Питер Джеймс - Wish You Were Dead [story]

‘Yeah, and I read about small boys being eaten by a tribe of monsters in the woods,’ Kaitlynn retorted. ‘How come they missed you?’

‘Hey!’ Roy said. ‘Cool it. Bruno, we’re all concerned about Jack, OK? It’s not funny.’

‘Really?’ Bruno answered. ‘Is that why we’re all sitting here stuffing our faces, if we’re all so concerned?’

Roy stood up, holding his phone. ‘I’ll see if I can get a signal outside.’

‘Darling, finish your food first,’ Cleo said. ‘You’ve not eaten anything for hours.’

‘I’m just going to the front door to see if I can get a better signal. I’ll be right back.’

He walked out into the hall. Stepping into the porch, he saw in front of him a wall of pelting rain, and then a streak of lightning. Checking his phone, there was still no signal. All the same, he tried calling Jack. But nothing happened. He tapped out a text and tried sending it.

It would not go.

He went back into the hall, looking warily at all the suits of armour. He felt like each of them had someone inside, watching him through the eye slits, as he walked back towards the dining room. But just before he reached the entrance, he saw a door off to the right and, curious, went over to it.

It led into a huge drawing room, furnished with antique sofas, tables and display cabinets full of silverware and ornaments. Three of the walls were hung with oil paintings in gilded frames. Some looked like portraits of ancestors, others were landscapes, hunting scenes and beautifully painted pictures of horses and dogs.

On the fourth wall, above an ornate marble fireplace, were dozens and dozens of framed photographs, all signed. Among them were a number of celebrities he recognized — rock stars and actors, some living, some long dead — and some faces he did not recognize. It looked like a Hall of Fame of past guests.

Each photo had a brief, scrawled message. One picture was of the late, great actor Humphrey Bogart, with his trademark cigarette in his mouth. He was standing in the hallway of this chateau, his arm around a suit of armour. ‘ Great stay in this amazing place! Got a new buddy! ’ Next to him was a black-and-white photograph of the late Vivien Leigh. ‘ Such a great time here. Such history! ’ A short distance away was a photo of Peter Sellers. ‘ Much preferred it here to Balham! ’

As Roy continued admiring the photographs, he noticed a face he recognized but could not immediately place. It was a man in his fifties, with close-cropped hair, standing with his arm around a wild-looking woman. ‘ What a gem we’ve discovered! ’

Roy looked at the signature but couldn’t read who it was. He looked at the face again, puzzled. He had an almost photographic memory, particularly for faces, which had always helped him in his career with the police. But, however hard he tried, he could not think who the man was.

Maybe he was tired from the long drive, or it was the booze — probably both, he decided. He went back into the dining room and sat back down next to Cleo. ‘Wow!’ he said. ‘I just took a look in the amazing drawing room. You have to go in there — there are photographs of dozens of major celebrities who’ve stayed here!’

‘Well, I hope they got a better greeting than we did!’ she retorted.

Half an hour later, Roy and Cleo went back to their room. Both were out of breath from the climb up the tower’s seventy-two steps. Roy gasped, ‘Happy holiday, my love!’

‘Some holiday! So far it feels more like we’re in some fly-on-the-wall film about the Holiday From Hell!’

Cleo knelt and unzipped her suitcase. ‘Poor Kaitlynn’s looking frantic. What are we going to do about Jack?’

‘If he’s not here by dinner time, I’ll nip down to the road in the car and hope to get a phone signal there. Jack’s a smart guy, I’m sure he’s OK. He’s probably stuck in a mighty traffic jam or broken down. Or he might have just got delayed in Paris with all that red tape the French police have. Don’t worry, he’ll rock up.’

‘If he can ever find this sodding place,’ she said.

‘True!’

‘Dinner — yuck — I wish I hadn’t stuffed myself with all that food — I’m full — need to do some exercise. Perhaps we could go for a walk?’

Roy peered out of the window at the falling rain, then gave her a naughty look. ‘Perhaps we could do some other form of exercise?’

She tilted her head and grinned back. ‘Oh, what did you have in mind exactly?’

He took a step towards her and put his arms around her, nuzzling her neck. ‘This sort,’ he murmured.

She eased herself away, gently, still smiling. ‘I like your thinking, but I vote we unpack first. Just our wash stuff and a change of clothes for tonight. Leave everything else for a quick getaway in the morning?’

‘Sounds like a plan. But maybe if Madame puts on a nice meal we’ll feel different.’

‘Really? What planet are you on? Or did you get abducted by Bruno’s aliens and have your brain messed with, darling? This place is not for us, don’t you think?’

‘Maybe it’ll grow on us.’

‘Maybe,’ she said, digging through her clothes. She pulled out a slinky black dress, then stood up and held it against her body. ‘What do you think — this tonight?’

He tilted his head one way, then the other. ‘I have a problem with that dress.’

‘You do?’

He nodded. ‘Yep — the moment you put it on, I’m going to want to rip it straight off and ravish you!’

She punched him, playfully. ‘OK, Mr Big Seducer, what about you, then? What do you have to wear tonight that’s going to make me want to rip it off without undoing the buttons?’

He grinned again and dug into his bag. ‘Let’s see what I can find!’

She walked over to him and kissed him. ‘Actually, Detective Superintendent, I like you best with nothing on at all.’

‘That can be arranged,’ he said.

‘Good.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘We have just under an hour.’

Eagerly tugging off his T-shirt, he put his arms around her. ‘So it will have to be a quickie!’

She gave him a very mischievous smile.

At 7.45 p.m., smartened up for dinner, they went down into the hall — Cleo in her black dress, her bump showing, and Roy in a dark jacket over a white shirt. Both were in a very much better mood. A choral chant was blasting out. It was playing far too loud and seemed to be coming at them from every direction.

Madame stood in the entrance to the dining room, holding a huge silver tray, on which sat three champagne flutes. Roy took a glass, but Cleo asked if she could have some water. ‘I can’t drink, I’m afraid. I’m pregnant.’

The woman looked at her, puzzled.

Cleo patted her tummy and explained in French.

Madame responded with a thin, ‘couldn’t care less’ smile, followed by ‘ Bon appétit ’, and stepped aside to allow them to enter.

Bruno and Kaitlynn were already there, seated either side of the dining table. The room was even more dimly lit than before. A baby monitor sat in front of Kaitlynn, who was stabbing at the keys on her phone again. Flickering candles burned in silver holders on the walls and on the table, sending shadows jumping around the room. Glass decanters of white and red wine were also on the table.

Madame ushered Roy and Cleo to their places, side by side at the head of the table, facing the statue of the naked man with the marble drapes over his arm. There was another figure a short distance in front of the statue. Low down and motionless was a man in a wheelchair, wearing dark glasses. He was heavily bearded, with a mane of silver hair that covered his forehead and tumbled down to the shoulders of his velvet jacket. He wore a bright-yellow cravat.