Tarnished Lives Tainted Dreams

October 2003, “Morgan’s Hotel”, Swansea

ho is she? Was the thought in everyone’s mind that evening as they glanced, surreptitiously, at the glamorous lady who was sitting alone in the main bar of the newly opened but already fashionable hotel. She had arrived some fifteen minutes earlier but by the frequent glances she made towards the entrance it was obvious that she was waiting for someone to join her. The question lingered, ‘Who is she?’   She had certainly cut a dash, she was tall, taller than the other women present and fashionably slim. Her long dark hair was beautifully arranged, falling naturally around her shoulders. Her makeup was perfect; highlighting her high cheek bones, classic features and flawless complexion. Her dress and accessories were very obviously haute couture, but nothing gave a clue as to her identity. Her age was difficult to assess; she looked as though she might be in her forties but her actual age was fifty six.

   ‘She must be someone of importance’, they thought, ‘She just has to be, you can always tell!’   Waiters hovered close but she seemed oblivious to them, lost in her own private thoughts. In her hand she held a card and seemed to be focused on the wording. Of course, no one could actually read the writing on the card, they were sitting too far away but curiosity was rife.

   The card read: ‘I shall be at Morgan’s on Thursday evening at 7.00 pm, please be there on time and come alone.’ Lucinda had been surprised at these requests. Of course she would be there; this was the meeting she had desired for so long and as for being on time, Lucinda was consistently punctual for appointments. People eventually let their attention drift away, but continued to throw occasional glances towards the mysterious brunette, and to wonder just who she was and who she was waiting for because it had to be somebody of note, a famous name, maybe?

   The hotel had only opened a month earlier, though the actual building dated back a hundred years to 1903 when it had been built to house the port authority responsible for administering the city’s thriving maritime trade. Martin and Louisa Morgan had had the foresight to re-model it into this exclusive boutique hotel and it had rapidly become the in place, the place to see and to be seen.

   Some twenty minutes later, the doors opened and an older, but very elegant lady entered the room. She hesitated confidently, for a moment, aware of the looks cast in her direction yet appearing oblivious to them. She was arrestingly beautiful, her blonde hair immaculately coiffed, her makeup flawless and her clothing expensive. Everything about her made a statement and screamed CLASS. Like the brunette, her age was difficult to assess. Most people would guess her age to be somewhere in the mid-sixties but she was actually in her mid-seventies. All eyes now focused on this second mystery lady and the question on everyone’s lips was ‘Who is she?’

   The brunette was the first to move; she approached the blonde and was heard to say

‘Mummy, darling, you look absolutely stunning, as you always do; Oh mummy I was so thrilled to have your invitation to meet here this evening.’

‘Please,’ hissed the blonde ‘not here, just