Chapter 17
“Are you okay?” her mum asked, looking startled by Eve’s grip on her hand.
Don’t do it! Eve longed to say. Oh, God, don’t hold a fourth-birthday party for me, don’t let me near the gate, don’t let Bella out of your sight….
The words tingled right on the edge of her tongue.
But guests had to give up their memories when they checked out; that was what Alfie had said.
So her mum wouldn’t remember—and didn’t, as had been clear when Eve asked her about the hotel.
Although Eve was certain that her mother must have brought her here as a child too.
She could see no trace of her three-year-old self now, but maybe she came on a different occasion?
For afternoon tea and the peppermint creams. And if Eve had managed to hold on to tiny snatches of memory, then maybe, just maybe, there was a chance that her warning could make a strong enough impression on her mother that she would carry it with her back to her own time?
And yet…
Even if Eve’s mum had some vague recollection of the warning, it wouldn’t be enough unless she remembered the specifics.
Worse still, it might leave her with an uncertain, disturbing premonition of disaster that she had no power to avoid.
And in this moment, here and now at the party, it would be upsetting and cruel.
What pregnant woman wanted to hear that the baby they were carrying wouldn’t live to see its second birthday?
“I—I’m sorry,” Eve finally stammered out, releasing her mum’s hand and taking the napkin instead. “I just…had a funny turn.”
She hoped her mum might accept the vague, foolish answer as something a woman from the thirties might say. And after all, it was the truth. Looking at her mother standing there, even younger than Eve currently was herself, was twisting her brain up into knots.
Her mum still looked a little puzzled but nodded and said, “Isn’t this a glorious place?”
“Yes,” Eve replied. “Glorious.”
“Have you visited before?” her mum asked politely.
“Once,” Eve replied. “When I was very young. I’m Eve, by the way.”
Her mum smiled. “That’s my daughter’s name. I’m Jane.”
It was so utterly strange to be talking to her mum like this. She seemed incredibly—shockingly—young. No grey hairs, no lines forged with suffering.
“You must be a relation,” Jane said.
Eve felt the colour drain from her face. “Pardon?”
“To Anna Roth, I mean. You look so alike.”
Eve’s head ached. Did they look alike? Was that why Anna had seemed familiar to her?
“Just coincidence,” Eve said firmly. She longed to tell Jane who she really was, but in the absence of being able to do so, she settled for prolonging their conversation a little more, trying to establish the flimsiest of connections between them.
“What do you make of the scavenger hunt?” Eve asked. “Do you think you’ll join in?”
“Oh. Well, I can’t really,” Jane replied, shaking her head. “I’ve got…My husband and daughter are waiting for me, and I’ve another little one on the way soon too, as you can see. So I can’t stay long.”
Her hands strayed to her stomach. Even now, baby Bella was there, right there, safe inside her mother. Eve felt the sudden mad urge to reach out and touch the bump, to say sorry to her little sister, to promise to make things right….
But then a man’s voice rang out, raised in irritation. “By all means! Why let the truth get in the way of a good yarn?”
Eve and Jane both glanced around to see Max Everly talking to Anna Roth. And that was when Eve saw the rabbit—her sister’s rabbit—only it wasn’t sat at the sidelines, like usual. It was in Anna Roth’s arms, its long ears pricked up tall, its little nose snuffling and twitching in alarm.
Eve stared. How had the rabbit managed to get into the arms of a real person? That wasn’t how it normally worked. If no one else was aware of the rabbit, then didn’t they all wonder why Anna was holding her arms in that strange way?
But then Anna said, “Please lower your voice, sir. You’ll frighten my rabbit.”
And Eve saw that it wasn’t Bella’s rabbit, not quite. This one had a splodge on its left eye rather than its right, like a mirrored version. Anna bent to place the bunny on the floor, and it immediately hopped off through the crowd in search of a quiet corner.
“I’d better go find the bathroom,” Jane said, drawing Eve’s attention back. “It was nice to meet you.”
“Oh, yes. You, too.”
Jane disappeared from the room in one direction and Anna ushered Max out the other.
Once again, Eve took a step after the musician, but before she could get any further, an ancient woman hobbled straight up to her, as if she’d been waiting for the opportunity.
She was extremely old, in her nineties at least, yet there was something bright and capable about her.
Her hair was completely white, tied up with combs, and her skin was wrinkled and spotted with age, but she approached Eve with an air of purpose, moving slowly but unaided in her dove-grey evening gown.
“Good evening, miss,” she said without preamble. “You must be the guest from Room 27. I work at the hotel, so I know you’ve come a long way to join us.”
Eve glanced down at her outfit. Perhaps she wasn’t blending in so well as she’d hoped, after all.
“I’m sure none of the guests will have any idea about where you’re from,” the woman said briskly, as if reading Eve’s mind. “It’s just some of the longer-term staff who learn to recognise the sevens.”
“Sevens?”
“Our time-travelling guests.” The woman’s voice wavered, and Eve had to lean forwards slightly to hear her over the jazz and general hubbub of laughter and conversation. “You always have rooms with sevens in them.”
“How many of us have there been?” Eve asked, glancing in the direction in which Jane had just left.
“A few. We have three time-travelling rooms, although Room Seven’s key was recently lost, I’m afraid.
I see you just met our other occupant, though.
If there are multiple sevens in the hotel at any one time, then they often find themselves drawn together for some reason. I’m the hotel’s resident historian.”
“How fascinating,” Eve replied. Max and Anna had both disappeared from view now, and she was disappointed to have let them slip away again.
“It is,” the woman replied. “For any hotel, but for the White Octopus in particular.”
Eve turned her attention back to her. She was a member of staff, after all, so there was no harm in asking. “I wonder if you could help me,” she said. “I’d like to send a letter and was hoping the hotel might have some writing paper I could use?”
The old woman tilted her head slightly to one side, giving Eve an appraising look with her rheumy eyes. “Now, whyever would a seven want to send a letter? Surely you will have no one to write to in the world for many years.”
“I’ve heard that it’s special writing paper,” Eve replied. “Is that true?”
“Everything in this hotel is special,” the woman said, before adding abruptly, “I’m much too old for parties—too noisy and boisterous.
Will you take afternoon tea with me tomorrow?
I’m always fascinated by our sevens. A historian doesn’t normally get the opportunity to learn about histories other than their own.
I would love to hear more. And in return I’ll happily tell you about the hotel. ”
“All right,” Eve said, trying to hide her disappointment. She supposed it was too much to hope that the paper could simply be handed to her, but she could always ask the other staff in the meantime. “Thank you.”
“Meet me at the Veranda Restaurant at three o’clock,” the woman ordered. “Ask for Mrs. Roth’s table.”
Eve was startled to hear the name again, but before she could ask any questions about the woman’s relationship to Nikolas Roth, the old lady had bid her good night and was slowly making her way towards the exit.
Eve went to pick up one of the scavenger hunt cards.
A title in elaborately ornate script read The White Octopus Hotel Scavenger Hunt.
Beneath this were two headings, one for clocks and one for octopuses.
A numbered list below provided space for guests to write down the location of each.
Sketches of tentacles and ticking clocks adorned the margins.
Eve picked up a small pencil from a silver bucket beside the cards and wrote in the answers she already knew.
In the lobby there was one grandfather clock and one octopus fountain.
Only eleven clocks and thirty-five octopuses to go.
She considered returning to the hotel straightaway to begin the search but found herself drawn back by the conversation of the other guests.
Over the next hour, the champagne flowed, and the photographer’s camera flashed, and there was a great deal of talk about the hotel’s magical objects too.
According to the guests, these really existed at the hotel—not just one or two, but an abundance of them, and everyone was keen to compare notes and experiences and to talk about what they would claim as their prize if they won the scavenger hunt.
“Personally, I just adore the bookmark,” a lady in a lemon-coloured gown said.
She wore stacks of bangles over her gloves that jingled every time she moved.
“It’s difficult to find in the library, but if you manage to get hold of it, then it can bring a fictional character to life.
When I visited a few years ago, I had breakfast with Sherlock Holmes. ”
“My dear, that can’t actually be true!” another lady wearing a jewelled headdress replied. “Can it?”
“I swear it happened.”
“But how delightful!” The woman in the headdress clapped her hands together.
“It isn’t all delightful,” a gentleman warned. “The bookmark is dangerous. You don’t decide which character is brought to life, you see. A friend of mine found himself face-to-face with Dr. Jekyll once and it was devilishly unpleasant. It’s lucky no one was killed.”
“There’s a mirror in the Smoking Room,” another man volunteered. “Whatever you do, don’t look into it for too long.”
“What harm can a mirror possibly do, old fellow?” a second gentleman asked.
The first man shook his head. He’d gone a little pale. “If you stare into the glass for too long, then something happens. To your reflection.”
“What rot!” someone replied with a merry laugh. “Everyone knows that your face starts to look unlike your own if you stare at it for too long.”
“No,” the man insisted. “No. It’s more than that. Your reflection, it…comes to life. And you might not like what it does.”
“Choose your words carefully in the Palm Bar too,” another guest cautioned.
“The martinis are excellent, of course, if you can tolerate the Eavesdropper hiding behind the curtains. They say he coughs every time someone utters a lie. You only ever see the tips of his shoes. Unless a truly shocking lie of great magnitude is uttered, and then you might glimpse a finger curling around the edge of the curtain—or so they say.”
“But who is he?”
“No one knows.”
“That can’t be right,” Eve put in. “There are no windows in the Palm Bar, so why would there be a curtain?”
The man shrugged. “All I know is there is one.”
“Well, no one eavesdrops on me,” a second man said with a chuckle. “I’d soon have him out by his ear, whoever he is.”
The other man shuddered again. “I wouldn’t pull that curtain back. Not for the world.”
Eve soaked up as many details as she could. If even half of what the guests were saying was true, then the hotel really was an extraordinary place indeed.
She saw Jane in the crowd once or twice, but they didn’t find themselves together again.
Eventually, the guests donned their fur coats and the gathering spilled out onto the lawn, beneath the stars.
The event was finishing with a dramatic fireworks display over the lake, but Eve had learned all she could from the other guests for now and had no interest in fireworks.
She was told that the steam baths were closing for the night, so it was time to return to the hotel and begin her search for its clocks and octopuses.