handbags.
Bryant called for an ambulance and watched Bella’s back arching in agony as she thrashed on the floor of the box. The men were fighting to hold her arms and legs, but the power of her involuntary flexing was kicking their hands away. Someone was hammering on the door behind them.
“Get them to stop banging,” shouted Bryant as one of the women scurried to the door. He had a good idea what had happened, and knew that sudden light or noise would only increase the intensity of her spasms. Bella’s face, twisted in an agonized muscular rictus, was beginning to turn blue. He administered the Valium as the St John’s ambulance men entered the box.
Bella’s convulsions began to lessen, but the protuberance of her startled eyes and the frozen grimace of her mouth suggested that her time was running out. As he helped to fasten the stretcher’s restraining straps, Bryant caught a brief glimpse of the audience reseating itself below, oblivious of the real-life drama unfolding above their heads. He could only wait and pray that the medics had arrived in time.
? Seventy-Seven Clocks ?
13
Pandemonium
“Hey, you’re late,” said Nicholas. “You should have been here, helping me out. More delegates left this morning.”
Jerry stowed her bag and took her place behind the reception desk. Half a dozen security officers were standing in the reception area awaiting the departure of another Common Market dignitary.
“With the amount of security we have, you’d think they’d feel safer staying here than anywhere else.”
“Suppose this whole thing turns out to have a political cause? According to the
“You shouldn’t believe everything you read,” said Jerry.
“I suppose you know better.” Nicholas swept his hair back disapprovingly and turned his attention to the billing system. Jerry was about to answer a guest’s inquiry when she saw Joseph Herrick descending the main staircase. He smiled shortsightedly in her direction and headed towards the breakfast room.
“Be a pal and deal with this gentleman for me, Nicholas.” Jerry slid off her stool, running her fingers through her hair. It was now or never. “I won’t be long.”
“Look here,” complained Nicholas, “you’ve only just arrived. Where do you think you’re going?”
“I fancy a spot of breakfast.” She knew she could take liberties with him, so long as he continued to study her breasts from the corner of his eye when he thought she wasn’t looking. His recent humiliation at his parents’ house was obviously beginning to wear off.
Joseph had seated himself against the tall glass wall overlooking the Embankment, and was staring out at the grey expanse of the rain-pocked river. The smile of recognition he gave her suggested he would enjoy her company.
“Mind if I join you?”
“Not at all,” said Joseph, indicating the chair opposite. “Do you normally take breakfast with your guests?”
“All the time. It’s part of the service.” She seated herself and unfolded a napkin in her lap. “I’m surprised you’re still here. Most of the delegates are checking out. They’re being moved to a high-security residence.”
“Well, two deaths in the same hotel – it’s not exactly an advertisement for healthy living, is it?”
“It’s hardly our fault. It’s not the usual sort of thing that happens in a hotel. They were, you know – proper murders.”
“I see. You can be killed in a robbery and that wouldn’t be a
Jerry waited while one of the waiters brought their breakfast. “I mean a murder with a motive,” she explained. “Everything carefully planned out.”
Joseph took a bite of buttered toast and chewed it slowly, regarding his companion with an indulgent smile. “You mean like Sherlock Holmes. ‘Red-headed League,’ ‘Sign of the Four,’ stuff like that.”
“If you like, yes.”
“Forget it, Jerry, it doesn’t happen. I come from a port city where death is sordid and simple. Guys get drunk and rape women, or they beat on each other when they’re pissed. I don’t believe there’s any such thing as a carefully planned crime.”
“You’re wrong. Girls go for non-existent job interviews and vanish. They get chopped up and left in railway carriages. Murderers are men, and men are devious.”
“And you think the Savoy has a devious murderer? Maybe he’s even staying here?”
“I don’t know.” She looked down at her plate, embarrassed. “Maybe.”
“What did you tell the police?”
“Just what I saw.” She needed to change the subject. “How’s your show coming along?”
“Good,” he replied, pouring tea. “The theatre is a mess. The refurbishment is running behind schedule. It’s taking longer than anyone expected.”
“Which theatre are you working in?”
“I thought I told you.” He passed her a cup. “I’m right next door, at the Savoy. That’s why I’m staying here. The Japanese are paying for the renovation work, and they’ve appointed me as the set designer for their first production. We’re opening with a new Gilbert and Sullivan staging, very modern and irreverent. Actually, it’s not exactly new. It’s been touring the country for a while, but the production is getting a face-lift for its London debut, and that’s where my designs come in. I can get you tickets for the first night if you like.”
“Perhaps I could see you before then.”
“Sure. I’m here right through to the opening.” He checked his watch. “I’d better get going. I promised to call my girlfriend.”
Her stomach dropped. Of course he had a girlfriend. She was probably slender and beautiful. And sadly, still alive.
“Where is she?” she asked, drawing back slightly.
“She used to live in the US, but now she’s studying at Oxford. She’s gone to visit relatives in Edinburgh for Christmas. Listen, it doesn’t stop you and me from being friends. I’d still like that.”
Her instinctive reaction was to withdraw her offer, but she knew that would be childish. “All right,” she agreed reluctantly. “Friends, then.”
Joseph seemed genuinely pleased. “Now we’ve defused that particular time bomb, you can tell me more about your murder theories.”
“If you like…”
He laid a slim finger against his lips. “When you get off this evening,” he said with a smile.
¦
John May had woken to the sound of rain pounding against the bedroom skylight, and studied the dark turmoil beyond the glass. He had just taken his raincoat to the dry cleaners. Coffee was called for, but a routine check for messages pushed the thought of breakfast from his mind.
As he ran from his car to the entrance of Gower Street’s University College Hospital, the shoulders of his jacket became soaked. At five past six on Wednesday morning the hospital foyer was populated only by an elderly floor polisher. A word with the duty nurse sent him along the corridor to the overnight admissions rooms.
He found Bryant bundled up on a green leather bench, asleep. Arthur had sunk down into his voluminous coat like a tortoise vanishing into its shell for the winter. May’s shoes squeaked on the polished linoleum as he approached, and Bryant’s bald head slowly emerged at the sound.
“What happened, Arthur?” asked May. “Why on earth didn’t you let them page me?”
“There was nothing you could have done to help,” said the detective wearily. “There were quite enough people here. You would only have been in the way. She died at three o’clock this morning. Due to the unusual nature of the death, I asked the doctor if she would put down her findings in some kind of preliminary report. Raymond’s going to go crazy when he finds out what happened, and I’ll need all the information I can get.”
