once again saw Daniel playing the piano in the Winter Garden. The chandeliers bathing him in a mellow glow, a forgotten cigarette burning away and a cocktail within easy reach. And always the young women watching him longingly, hoping to catch his eye as he sang the melancholy words. Dark hair falling over his eyes, his long fingers stroking the ivories. Oh Danny Boy, why did you leave us? And how could you abandon your daughter to this madwoman?

  Initially, the champagne seemed to calm Edwina down, but having emptied two glasses she leapt to her feet. Her movements were jerky and her eyes glassy. She wrapped the kimono tightly around her thin frame. ‘I’m at the end of my fucking tether. Time to check out of the Hotel du Barry. Nobody will be sorry to see me go. Did you ever feel just a tiny bit of affection for me, Caterina?’

  ‘Of course I did.’

  ‘That’s good. I know I didn’t deserve it. Listen, there’s something I have to tell you.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘I didn’t mean to kill him.’

  The hair on the back of Cat’s neck stood up. ‘Kill who?’

  ‘Your father. It was an accident. I got mad and lost control. But I didn’t want him to die.’

  Cat clenched her fists until her nails bit into her flesh. ‘What happened?’

  Edwina’s words were slightly slurred. ‘London’s most wanted gigolo had too much to drink the night of our Annual Winter Garden Party. And the moment Sean’s head touched the pillow, he passed out cold. Very unprofessional I must say. I came up here because I couldn’t sleep, as usual. Danny was alone on the parapet with his legs dangling over the edge. It was his private place; he loved keeping watch over the city as it slept. He was a dreamer.’ She paused and stared at the stars. ‘Pour me another.’

  Cat did so and Edwina continued, as if in a trance. ‘When Danny brought up the subject of divorce yet again, I saw red. And by the time I came to my senses he was lying on the street below. I, I didn’t –’

  She doubled over, rocking with anguish. Her howls reverberated into the still night air.

  Cat watched her through narrow eyes and took a swig from the champagne bottle. ‘If you cared so much for Danny, why were you trying to poison him?’

  Edwina’s glassy eyes stared up at her. ‘I wasn’t. I just wanted to make him slightly ill. When he was sick, he was like a sweet kid and I just wanted him to need me again, like he did when Matthew died. I never imagined for one single moment that anyone else would be helping themselves to those medicines. In small quantities the antimony induces sickness not death.’

  Cat couldn’t bear to look at her. She focused on the Thames below. It was a languid serpent, forever twisting its way through infinite darkness. The river’s cross-currents had turned the black waters into molten satin. For one insane moment Cat toyed with the idea of shoving her stepmother over the edge. She took five slow, deep breaths before answering. ‘Eddie, you know you’re going to have to make a police statement, don’t you? They’re going to be asking you about Mikey Barthe and Chef. And of course Jim Blade. I just don’t understand why you went so far. Why the fuck did you do it?’

  Edwina struggled to light a cigarette. She fumbled and dropped burning matches. There was the distinct odour of singed silk. Cat snatched the matches and cigarette from her hands, lit the cigarette and gave it back to her. Edwina swayed towards the edge of the building. When she looked at Cat, h
er face was drained of emotion and she was unnervingly calm.

  ‘I had no choice with Mikey Barthe. I knew he’d blab. I shot him myself with Daniel’s old service revolver. I did him a favour. He was a walking corpse from all the booze and drugs. Mikey stank, his liver was shot, his brain was fried and head lice were driving him mad. They don’t let stray dogs wander the streets in that state. It was euthanasia. Vets do it every day. If Mikey had been able to speak, he would have thanked me. I’m a lousy shot. I used up all the bullets and the wretched man took his time dying. A messy business.’

  Cat drained the rest of the bottle. ‘Is that why you paid professionals to take care of Chef and Jim?’

  Edwina laughed mirthlessly. ‘Who are you, the fucking police? Does any of this really matter? The one who does matter right now is Sean. I ruined his alibi and quite possibly his life. But I’ve left a signed letter in my jewellery box stating that Sean was fast asleep in my bed when an unknown assailant attacked my husband. I also stated that I denied Sean was with me that night – because I was ashamed to be caught out having sex with a professional gigolo. A small lie really, given all my other goddamn lies.’

  ‘But Eddie, I just don’t get it – why did you go after Jim?’

  Edwina shook the champagne bottle. ‘Dammit, it’s empty.’

  ‘You’ve already had a skinful, Eddie, and you should lay off.’

  Edwina yawned; she seemed to be struggling to stay alert. ‘You know what? I wasn’t trying to kill Jim, I just wanted to slow him down and stop him snooping around. I’ve always respected his intelligence, he’s brilliant and really knows how to read people. On the night Daniel died, Jim had to restrain me. And when we were struggling on the floor, I looked straight into his eyes and saw that he was already on to me.’

  ‘You do know I’ve got no option but to turn you in, don’t you?’

  ‘Caterina, if I thought the law would hang me I’d bloody well turn myself in. But they’ll declare me criminally insane and incarcerate me for life. No way will I let those bastards do that to me. There’s only one way out and you know it.’

  Edwina dropped the bottle onto the tiles, walked barefoot across the broken glass without flinching and climbed up onto the parapet. Cat grabbed hold of her.

  Doc yelled, ‘Edwina, if you get down from there, I’ll give you a shot.’

  Edwina edged out further. ‘Too late, Doc,’ she shouted, ‘there’s nothing in your bag of tricks that can help me this time.’

  She twisted out of Cat’s grasp, ran nimbly along the edge of the building and scrambled onto the upper roof. Cat ran after her and yanked her back. Edwina clawed Cat’s face, bit her savagely and slam-punched her in the gut. They rolled precariously close to the edge. The pain was so intense that Cat almost let go of her.

  Edwina cried out, ‘In my own way I’ve loved you and I don’t want to hurt you. Goddamnit just let me go!’

  Cat hung on grimly. ‘No way.’

  ‘We both know I’m damaged goods but I’m not insane. If you have a single ounce of compassion left, you have to let me leave!’

  In the distance a dog barked, an ambulance siren wailed and Doc could be heard wheezing as he clambered across the roof towards them. Cat slowly relinquished her grip.

  Edwina stood up and moved to the very edge of the building. She readied herself as would a professional diver. The anguish of the last few months fell away and her face was serene in repose. She slowly raised her arms upwards, rose up onto her toes and executed a perfect swallow dive off the edge of the roof. As she swooped downwards the kimono blew back and she became a dark bird gliding on an undercurrent.

  A flash of red satin and she was gone.

  Doc helped Cat down and held her close. They stood together silently, contemplating the darkness below. The Thames flowed on as though nothing had happened. Eternal and sinister, burdened with centuries of London’s aberrant desires, lost souls, abandoned dreams and grubby secrets.

  Cat felt life slowly returning to her body. ‘Doc, nothing can be achieved by prosecuting the dead. Nothing. I don’t want Eddie vilified and despised. I’m begging you, please forget what you heard. Let’s just bury our dead.’

  Doc carefully studied the night sky. ‘Cat, if that’s what you want, then I’ll tell them I got up here too late to see or hear anything. But I don’t want to put you at risk.’

  ‘At risk?’

  ‘Yes. May I suggest that a witness, a trusted and respectable man of medicine, could verify that you were powerless to prevent Madam’s irrational and unforeseeable suicide?’

  ‘My God, you’re right. I didn’t think of that. At least she’s left written proof of Sean’s innocence.’

  They stood together in silence, watching as London slept. The moon hid its face when someone yelled for help down on the street below. Shortly after, the peace was destroyed by the shrieking of police sirens. The pandemonium from the street below increased and within seconds it changed Cat’s life forever.

  Doc took her hand. ‘The police will probably be up here in about fifteen minutes or so. Don’t be frightened, I’ve got your back. Just tell the truth as you see it.’

  ‘What do you mean, Doc?’

  ‘Lie by omission. Tell nothing but the truth, but perhaps omit a few minor details.’

  ‘Such as Eddie’s confessions?’

  ‘If that’s how you want to play it. But for heaven’s sake, fill me in quickly. Then I can back you up every inch of the way. We’re in this together, kid.’

  Everything went according to plan at the Hotel du Barry. Thanks to Doc, Cat du Barry’s story was universally believed. And so it came to pass that the widow du Barry got away with a clean pair of heels.

  The gods nodded at each other, hands were shaken and backs were slapped. Nectar was poured into goblets and numerous toasts made; the gods were known for their capacity to get loaded to the muzzle. The angels held their own party and got a bit wild with lutes and harps; the virtuous ones hadn’t quite worked out how to get oiled, ossified or embalmed. The only angel who knew how to celebrate properly, was the fallen angel Lucifer. And his parties were to die for.

  But it wasn’t over yet, as the gods were never half-arsed when they meddled in mortal affairs. And they liked nothing better than letting things get operatic and out of hand, before they intervened with a clap of thunder and a heady dose of justice.

  31

  The Queen of Hearts

  Mrs Edwina du Barry’s spectacular suicide made the news bulletins of the BBC and the front pages of all the newspapers. Even the cruellest gossip columnists oozed empathy and compassion and Eddie’s funeral became the event of the season. The service was held at the same church in which she and Daniel had been married. Anybody who was anybody was there, along with countless nobodies. Eddie was more loved in death than she’d ever been in life. Those who couldn’t get into Westminster Cathedral stood outside craning their necks, trying to spot the principals in the latest Hotel du Barry tragedy.

  An opportunistic journalist seized upon the tragic aspects of Edwina’s life and when the story was published, the former Miss Eddie Lamb became an overnight sensation. The gruesome death of her brother Matthew played a key note. Eddie became the broken-hearted girl who’d masked her heartbreak after her twin was taken from her. An early picture of the two of them was published in the newspaper. So young, so blond, so beautiful and so very doomed. Other photographs were reproduced in the women’s journals: Matthew and Eddie Lamb posing with their arms around each other on a tennis court, dancing cheek to cheek at a nightclub or frolicking in the sea at Brighton. In most photographs Eddie was dressed in pristine white.

  Investigative journalists joined the carnival and rehashed theories concerning the unsolved murder of Daniel du Barry while other journalists workshopped the theory that it was clearly suicide. Loss of her beloved husband had broken Eddie’s heart all over again and she’d been forced to live an inconsolable life. She’d bravely soldiered on, however, giving genero
usly of her time and money. Apparently her charity work had sustained her through the dark days following her husband’s death. Eddie’s philanthropy was overstated, her intellect elevated, her beauty fetishised and her many affairs written off as mere manifestations of a widow’s grief. Eddie’s deep love for her adopted daughter was lauded as were her impeccable domestic virtues.

  When the saucy showgirl photographs came to light and threatened to spoil Eddie’s myth, opportunistic journalists tweaked her past. No mention was made of the fact that Eddie Lamb had failed to make it out of the third row of the chorus. Instead, she was reinvented as a stage actress of great potential who’d given up the limelight for love. One hack even claimed to have seen her starring as Juliet in Romeo and Juliet. Apparently Eddie had given such a brilliant performance that he’d waited for her outside the stage door for a whole two hours. In the snow. Just so he could give her a single white rose.

  The front steps of the Hotel du Barry were transformed into an altar and every day more wreaths and bouquets were delivered by the grieving populace. The underground station near the hotel had to be closed because too many people were pouring up the stairs and crowding the platforms and there were concerns the entire structure might collapse. People who’d never even heard of Eddie Lamb or Edwina du Barry found themselves buying floral tributes. Others were seduced into penning heart-felt sentiments on sympathy cards. Cards and messages were attached to flowers and left to rot on the Hotel du Barry steps. Everyone wanted to pay homage to the celestial blonde who’d been chosen to keep the gods company.

  Dr Otto Rubens delivered a peer-reviewed paper to the Royal Medico-Psychological Association titled, ‘The Mysterious Cult of Edwina du Barry’. Standing ovations all round and definitely one of Otto’s finest hours. Dr Rubens attributed the current outbreak of mass hysteria to the fact that the British populace had never fully grieved for all those who’d been killed in the Great War. According to the highly esteemed Dr Rubens, prior to Eddie’s suicide, Britain had been putting on a stiff upper lip. But now the sensational death of the vulnerable widow was being used to externalise Britain’s grief and obliterate guilt over the wholesale slaughter of thousands of soldiers. By making the pilgrimage to the Hotel du Barry, civilians were in effect flagellating themselves for being complicit in a juggernaut of sanctioned violence.