She had arrived accompanied by one of the most handsome young men Mercy had ever seen, whose sole purpose, in public at any rate, seemed to be to trail behind his companion, a sulky expression on his sun-tanned face. Mercy did not blame the young man for looking petulant. Mrs Hetherington treated him alternately as a servant, to fetch and carry for her, and as a substitute poodle, to be petted and pampered and spoiled. Whether it was the servitude which proved too much, or the pampering, no one ever knew. The young man was seen leaving the hotel one morning and he never returned. In departing he had also taken with him several towels, two new tennis racquets, and a very nice Meissen bowl, all the property of the hotel, as well as a quantity of money, the property of Mrs Hetherington.
Mrs Hetherington was clearly far more annoyed by the lack of a permanent male companion than the financial loss. With eyes that were blatantly predatory, she searched among her fellow guests for a replacement. She eventually set her sights on poor Dobbie, her pursuit of him being so relentless he was at times forced to take refuge down at the Yacht Club.
The cry ‘Man-eating shark on the port bow’ soon became a code throughout the hotel, a warning to the male guests to take cover. It was all rather amusing and even Dobbie saw the funny side, playing the fugitive with a dramatic emphasis which would have shamed many a film actor. But it did not take long for the joke to turn sour.
It was a cold, crisp evening, and many of the guests were in the lounge after dinner, sipping their drinks and listening to a trio of musicians playing selections from the musical comedies. Mercy happened to be walking through the corridor, looking for Peter, when through the open door of the writing-room, she heard a female voice.
‘Darling, I knew you’d come,’ Margo Hetherington was saying, in the low husky purr she affected when she was out to seduce. ‘I knew you’d come. That’s why I waited!’
The writing-room was usually deserted at this time of night, and Mercy grinned to herself. Some poor lamb had gone to the slaughter. It was not Dobbie, she was thankful to note, because she had just seen him enjoying a brandy and soda with some friends. Wondering if Peter might have gone back to the flat, she climbed the stairs. As she did so she happened to glance down towards the room where Margo Hetherington was ensconced with her latest victim. She wished she had not. From her new vantage point she had a clear view inside, of Margo with a tall dinner jacketed figure. She had found Peter!
An all too familiar misery settled inside her, a spiralling sense of impending disaster. Not again! she pleaded silently. We’ve been so happy together lately. Don’t let this happen to us again!
Peter’s affair with Tilly had ended before the war, and the Hewsons had left Torquay years ago. Since then Mercy would have sworn Peter had been faithful to her. At last she had felt secure in his love, even complacent, so certain that no other woman could come between them now. What a fool she had been not to see the danger signs! Margo Hetherington’s attractions were very obvious and all too available, a terrible temptation for a man with Peter’s fondness for women. It was no use trying to tell herself that the other woman’s attraction were too obvious, and their availability too blatant. Her husband was susceptible to female charms, and she knew it.
Misery settled on her like a great weight, turning the pleasant evening dark with gloom. Then anger began to spark amidst her unhappiness. How could he? How could he betray her again? And with the Hetherington creature. Furiously she turned on her heel. She would go back and confront the pair of them! Yet even as she was mentally concocting the stream of acid comments which would have been a credit to Blanche, she stopped. There were guests about, and she could not disturb them by creating a scene. She would have to hug her hurt to herself until another, more suitable occasion arose. She felt sick with the familiarity of it all.
But the confrontation never materialized. Whether this was because an appropriate opportunity never emerged, or because, at heart, she was reluctant to risk shattering her marriage again, she was not sure. Peter was so loving and affectionate to her these days, she began to wonder if she had been mistaken about the scene in the writing-room. But she also wondered if it was cowardly complacency that was preventing her voicing her outrage. There was no denying that whenever she encountered the Hetherington woman he seemed to be in the vicinity. She devised a strategy whereby whenever she saw them together she immediately intervened, joining in their conversation with a false smile on her face, polite words on her lips. She had no proof that they were having an affair, only a dreadful suspicion which she did not know how to resolve.
Then came a crisis which drove even her misgivings into the background. The alarm clock had just woken them one morning when the internal telephone rang. Sleepily Mercy answered it.
‘Mrs Lisbume, please will you come to Room Eight urgently,’ said the night porter’s voice. He sounded anxious. ‘It’s Admiral and Mrs Howard, they’ve been taken ill.’
‘What, both of them?’ Mercy was wide awake immediately. ‘Very well, I’m on my way.’
‘What the matter?’ asked Peter.
‘The Howards are ill. I’d better go and see what’s the matter.’ Mercy pulled a hasty brush through her hair and hurried off.
The hall porter was hovering outside Room Eight when she arrived.
‘Am I glad to see you, Mrs Lisburne,’ he said, with evident relief. ‘They called me about twenty minutes ago. Fortunately one of the maids came on duty early, she’s in there with them. They sound pretty bad.’
Mercy tapped on the door and entered. One look at the couple lying in the bed told her matters were serious.
‘They’m both in agony, Mrs Lisburne,’ said the maid quietly. ‘And sick as dogs, the pair of them. The admiral’s the worst, he’m almost unconscious, poor soul.’
‘We’d better call the doctor, at once,’ Mercy said, with concern.
The doctor was equally worried. ‘Mrs Howard may stay here, if you can manage,’ he said. ‘But I think we’d best get the admiral to hospital straight away.’
‘What’s causing it?’ Mercy asked.
‘My guess is it’s something they’ve eaten, though it’s a bit early to say. Can I phone for the ambulance from your office, please?’
‘Certainly.’ Mercy went downstairs with him. As they approached the office Peter emerged, his face grave.
‘If you can spare a moment, Doctor, I’m afraid we’ve got some other patients for you.’
‘More?’ Mercy was aghast.
‘Yes. Captain Albright, his wife, and one of their children, and Sir Henry Harrison. Come, I’ll show you the way.’
‘No,’ said Mercy numbly. ‘You carry on here. I’ll go with the doctor.’
There was no denying it, the symptoms were all the same.
‘The little boy and the admiral are definitely hospital cases,’ said the doctor. ‘The others are less critical. Can they stay here?’
‘Yes, don’t worry about them. I’ll see they’re properly cared for.’
‘Ah yes, I had forgotten you have nursing experience.’ The doctor was looking at her sympathetically.
‘You may as well say it, Doctor,’ she said. ‘The sooner we face it the better.’
‘I’m afraid you’re right. It looks as though you’ve got an outbreak of food poisoning on your hands. It’s something that occurs more frequently in the hot weather than at this time of year. I’m afraid you may have been unlucky. I’m sorry.’
Mercy was too distressed to do more than nod in acknowledgement. While the doctor made arrangements to transport the more serious patients to hospital, she went downstairs to give the grave news to Peter.
‘This is terrible! Those poor people, to be taken so ill so suddenly,’ he said. ‘It’s not very good news for us, either, is it?’ he added, as an afterthought.
‘I’m afraid not. It could ruin us. We must ring Joey at once. Will you do it? I’d better make arrangements for a couple of nurses to come and look after those who are staying here.’
It took her some time to organize care for the sick guests. By the time she had achieved it Joey had arrived. And one more guest, a retired judge, had reported sick. Again the symptoms were the same.
‘How can it have happened? That’s what I want to know?’ demanded Joey angrily.
‘It is not my fault!’ Alphonse, the chef, was voluble in his own defence. ‘I ’ave a clean kitchen. The food it is fresh! I see to it most carefully myself!’
‘I’m sure you do,’ said Mercy consolingly. ‘Nevertheless, we must try to discover the cause. Let’s go through the menus for the last two days again and see if we can spot anything there. Then we’d better look at the kitchens.’
Although they were diligent, taking their searches far beyond the kitchens, to the storage rooms, the service areas, the drains and the dustbins, no obvious culprit emerged.
It was unrealistic to expect that the arrival of an ambulance and public health inspectors would go unnoticed by the guests. Although Mercy, Peter, Joey and the whole staff battled to keep things as calm and normal as possible an air of nervous excitement spread through the hotel. When the news arrived that Admiral Howard’s condition was critical the nervousness came close to panic. Most of the guests had booked for the entire winter. Several ended their stay abuptly, two middle-aged matrons declaring hysterically that they had never felt well since entering the Villa Dorata.
‘That wasn’t the food, it was the drink!’ said Joey bitterly. ‘I’ve never seen anyone consume gin the way those two did. Try telling that to the press, though.’
‘It won’t get into the newspapers, will it?’ asked Mercy in alarm.
‘There’s no way we can keep it out,’ Joey said. ‘We’ve a pair of reporters camped at the front gate. Haven’t you noticed?’ ’
‘I have, said Peter gloomily. ‘I tried giving them a diplomatic statement. But I was too late, they’d got to those silly women first.’
‘What can we do about it?’ Mercy asked.
‘Not much. Just be doubly careful about everything, and wait for the health inspector’s report.’
Margo Hetherington had been one of the first guests to leave the hotel after the outbreak of food poisoning. Mercy was relieved to see her go, but at the same time she felt that nothing had been resolved. Her faith in Peter remained shaken, she feared he had betrayed her yet again. Only the seriousness of the present situation prevented her from tackling him on the subject. What did her hurt matter when people were dangerously ill? How could she play the aggrieved wife when the future of the hotel could be in ruins?
The health inspector’s report, when it came, was painfully inconclusive. After saying some complimentary things about the food preparation at the Villa Dorata the concluding statement read: ‘We can find no definite source of contamination, or cause for the outbreak.’
‘That’s no good to us!’ Joey exploded. ‘Word has already got round. It’s bad enough the hotel being half empty, but have you seen how many cancellations have been coming in from non-residents?’
‘Yes,’ replied Mercy. ‘I’ve just taken another one. The twenty-first birthday dinner for next week. They were very kind and regretful but “In the circumstances…”’
‘In the circumstances we can’t blame them,’ said Peter gloomily. ‘The doctor told me there were another five cases in the town, four of whom had eaten here recently. No wonder we’re getting cancellations. You can’t expect people to risk food poisoning.’
‘And what of the fifth?’ asked Mercy hopefully. ‘Surely it proves that we weren’t to blame?’
‘I’m afraid not. I asked the doctor the same question,’ Peter replied. ‘He pointed out that eleven to one are pretty steep odds. The single case could have picked up the poisoning anywhere. One isolated incident doesn’t help us at all. But, at least, here’s one of our stalwart guests who hasn’t deserted us. What can we do for you, Dobbie?’
‘Desert you? I should think not!’ Dobbie was indignant at the idea. ‘I just came to ask what news there is of the admiral and the Albright boy.’
‘I’ve just rung the hospital,’ said Mercy. ‘Young Tony’s beginning to pull through; it looks as though he’s over the worst. They’re still very concerned about the admiral, though. He already had a weak heart, and to have this on top…’
‘Such a shame!’ Dobbie shook his head sympathetically. ‘I like the old admiral. I was so glad when he came for the whole winter. You can depend on some interesting yarns after dinner when he’s about! Poor fellow! There he was, enjoying the excursion only a few days ago along with Mrs Howard, laughing and joking as if he hadn’t a care in the world, and now this!’
‘I didn’t know you’d been on an excursion with the admiral and his wife,’ said Mercy.
‘There was quite a party of us. Over twenty. It was a charity affair in aid of one of the seamen’s funds. You must have seen the notice, Lisbume. There was one pinned up in the Yacht Club.’
‘I vaguely remember something. Wasn’t it to go to look round the dockyard at Devonport?’
‘That’s it. The admiral had organized it, and a friend of his showed us round. We went over a frigate, too. It was a most interesting day. Afterwards we had a splendid tea in Plymouth. Young Albright over-indulged in the cream buns and felt seedy on the way back…’ Dobbie’s voice tailed away as the other three stared at him intently.
‘The Albrights were there?’ asked Mercy in a tense voice.
‘Yes, and the Judge, and Sir Henry. Mrs Howard was selling the tickets, you see.’
‘Then surely this clears our name!’ cried Mercy. ‘Everyone who was taken ill had been on that excursion and…’
‘And Dobbie here!’ broke in Peter. ‘Don’t forget him. I’m sorry to dash your hopes, darling, but Dobbie hasn’t ailed a thing, have you?’
‘I’ve been absolutely top-hole all week, I’m afraid.’
‘Please don’t apologize for being well.’ Mercy managed a smile. ‘I was forgetting the other victims, too. The ones in the town.’
‘Look, I don’t want to start your hopes up again, but perhaps it would be as well to get in touch with the doctor or the public health chappies once more,’ said Dobbie cautiously. ‘Don’t forget, tickets for the picnic weren’t restricted to hotel guests, they were pretty freely available.’
‘So those other victims might also have been at the excursion?’ asked Peter. ‘But that doesn’t explain how you avoided being ill.’
‘Not just me,’ Dobbie pointed out. ‘The two younger Albright children weren’t affected either, were they? It could be that we’ve got particularly strong digestions, or it could be that we didn’t eat the same as everyone else…’
He paused thoughtfully.
‘Crab!’ he exclaimed suddenly. ‘There were crab sandwiches! I never touch the stuff, it brings me out in a rash. Nor did thetwolittlest Albrights, of course. Young Tony did, though! I saw him eating crab sandwiches with great gusto.’
‘Oh Dobbie, I think you’ve solved the puzzle!’ Mercy gave a gasp of relief. ‘I could kiss you, I really could!’
‘Please go ahead,’ grinned Dobbie delightedly. ‘Don’t let the presence of your husband put you off. Though upon second thoughts, it might be better to wait until the picnic theory is proved.’
‘The doctor will be here any minute now. We can hear what he thinks of all this,’ said Peter.
‘At least, the other patients seem to be on the mend,’ said Dobbie. ‘I popped in to see how Sir Henry was feeling, and he was on his feet. A bit wobbly, but upright.’ He gave a chuckle. ‘There is one bright spot in this terrible business. It did get rid of that awful Hetherington woman!’ He clapped Peter heartily on the shoulder. ‘I owe you a huge debt of gratitude, old man! I won’t forget it.’
Mercy stiffened at the mention of Margo Hetherington but before she could inquire further the doctor arrived. He listened carefully to the new theory.
‘I’ll look into it,’ he promised. ‘Mrs Howard was selling the tickets,
you say? Then if she has a list of names it would make the task much easier. I’ll ask her when I go up to see her.’
When he returned after checking on his patients he was holding a sheet of paper.
‘A list of participants in the excursion!’ he said. ‘Now comes the hard part for you. The waiting.’
He was right. For the rest of that day, and all the next the three of them – four, including Dobbie – were on tenterhooks. The vital phone call finally came just at the end of dinner. When Peter put down the receiver he looked quite pale.
‘It’s bad news?’ asked Mercy, her heart plummeting.
‘No, good! Very good! Very, very good!’ He suddenly leapt to his feet and seized her in a bear-hug. ‘The Villa Dorata has been cleared! Everyone of the victims was on that wretched picnic. While they were checking they even discovered two more cases who had not been affected severely enough to call in the doctor!’
‘Thank goodness!’ Mercy was grateful for his arms about her, she felt so weak with relief. ‘I’d better phone Joey, to let him know right away.’
‘Tell him an official notification has already been sent in to the local papers, exonerating us completely. If that doesn’t cheer him up I don’t know what will!’
‘Where are you going?’ Mercy asked, as releasing her, he headed for the door.
‘To tell the guests and the staff. They’ll be as relieved as we are!’
They were! The cheering from the dining room was so loud Mercy could scarcely hear Joey’s jubilant exclamation at the end of the line. Peter did more than merely inform everyone, he ordered champagne all round. The week which had begun so disastrously ended in joyous celebration. Nevertheless, they were not out of the wood yet. Although it had only taken a few days to damage the Villa Dorata’s reputation, Mercy knew it would take much much longer to restore the public’s faith in the hotel.
To Dream Again Page 44