Page 9

It was a dull, overcast morning when Mr Stirling arrived at the hotel.

The air was hot and stifling, as if the thick cloud above Manhattan was preventing it from going anywhere, leaving it to stagnate.

Even the usual breeze that blew in over the Hudson had died.

To Mr Stirling’s disappointment, Clayton reported that a French couple had come down for breakfast enquiring whether there had been an earthquake in the night.

Apparently, a picture had fallen off their bedroom wall, but the hook had remained on the back of the frame and the nail had still been in the wall.

The floor had trembled and everything had trembled with it.

Mr Stirling was relieved to hear that nothing had been broken, but the couple were upset.

When the wife had brought up the possibility of a haunting, for she could have sworn that she’d seen a shadowy figure walking about the room, Clayton had been quick to reassure her.

‘I told her that we occasionally experience tremors,’ he recounted to Mr Stirling.

‘And the shadowy figure was surely a trick of light. I think I managed to convince her.’ But Mr Stirling was alarmed.

How long before others reported disturbances?

Would they manage to convince them all that Manhattan was being shaken by earthquakes, when earthquakes in New York were almost unheard of?

He thought of Tanya Roseby having a nocturnal visit from Lester and shuddered.

By midmorning, Mr Stirling had gone against Hamish McCloud’s advice and summoned the team of builders to begin the task of repairing the damage in the drawing room.

He couldn’t leave it in such a state. The interior designer, the esteemed Nadia Kovach, also came to see what needed to be replaced.

Mr Stirling repeated his lie, a little more embellished this time, telling them that a rock star who could not be named had entertained guests in there and, under the influence of too much alcohol, had thrown everything about the room, as rock stars were wont to do.

The builders shrugged and got on with their job – they’d seen it all before.

But Nadia was appalled that anyone could desecrate her beautiful work and looked as if she might cry.

Just as Mr Stirling was leaving the drawing room, he was confronted by Mrs Aldershoff and her daughter, Mrs Croft, making their way through the hall with purpose.

The old woman had a determined look on her face, while her daughter trailed beside her seemingly under duress.

‘Good morning, Mrs Aldershoff. Mrs Croft,’ said Mr Stirling, forcing a smile, for there was no way of escaping them.

‘Mr Stirling,’ said Mrs Alderdshoff, striding towards him and pounding her stick loudly on the black-and-white marble floor.

‘What can I do for you ladies?’ he asked.

Mrs Croft looked typically apologetic. ‘May we have a quick word?’ she said.

‘It won’t be quick.’ Mrs Aldershoff cut in sharply.

‘You may have a slow one, then,’ said Mr Stirling agreeably, hoping to extract a smile from her daughter. ‘Let’s go to the bar, shall we? Perhaps you’d like a cup of coffee.’

‘Yes, I would,’ said Mrs Aldershoff, striding past him with the usual proprietorial air.

‘Thank you,’ Mrs Croft added softly. She had the expression of a beaten dog and Mr Stirling felt sorry for her. Growing up in the shadow of Alma Aldershoff could not have been much fun.

Mrs Aldershoff stopped suddenly in front of the stair and rubbed the silver dog’s head of her walking stick with her thumb.

Mr Stirling thought she seemed a little agitated this morning.

‘You know, my mother had a problem with that staircase,’ she said, nodding at it.

‘She insisted it was unsafe. I had to walk down it with my hand on the banister, one step at a time, even when I was no longer a small child. Of course, when she wasn’t looking, I’d race down it, basking in the knowledge that I was breaking a rule.

I liked doing that. It was fun being naughty.

I never knew why that was. She didn’t take any interest in me at other times.

Only on the stair.’ She chewed the inside of her cheek.

Mrs Croft put a hand beneath one elbow, cradling it gently, trying to draw her away.

‘Funny the things one remembers.’ The old lady sighed and yielded to her daughter.

‘This house provokes the strangest memories. I can’t remember what I did five minutes ago, but I can remember every time I came down that staircase. ’

They sat at a table in the corner of the bar and Leona took her mother’s walking stick and laid it behind her on the banquette.

The silver dog’s head growled silently up at the gold ceiling.

Mrs Aldershoff settled into an armchair as if she were presiding over a board meeting.

She put her hands on the table and linked her bejewelled fingers.

The bar was another sumptuous room, modelled on Marie Antoinette’s boudoir at Fontainebleau.

However, instead of the silvers and golds of that famous room, Nadia had chosen apple greens and flamingo pinks, and hand-painted scenes of fountains and birds rendered within the wood panelling.

The effect was flamboyant, luxurious and fanciful.

Even Alma had to admit that they had cleverly kept the integrity of the original home while masterfully reworking it to suit its new purpose.

‘In my day this was a drawing room where my mother liked to play cards with her friends,’ she told them wistfully, and Mrs Croft and Mr Stirling feigned interest for it would have been impolite to let on that she had already told them that numerous times.

‘She had a friend called Elizabeth Harding who was famous for her sleight of hand,’ she added with disapproval.

As they drank their coffee, Mrs Aldershoff told Mr Stirling what her granddaughter had discovered by digging about on the internet.

‘Lester Ravenglass died at the age of forty-nine in nineteen thirty-seven, at his country estate in Hampshire, England,’ she said.

‘He passed away seemingly from natural causes, but he was a dreadful alcoholic and goodness knows what else besides. He and Esme, my sister, had no children, and by the time he died he’d run out of money entirely – her money, I might add.

I imagine he only married her for her money.

The estate was sold and the money vanished settling his enormous debts.

Gemma, that’s my granddaughter, says that he was a gambler and a reprobate, and very unhappy. ’

‘As alcoholics tend to be,’ said Mr Stirling. ‘So what, might I ask, is he doing here?’

‘That’s a very good question,’ Mrs Aldershoff returned.

‘What do you think, Mrs Croft?’ Mr Stirling turned to her with the intention of bringing her into the conversation – she rarely got a chance to speak – but her mother continued regardless.

‘I think he wants to tell us something,’ she said ominously. ‘So, I think we should listen.’

Mr Stirling’s phone buzzed in his jacket pocket.

‘Excuse me, ladies.’ He got up and looked at the screen to see that it was the college calling.

His heart thumped with anticipation. To his intense relief, the woman informed him that Pixie Tate and her partner Ulysses Lozano could come to New York immediately.

She gave him Ulysses’ number. ‘He’s awaiting your call,’ she said.

Then she added kindly, ‘I do hope they manage to sort out your problem.’

Mr Stirling couldn’t have agreed with her more.

He returned to the table in the bar. Mrs Croft and her mother dropped their conversation and looked up at him expectantly. ‘That was the College of Psychic Studies in London,’ he told them. ‘I’m enlisting the help of a professional.’

‘I was under the impression that you already had,’ said Mrs Aldershoff tartly.

‘Hamish McCloud was not up to the task. But he recommended someone who is.’

‘Well, now we know it’s Lester, we might be able to reason with him,’ said Mrs Aldershoff. ‘Why don’t I try to do that before you fly somebody all the way over from London?’

‘Mother …’ Mrs Croft protested weakly.

Mrs Aldershoff was already pushing herself up from the chair and there was no deterring her. Her jaw was set with resolve. ‘My stick,’ she demanded, putting out her hand. Leona obeyed and passed it to her. Alma wrapped her fingers around the silver dog’s head and lifted her chin defiantly.

‘I’m not sure it’s a good idea to go back into that room,’ said Mr Stirling, who didn’t want Mrs Aldershoff creating any more trouble.

But Mrs Aldershoff was determined. ‘Lester was my brother-in-law,’ she reasoned, even though she had never met him.

‘I think it’s only appropriate that I try and find out what he wants.

’ She strode past Mr Stirling and out into the hall.

Could it be , she thought to herself, that for some inexplicable reason, Lester knows where the Potemkin Diamond is hidden?

Was it possible that he knew her question and had come through to answer it? She had never given him a chance.

Mr Stirling followed Mrs Aldershoff into the drawing room. ‘Would you give us a moment, please,’ he said to the builders. ‘Perhaps it’s a good time to have a coffee break.’

The builders put down their tools and left the room.

Mr Stirling closed the door behind them.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when Alma banged her stick three times on the carpet.

‘Lester Ravenglass, is that you?’ she asked, once more adopting the voice of the pulpit.

‘Lester, come out from wherever you are hiding. It’s me, your sister-in-law Alma Aldershoff. ’

Mrs Croft looked terrified. She stood with her arms hanging stiffly by her sides. Only her eyes moved warily about the room, as if anticipating something to suddenly start flying about. When Mrs Aldershoff banged her stick on the floor again, her daughter’s whole body flinched.

‘Maybe we were too quick to pack away the board,’ said Mrs Aldershoff, almost to herself. ‘If I’d only given it a minute, then Lester might have managed to communicate with us. I reacted too swiftly.’

Mr Stirling was keen to get the women out of the room. He didn’t want a repeat of the other night. He certainly wasn’t going to allow Mrs Aldershoff to have another go with the Ouija board. ‘Let’s let sleeping dogs lie, shall we?’ he said smoothly, making for the door.

‘Lester, Lester …’ Mrs Aldershoff continued with increasing fervour. ‘Come on, Lester. Make yourself known to us. What is it you want to say?’

But nothing happened. Everything remained still and silent.

Mrs Croft, looking relieved that the entity hadn’t made itself known, hurried out of the room. Her mother banged her stick another time in frustration and then gave up. ‘I should have asked him what he wanted,’ she mumbled, regretfully following her daughter into the foyer.

‘I’m sure Pixie Tate will be able to tell you that,’ said Mr Stirling. ‘Now, if you will please excuse me, I must arrange her trip.’

‘Very well.’ Mrs Aldershoff conceded with a sigh. ‘Call in the professional from London and let me know when she arrives. She will want to speak with me, of course.’

‘I’m sure she will,’ Mr Stirling replied, but he hoped she wouldn’t. He smiled sympathetically at Leona Croft. ‘Good day to you, Mrs Croft.’

‘Thank you, Mr Stirling,’ she replied, and she looked at him apologetically. ‘I hope Pixie Tate is able to sort it out for you.’

‘So do I,’ Mr Stirling answered, then he watched her escort her mother to the door.

He went to his office and telephoned Ulysses Lozano to make the travel arrangements.

He was surprised when Mr Lozano requested business-class seats, but Mr Stirling was in no position to argue – he needed Miss Tate and Mr Lozano, and he needed them fast. He was pleased to hear that they could come out the following day, arriving at the hotel by late afternoon.

A couple of nights would be sufficient. Ulysses couldn’t say how long it would take, but, after listening in confidence to the details, he sounded pretty certain that Pixie could fix the problem quickly.

‘She’s everyone’s last resort,’ he said with a laugh.

‘But they should really come to her first.’

It was only when Mr Stirling put down the telephone that he realised that Tanya Roseby and her assistant, Lara Montesino, were flying out on the same flight. He felt a cold sweat ripple across his body and prayed to a God he didn’t believe in. Please don’t let Tanya Roseby bump into Pixie Tate.