‘We haven’t had the hotel a year and you’re--’ Bess laughed and waved her hand in the air. ‘Forget it. I’ll see you both at five.’
Bess usually allowed herself an hour to get washed and changed for the evening. Every day, since the hotel first opened, Bess and Frank had been on duty, either on reception, or in the dining room. Even if they were in the office the rule was, if a guest wanted to speak to them they were available. The same rule applied in the evenings. It added a personal touch, which Bess and Frank enjoyed and, after the first couple of nights, the guests expected.
In the bedroom, Bess drew the curtains, kicked off her shoes and fell onto the bed. She pulled up the eiderdown and closed her eyes, but she couldn’t sleep. She tossed and turned for a while, then got up and went through to the sitting room. Perched on the end of Nancy’s single bed she turned on the wireless. Alistair Cooke’s Letter from America was on. Bess didn’t want to be reminded that her sister was on the other side of the Atlantic; not in America, but in Canada, and rotated the tuning button until she heard the voice of broadcaster Jean Metcalf on Woman’s Hour. The magazine programme was one that Bess particularly enjoyed, when she had time. She put her feet up and laid back on the small single bed to catch the last fifteen minutes of the show. The next thing she heard was the opening music to Mrs Dale’s Diary. She had slept for two hours.
After a quick bath, she brushed her auburn curls into a loose bun in the nape of her neck, put on a grey-green dress, appropriate for the evening, and applied powder and rouge. With time to spare, she glanced through the photographs in the chest of drawers, eventually coming across the one Nancy had found of her mother, Goldie. The resemblance between mother and daughter was striking. It was a wonder Margot hadn’t noticed it. But then, Bess thought, her sister had only seen Nancy a couple of times.
Putting the photographs back in the drawer, Bess wondered why Maeve hadn’t told her Goldie was Nancy’s mother. She told her that Nancy was the daughter of her cousin. She had even told her how Nancy’s mother had died. Bess decided to ask Maeve about Goldie when she returned to work on Monday.
After checking her hair in the mirror and adding lipstick, Bess went downstairs. Jack had already left, so she took her place behind reception and Frank went up to change. When he returned, Bess looked in on Chef to see if he, or any of the kitchen staff, needed anything. They didn’t, so she checked the dining room to make sure the tables had been laid correctly for dinner. They had.
When she got back to reception, Ena was there talking to Frank. She gave Bess a warm smile, ‘Katherine obviously can’t come down for dinner, so I’ll take something up to her. I’ll ask Chef to make up two trays - one for me and one for Henry. I’ll say Henry’s working and I’m keeping him company.’
‘Have you heard from Henry? Do you know how things are going?’ Frank asked.
‘No, but I’m sure he’ll check in tonight. I hope he does anyway.’
‘We’ll put him through straight away, if he rings,’ Bess said, looking at Frank.
‘Thanks. I might risk coming down later. Katherine insisted I locked her in the room before I left just now, so when she goes to bed, I’ll come back. It sounds awful doesn’t it, locking someone in their room?’
‘When you put it like that, yes,’ Bess said. ‘How is she?’
‘Terrified, poor kid. Petrified that one of her father’s friends will come looking for her. If they do,’ Ena said, ‘they’ll have to get past me first.’
Bess felt her stomach churn with worry and she bit on her bottom lip. ‘If either of you need anything, ring me and I’ll bring it up to your room.’
‘Thanks. Fingers crossed, I’ll see you later.’
The following morning, while the guests were in the dining room having Sunday breakfast, Bess took the hotel’s appointments diary into the office. She hadn’t had time to check who was leaving, in order to prepare their bills, when there was a tap on the door. It opened immediately. ‘Sorry to disturb you, Mrs Donnelly,’ Jack said, giving Bess an exaggerated wink. ‘There are two gentlemen in reception looking for their niece. They believe she is staying here.’ Bess’s heart began to thump against her ribcage and she got to her feet. ‘The young lady’s father has had an accident and they’d like her to return home with them. Immediately.’ Jack rolled his eyes.
‘Have you booked any young women in recently?’ Bess asked, as casually as she was able.
‘No, Mrs Donnelly. I told the gentlemen that, but they’re insisting on seeing the hotel’s appointments book, to look for themselves.’
Bess raised her eyes. ‘I haven’t taken any single bookings either,’ she said, picking up the appointments diary, ‘but it won’t hurt to check.’ Bess followed Jack out into reception. ‘Good morning, gentlemen,’ she said, putting on a professional smile.’ She laid the diary down on the top of the reception desk, so it was facing her. ‘What is your niece’s name?’
The two men looked at each other, then at Bess. ‘Hawksley,’ the taller of the two men said, ‘Katherine Hawksley.’
Bess ran her finger down the short list of guests that had arrived that morning, repeating the name. ‘I’m sorry, but no one has booked in today by the name of… Hawksley?’ She turned the page and shook her head. ‘Nor yesterday, or the day before.’
The taller man snatched the diary from the desk and, turning the pages roughly, scrutinised each name. When he was satisfied
