101 Pieces of Me (14 page)

T
he Royal Albion Hotel was a cream-painted building among other cream-painted buildings on Brighton seafront, not far from the oriental-looking structure known as the Royal Pavilion. It too was cream-coloured. And that March day, a stiff wind moved the clouds around in a cream-coloured sky above a grey sea. There were no leaves on the trees, and the people who passed had their overcoat collars turned up and their hats pulled low.

“It’s not much like Aberystwyth,” I observed as the taxi drew up.

David laughed. “Why on earth should it be?”

Aberystwyth was the only seaside resort I had ever visited. Aberaeron, our nearest town, was by the sea, but it was just for fishing. No one would ever want to stay there for a holiday. “Mm.” I was uncertain. “It looks almost like London, with all these big buildings but with the sea along one side. And it’s all whitey-cream, like … I don’t know, a wedding cake?”

He looked at me quizzically. “You do say the most extraordinary things sometimes, Miss Williams.” He gave some coins to the taxi driver. “Keep the change,” he told him, and the man touched his cap and drove away. “Brighton’s a large town, certainly,” continued David, “and, of course, it has a reputation for certain things.”

“What things?”

The doorman signalled to a porter, who picked up our bags. As we followed him between the columns each side of the hotel entrance, David took my arm. “Racketeering,” he whispered. “It’s known to be full of criminals, so look out for dubious types.”

“Not in a hotel like this, surely?” I asked, dismayed.

“Hah!” His eyes glittered, but he did not seem very amused. “Well, even in a hotel like this, or perhaps
especially
in a hotel like this, the clerk will know that for every ‘married’ couple that register, another dozen will not be married at all.”

“How shocking!”

“That’s the other thing Brighton’s famous for, you see. You’ll remember to sign your new name, won’t you?”

While David was busy at the reception desk, I looked round the foyer, impressed by its elegant furnishings. Though slightly old-fashioned, even to my uncritical eye, the Edwardian splendour of the hotel’s interior added to my excitement. I felt thrilled at the thought of being in a town well-known for adulterous liaisons between people rich enough to afford the Royal Albion. Mam and Da and Frank and Florence and Mary were at home, celebrating St David’s Day with daffodil buttonholes and
bara brith
, just like they had done every year for their whole lives. Even if they wondered what I was doing, I was confident they would never guess that I was in an opulent hotel, about to sign my name for discretion’s sake, as Clara Williams!

It struck me that Clara Williams was my newest name out of three. On Monday I would go back to being Clara Hope. Would I ever go back to being Sarah Freebody? I smiled furtively, dipping my chin into my fox fur. Sometime in the future David and I would stand before Reverend Morris in the village church and swear to love and honour one another for ever. And I would have yet another new name.

I
hovered over the register. After a moment’s hesitation, under David’s signature, which read
D. Mitchell-Drew
, I signed
C. H. Williams
, with a little flourish at the end like a pig’s tail.

“Rooms 255 and 256, sir,” said the clerk, handing the bell boy the key. “Would you like to order dinner or breakfast, or morning newspapers, or an alarm call?”

I hoped David would order all these things, except the alarm call. I was about to speak, but he brushed the man’s words aside. “No, nothing. Come along, Clara.”

We followed the bell boy into the lift and up to the second floor. After a few steps along a carpeted corridor, he opened the door of room 255 and stood back. I entered a pretty, but not particularly luxurious, room. There was no balcony, though the tall window did look out over the sea.

“You take this room, my dear,” said David. He asked for my bag to be brought in and for his own to be put in room 256. While I waited for him to tip and dismiss the bell boy, I went to the window and parted the lace curtains. Across the street from the hotel the Grand Pier jutted into the sea. Ice-cream men and ticket sellers stood at its entrance, but business was very slack. It was too cold for trippers.

And the pier, I noted, was painted cream.

“This place should be called
Cream
ton, not
Bright
on,” I said to David, letting the curtain go. “Though I suppose when the sun shines on all this cream paint, it
does
look quite
bright
.”

Suddenly he was very close behind me. I could feel the warmth of his body. “Have you finished talking drivel, dearest?” he asked playfully. “Because if so, I have other employment for you.”

I turned, and put my hand on his chest. His shirt felt damp. I wondered why he was so hot when the room was cool enough for me to be comfortable wearing my fox fur. He tried to kiss me, but I pulled away. “David, are you all right? You seem so hot – perhaps you have a fever. Oh, I hope you’re not going to be ill!”

“Of course I’m not going to be ill. I do feel warm, though.” He smiled his most sensual smile. “I must be fired with passion, my darling.”

“Then you may kiss me when I have cleaned myself up a little.” The train journey had made me feel grubby, though I had bathed that morning. “Where’s the bathroom?”

H
e released me, looked round the room and opened a door in the corner. It led to a narrow bathroom, old-fashioned like the rest of the hotel but containing the essential fittings. Opposite the door was another door, bearing a brass number, 256. “Oh!” I exclaimed in surprise. “The bathroom is between our two rooms!”

David was feeling in his pocket for his cigarettes. “Clever, isn’t it? That’s why I booked them. Better than tiptoeing down the corridor to the bathroom in the middle of the night.” He paused to light up. “The sooner European hotels start putting a private bathroom in every room, like they do in America, the better.”

I could not imagine a hotel with as many bathrooms as bedrooms. It seemed impossibly extravagant. “I don’t think that will ever happen,” I told him doubtfully. “But yes, it is nice to have a bathroom just for us.”

He exhaled smoke. “I’m going across to my room now. You’re right, we could both do with a wash and brush-up. Get changed too, and we’ll go out and find some dinner. Knock when you’re finished, will you?”

He kissed me swiftly on the cheek, unlocked the door that led to his room, gave me a mock-salute with the hand that held the cigarette, and disappeared. I put my case on the bed and undid the catches. On the top, wrapped in tissue paper, lay a new silver-beaded gown. I took it out and held it against me, humming happily. Mr Mitchell-Drew and his companion, Miss Clara Williams, were going to be the smartest couple in Brighton tonight; David had said so when he had presented me with the dress on the last day of filming, describing it as an “end-of-picture gift”. David never seemed able to admit that he bought me beautiful things merely because he wished to.

I laid the dress on the bed and used the bathroom, then I knocked on David’s door. “All yours!” I called.

There was no answer for a few seconds, then I heard a muffled sound, which I took to be his acknowledgement of the empty bathroom. I went back into my room and closed the bathroom door, unbuttoning my blouse, my mind busy, wondering which shoes out of the two pairs I had brought I should put on for dinner. Would we be dancing? Should I wear the more comfortable pair?

I took off my blouse and skirt, and pulled up my petticoat to take off my stockings. But as I took hold of the fastenings on my suspender-belt, there was a sudden noise, and a flash. And there, in that ordinary room in an old-fashioned hotel in a place that should have been called Creamton, my world ended.

T
he flash dazzled me. Gasping, I put my hand up to shield my eyes. A man had flung open the door from the bathroom: a man in a dark overcoat and trilby hat, with a camera round his neck and a flash bulb in his hand. I drew breath to scream, but someone came up behind me and put their arm round my throat. A strong, masculine arm. I was dragged backwards towards the bed, pushed down and held there. Astoundingly, the man pinning my shoulders to the pillows was David.

“What are you
doing
?” I demanded, half-blinded by the curtain of hair that had fallen over my face during our struggle. “Call the manager! This man is a criminal! Call the police!”

The man had a straggly moustache and looked unwashed. I was sure we had fallen victim to one of the “dubious types” David had warned me about, an obvious blackmailer. But David didn’t seem to care. He kicked my suitcase and the silver dress to the floor, his face grim, perspiration gleaming on his forehead. “Shut up!” he hissed. “He’s not a criminal, you little idiot!”

“But—”

I was silenced by his hand over my mouth. It was then I realized that he did not have his shirt on. His braces hung loose, and the top button of his trousers was undone. Real fear gripped me; my body seemed cold and unaccountably heavy. Again I tried to scream but produced only a sort of whimper. “If you make a sound,” David told me, “I’ll turn you out into the street, half naked or not.”

He took his hand away from my mouth but grasped my face between both his hands and pressed his lips to mine. I heard the
click-squawk
of the camera, and there was a flash. “Got that one, sir,” said the man.

Strain as I might, I could not move. David’s superior weight and strength held me where I was. He pulled down the straps of my petticoat. Another
click-squawk
, another flash. He grabbed me by the elbows and thrust my arms around his waist. Before I could retrieve them, there was another
click
, another
squawk
, another flash. I tried to sit up; again and again David pushed me down.

“Got enough, I think, sir,” said the man, lowering the flash bulb.

“Good,” said David. “Now get those developed straight away. I’ll be in touch.”

The man disappeared into the corridor, shutting the door softly behind him. David swung his legs off the bed and began to button his trousers. “God, I need a drink.”

I had been too shocked to cry, but now the tears came. “David, will you
please
tell me what’s going on?”