‘I have to admit that it is rather, yes. I’ve always adored Claridge’s; it’s an art deco triumph, and how wonderful that they have kept it so,’ Orlando said as his fingers brushed across a tiger-striped desk, before sitting down in one of the velvet smoking chairs.
‘They’ve left us a bottle of free champagne! Can we have some? It might help to calm my nerves.’
‘My dear Star, you’re acting like an excited child on Christmas morning. Of course we can open the champagne if you want, although I do wish people would not regard such things as “free”. You – or in fact, your family – has just paid the equivalent of your month’s salary at my bookshop to stay in a set of rooms for a single night. Your champagne is not free and if you decide to partake of the other accoutrements, such as those little bottles of whatever it is you ladies need to pour into the bath, or even the towels and bathrobes, then please do so. For none of it is “free”. Yet people delight in saying they “stole” things when they return from such a jaunt. Utterly ridiculous,’ sniffed Orlando, standing up and walking over to the ice bucket. ‘What shall we drink to?’ he asked her as he lifted out the champagne.
‘Either living here forever, or not getting arrested for impersonating other people; you decide.’
‘Let’s drink to both!’ Orlando said as he popped the cork. ‘There you are,’ he said, taking a flute of champagne across to her. ‘I also brought you the paid-for chocolates they left next to the champagne.’
‘I’m queen for a day,’ Star said as she popped one of the gorgeously glazed delicacies into her mouth.
‘From what you’ve told me of your family, you almost certainly have enough filthy lucre from your trust to live like this every day.’
‘I’m not sure how much it actually is and even though it is ours, we run everything by Georg, our lawyer.’
‘I have never met this Georg, but he is merely a member of staff that your family employs. It is your money, dear Star, and it’s very important you and your sisters don’t forget that.’
‘You’re right, of course, but Georg is quite scary. I’m sure he wouldn’t approve of me asking him for a year’s worth of money to live in a suite at Claridge’s,’ she chuckled. ‘Besides, part of the fun is what a treat it is. It wouldn’t be if I could live here every day, would it?’
‘True, true,’ agreed Orlando. ‘Now then, while you were checking in, I was casing the joint. In other words, working out the best tables in the Foyer restaurant for you and I to sit, and I booked two. I will arrive first, then you ten minutes later. We can’t be seen together by anybody before we bump into each other near the reception desk. So, you shall sit here’ – Orlando indicated the position of her table on the floor plan – ‘and I shall sit there, which gives us both a good view of the entrance, but means the enormous flower arrangement in the centre blocks us from each other’s sight.’
‘Okay, but how do we communicate? By carrier pigeon across the room?’ she giggled.
‘Star, I do hope that the alcohol isn’t going to your head. We use the rather dull modern method of the mobile phone. If you or I spot a woman who may be Mrs McDougal, then we text each other. I will follow her progress, which will hopefully take her to the reception desk, give her a couple of minutes, then swoop in behind her. At this point, you will stand up, and make your way slowly across to us. You will stop at the flower arrangement and admire it, while checking that I have made verbal contact with her. Then, you will walk towards us and we will enact our little play. Just remember to ask me to your suite for drinks at six p.m.’
‘Right, okay,’ Star breathed, taking another gulp of champagne. ‘We can do this, Orlando, can’t we?’
‘We surely can, my dear, we surely can. Now, given it is eleven thirty, I will take a wander downstairs and leave you to titivate. Good luck.’
‘Good luck to you too,’ Star called as Orlando walked towards the front door of their suite. ‘And Orlando?’
‘Yes?’
‘Thank you.’
June 2008
I sat in the back of the taxi, and even though I felt exhausted from another sleepless night on a plane, I had to give a small smile of pleasure at the fact I was actuallysittingin the back of a black cab. All those years ago, when I had last been in London during that terrible time, it had been my dream to put out a hand and hail one. But they, like anything else that hadn’t been an absolute necessity, had been completely out of my budget. In fact, I could have equally contemplated getting on a rocket and flying to the moon, which had come true for Neil Armstrong just a few years before I’d arrived here in London.
I could hardly believe how the city had changed since I’d last visited. Great flyovers led out from Heathrow, the traffic backed up in a long, never-ending stream. Tall office blocks and apartment buildings rose out of the ground all around me, and I felt tears pricking at my eyes because it could have been Sydney or Toronto, or any big city across the world. I’d held on to my vision of London for so long; in my mind’s eye, I saw the elegant architecture, the green swathes of open parks, and the National Gallery, which were about the only things that had been free to me back then.
Merry, I told myself firmly,you know very well that at least Big Ben and the Houses of Parliament are still there, and the River Thames...
I closed my eyes to block out the view, praying it would improve as we drew closer to my treasured memories of the centre of this great city. I’d hoped I would be able to enjoy it properly this time, yet since Mary-Kate had left her messages for me and Bridget, and those women had sat waiting for me in the lobby at the Radisson, I’d been taken back to the last time I’d been here. And all the fear and dread I had felt then.
Ithasto be him, surely...?
The line repeated in my head for the thousandth time. But why? Why after all these years? And how had he –they– found me?
Yet again, my heart began to slam against my chest. They must be serious as well, to use so many of them and be able to follow me all the way from New Zealand to Canada.
Admittedly, I’d come on my trip partly for pleasure, but also to search for both of them, know for sure where they were. And – certainly with one of them – to finally find outwhy. I hadn’t uttered either of their names since I’d arrived in New Zealand thirty-seven years ago, knowing that to survive, I had to put my past behind me and begin again. But then, after my darling Jock had died out of the blue, it was as if the buffer he had always provided had collapsed and the memories had come rushing back. When I’d seen Bridget on Norfolk Island, fuelled by Irish whiskey, we’d reminisced about the old days and I’d admitted my ‘Grand Tour’ contained an ulterior motive.
‘I just want to find out whether they’re alive or dead,’ I’d said as she’d refilled my glass. ‘I can’t live the rest of my life not knowing,orhiding, for that matter. I’d like to go home to Ireland and see my family. Hopefully, by the time I’m due to get there, I’ll know. And feel it’s safe, for them and me. Do you understand?’
‘I do, of course, but in my view, both of them ruined your life in their different ways,’ she said.
‘That just isn’t fair, Bridget. Therehadto be a reason why he never came. He loved me, you know he did, and—’
