Page 25 of The White Octopus Hotel
A waiter offered her a coupe of champagne from a silver tray, and when she raised it to her lips, she found it was ice-cold and bubbled over her tongue in the most pleasing way—so much better than it had ever tasted at home. Perhaps champagne was meant for the thirties, the perfect complement to the glitz and glamour. Or maybe it tasted better because, for the first time in her life, she could glimpse the possibility of undoing that ghastly mistake and putting things right. She could hardly comprehend what a life unsaddled with a crushing weight of guilt would feel like. She supposed it would be airy and light. She guessed there would be room to enjoy things, and a bold, bright flame of hope warmed her from the inside.
Suddenly, there were gasps of delight all around the room as thesun finally dipped below the horizon and in the moment of its disappearance it cast a final beam of brightness that shone upon a small mirror on the far wall. This mirror had a particularly ornate frame, featuring a host of golden jellyfish, and it must have had magic too, for as the sunset struck the glass, a bloom of jellyfish appeared in the air above the guests’ heads. They were spectral and ghostlike, not quite solid, the colour of molten sunshine, bigger than any real jellyfish could possibly be. They drifted lazily up near the ceiling, their long tentacles trailing down towards the glittering crowd. Eve felt the prickle of her own octopus as it shifted on her thigh. Some of the guests were removing their gloves, reaching up with their bare fingers, trying to touch a tentacle.
“They don’t sting, then?” a nearby guest remarked.
“Oh, they do,” her companion replied. “Rumour has it that if one of them stings you, you’ll be gifted with a piece of knowledge about a loved one—something that they do not want you to know.”
As the sun sank below the horizon, the jellyfish vanished in an instant, and in their place a woman climbed up on a stool at the front of the room, raised her coupe of champagne, and tapped it delicately with a teaspoon. There was ating-ting-tingand everyone fell quiet and turned towards her.
I know you,Eve thought at once.I know you.
She was a petite woman about Eve’s age, dressed in a violet gown and white elbow-length gloves. She wore a silver necklace in the shape of a single leaf that looked real, except for the fact that it was entirely reflective, like it had been dipped in a mirror. A diamond chain adorned her black hair, which fell down her back in waterfall waves. Eve knew she had never laid eyes on this woman before, but the strong sense of recognition persisted.
There was a bright flash from the other side of the room as a photographer snapped a picture.
“My dear friends,” the woman said. “Welcome to the White Octopus Hotel. For those of you I haven’t yet met, my name is AnnaRoth, and I am the current owner. I expect you all know who my father was. This hotel was Nikolas Roth’s great pride and joy—his life’s work, in a sense.” Her voice shook just slightly. “As many of you know, my parents died recently. I miss them every day, but we have exciting times ahead. It was my father’s final wish that the White Octopus Hotel should throw a grand party—grander than tonight, the grandest party of our time—to celebrate its fortieth birthday in three days.”
There was a cheer from the assembled guests and many of them raised their champagne coupes in a toast.
Anna smiled, revealing two cheek dimples, and Eve flinched. Her little sister had had cheek dimples too, just like that….
“In the meantime,” Anna went on, “we invite you to join us in a little scavenger hunt. Some of you may already know that this hotel has twelve clocks and thirty-six octopuses in its public rooms, not including those on our room keys and tableware. To the first guest who manages to locate them all, a prize will be offered on the night of the party. The winner will be rewarded with one of Nikolas Roth’s paintings. And have their pick of any magical item in the hotel.”
There was another enthusiastic burst of applause, but as it fell away, one person continued to clap—deliberately slowly, unmistakably mocking. One by one, everyone in the room turned around, craning their heads to see who this person might be. It didn’t take Eve long to locate him, because he was standing just a few feet from her, leaning against one of the pillars. He stood out because he was perhaps the only person in the room who wasn’t dressed smartly. Instead, he wore a plain, ordinary day suit and fedora. The hat caught Eve’s attention at once. She’d seen one just like it: the hat that was still sitting on the top shelf of her wardrobe at home. She could tell that the man had black hair but couldn’t see his face properly until he turned his head to take the cigarette from the corner of his mouth, and then she felt another jolt of adrenaline rushthrough her. It was Max Everly, the famous musician, instantly recognisable from the photos, only now he wasn’t a frozen, faded image in black and white, but a living, breathing person right in front of her.
The room fell silent and everyone was looking at him. Despite this, he seemed in no hurry to speak and took a slow drag on his cigarette first. “My congratulations, Miss Roth,” he said at last, exhaling smoke, “on that very pretty speech. Have you ever considered a career on the stage? The West End is in constant need of good actresses, I hear.”
“Thank you, Mr. Everly,” Anna said in a cool tone. Then she deliberately looked away and addressed the party in a far warmer voice. “Please help yourself to scavenger hunt cards by the door. In the meantime, we’ve a lot of champagne that needs drinking tonight, darlings. Enjoy!”
She hopped down from the stool to more applause and then someone put a jazz record onto a vinyl player behind the bar. The odd moment with Max Everly was already forgotten and the festivities were in full swing once more. Eve stood rooted to the spot. Part of her wanted to begin exploring straightaway, to start ticking off the clocks, the octopuses. But then again, now that she was a hotel guest, perhaps she could simply ask someone for a sheet of notepaper? She ought to track down a member of staff at once and do so. If her mind had been less fuzzy, then she would have asked Alfie the moment she arrived.
And yet…she couldn’t take her eyes from Max Everly. It was impossible to tell whether this was the same elderly man who had come to the auction house and pressed the white octopus into her hands, but he was certainly the musician she had loved and admired for years, and Eve longed to speak to him, to say something about how much his music had meant to her, how much it had helped. He was still leaning against a pillar, taking deep drags on his cigarette in a way that seemed angry. Clearly there wassomething irritating him, and he wasn’t taking any pleasure in the party at all, shaking his head when a passing waiter tried to offer him champagne. But Eve felt herself drawn towards him like a magnet. She took a step closer, with no idea of quite what she would say.
But then someone jostled her arm from behind, there was the cold splash of water on her skin, and a voice said, “Oh, I’m sorry!”
Eve turned and found herself face-to-face with a woman she recognised. She was in her early twenties, with long dark hair, tied up and arranged with jewelled combs. Her velvet dress was a pale shade of forget-me-not blue and couldn’t disguise the fact that she was heavily pregnant. There was a confused moment as Eve tried to place her. Shedidrecognise her, surely, just as she thought she’d recognised Anna, but it was like seeing an actress in a film, knowing that you’d seen them before but unable to work out where.
“Here, take my napkin,” the woman said, offering Eve the piece of cloth for her arm, which was damp from the spilled water.
Hearing her voice again finally made something click inside Eve’s head. All the pieces shuffled themselves around into the correct order, and the breath in her body was gone, and she knew exactly who she was looking at.
The young woman in front of her was her mother.
Chapter 17
Eve reached out, but instead of taking the napkin, she gripped her mother’s hand. She could undo it. She could undo it all right now. She knew her mum had been pregnant with Bella when they’d all come to Switzerland, and she realised now that her mother had done more than visit the abandoned White Octopus Hotel—she’d gone back in time. She’d talked about finding a key to Room 17, so surely she must have found the room too, and figured it out just like Eve had.
“Are you okay?” her mum asked, looking startled by Eve’s grip on her hand.
Don’t do it!Eve longed to say.Oh, God, don’t hold a fourth-birthday party for me, don’t let me near the gate, don’t let Bella out of your sight….
The words tingled right on the edge of her tongue. But guests had to give up their memories when they checked out; that was what Alfie had said. So her mum wouldn’t remember—and didn’t, as had been clear when Eve asked her about the hotel. Although Eve was certain that her mother must have brought her here as a child too. She could see no trace of her three-year-old self now, butmaybe she came on a different occasion? For afternoon tea and the peppermint creams. And if Eve had managed to hold on to tiny snatches of memory, then maybe, just maybe, there was a chance that her warning could make a strong enough impression on her mother that she would carry it with her back to her own time?
And yet…
Even if Eve’s mum had some vague recollection of the warning, it wouldn’t be enough unless she remembered the specifics. Worse still, it might leave her with an uncertain, disturbing premonition of disaster that she had no power to avoid. And in this moment, here and now at the party, it would be upsetting and cruel. What pregnant woman wanted to hear that the baby they were carrying wouldn’t live to see its second birthday?
“I—I’m sorry,” Eve finally stammered out, releasing her mum’s hand and taking the napkin instead. “I just…had a funny turn.”
