by Kirsty Ferry
CARRICK PARK
Becky found the room just where she had anticipated, unlocked the door and walked in dumping her case and shoulder bag on the floor. She sat down on the bed and stared into the dressing table mirror. In the absence of another human being she spoke to her reflection, feeling slightly ridiculous.
‘Ella? Are you Lady Eleanor?’ She listened carefully for an answer, but nothing came. ‘Ella. I can’t hear you. Are you here?’ she continued. ‘I wore your dress today. Did you see me?’ Nothing. Then that odd little draught against her neck again. ‘Oh, for goodness sake.’ Becky stood up. ‘Look, I don’t know who you are or what you want, but if you are Lady bloody Eleanor trying to get my attention, then please don’t blow on me!’
She headed towards the en suite and turned the bath taps on as far as they would go. She felt her taut muscles begin to relax as the steam rose up and swirled around the room, and she tipped a generous helping of bath salts in for good measure. The hotel management had very kindly left a good selection of toiletries in the bathroom and she made a mental note to kidnap any residual ones at the end of her stay.
She got ready for her bath, stripping down and discarding her working gear in a pile on the floor before easing herself into the water. She closed her eyes and lay back; blessed peace and quiet and nobody to disturb her – the favourite part of her day. If that woman’s voice invaded her privacy here she would be really annoyed.
Half an hour later, Becky decided it was probably time to re-enter civilisation. She sighed and climbed out of the bath, finding a lovely big towel to dry herself off with and then wrapping herself in a white, fluffy robe, again provided by the hotel. She sat in front of the mirror and blasted her hair with the hairdryer, brushing it out until it hung straight and shiny past her shoulders. She debated putting it up, then decided she might as well. A couple of swift movements and it was in a loose knot at the back of her head. She raked through her case and found her black dress, the only nod to sophistication she owned, and packed for just such an occasion as a meal in the hotel. She finished it off by slipping pearl earrings in, putting a little make-up on and squirting her perfume in a floral haze around her, before she walked through it. The fumes tickled her nose and she coughed. Never mind; it was worth it.
There, she thought eventually, that’ll have to do. She stared at herself in the mirror, a world away from the girl in the evening gown this afternoon. She shivered as she remembered the portrait on the landing and wished that eight o’clock would hurry up. She was desperate for some earthly company, instead of having this weird feeling that she was entertaining someone else in this room.
Becky could see the door to the corridor in the mirror; she could almost swear the handle was wobbling. She jumped as someone suddenly gave a loud knock. Now that was no ghost. She reached the door in three strides and flung it open.
‘For heaven’s sake, Jon!’ she yelled, as she saw him standing there, hand raised. ‘Are you trying to scare me to death here or what?’
‘I’m early,’ he said unnecessarily. ‘I thought I’d come up to your room and see if you wanted a drink first.’
Becky studied him silently. ‘Did you ask which room it was?’ she asked finally. ‘Be truthful.’
Jon dropped his gaze then looked back up at her. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I kind of … knew.’
Again, that draught on her neck; the feeling that someone was standing next to her, welcoming Jon into the room – the idea that he actually had every right to be there. It all flooded over Becky and she had a sudden vision of the two of them standing together in that room, as if they had done the same thing a hundred times before in another life. But then as soon as it came, the image disappeared.
‘Yeah. I thought so,’ said Becky. Her voice somehow sounded too far away from her, ebbing and flowing in and out of range. She didn’t like it. ‘Please. Just come in for a second.’ She stood back and he walked past her. He stood in the middle of the room and she saw him shiver.
‘It’s weird in here,’ he said, looking around. ‘It’s like we’re intruding on someone. I don’t know – it’s like it’s this hotel room, but it’s not this room.’
Becky nodded. ‘I know. Did you see her?’ she asked. ‘On the staircase?’
‘A ghost?’ asked Jon, his eyes wide. ‘You mean you saw someone?’
‘No, no she wasn’t a ghost,’ replied Becky, picking up her handbag. She was relieved to realise her voice sounded normal to her again. ‘She’s a portrait. Lady Eleanor. She’s wearing that dress from this afternoon, the cream one with the crystals. I think it’s the portrait Lissy saw. It’s just come back from the British Museum, apparently. Honestly, Jon, it gave me such a fright. And I knew which room I was in as well and where it was – the receptionist didn’t have to tell me.’
‘I think we both need a drink. Have you got everything? If so, let’s go. You look lovely, by the way. You suit your hair like that. You never liked to wear it up before.’
‘Thanks.’ Becky smiled. ‘I still don’t particularly like it, but I’ll survive – and it’s only because I know you. Anyway, I’ll show you the picture on the way down. You can’t miss her. Well – I couldn’t. Obviously you could.’
Jon raised his hands mockingly in a helpless gesture and led the way out of the room.
He waited for Becky on the landing, watching her lock the door. ‘Do you know where the restaurant is?’ he asked. Becky knew he was only half-joking.
She stood still on the landing, making a big production of looking around her. ‘Downstairs?’ she said finally.
Jon laughed. ‘I expect so. Come on.’ He offered her his arm and she shook it off, striding ahead of him.
‘Here it is. Lady Eleanor,’ Becky said, as they rounded the corner and began to descend down the staircase. She stopped in front of the portrait and tried to read the girl’s face again. ‘There’s something about her,’ she said slowly, ‘but I just can’t get it. It’s as if she’s trying to tell me something. You know I mentioned Ella earlier – it’s like someone said the name to me when I was in your studio. But I don’t know if it’s her who’s saying it or not.’ She shook her head. ‘I can’t get it. And I feel a bit stupid.’
Jon came round and stood by her, looking at the girl. She was aware of him shaking his head, but the fact that he was so close was doing funny things to her …
‘You heard someone speak to you? That’s bizarre. Not stupid, but bizarre. There was nobody else in the studio. Maybe you were just hearing things? Something from the street outside perhaps?’
His voice brought her back to reality and she felt herself colour a little. God, if he even imagined she was thinking that way about him …
‘No, it was more than that. She was … in my head,’ confessed Becky. She shivered at the thought. Or maybe she was just shivering at Jon’s proximity. She wasn’t too sure.
‘Hmmm. Well, I know what you mean about the portrait,’ said Jon. ‘I wish she could talk to us. She looks a really interesting character. It’s good to see her here and, well, you did say you wished you could see the real deal for your project. And here it is. Maybe … Okay. Come on.’ He took her by the elbow and gently steered her away from Lady Eleanor. Becky was horribly aware of his warm fingers on her skin.
They headed down the stairs, Jon’s face thoughtful. ‘I really think we need to bring Lissy into this. She’s really good with research. If there’s a story to be found here, she’ll find it. She’s got the time to do stuff like that. Of the two of us, she’s the one that got the rich dad after all.’
There was no spite in what he said. He stated it as a fact. ‘She doesn’t have to work like I do – my stepfather gave her an independent income on her twenty-first. He said she could follow her dreams and not be stuck in a rut like everyone else. She’s taking full advantage of it until she decides what she wants to do with her life
.’
‘Very nice,’ said Becky. ‘So what exactly does she do with her time now?’
‘She visits galleries and museums; she loves art and history. She buys me interesting things like the writing slope and deals with all the costume commissions for me after I see the catalogues. She’s a bit like my personal historian, I suppose.’ They had reached the bottom of the staircase and they paused.
Becky tugged Jon’s arm to the left. ‘This way,’ she said. ‘The restaurant is this way.’
‘How did you …?’ he began.
She laughed. ‘I’m starving. I can smell the food. My nose is highly sensitive when I’m hungry.’ She led the way through the corridors to the bar, following the scent of garlic and coffee. Beyond the bar, she saw, as she had guessed, the restaurant. She stood still and stared around her. ‘It’s not right, though,’ she said, half to herself. She suddenly felt dizzy and a wave of complete and utter silence washed over her.
She walked into the room where the piano was and saw it in the corner, the polished wood glowing against the pale walls. She reached her fingers to the keys, picking out the notes from the score on the music holder. She felt the melody; she didn’t hear it. A sense of pure rage swept across her, and she suddenly took hold of the piano lid and crashed it down over the keys. It made no noise at all, but the force of it throbbed through her fingertips as she slammed it down.
Becky’s eyes widened and she jolted back to reality. Jon was standing in front of her, holding the top of her arms. She stared first at him, then tried to work out where the piano should be, her heart pounding in her chest. What the hell was going on?
‘Are you all right, Becky?’ Jon asked.
‘I need a drink,’ she managed. Jon nodded and guided her to a comfy seat in the corner of the bar next to a warm fire. He cast anxious glances back at her as he stood at the bar, apparently ordering her a whisky and soda.
Her mouth twisted into a smile. Well, that had been interesting … not. The silence hadn’t scared her – it had been the images and the feelings.
Ella. The voice came again, stronger than ever. She put her hands over her ears, squeezing her eyes shut. The voice was in her head, it had to be. She felt someone pull her right hand away and she opened her right eye, squinting at the culprit.
‘Drink it,’ said Jon, pointing emphatically at the glass in front of her with the forefinger of his other hand. ‘Now.’
She let her other hand fall away from her head and curled her fingers around the tumbler. ‘There was a piano in the room,’ she said. ‘It was over there. I – or she – played it. I think. But there was no sound there. She slammed the lid down, but there was nothing. She … we … weren’t very happy. Jon, she’s definitely trying to communicate.’ She dropped her gaze and stared into the tumbler. ‘But I don’t know if I like it. Her world seems so … quiet,’ she finished flatly. She looked up at Jon for some sort of validation.
‘Maybe there’s a reason why she’s trying to communicate with you,’ he suggested carefully.
‘I don’t know. I don’t know what it is. I think I need some food. It’s a while since we had lunch. Today has been probably the weirdest day I’ve ever experienced.’ She forced a laugh. ‘I’m not usually this excitable. I think Goth Weekend and bumping into you again has gotten to me a bit. I’m imagining way too much. But it was so bloody vivid! I could see her sheet music and I could feel her dress dragging along the floor. I knew exactly how to play the piano … what?’ Jon had raised his hand to stop her.
‘You said you saw sheet music?’ he said. ‘And you were wearing her dress?’
‘Yes,’ replied Becky, confused. ‘What are you trying to say?’
Jon smiled. ‘And it was all quiet – too quiet?’
‘Yes,’ said Becky slowly.
‘It’s the writing slope stuff,’ he said, visibly relaxing. ‘It’s been going around your mind all afternoon. You’re tired, you’re thinking about your article and your project and the research … seeing that dress on the portrait was too much for your poor little brain. It’s all muddled up. You do indeed need food.’ He checked his watch. ‘It’s eight o’clock. They can sit us now. Not long, Miss Jones, and you will be fed.’ He stood up and offered his hand to her. She took it and he guided her into the restaurant.
Once they were seated and had ordered their meals, Becky began to calm down. He was right, of course. It was her overactive imagination at work again.
‘All I need is that invitation to materialise,’ she said, shaking her head. Then she spread her hands out and laughed. ‘And, oh look, here we are, having dinner. That’s it. The final piece of the puzzle.’ Except it wasn’t of course, she realised with a churn of her stomach. She stared at Jon. ‘Her name, Jon,’ she said slowly. ‘How did I know her name was Ella? How did I know it was Lady Eleanor’s dress? And the lavender? That hasn’t happened yet, either. Oh! The initials on the slope, as well; L.J.C. I’m wondering if that was more like a Lady Jane’s initials. I suspect it’s not Lady Eleanor’s.’
Jon paused in his buttering of a dainty slice of bread. ‘That, Becky, I don’t know,’ he said. He looked up and gestured for a waiter to come over. ‘The wine list, please,’ he asked.
‘I hope you aren’t driving,’ Becky said, watching him open the folder.
‘I’ll get a taxi, don’t worry,’ said Jon. ‘I think we need the wine list after today though, don’t you?’ He leaned across the table to her, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. ‘Or, instead of a taxi, I could see if they have another room free here tonight?’
Becky burst out laughing. ‘Yes; get your own room. You aren’t getting back into mine, mate!’ She knew deep down she didn’t actually mean that, but it didn’t do to let him know that. Her school friend’s annoying older brother? Seriously? She wouldn’t let herself fall for Jon Nelson, of all people. Not after he had hidden her and Lissy’s favourite boy band CD. He said the noise of the singalong and the thumping of the dance routines had interfered with his homework; and Lissy had called him a ‘killjoy swot head’, which Becky had thought was very inspired and very true at the time.
‘Damn!’ said Jon. ‘It was worth a try.’
‘Maybe,’ said Becky, ‘but I think I’m doing well to even let you entertain me tonight, given our history!’ Yeah, yeah. She shook the thoughts away and concentrated on Jon’s face again. It was rather a nice face, it had to be said. Yes, the years had definitely been kind to him. He still had the quirky little smile as well – the one she had found so irritating when he was pulling the ‘big brother knows best’ routines.
‘Glib,’ muttered Jon, studying the wine list.
‘Glib?’ said Becky. ‘Well, now. I’ve never been called that before.’
‘You’re very glib!’ said Jon. ‘It’s annoying, that’s what it is …’
‘But it’s such an old-fashioned word!’ retorted Becky.
‘And it suits you,’ said Jon. He closed the wine list and laid it down in front of him. ‘I wish I’d spent a bit more time with you when we were younger,’ he said. ‘Although it pains me to say it, you’re just about the most interesting person I’ve met in ages. Who would have thought that?’
‘Hmm. I may well be the maddest, though,’ she replied. She stared at the front of the wine list and after a moment, tilted her head to one side. ‘Let me see that?’ she asked, pointing to the folder. Jon handed it over and she turned it around so it was the right way up. She traced her fingers across the golden stamp on the front, which announced the list belonged to Carrick Park Hotel.
‘Do you see what I see?’ she asked quietly. She looked up at Jon, and knew there was more than a hint of confusion in her eyes. Her heart felt like it was going to leap out of her chest and the dizziness was coming again. Just after the oppressive silence descended, she thought she managed to say the words coat of arms out loud.
‘It’s the writing slope again,’ Jon was saying. ‘That’s it, isn’t it? The coat of arms.’
‘It looks like it,’ said Becky. She steadied her breathing, relieved to realise that things were back to normal. ‘I wonder if that C in the initials on it means Carrick? Or am I reading too much into it? Maybe all coats of arms look the same.’
‘There’s only one way to find out,’ said Jon. ‘Would it be unbearable for you to see me again tomorrow and come back to the studio? I could give Lissy a call, see if she would meet us there?’
Becky nodded. ‘That would be great. And yes, if Lissy’s able to come that’s even better. It would be wonderful to see her again. But if she can’t make it, even if I just get to see the coat of arms – just to compare it – it’ll be worth it. It can’t be the same one. Can it?’
Jon shrugged. ‘Who knows?’ he said. ‘Well, dinner is served. If you can manage anything, that is?’ He nodded at the waiter over Becky’s shoulder, seeing him heading over with the starters.
‘I’ll force myself,’ said Becky. The words weren’t that far from the truth, if she was honest. ‘But before that …’ She leaned over and took the wine list back from Jon. She pulled her phone out of her bag and quickly took a photograph of the cover. ‘One has to collect the evidence,’ she said. ‘It’ll be easier to compare them tomorrow if we have a decent copy of it today.’
The rest of the evening passed pleasantly enough. Jon was an entertaining companion, as Becky had suspected. Once again, she wondered why she hadn’t bothered that much with him when they were younger. It was probably a lot to do with the age gap, she reasoned. He probably hadn’t bothered with her, mostly. But tonight they sat there long after they should have left the restaurant, ordering coffees they didn’t really want in order to spin the evening out.
