Pulse(93)

‘No. Just tell him that he must be at the Queens Hotel tonight at ten o’clock sharp.’

The man hadn’t questioned why. But he had promised to pass on the message immediately.

I walked down the corridor towards the Regency Suite with some trepidation.

Was my confidence now deserting me?

Had the cocaine stopped working when I most needed it?

There were 150 guests at the Injured Jockeys Fund dinner on fifteen tables of ten. I could tell because there was a seating plan placed on an easel in the vestibule outside the actual banqueting chamber.

I studied the guest list closely.

There were quite a few names on the list that I knew or, at least, knew of, including several racehorse trainers and even a sprinkling of ex-jockeys, not that I could spot any of the current crop. Lavish midweek black-tie dinners were no doubt not ideal for keeping their riding weight down for the weekend.

I specifically searched for any mention of Mike Sheraton and I don’t know if I was pleased or disappointed that he wasn’t in there.

Big Biceps could be, but I wouldn’t know it from the list. There was no point looking under the Bs or even the BBs.

Rupert Forrester was included of course. He was on table five, which was, according to the plan, right in front of a stage set up on the right-hand side of the room.

‘Can I help?’ said a voice behind me.

I turned round.

A waitress stood there holding two jugs of water. She was not in her first flush of youth, probably nearer seventy than fifty, and she was wearing a small white lace-fringed apron over a black dress. Very traditional.

‘How far have they got?’ I asked, nodding towards the door.

‘Dessert,’ she said.

‘When are the speeches?’ I asked.

‘Very soon, I think,’ she said. ‘I heard the guest speaker say he had to leave quite early. The auction is now going to be after his speech rather than before. Are you here to collect him?’

‘No,’ I said with a laugh.

Collecting him was not exactly what I had in mind, not in that sense.

Forrester probably wanted to leave early so that he could be back at the racecourse good and early in the morning to deal with any problems – like a dead body found in the weighing room.

‘I must get on,’ the waitress said. ‘They’re waiting for these.’

She lifted up the jugs of water.

I held the door open for her and glanced inside as she went past me. It was very noisy and everyone seemed to be having a good time, with plenty of laughter. But I didn’t linger with the door open. I didn’t want a certain guest to spot me – not yet anyway. And not before DC Filippos was present.

The door reopened and the same waitress reappeared, this time with two empty jugs.

‘That was quick,’ I said. ‘Thirsty, are they?’

She laughed. ‘These are from different tables.’ Then she looked closely at me. ‘Don’t I know you from somewhere?’

‘What’s your name?’ I asked.

‘Doris,’ she said. ‘Doris Meacher. What’s yours?’

‘Chris Rankin,’ I said.

It didn’t seem to help. ‘What do you do?’ she asked.

‘I’m a doctor. I work in A&E at the hospital.’

‘That’s it,’ Doris said with a big smile of success. ‘You looked after my son when he came off his motorbike. Over a year ago now.’

‘How’s he doing?’ I asked, not actually remembering and hoping he hadn’t died as a result.

‘Fine,’ she said. ‘Almost back to normal. All thanks to you, doctor.’

While we’d been talking, two women had come out through the door and went off down the corridor chatting and giggling away, presumably off to powder their noses. I really didn’t want Rupert Forrester walking right into me on his way to the Gents.

‘Well, Doris,’ I said, ‘I could do with a little assistance from you now.’

‘Anything, doctor. How can I help?’

‘Is there another way into the Regency Suite apart from this door?’

‘Only the staff entrances,’ she said. ‘They’re what the waiters use. I’m only using this door to get water from the bar. It’s easier than fighting past all the rest of them at the servery.’

‘Can you show me the staff entrances?’ I asked. ‘I want to listen to the speeches but I’ve been on duty so I couldn’t actually come to the dinner. If I could slip in a staff entrance when the speeches start it would be less noticeable than going in here.’

I shrugged my shoulders and made a face at her as if it were an amusing conspiracy.

‘Sure,’ she said. ‘Why not? I’ll even lend you a pinny. No one ever looks at the face of a waitress, least they never did when I was young.’

She walked me back along the corridor towards the reception but, before we got there, we went through a door into a staff corridor that led into the hotel kitchen.

‘Come on,’ Doris said, taking me by the hand and leading me past the lines of stainless-steel chef’s stations.

There were two staff entrances to the banqueting suite from the kitchen, or rather one entrance and one exit such that the flow of personnel was circular past the kitchen servery and back into the room, and the doors were on either side of the stage.