The Wedding of Rachel Blaine Page 4

  “Everything's fine,” I mutter under my breath as I hurry along the corridor, heading toward the hall where the rehearsal meal is due to start in about ten minutes' time. “Everything's under control and nothing's on fire. It's going to be fine.”

  Those words are easy enough to say, but in the back of my mind I'm worried that something somewhere is going horribly wrong and that I won't realize until it's too late. So far the whole wedding preparation has gone smoothly, with the obvious exception of a chandelier almost falling on my head and squashing me, but there are so many other things that could go screwy. As I reach the corner and hurry into the next corridor, I -

  Suddenly I slam straight into someone coming the other way, with enough force to knock her aside and send a cascade of files and papers crashing to the floor.

  “Elena!” I gasp as I see the receptionist's startled face. “I'm so sorry, I had no idea anyone was there!”

  “Sorry,” she mumbles, immediately getting down onto her knees and starting to gather up the papers. “Just carry on. Ignore me.”

  “It was my fault,” I say, kneeling opposite her and helping to pick up all the print-outs and photocopies. “I wasn't looking where I was going.”

  “You don't need to help, really,” she replies, snatching the papers from my hand. She briefly looks at me, but something seems wrong and she quickly looks back down at the rest of the papers as she works frantically to scoop them all up.

  It's almost as if there's something she doesn't want me to see.

  Reaching down, I pick up one of the sheets and see that it's a photocopy of an old newspaper front-page, topped with a rather lurid headline:

  WAS IT MURDER?

  POLICE QUIZ HOTEL GUESTS!

  Underneath that text, there's a photo of a hotel, and I immediately realize that it's the Mablethorpe. Beneath the photo, however, there's a caption identifying the hotel as the Argyle.

  “What is this?” I ask. “Did -”

  “It's nothing!” Elena snaps, grabbing the sheet and pulling it out of my hand.

  I pick up another piece of paper and see another headline:

  KIMBERLY HAWTHORNE DISAPPEARANCE LATEST:

  NO BODY FOUND AFTER LAKE TRAWL

  Elena tries to grab the paper from me, but this time I'm able to turn away and keep reading.

  “Did someone go missing here?” I ask cautiously, as I scan the first paragraph. “Did a woman vanish here on the night before her wedding?”

  “It's really nothing,” Elena says, trying again to grab the paper.

  “Why didn't I know about this?” I ask.

  “It was a long time ago! Ten years!”

  “And the hotel changed its name, huh?” I reply, feeling a flicker of concern as I stare at the sheet of paper. “I guess they didn't want the publicity of being associated with something so horrible.”

  I read on for a moment, and then I turn to Elena.

  “So what happened? Did they eventually find the missing woman?”

  “Can we please not talk about it?” she asks, and it looks as if she's close to tears.

  “It's okay,” I tell her, “I'm not mad. Well, I'm a little annoyed that no-one disclosed all of this, but I understand that the hotel's owners are trying to make a clean break.” I wait, watching as Elena seems increasingly agitated. “Wait, you told me that you'd been here for ten years, since you started working in the kitchen. Were you here when the woman went missing?”

  “Please,” she replies, “just go to your rehearsal. There's nothing to worry about.”

  She finishes gathering all the papers up, and this time I don't bother to grab any. I know the hotel's former name now, and the name of the woman who apparently vanished here, so I guess I can look the rest up online. I'm more interested in the reason for Elena acting so strangely, and it's hard to believe that the sole reason can be that she was trying to hide the truth from me.

  If this is all such a big secret, why was she even rushing around with a bunch of clippings and photocopies anyway? Then again, I did do some research into the hotel before we booked, and they must have worked hard to bury all references to their past. It was Robert's idea to come here, and I'm sure he'd have mentioned something if he'd known the truth.

  “I'm sorry,” Elena says again, getting to her feet and hurrying past me, almost tripping in her haste. “Enjoy your meal.”

  I turn and watch as she scurries away. She seemed so upset, I almost wanted to sit her down and try to help her deal with whatever's troubling her. As I get to my feet, however, I force myself to focus on the fact that I have a rehearsal meal to oversee, but I can't help taking my phone from my pocket and quickly bringing up the browser, and then typing the names Argyle Hotel and Kimberly Hawthorne into the search box.

  Sure enough, hundreds and hundreds of results come back. It's as if a whole world suddenly opens and tumbles out in front of my eyes.

  The first search result turns out to be more of a history of the hotel, and I see a digital copy of the portrait I noticed in one of the corridors. I briefly scan the text and read that the hotel's founder, a Lady Argyll, ran the place alone for many years until she finally became engaged. Apparently she was jilted at the altar and ended up killing herself, which is a pretty nasty story, but I don't have time for history now so I click back and try another result.

  This time I bring up an old news report, from ten years ago, and I feel a shiver pass through my chest as I read the first few paragraphs:

  The disappearance of a woman from a Dorset hotel, on the night before her wedding, is no longer being treated as suspicious by police. Kimberly Hawthorne, 28, from Carrimore in Devon, vanished just hours before she was due to marry her long-term partner Robert Bridger. Having reviewed the missing woman's online activity during the weeks prior to her disappearance, however, investigators are believed to be treating the case as a suicide.

  Speculation regarding Ms. Hawthorne's fate intensified last week, as police divers searched the lake next to the Argyle Hotel. A luxury boutique hotel specializing in weddings, the Argyle is on the shores of Lake Meriel, and it's believed that witnesses placed the missing woman on the hotel's private jetty during the night before she vanished. While police sources have so far refused to comment on what they describe as speculation, sources have confirmed privately that Ms. Hawthorne is believed to have drowned.

  I read to the end of the article, then I go back to the search engine and find another news piece, this time from just a few years ago. Apparently the Argyle suffered a dramatic downturn in business following all the bad press, and finally the owners decided to go for a complete re-brand. I guess that's how it ended up in its current incarnation. I can't say that I blame them, although I'm a little surprised that I didn't hear anything about this while I was researching wedding hotels. I think I vaguely remember the news story when it happened, but I never had any idea that this hotel was the site of something so terrible.

  And there was that woman, the one I saw standing on the jetty earlier. She seemed to be staring straight at me, but...

  No.

  No way am I going to start thinking about that now. I'm in the middle of a wedding and I simply don't have time for ghost stories.

  “Rachel?”

  Turning, I see my cousin Andrea waving at me frantically.

  “We need your help with a few things,” she continues. “The rehearsal's due to start in less than half an hour and some people are really freaking out about the seating arrangements. Carl and Stuart are refusing to sit together and they're throwing all our plans out the window. I think Carl's also throwing blueberries at Stuart, but I can never quite catch him in the act.”

  “Fine, I'm coming,” I reply, trying not to appear flustered as I slip my phone away and hurry after her. I'm still freaked out by what I've just discovered, but I don't have time to stress right now. The past is the past. “Let's go knock Carl and Stuart's heads together, shall we?”

  Chapter Six

  “Everyo
ne looks happy,” I whisper, watching the other tables as we sit at the rehearsal meal. “No-one's murdered anyone yet, at least.”

  “Relax,” Robert says, leaning over to me and kissing me on the cheek. “There'll be no murders today, I promise.”

  “You don't know my family,” I mutter darkly, looking over at Uncle Stu and seeing that – so far – he seems to be behaving himself. “Some of them could start a fight in a Buddhist monastery.”

  “Just relax,” Robert says again, and this time he reaches under the table and gives my right knee a squeeze. “We're so close to the finish line here. This time tomorrow we'll be married, and that's all that matters, right?”

  I turn to him, and in an instant I feel all my concerns fall away. For now, at least.

  “Right,” I say with a relieved smile as I realize that maybe he has a point. This time tomorrow, we'll be husband and wife and nothing else will feel important. “Thanks,” I add. “I'm trying not to be a crazy bride but it's not easy.”

  “You're doing great.” He moves his hand away and cuts another slice off the edge of his steak.

  Taking a deep breath, I look out once more across the room. It's hard to believe that there have been no serious arguments so far, and I'm convinced that there'll be a flash-point sooner or later. Pretty much everyone here is a member of my family, with a few friends sprinkled in as well. If Robert had a family to invite, we'd be able to dilute the long-festering animosities that are getting brought back to the surface, but as an orphan he's only invited a few friends and colleagues. Which means that this wedding is in danger of becoming a Blaine family reunion that could easily end in fireworks.

  “Stay calm,” I whisper to myself. “Everything's going well so far.”

  I look back down at my plate, but then at the last moment I spot a figure standing at the back of the room. I glance at her, and I see that it's a woman with long black hair, wearing a plain white dress. I don't recognize her, and she's not wearing a hotel uniform, and I can't help feeling a little uncomfortable as I see that she's staring straight at me.

  It's the woman from the jetty.

  I don't know how I know, but I know. I can feel that it's her. She's in the doorway, in the shadows, but I can just about make out her face and I can see her dark, intense eyes staring at me with a kind of singular determination. She's not making any attempt to look away, as if she doesn't care that I've noticed her, and I can't help feeling that there's something very sad about her expression. Almost mournful.

  Maybe she's from the spa.

  Actually, that would explain a lot. There's a spa here at the hotel, and the staff there probably have totally different uniforms. I could imagine them all wearing white, and maybe this particular woman is just a little... odd. Maybe she thinks it's perfectly alright to stand and stare at people. I mean, after all, there are plenty of odd people in the world.

  “Hey, Mum,” I say, turning and nudging her arm. “You see that woman over there, don't you?”

  “What's that, darling?” she replies, turning to me with a grin and taking another sip of champagne. That must be her third glass since we sat down, and as she looks at me I can tell that she's more than a little tipsy. She even seems to be having trouble focusing.

  “Over there, behind the table with Steve and Jackie.”

  I nod in that direction, and after a moment Mum turns and looks out across the room. She doesn't seem to be looking at anything in particular, however, and after a moment she starts chuckling.

  “Look at silly old Carl,” she says. “He always was a sanctimonious old buffoon, wasn't he?”

  “Mum, I need you to look over at the doorway behind Steve and Jackie's table.”

  When she doesn't turn to look, I nudge her again.

  “Mum!”

  “Alright, alright.” She turns that way, looking toward the spot where the woman is still standing and staring at me. “What am I looking at again, darling?”

  “There's a woman in that doorway. Tell me you see her.”

  “Oh, I don't know, darling. To be honest...” She turns to me and grins. “To be honest,” she continues, “I think I might have had a little too much of this wonderful champagne.” She furrows her brow. “I can almost see two of you, sweetheart.”

  “Forget it,” I sigh, realizing that she's no use at all.

  I look over at the woman again and see that she's still there, and then I turn and nudge Robert's arm. I was hoping to avoid mentioning this to him, in case I set him off worrying, but I need someone to tell me what they see.

  “Can I ask you something?” I say.

  “You can give it a shot,” he replies.

  “Look over there, at the door behind the table with Steve and Jackie.”

  He looks in the right direction.

  “Do you see anything weird?” I ask, following his gaze and seeing that the woman is still there, still staring at me.

  “Actually, I do,” he replies. “I see Steve and Jackie looking relatively sober.”

  “Look behind them,” I continue, keeping my eyes fixed on the woman. “In the doorway.”

  “What about it?”

  “Do you see anyone there?”

  I wait for him to answer, but then I turn and see that he's staring at me with a puzzled expression.

  “Humor me,” I say. “Do you see anyone in that doorway?”

  He looks across the room again, but I can already see from his expression that he has no idea what I'm talking about.

  “I see an empty doorway,” he says cautiously, “um, and... I don't know, Rachel, what am I supposed to see?”

  “Nothing,” I reply, looking down at my plate for a moment.

  I must be losing my mind after all this stress.

  “Nothing at all,” I say, turning to Robert again. “Ignore me.”

  “Is everything okay?”

  “I was just trying to make a joke,” I tell him, “but it's not working. Forget it, honestly.”

  “Don't go loopy on me,” he says, leaning over and kissing me on the cheek before returning his attention to his steak. “You're always the strong one, remember? You're the one who's holding this whole wedding together.”

  I try to smile, but then I turn just in time to see that the woman has opened the door. She keeps her eyes fixed on me until she slips out of sight, and then the door swings shut.

  “I'll be back in a minute,” I say suddenly, surprising myself as I get to my feet.

  “Are you okay?” Robert asks.

  “I'm just going to the bathroom,” I tell him, as I step around the table and make my way across the room. I don't even know why I'm doing this, except that I need to know whether or not that woman was real.

  In the back of my mind, I'm worried that I let the story of the missing woman get to me. The woman I saw just now is probably just a hotel employee with a bad sense of eye contact etiquette, but I need to know that for certain. Fortunately I don't believe in ghosts or any of that rubbish, but I'm a little concerned that all the pressure of the wedding might be causing me to start cracking. As I make my way between the tables and thank everyone as they offer me congratulations, I feel a tightening knot of trepidation as I get closer to the door.

  Finally I open the door and step out into the corridor.

  I look both ways, just in time to see the woman in the white dress disappearing around the far corner.

  “Hey!” I call out, but she's gone.

  I should just go back into the dining hall, but I really need to prove to myself that there's nothing weird happening, so I let the door swing shut before setting off along the corridor.

  “Excuse me?” I shout. “Could you hang on for a second, please?”

  Finally I get to the corner and look along the next corridor. The woman is at the far end, just stepping out of view, but this time she glances back at me. For a moment I see that same intense stare, and then she's gone again.

  “Hey!”

  I wait a moment, and then I hurry
after her again. This is getting ridiculous and I know I should be heading back to the main hall, but I need to catch this woman and find out what she wants. There's definitely a chance that I'm losing my grip on reality, and the only way to make myself stay sane is to face this problem head-on, which in turn means tracking the woman down. And sure enough, as I reach the next corner, I see her slipping into a side-room. At the last moment she turns and glances at me, and I get a brief glimpse of those dark, sorrowful eyes before she slips out of sight and the door closes.

  “Wait!” I call out, making my way over to the door and following her into the room. “I need to ask you something!”

  Chapter Seven

  There's no-one here.

  Stopping in the doorway, I look around the small, bare room and see that there's absolutely no sign of anyone. At the same time, there's also no other way out, but somehow the woman has vanished. I step forward and let the door swing shut, and then I head to the window, only to find that it's locked from the inside. Then I turn and look around at the white brick walls, convinced that there has to be some kind of hidden door, but there's genuinely, truly nothing.

  It's as if the woman vanished into thin air.

  “Hello?” I call out tentatively, just in case there's something I've missed. “Is anyone here?”

  I wait, but the only response is a kind of mocking silence.

  Turning, I try the window again, but there's clearly no way that anyone could have made it out in the two or three seconds before I came through the door. Looking out at the lawn, I see midday sunlight glittering on the lake, and then I spot the wooden jetty. That's where I first saw the strange woman, although she's not there now. Then again, how could she be there? Half a minute ago she walked into this room, only to disappear in the blink of an eye.

  I look around again at the walls, still hoping to spot something that explains this madness, but I can feel a sense of genuine fear starting to creep up through my chest. I know there's no such thing as ghosts. Unfortunately, I also know that the human mind can be very tricky at times, and it's certainly possible that in my uber-stressed state I've somehow hallucinated a strange figure, especially after I read about that Hawthorne woman who went missing. Especially after everything that happened when I was younger.