He checked all the books next, bemused by the variety of taste. Several Harold Robbins, George Eliot's Mill on the Floss,a biography on Florence Nightingale, another on the potato famine in Ireland, Great Expectations, Jane Eyre and several poetry and cookery books. There were no letters tucked into them, no interesting inscriptions.
Nick sat for a moment in the pink buttoned-back chair by the window. Just the way it was placed suggested this had been her favourite spot. The view over the valley wasn't at its best: it was a dismal, damp day, the kind that made everything seem as grey and dull as the sky. Nick was very disappointed by his search. It seemed inconceivable that anyone could have so few possessions and no sentimental clutter. If it hadn't been for finding her post office book he might've thought she'd purposely stripped the room of clues. But someone careful enough to leave no evidence behind would have remembered to take their money.
As he sat considering what his next move could be, a tiny raised tuft of carpet in the corner of the room by the skirting board caught his eye. In the days when Nick had been snorting cocaine and smoking grass he had often hidden his stash in such a place.
He was on his feet and over to it in a second. As he pulled at the tuft, the carpet peeled back effortlessly and he saw a green cardboard envelope file beneath it.
His heart raced as he opened it and found the old letters his father had spoken of. It was further evidence that she'd been too upset when she left to think clearly.
There was a photograph of a stunningly beautiful blonde on the top of the pile of letters. He didn't need to be told it was Bonny: she looked exactly how his father had described her. She was wearing a twenties-style short fringed flapper dress, but it had clearly been taken in the early sixties; not only was she doing the Twist, but her hair was set in an elaborate curled beehive and she had the Cleopatra black-lined eyes and very pale lipstick of that period.
'You were right, she was gorgeous,' he murmured studying it carefully.
Magnus's letters came next, fastened together with a paperclip. Just one glance at the bold, familiar handwriting confirmed they were genuine. Beneath these were some from another man, but just as he was about to start reading them, he heard Mrs Downes out on the landing. She was speaking to Betty who was cleaning the guest rooms. Afraid she might come in to see what he was doing, Nick closed the file, slipped it down the waist of his trousers, covered it with his sweater and left the room.
Mrs Downes was doling out fresh linen to Betty. She turned as Nick locked Mel's room and smiled hesitantly at him.
'Just checking to see everything's all right,' he said, blushing. It didn't seem right to be furtive. 'I suppose we'll have to pack all her stuff up soon, Downie, but Dad and I thought we'd wait till after Christmas. You never know, she might write then.'
Joan Downes had been hoping for an opportunity such as this. She was a little hurt that Nick hadn't taken her into his confidence about what happened with Mel. There was a time when he'd told her everything. She had dismissed Sophie's story that the girl had been fiddling Magnus out-of-hand. He was far too smart to allow anyone to fool him for long and Sophie had always had a wicked tongue.
Joan had arrived at the theory that Mel must have been pregnant, either by a guest or someone she'd met in Bath, and that she'd told Nick that morning after Magnus's stroke.
Joan felt equally sorry for both of them. It would be hard for any man to accept that the girl he loved was carrying another man's child, especially when he was frantic with worry about his sick father. It was understandable too that Mel rushed off without a word to anyone; Nick could be a real devil when he was angry.
'I reckon it was her who rang yesterday.' Joan went closer to Nick, lowering her voice so. Betty wouldn't hear. 'Wendy on reception said a woman phoned to make inquiries about vacancies, then asked how Mr Osbourne was. Wendy said it was all a bit odd because the woman didn't sound the least put out about the hotel being full until after New Year; she didn't even want to leave her telephone number in case there was a cancellation.'
'What did Wendy tell her?' Nick asked. He wanted to believe it was Mel.
'She said he'd just come home and he was getting better, but it would be a while before he took an active part in running the hotel again. When Wendy asked for her name so she could pass on her good wishes to Magnus, she said it was Mrs Smithers. Magnus didn't recognise that name, and Wendy couldn't find any record of her staying here before.'
One of the nurses at the hospital had told Nick they had had several telephone inquiries from a woman who claimed to be an old friend but didn't give a name.
'I hope it was Mel,' Nick said. 'At least it would prove she still thinks about us.'
Joan put her hand on Nick's arm. 'I wish you'd tell me why she went like she did, lovey?' she wheedled. 'I know I've got no business to pry, but I miss her so much, and I worry about her too.'
'We had a bit of a squabble, Downie.' Nick made a sad face, wishing he could tell her the whole truth. He patted her shoulder affectionately. 'I said a few nasty, hasty things and then she went. I'm really sorry now, and both Dad and I hope she'll get over it and come back. If you can think of anyone she mentioned, friends or relations she might have gone to, let us know will you?'
Joan thought how typical it was of Nick to lash out at someone, and then assume a mere apology would put things right once he'd calmed down. She felt too that if he knew the real reason why Mel had left, he should have scotched Sophie's slanderous suggestions, not let wild rumours fly around the way he had. It was tempting to say these things – after all she'd known him since he was a little boy – but Nick was unpredictable, and she was, after all, only an employee.
'She didn't have anyone,' she shrugged, biting her lip. She hated to think of any pregnant woman alone and friendless. 'Leastways she never spoke of them. She used to want to hear every last thing about my family, but she never talked about anyone she knew in the past.'
'Christmas is when people remember good times,' Nick said soothingly, as much for his own benefit as for the housekeeper's. 'Even if she doesn't contact Dad or myself, she might drop you a line or a card. You'll tell me if she does, won't you?'
He went on down to his father's sitting room on the first floor. 'And how are we today, Mr Os-bourne?'
Magnus was sitting in a wheelchair at his desk, jigsaw puzzle pieces spread out in front of him, glasses perched on the end of his nose. 'As well as can be expected,' he replied, with a hint of laughter in his voice. 'Or I will be when you lot all stop fussing.'
Nick had grown used to seeing his father dressed in pyjamas and dressing gown in hospital, but here in his masculine retreat they seemed to emphasise his age and frailty. The nurse they'd hired had sniffed at Nick's suggestion that he might feel more dignified in his normal clothes, and said it was more trouble than it was worth helping him change. Nick thought he'd wait a couple of days to see how this nurse shaped up, and if she didn't comply with his wishes he'd dress Magnus himself and find another nurse who wouldn't look on her patient as some old crock without any feelings.
'I haven't come to fuss,' Nick assured him, pulling the file from his trousers. 'And I've found a more stimulating puzzle than that one. Are you up to it?'
Magnus's face lit up, eyes twinkling. 'You found something in Mel's room?'
He had made a remarkable recovery. There was still a degree of paralysis in his left side, which prevented him from lifting with that arm and he couldn't walk again yet. But his speech was back to normal, he had no loss of memory and there was every reason to believe he would gradually regain the full use of his arm and leg with physiotherapy.
'It's letters, lots from you but others too and photographs,' Nick said jubilantly, pushing the jigsaw to one side and placing the file in front of his father. 'I haven't looked at them yet. Will you mind me seeing the ones from you?'
'Not really,' Magnus said, his faintly embarrassed grin showing he wasn't entirely sure. He took off his glasses, then supporting his weak
arm on his knee polished them carefully on his dressing gown.
Nick had noticed how careful his father was to try and use his left hand as much as possible. Even when he was sitting watching television he would squeeze a rubber ball between his fingers for exercise. 'We'll leave yours till last,' he suggested. 'After all we know what's in those anyway.'
They didn't speak at all as they read the ones from Jack Easton, Nick looking at them first, then handing them to Magnus. To Nick's surprise his father didn't react when he saw that Bonny had accused Jack too of being Mel's father.
'So did you know about him?' he asked as Magnus struggled to put the letters back in order under the paperclip.
'Yes, she often spoke of a boy called Jack who was her childhood sweetheart,' he said gruffly. 'He was an evacuee from London like her, they were friends right from kids. She sent him a "Dear John" when he was in the Army, some time before I met her. Looks like she didn't give him up for good though.'
Nick picked up the attached photograph of a group of children. 'Did she ever show you this?' he asked.
Magnus smiled. 'Yes, she did. She always had it in her handbag. That's her of course.' He pointed out the small blonde with the sticking-up hair ribbons. "The skinny boy with freckles and his arm round her is Jack. He was billeted with the station master. Bonny was with a dancing teacher she called Aunt Lydia. The other kids were "her gang .
'He says "colouring like mine gets passed on",' Nick said. 'Did she ever say what sort of colouring he had?'
'Bright red hair,' Magnus chuckled. 'She said he was ugly too. But he was her best friend for all that. I liked the sound of him actually, she described him very vividly. A plucky sort of kid, plenty of derring-do.'
'Don't you feel angry that she was carrying on with him?' Nick asked heatedly. 'Why weren't you as tough as him when Bonny told you Mel belonged to you?'
Magnus shrugged. 'There's no point in having a post mortem now, Nick.'
'Well, what about this Aunt Lydia? Do you think Bonny kept in touch with her? Might she be someone Mel would go to?'
'Might be worth a try,' Magnus said, telling his son what he knew about this aunt. 'But you'll have to bear in mind, Nick, that Bonny told me countless lies. She claimed her parents were both dead, and I'm pretty certain that wasn't true. I was always led to believe this Aunt Lydia was rather grand and beautiful. We might discover she's impoverished and crabby.'
They read the letter from Miles together, Nick looking over Magnus's shoulder.
'Well, this is a turn-up,' Magnus said in surprise.
'Why, do you know him?'
'You know him too, if only by name,' Magnus said. 'It's Sir Miles Hamilton!'
Nick gasped and sat down with a bump. Sir Miles Hamilton was a well-known patron of the arts, with interests in theatre and a seat on the board of a couple of film companies. Nick had seen various articles about the man in The Stage, for although he was now in his eighties and had virtually retired, he still went to many premieres and award nights.
'Do you think he was her lover too?' Nick asked. Miles seemed old enough to be Bonny's grandfather.
'I can't imagine it,' Magnus frowned. 'He wasn't a friend, but I did move in the same circles as him at one time. I thought of him as a very upright sort of man and as far as I know he was devoted to his wife, Mary. Oddly enough I was instrumental in Bonny getting to know both Sir Miles and John Norton. I got the girls, Bonny and her friend Ellie, a little cabaret number at a charity bash in the Savoy, and they were both there too.'
'Were you there yourself?' Nick asked.
Magnus bit his lip and looked away from his son.
'Go on,' Nick urged. 'It's no good trying to hide things now.'
'It was a terrible night,' Magnus sighed. 'I regretted ever putting the girls' names forward to the committee. But I knew there would be quite a few show business people there and I hoped they might get offered a job.
'Bonny and Ellie were a terrific double act. Bonny was an outstanding dancer, and Ellie had the voice and the acting ability. My goodness you should've seen them together, they were dynamite.'
Nick was on the edge of his seat. This was the first time his father had ever given him an inkling that he knew anything about the entertainment world.
'Firstly, your mother was with me that night,' Magnus said gruffly. 'I'd warned the girls they were to ignore me, and they did, but I was still very uncomfortable. For the first part of the evening the girls behaved impeccably; they both looked gorgeous and when they did their act it nearly brought the house down. But after the cabaret was over, when supper was being served, Ruth, being the generous, good-natured soul she was, saw Bonny and Ellie looking for somewhere to have theirs and invited them over to our table.'
Nick chuckled. He had been in several tight spots with women himself and he could imagine his father's discomfort at wife and mistress meeting face to face.
'Well, Ellie saved my bacon,' Magnus sniffed. 'She whisked Bonny off sharpish in the direction of John Norton who'd spoken to them earlier. Fortunately Ruth didn't suspect anything. But then later on in the evening a man came in uninvited. To my further horror he made a drunken beeline for the girls and started a bit of a fracas.'
'Who was he? Another lover?'
'Hardly, he was a well-known pansy by the name of Ambrose Dingle. One time impresario, and ex-stage director of a show the girls had been in sometime before I met them. Anyway, Sir Miles got up and intervened. The next thing I know Dingle is about to swing a punch at Sir Miles, and everyone is rubber-necking to see what's going on. Ruth was horrified, she thought such loutish behaviour only happened in village halls in Yorkshire, and I was terrified Bonny might run over to me! But Sir Miles handled it very well and got Dingle thrown out, then took the two girls under his wing. Bonny, little show-off that she was, absolutely loved it all. She sat there with her head on Lady Hamilton's shoulder gaining her sympathy and batting her eyelashes at Sir Miles. She certainly knew how to put the little-girl-lost image across!'
Nick digested this. 'Could they have had a fling after that then?'
Magnus sighed. 'It is possible, I'm sure Bonny would overlook the man's age because of his money and title, but somehow I just can't see Sir Miles as a randy old goat. The girls did get taken on by his agency afterwards. In fact the show Bonny was in when I finally told her I couldn't see her any longer, was one of his projects. But a year or so later when Ellie got the lead in the stage version of Oklahoma,which was also one of his projects, Bonny wasn't even offered a part in the chorus, so I got the impression Sir Miles had only ever been interested in Ellie.'
'Is this her?' Nick picked up a photograph of Magnus in a dinner jacket, between Bonny and another dancer, both in sequinned costumes and feathered head-dresses.
'Yes, that's Ellie. It was taken back stage of a theatre in Wembley. I can't remember the name of it now. It would have been in 1947 anyway, not that long before Bonny and I parted. I liked Ellie. I was so pleased for her when she made it: she deserved it more than anyone.'
'What's her other name?' Nick asked, frowning as he looked at the picture. 'She looks vaguely familiar.'
To his surprise Magnus began to laugh. 'Looks "vaguely familiar",' he chortled. 'I should think she does. It's Helena Forester. You used to dote on her.'
Nick's mouth fell open in shock. 'Never!' he gasped. Helena Forester was a big Hollywood star. During the fifties and sixties she'd been a household name, and Nick had seen all her musicals as a boy. 'Why didn't you ever tell me you knew her?' he said petulantly. 'How could you keep that to yourself. I used to keep her pictures and read all about her.'
Magnus looked penitent. 'I was often tempted to. But how could I without admitting everything else?'
A few moments later Nick came upon a letter from a woman written on blue paper. 'Could this be from her?' he asked. 'She signed it "H".'
Magnus took the letter and read it through, Nick looking over his shoulder. 'I would say so,' he said thoughtfully. 'Of course
I can't remember what her handwriting was like from all those years ago. I don't know that I ever saw it even. But it sounds like her.'
'Are you the "M" she refers to?' Nick asked.
'No,' Magnus shook his head. 'The last time I saw Ellie was back in 1947, the night I said goodbye to Bonny. It could be Miles she means. Her first film Soho was made by one of his companies.'
'It's a very strange letter,' Nick said, reading it again. ' "Reassure me we did the right thing? Sometimes at night I have panic attacks." It's almost like it's in code. Have you got any ideas?'
Magnus shook his head and picked up a separate piece of paper on which Mel had written a few notes. 'Long-term close friendship' he read. 'Plotting together? Maybe joint blackmail. Is "M" Miles or Magnus? Why would her hair be like steel wool?' Magnus put down the notes and looked at his son. 'It seems that Mel was as puzzled as we are. She's right about the long-term close friendship: Bonny and Ellie were practically joined at the hip. But I don't think Mel knows who this letter's from. Now that's really odd. Back in the fifties there were huge queues outside every cinema to see Helena's films. Is it possible that Bonny didn't ever tell Mel that such a famous actress was her best friend? Bonny boasted about everything!'
'They must have fallen out,' Nick said. 'I wonder why?'
'Jealousy, I expect,' Magnus said thoughtfully. 'Maybe once Bonny saw Ellie's name up in lights it got too much for her.'
'Tell me about Ellie? What she was like?'
'She and Bonny were chalk and cheese,' Magnus smiled as he remembered. 'Ellie was a giver, Bonny a taker. It was an unlikely friendship really. Ellie's father died before she was born and she was brought up in the East End of London. Her mother was a dresser in a theatre, but she was killed in the Blitz. According to Bonny the poor girl had a terrible time during the war – she went to live with an aunt who was a drunk and virtually supported the woman until she too was hurt in an air raid. Oddly enough the aunt died later on the same night I first met the girls. Ellie was devastated: whatever her aunt had been, she adored her.'