That Summer at the Seahorse Hotel

by Adrienne Vaughan

  Rupert’s denim jacket was on the chair. He was back. Returned from Manchester. Excellent. She was just about to tiptoe through the flat to find him when she heard a noise, a kind of mew, coming from the sitting room. Gently opening the door, she scanned the room for an escaped moggy. She followed the noise. A Moses basket stood by the window and there lay a beautiful, gurgling baby, kicking its feet and squeaking at the mobile above its head.

  Mia smiled at the child and looked round the room; chandelier, velvet winged chair. It was definitely her apartment.

  “What’re you doing here?” she asked, it was then she heard voices, muffled laughter. She followed the sound. Her foot caught on something, she shook it free. Discarded clothing plotted the route to the bedroom. Silently she half-opened the door; the room was dark, candles glowed, throwing shadows. She could just make out the bed, full of people.

  Mortified, she jumped back onto the landing, desperately trying to recall if they had invited people to stay. Brain whirring, she peered back into the room. A naked woman climbed out of bed, and wriggling her behind sashayed into the bathroom.

  Mia could feel her heart push up to her throat. She adjusted her viewpoint, there was only one other person in the bed, with arms and legs everywhere, she had been convinced there were more. A hand threw back the duvet, a toned, tanned chest exposed. Mia dragged her gaze up to his throat, his jaw, his sweetly smiling mouth.

  The floor, the building, the whole world seemed to tilt. She placed her palms flat against the wall, scared she would slip away, fall into oblivion. Gone.

  “Hey, Mama, this baby could do with some more of what you got!” he called in the rich accent of America’s Deep South.

  “Wait a minute, honey. I’m just getting all hot and silky for you!” came the voice from the bathroom.

  Mia recognised the lines. It was from the musical, the one set in New Orleans and despite the accent she recognised his voice, the delicious, distinguished unmistakable timbre of her very own, beloved fiancé. The woman reappeared. Sheeny coffee-coloured skin, glossy hair, shoulders thrown back to display perfect breasts to their greatest effect. Mia felt the floor move again. Her throat had closed up and her head was throbbing, but she could not drag herself away.

  In her mind’s eye the door flew open.

  “I didn’t know we had guests.”

  Mia imagined the woman fleeing back into the bathroom. Rupert wrapping the sheet around himself.

  “Mia, you’re back. Brilliant. Why didn’t you call?”

  “You bastard!”

  “Rehearsing, that’s all. The production, we’re in it together.”

  “I can see that.”

  “Now, come on.” He opened his arms.

  Mia hauled herself back into the real world. Rupert had his arms open alright, welcoming the other woman. She looked at his outstretched fingers. The ring was gone. The rings he had made. They were going to wear them until they could afford wedding bands.

  “Guessing this is your girlfriend’s?”

  The woman was oiling her skin with Mia’s body lotion.

  “How’s it going with the actress’s daughter anyway? Heard you guys were engaged or something?”

  “Just roommates really.”

  He lay back, hands behind his head. “Mia’s great, but not such a fast-track to fame as I’d hoped. Might have to work my devastating charisma on her mother, women find me irresistible as well you know, and a lady of a certain age is bound to fall for my natural charms.” He slid from the bed, standing to attention so she could see his ‘natural charm’ in all its glory. Mia tried to look away.

  A loud squall erupted. The woman disappeared, reappearing in Mia’s robe.

  “Can I borrow this, I need to feed her?” Cultured RADA voice now, all trace of New Orleans disappeared.

  In her head, Mia heard herself, “Take it, take him, keep the lot, I’m done.” She saw herself push her left hand in front of his face and tearing the band from her finger, threw it at him with as much force as she could muster.

  But in reality she did not make a sound.

  The child was screaming by the time Mia dragged herself and her luggage out of the building. She was racking her brain, where to go? She had lived in London for years but when the chips were down, only Lol and her mother came to mind and Lol was in Ireland. Besides, she was broke, she had no choice but to hail a cab to the one place where someone could pay for it and where, once the taxi has been paid, she could stay free of charge.

  The cabbie asked her twice for the address, her mouth was so dry she could hardly speak.

  “Morleigh Lodge, Montague Street, Islington.” Her eyes were dry too. Good, she thought. Keep it that way. Only dry eyes in this house, she misquoted, clutching the box to her chest as the cab pulled into the traffic.

  Rupert had given up on the idea of another session of lovemaking, the wails of the child dissipating all desire. He dressed, deciding once Shelley had finished feeding the baby, he would take her out for supper; they were buddies after all and besides, Shelley’s star was in the ascendant, her husband was a director, she would be useful.

  In search of socks, Rupert trod on something hard and sharp outside the bedroom door. He grimaced, bending to retrieve a circle of twisted metal. It looked vaguely familiar, but he had no idea where he had seen it before. Bloody hurt, though.

  Trixie ran out to greet her. At first she thought Archie was dead, as the young woman before her looked so devastated; something truly dreadful had happened.

  “Meter’s running, love,” called the cab driver. “She didn’t know if anyone was in.”

  “Alright, keep your hair on,” Trixie barked. She took Mia’s bag, trying to help with the large box but Mia would not release it. Guiding her along the path, Trixie pushed her through the door and went to fetch her purse.

  “Where did you pick her up?” she asked the cabbie.

  “Clapham, just off the High Street.”

  “Anyone with her?”

  “No, looked pale, mind, like she’d had a bit of a scare.”

  Trixie waited for her change, he wasn’t getting a tip.

  “Did she say anything?”

  “Nah, could barely give me the address. Wouldn’t let go of that box though, hung onto it all the way here.” He pulled away before the lights changed.

  Mia had not moved from where Trixie had left her, rooted to the bright Afghan rug in the hall. Trixie closed the door softly, afraid any sudden movement might send the stricken girl scurrying away like a frightened animal.

  “Let’s get you a drink.”

  Mia followed wordlessly.

  Seated at the kitchen table, she ignored the glass of wine Trixie put before her.

  “Is it Archie?” Trixie finally asked. “Has he died, sweetheart?” Mia shook her head, and despite her long-running feud with the actor, Trixie was relieved.

  “Is my mother here?” Mia found her voice.

  “No, came back from Ireland and went straight up north, had a meeting about a soap, didn’t she mention it?”

  Mia vaguely remembered her mother was between jobs.

  “Can I stay?”

  “Of course. Why? Lost your key? Been evicted?” Trixie tried to make a joke but Mia was close to tears.

  “Did you ever catch someone in bed with someone else?” Her voice was quite controlled.

  “You mean someone you thought you were having a relationship with?”

  Mia nodded.

  “Ah.” Trixie drew up her chair. “Once, no, twice now I

  think of it.”

  “What did you do?” Mia was looking at her intently.

  “Let me see.” Trixie picked up her wine. “First time I forgave him, believed his bullshit and took him back. The second time, I wanted to kill him, I really wanted the bastard dead.”

  “What happened?”

  “Your mother hid the gun,” Trixie said glumly.

  Mia was not remotely surprised she had a gun, Trixie was very self-s
ufficient. “So, we burned his clothes instead. He never came back anyway.” Mia looked up at Trixie, shock draining away as anger started to seep up from her chest.

  “Do you still have the gun?” she asked.

  SENDING THE GIRLS IN

  Opening her eyes in the cool, blonde room, Mia was amazed to find it was nearly ten o’clock. Refusing everything except tea, she had soaked in Fenella’s deep, claw-footed bath and pulling on a silk nightdress Trixie had found, crawled gratefully beneath the duvet sliding into a soft, warm tunnel of sleep.

  She checked her phone. No missed calls. No text messages. No emails. Good.

  Let the world leave her alone. The whole fucking world.

  The door opened. Trixie had been waiting for signs of life to come and tell Mia what had transpired while she slept, she thought it best not to mention the sleeping pill she had dissolved in last night’s tea.

  The scrambled eggs and freshly buttered toast made Mia’s mouth water, she could not remember the last time she had eaten.

  Trixie passed her a glass. Mia protested. Trixie was firm.

  “Buck’s Fizz – at times like these a girl needs three things, champagne, vitamin C and good mates.” Mia nearly smiled. “See, it’s working already.” Trixie pulled a notepad out of her chef’s apron.

  “Have you a plan?” Trixie’s sharp eyes searched Mia’s face.

  “Apart from the gun?”

  “Not worth doing time for.”

  “So?” Mia ventured. She knew Trixie was on the case.

  “I’ve spoken to Fenella, she’s on her way.”

  Mia groaned.

  “She’s fine, glad you came to us. A little surprised though, she didn’t know you were seeing someone. Now,” she picked up her pen. “Where does he live?”

  Mia felt her tummy flip.

  “That’s part of the problem.”

  Trixie raised an eyebrow.

  “He lives with me.”

  “What? You found him in bed with someone else in your own apartment? The absolute bastard. How long has he been living with you?”

  “A few months.” Mia was feeling nauseous.

  “How long have you known the little shit?” Trixie was angry.

  “A few months.”

  Trixie tutted. This was not like Mia, she took things slowly where relationships were concerned.

  “What does he do?” Trixie was suspicious now.

  “Oh, God.” Mia put her hands to her face.

  “He’s a frigging actor isn’t he?”

  Mia nodded.

  “Bloody hell, Mia! Have we taught you nothing? Have you never listened to one single sodding piece of advice we’ve ever given you?” She threw the notepad on the bed. “Useless wastrels the whole bloody lot of them.”

  A door slammed, a cab pulled away. Trixie was at the window.

  “Don’t tell her, Trix, please. I feel bad enough as it is,” Mia said.

  Footsteps thundered upstairs. Fenella flew through the door, running to her daughter propped up in bed.

  “I know all about it, everything. And don’t you worry, my darling, he’ll be so, so sorry he’s done this to you. Who does he think he is? Where does he live? I’m going to pay him a visit, give him a piece of my mind!”

  Mia slid out of bed and went into the bathroom. They could hear vomiting.

  Fenella put her hand to her mouth. “This is worse than I imagined.”

  “It’s probably quite a bit worse,” Trixie said in a whisper. “I think there’s a lot she didn’t want us to know.”

  “If she’s come to us for help, we’ll have to know. She’s my daughter, I need to know.”

  Ghostlike, Mia came back into the room.

  “Trixie, would you mind? I’d like to talk to my mother.”

  Stationed outside the door, Trixie heard every word.

  “Why haven’t I met this man you’re living with?” Fenella kept her voice level.

  “You have, you didn’t like him.” Mia was equally controlled.

  “An actor? At the start of his career no doubt.”

  Mia nodded.

  “Where did you meet?”

  “Tuscany, The Three Musketeers.”

  “Not known him long then, wasn’t it only a few months ago you were filming that?”

  “Not long.”

  “Moved in pretty quickly, didn’t he?” Fenella was trying not to sound shocked, this was so unlike her daughter.

  “His lease had run out.”

  “Classic. Just been kicked off someone else’s couch by the sound of things.”

  Mia sighed.

  “Trixie seems to think it was serious?”

  “I thought we were engaged,” Mia said it quickly to lessen the impact.

  “Engaged? Oh, my God, you’re not ..?” Fenella had just heard her daughter being sick.

  “No, Mother I’m not pregnant.”

  “Oh,”

  Fenella was unsure whether she was relieved or disappointed.

  “Did you know about the affair?” She tried a dispassionate tone, hoping to make things sound less seedy.

  “The affair?”

  “The other woman. Who is she?”

  Mia had been giving this some thought. She was convinced the stunning woman with the beautiful child was familiar.

  “Trixie said you caught them at it, you surprised them when you came home.”

  This was the bit Mia had been dreading.

  “Not exactly. They surprised me. I could see what was going on through the bedroom door.”

  “And?” Fenella was impatient for facts, the sordid details, so they could throw them back in Mia’s so-called fiancé’s face.

  “I just left.”

  “Left what? A dagger in his chest? Poison in his glass? A bomb under the bed?” Fenella was warming to the scene.

  “No, I just went back downstairs and left.” Mia felt her shoulders sag, she was embarrassed, she had let the Flanagans down; a proud Irish clan, they would never be dishonoured in such a way. She felt sure she saw her mother shudder at such a shameful revelation.

  “Obviously it’s over. He needs to leave and you need your home and your life back.” She looked at her daughter. “No tears now, there’s a good girl.” She patted her hand. Mia remained rigid, holding every emotion in check, the way she had always done, been trained to.

  Fenella called Trixie, who made no show of the fact she had been listening outside the whole time.

  “What’s the plan?” Trixie spoke first.

  “I was hoping you might have one?” Fenella replied.

  “Wine, let’s start with wine and take it from there. And don’t look at your watch.” It was ten thirty. “This is a crisis, we need planning fuel ‒ a nice Sauvignon Blanc and chocolate, definitely chocolate. Get dressed Mia we’ll sort the bastard out, you see if we don’t.”

  “What are you going to do, send the boys round?” Mia asked, lamely.

  “No need, we’re well up to the job. Now get a move on, we don’t want the little shit escaping before we’ve torn him limb from limb.” Trixie disappeared.

  Mia dressed as quickly as she could; who knew what those two would come up with if she were not there to stem the flow of their combined venom? Poor Rupert would become every man who had ever wronged them. She checked her reflection in the mirror.

  Stop that, stop being so fucking nice. Poor you! The bastard betrayed you, took you for a complete fool … he deserves to die.

  HONESTY IS THE BEST POLICY

  A few hundred miles west across the Irish sea, Ross Power was enduring an awkward dinner with his uncle Christie and Daniel Keeley, the renowned New York architect. Seated in the VIP area of the hotel’s acclaimed restaurant, he had little appetite.

  “So far Daniel’s mightily impressed, reckons we stand a good chance when the award is judged.” His uncle smiled broadly. “Told him I expect first prize, we all do, wouldn’t you agree, Ross?”

  Christie gave the impression he was quite relax
ed about the hotel’s shortlisting for one of tourism’s most prestigious awards but Ross knew this was far from the case, he was determined the Harbour Spa Hotel would win the coveted title, a huge prize that would bring global publicity, a high profile and guaranteed investment for the group.

  “Stands as good a chance as any,” Daniel said. “I’m looking forward to my tour tomorrow, when Ross can talk me through the finer points. I want to be sure all the boxes are ticked, this must have been a particularly challenging project, given the hotel’s proximity to the ocean. I’m guessing the infrastructure combined with the work carried out to preserve marine life will make fascinating reading.”

  “All in Ross’s report.” Christie did not skip a beat. “And we score over and above, I think you’ll find. Ross and the rest of the family want this to be our flagship, our way of giving something lasting to our homeland. We’re back to make a difference, a positive contribution to the livelihoods of local people and the economy as a whole. That’s far more important than ticking a few boxes, surely?”

  Ross had heard this speech many times and while the principles were sound enough, the reality was not quite as it seemed.

  “I’m sure Mr Keeley appreciates what we’re trying to achieve here,” Ross interjected. “But he has his job to do, right?”

  “Indeed.” Daniel Keely stood. “And if it’s okay with you, gentlemen, I’ll turn in.”

  Christie protested, keen for their guest to enjoy more hospitality but thanking them for a first class meal, the award judge took his leave. Ross wanted to call it a day too; his performance tomorrow was crucial, the presentation all planned, another run through after a good night’s sleep and he would be primed to give it his best shot.

  Ross looked across at his father’s younger brother. Christie was a good man, who had worked hard to ensure the family business provided a livelihood for them all. It had been his life’s work and this, the Harbour Spa Hotel in Rosshaven ‒ the long-ago home of the Powers ‒ a dream he had shared with his brother. Now it looked like the pursuit of that dream could bring the whole corporation crashing down around their ears. Ross could see worry etched on the broad handsome face, eyes clouding with concern whenever he thought he was under the radar. Ross recognised the signs, he knew them all too well, saw them every time he looked in a mirror.