s Shane ran on, heading for the hotel, he was not sure what to expect when he got there. Disaster, obviously, but to what extent and degree he was uncertain.

Only a hotelier understood the true horror of a hotel fire and its nightmarish consequences. All of Shane’s senses were alerted for the greatest possible danger. There would be distress, panic, fear, chaos, every type of injury. Smoke inhalation, burns, broken bones, trauma, shock. And death.

Rounding the corner of the street, he came into full view of the Sydney-O’Neill, his pride and joy, his favourite hotel in the international chain. What he saw brought him to a complete standstill. ‘Oh God! No! No!’ he gasped. He was stunned, rooted to the spot.

His hotel was an inferno.

Flames, black smoke, heat confronted him. Helicopters circled and hovered over the top of the burning building, lifting people off the roof. Fire engines were in full operation with swarms of fire-fighters manning hoses from the ground and from ladders; others were using ropes and ladders to rescue those trapped on some of the high floors.

There were ambulances and police cars parked at various strategic points. Doctors, paramedics and the police were doing everything in their power to help those in need. Three ambulances carrying the injured sped past him, their sirens wailing as they headed to the nearest hospital.

Shane pulled his handkerchief out of his pocket, wiped his damp face. He was sweating profusely from running, the sudden intense heat, and fear for those who might still be trapped in the hotel. The scene before him was appalling. Everywhere there was broken glass, debris on the ground, blinding smoke that was lethal, the raised voices of police and hotel staff shouting orders, the sounds of crying and moaning from those in distress. A group of hotel guests, many of them in their night clothes, looked unnerved and frightened as they huddled together near a police car. Shane was about to go over to them when he saw two of the hotel’s porters assisting them. They were taken over to the ambulance set up as a first-aid unit; here they would be treated for minor injuries, shock and trauma.

Covering his mouth with his handkerchief, Shane pushed his way through the people milling around – hotel staff and security guards, police officers, paramedics and ambulance drivers. He had to get closer to the hotel, knew he must take command of the situation immediately.

A policeman stopped him. ‘You can’t go any nearer than this, sir. It could be dangerous.’

‘Thanks, officer, for your warning. But I’m Shane O’Neill, the owner of the hotel. I must get through, do what I can to help.’

‘Go right ahead, Mr O’Neill,’ the officer said, suddenly recognizing him. He gave Shane a sympathetic look as he let him pass through the wooden barricade that had been erected.

Almost at once Shane spotted Peter Wood, the night duty manager. He grabbed his arm.

Wood swung around almost violently. A look of relief spread across his grimy face when he saw it was Shane. ‘Mr O’Neill! Thank God you’re okay! We tried to ring you when the first alarm went off around eleven o’clock. We realized you weren’t in your suite. But we didn’t know whether you were somewhere else in the hotel. We’ve been as worried as hell, keeping our eyes peeled for you.’

‘I was out of the hotel,’ Shane said. ‘Do you know how many casualties there have been?’

Peter Wood shook his head. ‘Not exactly. But I’d say about fifteen people injured.’ He paused, dropped his voice. ‘And four dead I think.’

‘Oh Jesus!’ Shane drew Wood to one side as several guests were being shepherded to safety by a hotel security guard. When they were out of earshot, he asked, ‘Do we know what started this?’

‘No, but I have my own ideas.’

Shane peered at him swiftly, frowning. ‘You’re not suggesting arson?’

‘No, no. Why would anyone want to set the hotel on fire?’

‘A disgruntled employee, perhaps? One who’d been sacked recently?’

Wood said very firmly, ‘No, Mr O’Neill, I’m sure it’s nothing like that. If you want my opinion, I believe it was an accident.’

‘I see. Where did it start, Peter?’

‘On the thirty-fourth floor.’ Wood gave Shane a pointed look. ‘You were lucky, Mr O’Neill. You had a narrow escape.’

Shane stared at Wood, the full impact of the manager’s words suddenly hitting him. His own suite was on that floor, along with a number of other private apartments leased out on a permanent basis. There were rooms and suites for hotel guests on the thirty-fifth floor, and situated on the thirty-sixth floor, at the very top of the building, was the famous Orchid Room.

Shane exclaimed, ‘I can only thank God that I closed the entire thirty-fifth floor and the Orchid Room for redecoration last week. Otherwise this disaster would have been ten times worse if we’d had guests on the thirty-fifth floor, not to mention two hundred people dining and dancing in the restaurant tonight.’

‘Yes, we’ve all been saying the same thing.’

‘I presume most of the guests have been evacuated to emergency facilities in other hotels?’

Wood nodded. ‘To the Hilton and the Wentworth. We’re lucky in another sense, sir. The O’Neill was not filled to capacity this week.’

Philip ran up to them at this moment. He was out of breath, perspiring. ‘I’ve been looking for you,’ he said to Shane, then turned, nodded to Peter Wood, went on, ‘What can I do to help?’

‘Not very much,’ Shane replied. ‘From what I can see, the actions of my staff and the various agencies called to the scene have been tremendous. It looked like chaos when I arrived a few minutes ago, but it’s not. They seem to have things under control.’ He glanced towards the hotel, his expression pained. Two of the middle floors were still burning, but reinforcements had been brought in; additional fire-fighters were tackling the blaze with renewed energy, would soon have it put out.

Philip said, ‘Perhaps I can – ‘

Neither Shane nor Peter Wood heard what he said next. His voice was drowned out by a thunderous explosion that sounded like several huge kegs of dynamite going off. It rent the air, made all of them jump. They swung to stare at the hotel. Shock and apprehension flooded their faces.

‘What the bloody hell was that?’ Philip cried.

‘Windows blowing out from the intense heat within the shell of the hotel,’ Shane said, shuddering. He dreaded to think that there might be more casualties.

‘But I don’t see any broken glass falling,’ Philip muttered, looking baffled.

‘Neither do I,’ Shane said. ‘But I’m sure that’s what it was.’

Peter Wood volunteered, ‘It’s probably the windows on the other side of the building, Mr Amory, the rooms facing Sydney Harbour.’

A young woman wearing a dressing gown, her face streaked with dirt, hurried up to them. She appeared distracted, afraid. ‘Please help me,’ she said, tugging at Philip’s arm. ‘Please, please help me. I can’t find my little girl. She’s lost. I can’t find her. I know we got her out. I know we did.’ The woman’s face crumpled. She began to weep hysterically.

Philip put his arm around her. ‘I’m sure she’s in a safe spot. Come along, I’ll help you to find your child.’

‘She’s only four,’ the woman sobbed. ‘A baby, just a baby.’

Philip attempted to comfort her as he led her off. His own agony, his all-consuming grief were forgotten in the horrendous tragedy of the hotel fire.

By four o’clock in the morning the fire was out.

All of the injured, numbering some twenty-five, had been taken to the emergency room at St Vincent’s Hospital and to other hospitals in the city. The dead, totalling nine men and women, had been taken to the morgue.

Fire-fighters, police, and hotel staff were bringing complete order to the area. Shane had been in command for several hours, handling everything with cool authority and decisiveness.

The Sydney-O’Neill was a smouldering ruin, blackened by smoke, a burnt-out hulk against the skyline. Shane and Philip stood together in the rubble as dawn broke, looking up at it, both of their faces grim.

‘What a horrible tragedy,’ Shane murmured, turning to his brother-in-law. ‘So many injured and dead. It should never have happened. All I can think about are the families of those who have lost loved ones.’ He sighed heavily. ‘Well, I’m glad you were able to help that young woman. She was quite demented. Where did you find her little girl?’

‘In one of the ambulances, being looked after by a paramedic. She wasn’t injured, thankfully. Just scared, after becoming separated from her mother.’ Philip took hold of Shane’s arm, wanting to console him. ‘I’m sorry this disaster had to happen to you, Shane. You’re suffering terribly because of the loss of lives, and for those who have been injured. But quite aside from that, I know how much you prided yourself on your safety systems.’

When Shane was silent, Philip added, ‘I understand what this particular hotel meant to you. I’m so very sorry. I’ll do anything I can to help you.’

‘Thanks, Philip.’ Shane rubbed his tired face, shook his head with weariness. So much for Blackie’s dream, he thought, remembering how excited his grandfather had been about building the Sydney-O’Neill. It was he who had found and bought the land on a visit to Sydney with Emma years before; he who had decided it would be the flagship hotel in the Antipodes. Blackie had not lived to see it constructed, but he had approved of the first architectural blueprints before he died. Now his dream had gone up in smoke in the space of a few hours.

‘I’ll build it again,’ Shane said, as if making a promise to his grandfather.

‘I know you will,’ Philip answered. ‘Now, come on back with me to the penthouse to clean up. You’re going to need clothes and the like. It’s a good thing we’re about the same size.’

Later that morning, showered, shaved and wearing his brother-in-law’s clothes, an exhausted Shane set up head-quarters in the board room of The McGill Corporation.

It was here that he held his first meeting, began the investigation into the cause of the fire at his hotel. With him were Peter Wood, the night manager who had been on duty when the fire broke out; Lewis Bingley, the general manager; Graham Johnson, managing director of the O’Neill hotel chain in Australia, various executives from the Sydney-O’Neill, and Fire Chief Don Arnold, who had been in charge of the fire-fighters the night before.

Once introductions had been made, greetings exchanged, Shane went straight to the heart of the matter. ‘We’re looking to you for information at this moment, I’m afraid, Chief Arnold,’ he said. ‘I understand that you and your men have talked at length to many members of the hotel staff. Have you any idea how the fire started?’

‘Through carelessness on the part of someone staying in the hotel,’ the chief said. ‘From what we found on the thirty-fourth floor, where it began, and from what we’ve since discovered, we’re certain it was started by a cigarette. One that most probably fell into a sofa in a suite on that floor. One of the private jobs you lease out. In this instance, the suite leased to the Jaty Corporation.’

‘Could you go into a few more details, please, Chief Arnold?’ Shane asked.

‘Sure thing. One of the room service waiters came forward in the early hours of this morning. He told me that he remembered noticing an ashtray perched on the arm of a sofa in that particular suite. That was when he went to remove the dinner trolley around eight o’clock. I believe that the ashtray remained on the arm of the settee, that it was used several times before the couple occupying the suite went to bed. The ashtray later fell into the sofa, and a cigarette, which was not quite out, set light to the sofa. More than likely, it smouldered for a couple of hours until it actually burst into flames. Only seconds after waking, the two people in that private suite were dead.’

‘How do you know that?’ Shane asked quietly.

‘Two of my firemen found them huddled in the bedroom. They were not burnt. They were poisoned by the fumes from the foam stuffing in the sofa. It’s so highly flammable that within seconds it creates the kind of inferno you had in your hotel last night. And those flames are so hot, so intense they can punch a hole in a wall or a ceiling, and shatter windows. The foam also gives off the most fatal fumes, chiefly cyanide and carbon monoxide.’

Shane was horrified. He looked at Lewis Bingley, and exclaimed sharply, ‘Discussions about the use of foam in furniture have been going on for ages. I’ve had foam banned in all my hotels for the past year. How come it was used here?’

Lewis Bingley shook his head. ‘We followed your instructions, Mr O’Neill, we really did. There’s no foam in any of the furniture used in the hotel. You know we replaced all the furniture.’

‘But you just heard what Chief Arnold said! That sofa in the Jaty Corporation suite was filled with foam!’

The general manager pursed his lips nervously. ‘I can only think that it crept past us. Somehow. You see, Mr O’Neill, the president of the Jaty Corporation used his own interior decorators, and they furnished the suite for him.’

‘Were they told of our new regulations?’ Shane demanded.

‘Oh yes. But they apparently ignored them,’ Bingley muttered.

‘That is outrageous!’ Shane exploded. ‘And in any case, we were remiss for not going back, checking that the decorators had heeded our warning about the foam.’ He tried to quiet his boiling anger, turned to the fire chief. ‘Who were the couple who died in the suite? Have they been identified yet?’

‘The son and daughter-in-law of the president of the Jaty Corporation.’

Shane shook his head sadly. His face was grave, troubled. ‘That’s your analysis of how the fire began. But what happened next, Chief Arnold?’

‘I think the sequence of events went like this.’ Don Arnold then explained, ‘To quickly recap, the cigarette set the sofa alight. The foam smouldered, eventually burst into flames. That would have been around ten forty-five, ten-fifty, in my estimation. The flames had such intensity they blew out the windows within seconds. The sudden, new supply of oxygen created a wall of fire that burned right through the doors of the suite. Fuelled by the oxygen, the fire gained murderous force as it roared along the corridor of the thirty-fourth floor. It all happened in the space of minutes. Ten or fifteen, I’d say. Fire travels with the speed of light.’

Shane nodded his understanding. He was unable to speak for a moment. He was shocked by what he had just heard. Negligence, he thought. First on the part of the decorators, and then on the part of my management. They should have had that private suite checked once it was furnished. This tragedy might well have been avoided if they had. He sighed. He had to hold Lewis Bingley accountable.

‘One thing’s for sure, Mr O’Neill,’ Chief Arnold was saying. ‘Your safety systems are the very best. The smoke-detectors, the fire doors and the sprinklers all worked like clockwork. If the hotel hadn’t been as perfectly maintained for safety as it was, you would have had an even worse disaster on your hands.’

Jason said, ‘This places gives me the joes.’

Shane stared at him. ‘What do you mean?’

‘It makes me depressed. It’s so damn gloomy, the shades drawn, the lamps turned low.’ Jason eyed the half-empty bottle of scotch on the coffee table. ‘And drinking in the middle of the afternoon, that’s not you, Shane. Come on, mate, the booze ain’t going to get you anywhere.’

‘I’m stone cold sober. But frankly, I feel like getting drunk. Bloody pissed to the gills, if you want to know the truth.’

Jason shook his head. ‘You’ve had kronk mozzle, Shane, real bad luck. But you ain’t no jackeroo. You know things like this can happen.’

‘I can’t believe the hotel burned to the ground,’ Shane began and stopped. He sprang up, began pacing the floor as he had been doing off and on for days.

‘Negligence! Sheer bloody negligence!’ he fumed. ‘If I’m not breathing down their necks every minute of the day, things start to go wrong – ‘

‘You shouldn’t be in business if you don’t want the aggro. And aggravation is the key word these days, mate. Still, I know what you mean. The fire’s been a bleedin’ horrible tragedy. I can well understand why you’re angry.’

Shane exclaimed, ‘I pay the best wages, big bonuses, they get all kinds of benefits and God knows what else, and they can’t check out the furniture in a bloody private suite. It’s criminal, Jason. Criminal. You know as well as I do that the fire would never have happened if they’d been on top of the situation. Those poor people would not have died or been injured, if my managers had done their jobs properly. That’s what makes my blood boil. So much pain and suffering for all those concerned. And I’m going to be up to my eyeballs in lawsuits and lawyers, not to mention insurance company investigators. Now they’re about to start their own investigation into the fire.’

‘Well, that’s to be expected, Shane,’ Jason was quick to point out. ‘And you know that. Anyway, they’re going to come to the same conclusions as the Fire Chief, I’m sure. And look, there’s no reason why you can’t start making plans for the rebuilding of the Sydney-O’Neill, get the architects working on the blueprints already.’

‘I don’t think I’m going to rebuild.’

Jason was shocked. ‘You have to build a new hotel, Shane! You owe it to your grandfather. More importantly, you owe it to yourself.’

Shane made no response. He sat down heavily on the sofa, dropped his head in his hands, full of weariness and despair. Jason looked down at him, suddenly worried. He had never seen Shane like this, so dishevelled and unshaven, still wearing his pyjamas and dressing gown in the middle of the afternoon. What was wrong with these young guys? Didn’t they have any balls? First Philip had fallen apart after Maddy’s death, and now Shane looked as if he was about to go to pieces, too.

Jason cleared his throat. ‘You were so abrupt with Daisy on the phone earlier, she asked me to come over to see what was going on here. She wants you to come out to Rose Bay for dinner tonight.’

Shane lifted his head, shook it. ‘I have to work.’ He shoved the pile of folders on the coffee table in front of him. ‘I have all this paperwork about the fire to deal with.’

‘It’s Saturday. You’ve got to take a break sometime. And by the way, where’s Philip?’

‘I honestly don’t know, Jason. And if you’ll forgive me, I really can’t worry about him right now. Frankly, I’ve got enough problems of my own to contend with.’

‘Yes, I know. That’s why Daisy and I want you to come over for dinner. It’ll do you good to get out, to be with people.’

‘No, I want to be alone. And really, it’s best that I am. I’ve a lot to do. And a lot of thinking to do.’

‘You know you can come over any time, if you change your mind.’

‘Yes. Thanks, Jason.’

Shane picked up the bottle of scotch and poured himself another drink.

Jason shook his head sadly as he left the study, crossed the foyer and quietly let himself out of the penthouse.