Chapter 3
Richard Darlington: How Dangerous Is This Sexual Offender Really?
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Grace
The next few hours were hell. My colleagues’ worried expressions and sorrowful glances followed me wherever I went.
More than once, I was hugged by near-strangers, as though they believed I needed their comfort.
After a while, I found myself moving through The Darlington like I was running a slalom course, doing everything I could to avoid people.
I couldn’t bear to see their faces twisted with pity.
I knew they meant well, but their sympathy dredged up all the emotions I had been trying to ignore.
I didn’t know how much longer I could stand it.
I had been trying to ignore the telltale scratch at the back of my throat for hours, but it grew harder to block out with every conversation about Amy.
The situation was made worse by knowing that at least one of the hotel staff was faking their pity.
Someone had deleted the footage from the security cameras monitoring the street outside the underground car park before the forensics team had had the chance to seize it.
At the scene of the accident, I had overheard the police talking about how strange it was that the footage was gone.
Yet it hadn’t been investigated. So not only was the culprit being protected by the authorities; someone at the hotel was also covering for them.
“I’m so incredibly sorry about what happened to your sister. I can’t imagine how hard this must be for you,” said Rakesh, the hotel manager, who had just intercepted me in the corridor outside the laundry room.
He smelled of perfume and cigarette smoke.
It was a well-known fact that he smoked in his office, even though it was technically forbidden everywhere in the hotel except the smoking lounge.
But with everything The Darlington had been through in recent months, his stress-smoking was silently tolerated.
If I were a smoker, I would have lit one myself right then.
“I want you to know that my door is always open,” Rakesh continued.
“You don’t have to suffer alone. We—the young Mr. Darlington, myself, and the hotel—we’ll support you in any way we can to help you through this difficult time.
” Only now did I notice the black envelope with a golden seal in his hand.
It looked like one of the letters from Henry that I’d delivered to Kate in December, after they had briefly broken up.
But this envelope was meant for me. “The staff have put together a little something to show their support for you.”
He held out the envelope, and I almost refused it, but Rakesh’s gaze was insistent.
“Thanks,” I said with a restraint in my voice that could easily have been mistaken for emotion.
He smiled encouragingly. Expectantly. He clearly wanted me to open it straightaway.
Not wanting to offend him, I broke the seal.
Inside was a condolence card, signed by everyone, and a bundle of banknotes.
I wasn’t sure what to make of it. On the one hand, after almost two months of unpaid holiday leave, I could really use the money.
On the other, it felt strange, like I was getting rich off the back of Amy’s death.
“Thank you. That’s very . . . considerate.”
Rakesh nodded. “You’re welcome. And if there’s anything else . . .”
“I’ll get in touch,” I jumped in before he could say again that his door was always open.
I briefly considered talking to him about the accident and the missing CCTV footage, but decided against it.
I wasn’t sure if I could trust him. He’d been working for The Darlington for over twenty years and had always been loyal to the hotel.
The last thing I needed was to alert the wrong person to the fact that I was conducting my own investigation.
I said goodbye to Rakesh and made my way to the break room to stash the envelope safely in my locker.
In the kitchen, a few people were taking their break together around a big table.
Their spirited conversations filled the room—but stopped abruptly the moment they noticed me.
Suddenly, the kitchen became deathly quiet, and their faces took on the same pained expression that had been haunting me all day.
Gentle looks paired with tightly pressed lips.
I closed the door behind me. “Hey.”
“Hey,” echoed a chorus of monotone voices before the room fell silent again.
Everyone stared at me. No one spoke, but even without words, I knew exactly what was going through their minds: They pitied me.
They knew what I had lost, and presumably they’d heard how I’d broken down at Amy’s funeral.
Now they were waiting for it to happen again.
And if I was honest, it wouldn’t take much.
The wall I’d built around my heart to lock away my grief and allow me to make it through the day was crumbling perilously, thanks to the many conversations I’d had to have about Amy.
I secretly wished that Rakesh and the others would be less understanding, so that I could be angry at them.
If I’d learned anything in the past few weeks, it was that it was much easier to deal with rage than grief.
Rage gave me drive; grief, on the other hand, paralysed me.
In the end, it had been my anger that had given me the strength to return to The Darlington and start looking for the person responsible for the accident.
Wordlessly, I crossed the room under the watchful eyes of the others.
I opened my locker in the changing room and stuffed the envelope of money into my bag.
Behind me in the break room, quiet voices started up again.
I couldn’t make out what they were saying, but I kept hearing my name.
The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, and my legs were heavy, as if they were trying to prevent me from going back into the kitchen. But I had no choice.
I left the changing room, and the room fell instantly silent again. The quiet was oppressive. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw George, who worked in the kitchen, kick Philippa from reception under the table.
She cleared her throat. “Grace?”
I stopped and looked at her. As opposed to my dark maid’s uniform, which was embroidered with the gold logo of The Darlington, she was dressed in an elegant trouser suit and a white blouse with her name badge pinned to it.
I realised I had forgotten my own badge, which showed just how absent-minded I was today. “Yes?”
“Do you want to sit with us?”
My first instinct was to decline. I didn’t want to ruin everyone’s break with my presence.
Besides, I couldn’t imagine anything worse than sitting there in awkward silence, with their sad eyes boring holes into me.
Still, I nodded. I didn’t want to miss the chance to talk to the others, to observe them.
After all, it was possible that one of them was working with the culprit.
Lucy leapt up nervously to offer me her seat.
Muttering something about her break being over, she hurried out of the room.
I watched her go, wondering whether her behaviour was suspicious or just a way to avoid an awkward conversation.
Once the door had closed behind her, all eyes flitted straight back to me.
“How are you doing?” asked Melissa, one of the other chambermaids, placing a hand on mine without asking.
I didn’t usually have a problem with being touched. Normally, I loved being hugged and cuddled by my friends and found being close to them comforting. But today I couldn’t stand it.
I hastily withdrew my hand from Melissa’s. “I’m OK.”
“I really admire you,” George said, looking at me with his puppy-dog eyes. “If I were in your shoes, I wouldn’t be able to work here anymore. I have a brother, and if he’d died in that accident . . .”
“Same here, if I had a sibling,” Philippa said, and as she nodded, my eyes were drawn to her gold hoop earrings.
They looked expensive. Were they new? Or had I just not noticed them before?
If they were new, and as pricey as I suspected, they might be a sign that Philippa had suddenly come into money.
Perhaps they’d even been paid for with bribe money . . .
“You’re so brave.”
I responded with a tight-lipped smile. What could I say? I wasn’t brave. I simply had no other choice. Amy was gone, and she wasn’t coming back. She had left behind a void of pain and longing, and all I could do was live with it—or be consumed by it.
Predictably, another silence fell. George suddenly seemed very interested in the crumbs on his plate, while Melissa stared at her phone.
Philippa fiddled nervously with her earrings, lips pressed together even though she usually always had something to say.
The air in the room felt heavy and charged, too thick to properly fill my lungs.
I sighed. “So how have the past few weeks been for you?”
Uneasy glances.
Loud silence.
No one answered. My heart clenched, and I wondered if things would ever go back to how they used to be—or if this was my new normal. Not just a life without Amy, but one in which everyone tiptoed around me because they didn’t know how to handle my pain and grief.
George finally spoke up reluctantly, and Melissa and Philippa also murmured half-hearted replies, clearly trying not to upset me. I forced myself to smile, even though all I wanted to do was cry—which, judging by their pitying looks, was all too obvious. The lump in my throat grew bigger.
I pushed my chair back. Observing my colleagues to try to find out who had deleted the CCTV footage wasn’t a bad idea in principle, but I’d rushed it.
They needed more time. I needed more time to get my bearings now that I was back in my old life, which at the same time was very new. “I should get back to work.”