Chapter 15 #2
“My grandfather always used to say that there is a great deal of magic in memories,” Alfie said.
“And the White Octopus Hotel can never have too much magic. Anna will be giving her speech soon, like I said, and you won’t want to miss it.
In the meantime, perhaps you might like an opportunity to freshen up and enjoy a complimentary beverage.
” He indicated the green drink. “This is a Nautilus—a cocktail that was invented right here in the Palm Bar by my father. He’s one of the hotel’s best mixologists.
It was my grandfather’s favourite drink, and we’ve found that it helps our time-travelling guests to adjust a little when they first arrive.
And a sugar octopus always goes down well too, of course. ”
“It’s stunning,” Eve said, peering at the tiny octopus, delighting in the perfect curl of its looping tentacles.
Alfie grinned. “My mum made it. She’s the resident sugar artist here. Just wait until you sample her peppermint creams in the Sugar Room.”
Dozens of further questions fizzed on the end of her tongue, but Alfie was already making his exit. “Enjoy your stay at the White Octopus,” he said over his shoulder.
Then the door clicked shut and he was gone.
Eve looked at the green drink. The tall glass bore the same octopus crest she had seen elsewhere.
She was already feeling a bit better, more normal, but a drink couldn’t hurt, and she hoped it would be a strong one.
She wasn’t disappointed. The first sip made her splutter, but she relished the cold, hard bite of the alcohol.
It was the most delicious concoction she had ever tasted.
The crunch of a sugar octopus was the perfect complement to the sharpness of the drink too.
With her head a little clearer, Eve went over to the door and peered through the eyehole that looked out to the other side, just to check whether anyone still lingered beyond her door.
From the small amount she could see, it was deserted, and transformed from how it had appeared before.
She turned away and walked through the balcony doors to the iron balustrade outside.
The change was so dramatic that it was difficult to take in.
The weeds and ruin were all gone. A cart on the immaculate lawn dished out paper bags of roasted chestnuts to elegant women in fur coats.
A trio of musicians in the pavilion were responsible for the jazz music she had heard.
The lake sparkled as before, but there was no sign of Friede or her boat.
Instead, the water was dotted with sleek pleasure boats, rowed by gentlemen for the pleasure of their female companions, all of whom held fur muffs to protect their hands from the cold.
It was all so beautiful, so idyllic, like looking at a postcard of the past. But there was something strange and surreal about the scene as well.
Eve couldn’t escape the thought that all these people, laughing, and boating, and enjoying themselves on the lawn, were now dead.
Or at least, they had been before she stepped through the door to Room 27.
Dead for many years, just bones in a box or ashes in the air.
This knowledge made it somehow uncomfortable to watch them boating, and eating chestnuts, and enjoying their time so freely.
Like it would go on forever. Her head gave another dull throb, aching beneath the pressure of trying to make sense of it all.
When she finally tore her eyes away, she approached the vanity table and checked every drawer for any sign of writing paper.
There was nothing there or in the bedside cabinet.
She glanced at the door and felt tempted to turn the key anticlockwise in the lock and see if a ruined corridor awaited her on the other side but decided against it.
She didn’t want to risk crossing the threshold by accident and checking out prematurely.
She wondered briefly what would happen at that moment.
Would she forget that she’d discovered Room 27?
Would she believe that the stories about the hotel were all pure fantasy?
There were too many questions and she had answers to none of them.
But the party would start soon and she didn’t want to miss Anna’s speech.
She went into the adjoining bathroom. It was like stepping inside a pearl, with a shimmer of creamy tiles and a stunning claw-foot bathtub that looked big enough to swim in. She ran the taps and there was just time to sink into a tub of warm water and wash the grime from her skin and hair.
When she dried herself and returned to the bedroom, the jazz had stopped, and upon glancing out the window, she saw that the boats had all been moored, the chestnut cart was gone, and few people remained on the lawn below.
She supposed they were all in their own rooms by now, getting ready for the evening.
She returned to the wardrobe. Alfie had said it had clothes for every occasion, so she was expecting a full rack when she opened the doors—rows of silks, and velvets, and chiffons, and stripes.
Instead, a solitary dress hung from a hanger.
It was all satin silk and lace, in black and liquid gold, a slinky bias-cut gown made for a Hollywood goddess.
It was the same dress as the one she’d seen in the photo.
There were easily a couple of metres of pearls in the necklace looped over the hanger too.
For a long moment, Eve stared. It was utterly stunning, but she couldn’t possibly wear it.
The material plunged so low at the back that her entire body would be on show from her shoulders right down to the base of her spine. What if her octopus decided to wander?
Eve’s tattoo had not always been a tattoo.
It had started out as a pencil sketch, just like the other octopuses.
Only this one didn’t limit its exploring to the edges of the sketchbook.
It drifted right onto Eve’s hand where it rested on the page, the ink sinking into her skin as it took up its preferred place on her thigh.
Eve had been shocked, of course, had wondered whether she ought to attempt to scrub it off.
But she could never bring herself to try.
Its presence was comforting and made her feel more like herself.
Black turtlenecks seemed like a small enough price to pay for that.
There had never been any long-term romances in Eve’s life, but on the rare occasion when there had been a brief fling, the octopus had mostly remained on her thigh, or else the man in question hadn’t noticed it move.
But there was one night with someone she’d met in a bar that had been different, unpleasant.
It had been Eve’s birthday and she was desperate to take the edge from her loneliness, to feel the warmth that could only come from another person’s touch.
But then he saw the octopus move up her leg.
“What the fuck?”
She could still hear the horror in his voice, still see the appalled look on his face.
“What is that?” he’d demanded, still staring at her like she’d slithered up from a drain.
“I don’t know,” she’d replied honestly.
She had no answers and imagined she never would.
Even that night on her birthday, when the man had gathered up his clothes and left her feeling lonelier than ever, she hadn’t been tempted to try to wash away the octopus.
If the choice was hers, then she would choose the octopus over a man, every time.
Now, in her room at the White Octopus Hotel, she gazed at the silk dress and couldn’t see an alternative to wearing it.
Filthy jeans would attract attention, too.
And in a magical hotel filled with impossible things, perhaps the octopus wouldn’t be quite as conspicuous as it was back home.
Perhaps people wouldn’t be horrified? Besides which, she knew she would wear this dress because she had already done so.
The old photo in her pocket proved that.
But more than that, she wanted the dress, longed to feel the cold silk against her skin, and suddenly she was sick of hiding, sick of pretending to be something she wasn’t.
She removed her clothes, and as she did so, her phone fell from her pocket.
When she picked it up, she was surprised to see that it remained on at all, but obviously, there was no reception.
The thought occurred to her that perhaps she could use it to take photos of the hotel.
That way, even if she forgot about it upon checking out, she would have evidence on her phone.
Would that be cheating? Would the hotel find out and, what, impose a penalty of some kind?
She decided to think about it later. She switched the phone off to conserve the battery and tucked it into the drawer by her bed before returning to the wardrobe.
She slipped the dress over her head, relishing the way it clung to her body in all the right places.
The loop of pearls was so long it reached down to her navel.
Placed neatly on the shelf below was a pair of black snakeskin print heels.
Silk stockings. Lace underwear and a garter belt, all in black. A lipstick and a hairbrush.
Eve sat at the dressing table to roll the stockings up to her thighs; they reached just to the spot where her octopus was currently resting.
She picked up the lipstick and turned towards the mirror, pleased to find it was the blood-red shade she’d always favoured.
The hairbrush had a mother-of-pearl back with an octopus motif.
When she swept it through her hair, it didn’t only dry it but transformed her hairstyle too.
In the blink of an eye, she had thirties-style finger curls, just as she’d done in the photograph.
When she opened the wardrobe door to replace the hairbrush, she saw that another item had appeared on the hanger—a black sable coat.
She recalled that Alfie had said something about wearing a coat, so she slipped it on.
When she looked in the full-length mirror inside the wardrobe, she didn’t recognise herself.
She smiled and her lips were red against white teeth.
She could be someone else here if she wanted to be, and no one would have to know.
Even she herself wouldn’t know if she forgot everything the moment she checked out.
It was an intoxicating thought. Eve allowed herself a small moment of silent triumph.
She had done the impossible. She had travelled back eighty years to check in to the White Octopus Hotel. And she was going to undo her past.