Been very busy lately. Writing, editing, re-writing, I'm sure you get the jist? This is a chapter I wanted people to read, just to see if it works. I've tried something I've not done before, and changed perspective in the same chapter (you'll see what I mean when you read it) and I really wanted to see if people understand it okay. I hope you enjoy it, as much as I enjoyed writing this chapter. It was a real blast. Thanks very much for taking the time to read this, much appreciated!!
The stranger sat in the reception area of Kali House, peering over the December issue of
Heat magazine. In the usual case the stranger wouldn’t have a care for such things as what was occurring in
Heat, but needed something for discretions sake.
From where the stranger was sitting, the snow could be seen sparkling magnificently from the early morning sun. Slightly misty at the foot of the woodlands it still looked very cold, despite the warm glows.
From behind the stranger’s sunglasses the stranger could see that it was a little after twenty minutes past eight in the morning. It was early, but despite this very fact, a lot of people swarmed in and around. Either it was new arrivals that planned on staying here to Christmas Eve, or it was couple’s that didn’t have children to stay over the Christmas period and see in the New Year. No doubt many of them would have hoped for a better year than the one that had just slipped by.
As the stranger watched, a lady that seemed so imprinted on his memory appeared. She looked very youthful, strutted as though she was a woman of high confidence (and maybe calibre also) and glanced over the reception area with a meticulous eye, as though a hotel inspector, checking that everything had been properly cleaned and polished to a gleam. Though she wasn’t a hotel inspector at all, and the stranger knew this very well.
The stranger continued to watch, remembering that he had seen her with two other men while she’d been staying there. The first time the stranger knew of her connection to the two men was when the stranger saw her dancing with one of them at the Christmas party, which seemed a life time away now. There, the stranger also saw the one man quickly rush outside, leaving the lady alone at her table, before joining the other man outside. From the window, the stranger had watched the two men scouring in the snow as though children amazed by their first sighting of the cold white layers that blanketed the landscape, making everything seem so surreal. But that night, as the stranger remembered with such pleasure, they had discovered the blood trail in the snow, encircling the house as though a name circled in a telephone book. Later, the stranger remembered (again with as much pleasure as the first recollection) after the two men had gone back inside and the furore had died down, went outside to discover the red line of dark blood as well.
The moonlight made it sparkle. It was thick, dark and ran around the perimeter of the house. To this day, that trail was still out there, but much less visible, but enough for people to look at it with trepidation. The hotel manager had decided against people cleaning it up, as it would ‘create a scene that wasn’t necessary’. Too right, as well, was in the stranger’s estimation. Leave it alone, it wasn’t doing any harm, plus it added a little character, if the place hadn’t enough already, was the stranger’s thought.
The lady, after much effort, the stranger noticed, had caught the attention of one of the reception staff, and she was now talking to one of them.
“I know he must be busy, but he did say he wanted to see me. He asked to see me with a note I found at my door last night,” Karen Connor informed the young male receptionist, who looked as though he had just walked straight from high school (and his last exam) to here. “Do I have to ask someone else about this meeting or can you deal with it?”
The young male receptionist looked uncomfortable. “Can I please see the note?”
“Sure,” she paused, forking her hands around in her pockets. But she then realised she had threw the note away after reading it. She could remember reading the note, which was short and not necessarily sweet: “Eight thirty tomorrow morning- Hawke’. After seeing that, she threw it in the bin, annoyed by his inclination for being arrogant when and where he wanted. “I’m sorry…I…don’t seem to have it on me. Can’t you check with him now,” she pointed to his office door, “I’m sure he’ll tell you?”
“But I’ve told you. He is upstairs with one of the permanent resident’s; he isn’t in his office at this time. Would you like to book another appointment?” the receptionist said sharply, and almost too sharply for her liking. “I can book an appointment now…”
“I didn’t book the damn thing in the first place!” she hissed. She felt as angry now, as what she had done when she read that note last night. Pure annoyance and irritation had consumed her like a hungry beast, which hadn’t eaten for days. But somehow she contained her anger from spilling over too venomously. “Look,” she said calmly, but anger was still flourishing in her eyes, “I don’t want to book an appointment, because I didn’t book this appointment in the first place. Mr Hawke has booked this appointment, so could you check in his records…or is there…an appointment book of some sort?”
He looked at her carefully. “Just a minute…I’ll have a look.”
Thank god, she thought, and why didn’t he do that in the first place? It could have been paranoia, but she suspected that Hawke trained all his staff to do this. Leave the easiest thing until last, and make them sweat it out, and especially her. She suspected that she was in some sort of trouble with him. It was unusual to get a note off him like this. On previous occasions, meetings like this would have been organised if they had happened to bump into each other, or at the very last resort, over the phone. But a note had never happened before.
The young man, who she could just about see on his name tag as ‘Robbie’, was now ogling slowly through a large burgundy hardback book, which had been strapped with black wire tape along the spine. It was clearly a very old book. After browsing that for about five minutes, the finger on his one hand drawing along his cheek leaving a red line, either with impatience or nerves or both, returned looking sheepish to say the least.
“Well?” she asked, half expecting the answer to be a ‘yes’. “Do I have an appointment or not?”
“Yes,” he smiled nervously, ‘yes you do. I apologize…I…I think…he’ll be here shortly. He’s taking care of some business upstairs…Miss…”
“Dr Connor,” she said flatly. “So do I wait here or in his office?”
“Um…well, I…believe his office is locked, but I can check if you’d like?”
“Don’t worry,” she said impatiently, “I’ll be over there for a minute.”
He looked slightly offended and disappointed by not having the chance of doing something for her. But, to be completely honest, she didn’t care. It was early in the morning, and she wasn’t particularly looking forward to having a conversation with that man. A man that seemed to employ, so it looked like by this young receptionist, people who weren't prepared.
God, I wonder how much he gets paid. Maybe four pound an hour? Maybe even more…I suppose with bonuses and-
“Miss Connor,” said that familiar voice. Its dryness was almost sickly on the ears, the tone so exaggerated and forced that he shouldn’t have made the effort to sound so warm and welcoming. “Our meeting is for eighty thirty, am I right?”
She snapped around quickly, as though summoned to stop by some policeman in the street. And there he was. Mr Hawke in all his supposed splendour, his thinning hair slicked down with what looked like grease, his silver suit looking creaseless, so perfect that it didn’t seem entirely natural in her eyes. Those dark eyes of his seemed to want to provoke a reaction, whatever that reaction might have been, as long as he was the one doing all the provoking.
“Well, Mr Hawke, our meeting was for eight thirty,” she said, gesturing up to the large clock on the high wall, and it was showing everyone and sundry it was eight thirty eight.
“Ah,” he said, smiling, “that’s entirely my fault. I had to deal with one of the permanent residents upstairs. These things occur from time to time…something that can’t be helped unfortunately. Because they’re permanent residents they think they get presidency.”
“I see. Shall we get on with this?”
He nodded and then turned to the young receptionist, who seemed to stiffen up with nerves as Hawke’s dark eyes fixed on him. It was almost a soldier in line to a sergeant. “Can you please sort that post out on the shelf,” he said, “we can’t be backlogged with post. I want it all sorted by lunch time…lets make that about twelve.”
The young receptionist nodded without saying a word. She now felt some sympathy for him, after all, it didn’t matter how incompetent or slow he was. He wasn’t as arrogant and oily as what Hawke was, and that was the worse character flaw in her view.
“Lets go into my office then,” he said, jangling the keys in his hand, as the receptionist went to deal with a foot deep pile of different coloured envelopes on the shelf. “We have things to talk about I’m sure.”
He opened the door and invited her in first, much to her surprise, as she expected him to be the
FIRST one into
HIS office. There, he invited her to sit, which she obliged with doing, and then he took his customary position at his antique desk. Looking proud, and feeling proud, she expected no doubt.
His office was modestly small, but he had a radiator to himself, while in the reception there was only three, or so she could see. So, while all those reception staff and porters (some porters doubled as receptionists behind the large counter) survived on the heat being produced in that enormous space, most of it being absorbed maybe by several of the people in there, and the others feeling as cold as ice statues, Hawke had his own little heater. He would never get cold that was for sure. Not with that radiator in his tiny little office, his comfortable chair, and his big antique work station with his own space. She knew in truth that there were people like that everywhere, and in her experience in many medical establishments up and down the United Kingdom. But she hated it the most when men like Hawke had that power, and even some women she had met in the past come to think of it.
“It comes to my attention that you’ve not given me a medical report on Miss Linda Hall.”
“I think you’ll find that I did,” she said, feeling a heat rise up in her face like a kettle coming to the boil. “I told you that she was killed through strangulation. You saw the bruises around the neck; you even commented that the bruises looked a little like a handprint. And, as I recall, I said that by the look of the bruises it was made by man and not a woman.”
He nodded. “Yes, I can recall all of that,” he let out of a deep, prolonged sigh. “Quite a horrible sight. Especially as she was a well loved member of my staff and someone who was good at her job, and this…this…was not supposed to have happened to someone like her.”
“What’re you trying to say, Mr Hawke?”
“I believe you should write a written report…”
“With all due respect Linda Hall’s body has now been removed…I can’t possibly recall what I saw and expect to write a report. I could be wrong about a few things…I…”
“Recall it best you can, Dr Connor. I’m sure you’d be surprised by what you can remember,” he said, his eyes narrowing. “If I could have it by tomorrow evening, if it’s no trouble.”
She shook her head. “I don’t understand…”
“What don’t you understand, doctor? What you should understand,” he said, his voice getting a little sharper now, that sharp it could have drawn blood quicker than a kitchen knife, “is that I pay…this hotel…pays you to make judgement on these matters. It is your business as well as mine, Dr Connor.”
She nodded her head grimly. “If you’d like a detailed report…then, it will take maybe…two or three days at best. I have other business…”
“Other business?” he said in a curious tone. She was unsure what that tone signified. It could have been one of surprise or complete horror, and she hoped for horror just for personal satisfaction. “I would like that report by tomorrow evening…recount it best you can, Dr Connor, and I look forward to having it in my hand,” he smiled slyly. “This other business,” he continued, “doesn’t happen to be with two gentlemen staying at this hotel by any chance?”
“I have other issues to take care of,” she reiterated, and she now began to feel the true nature of the meeting. It wasn’t called for the report on Linda Hall’s body; it was due to the fact that he must have seen her with Sam Michaels and Robert Dallaway. As far as she was aware, she didn’t sign anything to suggest she should keep her distance from certain individuals. And she did read the small print, as most experts would tell you to do. “But, you’ll have your report, I can give you that assurance, Mr Hawke,” she bit down on her lip. If she carried on that way she would have had a bloody lip by the end of her discussion. But she didn’t care, she needed to hold back her emotions, and if that came at the cost of having a bloody lip, then she would just have to settle for that. Small rewards, but it would have done her no good to get angry, it would have just fed his ego, which was already on the verge of bursting.
“They’re writers…interesting task they must have to undertake.”
“I wouldn’t know…I’m a doctor,” she said. “Its no business of mine.”
“I pay you good money, Dr Connor, added onto what you already receive from London it must be quite the pay day,” he flicked through a notebook that was nearby. “It would be a shame if I had to cut your annual income. Just before the turn of the year I’m looking at the years income and expenditure…I think I’ll find that you’re on our books and taking a significant income to ensure that things run smoothly here. I wouldn’t want you to be out of pocket. So, I’d like to give you extra to ensure that you stay here, Dr Connor, but we’ll discuss this issue another time. Just remember…would you like extra money or suffer a pay cut. I think we know what we’re talking about here. We are both sensible adults.”
She nodded. It was quite clear in her mind what he was talking about, and it made her rage a little. It was veiled blackmail. It was blackmail dressed up in a tuxedo and sporting a hideous mask, but no doubt it was blackmail in one form or another. She could have coped without the extra income from the hotel. She could survive quite well on what she had before, and she didn’t need his threats. It didn’t make any difference to her. “I don’t know what your problem is with the two men, but it is entirely innocent, and I’m not sure what you’re so scared of, Mr Hawke. Would you like to tell me something?”
He smiled, still composed despite her more confrontational stance. “Like to tell you what, Dr Connor? I have other issues to attend to, much like your self,” he said, his tone plummeting in temperature until it was as cold as the snow outside. “I’m sure you won’t deny me the same time as you obviously need yourself. I think it would be best if we adjourn this little meeting now, shall we?”
“I see you have a close relationship with the old gentleman upstairs?”
“What inquisitive eyes you have,” Hawke said. His eyes, as black as coals, stared her out carefully, measuring her every pore as though scanning her for authenticity.
“Are we the big bad wolf now?”
“I assume you’re talking about, Mr…Webster?”
She nodded. “Yes, that’s right.”
“Mr Webster has been here for the longest time. I’m bound to know him better than anyone else, so yes you could say that I speak to him more than the others,” he laughed to himself. “Mostly, about his damn cat Tobias, I believe his name is. That cat plays merry hell in this hotel. Will you do me a favour, Dr Connor?”
“The report?”
He shook his head. “No, I trust you with that issue. Those men you talk to…”
“I’m sure you have warned me about those men before,” she said, recalling the time she bumped into him on the way to the library.
“Yes, I have. Dr Connor, make sure you and those men don’t play merry hell like that cat does. It is a friendly warning. Please don’t take it as a threat, but as a polite forewarning.”
She stood up. “Forewarning for what?”
He clasped his hands in a pyramid formation, balancing them on the edge of his desk, and remained seated. “I think we have discussed everything we needed to discuss. I’ll trust you to think about the things we have talked about? And the report in my hand by tomorrow.”
It was like being at school again. And thinking about it, she noticed that his room looked a little what you’d expect a headmaster’s office to look like. Very old-fashioned, formal, not comfortable to a person, except the person who spent the most time in there.
“The snow is beautiful this morning,” he said softly. She stopped and looked back at him before she reached the door. His eyes were fixed on the snow out of the window, resting serenely on what was usually was the large emerald lawn that rolled all the way to the woodland. There was something very different about his eyes when he looked out of that window, as though his oil-drop eyes melted into a light chocolate colour. He looked a much warmer person, a less confrontational person, as though he was sleeping with his eyes open. “I could stare at it all day.”
“But you have pressing issues,” she said.
His head snapped back towards her, and the spell was abruptly broken, those light chocolate eyes were replaced with the oil-drop ones again. A thin smile appeared on his face. “Yes,” he said, almost as a whisper. “We all have pressing issues, don’t we?”
After hearing that, she left the office abruptly, hoping that the only time she would see him again was when she handed him Linda Hall’s medical report, and that would be the end of it. She would cut her ties from the hotel after things had been concluded one way or the other. There was no way she was going to give him the satisfaction of giving her a pay cut.
Still, tucked away behind the desk (and now there was another man helping with reception), ‘Robbie’ was dealing with the days post.
