The White Octopus Hotel - Softcover

Bell, Alexandra

 
9798217091799: The White Octopus Hotel
Softcover
ISBN 13: 9798217091799
Verlag: Del Rey Books, 2025

Inhaltsangabe

Journey to a magical hotel in the Swiss Alps, where two lost souls living in different centuries meet and discover if a second chance awaits them behind its doors.

“Have you travelled a long way?” she asked carefully..
A smile twitched at the corner of his mouth. “Well, yes,” he said slowly. “Yes, you could say that. But it was worth the wait.”

London, 2015. When reclusive art appraiser Eve Shaw shakes the hand of a silver-haired gentleman in her office, the warmth of his palm sends a spark through her.

His name is Max Everly—curiously, the same name as Eve’s favorite composer, born one hundred sixteen years prior. And she has the sudden feeling that she’s held his hand before . . . but where, and when?

The White Octopus Hotel, 1935. In this belle époque building high in the snowy mountains, Eve and a young Max wander the winding halls, lost in time.

Each of them has been through the trenches—Eve through a family accident and Max on the battlefields of the Great War—but for an impossible moment, love and healing are just a room away . . . if only they have the courage to step through the door.

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Über die Autorin bzw. den Autor

Alexandra Bell studied Law at university and signed her first book deal at nineteen. Since then, she has written multiple books for both adults and young people. She works at a legal advice charity and lives in Hampshire with her husband, sons, and Sphynx cats.

Auszug. © Genehmigter Nachdruck. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.

Chapter 1

Eve—­August 2015

Eve didn’t want to turn around because then she would see it. The monster. Of course, she’d laid eyes on it before, many times over the years, but there were some things you never got used to, some horrors you would do anything to avoid. It was a child’s nightmare—­yet here was Eve, twenty-­seven years old today, and the monster was still chasing her. It didn’t come every day, not anymore, but it never missed a birthday.

Eve kept her head down as she hurried towards the escalator that led to the Underground. She caught the train just as it pulled away from the platform, and for a moment she hoped she might have lost it in the crowds. But then she looked up and there it was on the seat opposite, the monster that was shaped like a rabbit. A rabbit, of course, had no business being there in the middle of the London Underground, especially not a rabbit like that. It was white and fluffy, with a splodge of black over one eye. It should have been terrified of all the noise and commotion. It should have been running around in circles, trying to hide, trying to find a way out. Yet it just sat there on the seat, perfectly calm, staring at Eve with warm, friendly eyes as she trembled.

The train jolted and rattled its way to her stop, and she tried not to look at the monster, or to dwell on the fact that no one else in the crowded carriage was aware of the creature at all. Finally, the train reached her platform and she got off, but the rabbit followed. It always followed. Every time she glanced back, there it was, hopping and bouncing happily in her wake, right onto the escalator.

Eve dug her nails into her palms. Eventually, she knew, the rabbit would go away. The trick was to keep her eyes locked ahead until it did, to stay busy, to continue as normal. She walked briskly along the pavement, trying not to look at the long-­eared shadow nearby. Her hands were still shaking as she slipped her earphones in and began playing a piece of music by her favourite composer. Max Everly had lived and died many decades before she was born, but there was something about his music that Eve always found comforting, even on her most difficult days. She’d discovered Everly at nineteen, and on those occasions when despair and shame threatened to reach out their claws and drag her back down into the pit, Everly’s music was a fierce flame that pushed away the shadows and the sorrows.

She did her best now to focus on the music as she walked to Stanley’s auction house. It was sunny, just like it had been all those years ago. Eve always hoped for rain on her birthday, but the August date meant that rarely happened. For a moment, she could see the bounce and sway of balloons, and smell the sausage rolls and strawberry jelly. When she reached the auction house, she paused outside to take a deep breath and try to still the tremor in her hands. Perhaps she should have taken leave, like last year, but she also couldn’t stand the idea of another day sitting in her flat by herself with her rabbits and ghosts. . . .

When she put her earphones back in her bag, she noticed that the rabbit had gone—­for now, at least. Once inside the auction house, she could throw herself into her role as a valuer—­work that she enjoyed—­and there would be some structure to her day. She was planning to spend the entire morning cataloguing a collection of paintings that had just come in and then writing up valuation reports for the client. They would be quiet, methodical tasks. Exactly what she needed.

She made a start as soon as she reached her office, glad of the air-­conditioning. It was far too hot to be wearing a black turtleneck, but it was what she always wore. It was simpler that way. Less chance of a stray tentacle wandering onto her neck and causing any consternation or alarm to anyone who might see it. Less chance of any ink raising questions. Besides, it was irritating to be screamed at. Life was much easier when she wore black and kept people at a distance.

She worked diligently and without interruption until eleven o’clock. It was a relief to look up and see the time. A couple of hours down, and she’d hardly noticed them. Perhaps the day wouldn’t be quite so bad as she feared. Perhaps she could get through it mostly unscathed. . . .

But then her mobile rang, and her heart juddered painfully. This was the worst part of the day, and she briefly considered letting it go to answerphone. How she longed to do just that, to pretend she’d been busy in a meeting, or on the other line, but if her mother had the courage to make the call, then Eve must have the courage to answer it. She’d been crouched on the floor beside a painting, but now she stood up, swiped her thumb across the screen, and raised the phone to her ear. “Hello.”

She couldn’t make her voice sound normal, no matter how hard she tried. It came out as a dry croak, like she was hungover or half asleep.

“Eve. It’s Mum.”

“I know. Hi.” She swallowed hard, tried to force some normality into her voice. “How are you?”

She regretted her words instantly. For a moment, there was utter silence on the other end of the line. Eve wondered if her mother might simply hang up, but instead she cleared her throat and said, “I just called to say happy birthday.”

Eve slipped her free hand into her pocket, her fingers searching for the fumsup. She was reassured by the feel of its lumpy wooden head beneath her fingers and the way it helped ground her in the moment. She was right here, at work. She wasn’t back there. At the party. Her eye fell on the window, and she saw a balloon go floating past—­impossibly purple. Perhaps the most purple thing she had ever laid eyes on. A child must have let go of it on the pavement outside, she told herself. That’s all it was.

“Eve?” Her mum’s voice came over the line. “Are you still there?”

“I’m here.” The words made a hot flush of guilt prickle over her skin.

She was here. Her sister, Bella, was not. She desperately searched her mind for something, anything, to say to her mum but couldn’t think of a single sentence that wouldn’t make it all worse. The fact was that they hardly knew each other anymore. Eve spoke to her mother perhaps twice a year. It was impossible, at times like this, not to think of how things might have been different between them, how everything might have been different if it weren’t for that single moment twenty-­three years ago. One mistake that had changed everything and left their family in shreds.

“Well, I won’t take up any more of your time,” her mum said. “I’m sure you’re very busy. Take care.”

“Bye, Mum,” Eve rasped.

But the call had already ended. She dropped the phone and the fumsup onto her desk. She was too hot again, and since there was no one else there, she took the risk of rolling her sleeves to her elbows and went to the window. The glass was cold as she rested her clammy forehead against it. Then she saw the black cab draw up to the curb.

The passenger door opened, and an elderly man struggled out, leaning heavily on his cane. He was smartly dressed, in a charcoal-­coloured herringbone suit and fedora hat. The clothes were old-­fashioned, but he looked as if he had taken pains to dress in his best. She wondered who he was going to meet and what for. A happy occasion, she hoped.

He stood, wobbling slightly on the pavement, and the taxi drove away as he headed towards the auction house. There were only a few steps up...

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Verlag
Del Rey Books
Erscheinungsdatum
2025
Sprache
Englisch
ISBN 13 
9798217091799
Einband
Taschenbuch
Anzahl der Seiten
368
Kontakt zum Hersteller
Nicht verfügbar
Verantwortliche Person
Buchbär
info@buchbaer.de

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