“Sandy?” Murray had stepped forward too, but my gaze was on her.
“Now.” She said, “Now do you see, girl? It’s you and me. Together, we’re the risk that can’t be taken.” She turned from me to Murray. “You,” she said. “Need to get her away from here and from us. Is that clear?” Murray nodded slowly.
“Do my best.” He said. She didn’t look at me again, but continued up the stairs and over her shoulder she said,
“I expect you to do better than that.”
“Depends,” he said. “Look.” We turned. For once the big, black double front doors were closed, but we could see through the arched windows to either side. In the time since we’d arrived back from the hospital, the light outside had turned an ominous iron-grey, and it had started to snow.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
Outside, the falling snow was spreading its false blanket of calm and charm. Inside, all wasn’t quite as serene, and the mass exodus that Etty had in mind, didn’t look as if it was going to be taking place any time soon.
Roland arrived back, bursting through the front doors, vigorously shaking flakes from the cashmere camel coat and cursing the state of the drive. He’d nearly, he informed us, upended several times in those potholes, we really had to get them seen to.
Adam and Ophelia erupted from the study and Sasha, who must have had an ear to the door of the living room, emerged at the same time and re-attached herself proprietorially to my Father. Then the front doors opened again on a gust of wind, to admit Max and Karl, thrilled with the great shots they’d got of the house, looking moody in the failing light. They were followed by Charley, shepherding a grumbling Ffion, who clearly wasn’t the outdoor type at all.
Etty, whose stately progress up the stairs had been derailed by the snow news, watched all this coming rather than going, with a weary eye, tutted and turned to Murray again.
“Don’t forget what you must do.” She insisted, before continuing upwards without another backward glance.
“It won’t lay.” Said my Father categorically, “Come along Murray, we need to get back to our hotel while we still can.”
“Not sure you’ll make it.” Roland shook his head doubtfully, “It’s coming down thick and fast at the moment. The roads might be OK where they’re gritted, but our drive’s a nightmare and the drive at Westerly is well over a mile long and, I suspect, in a worse state than ours. Don’t suppose you’ve got snow chains, have you?
“Snow chains?” Pa couldn’t have been more incredulous if Roland had mentioned a sledge and team of huskies.
“Well, you’re not in London now.” Roland pointed out. “But I shouldn’t think it’ll last.”
“But Adam, what will we do in the meantime?” Wailed Sasha, “Are we going to be trapped here?” Murray grunted,
“Better off here, than stuck in a snowdrift, trying to get back.” He pointed out. Sasha looked aghast, as did my Mother. Charley who’d been unabashedly listening in, clapped her hands in glee, encouraging the snow, gathered on her knitted hat, to drip damply down on to her Parka.
“Oh, my days!” She exclaimed, bouncing up and down like the ruddy Duracell bunny. “Could things get any better, honestly, could they, could they? Trapped in a snowstorm in a haunted hotel. Max, this is too wonderful, isn’t it?” Max didn’t appear quite so excited, and Sasha gave a small shriek, her lisp exaggerated by alarm,
“Haunted? Adam, what’th she talking about, haunted? She’th joking ithn’t she, she ith joking, Adam?”
I surveyed the assembled gathering and heaved a sigh. Any kooky conspiracy theories circulating in Etty’s head, would just have to go on the back burner for now, as would my departure. It didn’t look as if anyone was going anywhere at the moment. One of the downsides of that, of course, was they were going to have to stay right here, which meant they’d have to be fed and accommodated somehow. It was a logistical challenge, but practicality’s my middle name and far better to be dealing with problems I could get my head around than those I couldn’t.
I did a swift mental calculation of available bedrooms and then, mounting the first couple of steps to give myself authority, put two fingers in my mouth and whistled the piercing whistle Murray had taught me, perfected over the years to drag the attention of unruly dancers and crew, back to where it should have been in the first place. The response was, as always, satisfactory and all heads whipped round towards me. Time to muster the troops, although I realised the troops were a bit thin on the ground, just my Mother and Roland right now.
“Roland,” I said, “Would you go into the kitchen and explain the situation to Gladys?” He looked alarmed, which I ignored. “Tell her it’s going to be dinner for 14 tonight.” Roland blanched a little but nodded, sketched a salute and strode off to do battle. I knew we’d had deliveries scheduled from both the butcher and the greengrocer that morning, so assumed we’d have enough food in stock, although depending on whether or not Gordon was still with us, I didn’t give too much for Roland’s chances of getting in and out without a profanity laden, ear-bashing.
“Ma.” I said. “I need you to find Elizabeth and help her sort out the rooms.”
“Certainly, I will find Elizabeth,” she said and added. “Although I’m sure she can manage very nicely on her own and Alfred will lend a hand.” I nodded, didn’t have time to argue, I hadn’t imagined for one moment that ‘all hands to the deck’ would work with my Mother.
“Pa, you and Murray won’t mind sharing, will you? I said. Sasha opened her mouth, but I just looked at her and she shut it again. I re-did the initial head and room count, to make sure I hadn’t missed anybody out, and was relieved to find it was all doable – just – and mercifully without having to involve the top floor, and risk Felicia scaring the pants off anyone.
I was heading off to the kitchen to reinforce Roland, and thinking we could organise an early meal for the family, to be eaten in the kitchen. That would then allow us to provide dinner for the paying guests ie: the documentary crew, as well as the unexpected influx of Murray, Pa and Sasha. After all it was still important, I felt, to preserve the illusion of a well-run, smooth and professional hotel operation. I was halfway down the kitchen corridor, when I met myself coming the other way.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
I have heard it said, that when you can’t believe your eyes, you don’t. And I didn’t. My mirror image and I came to a stop, a few paces from each other, while my brain struggled to rationalise. The best case scenario I could come up with was that the accumulated strain of the last few days had finished me off and I needed sedation, and possibly putting away in a locked room.
How long we would have stood there, staring at each other I really couldn’t say, but Roland emerged from the kitchen, not looking his usually laid-back self, as one might expect if Gordon Ramsay was still holding sway in there. He was brushing what looked like flour from his jacket – I wondered what had been thrown at him – when he saw the two of us. The light in the corridor was dim and I watched as he also struggled to make sense of what he was seeing. The other me, turned slowly on her heel to face him and tilted her head slightly to one side.
“Sandra?” He said. I took a breath and opened my mouth, I wasn’t sure I could get anything out, but thought I should make the effort. A fine shaking had started in my legs and was slowly moving up my body.
“It’s me.” I said urgently, “I mean, this is me.” It didn’t make much sense, so I tried again, “Roland, I don’t know what that is, but this is me.” My voice sounded high and shrill and I didn’t feel as if I’d clarified the situation much, but it’s not really the sort of situation you expect to have to clarify is it? She/me was wearing exactly what I was wearing, and as she started to move towards the now backing-away Roland, I saw she moved the way I moved. I thought with horror, if she spoke, if she said anything at all, I’d be lost.
I did the
only thing that made any kind of sense in that moment, I leapt forward and threw both my arms tight round her body. It felt indescribably repulsive, because she/I was completely solid in my grasp and she was wriggling and bucking violently to get away. In that instant, I knew exactly what I had to do, the only thing to do. I reached up to her/my face, clamping my thumb and forefinger bruisingly on her/my lower jaw, turning her face to mine, forcing her mouth wide with the pressure of my fingers. I hauled in a breath, feeling my lungs expand and then I hissed it out, hard, into her.
It was a long, sibilant, snake of a hiss, full of the complete revulsion I was feeling and the face, her/my face, so close to mine began to melt, falling away like wax in a flame. And if you’ve never watched your own face melt before your eyes, it’s not something I’d recommend.
The progression from drooping misshapen flesh, to bare bone, to bone dripping down a melting neck, was swift and appalling, and then the still-wriggling body in my arms, disintegrated and fell away completely. On the uncarpeted floor was a pile of ash, shifting slightly back and forward in the draught and with a shining, unmoving, solid object in the middle – the gold chain and initial necklace I often wore, I put my hand to my throat – was wearing now.
Roland moved forward and caught me as my legs gave way, mercifully pulling me away from what was on the floor and towards him. Wordlessly, he put one arm round my waist and half dragged, half carried me down the corridor, the short distance to the kitchen. I found I was still holding firm to my notebook with my pen hooked into the wire binding, that was good, you never know when you might need to make a note or two.
Elizabeth and Alfred were taking small bottles of shampoo and tablets of soap from the cupboard below the dresser and putting them in a plastic basket on top of towels, and Gladys was washing vegetables in the sink and heaping them unevenly on the draining board. As we came through the door, they turned and took in our faces. Alfred was quickest to react, pulling forward a chair for Roland to dump me on. I slumped on the seat and Roland leaned shakily against the table.
“Shit.” He muttered. “Shit, shit, shit!” I didn’t say anything, there wasn’t really anything I could add, he’d summed it up.
“What is it, what on earth’s happened now? Gladys, there’s some brandy in the larder.” Elizabeth was bending over me, brushing the hair away from my face in an unexpectedly maternal gesture. She tutted as she felt how clammy I was. “Alf,” she said, “Damp one of those towels there, quick as you like.” She handed me a glass provided by Gladys, who I was relieved to see, now seemed to be Gordonless, “Here,” said Elizabeth, a firm arm round my shoulder, “Get this down you.” I choked violently on the sharpness of the liquid, welcoming the reality of the sensation, as she patted me hard on the back to stop me coughing.
“That’s the ticket.” She said. “Good for shock. Have a drop more, finish the glass. Roland, you have some too, you look terrible. What in God’s name happened?” The lights were on in the kitchen, but weren’t doing much to illuminate anything, and thickly falling snow was already accumulating on the panes of the window, making everything even darker. Roland and I looked at each other.
“What… ?” I asked. He ran his finger and thumb absently down either side of his face, so they met at his chin, and shook his head,
“Never seen anything like that. We’ll have to go to Etty.”
“No.” I said.
“Well, out with it, what was it then?” Elizabeth said sharply. Roland said nothing, so I answered her, hearing the stupidity of what I was saying, even as I was saying it.
“It was me. It was something that looked like me.” I said. Elizabeth and Alfred exchanged a glance that said nothing good, and Alfred shook his head, grunting “Situ omnia naturali et turbaverant.”
“What’s that mean?” I asked.
“Situation normal, all fouled up!” Said Roland grimly. “He’s not wrong. Come on you.”
“Where?”
“Talk to Etty.”
“No, later. I’ve got to help get things sorted here. Look I’m fine.” I made a huge effort and stood up. I was still shaky, but didn’t need him to see that. Neither did I want to discuss what had just occurred. It had happened and I’d dealt with it, which was part of the problem. From fear and panic had been born my sure knowledge of exactly what to do and how to do it – I really didn’t want to go into that right now.” Roland shrugged,
“Have it your own way, you usually do, but when I see her, I’m not going to keep quiet – that’d be plain daft.” And nodding briefly to the others, he took himself off. I turned to them decisively,
“Right,” I said, “Let’s get ourselves organised.” Elizabeth snorted, reverting to type.
“What makes you think we’re not?”
“Well,” I said, “It’s rather a turn up for the book isn’t it, suddenly lots of extra people?” She sniffed and went back to sorting towels.
“Young lady,” she said, turning her back on me, “Years ago, this house used to be full of any number of guests at any one time, parties and the like. We coped then, we’ll cope now.”
“I know that,” I said placatingly, “Of course I do.” The last thing we needed was Elizabeth throwing a strop. And then, another worry, “What do we do about Cyril, we can’t leave him out there?” She didn’t answer me, not sure whether she couldn’t hear because I wasn’t facing her, or whether she was just choosing to ignore me. Alfred gave me a wink.
“Not to worry,” he said, “Cyril took himself off ages ago and we’ve got everything well in hand here. Rather agreeable to be rushed off our feet for a change. Take yourself upstairs now for a few minutes peace and quiet, strikes me, you’re not going to get any down here.” I turned to Gladys,
“You OK too then?” She nodded, the most animated I’d seen her. “Don’t you give it another thought lovey, get your feet up for a bit. As it happens, I think I feel Nigella coming through.”
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
The hotel reception was mercifully empty when I passed through on my way upstairs. Everyone must have dispersed to various rooms. Actually, I didn’t really care where they were, as long as I wasn’t having to deal with them. My sense of responsibility had taken temporary leave of absence, and lying mindlessly on my bed for a while, seemed like the most desirable thing in the world. It wasn’t to be.
Devorah met me at the top of the stairs, Simona on one hip and a worried expression on her face.
“Mimi’s disappeared.” She said.
“Well, she’s always doing that, isn’t she?” I said reasonably, moving past her, pillows on my mind.
“Not like this.”
“Try looking in the broom cupboard, maybe she’s got stuck.” I knew that sounded sour, but honestly, I was all out of oomph. Devorah grabbed my arm, with the hand that wasn’t anchoring Simona.
“Listen, you don’t understand. When she’s here, when any of us are here, we can feel it.” I stopped and stared at her.
“Feel?” I said. She shrugged,
“Don’t know, can’t explain it, but like, we all know who’s near and who isn’t and roughly where they are – and right now she isn’t. You know what I mean?” I shook my head.
“Devorah, I’ve no idea what you’re talking about, give me a break. She’ll turn up, she always does, doesn’t she?” I didn’t add ‘like a bad penny’, although I was tempted. She shook her head,
“Look,” she said. “There are some funny things going on right now.”
“You don’t say!” I muttered, still making for my lie down. Unfortunately, Roland and Bella had now appeared from their rooms, both kitted for the outdoors.
“We can’t find Mimi.” Said Bella as she passed.
“I know, Devorah said.”
“Go get Alfred,” Said Roland. “Ask if he could check out by the annexe, we’ll head out t
he front.”
“Well, actually I was…” I started, then gave in and peevishly turned to stomp back downstairs after Roland and Bella. We were stopped in our tracks by an unearthly, not unfamiliar howling from outside, which rose and fell and rose again.
Rostropovich was highly agitated, outside the front doors, pacing rapidly up and down in the still heavily falling snow and stopping every few steps to throw back his head and give vent, his breath clouding and hanging. As we came out he watched and waited impatiently until we’d negotiated the icy stone steps, then turned and loped off, across the circular gravelled area and down the drive. I’d grabbed the first jacket I saw from the coat rack on the way out and luckily hadn’t changed my shoes from my earlier outing, although they were immediately soaked through and not a lot of help on the thin but treacherously slippery surface.
Roland and Bella, were both equipped with torches, even if they weren’t making much of an impact because it wasn’t quite dark enough. We were trailing Rostropovich as best we could, although there was no way we could keep up with him but, clever animal, he was well aware and kept pausing, turning to face us and pawing the ground in impatience, whining at our unevenly clumsy progress. Every time we reached him, he set off again at a brisk pace, and by the time we’d followed him into the thicket of trees, I was embarrassingly short of breath, and sweating like a pig in the jacket, which turned out to have a fur lining.
The wolf didn’t hesitate, leading us deeper and deeper into the trees, so Roland who was in front, had to force his way through low-hanging, ice-encrusted branches, holding them from swinging back and hitting us in the face as we followed. He was muttering something about bleeding Indiana Jones and the forest of doom, Bella laughed breathlessly, but neither of them were concealing their anxiety. In the short while we’d been going, full dark had fallen, but any moonlight was deadened and diluted by pregnant clouds, whilst the snow was becoming ever more wind-driven and stinging sharply into our faces and mouths.
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