‘She looked pretty rattled,’ he admits.

‘She didn’t say a word the whole time. I mean, they only slid into a ditch. No actual harm done.’

‘Maybe she’s been in a car accident before.’

‘Maybe.’ When they reach the second floor she turns to him and says, ‘She seemed awfully tense. I got a weird vibe off her.’

‘Don’t think about her,’ Ian says, giving her a sudden kiss. ‘Think about me.’

Chapter Three

Friday, 5:30 PM

GWEN SITS ON the bed furthest from the door – they have a room on the second floor with two double beds, as requested – and watches Riley anxiously. She could tell that woman, Lauren, had been wondering about her.

It dawns on Gwen for the first time that maybe she isn’t what Riley needs right now. Gwen is becoming infected by Riley’s quiet panic, rather than Riley being reassured by Gwen’s calm pragmatism. Riley has always been the stronger personality; she probably should have realized that Riley would have an effect on her rather than the other way around. Already Gwen finds herself looking into dark corners, jumping at unexpected sounds, imagining bad things happening. Perhaps it’s just being in a strange place, and the old-world atmosphere of this hotel.

‘Maybe we should freshen up a bit and go down for a drink before dinner,’ Gwen suggests.

‘Sure,’ Riley says unenthusiastically.

She’s pale, and her long blonde hair hangs limply around her face. There is none of that liveliness she used to have. She was beautiful once, but now it’s hard to think of her that way. What an awful thought, Gwen realizes. She hopes that beauty will return. Gwen looks imploringly at her. ‘I know you’re going through a tough time. But you have to try.’

Riley flashes a look at her; annoyance maybe, or resentment. Anger. Gwen feels a little flare of anger of her own and thinks suddenly that it’s going to be a long weekend if she has to watch everything she says. But she immediately reminds herself that Riley is one of her best friends. She owes her. She wants to help her get back on her feet; she wants her gorgeous, vivacious friend back. She wants to be jealous of her again, she realizes, like she used to be.

‘Let me brush your hair,’ Gwen says. She gets up off her bed and rummages through Riley’s handbag for her hairbrush. Then she sits down on the bed behind her and starts brushing her hair in long, soothing strokes. As she does, she sees Riley’s shoulders begin to loosen a little. Finally she says, ‘There. Put some lipstick on. I will, too. And we’ll go down and get something to eat. Then we can come up here and have a quiet night and talk, just like we used to. Or read, if that’s what you want.’ She’s brought a couple of books herself. She wouldn’t mind escaping into a book. Her own life is far from perfect.

A corridor runs past the reception desk along the west side of the hotel, dividing the west wing of the hotel into front and back rooms. Down the hall is a bar, but when David Paley pops his head in, the room is empty. To the right of the door is the bar itself, with an impressive array of bottles, but there is no one behind it to serve him. The room is panelled in the rich, dark wood of the lobby. Across from the bar, on the other side of the room, is a fireplace with a handsome mantel, and above the fireplace is an oil painting – a dark, moody study of a man holding a pheasant by the feet. The windows look out onto the front lawn. In front of the fireplace is a gathering of small tables and aged, comfortable leather chairs. It’s a man’s room. He wonders whether he should stay and hope a bartender shows up, or return to the lobby and have a drink brought out there. It’s awkward, travelling alone. He sits in a leather armchair by the fireplace, even though there is as yet no fire burning in the grate, waits a few minutes, supposes that no one is coming, and wanders back out to the lobby. There’s no one there either; the young man who was behind the desk earlier has vanished. David taps the old-fashioned bell on the front desk. The clear ring is louder than he expected and he starts a little. The same young man from before rushes up to the desk, appearing from the hall that runs behind it, beside the staircase.

‘So sorry to keep you waiting,’ he says. ‘We’re a bit short staffed because of the weather.’ He smiles apologetically.

‘I was wondering if I could get a drink.’

‘Of course. We’re going to be serving drinks here in the lobby. I’ll be bringing out the bar trolley in a couple of minutes.’

‘That’s fine,’ David says amicably. He just wants a drink, a comfortable chair, and a warm fire. And then a good dinner and a deep, undisturbed sleep.

He sits down and wonders who might join him. He soon hears the rumble of wheels and the sound of glasses and glances up and sees the young man pushing a well-stocked bar trolley into the lobby. The usual bar staples are there, as well as a cocktail shaker, a bucket of ice, several mixes and garnishes, good liqueurs, and assorted glasses. Underneath are wine bottles, as well as a champagne bucket filled with ice, with the foil-wrapped neck of a bottle sticking out.

‘What will you have?’ asks the young man.

He’s just a kid, really, David thinks. He looks so young. Twenty-one, maybe. ‘What’s your name?’ David asks.

‘Bradley,’ he answers.

‘Are you old enough to serve alcohol in the state of New York, Bradley?’ he quips.

‘I’m older than I look,’ Bradley grins. ‘Twenty-two.’

‘Then a gin and tonic, please,’ David says, smiling back.

He prepares the drink expertly. As David watches him, he catches movement in the corner of his eye and looks up. There’s a youngish couple coming down the stairs.

‘Oh, look,’ the man says, spying the trolley. He smiles and rubs his hands together for effect.

David can’t help but notice his smile. It makes the man instantly likeable. He’s tall and lanky, with rumpled brown hair and a five o’clock shadow – the casual type, in jeans and a plaid shirt, but David suspects he could carry that look off anywhere. David is pleased to see him; he could use some light, distracting conversation. The woman with him is attractive, but not as striking as the woman who passed him a while ago on the stairs. For a moment he wonders if everyone here is part of a couple.

‘Mind if we join you?’ the man says.

‘Not at all,’ David says.

‘I’m Ian,’ he says and extends a hand.

The woman beside him reaches out her hand in turn and says, ‘I’m Lauren.’

‘Pleased to meet you,’ he says. ‘David.’

‘It seems a bit empty,’ Lauren muses, looking around.

Bradley nods and says, ‘The hotel isn’t full. We have twelve guest rooms but only six are occupied this weekend. We had some cancellations because of the snow. And some of our staff – the bartender, for one, and the housekeeper, for another, weren’t able to make it in. But I’m here, so we’re good.’ He clasps his hands together. ‘I know a few things about mixing drinks,’ he adds spontaneously. ‘The bartender’s been teaching me.’

‘Excellent!’ Ian says. ‘Can you make me a whisky and soda?’

‘Of course.’

‘And I’ll have a Manhattan,’ Lauren says.

‘Did the chef make it in okay?’ Ian asks. ‘Because I’m starving.’

Bradley cocks one eyebrow. ‘Don’t worry. My dad’s the chef. It’s a family-owned hotel. We live on-site – in an apartment at the end of the hall, past the bar.’ He nods towards the hallway. ‘He and I should be able to manage all right until the roads are cleared. Although dinner will be more of a buffet tonight.’

A blast of wind slams angrily against the windows. The guests turn instinctively towards the sound.

‘We get some good storms up here,’ Bradley says.

Now David notices an older man appear in the lobby. Judging by the apron he’s wearing, he came from the kitchen, which must be behind the dining room. Bradley’s father.