Page 30 of Perfect Strangers

‘Nick!’ she called, knocking on the door and panting. ‘Let me in, I’ve left my phone!’

She waited, but there was no reply. Had he left already? No, he couldn’t have done; more likely he’d just gone back to sleep. ‘Nick!’ she called, knocking louder now.

Just then she noticed that the maid with the housekeeping cart was watching her.

‘Hello,’ said Sophie, slightly embarrassed. ‘Erm, my boyfriend must have popped out or something. I’ve left my phone by the bed. I don’t suppose you’ve got a pass key or anything?’

The woman looked at her warily.

‘Honestly. You can call downstairs if you like, his name’s Nick Cooper.’

The maid hesitated for a moment, then, with a shrug of resignation, slotted her key-card into the door.

‘Thank you,’ mouthed Sophie and pushed inside. There was a lamp on inside the suite and she could hear the sound of dripping water.

‘Nick?’ she called, but there was no reply. She walked through the bedroom towards the bathroom. He wasn’t in bed, although the duvet had been thrown back and the sheets looked crumpled. The drip-drip sound was louder now.

‘Nick, are you still here?’

She stopped and stepped back as she felt a squishiness under her feet. The carpet between the bedroom and the en suite was sodden.

‘What the hell?’ she whispered. The en suite door was slightly ajar and she gave it a gentle push.

For a moment she couldn’t understand what she was seeing – or perhaps her brain didn’t want to process it. It was as if she was frozen in the moment, caught in a bad dream. Nick was lying on the floor of the bathroom, naked except for a white towel that had become unfastened at the waist. His eyes were closed, his head lolled lifelessly to one side. The bath had overflowed, surrounding his body with a puddle of water stained red with blood.

‘Nick!’ she gasped sinking to her knees to cradle him.

Blood was oozing from a wound on his head. The floor was studded with shards of green glass like angry teeth glaring at her.

‘No, Nick, please, no . . .’ she sobbed, putting her hand over the wound, as if to join the two sides together again, but it was too big, too wide. Too bad.

‘Help! Somebody help me!’ she screamed, as loud as she could. ‘I need an ambulan

ce! Please, someone!’ Helpless tears were streaming down her cheeks as she looked at his lifeless face. ‘Someone. Please! He’s dying,’ she choked.

But she could tell that he was already dead. His skin was still warm, but Nick had gone, she could feel it in her heart.

Suddenly there was a blur of activity; hands were lifting her, pulling her away from him.

‘No!’ she cried. ‘I can’t leave him! He needs me!’

There were people in the room, noise, raised voices. The maid was crying, a man in a suit barking orders.

‘Help him!’ screamed Sophie, her voice barely audible through the sobs.

Vaguely, she could hear words being spoken in her car. Kindly, reassuring words: ‘It will be okay’, ‘There’s nothing more you can do’, ‘The police are on their way’; the sort of things that people said in movies when someone died. Sophie sat on the bed, staring down at her trembling, red-stained hands, her whole world frozen in time, her body weighted by a dim, fearful awareness that the worst was yet to come.

10

Ruth was in Starbucks buying her first macchiato of the day when she got the call. Flinging five pounds at the barista, she ran out on to the street to hail a cab. She couldn’t have moved any faster – a trail of coffee had spilt on her white shirt – but still, by the time she she made it to the hotel, it was already a no-go area. Two white police vans were parked on the street and a uniformed officer was checking ID as guests went into the Riverton. Worse, there was a Channel Five film crew setting up on the steps. Not exactly the exclusive she had been led to believe.

Cursing, Ruth pulled out her mobile, but before she could dial the number, she heard a low whistle. Turning, she saw a familiar face: DC Dan Davis, lurking by the side door. He beckoned her over.

‘What’s that film crew doing here?’ she hissed.

‘It’s a free country, Ruth. Or hadn’t you heard?’ said Davis, a smile on his face. ‘I can’t help it if that nice bird off the telly turns up, can I?’ He craned his neck around to look at the pretty newsreader standing on the steps.

‘I thought we had a deal,’ said Ruth.