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Authors: Sally Quilford

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Chapter Eighteen

“Anna, we have another problem with the laundry,” said
Florentyna, stepping into Anna’s office.

“Oh no. What now?”

“These sheets are barely clean.” Florentyna held up one to
show. The sheet, though pressed, still looked grubby.

“I’ll get on to them. Do we have enough to change all the
beds?”

Florentyna nodded. “Yes, don’t worry. Some rooms were empty
last night, so we can leave those sheets on, can’t we? I know it’s not policy…”

“But it’s common sense,” said Anna, smiling. “They won’t be
dirty. Just give the top covers a good shake to get rid of any dust that might
have settled. Do you want me to help?”

“Oh you’re far too important to change beds now,” said
Florentyna with a wink.

Anna blushed. She had only been working at Carmichaels for
two years, but when the previous housekeeper had left to have a baby, Janek had
insisted she take the role. “You should not be changing beds anyway,” he had
said to her. As always, Anna argued that she was quite capable of hard work,
but Janek insisted she had done enough of that in her life. “You’ve earned a
promotion,” he had said. “Maybe not here, but with all those years you spent at
Silverton Hall.”

“I’m still happy to help, Florentyna,” Anna said earnestly.

“I know. I’m just teasing. If I had your head for figures,
I’d probably be housekeeper by now.”

“I could put in a word with Mr. Dabrowski.”

“No, please don’t. Really, I’m happy not to have the
responsibility. Neither do I fancy having to deal with that harridan at the
laundry.”

“We should really have our own by now,” said Anna. “I’m sure
we could utilise a few rooms in the basement. It would create more jobs too.”
She made a note to mention it to Janek when they had their next meeting.

When that would be, she did not know. He was away a lot,
visiting the other hotels, and overseeing the building of a new Carmichaels in
Washington. In a lot of ways, Anna felt sad that her job at Carmichaels had
turned their relationship to a professional footing. It seemed to her that they
could not be friends. Not whilst he employed her. It was bad enough to hear the
whispers of the other staff, some of whom were less gracious than Florentyna
about Anna’s quick promotion to housekeeper.

“I’ll get in touch with the laundrette,” she said to
Florentyna.

As her friend turned to leave, Anna called her back.

“Who was on desk duty and room service last night,
Florentyna? Do you know?”

“Er, yes, I think it was Reg Turner on the desk, and Vince
O’Brian on room service. Why?” Florentyna’s eyes became watchful. Anna
remembered that Florentyna had a bit of a thing going with Reg Turner.

“Oh it’s just that one of the guests complained to me as
they were coming out of their room this morning, and said that they ordered a
bottle of whisky last night, but when it came, it tasted watered down.”

“Would that be Major Dalrymple?”

“Yes, that’s him.”

“He always says that. Every time he stays. It’s my guess
that he’s drunk so much of it over the years, it’s ruined his taste buds.”

Anna laughed. “Yes, I’m sure you’re right. Still, I’ll have
a word with Reg and Vince just so they can be aware of the complaint.”

“Anna?” Florentyna hesitated, as if there was something she
wanted to say but was not sure if she should.

“Hmm?”

“Sometimes it’s best just to let these little complaints go.
It’s not worth upsetting anyone.”

“I wasn’t going to discipline Reg and Vince,” said Anna.
“It’s not even my job to do so. I just thought I’d mention it, in case the
Major makes a formal complaint. Tip them off, sort of thing.”

“Oh. So you … er… you wouldn’t be upset if it was watered
down whisky then?”

Anna’s eyes widened in surprise. “Of course I would be. As
I’m sure Mr. Dabrowski would. Carmichaels has a name for excellence. Serving
our customers watered down drinks would not only sully that name, but … well it
is illegal, isn’t it?”

“Yes, I suppose so.”

“Florentyna, if there’s something you know…”

“No,” Florentyna said, vehemently. “No, of course not. I was
just wondering about your opinion of it, that’s all.”

“Testing me?”

Florentyna laughed. “I should have known better than to even
try. You’re whiter than white, Anna. Always have been.”

When Florentyna left, Anna frowned. Had Janek set up that
test for her? To ensure she was trustworthy? If so why would he do such a
thing?

Since she started working for Janek, he had not mentioned
seeing her face on flyers in Hyde Park, for which she was thankful. It seemed
to Anna that keeping her job at Carmichaels relied on him not thinking that she
was either capable of harming a child or of theft. She had lived so long with
the shame of both, that she had lost her sense of perspective about it all. As
each year passed and she kept her secret, her shame became weightier and her
fear of being found out immense. Especially of being found out by Janek, whose
good opinion she valued more than anyone’s.

But what if he had found out? He only need make enquiries at
Silverton Hall, and he would quite easily learn what had happened. Anna had no
doubt that her stepmother would be falling over herself to tell him. It might
explain Florentyna’s trap. If indeed it was a trap.

An hour later, after she had finished her paperwork for the
morning, and with her head clearer, Anna began to wonder more at Florentyna’s
question. She knew Florentyna was honest, but that did not mean that Reginald
Turner was as reliable. Reg had come to the hotel soon after it opened, as an ex-soldier
injured in the war. He walked with a limp and carried a walking stick, which
was almost his trademark. The guests liked him for his easy charm and good
looks (and Florentyna agreed with them!) but also because he was a bone fide
war hero. Not that he talked about it. He would always dismiss any questions as
to how he became injured with a wave of his hand. “It was nothing. I did no
more than anyone else out there,” he would say, whilst shaking his head, sagely.
This only made people like him more.

Vincent O’Brian was around Reg’s age, but had not fought in
the war on account of coming from Southern Ireland. Like Reg, he was a good
looking, charming young man, and even more attractive to the female guests
because of his soft Irish lilt, which he used to good effect to charm them all.
It was sometimes a bone of contention amongst the room service staff that
Vince’s tips were always bigger than anyone else’s.  But he was a generous lad,
and spent most of his money on buying the others drinks, so they quickly forgot
about their jealousy until the next time Vince had a big tip.

The two young men were often seen together after work, going
to the local pubs, before coming back to the bedroom which they shared at the
back of the hotel. If anyone kept the staff awake at night by laughing and
singing, it was most likely to be Reg and Vince. But it was an unwritten rule
that one did not tell on one’s workmates, so they got away with a lot.

What, thought Anna, if they thought they could get away with
even more? She felt guilty for distrusting them. Neither had been anything
other than polite to her since she arrived. It was only one complaint after
all, and from a man who was known to spend most of his life drunk.

Nevertheless, she had the hotel to think about. Janek had
placed great trust in her. Anna was acutely aware that not all the staff was as
easy-going as Florentyna about her being promoted to housekeeper so quickly. It
put pressure on her to earn her place in the role.

Thinking carefully about how she might word the complaint to
the two young men, Anna went downstairs to the foyer. Reg was on the desk,
dealing with two new guests who had come to the hotel for lunch. They were a
young man and woman in their early twenties. The girl was particularly noticeable,
with glorious auburn hair and pretty freckles. The young man was studious
looking, with thick horn-rimmed glasses.

As always Reg Turner was charm personified.

“And if there’s anything you need, Mr. Harrington, you only
need to ask. We aim to please at Carmichaels.”

“Thank you,” said the young man. “Of course, I’ve been here
plenty of times, but it’s Miss McDonald’s first time. Isn’t it, Isobel?”

“Yes, I’ve always wanted to come here,” said the young
woman. Her voice had a warm, Scottish lilt, yet she seemed ill at ease in her
surroundings. Just as Anna had the first time she stepped into Carmichaels.
Even though Anna did not know the girl, she warmed to her as a kindred spirit.

“Well, Miss, you have a good time, and tell all your friends
about Carmichaels.”

“Oh I’ll be sending out hundreds of letters to tell everyone
I know that I visited,” Miss McDonald smiled.

The girl and her male friend turned to go into the
restaurant, and it was then that the girl saw Anna. She stopped dead, to the
point that the couple behind who were moving towards the reception desk almost
bumped into her. “Sorry,” the girl said, with a shy smile.

“Come along, Isobel,” said Harrington, sounding peeved.
“Really, there’s no need to be quite so nervous.”

“No, it’s not that,” said Isobel, as he drew her away. “I
just thought I saw…” Her voice trailed away as they entered the bustling dining
room.

Anna waited until Reg was free and asked him to accompany
her to the back office.

“Is something wrong, Anna?” he asked.

“Oh no,” she said, with a smile, hoping he would not see how
worried she really was. “It’s just that … well I wondered if Major Dalrymple
made a complaint to you this morning.”

“Old Dalrymple, I don’t think so? Why?”

“Oh he said something to me about his whisky tasting watered
down.”

“I’d be surprised if he could tell, the amount he drinks,”
said Reg, laughing. Anna laughed too, but she was still troubled. That was
pretty much what Florentyna had said. Almost as if it had been rehearsed.

“You’re probably right,” said Anna. “I wouldn’t like to
think the supplier was short-changing us though.” She had decided on that
explanation for her concern on the way downstairs. That way it did not seem as
if she were accusing anyone in the hotel.

“I’ll keep an eye on the situation,” said Reg. “It might
have been just a bad batch.”

“Yes, I’m sure that’s all it was. I thought I’d mention it.”

“Of course, Anna, you did the right thing. We want to keep
the guests happy here, don’t we?”

She agreed with a smile. Reg returned to his work, and Anna
took a moment to compose herself. She was surprised to realise she felt great
relief that things had not been worse. Reg might have taken umbrage at her
question and with good reason if he were totally innocent.

She decided to take a walk. She had been cooped up in the
hotel for too long, and needed some fresh air.

 

Chapter Nineteen

“So,” said George Harrington, “what do you want to eat,
Isobel? My treat. Isobel?”

Izzy was not listening. The dining room was only separated
from the foyer by a large archway, and it was through this archway that Izzy
was looking, hoping to catch a glimpse of the beautiful dark haired girl again.
She was sure it was Teddy’s sister – the girl certainly looked similar to the
one in Teddy’s photograph – but had been too shy to ask. That was partly due to
the surroundings, and partly due to her nerves over being asked out by George
Harrington. Besides one did not go up to complete strangers and ask if they
were the runaway sister of one’s friend.

Izzy thought George would never ask her out, but now that he
had, she was not exactly enjoying the experience. The scene at the desk had
been a case in point. Did he have to tell the whole world that she was not used
to dining in style? Or that by comparison he was very practised in the art? It
had been much the same all morning. They had gone to the National Gallery where
he had patronised her repeatedly about the artwork on show. At one point, she
snapped, “George, I may be from the poor side of Edinburgh but I do know a Van
Gogh when I see one.”

She could not help thinking that Teddy would never treat her
in such a way. Even though he was the son of a knight, he had always talked to
Izzy as an equal. Or mostly in a way that suggested he thought her better than
he was. This was rather sweet really.

She had not seen him since their trip to Filey. As soon as
they returned, he had to back to boarding school and Izzy’s services as a nurse
were no longer needed at Silverton Hall on account of Sir Lionel’s health
improving. That was over two years ago, and she was forced to admit that she
missed his friendship. And his dog-like devotion, she thought with a wry grin.
There was something rather nice about being adored. No doubt, all these months
later, he would be showing the same dog-like devotion to a girl at school. Izzy
did not know why this should bother her. He was probably still too young for
her, even though he would be over eighteen by now. They had written to each
other a few times, but their worlds seemed to have diverged somewhat.

“Are you with me or not, Isobel?” George said with a sigh.

“I’m sitting here, aren’t I?” she said, brightly. But just
at that moment, the pretty dark haired girl came out of the office and went out
through the front door. Izzy feared she might have lost her. If she had been a
guest who called in briefly to make a complaint then she may not return that
day, and Izzy had no idea where to start looking. “Excuse me one minute,
George,” she said, coming to a decision.

Izzy got up and went to the reception desk. “Excuse me.”

“Yes, what can I do to help you, Miss?” The desk clerk
asked. He was a handsome young man, and his name on his lapel said ‘Reginald
Turner’.

“I wondered. That girl. The really pretty one with dark
hair. Her name is not Anna Silverton, is it?”

A cloud passed over the man’s eyes, and he seemed to undergo
some thought process, albeit very quickly. “No, that’s Miss Palmer.”

“Oh right,” said Izzy, feeling sure he had lied for some
reason. There was something about his manner that seemed strange. But it was
not as if he were protecting the dark haired girl. Far from it. Izzy could not
put her finger on it, but it felt very much as if he was storing the
information about the name Anna Silverton away, for some other purpose.

Realising she was behaving like a character in a spy novel,
Izzy smiled and said, “Sorry to bother you. Thank you.”

It was only an hour later, when she and George were saying a
strained goodbye on Tower Bridge that she remembered that Teddy’s
ex-housekeeper, Mrs. Stephens used to be called Mrs. Palmer and she and Anna
were very close. What better name to use than Anna Palmer?

When George had gone, Izzy stood on Tower Bridge for a
while, trying to decide what to do. She thought about telephoning Teddy at the
teaching hospital in Wales where he was training to be a doctor. She knew from
his letters that he had fought something of a battle with his mother, who tried
to insist that if he was to be a doctor, he should at least attend Oxford or
Cambridge and become a physician of great renown, perhaps even tending the
Queen and her family. Teddy had refused, saying that to go to either university
meant three years of degree work before he even got to see a real patient. He
wanted to be at the forefront of medicine, he had told Izzy in a letter, not
taking care of spoiled rich women who suffered with nervous tension. “I want to
help those who genuinely need it,” he said.

Izzy looked inside herself and asked a searching question.
Did she want to telephone Teddy to tell him she may have seen his sister? Or
did she want to telephone him because she missed his friendship and wanted to
hear his voice again? Sighing, she stood looking out over the Thames. Perhaps
both were valid reasons. After all, if it was Anna that she saw, he would want
to know. But what about after she had told him? What then? Would he just thank
her and put the phone down? Or would he want to see her? And if he did not ask
to see her, how might she feel?

“Oh you’re an idiot, Izzy,” she told herself. “Two years ago
he was yours for the taking, but oh no, you had to be the sensible one.” Not
that she would have done things differently. He was only sixteen at the time.
“Right,” she said, not noticing the funny looks from people who saw her talking
to herself, “I’ll telephone him and not expect anything else. That would be the
proper thing. He would want to know about his sister.”

She managed to find a few coins, and a phone box. She had
the number of Teddy’s halls of residence in her handbag. It was only when she
was halfway through dialling the number that it occurred to her he may not even
be there. He could be in class. Or out with his friends. Or out with another
girl. “Get a grip, Izzy,” she muttered, as the sound of ringing started in the
earpiece.

Of course, Teddy was not the one who answered, and there was
an agonising wait whilst the young man who did answer went in search of him. As
it turned out there was very little money left in the phone by the time Teddy
did answer.

“Hello?”

“Teddy, it’s Izzy. This’ll have to be quick. I’m in London
and I think I’ve just seen Anna…” It was at that point the line went dead.

 

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