Chapter 16
Then there it was again, that smothered giggle, only this time it was more of a chuckle and came from a little girl with freckles and a mop of auburn hair. She was peering out at Eve from the end of the corridor, a look of mischievous delight on her face.
“Boo!” Eve said.
The girl gave a little shriek and scooted off.
By the time Eve reached the end of the corridor, she had vanished.
A door nearby opened and out stepped a handsome gentleman, with an elegant woman holding his arm, both wrapped up in coats.
This was the first woman that Eve had seen up close since she arrived and there was something a bit startling about her appearance.
Perhaps it was the tiny rosebud effect she’d achieved with her lipstick, or the Hollywood-starlet brows, which had been heavily plucked and then pencilled back in with an ultra-thin line.
It was so different to what Eve was used to and she couldn’t help thinking that it gave the woman the look of a femme fatale.
“Good evening,” the man said politely, tipping his hat in her direction.
Eve managed to return the greeting, her skin tingling with the strangeness of speaking to people from another time.
She wondered whether they believed she was one of them, or if her “otherness” was written as plainly on her as it seemed to be on them.
They walked off and she followed in their footsteps, feeling a little conspicuous at being unescorted and trying to remember whether this was common in the thirties.
Fortunately, the walk didn’t last long because they soon reached the lift.
Unlike in the modern-day ruin, the lift doors were in place, and it was a relief not to be faced with an empty shaft plummeting straight into the darkness.
More than that, though, the doors themselves were a delight.
Like so many other things from this era, they were special and stunning, surfaced with a veneer arranged in stylised coral and seaweed shapes from a variety of different woods that were no longer common in Eve’s time.
She recognised Cuban plum pudding wood, American walnut, and Japanese ash, all combining to create a rich, glossy tapestry of art deco motifs.
To Eve, they were extraordinary, but the couple barely glanced at them before the gentleman pressed the button to summon the lift.
Together, they listened to the rumbling clanks and whirs as the lift made its way up to the fifth floor and came to a stop with a sudden clang.
The doors slid open to reveal a spectacular birdcage lift with intricate, ornate ironwork moulded into the shape of tentacles.
A lift operator in his sixties stood inside, dressed in a similar uniform to the one Alfie had worn, with a green jacket, a round hat, and spotless white gloves.
He slid the gate back and said, “Good evening, sir. Ladies. Going down?”
“Yes, as quick as you can,” the male guest replied. “I’m afraid we’re running late for the event in the Sunset Room.”
“Never fear, sir,” the operator said as the three of them stepped on board. He flicked a quick glance at Eve before his eyes slid away again. “The speech won’t start until you get there.”
A brass panel on the wall contained buttons for floors one to six. The operator selected the ground floor and the lift clanked its way down through the levels until it emerged into the steel cage in the lobby.
The room revealed itself bit by bit and Eve found it impossible not to stare at the splendour, delighted by the sight of the room brought to life, restored to its glory.
The graffiti and rubbish were gone, and so were the moss and the insects, the rot and ruin.
Beneath lay a stunning lobby, shining in white St. Genevieve marble.
There was the sparkle of water running from the fountain and the mirrored piano stood smart and gleaming and all in one piece.
A pianist was seated there, and music filled the room.
The grandfather clock was polished from top to bottom, ticking and tocking out the minutes as the few remaining stragglers hurried out the front doors in the direction of the party.
Eve was glad of her fur coat then, because the evening was already icy cold.
She had no idea where the Sunset Room was, so she followed the other guests as they walked outside and along the veranda to the front of the building, where the manicured lawns were now frosted with a light cover of snow, stretching all the way down to the water’s edge.
There wasn’t time to linger because sunset was already painting the lake in fiery shades of orange and yellow, and everyone was heading straight towards the steam baths sprawled on the other end of the lawn.
The grand outbuilding’s front doors stood wide open in welcome.
Eve followed the others into a small reception area.
She felt a flicker of unease as she checked her fur coat into the cloakroom with the others.
She was very aware of the evening air brushing over the bare skin of her back, but her octopus tattoo remained on her thigh for now.
She was directed next door, where it seemed like the entire hotel had assembled in the Sunset Room, leaving only just enough space for Eve to squeeze in at the very back.
The sun’s final glow poured in through the massive windows, lighting up the room like it was the inside of a jewel.
The walls were lined with golden mirrors, and the floor was tiled with crushed pieces of pearl-pink shell.
A marble champagne bar took up the entire wall facing out towards the lake and Eve was mesmerised by the sight of exceptionally elegant guests perched upon the tall stools, holding coupes of golden bubbles as they talked, and laughed, and admired the view beyond. Alive again, after all these years.
A waiter offered her a coupe of champagne from a silver tray, and when she raised it to her lips, she found it was ice-cold and bubbled over her tongue in the most pleasing way—so much better than it had ever tasted at home.
Perhaps champagne was meant for the thirties, the perfect complement to the glitz and glamour.
Or maybe it tasted better because, for the first time in her life, she could glimpse the possibility of undoing that ghastly mistake and putting things right.
She could hardly comprehend what a life unsaddled with a crushing weight of guilt would feel like.
She supposed it would be airy and light.
She guessed there would be room to enjoy things, and a bold, bright flame of hope warmed her from the inside.
Suddenly, there were gasps of delight all around the room as the sun finally dipped below the horizon and in the moment of its disappearance it cast a final beam of brightness that shone upon a small mirror on the far wall.
This mirror had a particularly ornate frame, featuring a host of golden jellyfish, and it must have had magic too, for as the sunset struck the glass, a bloom of jellyfish appeared in the air above the guests’ heads.
They were spectral and ghostlike, not quite solid, the colour of molten sunshine, bigger than any real jellyfish could possibly be.
They drifted lazily up near the ceiling, their long tentacles trailing down towards the glittering crowd.
Eve felt the prickle of her own octopus as it shifted on her thigh.
Some of the guests were removing their gloves, reaching up with their bare fingers, trying to touch a tentacle.
“They don’t sting, then?” a nearby guest remarked.
“Oh, they do,” her companion replied. “Rumour has it that if one of them stings you, you’ll be gifted with a piece of knowledge about a loved one—something that they do not want you to know.”
As the sun sank below the horizon, the jellyfish vanished in an instant, and in their place a woman climbed up on a stool at the front of the room, raised her coupe of champagne, and tapped it delicately with a teaspoon. There was a ting-ting-ting and everyone fell quiet and turned towards her.
I know you, Eve thought at once. I know you.
She was a petite woman about Eve’s age, dressed in a violet gown and white elbow-length gloves.
She wore a silver necklace in the shape of a single leaf that looked real, except for the fact that it was entirely reflective, like it had been dipped in a mirror.
A diamond chain adorned her black hair, which fell down her back in waterfall waves.
Eve knew she had never laid eyes on this woman before, but the strong sense of recognition persisted.
There was a bright flash from the other side of the room as a photographer snapped a picture.
“My dear friends,” the woman said. “Welcome to the White Octopus Hotel. For those of you I haven’t yet met, my name is Anna Roth, and I am the current owner.
I expect you all know who my father was.
This hotel was Nikolas Roth’s great pride and joy—his life’s work, in a sense.
” Her voice shook just slightly. “As many of you know, my parents died recently. I miss them every day, but we have exciting times ahead. It was my father’s final wish that the White Octopus Hotel should throw a grand party—grander than tonight, the grandest party of our time—to celebrate its fortieth birthday in three days. ”
There was a cheer from the assembled guests and many of them raised their champagne coupes in a toast.
Anna smiled, revealing two cheek dimples, and Eve flinched. Her little sister had had cheek dimples too, just like that….
“In the meantime,” Anna went on, “we invite you to join us in a little scavenger hunt. Some of you may already know that this hotel has twelve clocks and thirty-six octopuses in its public rooms, not including those on our room keys and tableware. To the first guest who manages to locate them all, a prize will be offered on the night of the party. The winner will be rewarded with one of Nikolas Roth’s paintings.
And have their pick of any magical item in the hotel. ”
There was another enthusiastic burst of applause, but as it fell away, one person continued to clap—deliberately slowly, unmistakably mocking.
One by one, everyone in the room turned around, craning their heads to see who this person might be.
It didn’t take Eve long to locate him, because he was standing just a few feet from her, leaning against one of the pillars.
He stood out because he was perhaps the only person in the room who wasn’t dressed smartly.
Instead, he wore a plain, ordinary day suit and fedora.
The hat caught Eve’s attention at once. She’d seen one just like it: the hat that was still sitting on the top shelf of her wardrobe at home.
She could tell that the man had black hair but couldn’t see his face properly until he turned his head to take the cigarette from the corner of his mouth, and then she felt another jolt of adrenaline rush through her.
It was Max Everly, the famous musician, instantly recognisable from the photos, only now he wasn’t a frozen, faded image in black and white, but a living, breathing person right in front of her.
The room fell silent and everyone was looking at him.
Despite this, he seemed in no hurry to speak and took a slow drag on his cigarette first. “My congratulations, Miss Roth,” he said at last, exhaling smoke, “on that very pretty speech. Have you ever considered a career on the stage? The West End is in constant need of good actresses, I hear.”
“Thank you, Mr. Everly,” Anna said in a cool tone. Then she deliberately looked away and addressed the party in a far warmer voice. “Please help yourself to scavenger hunt cards by the door. In the meantime, we’ve a lot of champagne that needs drinking tonight, darlings. Enjoy!”
She hopped down from the stool to more applause and then someone put a jazz record onto a vinyl player behind the bar.
The odd moment with Max Everly was already forgotten and the festivities were in full swing once more.
Eve stood rooted to the spot. Part of her wanted to begin exploring straightaway, to start ticking off the clocks, the octopuses.
But then again, now that she was a hotel guest, perhaps she could simply ask someone for a sheet of notepaper?
She ought to track down a member of staff at once and do so.
If her mind had been less fuzzy, then she would have asked Alfie the moment she arrived.
And yet…she couldn’t take her eyes from Max Everly.
It was impossible to tell whether this was the same elderly man who had come to the auction house and pressed the white octopus into her hands, but he was certainly the musician she had loved and admired for years, and Eve longed to speak to him, to say something about how much his music had meant to her, how much it had helped.
He was still leaning against a pillar, taking deep drags on his cigarette in a way that seemed angry.
Clearly there was something irritating him, and he wasn’t taking any pleasure in the party at all, shaking his head when a passing waiter tried to offer him champagne.
But Eve felt herself drawn towards him like a magnet.
She took a step closer, with no idea of quite what she would say.
But then someone jostled her arm from behind, there was the cold splash of water on her skin, and a voice said, “Oh, I’m sorry!”
Eve turned and found herself face-to-face with a woman she recognised.
She was in her early twenties, with long dark hair, tied up and arranged with jewelled combs.
Her velvet dress was a pale shade of forget-me-not blue and couldn’t disguise the fact that she was heavily pregnant.
There was a confused moment as Eve tried to place her.
She did recognise her, surely, just as she thought she’d recognised Anna, but it was like seeing an actress in a film, knowing that you’d seen them before but unable to work out where.
“Here, take my napkin,” the woman said, offering Eve the piece of cloth for her arm, which was damp from the spilled water.
Hearing her voice again finally made something click inside Eve’s head. All the pieces shuffled themselves around into the correct order, and the breath in her body was gone, and she knew exactly who she was looking at.
The young woman in front of her was her mother.