The Dutch Hotel – Righting a Wrong

Written by Bertie for Storynory

Read by Jana

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Hello and welcome to Storynory. This is Jana and I’m back with a mysterious new episode of The Dutch Hotel. As you may know Yogi and Nafsi’s parents run the Dutch Hotel near Hyde Park in London. It’s a very special place. It’s swish. It’s luxurious… and it’s haunted.

But just before the story, I’d like to let you know it’s Storynory’s 20th birthday! We’ve redesigned our website with 20 years of stories on it. And you’ll be pleased to know, we’ve banished annoying display ads from the site. Also to celebrate we will be announcing a writing competition. Details at the end of the story.

All sorts of famous people stay at the Dutch Hotel. But just because they’re international megastars doesn’t mean Nafsi and Yogi always know who they are.

Take Daphne Dupont. Your mum and dad may have grown up watching her every Christmas in the movie The Lost Angel. But when Zelda, the owner of the Dutch Hotel introduced her to Yogi and Nafsi with the words, “I would like you to meet someone very special, “ they had no idea who she was.

At first glance the woman sitting in the lounge looked youthful with her cloud of blonde ringlets. But on second glance, you could notice that her skin was stretched tightly over her high cheekbones. And her lips – they were, a little bit full shall we say.

“So lovely to meet you darlings.” she greeted them. “Would you like some desert? The lemon meringue here is especially tempting.”

“Oh we know,” said Yogi. “Our dad is the manager.”

“Absolutely fabulous,” she said, clapping her hands. “I’ll order some. I wanted to meet you because Zelda told me something interesting about you. Is it true you can travel back in time?”

“It is true,” agreed Nafsi. “This is a special hotel and connected with the past. Please don’t tell anyone or else all the guests will want to go time-travelling.”

Daphne swore to secrecy. “So how does it work?” She asked.

“It’s simple,” replied Yogi. We use our scooters. We race down the back mews as fast as we can. It’s all cobbled so it’s really bumpy. Anyway, we close our eyes, and when we open them again, we’re back in the past. You can come with us if you like, but you’ll need your own scooter.”

Daphne Dupont let out a tiny laugh. “I think I might be a little old for that. But I do have a favour to ask, if I may. Could you take a message back to the past for me?”

“Who’s the message for,” asked Nafsi.

“As a matter of fact, it’s for me,” replied Daphne. “That is, my younger self. One day, when you’re my age, you’ll understand. You look back and think: ‘If only I’d done this differently.’ Or, ‘If I knew then what I know now…’ Do you understand?” Yogi nodded. “Like if you knew the winning lottery numbers, you could be mega-rich.”

“Well yes, I suppose. But I’m thinking of something more personal. Something I regret.”

She lowered her voice. “What I’m about to tell you must stay between us.”

And she told them the following story:

When Daphne was twelve years old, she had a best friend, Mary, who was extremely talented and clever, and had won a free scholarship to their expensive school. It seemed that Mary was brilliant at everything she did. The two of them loved acting. They joined the local drama club and regularly took part in school plays. One day, Daphne’s mother noticed an advertisement in the newspaper. It was a casting call for a horror movie. The film company was auditioning for a girl of around twelve. The audition was at the Dutch Hotel which was very convenient, since Daphne lived just across the park in Kensington. It wasn’t exactly the role either girl had dreamt of, but Daphne felt a tinge of excitement, enough to audition. She was thrilled at the prospect of being in an actual film on the silver screen! Even if her name was buried at the bottom of the poster, it would be a start. It would be her first step towards fame and fortune.

But there was one problem. What if Mary got the part instead? Daphne knew she’d burn up with jealousy forever. So this is what she plotted. Daphne told Mary about the audition… but ‘accidentally on purpose’ gave her the wrong date. “That was mean,” said Nafsi.

“Oh it was,” said Daphne, ruefully. “Mary never spoke to me again. And no matter how many films, awards or husbands came and went in my life – it all tasted a little bitter. Not just from guilt, but from realising that nothing on earth is more precious—or rare—than a true friend. That is why I need you to go back for me. Take this letter. Not to Mary—to me. So I can do the right thing. Will you do this for me?” \ Nafsi and Yogi looked at each other and nodded. “We’ll do our best to find you,”said Yogi.

Daphne told them the date, Saturday 25 November, 1972 at 9.30 sharp.

Yogi showed Daphne his wrist which bore a large silvery watch. He set the day, month and year on it. “Listen, it goes tick-tock tick tock because it’s a real watch made in Switzerland. Zelda gave it to me for my birthday.”

Daphne was impressed. She said it would look just right in 1972. And if he wanted exactly the right image, he would do well to find some bell-bottom jeans.

Early on Saturday morning, a very hip looking Nafsi and Yogi scooted down the Mews and straight back into 1972.

The first person they saw was not at all like they expected – not the slightest hint of flower-power. He was the doorman at the front of the hotel who was wearing a bowler hat and had a little pencil moustache. He looked a little bit – shall we say – military. But he was perfectly nice when Nafsi said, “We’re here for the movie audition” and he even wished them good luck.

Inside the reception, they saw several young girls with their parents heading for the ball room. They followed them in.

“Poo! It smells bad here,” said Yogi, pinching his nose.

“I know,” agreed Nafsi sniffing. “It’s old cigarette smoke and something else…. Like.. like cleaning fluid maybe? But the women’s perfume is nice.”

They soon realised they were dressed a little too much like 70s pop stars—too flowery, too hippyish. People around them wore brown corduroy trousers, wide-lapelled jackets, paisley ties, velvet skirts, and frilly nylon blouses. Nafsi scanned the faces. She picked out a girl with a ribbon in her hair and rather thick spectacles on her pointy nose.

“I think that’s her,” she said.

“She doesn’t look like a film star,” said Yogi.

“Well she isn’t… yet.”

Nafsi worked up the courage to walk up to her. Yogi followed a few steps behind. The girl and her father were sitting on some rather uncomfortable looking chairs arranged in rows in front of the stage.

“Excuse me, are you Daphne Dupont?” asked Nafsi.

The girl turned her head. Her eyebrows rose as she sized Nafsi up.

“Who’s asking?” she replied. Her father looked over the top of his spectacles but didn’t say a word.

Nafsi introduced herself.

“Do I know you?” asked the girl with a ribbon in her hair.

“No, but when you’re famous, you’ll have to get used to strangers coming up to you.”

That earned a doubtful squint. “You’re not going to ask for my autograph, are you?”

“Actually, I’ve already got your signature,” said Nafsi, taking a breath. “This letter is from you. You asked me to give it to you.” Nafsi held out the envelope. It smelt faintly of French perfume.

For a second, the girl just blinked at it, as if it might be part of a joke.

“I haven’t the foggiest what this is about,” she said. But as she spoke, she noticed the handwriting on it. It looked familiar. She reached out, slowly, and took the envelope.

Young Daphne handed it to her father, “Daddy, do the honours.” He reached into his jacket and took out a Swiss army pocket knife which he used to slit open the envelope and gave it back.

Daphne extracted the thick and luxurious notepaper and dipped her eyelids to read it. Yes, the handwriting looked extremely familiar. It took her a moment to realise why – it was hers. She had worked so hard at developing those curly letters! Then she noticed the address and the strange date: The Dutch Hotel London 22nd November, 2025

Which was so far in the future she could not even imagine what the world would be like. Next came another remarkable line:

Dearest Ducks …

You see Ducks was Daphne’s nickname, but only her mother and closest family members even knew about it. It was a private joke about her favourite cartoon on TV.

The letter went on:

Or should I say, ‘Dearest Me.’ 53 years in the future, I am looking back on you, my past self, on a very important day of my, or should I write, “our” life. Oh dear, this is so confusing, but believe me when I tell you that this is important.

The glittering prizes of fame and fortune are all too alluring. When you live in the world of show business everyone loves you and wants to be your dear friend. But you will learn that true friends are very rare indeed. Betrayal and deceit are the norm. So Dear Ducks, my urgent request to you from the future is simple. You will never have a true friend unless you are a true friend. I know you better than anyone else. I know you have a conscience and I also know that your conscience will nag you for the rest of your days.

Now you know what you must do. Act quickly.

Yours sincerely and with the benefit of hindsight Your Future Self.

The young Daphne lifted her eyes from the letter. Her porcelain cheeks started to blush bright red. Nafsi, and even Yogi, could see that she was shocked and even a trace of shame showed on her face.

After a moment or two, she turned to her father and said:

”Daddy, I have a mission for you. It’s more urgent than anything you have ever done even in the war. You must take a cab directly to Mary’s house and bring her here in time for the audition. Don’t ask any questions. Please just do it.”

Her father smiled and nodded. He looked at his watch and didn’t ask any questions. All he said was, “Don’t wander too far now. Mummy will make a scene if I lose you.” Then strolled nonchalantly out of the hotel to where the doorman whistled for a waiting black cab.

Yogi and Nafsi were both astonished, as it seemed parents back in the 1970s were rather relaxed about looking after their children.

“He won’t be long,” said Daphne, “And if she’s not at home, at least I’ve done my bit. You must think I’m a frightfully mean girl to play such a dirty trick on my best friend.”

“No,” said Yogi, “Because we’ve met your future self and you want to put it right.”

“I’m so glad I do,” said Daphne, “Because I wouldn’t want to have a spot like that on my conscience all my life. No matter how fortunate I might be in my acting career, success would never taste sweet, it would always be a touch bitter.” “That’s what you said to us,” said Yogi, “In the future I mean.”

They only had to wait 25 minutes before Mary and Daphne’s father were back in the Ballroom. To be honest, Mary looked more the part for a Horror Movie than Daphne. She had straight black hair and a very pale face.

She ran straight over and thanked Daphne for making sure she got the right time for the audition.

“You’re always early, so when you didn’t arrive, I realised that I must have given you the wrong day,” said Daphne. “ What an awful mistake!!!!! You must do the audition. You’re simply brilliant at acting. I know you’ll get the part.”

The director and his assistants swept in a few minutes later and took their places on the reserved seats at the front. After a little whispered discussion the director stood on stage and made a little speech. He looked smart, but his hair was quite long and covered most of his ears. He spoke quietly, but clearly. This was the gist. They were looking for a girl with the best scream. All they had to do when it was their turn was to say their name clearly, and then let out the longest and most terrified scream of their lives.

The girls in the front row of seats were invited to form a little queue. One by one they walked on stage and screamed – or at least tried to. Quite a few of them screamed so quietly that nobody could hear them. Probably about one in five gave out a half decent scream, but even then most of them spoiled it by giggling afterwards.

“I never knew screaming could be so difficult,” whispered Yogi.

When it was Daphne’s turn she really went for it. Her scream was as loud as a fire alarm. It was the best so far, but then came Mary, and she did even better. Not only did she scream once, but two or three times, followed up with frantic sobs that were so convincing it was as if she had seen a real ghost.

The director’s plea was, “Don’t call us, we’ll call you if you’ve got the part.” But everyone knew that it had to be Mary. Only Daphne had come anywhere close to being as good.

Daphne congratulated Mary, giving her friend a big hug. At least it wasn’t a traitor’s hug – because she had done the right thing at the last minute.

Before they left, she thanked Nafsi and Yogi for bringing her the letter from the future. But they could both see that she was also disappointed. Honesty, it seemed, had cost her stardom and her entire career. Surely Mary was now destined to be a movie starlet and Daphne would probably end up being a teacher or a nurse.

“I wonder how this will change the future?” Said Yogi to his sister. And they could not wait to get back on their scooters and find out.

The older and wiser Daphne Dupont revisited the lounge just before lunchtime. “We delivered your letter to you,” said Yogi. “And this time you did the right thing. But you looked a bit sad because you knew you weren’t going to be famous. Mary did the best scream by far.”

“I knew she would,” said Daphne. “But so far, I don’t think my life has changed. My agent just called and they’re offering me an interesting role in a drama series on FilmFlix. I have to play a grandmother, but one has to accept these things gracefully at my stage of life.”

They sat down, and the kids told her the story of their visit to 1972. When they finished talking, a lady – about the same age as Daphne, walked straight over to their table and asked the question:

“Excuse me, are you Daphne Dupont?”

Daphne looked up. Her jaw dropped open. “Mary!” she gasped. “It’s been 50 years but I would know you anywhere.” She stood up and the two women hugged each other tightly. Daphne was in tears.

When they sat down, Mary said, “The last time we met was in this very same Hotel. I don’t know how this can be, but I had a dream that you would be here. I took a chance, and here you are.”

“Isn’t life extraordinary?” Said Daphne, and then, a little uncertainly, “How is your career?”

“Oh, I’m retired now. I suppose you movie stars never retire, do you? You know I think my mother was right, I wasn’t cut out for a career in the movies.”

“What do you mean?” Asked Daphne.

“When the director telephoned to offer me the part, my mother answered. She shouted, “Over My Dead Body, I’m Not Putting a Daughter of Mine on the Stage,” and slammed down the receiver. She forbade me to speak to you ever again. Said you were a ‘bad influence’”

“So I was their second choice,” said Daphne. “And I have your mother to thank for my film career?” ”Yes, I think you do,” said Mary with a laugh. But then she whispered, “You know, I wasn’t acting that day on stage. The reason I screamed like I did, was because I really did see a ghost. The spookiest thing I ever did see. There was this serving maid, half transparent and floating around in front of my eyes. But, surely that’s impossible isn’t it?”

“No it isn’t,” interrupted Yogi. “This is the Dutch Hotel and you never know who you might bump into – Dead or alive!”

And that was The Dutch Hotel, read by me Jana for Storynory! We really enjoyed this episode and I hope you did too! And don’t forget, we have lots more amazing stories for you.

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From me Jana at Storynory, Bye for now. <p>

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