Pulse(92)

The mineral springs were first tapped during the reign of George III and the King reportedly spent five weeks in the town drinking the foul-tasting medicinal waters in an attempt to cure his madness.

Perhaps I should try some.

The hotel itself dated from the time of Queen Victoria, after whom it was named, first opening in the year of her coronation in 1838.

But I wasn’t interested in the aesthetics or history of the place. Not tonight. All I wanted to know was where in the hotel the charity dinner was being held.

I may have been confident, bold even, but I wasn’t reckless.

The last thing I wanted to do was to park my Mini alongside a black Mercedes only to discover that Big Biceps was sitting in it.

Hence I stopped some distance away on Bath Road and covered the last few hundred yards on foot, pulling the hood of my anorak up over my head not only as protection from the rain but also so that I couldn’t be recognised by any lurking large-muscled chauffeur.

Maybe the cocaine wasn’t going to kill me but it was still clearly affecting my system. The lights around the Town Hall, reflecting off the wet pavement, appeared to shimmer and dance delightfully with multicoloured tails as I went by, and my feet seemed to be somehow disconnected from my legs.

I couldn’t feel them on the ground.

Were they, in fact, someone else’s feet?

I giggled. Of course not, you fool. Who else would have lent me their feet at this time of night?

I walked in through the rotating front door of the hotel and across the black-and-white-checked lobby floor to the reception desk.

‘Where is the charity dinner?’ I asked the young man standing there.

‘Is that the one in aid of the Injured Jockeys Fund?’

‘I want the one where Rupert Forrester is speaking,’ I said.

He looked down at some papers.

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘That’s the one. It’s in the Regency Suite, our banqueting room.’

‘And which way is that?’ I asked.

‘Straight down the corridor to the end and then turn right,’ he said. ‘Do you have a ticket? It’s Black Tie.’

He looked at me in the manner of something he had picked up on his shoe. I clearly wasn’t properly dressed for the occasion in green anorak, blue waterproof trousers and a pair of muddy hiking boots, and I was carrying a bright orange plastic Sainsbury’s carrier as my handbag.

‘No.’ I laughed. ‘I just have a message for one of the guests, that’s all. I won’t be staying very long.’

I could see him waver as if he was deciding whether he should call hotel security to get me thrown out.

‘I’m a doctor,’ I said quickly. ‘I’ve been on duty at the racecourse this afternoon and haven’t had time to change.’

The reception man relaxed a little.

‘Can you find your own way, then?’ he asked. ‘I’m afraid I can’t leave the front desk unattended and my colleague is on a break.’

‘I’ll be fine on my own, thank you.’

Better, I thought. Much better.

I turned to go but then turned back.

‘Where is your bar?’ I asked.

‘Just to the right, madam,’ the man said, holding out his arm.

I glanced across towards where he pointed.

‘My name is Dr Chris Rankin,’ I said. ‘I’m meant to be meeting someone in your bar at ten o’clock.’

The man and I both looked at the grand timepiece set high on the wall next to the main door. It read nine-forty.

‘Instead of meeting in the bar, could you please ask him to go down to the Regency Suite as soon as he arrives and wait for me there?’

‘Certainly, madam,’ the man replied. ‘And the name of your guest?’

‘Filippos,’ I said. ‘Detective Constable Filippos.’

Back in the jockeys’ medical room, I had made two further telephone calls after speaking to Grant. One had been to directory enquiries to find the number of the reception desk at Cheltenham Police Station, and the second had been to the desk itself.

‘Cheltenham Police,’ the man who’d answered had said. ‘How can I help?’

‘Can you please put me through to DC Filippos?’

‘He’s not here at the present time.’

‘Do you have his mobile number?’ I had asked in my most charming tone. ‘It’s very important. I did have it in my phone but that’s now broken and I can’t access it.’

‘I’m sorry but I can’t give out his number,’ the man had replied.

‘Then can you please call him and pass on a message? My name is Dr Chris Rankin. I am an A&E consultant at Cheltenham General Hospital and the matter is one of utmost urgency. It is crucial he gets the message as soon as possible.’

‘What’s your message, Dr Rankin?’ the man had asked.

‘Tell DC Filippos I have some vital new information concerning the case of Rahul Kumar and he should meet me in the bar at the Queens Hotel at ten o’clock precisely.’

‘Rahul Kumar. Bar. Queens Hotel. Ten o’clock.’ He’d repeated it as if he’d been writing it down. ‘Is that tonight?’

‘Yes. Tonight.’

‘Do you want him to call you back at the hospital?’