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 floor along with a little pile of running gear.
“The clothes she brought with her seem to be there,” said Anne thoughtfully, “and she’s already moved some into the Hall. I don’t know what she was wearing this morning, I don’t know everything she brought with her, but it all looks okay. The thing is, though, what about the jewellery?”
She turned to the manager.
“Meg Wynne had some beautiful pieces with her. We brought a couple of boxes down ourselves last night,” she said. “Do you know if others were placed with you for safekeeping?”
“We were given a few boxes,” he replied, “but of course I wouldn’t know what was in them. Mrs. Geraint gave Ms. Thompson a receipt for them, and as far as I know, they’re still in the safe.”
The group looked at one another in silence as Emyr sank down on the edge of the bed.
“Well,” he said, “she isn’t here now, and I have no idea what’s going on, or what to do. What time is it, anyway?”
Anne glanced at her watch. “It’s getting on for one.”
Emyr sighed.
“I think what we should do, all we can do, really, is carry on. We can’t call it off. What if she came back only to find we’d given up on her? That would be …” The uncompleted sentence hung in the air.
He stood up and walked over to the dresser where Meg Wynne had left a few toiletries. He picked up her favourite perfume, gently removed the cap, and after a moment’s hesitation, closed his eyes and held the bottle to his nose.
Anne and Jennifer moved at the same time toward him.
“It’s okay,” he said. “Go downstairs and get the hairdresser. Let’s do it. We’ve got people driving in from England all the way to Wales, and everything’s all arranged. Come on, you’ve got to get ready.”
With one last look around, the friends filed out, leaving the manager to pull the door quietly shut behind them.
“Emyr,” said Anne, turning to him when they were in the corridor, “I’m sorry, but I have to say this. I think we should ring around the hospitals. What if she’s been hurt?”
Emyr looked startled.
“Maybe you’re right. I’ll do it when I get home,” he said as they walked on. “In the meantime, go to your rooms and I’ll tell the hairdresser to go on up.”
Anne and Jennifer exchanged a quick glance, and Anne spoke for both of them.
“I’m moving my gear into Jennifer’s room. Tell the hairdresser to come to room two-oh-six. But give us ten minutes.”
Emyr nodded, and with the manager, headed in the direction of the stairs as Anne and Jennifer returned to their rooms.
A few minutes later Anne, laden with an armful of bags and clothes, pushed her way into Jennifer’s room, threw the clothes on the nearest bed, and sat down beside them.
“I’m really starting to get scared, Jenn. I’m beyond worried. It’s all seeming like a bad dream now, that I can’t wake up out of. It’s just going on and on.”
Jennifer looked thoughtfully at her.
“There’s one thing I don’t get,” Anne went on. “Is Emyr in complete and utter denial? Why would he not call the police? They might be able to help. That’s what they’re here for and they’re good at this kind of thing. They know what to do. We don’t. Or at least I don’t.”
Jennifer pushed the pile of clothes out of the way and sat down beside her friend.
“I know, Anne. I feel the same. But we’ve got to do this, like Emyr says. I don’t think we have a choice. Look, let’s send down for some sandwiches, cold drinks, and fruit so at least we can have a bit of lunch. I’m not particularly hungry, but it’s something we should do. It’s like in those awful movies when things start to go wrong, and someone will say, ‘You have to keep your strength up,’ or,” and Anne joined in, ‘What you need is a nice cup of tea!’ ”
They smiled at each other, and then Anne reached for the telephone.
“I think there’s something in that,” she said. “Actually, I do fancy a nice cup of tea. Do us good. I’ll order one for the hair-dresser, too. What was his name, again?
“Alberto,” said Jennifer.
“Alberto,” laughed Anne. “In real life, he’s probably Benny from Birmingham and nobody took any notice of him until he went upmarket as Alberto.”
The brief burst of laughter had eased their tension and a few moments later when Alberto appeared, they were in better spirits and ready for him.
“We’ve ordered up tea for you,” Anne told him, “and lunch for all of us. I know you’ve been kept waiting and you must be famished. Who do you want to do first?”
“Oh, it doesn’t matter to me, dear girl,” he said. “What are you wearing in your hair? Any flowers, clips, bandeau, fascinator, diadem, tiaras, hats, or anything like that?
“God, no,” said Anne. “Just hair, that’s all. We want it just like it is, only better.”
Alberto laid out his kit on a towel and went to work wetting down her blunt-cut hair, so he could style it. He was a rather burly man, with a neatly trimmed beard and long eyebrow hairs that gave him the look of a startled artist. He caught some strands of her hair between his index and middle fingers and examined them closely.
“So what’s happened to your friend, then?” he asked. “Any news?”
“No,” replied Jennifer. “No news. Have you ever heard of this happening before?
“Hmm, I don’t think so,” Alberto replied. “Not the bride just up and disappearing, although I did have a bride cancel the wedding at the last minute, once. It was terrible. One of the bridesmaids had heard from the best man, who thought it absolutely hilarious, that the groom had had it off with some tart the night before, and she decided to tell the bride all about it. Thought she would want to know. The poor woman was hysterical, as you can imagine, and said she couldn’t marry the man because if he would do that on the night before they got wed, how could she trust him after they were married?”
As Alberto reached for his hair dryer, a knock on the door signalled the arrival of tea and sandwiches. While he looked around for the nearest electrical outlet, Jennifer opened the door, brought in the tray, and set it down on the dresser. With his hair dryer in one hand and styling brush in the other, he added shape and volume to Anne’s hair as he continued his story.
“I’ve often thought about that whole scenario. Would it have happened if the groom hadn’t been drunk? Did the bridesmaid do right to tell the bride? I think so. If it had been me, I would have wanted to know. Should the bride have called off the wedding? I think it took a lot of courage to do that. There’s the whole issue of everything already paid for, and what people will say.”
Anne and Jennifer were silent, lost in their thoughts.
“You know, I could murder for a cup of tea. Why don’t we take a break now and we’ll sort out Jennifer in a few minutes. Shall I be mother?”
Alberto poured the tea, handed it around, helped himself to several sandwiches, and then gingerly lowered himself into the most comfortable chair in the room.
“What happened to that bride afterward?” asked Anne.
“I don’t know,” said Alberto. “If she changed her mind and married the bloke later, or if she married someone else, I wasn’t invited back to do her hair a second time. The really interesting thing was, she made up her mind to call it off when I was only halfway finished with her, and told me to get my hands off her head and leave her alone. So I did, and she spent the rest of the day with only half her hair done. It was the strangest thing. Made her look very wild.”
“She must have been past caring,” said Anne.
“Oh, she was that, all right,” agreed Alberto. “At least about the hair.”
Twenty minutes later Jennifer’s hair was done and Alberto was packing up his things and getting ready to leave.
“Look,” he said, “I’m sure your friend will turn up, but I’ve got other appointments booked, and I need to move on. Here’s my card so just call me on my mobile if you want me to come back later to see to her. Come to think of it, I wouldn’t mind a call later anyway, telling me what this is all about.”
The girls thanked him and showed him out.
“Well,” said Anne, “I’ll leave a message for Meg Wynne downstairs with reception and on her room phone that we’re waiting here for her.”
She closed the door behind her, leaving Jennifer contemplating the little bowl of fruit.