by Jenni Ogden
Her voice died away and I opened my eyes. “Is that all?”
“It’s all that I can see. Perhaps even the spirits can’t see any further.”
A shiver skittered down my spine. “That’s a bit spooky.”
“Ah, so you were entered by the spirit,” said Kat, her drawl back again.
“You’re really scaring me now.” I attempted a laugh.
“It’s always wise to be a little afraid of things we don’t understand.”
My hands were on my forehead, my fingers trying to massage away the rush of fear. “I think my jet lag is catching up with me; I feel a bit woozy. And this heat doesn’t help.” I pushed myself up from the chair. “Your turn, Lara.”
She shook her head. “No, I’ve changed my mind. It’s too creepy.”
Kat grinned. “Well, you can always come back. I’ll still be here.”
I forced a smile. “It’s been lovely to meet you, Kat. I’m not sure I believe your spirits, but they’re fascinating.”
“What will be, will be,” said Kat. “If you need any more guidance, you come back and see me.”
“Perhaps we’ll drop by again before we leave New Orleans, even if we don’t need any more coffee readings.” Scrabbling in my bag I pulled out my wallet and extracted two fifty-dollar bills. “Here’s something for your coffee fund. And thanks, Kat, for the poster and for the reading.”
Kat waved my hand away. “I don’t want your gold, Georgia. If I’ve helped you open your mind a little, then that’s reward enough for me.” She winked at Lara then grinned at me. “Mind, if you’d been a Brit, I might have taken your money. But a Kiwi? Never.”
After wandering along Bourbon Street, listening to street artists and sharing a seafood platter in one of the numerous restaurants, we were back in our room by three o’clock. Falling onto our beds, we were asleep in seconds. Waking hours later, hot and sweaty and with my head pounding, I stumbled to the bathroom and drank three glasses of flat-tasting tap water before standing, eyes closed, under a lukewarm shower. After attempting to dry myself before the perspiration re-accumulated on my skin, I pulled on the thin T-shirt I slept in and collapsed back on the bed. Lara was still asleep, sprawled on top of her sheets in her pants and bra. Glancing at my watch I saw it was 7:00 p.m. and still Thursday, August twenty-fifth. No point in phoning Adam; it would be the middle of the night in London.
Perhaps I should wake Lara and we could go out into the hot night and find something to eat? I didn’t feel hungry, but a long icy drink would be a welcome distraction. But I didn’t have the energy to get dressed again and hadn’t the heart to wake Lara. I quietly closed the bedroom door and sat on the sagging sofa in the small sitting room flicking through the myriad of crappy TV channels until I found some news. At first I thought the urgency in the newsreader’s tone was simply the usual American hype. But gradually the words began to sink in as I watched the satellite images of the gray storm swirling around its central eye and almost obscuring the underlying map of Florida.
“Tropical Storm Katrina has been upgraded to a Category 1 Hurricane, and made landfall on the coast of South Florida, north of Miami between Hallandale Beach and Adventura at six-thirty this evening. Tropical storm warnings and hurricane-force winds are predicted to batter the Florida Keys as it moves slowly over the State. The hurricane has a well-defined eye on Doppler radar and has already spawned several tornadoes. It is on track to move across the Gulf of Mexico tomorrow, where it’s in danger of increasing in intensity as it moves over the warm sea surface temperatures of the Loop Current, with a possible second landfall along the central Gulf Coast. Hurricane Katrina is the fifth hurricane of the 2005 Atlantic hurricane season, and could build into the most devastating we have seen this year.”
“Lovely,” I said out loud. “Just what we need, a bloody big wind.” I pulled on my jeans and a shirt and took the stairs to the deserted lobby. A youth with a serious crop of pimples came out of a room at the back.
“What’s up, Missus? You need somethin’?”
“I just heard about the hurricane. What will happen if it gets to New Orleans—will you be evacuating the hotel?”
“Nah, we’re always getting hurricanes here. If we got out every time, we’d never get nothin’ done.” The youth picked at a pimple.
“Is the manager here—or anyone else?”
“Nope, only me. Mrs. G. went off at seven o’clock, and I’m on until seven in the morning.”
“That’s reassuring anyway. I don’t suppose she’d leave if she were worried. It sounds safe enough to wander around and find something to eat.”
“Yeah. You’d better have a good feed.” He gave me a sly wink. “Never can tell, might be your last.”
On Friday, the minute we woke up, Lara turned on the TV. Katrina had weakened over Florida to a tropical storm, but had been upgraded again to a hurricane in the early hours of the morning, an hour before she reached the Gulf of Mexico. Poking my head out the window, I neither felt nor saw any signs of wind, but was confronted by a heat already oppressive. If the hurricane was going to affect New Orleans it was clearly a fair way off, so in the meantime we may as well see a bit more of the city. Last night, when Lara had woken, we had ventured outside and found a pizza joint, and this morning even Lara still felt too full for a big breakfast. A pastry and coffee in the hotel lobby supplied as part of the three star service was perfect.
“Now let’s go and find Savannah’s house,” said Lara.
No putting it off now. That’s what I’d promised her.
We took our time, ambling along near the Mississippi, checking out the markets and listening to the street music. We came upon the very bench where Danny and I had sat and talked the night we’d met; not that I told Lara that. But we sat there for a while watching the paddleboats. Then, licking ice creams, we walked up Poydras Street and along St. Charles Avenue, and caught the streetcar to the Garden District. With the help of a map in the tourist brochure I’d taken from our hotel, we found our way to Fourth Street, and there it was, Savannah’s house, Danny’s old home. We stood outside the closed iron gates and took it in. I could see the graceful mansion mesmerized Lara, and for me it was a time warp. The house was exactly the same, still crisply white in the humid air, the overpowering smell of tropical vegetation transporting me back to a bare-legged Danny, his messy red hair and faded pink T-shirt with its New Orleans Jazz Fest banner as vivid as a hallucination. For a moment I shut my eyes and sank into the feeling of his closeness. Then a miniature dog came running from somewhere on the street, yapping at these strangers on its patch, and the spell was broken.
“It looks a bit closed up,” Lara said, her voice uncharacteristically nervous. Nothing moved in the house, and many of the shades were drawn—although I remembered that that was no guarantee of emptiness, but rather a way to keep out the hot August sun. “Well, we won’t know unless we knock on the door,” I said, grasping the latch fastening the daunting gates. My heart was pounding. What would I say if Savannah were home? Did she know about my part in Danny's death? Even if she remembered me, like the rest of Danny's family she’d probably want nothing to do with me.
Savannah Leaumont. I could almost see her sweeping down the grand staircase. Perhaps she didn’t live here anymore? What if she had died, or was in a home?
My hand fell from the latch and I reached down to pat the little dog, who seemed to have decided we were friends and not foe.
“Come on, what’s the worse that can happen?” said my wise daughter, her tone determined now. She unlatched the gate and walked up the path to the door. The sound of the snarling lion’s head hitting the brass panel on the beautiful door echoed through the house. We stood there, poised to… poised to smile? To introduce ourselves as long lost family? Nothing. No footsteps.
“Oh, she’s not home,” Lara said, those four little words trembling with her pent-up emotions. This had meant so much to her, more than I’d realized. And now she was going to be disappointed. She ba
nged the lion against the door again, but there was no one there, or if they were they weren’t keen to open the door.
“You lookin’ for Miz Leaumont?”
We both jumped and spun around. The man was clearly the gardener with his gardening fork balanced across his wheelbarrow.
“Hi,” Lara said. “Yes, we are looking for Mrs. Leaumont. Is this her house?”
“Has been for as long as I can remember,” he said, “but she’s not here. She’s getting something done in hospital. Went in yesterday.”
“Oh. I’m sorry. I hope it’s not too serious?” I said.
He shook his head. “She had the other one done a few months ago and she was back on her feet in no time.”
“The other one?” I asked.
“Her hip. They can replace them these days. Wear ’em out and they stick in new ones.”
“Ah. Well that’s good. Do you have any idea when she might be home?”
Another shake of the head.
“Do you know which hospital she’s in?”
“Might be Memorial. Not too sure.”
“Thank you. What a shame we’ve missed her.” I could see Lara drooping by my side. “We might be back next year some time. Hopefully we’ll be able to see her then.”
“Mr. Luke usually comes by every few days. Do you want me to give him a message? He can pass it on to Miz Leaumont.”
“Yes, we do,” said Lara, before I could reply.
I frowned at her. “No, but thanks. We’ll get in touch with her later when she’s fully recovered from her surgery.”
“Gosh, I’m so thirsty,” Lara said. “I don’t suppose I could get a glass of water?” Her hand was on the enormous front door handle.
“That’s locked, Miss. There’s a tap around the back but you’ll have to drink from your hands.”
“Oh. OK.” She stomped down the steps and followed him around the back of the house. Little minx. I was hot, but my stomach had stopped churning. Goodness knows what Lara would have said if Savannah had been home. It was probably a blessing we hadn’t come two days ago. Savannah might have been in hospital now with a heart attack instead of a hip to be replaced.
Back in the hotel around four o’clock, we had cold showers before turning on the TV. We didn’t have to wait more than a second to discover the latest dire news.
“Hurricane Katrina is rapidly intensifying as it crosses the Gulf of Mexico, and experts are putting New Orleans directly in its path, with the chances of a direct hit forecast at ninety percent. The city is predicted to feel the full force of the hurricane by Sunday night or the early hours of Monday. This could be an unprecedented cataclysm, as eighty percent of the city lies below sea level. Louisiana governor, Kathleen Blanco, has declared a state of emergency for state agencies. All residents should secure their properties immediately and make urgent preparations for a possible evacuation. Those who are able and have transport should leave New Orleans as soon as possible until the hurricane is over, and it is declared safe to return.”
Why didn’t I feel more apprehensive? Probably because I’d never experienced what a major hurricane could do first hand. The American media always over-reacted in situations like these. Going by the parties in the streets and some of the flippant comments we had overheard in the pizzeria last night, the French Quarter was clearly of a similar mind. But we’d better check what the hotel was doing, if anything.
I left Lara gazing at the poster of Danny and went down to the lobby. Mrs. G. was chatting to the porter and broke off when she saw me. “How are you, Dr. Grayson? Enjoying your stay?”
“We are, thank you. I thought I’d better ask you about this hurricane; we don’t have too many in London.” I smiled at her.
“It does look as if it might be a bad one. They seem to be getting worse every year.” Mrs. G didn’t look the least bit concerned.
“I heard on the news that the Governor had declared a state of emergency. Are people getting out of the city?”
“Some will be, but plenty can’t or won’t. Best to wait and see. We can’t be getting out every time there’s a hurricane. I think this is the third already this season.”
“But on the news they seemed to think there was a ninety percent chance that this one will hit New Orleans head on, and that you might get a lot of flooding.”
“They always say that. I s’pose they have to cover their butts,” the pimply porter contributed, grinning broadly at me. “Don’t worry about it. It will get a bit windy, but we’re OK here.”
“This hotel is awfully close to the river. Isn’t that a concern?”
“It ain’t never bin flooded before,” the porter replied. “Anyways, it won’t be here for ages yet. Chances are it will take a turn and end up somewhere else before then.”
I reported back to Lara who seemed as unworried as pimple face. “Well, there’s no point in getting in a tizzy. If the locals aren’t worried by the media hysteria, why should we be?”
“You’re right. But I’d better phone Adam. He’s probably pulling his hair out.”
He answered after the first ring, interrupting my greeting with a rush of words. “Georgia, thank goodness. I’ve been pulling my hair out. Are you all right? What’s happening there?”
I tried not to smile but then realized he couldn’t see me, so let it rip. “It’s OK, Adam. Everything here is perfectly normal. You know Americans. They love to go over the top about these sorts of things.”
“Haven’t you been listening to the news? The hurricane is gaining strength, and New Orleans is directly in its path.”
“If that looks like happening there’s plenty of time to get to somewhere safe. In fact, the best strategy is to stay put inside.”
“You should get out now while you can. It’s not your city, so why even risk it?”
“Adam, for heaven’s sake stop dramatizing. I’m perfectly capable of making sensible decisions about what to do and when. I’ll decide tomorrow, depending on the latest information. If necessary we’ll get a flight to Houston, or perhaps we’ll rent a car and drive there. So calm down.”
Adam was silent for a few moments. The tension crackled across the phone line. “Why can’t you just get a flight home? Lara shouldn’t even be there.”
“Because we’ve just got here. If the hurricane does hit, it’s only going to last a few days. Lara’s so excited. We’re going to Snug Harbor tonight.” I could hear the irritation in my tone. I forced a more cheerful note. “You’d love it here. I’d forgotten how fascinating it is. History and romance pours out of every street, and the music is fantastic. There are musicians and street clowns and break-dancers on every corner, and they’re all so good. We’d pay hundreds of dollars to see them in a theater in London. And the food is to die for; great for a seafood freak like you.”
“What on earth is Snug Harbor?”
“It’s the best jazz club in New Orleans. We’re having dinner in its little restaurant first.”
“Lara shouldn’t be out so late. Have you forgotten she’s recovering from a head injury? You know how exhausted she gets.”
“We’re going to the 8pm show and dinner before that. We’ll be home in our little beds by 10pm. It’s only a ten minute walk from our hotel.”
“Let me talk to him, Mum,” said Lara, almost snatching the phone out of my hand.
“Dad, it’s Charmaine Neville tonight. She’s the Queen of Jazz. She’s phenomenal. It’s the best birthday present I could have. The only thing that would make it better would be having you and Finnie here too.”
I don’t know why I bother really. Listen and learn, listen and learn.
Snug Harbor was as incredible and intimate as I’d remembered. Lara’s entranced expression alone made the trip worthwhile. She’d even stopped moaning about missing Savannah. Her next plan—which I hadn’t agreed to—was to visit Savannah in hospital on Tuesday, after my meeting finished and before we had to get to the airport for our flight home. But I was a bit shaken up by Adam’s conce
rns. If the hurricane were still a threat in the morning, I’d see if the meeting was still on schedule. If it were cancelled then we’d try and get a flight to Houston or Atlanta. Perhaps if Katrina blew herself out quickly we might even be able to return to New Orleans for a day and use the air tickets home to London that I’d already paid for.
What about that Kat, though? The wily old devil must have already known that the hurricane was coming; that’s why she said I’d be facing challenges in a wild storm and I should stay and face it, or something like that. Perhaps we should stay. It would be a new experience for both of us.
I grinned. Wouldn’t Adam love it when he discovered that I took more notice of a crazy old voodoo witch than him. Hope the old lady keeps safe. Her voodoo shop was even closer to the river than the hotel, and it didn’t look as if it could stand much wind. Perhaps she’d escape on her broomstick.
Chapter 15
Any hope that Katrina would miraculously disappear overnight was quashed next morning with the dramatic news, broadcast continually, that the killer hurricane was now a Category 4 with winds in excess of 140 miles per hour. And it was still right on track for New Orleans. At last my gut told me this was real, and it was time to get out. I phoned the hotel where our meeting was to be; as I expected it had been cancelled. Most of the neurosurgeons had already cancelled their flights; they’d not been due to arrive until Sunday.
There was a short queue at our hotel reception desk, the first I’d ever seen there. As I stood behind a large family—large parents and two large children, all eating large doughnuts—I overheard them asking why their shuttle hadn’t arrived to take them to the airport. Mrs. G, uncharacteristically harassed, assured them she’d called it over an hour ago, and they would have to be patient. As they collapsed on some seats near the door, enormous bags stacked beside them, Mrs. G. greeted me with a wry smile.
