Page 27 of The White Octopus Hotel
“How fascinating,” Eve replied. Max and Anna had both disappeared from view now, and she was disappointed to have let them slip away again.
“It is,” the woman replied. “For any hotel, but for the White Octopus in particular.”
Eve turned her attention back to her. She was a member of staff, after all, so there was no harm in asking. “I wonder if you could help me,” she said. “I’d like to send a letter and was hoping the hotel might have some writing paper I could use?”
The old woman tilted her head slightly to one side, giving Eve an appraising look with her rheumy eyes. “Now, whyever would a seven want to send a letter? Surely you will have no one to write to in the world for many years.”
“I’ve heard that it’s special writing paper,” Eve replied. “Is that true?”
“Everything in this hotel is special,” the woman said, before adding abruptly, “I’m much too old for parties—too noisy and boisterous. Will you take afternoon tea with me tomorrow? I’m always fascinated by our sevens. A historian doesn’t normally get the opportunity to learn about histories other than their own. I would love to hear more. And in return I’ll happily tell you about the hotel.”
“All right,” Eve said, trying to hide her disappointment. She supposed it was too much to hope that the paper could simply be handed to her, but she could always ask the other staff in the meantime. “Thank you.”
“Meet me at the Veranda Restaurant at three o’clock,” the woman ordered. “Ask for Mrs. Roth’s table.”
Eve was startled to hear the name again, but before she could ask any questions about the woman’s relationship to Nikolas Roth, the old lady had bid her good night and was slowly making her way towards the exit.
Eve went to pick up one of the scavenger hunt cards. A title inelaborately ornate script readThe White Octopus Hotel Scavenger Hunt.Beneath this were two headings, one for clocks and one for octopuses. A numbered list below provided space for guests to write down the location of each. Sketches of tentacles and ticking clocks adorned the margins. Eve picked up a small pencil from a silver bucket beside the cards and wrote in the answers she already knew. In the lobby there was one grandfather clock and one octopus fountain. Only eleven clocks and thirty-five octopuses to go. She considered returning to the hotel straightaway to begin the search but found herself drawn back by the conversation of the other guests.
Over the next hour, the champagne flowed, and the photographer’s camera flashed, and there was a great deal of talk about the hotel’s magical objects too. According to the guests, these really existed at the hotel—not just one or two, but an abundance of them, and everyone was keen to compare notes and experiences and to talk about what they would claim as their prize if they won the scavenger hunt.
“Personally, I just adore the bookmark,” a lady in a lemon-coloured gown said. She wore stacks of bangles over her gloves that jingled every time she moved. “It’s difficult to find in the library, but if you manage to get hold of it, then it can bring a fictional character to life. When I visited a few years ago, I had breakfast with Sherlock Holmes.”
“My dear, that can’t actually be true!” another lady wearing a jewelled headdress replied. “Can it?”
“I swear it happened.”
“But how delightful!” The woman in the headdress clapped her hands together.
“It isn’t all delightful,” a gentleman warned. “The bookmark is dangerous. You don’t decide which character is brought to life, you see. A friend of mine found himself face-to-face with Dr. Jekyll once and it was devilishly unpleasant. It’s lucky no one was killed.”
“There’s a mirror in the Smoking Room,” another man volunteered. “Whatever you do, don’t look into it for too long.”
“What harm can a mirror possibly do, old fellow?” a second gentleman asked.
The first man shook his head. He’d gone a little pale. “If you stare into the glass for too long, then something happens. To your reflection.”
“What rot!” someone replied with a merry laugh. “Everyone knows that your face starts to look unlike your own if you stare at it for too long.”
“No,” the man insisted. “No. It’s more than that. Your reflection, it…comes to life. And you might not like what it does.”
“Choose your words carefully in the Palm Bar too,” another guest cautioned. “The martinis are excellent, of course, if you can tolerate the Eavesdropper hiding behind the curtains. They say he coughs every time someone utters a lie. You only ever see the tips of his shoes. Unless a truly shocking lie of great magnitude is uttered, and then you might glimpse a finger curling around the edge of the curtain—or so they say.”
“But who is he?”
“No one knows.”
“That can’t be right,” Eve put in. “There are no windows in the Palm Bar, so why would there be a curtain?”
The man shrugged. “All I know is there is one.”
“Well, no one eavesdrops on me,” a second man said with a chuckle. “I’d soon have him out by his ear, whoever he is.”
The other man shuddered again. “I wouldn’t pull that curtain back. Not for the world.”
Eve soaked up as many details as she could. If even half of what the guests were saying was true, then the hotel really was an extraordinary place indeed.
She saw Jane in the crowd once or twice, but they didn’t find themselves together again.
