by Emily Queen
Rosemary brushed the suggestion aside. “Nonsense, Anna dear. The staff is quite capable of caring for our basic needs. The only thing I’d like is for you to try to keep our personal possessions organized; you know how messy Vera gets with her wardrobe, and her ill concern for her belongings always seems to extend to my own.” Rosemary aimed a sideways look at Vera, but as usual, it contained more mirth than irritation.
How the woman managed to get away with acting the way she did was beyond Rosemary’s comprehension, but she guessed it had something to do with the kind heart that lay beneath the seeming insensitivity. “Otherwise, you’re free to do as you please. We are on holiday, after all, and I want you to enjoy yourself. Just be careful.”
Anna thanked her mistress profusely, dressed and readied herself quickly, and went on her way after bidding Rosemary and Vera goodbye. The spring in her step brought a smile to Rosemary’s face, but evidently, Vera had a different opinion on the subject.
“Mark my words, that girl has met a boy she fancies,” Vera said once Anna exited the suite. She sneezed, a dainty noise that sounded more like the squeak of a mouse, and her eyes widened. “I do hope I’m not catching cold. We’ve only just arrived!” she said, and then returned to the subject at hand. “Did you notice how prettily Anna made herself up? I do hope she’s careful.” Had Vera realized just how maternal she sounded, it would have shocked her to the core.
“She’s a big girl,” Rosemary assured, “She can handle herself, and God help the man who tries to take advantage of her with Freddie and Des around. I fear we’d have to defend my brother’s good name a second time.”
Vera nodded. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. He certainly can be quite chivalrous. When he feels like it, of course. Still, the men here aren’t like the men at home, and Anna is young enough yet not to see the difference.”
Rosemary thought about that for a moment and found the notion more concerning than she had before. It might have been Vera’s flair for the dramatic, but she wasn’t wrong that Anna was still quite naive when it came to the workings of men. “Perhaps you’re right,” she sighed. “We’ll need to keep our eyes on her, but there’s nothing much to be done about it right this very moment. How much trouble could she really get into?”
“Plenty,” Vera snorted. “I realize you were the picture of propriety at her age, but times have changed. Luckily, you have me. I can smell a love affair from a mile away.”
Rose found it amusing that her friend considered herself schooled in that area but failed to notice the romance burgeoning right beneath her very nose. She supposed it had something to do with people being able to see clearly the entanglements of others while remaining blind to their own.
Determined not to worry about Anna any more than absolutely necessary, the women readied themselves for another day amongst the sunshine and olive trees.
A lazy afternoon ushered in the evening while Rosemary and her friends lounged on the beach. She watched as a group of children splashed around in the warm seawater, thoroughly enjoying themselves and causing a tiny ache in her chest. Children were one of life’s great gifts, and she was no longer sure if she’d be blessed with any. Still, she enjoyed watching them while they ran back and forth with boundless energy.
It didn’t seem to matter that, due to the diverseness of the island guests, several of the little ones spoke different languages; they appeared unhampered by the barrier of language, all laughing jovially together. Rosemary thought the world would be a much better place if adults could come to the same sort of understanding.
When they finally packed up and headed inside, it was nearly dinner time, so once again, the women were expected to hurry up and meet the men at the bar. Vera scowled at Freddie the third time he reminded them to hurry and nearly shoved him out of the lift when it stopped on his floor.
“She’s going to hurt you, Fred, if you don’t leave off,” Desmond warned with a laugh. The operator closed the doors on Frederick’s response, which was probably for the best.
Up one more floor they went, Rosemary relishing the thought of removing her shoes and taking a long soak in the tub despite her brother’s urge for speed. “Hold the door,” a voice called just as the gate closed once more. “Oh, bother,” Cecily said with a frown that turned upside down when she realized who was standing in the hallway.
“Rosemary, dear, how are you enjoying your stay?” Cecily included Vera in her query with a wide smile in the woman’s direction.
“Very much, indeed,” Rose replied.
Vera snorted and leaned in conspiratorially. “So much so that we may never go back home!”
“That’s what I like to hear,” Cecily said as she pressed the button to summon the lift. “I’ll be standing here for fifteen minutes before he returns,” she grimaced, swapping a slim envelope of a purse that didn’t quite coordinate with her casual outfit from one hand to the other. “I suppose I ought to take the stairs. You dear young things have a wonderful evening.”
“Wait,” Rosemary replied as Cecily made for the stairwell. “Why don’t you come in for a drink?” she offered.
Cecily raised an eyebrow and then let out one of her tinkling laughs. “I wouldn’t dream of turning down that offer.”
Once inside, she set the purse down next to the bar cart and served all three of them dirty martinis as though tending bar was part of her job description.
“I was sorry to hear about your loss, Rosemary,” Cecily said, referring to Rosemary’s late husband. “From what I’d heard, the two of you were quite the couple. A private investigator, your mother said he was.”
“Yes,” Rosemary replied, “he was. He was a wonderful man, and the world is a darker place without him. Life goes on, though, does it not?”
Cecily nodded, her eyes taking on a faraway expression as though she might know more about tragic losses than she let on. “It certainly does,” she said lightly, and then abruptly changed the subject to Rosemary’s mother.
Once Rose had assured her that her mother was thriving, Cecily proceeded to tell one or two childhood stories upon her friend. The kind dear Evelyn might have wished never to come to her daughter’s ears.
“— and once we were safely on the other side of the fence, Evvie pelted the poor groundsman with the rest of the green apples she’d tucked into her skirts. Lucky for us, I suppose, as I’m sure we’d have become quite sick from eating them.”
Thankful for the rare glimpse of her mother as a young girl, Rosemary asked for more stories until Cecily declared it was time to get back to work.
“That horrid estate agent Mr. Wright is just full of complaints this evening. He’s requested my presence in his room so many times you’d think he was trying to seduce me.” Cecily laughed at the image of herself cozying up to the plump, bald-headed man.
“He does seem rather demanding,” Rosemary agreed.
Cecily snorted. “More than demanding, and he’s been here for weeks, pestering my staff and me to our wit's end.”
Vera snorted. “At least he’s a guest rather than one of the staff. He’ll have to check out eventually, won’t he?”
At that, Cecily threw back her head and laughed. “I’ll drink to that!” she said and lifted her glass before downing the last of the martini in one gulp.
“In my line of work, I wake up in strange hotel rooms more often than my own bed.” Vera said, waving her tumbler towards Cecily, “so you must take it as a compliment when I tell you that you have turned the Aphrodite Sands into a fine establishment.”
Nodding her head, Cecily thanked Vera, then went on to say, “We’re a bit short-staffed at the moment. Two of our maids left us recently to get married. We seem to have had a run on holiday goers striking up a romance with the staff. Our second porter took a tumble on the beach and needs another few days to recover, and Gloria is sharing the bulk of the receptionist duties with the other girl, Margaret, and we’ve had to train one of the buffet attendants to man the desk during the slower times.”
Vera made sympathetic noises and Rose patted Cecily’s hand. “One would hardly notice the lack.”
“You’re too kind. I know poor Charlotte falls down on her duties. She’s something of a lost soul, and I’ve had to make certain allowances for her, though I do expect a great deal from all of my people. Hotel of Lost Souls might have been a more apt name for the place, as we seem to attract workers with tragic pasts.”
Cecily fell silent for a rare unguarded moment, and her face fell into lines of the worry and fatigue she kept carefully hidden. The poor thing, Rose thought, she’s working herself half to death.
“You do find the work rewarding, Cecily? Mother will ask how I’ve found you, and I’d like to be able to report back that you’re happy.”
“What?” Cecily put a hand to her hair. “Oh, yes. I'm sorry if I’ve given you the wrong impression. I love my work, and this hotel has become home to me, the workers like family, foibles and all. It’s just a frightful amount of work sometimes dealing with so many people. Not all of our guests are so easy to please as you.”
“Yes, the irascible Mr. Wright,” Vera’s lips twisted, and she shook her head. “He who wishes to contact the owner and make his complaints directly. How shocked he would be to learn he already has.”
“Oh,” Cecily smiled conspiratorially, “Mr. Wright has an ulterior motive of which he is certain I am unaware. He’d be even more shocked to learn I know exactly why he remains immured in a suite in a hotel he insists is not up to his standards.”
Always one to relish a juicy piece of gossip, Vera encouraged Cecily to spill the details. “Do tell.”
“Now, now, you know it wouldn’t be seemly to tell tales on a guest. Not even one as frustrating as he. Still, one does what one must.” Cecily smiled. “Now, I must get back to work. Thank you, ladies, for lightening my mood. It would be lovely if neither of you had to check out. Have a good night!”
She waved goodbye at the door and left the suite, a lighter spring in her step than had been there before.
Chapter 5
“Talk about deja vu,” Vera commented when they approached the bar and noticed Frederick talking to yet another woman while Desmond appeared to examine the crown molding with great interest. “They should have called this the Isle of Lust. Why must your brother always be such a Lothario?” The sight of Freddie’s head bent intimately towards another woman sent pings of annoyance flitting through Vera’s mind, yet as usual, she couldn’t say why.
“He has his moments,” Rosemary muttered, approaching the men just as Desmond noticed their presence.
“You both look lovely,” he said as he turned to face them, his repositioning allowing for an unobstructed view of Frederick’s companion.
She was tall, boasted a voluptuous figure not quite svelte enough to be considered currently fashionable, and was at least forty years old by Rosemary’s estimation. A handsome looking forty, but forty all the same. Vera noted that the dress she wore was couture, and probably cost a small fortune. On her left hand, a ludicrously large diamond ring flashed even in the dim light of the bar, but she tossed her hair in Frederick’s direction anyway.
Even though it felt uncharitable, Rose couldn’t help but cast a mark against the obviously spoken-for woman. She couldn’t understand the idea of tying oneself to one man if the desire to cat around still lingered, though it seemed to have become a far more frequent occurrence in recent years. Or perhaps, thought Rosemary, she had simply grown up and begun to see things for what they really were.
Sliding her thoughts from her mind and attempting to arrange her expression into something other than contempt, she turned to face Frederick. “Do we have a table?” she asked him.
“Of course, little sister,” he replied, a quelling edge to his voice. “But first, meet the lovely Geneviève Chevalier. I expect you two might have a lot to talk about. Geneviève is an artist as well.”
She highly doubted she’d find any sort of common ground with Geneviève Chevalier, and her brother knew it. He was simply mischievous, and Rosemary suddenly couldn’t wait to find out what form of retaliation Vera would use to put him in his place. If he kept up with his irksome ways, she’d gladly conspire against him on Vera’s behalf.
Rosemary held out her hand in greeting but was, instead, pulled into an enthusiastic embrace that left her with a lipstick smear on both cheeks. “Enchanté,” Geneviève boomed. “Your charming brother is correct. I sculpt and dabble in charcoal drawings, which Frederick here tells me is your specialty,” she said, slipping seamlessly into accented English. “We must sit down and chat.”
Geneviève moved on to greet Vera as if she didn’t notice the icy glare being cast in her direction. “That’s a beautiful engagement ring,” was all Vera said, her flat tone making it more of an accusation than a compliment.
“Mais oui,” Geneviève trilled. “C’est très beau, n’est-ce pas? Soon, I’ll be Geneviève Marlowe. I know, it doesn’t have quite the same ring to it, does it? And there he is, my betrothed.” Her gaze shifted towards the entrance, eyes twinkling at the sight of her fiancé.
Vera elbowed Rosemary in her side, and Rose worried that if her friend kept it up, she’d end up black and blue by the end of the holiday. “She’s French,” Rosemary muttered in response. “They’re far more exuberant than the British. Perhaps they have some sort of understanding.”
Geneviève displayed not a single ounce of shame at her flirtatious behavior, and it soon became apparent that Rosemary had been correct, for it was a trait she shared with the man she intended to marry.
“I see you’ve made friends, darling,” the man said, his gaze landing on Vera and Rosemary. He was the same man from the lift the day before; the one who had rubbed them both the wrong way from the very first word out of his mouth. Rosemary rolled her eyes; it made perfect sense that these two should be paired up.
Geneviève let out a trilling laugh and kissed her fiancé on the lips. “I always do, mon amour. This is Frederick, his friend Desmond and sister Rosemary, and her friend Vera. They’ve just come from London. Everyone, this is Benjamin Marlowe.”
“Please, call me Ben. And, I’ve already had the pleasure of meeting these two lovely ladies, haven’t I?” he said, flashing a smile he clearly considered charming. Instead, Rosemary felt as though she’d brushed against something slimy.
“Yes,” Vera murmured, “we’ve met.” Her clipped response should have been enough for Frederick to realize this was not the sort of company the women cared to dine with, but he either didn’t notice or intentionally ignored the tension while offering to share a larger table with the couple. Vera and Rosemary sent twin glares at his back while being directed towards their seats.
The table was a rectangular one, with room for two people on each side, and one on each end. Somehow, Geneviève managed to position herself as far away from her fiancé as she could and sat at one of the ends, flanked by Freddie and Desmond. That left Rosemary and Vera trapped on either side of Ben, across from one another. Thinking it best to keep Vera as far away from Frederick as possible, Rosemary sat next to him and resisted the urge to stomp on his toes herself. Every so often, Des would smile apologetically from where he sat, kitty-corner to her.
“It’s a lovely hotel, isn’t it?” Rosemary directed her comment to the entire table once the waiter had taken their drink order—cocktails, of course, plus a lavishly expensive bottle of Cabernet that Benjamin insisted they all must try.
Geneviève made a noise that might have been a dainty, French-sounding snort, and rolled her eyes. “Eh, zis tells me you are not a seasoned traveler, Rose.”
If she was trying to annoy her, Geneviève missed the mark. Rather, her disdain amused Rosemary, who refused to rise to the bait even when the pushy, overly enthusiastic woman called her by a shortened version of her name.
“Ze hotel is like a Monet, is it not?”
“I would have to disagree,” Rosemary replied lightly as her agile mind processed the re
ference. “But then again, I may not have your vast experience from which to draw.”
For a moment, Geneviève’s lips pursed as she tried to discern whether Rosemary had paid her a compliment or delivered a subtle dig at her age.
Frederick appeared perplexed, prompting Geneviève to explain, “you see, from far away, it’s lovely—a full picture, skillfully painted, depicting a scene of great beauty. However, the closer you get, the blurrier it becomes. One can see all the minute flaws, the individual brush strokes. It is, essentially, rather a messy interpretation of a lovely scene.”
While Frederick laughed at the analogy, somewhat more uproariously than necessary, Rosemary offered her observations. “I’ve always felt it is the quality of the viewing eye rather than the art itself that denotes what is pleasing. Monet sought to capture the playful nature of light itself, rather than the hard surface upon which it landed.”
Rosemary said her piece with a warm smile, leaving Geneviève again to wonder at the intent behind the comment.
Without clarifying further, Rose continued, “We’ve enjoyed our stay immensely so far.” She didn’t mention that it would have been a much better experience had they been given the other suite they’d booked—the one taken by Geneviève and Benjamin. Such criticism would only lend support to the woman’s statements, so once again, Rosemary smiled.
Unable to refute such a benign rebuke, if it was such, Geneviève turned her attention back to Frederick, entertaining him with inappropriate tales of her artistic exploits. Were the woman to be believed, she had been the inspiration for a nude portrait that now hung in the Louvre.
Vera noted with some venom that the story had had the desired effect, as Frederick’s gaze was practically pinned to the woman’s ample bosom. Had she been sitting next to him, Frederick would have been the victim of a purely accidental drink spillage. As it was, she could only express her ire by a somewhat ineffectual stomp of her pointy heel on the tip of his shoe. Hampered by distance, she barely made a dent, and the assault went ignored save for an absently apologetic glance as he pulled his foot back towards his side of the table.
