Two more messages pinged back to me, both with photos of Marco on his night out. They were fairly innocent snaps with him and his waiters at the restaurant and another with his fans in the gloomy club. It would be down to the police to work out when the photos were actually taken and whether they would rule Marco out of the investigation, but the gap in time between the two troubled me.
Oh and one more thing. You can check out your mum’s website at bubulamer.com and my team have finished working on her IMDB profile. It was quite a lot of work but they’ve done a sterling job. No one would know she wasn’t a movie star if they searched online.
Thanks, Dean. I’m sure she’ll really appreciate that.
I clicked the link to discover a website full of photos from my mother’s glistening career as in imaginary actress. There were shots of her meeting Prince Charles at a variety performance, another of her on the stage in an all-female Macbeth, posters of her made up movies and a full filmography. I couldn’t believe how much trouble they’d gone to.
By the time I got down to the dining room, another transformation had taken place. Ramesh and Kabir had put candles on every table and there was low lighting and a disco ball rotating on the ceiling above the early diners. Perhaps most surprisingly of all, as Ramesh served, Kabir was walking about with a microphone, crooning a Frank Sinatra hit. As I entered the room, he was bashing out a pretty faithful rendition of “Old Devil Moon”.
“We thought we’d do something to help people relax and enjoy themselves,” Ramesh explained as he greeted me at the door. “You look stunning, Miss Palmer.”
I actually felt pretty nervous, like I was going to my end-of-school disco and I wasn’t sure if my date would turn up – or, as had happened to me, he’d only said we were going together to get revenge for certain comments I might have made about him to every other girl in our year.
The ball’s in our court, Gary Flint. You’d better watch your back!
“Thank you, Ramesh,” I replied, curtsying like a weirdo. “You look like a waiter. But a very handsome one.”
“Yeah, I know. I sent a selfie to Patricia and she said she can’t wait for me to get home and serve her drinks.” He raised his eyebrows suggestively. “That saucy minx.”
I stood waiting for whatever came next and when it was clear he needed prompting, I said, “How about you show me to my table, Ra?”
He straightened up, grabbed a clean white tea towel from the concierge stand and escorted me across the room. “Of course, madam. And how many people will be dining this evening?”
“Oh…” I hadn’t really thought about that until now. Three of my favourite people were in the building but I’d still be eating alone. “Just me, myself and Izzy.”
“Wonderful, madam. Wonderful!” He rushed over to a table near the stage and drew back my seat in a suitably over the top manner.
I thought I’d get the drinks order in early. There was only one member of staff on duty and I didn’t want to be forgotten in the dinner rush. “Madam would like a glass of white wine and a lemonade chaser.”
“Exceptional, madam. Phenomenal!” All bows and twirling hands, he withdrew from the table and went over to the bar to fulfil every waiter’s most sacred duty.
An unexpected hush fell between songs. Even the Dennison kids were quiet as the Romanelli clan appeared at the entrance and, without prompting, Ramesh led them to their usual table. Gianna made a conciliatory wave across the room at me, perhaps feeling as embarrassed by our previous encounter as I was.
Sagrario and Celestino hadn’t appeared yet, but Delilah Shaw was on her own with her first bottle of wine nearly emptied. She was singing along with Kabir’s song and, when he passed her table, gave him an appreciative squeeze on the bum.
“Can I sit with you?” Heike asked when she turned up a few minutes later. “Lio hasn’t come back from the station yet.”
“Of course you can.” I moved my bag off the free chair and she took its place.
She was the only person there who hadn’t dressed for dinner and was still in her beach gear. I’d seen how few possessions she had in her room, so it was no surprise that she’d turned up without a ball gown.
“Thanks.” She was different again. Not nervous, not sad, but more real somehow. Perhaps she felt she could be herself around me now that she’d shared her secret. “Are you feeling better after your fall?”
I did my aren’t-I-silly laugh complete with a ditzy head movement. “Yeah, my own fault for not eating a proper lunch and pretending I like saunas. Happens all the time.”
She laughed rather sweetly. “Yeah, I hear that’s a common problem these days.”
I raised my glass and then, perhaps a bit brusquely, said, “Actually, I have another question for you.”
“Ufff, can I order a drink first?” She waved at Ramesh at the bar and, using the international signal for, same as she’s having, but let’s make it a bottle, sent her request across the room.
“You didn’t seem very upset when the police took Lio away. Why don’t you like her?”
Ramesh was on fine form that night and fast tracked a nice bottle of Verdejo with a pretty label over to us in no time. Like every good waiter, he had a corkscrew in his pocket and whipped the label off and the cork out before pouring Heike her drink. Not a drop was spilt.
“She’s a bad person,” she replied once we were alone. “It’s not about her past or the things she’s done. She’s got a black soul and treats everyone she meets like they’re disposable.”
Lio would make a good fit for our culprit. No alibi, crazy past. What do you think? Perhaps Inspector Bielza worked it out before we did.
“Do you think she could be the killer then?”
She thought for a second, glancing around the room at the opulent dining room. “Well, she’s capable of it and, since we spoke earlier, I’ve been thinking about whether she could have found a way to murder Álvaro and get back downstairs so quickly. But there’s no way she would have killed the girl.”
“How can you be so sure?”
She closed her eyes like she was suffering through a memory. “Lio’s mother was killed when she was a kid. It’s the only thing I know about her past because she talks about it all the time. She made a big deal about violence against women being the greatest sin, though she didn’t have a problem with less physical forms of abuse. Short of physical pain, she did whatever she could think of to keep me in line.”
I had the feeling again that, while I really wanted to believe this girl, I still had to be careful. “The way you acted around her, that was real wasn’t it? You weren’t acting, she really frightened you.”
She gave me a curious look and I knew that she couldn’t bring herself to answer the question directly. “Lio is a nutter, but she’d never hurt another woman. So, no, I don’t think she’s the killer.”
I studied her pretty features again. There was such fierce intelligence burning behind her eyes and I had to wonder what her story was. She told me herself that she’d been living on the streets and more or less admitted she’d worked as a prostitute. I couldn’t help wondering how she’d ended up like that and surprised myself by asking her straight out. “What about you? What brought you to the life you have?”
She answered in that same cool, aggressive tone she’d used in the sauna. “We didn’t all grow up in cushy, middle-class West Wickham, Izzy. Some of us had crappy parents and crappy friends who made us do crappy things. Maybe if our situations were swapped, I’d be a bookworm and you’d be… me.”
She was right and it put me in my place. “I’m sorry.” I thought of what I could say next that wouldn’t sound insensitive or smug. When nothing jumped out at me, I settled on, “Let’s start again, shall we?”
Kabir’s version of “It happened in Monterey” came to an end and a sparkling mirage appeared through the patio doors. “Ladies and gentl
eman, our special guest for the evening…” He allowed a few seconds of silence to build up the tension. “…Star of screen, stage and smaller screen, it’s Miss Bu-Bu La Mer!”
Ramesh had popped over to the corner and was manning a spotlight that was directed straight at my mother. Her dress was so shiny that it was like staring at the sun. She made that really, it’s too much hand gesture to the bemused audience as she went to collect her microphone.
How I was conceived from such a creature is beyond me. She was on stage, in a foreign country, pretending to be a celebrity like it was the most normal thing in the world. I, on the other hand, was glowing red with embarrassment even though it was dark, no one was looking at me and Ramesh was the only person there who knew Bu-Bu was my mother.
“This is a little tune I sang in the movie, ‘Strangers on a Plane’. If you know the words, feel free to join in.” She looked straight at the audience, and in her deep, breathy singing voice, started in on the song.
“The little things we do,
The little things we say.
I do them all for you…
In my way.”
My mother is an incredible singer. She had the lead part in every staff musical that her school put on for the thirty years she worked there. Kids from Bromley High actually called round our house to get her autograph once – and she, just coincidentally, had a stack of 10x8” black and white headshots on hand for that very purpose.
Sadly, her performance at The Cova Negra was undermined by the fact that she didn’t have any accompaniment and had to hum the jazzy instrumental parts between lines. To be honest I was a bit disappointed that, with all the effort everyone had gone to for her grand plan, they hadn’t managed to pop into a studio and lay down a backing track.
As Ramesh’s spotlight followed her, she stepped off the stage to walk between the tables and the second verse started up.
“The little things we try. (Ba da da da!)
The prices that we pay. (Di di di di!)
I’d pay them all for you… (Diddly diddly diddly di, ba!)
In my way.”
By this point she was getting into her stride and I could see a few of her soon-to-be-adoring fans swaying in time with the beat of her clicking finger. The old Spanish couple had arrived and were instantly mesmerised.
Working up through a crescendo of bas and las, Mum got to the chorus and belted out the first line with all her might. Shirley Bassey wishes she could sing like Bu-Bu La Mer.
“I’m one hell of a woman,
So will you be my man? (Ba ba ba ba ba ba BA!)
I’ll always love you, in my way,
So catch me if you can.”
She had arrived at the Romanellis’ table and grabbed Marco by the tie as she roared the finale of the chorus into the mic. She walked off again before Gianna could object and I thought for a moment she might jump onto the Dennisons’ table to deliver the sax solo she’d started in on. Luckily, her long skirt would not allow it and, with a quick spin and some jazz hands, she started in on the final verse.
“The little words we speak, (Na na na.)
The little games we play. (Ski bi di ba ba di, bomb!)
I’ll play them all with you… (WA WA WA WA!)
In my way!”
She repeated the chorus, holding the last note for an impressive twelve Mississippis before throwing her arms out at her sides and sending a wink in Marco’s direction.
The room exploded. I’ve heard less noise at Wembley Stadium. Ian Dennison got up on his chair to wolf whistle, Delilah Shaw was clapping like a seal with her hands above her head and Marco hadn’t taken his eyes off my mother since the song began.
Ramesh abandoned his post at the spotlight to present Bu-Bu with a bouquet of roses.
“Where on Earth did he get flowers from?” I asked, but Heike was overcome with emotion at the power of Mum’s performance and didn’t hear me.
“An old friend of The Cova Negra Hotel and Spa, Miss Bu-Bu La Mer!” Kabir explained once more, and I could tell that he’d been in on the ridiculous plan from the beginning.
You know what they say, “Like uncle, like nephew.”
No one says that… but they should!
For a second, I forgot about judging the reactions of my assembled suspects and watched my mother receive her extended applause. The look of sheer bliss on her face was no act. Mum was born to be a performer and I was so happy for her to be there, soaking up the adulation.
But perhaps that wonderful, joyous moment, as she bowed, waved and mouthed thank-yous across the room, goes some way to explaining why I’m an awkward almost thirty-year-old woman who’s still obsessed with the books I read when I was twelve and has never had a particularly stable relationship.
Every birthday party from my childhood became “Rosie’s Royal Revue” every parent-and-child talent show was a chance for me to play the accordion while my mother wowed the school. Mum couldn’t resist a chance to shine and I couldn’t resist hiding in my bedroom for a week afterwards, recovering from my shame.
So… anyway. Good for Mum!
Chapter Twenty-Two
Marco went over to the star performer and escorted her to his table where his youngest daughter was waiting for her with a chair and a kiss on each cheek. The clapping finally died down and, after a “We love you, Bu-Bu!” from Ian Dennison, decorum was restored.
Heike started telling me the really quite heart-wrenching story of how she went from growing up in a small town in the country to sleeping rough in Hamburg, but I was distracted by the howls of laughter coming from the central table. Mum was clearly a hit with the Romanellis.
In all the excitement, I hadn’t noticed Danny slink into the room under the cover of darkness to keep an eye on his fake client. I thought he might at least sit down and have dinner, but no. He remained on his feet throughout, hands behind his back, dark glasses still in place, and was perfectly positioned with a clear line of sight of the entrances, just in case he would be called upon to pull his toy gun from its holster. He was a natural bodyguard. Why he’d ever become a humanitarian medic was beyond me.
On the table next to ours, Ian Dennison was telling his family how long he’d been a Bu-Bu fan. “Of course, I remember seeing her on television before she was a big star. She was on some tacky cop show or one of those soap operas and I remember saying to myself, I said, ‘Ian, that woman is going to be huge one day.’” He cast a jealous eye across the room to where Marco was enjoying the company of his celebrity guest. “I’m not one of these bandwagon jumpers who only likes her because she’s here at the hotel.”
“They’re putty in her hands!” Ramesh whispered a variation of this each time he passed until I poked him in the ribs because it was getting too obvious.
“What do you think you’ll do when this is over?” I asked Heike as soon as her tale was told.
She thought for a second, looking down at her empty plate. “I won’t go back to Hamburg. I’d meet the same people and end up doing the same bad things.” Her fingers went to the tops of her arms then self-consciously. “I’ve saved up a bit of money from this job. It should be enough to get a room somewhere. And then I’ll have to find a normal job.” She said this as if it was a grand ambition, the way other people talk about moving to the countryside or travelling around the world.
“Well, if you ever come to West Wickham…” I didn’t finish the sentence but we both laughed and, just then, the second half of that night’s entertainment started up.
Kabir had the microphone once more and got up on the stage to address us. “Ladies and gentlemen, I have a short announcement to make. Some of you may not know this but your waiter this evening is none other than my nephew, Ramesh.”
“I spotted the resemblance,” Delilah yelled out. “Same firm buttocks!”
“Well, I just wanted to tell him how much h
e’s helped me this week and that, without him, I’d never have got through this difficult time. So…” He looked across the audience to where my friend was pouring Celestino a glass of red wine. “…Nephew, how about it? How’d you fancy coming up here and doing our party piece?”
Ramesh put the bottle down, reached under the free table beside him and pulled out a gold, sequined jacket to match Kabir’s. “Uncle, I thought you’d never ask,” he lied and ran up onto the stage.
The odd couple proceeded to sing a medley of songs with the words nephew and uncle crowbarred into them. We had Cat Stevens’ classic “Nephew and Uncle” followed by the moving Paul Simon tribute, “Nephew and Uncle Reunion” and they finished things up with George Michael’s always moving “Uncle Figure”.
I can’t say they could compete with Bu-Bu’s performance, though their tap routine (complete with canes and top hats that Ramesh had stashed beneath the stage) was rather impressive and Delilah Shaw loved every minute. When it was over, Ramesh ran to our table to canvas opinion.
“You were great,” Heike said. “You showed such… commitment to your performance.”
“Do you really think so?”
“Of course,” I reassured him. “It was excellent.”
“Thank you, both. Thank you so much. Uncle and I haven’t done that routine since Christmas 2002, so I was worried we’d forgotten it.” It had been a while since I’d seen him so happy. Ramesh has different levels of joy but this was close to the time he thought he met Barbara Streisand in a lift. “It went like clockwork!”
“Your uncle had a big influence on you growing up, didn’t he, Ra?”
He didn’t have time to reply because, just then, hell broke loose.
“Maaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaarco!” Was the screech that broke the atmosphere in two and Lio came hurtling into the dining room. “I’ve kept your secrets, done your dirty little deeds and you didn’t even come to the police station to see that I was okay?”
A Corpse on the Beach Page 16