Page 47 of The Bridesmaid

We end the call, and I try to push aside the conversation. But I can’t.

My bridesmaids. Box-bright Ophelia with her orange hair and wide smile. Troubled Silky, pale and jittery. Platinum-blonde, long-limbed Petra, with her forceful supermodel stare. Buttoned-down Georgia, pin-neat and tightly smiling.

Simone.

And a whole lot of history.

We’ve all met back in the vestibule after a hair and make-up retouch; it’s hard not to feel overwhelmed. The cool air of the reception area smells of scrubbed wood and fresh paint.

Ophelia’s designs for Fortune House seemed like a good idea, back in New York. Now I’m actually here … Georgia is going to freak out when she finds out about the new bar.

I fix on my best hostess smile, and take in the new decor. The high walls have been stripped back to bare, pitted plaster, and painstakingly hand-illustrated with vivid, jewel-bright jungle vines. Midnight-blue skirting and dado rails frame the savage wilderness in polished paint. It’s a clever contrast. Like a gothic jungle, or a midnight tropical garden.

‘It’sperfect,’ I exclaim, in a pitch several notes higher than I intended. I clap my hands together firmly. ‘Exactlyon brand.’ This time my dazzling smile lands correctly.

‘Remember how it was before?’ Petra’s voice is languid, as if the whole business of hanging out with us amuses her. ‘Red flock wallpaper. Fake gold palm trees. Crystal chandeliers.’ She stands a little apart from the others, I notice with a crackle of annoyance. As if she owns the place, in her rock-singer attire.

Luckily, Ophelia fires up, before I have to wrestle down my hatred of Petra into a polite reply.

‘Do you want to see the secret bar?’ she asks.

‘What secret bar?’ Georgia addresses me, not even bothering to look at Ophelia. ‘I thought we weren’t doing that?’

‘I wanted to surprise you,’ I tell her, even though I know Georgia hates surprises.

‘O-kay.’ Georgia’s confusion is evident as she and the others follow me down the hallway. ‘Why are we going this way?’ she asks. ‘This leads toward the library. Dri shouldn’t be here.’

‘I’m OK,’ I say, but my voice sounds strange.

As we walk through the library doors, Georgia makes a strangelittle internalized yelp of deep horror. Her fists are tight balls at her sides.

‘Ophelia,’ hisses Georgia, ‘please tell me this isn’t what I think it is?’

Even Petra has a shocked cast to her elfin features.

‘I remember this room,’ she says, her Swedish accent thicker than usual. ‘Wasn’t this … where the entrance to the panic room was?’

Chapter Thirty-Six

HOLLY

We head toward the reception area, crossing the swinging bridges, their decadent hue making vibrant contrast to the slate-blue waters of the pools.

As we approach, I crane my neck to take in the enormous proportions of the atrium. Simone’s messages are flittering through my mind.

Unmask Trinity. Is the answer in these caves?

‘Quite the approach,’ I mutter, as we pass. Polished tree branches fan out like rays of the sun around the entrance. Living vines curl around them, creating a soft halo of green leaves at their tips. Beyond its grand entrance, the vast roof is a deep black-gray mass of natural rock, bubble-textured like breaking surf.

‘Volcanic heat,’ says Fitzwilliam as we enter. ‘Can you feel it?’

I nod. There’s something other-worldly about the way the air has become super-heated, and cloyingly humid, scented with a strange overlap of essential oils and struck matches.

A reception desk made from the same polished branches as the entrance sits adrift on the expanse of shining floor. It fronts a row of deep shelves, artistically set with Elysium-branded spa products, carved wood deities and luxuriant white towels.

‘What is this place, anyway? Some kind of natural cave network?’ I’m tipping my head back to take in the vast textured ceiling.

‘Given the volcano, I’d guess this to be a pre-existing lava tube,’ says Fitzwilliam. ‘A hole cut by lava flow, back when the volcano was active. They built the spa inside it. Rather clever,’ he adds, grudgingly.