Heathen/Nemesis

Thirty-Six

The porter accepted his tip gratefully, nodded and glanced at Donna as he left, smiling approvingly when her back was turned.

She waited until the door was closed and then crossed to the window of her suite, pulling the curtains aside. The Shelbourne Hotel in Dublin overlooked St Stephen’s Green and Donna gazed out onto the park for a moment, glad to be safely at the hotel. ‘The most distinguished address in Ireland,’ boasted the legend on the desk notepad. Donna stood at the window a moment longer, gazing out at the people in the street below. Finally she lifted her small suitcase onto the bed, flipped it open and began taking clothes out, sliding them into drawers.

The flight had been smooth but Donna didn’t enjoy flying. It didn’t frighten her; she merely disliked the physical act of getting on a plane and sitting there for the duration of the journey. Fortunately the Aer Lingus 737 had delivered her from Heathrow in less than an hour, so she’d barely had time to become bored.

She’d promised to phone Julie that night to let her know she’d arrived safely and to check on her sister. The break-in of the previous night had shaken them both, but Julie more so.

Donna finished unpacking and crossed to the desk where her handbag was. She sat down, reached inside and took out an envelope, removing the contents.

There were a dozen American Express receipts inside, each bearing the name of a hotel. One of them bore the name of The Shelbourne.

She flipped open Chris’s diary and ran her finger down the entries.

She checked the date on the Amex slip against the entry for Dublin in the diary.

It matched.

So did the one for Dromoland Castle, County Clare.

And The Holiday Inn, Edinburgh.

The Mayfair, London.

Every entry in the diary was matched to a receipt. Only some of them had the initial D beside them; it was these which Donna was interested in.

It had been simple to find out which hotels Chris had stayed in. He always paid by credit card and he always kept the receipts for his accountant. She had merely unearthed them from his office.

How many of these places had he stayed with Suzanne Regan?

Donna swivelled in her seat and looked across towards the bed.

Had he stayed here?

She tried to drive the thought from her mind, feeling an all-too familiar surge of anger and sorrow. If only she’d been able to ask him why, perhaps it would have been more bearable. For a moment, Donna felt tears welling up in her eyes but she fought back the pain, forced the thoughts away. There would be plenty of time for them in years to come, she thought wearily. For now she replaced the receipts in the envelope and pushed it into a drawer beneath some clothes.

She put the photo of Chris and the five men in there too.

The diary she dropped back into her handbag.

Donna got to her feet and padded across to the bathroom where she showered quickly, rinsing away the dirt of the journey. Travelling always made her feel grubby, no matter how luxurious it was. She pulled on one of the towelling robes and wandered back into the bedroom, selecting clean clothes. A white blouse, jeans and some flat suede boots. She dried herself, dressed, brushed her hair and re-applied her make-up, then inspected her reflection in the mirror.

Satisfied, she slipped on her jacket and picked up her handbag, pausing to look at the diary once more and its mysterious entry:

JAMES WORSDALE: DUBLIN NATIONAL GALLERY.

As she made her way to the lift and jabbed the button marked ‘G’ she found her heart thumping a little faster than normal.

Outside the hotel she asked the doorman to get her a cab.

She was at the gallery in less than five minutes.