Suicide Blonde - Chapter 1 - Chateau Rouge

Poppy Hartley had planned a quiet, romantic dinner with her fiance. Only, her fiance had never returned home. After three hours of waiting, she was deliberating over calling the police or his office.

Snatching the phone from its cradle, she dialled the number with speed and waited impatiently as it rang.

"Hullo," she was greeted by the surly voice of Depressed Dan, the grumpy receptionist. Poppy had no inclination as to why he always sounded so miserable, but she didn't care to ask.

"Good evening Daniel," Poppy began, desperately trying to keep her voice airy. "I was wondering if you could tell me why Will's so late?"

"Late?" came Depressed Dan's reply.

Poppy's eyes narrowed. "Yes," she quipped.

"He's not late Miss. He left hours ago," Depressed Dan corrected her.

Rage was the new texture of Poppy's skin. She narrowed her eyes at the receiver.

"I see. Well, where did he go?" she demanded, no longer able to keep voice level.

"I don't have clearance to disc-"

"Now you listen to me!" Poppy screeched, swallowing the end of Depressed Dan's sentence.

"I have been waiting for nigh on three hours. You will tell me where he is Daniel, or so help me, I will personally see to it that you lose your job."

Silence persisted before Dan summoned up the courage to speak again.

"The Chateau Rouge, Miss. Dinner reservation for two. Nine o' clock. Supposed to be a surprise," Depressed Dan recited. A wide grin spread itself over Poppy's thin lips.

"Oh that darling, well he never told me... and my favourite hotel as well," Poppy had slipped into a daydream about the passionate evening ahead of her.

"Will that be all Miss?" Depressed Dan added.

"Yes, yes. Thank you. Goodbye Daniel."

"Goodbye Miss Hartley."

Poppy couldn't help thinking about how sweet Will had been, as placed the phone back on the hook and strode over to the mirror. She often admired herself there. Her soft, blonde locks flowing neatly about her petite face, with pinched cheeks; and red lips. Those aquamarine eyes, carefully lined with kohl and her pale skin dowsed in the sweetest vanilla perfume. Will's favourite. Of course, her dress had been specifically chosen to hug her curves in all the right places; crushed red velvet and tightly folded over her ample and voluptuous body. Although, she hadn't been able to find the little black number she preferred. She was sure Will would be impressed.

As Poppy collected her handbag and car keys from the dining table, she muttered to herself: "Oh William, you lucky, lucky boy."

*

The Chateau Rouge was nothing short of glamorous. Hence Poppy's fascination with its prestige. She liked to think of herself as an emblem of quality (and good taste.) The soon-to-be wife of banking executive. And she herself has a very successful career in the theatre. (Will often called her his "Judi Dench" and it was true, she supposed: that she was a very theatrical person.) The Chateau looked like something of a theatre itself: the shape and size of a giant, red castle. Several storeys high, it dominated the street in size alone. The interior continued the image of grandeur with velveteen red carpets, textured walls lined with portraits and an embossed ceiling covered with gold leaf. Poppy would very much have liked to live there.

Upon her arrival at the hotel, Poppy had spotted Will's silver Porsche in the car park. He was always so careless with his parking; she was surprised he hadn't booked his personal driver yet. When she handed her keys and coat to the new clerk at the desk she grinned at the young twenty-something. He had a delicious smile and brooding brown eyes.

"Good evening Madam," he spoke in a way that seem to woo Poppy into replying.

"Hello. I am here to meet Mr Edmon," Poppy smiled.

"Ah, you must be Arabella," he nodded.

Poppy refrained from her eyes bulging out of their sockets. "I beg your pardon?" she inquired.

"Mr Edmon's fiancee? You are William's fiancee?" The clerk must have had the wrong name. An amateur mistake.

"Oh. Of course," Poppy recovered, trying not to sound too suspicious; she held up her hand to show the engagement ring, whilst wondering how many other fiancees Will had? Surely it was some mistake? Yes, it had to be.

"A beautiful ring Madam. Now, right this way," the clerk stepped out from behind the desk. His suit looked expensive and Poppy examined it, as she followed him through the foyer, forcing herself to subdue the anger that was brewing beneath.

The main dining room was stock full of people. Dozens of mahogany tables donned with twenty-something socialites in evening wear. (A room full of cocktail dresses and tuxedos.) Poppy fitted right into the scene.

"Follow me, Madam," the clerk added with a knowing smile. Up close, Poppy noted that scar on his right cheek. It hadn't been noticeable in the relaxed light of the foyer. He weaved expertly through the waiters and the mingling guests. Dodging plates of food and the bustling hive of the bar; until finally, he reached a small table for two where a man and a woman sat.

"Oh," the clerk muttered, looking somewhat abashed. Had there been a mix up with the seating arrangement as well? Poppy almost believed that was the case, until she saw the familiar face of the man at the table. Will. He was wearing his favourite navy blue suit and crimson tie. He hadn't shaven for several days and olivy skin was partly covered by what Poppy had heard him call "designer stubble." His normally, bright blue eyes were muted in the candlelit restaurant, but Poppy detected his familiar, hearty laugh.

Sat opposite him, Poppy saw a veil of straight, blonde hair hanging over an exposed spine. The woman wore a skimpy black dress, which looked incredibly similar to the one that Poppy owned.
"There must be some error," the clerk looked from Poppy to the table and back again. He seemed almost apologetic, but Poppy was too confused by the situation before he to notice his sentiments.

"Oh there's no error, don't worry," the venom injected in her voice was inescapable.

"Shall I fetch you another chair Madam? We can make room," the clerk gushed.

Poppy held up her hand to silence him. "No thank you. That won't be necessary, I shan't be staying," Poppy explained. She tipped the clerk for his troubles and with a worried look on his face, he left her alone at the table.

Steadying herself, Poppy thought of what to say. The woman sat opposite Will looked identical to her - from the back at least. In fact, if Poppy wasn't certain she was sane, she may have considered the possibility that she was in two places at once. Her thoughts were interrupted by a tinkling laughter. The woman at Will's table. A laugh like that definitely didn't belong to Poppy.

Incensed with a new frustration, she glided towards the table, causing Will to look up, shocked. "Poppy!" he cried.

"Hello darling," Poppy grimaced as she swooped in to kiss Will's cheek. He smelt of perfume - and it wasn't Poppy's. As she withdrew from the kiss, she glanced at the mystery woman. Poppy was relieved to see that the face was different from her own (she hadn't gone mad.)

Somehow, being greeted by the woman's grey eyes and bright smile wasn't comforting in the least. This woman was the enemy.

"Aren't you going to introduce me to your little friend?" Poppy's voice rattled as she looked back at Will.

"Arabella," the woman spoke before Will could; and extended her left hand towards Poppy. A large lump of silver resided at the base of her third finger. 'Well, well, well' Poppy thought to herself: her suspicions had been confirmed.

To save face, Poppy took Arabella's hand and shook it once, firmly.

"Well my dear," Poppy turned her attention back to Will.

"Poppy, I don't think now is the-"

"You're capable of a great many things William, as can be seen. Honesty is clearly not one of them. I'm so sorry Arabella, it seems there has been some misunderstanding. Poppy's face contorted into an expression of twisted delight.

"Oh?" Arabella replied dumbly.

"Poppy. Don't," Will interjected, his voice sounding grave.

"Well it would so seem that William has double booked himself," Poppy laughed somewhat derisively; and held her engagement ring up for Arabella to see. To her horror, the woman didn't look shocked. She held the same air of calm. Moments of confusion passed before Arabella finally spoke.

"It's always awful to be the last to know, isn't it?"

"Excuse me?"

"I know you and Will are engaged. And know you know that he and I are due to be married next month," Arabella explained. Will looked affronted, he bucked out of his seat and seized Poppy by the arm.

"Let's talk," he hissed at her. Before she could object, Poppy was being dragged away by him. Arabella remained seated; and didn't even blink when Will and Poppy left the restaurant together. Poppy had no idea what was going on, but she did know one thing. If Will thought that talking things through would resolve this calamity, she was going to use everything in her power to make the process as uncomfortable as possible.