by Alicia Hope
Jill had been right, the pub’s interior was just like a British ‘corner local’. It was lit by bright coach lamps spread around the room, and typically British beers were served from highly polished brass taps. Classic tavern-esque music played in the background, and the dining room was furnished with pub-style booths. The bench seats and chunky timber tables were scarred with the wear and tear of many clients over many years.
Although the room wasn’t full, there was a good crowd. It was still early, so most people were eating or talking quietly. Claire-Rose was sure things would get rowdier later in the evening, but was unaware how prophetic that assumption would prove to be....
The bartender’s pride in his pub was easy to see. He took care to keep the bar area spic-n-span, and when serving customers, used British pub lingo and emphasised his English accent. He indicated a free booth for the three newcomers, and after they’d settled themselves, it wasn’t long before Claire-Rose picked up the jangle of an Australian accent nearby. It was coming from a booth two over.
Selena had also identified a group of Germans at another table. In the group’s centre a big, loud man boomed what sounded like instructions, which everyone within cooee of him could clearly hear, if not understand. Claire-Rose grinned, mentally assigning him the title of ‘self-appointed Director of German Proceedings’.
After they’d enjoyed a traditional pub-style meal of roast of the day followed by jam roly-poly and custard, Claire-Rose noticed the Meiers gazing over at the Germans’ table.
‘Would you like to go and introduce yourselves?’
At their enthusiastic nods, Claire-Rose moved to let them exit the booth. Glancing over at the Aussies’ table, she found two men and a woman looking at her. They smiled a welcome so she went to introduce herself.
‘Hello fellow Aussies. I’m Claire-Rose, from Queensland.’
* * *
Wed, 9 October, 07:15:30
From: Claire-Rose.Brande
To: Connie.Brande
Re: CR’s Travel Log, day 3
Thanks for the news from home, Mum. Glad you’re enjoying sharing this holiday with me, even if only via my travel-e-log. It sounds like my idea of ‘taking’ you everywhere I go, in spirit, just might work.
Hope your convalescence is going well and you’re doing what the ‘damn doctor’ tells you. I want you up and about again ASAP. The office won’t be the same without you lording it over everyone from the executive suite’s plush confines!
And I hope the groom at the spelling stable is taking good care of Razoo. Being an anglo arab, Raz might be more delicate than my other (dear) old scrubbers, and I don’t want anything to interfere with his preparation for our first endurance ride.
I know, I’m being a worry-wart, but I’d hate it if anything happened to either of you.
Had dinner in town last night, at this great little British-styled pub where I met three other Aussies, also on holiday. What fun, I’m still giggling! We agreed to meet for dinner again tonight, at a Chinese restaurant in town, not far from their B-n-B. Looking forward to it already, they’re a hoot! I haven’t laughed so much in ages, but I’ll tell you about that later. For now, here’s more of what yours truly, AKA the ‘ten dollar tourist’, did yesterday.
Our tour guide, Jeff, who pronounced his name ‘Jiff’, showed us around the city. First stop was the inner city plaza. We spent some time exploring it before Jeff took us to visit the historic railway station.
He described the station buildings as ‘embodying the city’s wilthy inhiritance’. :-) Don’t ya love the Kiwi accent?! Ok, back to the story ... apparently it was the country’s busiest station at the height of the city’s prosperity, handling around a hundred trains a day! It was opened early in the nineteen hundreds and is the city’s fourth railway station. Jeff didn’t say what happened to the other three....
According to the brochure, and I quote, ‘The combination of over-the-top decoration and the use of contrasting dark basalt and white Oamaru limestone, earned its architect the nick-name “Gingerbread George”.’ And I must say, Mum, it did remind me of the famed gingerbread house! Have photos to show you when I get home.
So, I hope you enjoyed this first report from the ten dollar tourist extraordinaire. :) I’ve also booked a harbour cruise, with visits to the yellow-eyed penguin, albatross and seal colonies. You’ll need to take your seasickness tablets for that one, ya scurvy swab. Arrr!
Anyway, after we returned to the castle yesterday afternoon, I felt like stretching my legs so I took a stroll around the gardens. I also went up to admire the view from the castle’s highest point, its parapet. Apparently Richard Lorienne (Edward’s father) had this built specially so he could watch his timber ships sail into the harbour. The parapet was first called ‘Lorienne’s Look’ and later ‘Edward’s Folly’. There’s a steep, narrow set of stone steps leading to it, with barely enough room for one person. So of course I had to run into someone mid-flight, didn’t I?
It was Byron McAlister. Did I tell you about him? He’s another of the castle’s owners, who also butles at dinner and does a damn fine job of it. Quite dishy too, so it wasn’t too awful having to squeeze past him on the stairs! But before you start thinking anything, he’s obviously a ‘good time for a short time’ character – too much like yours truly to get those antennae of yours twitching!
Hey, you know the cat I told you about? I’ve decided to name him Topaz. It’s friendlier than calling him ‘the cat’, seeing as how he’s claimed me as his BFF. He follows me around and sleeps in my room, so I guess my secret’s out – the whole world knows I’m a soft touch!
Oh, and before I forget ... remember I told you on the phone about the strange dream I had on my first night here, about the shipwreck of the Polly Brown? Well, last night I had another bizarre dream. In it, I was living in the castle with the Lorienne family, and everyone was calling me ‘Elizabeth’. I guess hearing Gran’s story about Elizabeth and Edward Lorienne, and now being here under their roof, has fired up my imagination – which doesn’t take much as you know!
Oh, and you’ll be intrigued by this little snippet from my dream. I glimpsed my reflection in a mirror, only it was Elizabeth staring back at me, looking the same as in the old photo Gran showed us, Brande Topaz eyes and all. There’s also a photo of her hanging in the castle’s reception office, posing with a man I assume was her husband, Edward. Anyway, back to the dream ... after the mirror scene, I found myself riding a beautiful bay thoroughbred along the top of the peninsula, and then suddenly I was in the castle ballroom in the arms of a tall, elegantly dressed, very handsome man, the one in the photo with Elizabeth. What a hunk, Mum!
I was wearing this fabulous gold gown (gotta get me one of those) and a pair of oh-so-glamorous high heels. We were dancing, but it felt more like I was floating. He held me close and looked adoringly at me *dreamy sigh*. Yeah, as the song says, I coulda danced all night....
I read in the castle brochure that Edward added the ballroom wing as a wedding gift for his wife. Cool guy, why don’t they make men like that any more? :(
‘Phew, I’m starting to get RSI from all this traveloguing so I’ll sign off now.
Luv,
CR xxx
Later, when she walked into the common room, Claire-Rose saw the Jenkins and Foxes already seated at a sunny window table. Jill glanced up and immediately beckoned her over.
‘Come, join us, there’s room.’ She smiled a warm greeting and Claire-Rose was pleased at the prospect of some company over breakfast.
‘Did you have a good night, Claire-Rose? No ghostly visitations I hope?’ Alan’s satirical eyebrow was accompanied by a boyish grin, and everyone chuckled.
Claire-Rose snorted, ‘No visitations, apart from Topaz, and none expected. I had a peaceful night, although I did have some funny dreams.’
‘Topaz?’
‘Yes, the cat who’s claimed me. He was waiting outside the room when I checked in, and
doesn’t appear to see any reason why he should leave. Not that I want him to if I’m honest; it’s nice having a roomy.’
‘Oh, I wish our room had come with a cat. I love cats, but Peter won’t let me have one.’ Jill looked wistful but Peter cut in dryly, ‘Yes, sneezing out cat hair is one of my favourite occupations.’
Jill didn’t say anything, but glared at her husband and drew her lips into a thin, disapproving line.
Ah yes, Claire-Rose smiled to herself, good old wedded bliss, alive and well.
‘What can I get for you, madam?’
It was that rich, deep voice again. Claire-Rose could feel it vibrating its velvet fingers along her spine. She gave herself a mental shake. ‘Oh, Byron ... um ... good morning.’
‘And the same to you, madam.’ He gazed at her, poker-faced, and enquired pleasantly, ‘Can I start by offering you a hot drink?’
‘Oh yes, please. An English Breakfast tea would be great. I like it white, but fairly strong.’
‘Right you are.’
She watched him move over to the buffet to prepare her tea. Taking an elegant porcelain teapot from under its thick woollen cosy, he poured steaming amber liquid into a fine china cup. He had abandoned the butler garb and was dressed more casually in cream chinos and a white shirt. His hair sat naturally, and Claire-Rose realised it wasn’t as dark as she had first thought when seeing it slicked back in severe butler style.
‘If I were your age, and single, I think I’d like the cut of his jib.’ Sally leaned toward Claire-Rose with a noticeable twinkle in her eyes, and went on in a low voice, ‘Easy on the eye and doesn’t smell half bad either – like freshly soaped skin lightly sprinkled with a woody aftershave. Quite a charming combo.’ Sighing, she winked at Claire-Rose before returning to the task of spooning sugar into her black coffee.
‘Um ... OK.’ Claire-Rose gave a bemused frown and hurriedly changed the subject. ‘So, what’s everyone doing today?’ On hearing Jill and Peter’s plans to further explore the castle and grounds, she remarked to Peter, ‘You’re in for a treat. The quality of the woodwork is astounding, and wait ’til you see the famous ‘hanging’ timber staircase!’
Peter gave a patronising sniff. ‘Yes, well I’ve already seen some of the woodwork, and it’s OK.’
Claire-Rose spluttered, ‘Just OK?’ She could hardly believe anyone would describe the expert craftsmanship on display in the castle as merely ‘OK’.
Peter puffed out his chest. ‘Yes, I’ve seen better. You see, I’m something of a handy man myself—’
‘Oh!’ Jill exclaimed with a roll of her eyes, ‘That’s rich, coming from the man who built what’s been christened the “stairs of death” at our place.’
Everyone except Peter laughed, and Alan gave him a good-natured thump on the shoulder. ‘Women, hey old man? Never satisfied! There’s no livin’ with ’em, but no livin’ without ’em either!’
Claire-Rose sat back, chuckling, and discovered a steaming cup of tea by her elbow. How long had it been there? Byron certainly had the unobtrusive servant thing down pat. She got up to help herself to the buffet, selecting a bowl of fresh fruit and yoghurt, and followed this with crunchy sour dough toast and home-made marmalade.
By the time she’d finished breakfast, the others were preparing to leave. Claire-Rose placed an order for a picnic lunch, before heading to her room to get ready for the day. It was a fine morning so she decided to spend it in the garden, and to have her lunch there.
Back in her room, she freshened up and applied a light moisturiser to the clear skin of her face. She added a touch of coral lipstick and a flick of eyeliner and put her long hair up into a soft knot. Certain she was being overly optimistic about the prospect of a warm day, she draped a cardigan over her shoulders. Sliding her feet into white sandals and putting her laptop into her shopping bag, which now also contained a bunch of tourist brochures, she headed outside.
Chapter Six
Silken Slips and Tall Ships
Meandering around the garden, admiring its meticulous layout and exotic plants, Claire-Rose sought the best spot to sit and catch up on her emails. When she found a long park bench under dappled shade in a secluded area, she settled herself with a contented sigh. Pulling her laptop out of her bag, she turned it on and plugged in the remote connector for the internet.
After a while, the shade grew sparse and the late morning sun warmed her back. Tendrils of hair had escaped from the shiny knot on top of her head and clung to beads of moisture on her cheek and neck. She stretched her shapely legs along the bench, and yawned. Peering at her laptop’s screen for a couple of hours had made her drowsy.
What harm could it do to close my eyes for a minute? I’m on holiday after all, and who’s around to see me, tucked over here by the coach house?
That was where Byron found her at midday, when he came to deliver her picnic lunch. Catching sight of her, he slowed his pace so he could admire the pretty picture she made, framed by the garden’s soft greenness and back-lit by dappled sunlight. Her glossy head rested on one slender arm draped along the backrest, while her left hand – sans ring on the third finger he noted – meant to be grasping her laptop, had slid down to rest on the seat. This left the computer perilously close to toppling from her tilting lap.
His lips stretched into a slow smile at the sight of her sun-pinked face. Without the intrusion of those curious and probing eyes, she looked like the quintessential ‘girl next-door’, complete with the obligatory smattering of freckles across her nose. Soft strands of hair drifted around her head like gilded gossamer. The buttercup yellow cardigan tied loosely around her shoulders gave her a golden glow, and the skirt of her white sundress floated around the Queensland tan of her legs, which were now tucked neatly beneath her. When he caught a glimpse of a silken slip clinging to a shapely knee, he allowed his eyes to linger and admire the satin sheen of her skin. A gentle waft of her floral perfume caressed his nose like a kitten’s soft paw.
When her skin prickled under his scrutiny, her eyes snapped open and she sat up abruptly. The sudden movement sent her laptop sliding downward. She gasped and threw herself forward, trying clumsily to grab it, but it would have crashed onto the paved pathway if not for Byron’s quick actions. He managed to hold the picnic basket in one hand and grab the computer mid-drop with the other.
In the end, the only casualty was her carry bag, which was knocked onto its side in the kafuffle. Quick saves must be part of butler training, her sleepy brain registered. But this was swiftly eclipsed by the realisation their desperate actions had brought their faces to within mere inches of one another. She hastily drew back and blushed.
Byron gave a lazy grin and said with exaggerated pomposity, ‘Your lunch, madam? And your ... device.’
‘Oh ... thanks. Yes, ah, lunch. Um, thank you Jeeves ... er ... Byron. Nice save by the way.’ Claire-Rose swept a flustered hand across her face. She hated being caught off-guard, and wished he would simply dump the basket and leave her to collect her wits. But he appeared inclined to linger.
‘Don’t mention it. All part of the service.’ He placed the picnic basket on the path beside her upturned bag, which he righted, collecting the spilled brochures as he did so. ‘You’ve picked a nice spot to ... um ... shall we call it work?’ There was no doubting the mischief in his smiling, chocolate-brown eyes.
‘Yes, well....’ She cleared her throat, trying to get a hold of herself again.
‘May I?’ He indicated the seat beside her.
‘Yes, of course,’ she mumbled, moving to make room for him and pushing errant strands of hair behind her ears. She was hoping – no, praying – that nothing untoward had happened to her clothing while she slept.
Damn, I should’ve checked as soon as I woke up. What if a gust of wind had blown my skirt up?
‘I hope I was ... um ... respectable when you found me?’ She gave a small frown and winced, which only amused him further.
‘Oh yes, completely acceptable ... er ... r
espectable.’
At the tongue-in-cheek response, Claire-Rose stopped fussing with herself and regarded him levelly. Yes, he was definitely teasing. Shaking her head, she grinned with him. ‘Well, that’ll teach me to fall asleep when I’m ‘sposed to be working!’
‘You’re on holiday aren’t you? So why the hell are you working at all? You should feel free to sleep as much as you like.’ Byron stretched out his legs and leaned back, crossing his arms behind his head.
‘Yes, but it wasn’t all work. Mostly just checking my emails in case there was something interesting.’
‘And was there?’
‘No. Well, I didn’t get to read them all before....’
‘Before the sandman came a’calling?’
‘Yeah, the sandman, let’s blame him. It’s all his fault I fell asleep! But I guess I was tired. I’ve been having some funny dreams lately.’
‘What about?’
‘Well, the first one was about a tragic shipwreck. A giant wave – like out of that movie, A Perfect Storm, you know? – swallowed a ship, and I could hear the victims screaming as it went down. It was dreadful.’ Her brow puckered at the memory.
‘A shipwreck, eh? Not the cheeriest thing to dream about.’ He paused thoughtfully before saying, ‘I’ve heard some sad stories about seafaring disasters.’
‘Oh yeah?’
‘Yep. There was this one moving tale, about a boy ... now, how did it go? Oh yeah.’ Byron surprised Claire-Rose by abruptly rising to his feet and straightening to his full height. He struck a formal pose, one hand on his heart and the other stretched in front of him, palm upright, with the fingers pinched together. With a solemn expression, he recited in a baritone voice, ‘The boy stood on the burning deck....’
She grimaced.
‘... his pocket full of crackers ...’
She gave a loud groan but he carried on, unrelentingly, ‘One fell down between his legs ...’
