Chapter Thirty-Seven
Claudia
They had been half-expecting the news after the ambulance call, but nonetheless the hotel staff have all been saddened to hear that the nice lady from room seven, Evelyn Chambers, has passed away, following a stroke. According to Yiorgos, who was on night porter duty, another guest, Miranda Vallance, was with her at the end, and had returned to the hotel at around two in the morning, very distressed.
‘Ihope he poured her a brandy,’ Dimitris said at the morning meeting, when they heard what had happened. He’d glanced over at Claudia. ‘We should make sure she’s okay today. She might want to talk about it.’ Then he ran a hand over his head, looking pained. ‘Unfortunately, this is the same woman who had somebody trying to film her when she was by the pool the other day.’
‘What, phone-gate?’ Claudia asked. ‘Oh dear. She’s not having the greatest holiday so far, is she? I’ll get in touch with her, don’t worry.’ Since then, she has left a little note under Ms Vallance’s door, and emailed her a message of condolence, saying that if there’s anything the hotel can do she only has to ask. Ms Vallance might want to talk about it, she might not, but it’s only courteous to offer her the option, she feels.
Dimitris has been in touch with the hospital about next-of-kin details so that they can send on Ms Chambers’ suitcase and personal effects. Decisions will have to be made about whether or not the body is to be repatriated. For the time being, though, Claudia is in Ms Chambers’ suite, packing up her belongings. To say that this is a sobering experience is a complete understatement. There’s something extremely poignant about carefully folding and packing another person’s clothes into their suitcase, knowing it’s for a different kind of journey than a simple flight home. Everything has been cast in a new, mournful light. The mere sight of Ms Chambers’ book left on the bed half-read, a bookmark in its pages, was enough to make Claudia feel emotional.
She takes a long dove-grey cotton dress from its hanger and neatly folds it. A light floral fragrance drifts from the fabric and the scent makes Claudia think of garden parties, croquet on a lawn, tea and scones. (She’s never been to England herself, admittedly; perhaps she’s watched too much Downton Abbey .) Did Evelyn Chambers go to garden parties? she wonders, placing the dress in the suitcase. Did she enjoy her life? Was she fulfilled, was she loved?
It’s all over for her now, either way. And it’s such an obvious thing to think but, truly, death is so final. You’re there one moment, gone the next– leaving unread books, unused plane tickets, unfinished conversations adrift in your departure. Had Evelyn known the end was coming? Claudia wonders, bagging up a pair of white trainers, then a pair of well-worn Birkenstocks. Did she manage to achieve everything she wanted before her last breath, or did she die with regrets? Claudia loves a ticked-off daily to-do list as much as the next person but she has a bigger list at the back of her mind, what you might call a bucket list, that she hasn’t considered for a long time. She still hasn’t seen the Parthenon, even though she’s been in Greece for three years. There are so many other European countries she’d like to visit too– Italy, Germany, Sweden, Scotland, for starters. She wants to have children one day. A big exuberant dog. And most of all, she wants to experience love– real, romantic love. The forever kind.
She pulls out a drawer and stuffs neatly balled socks into a bag along with some sturdy bras and underwear. Yes, she wants love, she acknowledges, lifting a pile of folded tops from another drawer and placing them in the suitcase. The thought gives her pause, so much so that she has to stop and sit on the bed for a moment, her head full of difficult feelings. Ever since she came to Greece she has spent her life like a plane in a holding pattern, she reflects. Up in the air, circling around, without ever landing. She has assured herself repeatedly that she’ll make proper plans again one day, but that, in the meantime, this is what’s best. She has felt safe circling up there, continually putting off the moment when she has to take any decisions about landing again. But if today ended up being her last, if she were to suffer a sudden death herself. . . Her hands clench and unclench in her lap. If that were to happen, she admits, her final moments would be full of regrets for the life not lived. She would wish that she had been bolder about life, about love; that she had plucked up the courage to try again, and opened her heart, however daunting the prospect.
This isn’t getting Ms Chambers’ room packed up though, is it? She rises to her feet and picks up a pretty rose-pink blouse to fold. She thinks about the woman’s friends and family back in the UK who are presumably hearing the news about her passing this morning. ‘She was such a lovely woman,’ Duska had said. ‘Really warm and sincere from the very first moment– the sort of person who actually sees you when they look at you, rather than just speaking to you like you’re an ornament behind the desk.’
Claudia places the blouse in the suitcase, then notices a framed photograph on the bedside table. It’s a black and white picture of two silver-haired women in what look like wedding dresses, holding hands and both roaring with laughter, their heads tilted back, mirroring one another. Oh gosh, it’s beautiful in its depiction of rapture. It’s obvious that the women in the frame adore each other. If Evelyn Chambers was one of those two women, then clearly she was loved and gave love in return. That must be nice, mustn’t it, Claudia? a voice in her head says pointedly.
She wraps the photograph in a thin cotton jumper and sets it in the middle of the case, finding herself reminded of her own wedding day with a small automatic shudder. What happened to the album of photographs left behind in her marital home? she wonders. It’s odd to think of those pictures still existing in the world, ironically lasting longer than the marriage itself. Something else odd, she realises in the next moment, is that she’s starting to feel differently about that time, about him. Since the discovery that the mystery hotel emailer was not her ex-husband after her fearful paranoia, she has noticed a marked upswing in her own sense of wellbeing. It’s as if. . . Well, to say that it feels as if a curse has lifted is perhaps a bit hokey. But something has shifted within her, the tension replaced by a new sense of acceptance. Of calm, even. Maybe, just maybe, she’s letting that whole episode go. Moving on. She doesn’t have to be scared of him any longer. Why should she be? She’s got her whole life left to live! If she can just land her own damn plane, anyway.
The wardrobe and drawers are now empty, so she heads into the bathroom to start gathering together Evelyn Chambers’ toiletries. Then comes a knock at the door. ‘Claudia?’ she hears as it opens. ‘Are you still in here?’
There’s an immediate rush of blood around her body in response. Here he is. The best person in her life. The most decent, funny, handsome man she’s ever met. Not that she’s ever dared tell anyone how she feels, obviously. She’s hardly dared even admit it to herself. He is her boss, after all, and he has never shown any kind of romantic interest in her. Never. There’s being brave and opening your heart, and there’s humiliating yourself and jeopardising your job. Her fingers reach for the reassurance of her gold evil eye charm round her neck, and close around it briefly. ‘Coming,’ she says, without actually moving.
Standing there with the contents of Evelyn Chambers’ washbag– the perfume she’ll never wear again, the lipstick left unfinished– is pretty galvanising. You’ve got one life, Claudia, she reminds herself. She could ask him for a drink, couldn’t she? Test the water, see what happens to his face when she suggests it. It’s going to be scary as hell but it’ll feel as if she’s living, at least, she figures. Breaking out of that holding pattern at last.
‘How’s it going?’ Dimitris asks when she steps into the bedroom a second or two later. His gaze sweeps around. ‘Looks like you’ve nearly finished, well done. We’ve heard back from one of Ms Chambers’ relatives now, a nephew, who—’
She can’t pay attention to the details; she hopes it isn’t unfeeling of her, but she doesn’t know how long this sudden spurt of bravery will last. She’s got to act on it right now. ‘Listen, Iwas thinking,’ she interrupts him, just as the door crashes open. In comes Aglaia, one of the cleaners, dragging a hoover behind her while simultaneously pushing her trolley, which rattles busily with cleaning sprays.
‘Ahh, there you are,’ says Dimitris. ‘Thanks, Aglaia, Claudia’s nearly finished in here.’ Then he turns back to her. ‘What were you about to say?’
She swallows, a rictus smile on her face. There’s absolutely no way she’s going to ask him out for a drink in front of an audience. Or worse, if Aglaia starts up the hoover and she ends up having to shout over its roar to make herself heard. Bravery has its limits. ‘Nothing,’ she says weakly. ‘Carry on– you were telling me about the nephew who’s been in touch?’
‘Yes,’ he says, as Aglaia closes the door behind her and starts stripping the bed, humming under her breath. ‘So, here’s the situation. . .’
Claudia listens and responds in all of the right places, and then he goes away again. She returns to the bathroom to finish off packing up Ms Chambers’ belongings, and catches her own eye in the mirror. Next time, she promises her reflection with a rueful shake of her head. Definitely next time.