The Chateau Rouge

Poppy Hartley had planned a quiet, romantic dinner with her fiancé. Only, her fiancé hadn’t returned home. After three hours of waiting, she was deliberating over calling the police.

It wasn’t that she expected William to be involved in any criminal activity. More that she was wondering whether something sinister had happened to him. If that was so, she also reasoned it would have been most unfortunate to occur on the night of their third year anniversary.

Snatching the phone from its cradle, she dialled the number speedily and waited as it rang. Poppy begun pacing the length of the living room between the dinner table and the door.

“Hullo,” she was greeted by the surly voice of Depressed Dan, the grumpy receptionist at Will’s firm. She had no inclination as to why he always sounded so morose; and she didn’t care to ask.

“Good evening Daniel,” she began in a bored tone. “I was wondering if could tell me why William’s so late?”

“Late?” cam Depressed Dan’s reply.

Poppy’s eyes narrowed. “Yes,” she quipped.

“He’s not late Miss. He left hours ago.”

Rage was the new texture of Poppy’s skin. She narrowed her eyes at the receiver as if that would somehow allow her to see Depressed Dan’s face. Was he lying? And why would Will leave without telling her?

“I see. Well, where did he go?” she tried desperately to keep her voice airy. Keeping up appearances was Poppy’s forte. She couldn’t allow herself to let on that she had no idea of her fiancé’s whereabouts. It made them look disconnected. And they could never be disconnected.

“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 Depressed Dan summoned up the courage to speak again. In that time, Poppy could hear rustling and whispering sounds at his end of the telephone line.

“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. How could she not have realised? William must have booked them in at her favourite hotel for their anniversary.

“Oh that darling… well he never told me! And my favourite hotel and restaurant as well,” Poppy had slipped into a daydream about the passionate evening ahead of her. She recalled the last time she and Will had spent at the Chateau. Champagne, stories, a clichéd romantic evening of-

“Will that be all Miss?” Depressed Dan’s monotone interrupted her reverie.

Slightly annoyed Poppy thanked him. “Goodbye Daniel.”

“Goodbye Miss Hartley.”

Poppy couldn’t help thinking about how sweet Will had been, as she placed the phone back on the hook and strode over to the mirror. She often admired herself there. Her soft, blonde locks flowing 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. William’s favourite. Of course, her dress had been specifically chosen to hug her curvaceous body in all the right places; the crushed, red velvet of the cocktail gown folded over her ample and voluptuous figure. Although, she hadn’t been able to find the little black number she preferred. She was sure though, that Will would still 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. It was one of her most favourite places in the world. (Aside from the theatre where she worked.) In fact, she supposed it was due to the same theatrical grandeur that she had fallen in love with The Rouge in the first place. The soon-to-be-wife of a banking CEO, with her own successful acting career, there was nothing more she could ask for. (Apart from that diamond ring she had secretly always wanted.)

The Chateau was the size and shape of a giant, vermillion castle. Several storeys high, it dominated the street in size alone. The interior continued the luxury image with its textured walls lined with portraits of nobility; an embossed ceiling covered with gold leaf and soft, velveteen carpets. Poppy would very much have liked to live there. Or failing that, designed her own house as an imitation of the same style.

Upon her arrival at the hotel, Poppy had spotted William’s silver Porsche in the car park. It was unmistakable, not only by its class, but by William’s careless parking of it. She was surprised he hadn’t booked his own personal driver yet. When she handed her keys and coat to the new clerk at the desk, she grinned at the young twenty-something. She noted he had a delicious smile; and brooding brown eyes.

“Good evening Madam,” he spoke in a way that seemed to woo Poppy into replying.

“Hello. I am here to meet Mr William Edmon,” Poppy smiled.

“Ah,” the clerk spoke as he if had been expecting her. His eyes scrolled down the list of names on the computer screen in front of him until he next spoke:

“You must be Arabella,” he nodded, gesturing at the screen.

Poppy refrained from allowing her eyes to bulge out of their sockets. “I beg your pardon?” she inquired.

“You are William’s fiancée?” the clerk must have had the wrong name.

“Oh. Of course,” Poppy recovered herself, trying not to sound too suspicious; she held up her hand to flash the engagement ring at him. Arabella. Who was Arabella? Surely it was a mistake? Yes, it had to be, she thought to herself.

“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 she felt bubbling inside her. There was no possibility that William was there with another woman. Absolutely. Not.

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 luxurious dresses and tuxedos.) Poppy blended right into the scene.

“Follow me, Madam,” the clerk added, with a knowing smile. Up close, Poppy noted that there was a scar on his right cheek. It hadn’t been noticeable in the relaxed light of the foyer. In the time she spent staring at him, he must have noticed, for her asked her:
“An accident Madam. Here at the hotel in fact. A brawl between some of our guests. Terrible affair,” he explained as he weaved expertly through waiters and the mingling guests.

“What happened?” Poppy asked, incredulously. Dodging plates of food and the bustling hive of the bar, they reached a small cluster of tables.

“A lover’s rift, that sadly I was caught in the middle of,” the clerk replied. “Your table,” he added, gesturing at the far corner where a man and a woman sat. William. He was plainly visible, but there was a woman (whose back was faced toward Poppy.)

“Oh, there seems to have been some sort of mix up. Table for three was it?” he looked frantically between Poppy, the table and back again.

“No. Two,” she muttered gravely before striding over to William. He was wearing his favourite navy blue suit and crimson tie. He hadn’t shaved for several days and his olive skin was partially 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 examined a veil of straight, blonde hair hanging over an exposed spine. The woman wore a skimpy black dress, which looked awfully similar to the one that Poppy owned.

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

Poppy held up her hand to silence him. That was the thing she adores most about power, was dismissing the little people when you needed to handle a situation yourself. The clerk bowed down and sped off across the other side of the restaurant. As William still hadn’t noticed Poppy’s arrival, she took a few moments to collect her thoughts.

So he’s with another woman. Maybe it’s just a colleague? Or a cousin? No, no, I’ve met all his extended family. Well a colleague then. Or a long –lost sister? Poppy’s mind would not stop babbling as she considered the various possible identities of the woman at the table.

Steadying herself, Poppy thought of what to say. As she let her mind go blank, something occurred to her. In fact, if Poppy wasn’t certain she was sane, she may have considered the possibility that she was in two place at once. The woman sat opposite Will looked identical to Poppy herself (at least from the back.) Even the way she was dressed was uncanny.

Incensed with a new frustration at this doppelganger, Poppy glided towards the table, finally causing Will to look up, shocked.

“Poppy!” he cried.

“Hello darling,” Poppy grimaced as she swooped into 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 (she hadn’t gone mad.)

Somehow, being greeted by this woman’s grey eyes and bright smile wasn’t comforting in the least. This woman was the enemy. “Who’s this?” Poppy’s voice tinkled as she gestured in the general direction of her clone.

“Ah, this is Arabella. Arabella meet Poppy. Darling, this is my friend from work,” Will’s smile set Poppy’s mind at ease. A colleague. She had been right in her estimations. How could it have been anything else?

“Pleased to meet you, I’ve heard so much about you,” before Poppy could speak, Arabella was shaking her hand. As Arabella pulled back she noticed something glint on her finger. Her ring finger. Coincidence, Poppy told her brain. Just an ugly coincidence.

To save face, Poppy turned her attention back to Will.

“Well my dear, I suppose Arabella will be leaving now?” she sighed.

Will looked confused.

“We’re in the middle of a meeting at the moment actually,” Arabella interjected.

“Yes,” Will mumbled.
“We’d set a date, if you will.”

Poppy felt those words grind against her like a knife. “Ah, well in that case, you’ve been misinformed as William has a prior engagement this evening. Been booked in for months actually. Can’t miss it!” Poppy babbled. Her voice was making a funny rasping sound that she couldn’t control.

“Oh?” Arabella replied dumbly, looking at Will.

Poppy shot him a merciless look. “Ah yes, our dinner, I’m so sorry sweetheart, I completely forgot. Look, you give Bella and I three mins to wrap this up here, ok? And I’ll meet you at reception and we’ll head home. Right?”

Through gritted teeth Poppy consented. Bidding her farewells to the two of them, she made her way across the room, following the path of the clerk. Why was Will with that woman? She wondered if he was having an affair. Although, it seemed incredibly unlikely given how happy she and William had been recently.

“Everything alright Madam?” it was the clerk from before. Poppy found herself staring at his scar again.

“May I ask you something?” she asked.

“Of course Madam,” the clerk nodded enthusiastically.

“How often does William Edmon visit the Chateau?”

“That’s confidential information right there Madam, I’m afraid I can’t disclose that information to you.”

“Right,” Poppy sighed.

Seeing the disappointed look on her face, the clerk continued: “However, him and his lady friend are frequent visitors here. You’re not Arabella Pickard are you?” he winked at Poppy.

“No. I’m Poppy Hartley. William’s fiancée, and apparently not the only one.”

This clerk had obviously seen William in the act of cheating on her.

“How much more do you know?” Poppy asked.

“You see lots of things happening in a hotel. Most of it goes right on under my nose,” the clerk tapped the side of his nose ambiguously. “The real question is how much can I tell you? And for what price?”

A disadvantage of being rich (Poppy had noticed) was that once people knew you had money, they could get into the habit of repeatedly asking you for it. In this case however, the money was leverage. She cared more about the value of the information the clerk could give her; as opposed to the hundred and fifty pounds she had to pay to make him talk.

A quick explanation told her everything she needed to know. William was apparently very close to this Arabella woman, as he was with several other blondes he frequented the hotel with. He followed a pattern, of taking them to dinner and then taking them to bed, according to Frank (the clerk.)

“Can I ask you one more question Frank?” Poppy leaned over the desk, teasing him with the view of her in the low-cut dress.

“Of course. What is it?”

“Does William buy his girls gifts?”

For a moment, Frank looked quite bemused, then… “Why yes, of sorts. Tonight for example, he had requested that the dress Miss Arabella is wearing be laundered through the hotel’s services.”

Something snapped inside Poppy. “As I thought,” she muttered bitterly.

“A problem Madam?”

“Not at all. Not. At. All.”