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Chapter Twenty-Two

Ulysses was sitting in the lobby, glancing at the messages on his phone, when Mr Stirling loomed over him. ‘Is it done?’ he asked in a low voice.

Ulysses put down his phone. ‘Nearly,’ he replied. He stretched his arms wide and sighed. ‘Pixie’s out of her trance, thank God. She’s kicked me out so she can finish off.’

Mr Stirling’s face showed his utter relief, which in itself revealed the extent of his earlier doubt. ‘This is very good news,’ he said keenly. ‘May I?’

‘Please.’ Ulysses watched him sit down on the other purple armchair that was arranged around the low table.

‘How does she do it?’ he asked. ‘I mean, it’s taken three hours.’

‘She goes into trance,’ Ulysses said vaguely. He couldn’t admit to what she really did.

‘You mean she just sits there?’

‘Yes, for hours without moving. Quite extraordinary.’

‘And what do you do?’

‘I watch movies.’

‘Any in particular?’

‘Old movies. Ingrid Bergman, Humphrey Bogart, Lauren Bacall.’

Mr Stirling laughed, his green eyes widening at the recognition of a kindred spirit. ‘Me too. What a coincidence. I didn’t imagine people cared for old Hollywood any more.’

‘I do,’ Ulysses replied. ‘Give me an old film over a new one any day. It’s the dialogue.

It’s just far superior to the dialogue they write these days.

Everything has to be so fast, there’s no time to develop the characters.

Take a Bogie-Bacall scene – the conversation is snappy, but not short.

I must have watched The Big Sleep fifty times. ’

‘Me too. But To Have and Have Not is my favourite.’

They laughed heartily as they quoted the famous lines from the film.

Riding high on a wave of enthusiasm, Mr Stirling ordered coffee and the two of them discussed the great Hollywood films of the 1940s and 50s over strong espressos and macaroons.

It wasn’t long before Mr Stirling insisted Ulysses call him Henry and all formality had been vigorously swept aside.

‘You know, I met Lauren Bacall once,’ Mr Stirling recounted wistfully, putting down his coffee cup.

‘She came here for dinner. You know, she lives in Manhattan. Of course, she was an old lady by then with white hair and those steely blue-green eyes, which had a way of stopping you in your tracks. But she was still beautiful and hadn’t lost that sharp wit of hers.

’ He sighed and shook his head. ‘They don’t make them like her any more. She’s one of the greats.’

Mr Stirling and Ulysses were disappointed when Mrs Aldershoff and her long-suffering daughter stepped into the foyer.

The old lady walked slowly, her cane tap-tapping coldly against the marble floor as she made her way towards them.

‘Any news?’ she demanded, looking from Mr Stirling to Ulysses with her sharp gaze.

‘She’s just wrapping it up,’ Ulysses informed her, draining his coffee cup.

Mr Stirling moved a couple of chairs so that the two women could join them.

Mrs Aldershoff glanced at the big double doors. ‘Is she still in there?’

‘She is,’ Ulysses replied.

‘She’s been hours.’

‘Three,’ said Mr Stirling.

‘Feels like the whole day,’ said Mrs Aldershoff with a sniff.

Ulysses caught Mr Stirling’s eye and grinned. ‘Not if you’re watching an Ingrid Bergman movie.’

Mrs Aldershoff handed her daughter her walking stick and Mrs Croft leant it up against the wall.

The elderly lady then sat down slowly and stiffly, letting out a loud sigh when she settled at last, like a roosting hen, into the plush velvet seat.

Mr Stirling ordered more coffee and macaroons, but he could have done with something stronger, for Mrs Aldershoff wandered distractedly down memory lane again and began to tell them of the time her father had set up an enormous trainset powered by clockwork on the hall floor and the servants had to step over it to go about their duties.

‘It had a lovely green engine, and two fine carriages complete with little seats and doors that opened and closed,’ she said in an unusually quiet voice.

Mr Stirling was relieved when Tanya Roseby’s cheerful face beamed at him from the entrance.

She exchanged pleasantries with the porters and then she and Lara bustled into the hall with a dozen glossy shopping bags hooked over their arms. ‘It’s amazing how much damage one can do to one’s bank account in such a small space of time,’ she said when she reached the small group.

‘We were lucky to get out of Bergdorf’s alive,’ said Lara, cheeks rosy from the walk. ‘The people selling makeup are like piranha fish.’

‘They’re all fighting for commission,’ said Ulysses. ‘They—’

‘May I introduce you both to Ulysses Lozano,’ Mr Stirling said to Tanya and Lara.

‘No need. We met on the plane,’ said Tanya breezily.

Mr Stirling was astonished. He’d been so anxious about them crossing paths on the flight. ‘Oh,’ he said, realising that his fears had been for nothing. ‘But you haven’t met Mrs Aldershoff and her daughter, Mrs Croft.’

Tanya and Lara shook hands with the elderly lady, awed that they were in the presence of William Aldershoff’s granddaughter.

‘It’s such a pleasure to meet you,’ said Tanya.

‘I’d love to hear what this beautiful building was like when it was a private house.

You must have a million memories. Do share them. ’

‘Oh, you don’t want to hear all that nonsense, do you?’ Mrs Aldershoff asked hopefully.

‘We really do,’ Tanya replied.

Mr Stirling arranged for the bags to be taken up to Tanya’s room and then pulled more chairs into the ever-widening circle and ordered another round of coffee and macaroons.

‘It was the most beautiful home in New York,’ Mrs Aldershoff began.

‘More beautiful, even, than the Vanderbilt mansion. That was because my grandmother, Didi Aldershoff, had an eye for beauty and the wealth to fulfil her most extravagant vision.’ She inhaled deeply and smiled, which took everyone aback because Alma Aldershoff rarely smiled.

‘But in the end, what was it all for? Sure, it made life comfortable, but it wasn’t fulfilling beyond that.

This is no longer a family home but a hotel.

The cottage in Newport is a museum. Ultimately, it was all a great waste of money.

I have grown wise at ninety-eight. It’s a shame it’s taken so long.

But I suppose it’s better to arrive late than not at all. ’

Mr Stirling didn’t know what she was talking about. There followed an awkward silence. Everyone sipped their coffee. Ulysses helped himself to another macaroon. The old woman’s gaze lost itself somewhere in the half distance, and Mrs Croft changed the subject and asked Tanya about her business.

Just then, the double doors of the Walter-Wyatt drawing room opened and Pixie stepped out, looking as dazed as a mouse that had been in a dark tunnel for a long time and had just emerged into the light.

Mr Stirling jumped out of his chair and strode over swiftly with the intention of cutting her off before she announced her failure to the group, if failure was what she had to report. ‘Miss Tate …’

Pixie smiled and took a long, satisfied breath. ‘Success!’ she exclaimed.

‘You mean, he’s gone?’

‘He has.’

Mr Stirling’s response was uncharacteristic. So grateful was he that he put his arms around her and gave her a hug. Pixie laughed as his enthusiasm nearly squeezed the life out of her. ‘I cannot tell you how relieved I am to hear that,’ he said.

‘You don’t have to,’ she replied, wriggling out of his embrace. ‘Actions speak louder than words.’

‘We must celebrate. Come, Mrs Aldershoff will be very happy to hear your news.’

Pixie stood before the group and looked down at the five faces that turned to her expectantly. ‘The resident spirit has moved on,’ she announced proudly. None of them could imagine what she had put herself through in order to make that happen.

Tanya’s mouth fell open. ‘I knew it! Didn’t I tell you I’d seen a ghost in my room last night?’

‘You did,’ Lara replied.

‘I don’t imagine that was something the hotel were keen to spread around,’ said Mrs Croft.

‘On the contrary,’ Tanya exclaimed with delight. ‘I think it’s a USP. It’s one of the best things about this place.’

Alma clearly didn’t know what a USP was, and didn’t care.

She had more important things to consider.

‘How did you do it?’ she demanded. ‘Do sit down and tell us.’ Pixie could tell she was dying to ask about the Potemkin Diamond, but probably didn’t want to bring it up in front of strangers.

The elderly woman studied Pixie closely, perhaps trying to ascertain whether Pixie had found the secret hiding place.

A member of staff had brought yet another chair and now the group had swollen to seven and was taking up a large portion of the lobby. Mr Stirling had sent someone off to open a bottle of champagne. ‘Did you find out what he wanted?’ he asked, sitting down again.

Pixie couldn’t tell them what she’d experienced on the Titanic because no one but Ulysses knew about her timesliding.

But she could give them a brief outline of Lester’s story.

‘Lester did come here, Mrs Aldershoff, before you were born. It was 1912 and he and his aunt, Constance Fleet, were on the Titanic .’

Mrs Aldershoff gasped. ‘Good Lord. I never knew that.’

‘While on the ship, Constance caught her nephew in bed with his valet, Mr Glover. The two men were in love, but Lester was heading out to New York to see his fiancée, Esme Aldershoff, and Constance, being a woman of her time and culture, tried to persuade Lester to dismiss his valet. It would have caused a terrible scandal if Esme had learnt that her fiancé was gay.’

‘It certainly would have,’ said Mrs Aldershoff. ‘So, what happened?’

‘Lester told Glover that Constance was prepared to expose them if he didn’t dismiss him. So Glover, seeing the removal of Constance as his only salvation, tied a golden thread across the top step of the staircase—’