She pushed open the door to the hotel and stepped inside. A trickle of laughter filtered out of the ballroom as some third-rate comedian went through his tired act. Beneath the glittering chandeliers in the lobby, a group of hotel guests sat on the sofas, the men drinking lagers and arguing about the football, the women knocking back gin and tonics and comparing fake tans. As Scarlett walked past, one of the men whistled at her. Ignorant louts.
She didn’t wait for the lift. Fired up by an adrenalin-fuelled surge of indignation, Scarlett took the stairs two at a time, almost colliding with an elderly couple coming in the opposite direction. She ignored their tuts of disapproval and headed towards the top of the building.
On the twelfth floor she paused for breath outside the door to the private staircase that led up to the turret room. Here goes, she thought, opening the door and starting to climb the final flight. She was halfway up the stairs when the door to room 703 burst open and Max appeared on the landing directly above her. He was carrying a suitcase.
~~~
From her vantage point in the projection room Rose watched, mesmerised, as orange flames snaked along the edge of the dance floor and up the walls, igniting the DJ’s electrical equipment and exploding the LED screen into billions of tiny particles. Clouds of black smoke billowed up towards the ceiling; lights shattered, plunging the nightclub into darkness. There was a crash, like a mini earthquake, as part of the roof collapsed onto the now blazing dance floor. Rose jumped back from the window with the shock of the blast. She was terrified that the glass would shatter at any moment and the projection room would fill with choking black smoke. How long would it take before the whole building went up like a bonfire on Guy Fawkes’ night? Weren’t public buildings like this supposed to have a sprinkler system that kicked in?
Rose moved to the back of the projection room and slumped onto the floor. She was staring death in the face but instead of panicking she actually felt a calmness descend over her. It was probably dehydration combined with a lack of oxygen but now that the end seemed inevitable, she found she didn’t want to spend her last minutes on earth ranting and raving. With any luck she’d be unconscious before the flames reached her.
She closed her eyes and thought about Dan and the fun they’d had together, even if their brief relationship had got her into the two worst fixes of her life: first, being trapped in an abandoned lunatic asylum and almost drowning; second, burning to death at her rival’s birthday party. She hoped he was safe. She thought of her grandmother, the feisty old lady who had been so kind and who had enjoyed life, right till the end. She thought of her mother, and that brought a tear to her eyes. She’d always hated the way her mother fussed over the tiniest little things, but it was only because she cared so much. Andrea would be devastated if Rose didn’t make it out of there alive. And yes, she did want to live! She had to get out. What was she doing sitting there on the floor waiting for the fire to burn her alive? She jumped to her feet and ran to the window to see how bad things were down there.
The fire was blazing stronger than ever. Soon the whole building would be nothing but a burnt out shell and she’d be toast. The pathologist would have to identify her from her dental records. She didn’t want to fry, like a medieval martyr. She wasn’t some heroine, about to sacrifice herself for the good of her people. She had to get out of there, and fast. With every last ounce of strength she could muster, she pulled frantically on the door handle, determined to try and break the lock. It wouldn’t budge. Through the glass panel in the door she could see the staircase filling with smoke.
~~~
Scarlett had rushed round to the Grand Hotel in a blaze of fearless anger, but now she wished she’d brought back-up with her. She felt vulnerable standing there halfway up the staircase in her party dress and high heels with a cold-bloodied psychopath on the landing above her. Max pocketed the room key and picked up his suitcase.
“Hello, sweetheart,” he said. “Sorry, can’t stop. In a bit of a hurry.”
He clearly didn’t see her arrival as a threat and the arrogance of the man stunned her. It was as if she was seeing him for the first time. He was no longer the generous godfather who brought her expensive presents but an evil, manipulating criminal. How could she not have realised this before? Was she really so shallow that a designer jacket or a diamond necklace had blinded her to what he really was? Without saying a word, he started to descend the stairs, slowly and deliberately. Instinctively Scarlett moved to block his path. She didn’t know what she was going to do but she couldn’t just let him walk away.
He stopped three steps above her. “Out of my way, sweetheart.”
“No.”
He took another step down.
“I trusted you,” said Scarlett. “How could you do such a thing?”
“You were quite happy to play along as I remember,” said Max. “You agreed to bring Rose up to the projection room in return for a Dolce & Gabbana leather jacket.”
“I don’t want any more of your gifts,” shouted Scarlett. “They’re all stolen anyway.”
Max shrugged as if he didn’t care. He moved a step closer so she was forced to tilt her head back to look him in the eye. She could smell stale sweat on him and cigarette smoke. If he wanted he could push her backwards down the stairs. She clung to the banister with one hand, her other hand pressed against the opposite wall.
“Move,” he growled.
“No.”
“Don’t make me do this.” His voice was low and threatening.
“What are you going to do?” She held her ground. Her father always said she was stubborn. Well, he was damn right.
“You don’t want to know.”
“Try me.”
It was as if she’d waved a red rag at a bull. He suddenly grabbed hold of her shoulder with his free hand and shoved her to the side. She banged her head against the wall and almost lost her balance. As he started to move past her, she stuck out her stiletto-clad foot and he tripped over her ankle. He tumbled head-first down the stairs like a sack of potatoes, landing at the bottom in a sprawl of limbs. The suitcase bumped down the stairs after him and landed on his back, pinning him to the floor.
Scarlett froze in horror as she surveyed her handiwork, or rather her footwork. What had she done? She could have killed him. Maybe she had? And now he was lying in a heap at the bottom of the narrow staircase, blocking her only means of escape.
She took a tentative step downwards. Was he still breathing? It was hard to tell. She slumped onto the stairs, her head in her hands, and tried to decide what to do. She was just thinking she would have to risk stepping over him to reach the door, when she heard a noise on the landing outside. She jumped to her feet. Someone tried to open the door from the other side but it would only open partway because Max’s head was blocking it. Then her father’s face appeared in the gap.
“What on earth...?” He gaped at the body lying on the floor. Max was now making groaning noises and moving his arms like a reanimated corpse from a zombie thriller. Then her father’s gaze moved up the stairs to Scarlett who stood there trembling with shock.
“Scarlett, what’s happened? Are you all right? The receptionist saw you run into the hotel looking upset and called me.”
“I’m all right,” said Scarlett, her breath coming in short gasps. “But we need to call the police. And I guess we should get an ambulance too.”
~~~
Dan started to run up the stairs that Chris had pointed out to him, but he was soon coughing and spluttering and had to slow down. The air was filling with smoke, stinging his eyes and burning the back of his throat. He covered his nose and mouth with a handkerchief and pressed on more slowly, determined to reach Rose before it was too late. He turned a corner on the stairs and was plunged into blackness. The fire must have caused the electricity to blow because none of the lights were working up here. With his free hand he reached out and touched the wall, feeling his way step-by-step. Surely it couldn’t be much further. The eff
ort of climbing the stairs when there was so little oxygen was making him feel light-headed. He lost his footing and fell forwards onto the staircase, painfully banging his shin. Keep going, he told himself, just keep bloody going. He crawled up the last half dozen steps on his hands and knees.
At the top of the stairs he flopped onto a small landing. There didn’t seem to be anywhere else to go so this must be it. But he still couldn’t see a damn thing. He scrambled to his feet and pulled his mobile phone from his pocket. The light from the screen showed him a door to his right. The projection room. He tried the handle but it was locked. He fumbled in his pocket for the key and, in his haste, dropped it. Damn! He heard it fall down a couple of steps. He wanted to scream but he had to stay calm. Rose’s life depended on it. He knelt down and shone his phone light down the steps. Where the hell was the key? Then he saw it, glinting, on the third step down. He picked it up as carefully as he could and, gripping it tight, fitted it into the lock. Please let it be the right key. He turned the key and the door unlocked.
He pushed the door open and ran into the room. Where was Rose? The room started to fill with smoke from the staircase. He pushed it shut behind him, and then he saw her. She was lying to one side of the door, collapsed on the floor. He was too late.
“Rose!” he cried, dropping to his knees beside her. Was she still breathing? Was her heart still pumping? How did you administer the kiss of life? He cursed himself for not being better prepared. Why didn’t they teach useful stuff like that in school? He lifted her into his arms. Her body was still warm. He put a hand onto her beautiful chest and could have wept tears of joy when he felt the gentle pulse of her heart. He leaned over her and kissed her gently on the lips. Her eyes flickered open and she smiled at him.
“I love you,” whispered Dan.
“I love you too.”
Then the window overlooking the dance floor exploded and the room filled with acrid, burning smoke. That was the last thing that Dan remembered.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
I didn’t drown myself. I’m not sure why. I suppose I was too much of a coward. When the freezing water hit my legs, I instinctively ran back towards the shore. I couldn’t do it. Mother had already lost her husband and her son. I couldn’t inflict even more pain on her. I trudged back to the cottage and went straight to bed, saying that the inspector’s questions had left me with a headache.
The next day I dressed and left for work, battling my way against the wind and driving rain that was blowing in off the North Sea. The only thing to look forward to was that Billy was due back at work. I was desperate to see him and eager to hear how the job interview had gone. No matter how slender it seemed, the idea of a life with Billy was the one glimmer of hope on the horizon when everything else was falling apart around me.
I sat in the ticket booth, twiddling the engagement ring on my finger and waiting for him to appear, but he didn’t show up. I started to worry. Maybe he had missed his train the night before and had been forced to spend another night in the capital. Telephones were few and far between in those days and we certainly didn’t have one in the cottage so he wouldn’t have been able to let me know. Mr Thompson paced the foyer, looking at his watch. We only had a few customers that day; the bad weather had deterred people from venturing outside. But customers were still customers and Mr Thompson hated to let people down. The film was due to start in twenty minutes and his projectionist, usually so reliable, had failed to turn up for work.
Then the double doors swung open and Inspector Dixon and Sergeant Dalton walked in, their coats and trilby hats glistening with drops of rain. My heart thudded in my chest. They’ve come to arrest me, I thought. I held my breath and watched them. The inspector tipped his hat in my direction, but it was Mr Thompson he spoke to. Their conversation was in such hushed tones that I couldn’t hear what they were saying. Mr Thompson frowned, then nodded. Glancing nervously in my direction, he ushered the visitors into his office. I was in a state of near-panic and almost bolted out of the door there and then.
After a short while Mr Thompson’s door opened and the three men emerged. The inspector and Mr Thompson shook hands and wished each other a pleasant day and the policemen left.
Mr Thompson let out a weary sigh and limped towards the ticket office.
“I’m afraid we’re going to have to close the cinema for today,” he said.
“But why?” I asked. “What has happened?”
“It appears our projectionist is being questioned at the police station in relation to this incident regarding Mr Franklin.”
“Billy?” I gasped. “At the police station? But why?”
“I’m afraid they didn’t go into details. We’ll need to refund the customers who’ve already paid and then I suggest you go home for the rest of the day,” he said, not unkindly.
Mr Thompson went to the auditorium to announce that the film was cancelled. I refunded the ticket money to a queue of disgruntled customers, my hands shaking so badly that I kept dropping the coins. When the last customer had left the building I pulled on my coat and hat and ran outside. It was raining as hard as ever, but I didn’t care. I had no intention of going home. Something had gone terribly wrong. How could the police be questioning Billy? He had nothing to do with Mr Franklin’s death. He wasn’t even in Scarborough that night.
I walked as fast as I could to the police station. Billy was innocent and I was the only person who could save him. But it would mean admitting my own guilt. It would mean the end of our relationship and our future together.
I ran through the rain and arrived at the police station wet and bedraggled.
“Can I help you, Miss?” A young police officer was at the desk. He was so fresh-faced, he didn’t look as if he could have been in the job more than a few weeks.
“I’m looking for Mr Billy Drinkwater,” I gasped.
“What are you doing here?” squawked a shrill female voice. I turned to see Mrs Drinkwater, Billy’s mother, striding towards me from a waiting area where she had been sitting. In my panicked state I hadn’t noticed her.
The young officer looked nervously from me to Billy’s mother.
“It’s all right young man,” said Mrs Drinkwater in her most imperious tone. “I’ll deal with this woman.” She took hold of my arm and dragged me to the waiting area. “What do you want?”
“I...I... just want to help Billy,” I stammered.
“You could help him by calling off your engagement and never setting eyes on him again. You’re not worthy of him.”
Her words stung, partly because they were true, but I pressed on. “Billy didn’t kill Mr Franklin.”
She looked at me with narrowed eyes. “What do you know about it?”
I shrank under her scrutiny. I was not about to confess anything to this bitter, old woman. “Billy was in Whitby that night,” I said. “Why do they think he did it?”
“My sister and I retired early as we always do. The police are saying there would have been plenty of time for Billy to travel back to Scarborough and take revenge on his rival.”
“What do you mean, his rival?”
“Oh, come on. Don’t play the innocent with me. Working in the cinema in close proximity with that American, going for rides in his motor car, accepting an invitation to his ball. That’s not how respectable young women behaved in my day.” She sniffed loudly.
“But I never did anything to encourage Mr Franklin’s attentions. Billy knows that. The police are jumping to the wrong conclusions.”
She pushed her shoulders back and squared up to me. “You are the one jumping to the wrong conclusion. Billy doesn’t need your help. I will be the one to save my son from this wrongful arrest. Not you.” She pointed a spindly finger in my direction. “Now get out of here before I request the police officer at the desk to throw you out.”
My eyes filled with tears but I was determined not to lose control in front of this woman. I ran from the building.
~~~
N
ot knowing where else to go, I ran round to Queen’s Terrace and hammered on the door. Please let Ruby be in, I thought, as I stood there, rain water dripping off the brim of my hat. Please don’t let one of the others open the door. I didn’t want anyone else to see me in this dreadful state. After a wait that felt like forever but was probably no more than a minute or so, I heard footsteps in the hallway. Then the door opened and Ruby was standing there.
“Lilian,” she said, in surprise. “I wasn’t expecting you.”
“Can I come in, please?” I thought she was going to leave me on the doorstep.
“Of course, I’m so sorry.” She stepped aside and I followed her into the house.
“Actually, I was going to come and see you myself,” she called over her shoulder as we mounted the stairs. She was skipping ahead of me and I could barely keep up, I felt so drained after running there from the police station.
Outside the door to her room she turned to me and said, “There’s something I need to tell you.” She wore a long string of pearls around her neck and kept twisting them around her fingers.
“Can we just go inside and sit down, please?” I asked. I didn’t want anyone else to hear what I had to say about Billy and I didn’t think I could hold it in a moment longer.
She nodded and pushed open her bedroom door. I followed her inside. The scene that met my eyes momentarily put all thoughts of Billy out of my mind.
The bed that was normally piled high with clothes was clear and neatly made. The objects that had adorned the mantelpiece -- the Chinese silk fan, the lacquered jewellery box, the ostrich feather in the vase, the Egyptian goddess statuette -- were all gone, leaving dust-free footprints were they had once stood. The beads and bangles and assorted earrings had all been tidied away. In the middle of the floor were two brown suitcases, buckled and sealed.
Ruby took a deep breath. “This is what I was going to come and tell you.”
Scarborough Ball (Scarborough Fair Book 2) Page 22