The Cold Light of Mourning - By Elizabeth J. Duncan Page 0,18
him back down into his chair.
“Emyr, we haven’t been in her room. I think you should get the key from the desk so we can take a look around. We didn’t want to go in until you got here. We need to check her room, just in case.”
“In case what?”
“Well, what if she’s fallen in the bath and hurt herself? Or we can see if her clothes are missing, or if it looks as if she’s coming back, or whatever. At least then we might be nearer to an answer. I’m just so confused by all this. It’s starting to seem so unreal, like it’s happening in a dream. Jennifer and I are concerned, and we want to do whatever needs to be done.”
Emyr looked from one to the other, and then stood up again.
“Okay, let’s go. We’ll get the key.”
They made their way to the front desk.
Mrs. Geraint looked up from her daybook and expecting what was coming, reached behind her for the key to Meg Wynne’s room.
“Under the circumstances, the manager will have to accompany you. Just let me ring through to his office.”
She picked up the telephone, and when the manager answered, spoke briefly.
“Mr. Burton, it’s the situation I told you about. They want access to her room.”
After a brief pause, she replaced the receiver, and nodded in the direction of the dining room door.
“He’ll be right out. It’s hotel policy that we would never give a key to a guest’s room unless a manager is present. I am sure you understand. It’s for your own protection, really.”
The three nodded and stepped back toward the stairs as the hotel manager entered the reception area.
He clasped his hands in front of his chest and gave a nervous chuckle.
“Good morning,” he said, glancing at the old-fashioned room key Mrs. Geraint handed him. “I hear you have some concerns that your friend hasn’t turned up. Let’s go on up and take a look, then, shall we?”
He led the way. Halfway up the stairs, the manager paused and turned to face them. His blue dress shirt, under a suit that needed pressing, was pulled tight across his stomach, anchored by protesting buttons.
“I’m sure she’ll turn up. What would a wedding be without a hitch or two?”
Six
As the little group reached the door of Meg Wynne’s room, the manager paused. Then, at a nod from Emyr, he knocked firmly on the door, and waited for a response. When there was none, he said in a loud, firm voice, “Hello, Ms. Thompson? It’s the manager here. Is everything all right? I am here with your fiancé and friends, and we’d like to come in.”
After again looking to Emyr, he placed the key in the lock, turned it slowly, and opened the door. Quietly, respectfully even, he entered the room and motioned for the others to follow.
The room looked as if it had been given a good tidy up. The duvet had been drawn up, the wastepaper basket was empty, the drawers and doors were closed, and everything seemed in order. A faintly floral fragrance hung in the air.
“Could she be in the loo?” Anne whispered.
The door was open, and a quick glance revealed that Meg Wynne was not there.
“It doesn’t look to me as if she left in a hurry,” Emyr said. “It looks as if she just stepped out for a moment, and will be back at any minute.”
“Neat and tidy, is she, then, your fiancée?” the manager asked. “Does this room look the way you’d expect her to leave it? I can check and see if the maid has been in, but it looks as if she has.”
Emyr nodded.
The level of tension in the room was almost unbearable. Finally, Anne looked toward the closet and taking a deep breath, suggested they look inside.
“We need to know if her clothes are here, or if it looks as if she’s gone. I’m sorry, Emyr, but we do need to know. You must see that.”
His face betraying no sign of emotion, Emyr nodded.
“I’ll do it.”
Grasping the glass doorknob, he pulled the door open, then leaned forward for a closer look as the two girls crowded in behind him.
“I think it’s all here, but you look,” he said as he stepped to one side.
Anne and Jennifer peered in. There was Meg’s gown from last night, a business suit, a couple of jackets and blouses, three pairs of jeans and in a plastic wardrobe bag, her wedding dress. Shoe boxes lay neatly lined up on the