Monty barked noisily in agreement.
A screen door suddenly opened on the side of the house, and a tall woman with dark, short hair walked out wiping her hands nervously on the side of her jeans. On one side of the doorway, a raised garden bed overflowing with chilli plants, parsley, basil, rocket, tarragon, mint, coriander, and rosemary fragranced the air.
“Oh my God,” Elise said exuberantly. “You’re finally here. I didn’t hear you pull up over the sound of Gary’s chainsaw. It wasn’t until I heard Monty bark… I just can’t believe you’re really here after all this time.” She closed her mouth so as to stop the steam of chatter bubbling from her mouth and began again. “What I mean to say is… Let me start again. It is lovely to have you here. I’m Elise. Welcome to the Lakeside Writers’ Retreat. Please come inside and make yourself right at home. The jug has just boiled.”
Rolling over on the ground, Monty pulled himself up onto four paws and sprinted over to Elise. He licked Elise’s hand excitedly, and Becky noticed it was clenched in a tight knot by her side. He continued licking her hand until Elise slowly unfurled her fingers. She held open wide the screen door with her other hand.
“Welcome to our home, Becky. Well, technically, Mallory, Polly and I live in the three-bedroom granny flat attached to the far side of the retreat.” And with that, Elise reached out and pulled Becky into such a tight embrace, that Becky thought Elise may never let her go. Then, just as abruptly, Elise released her. “Actually, I’m going to need something a little stronger than a cup of coffee. I have a nice bottle of chardonnay chilling in the fridge. Who would like to join me in a glass?” she asked, ushering them all inside. “Our early dinner will be ready soon, too. I hope you like seafood, Becky? And I thought we could eat outside, under the pergola; it’s been such a lovely day outside today,” Elise said, chattering away nervously. “The table is already set.”
“That sounds lovely,” Becky said, “but, just a glass of cold water for me, thank you. The trip up the Gillies was a little more than I anticipated, and I should really fetch my luggage. Freshen up a little first. Get out of these jeans and boots and change into something cooler. Brush my teeth… Frankly, I feel like shite warmed up.” She turned and noticed a timber engraved sign over the kitchen bench, and tried to pronounce the words aloud. “Unus pro omnibus, omnes pro uno. What does that mean?” she asked, turning to look at Elise.
“It means, one for all, all for one,” Elise said, her eyes drifting across the room to look at Polly and Mallory. Elise pulled her shoulders back. “And by the way, you look just fine to me, but I can understand that you would want to freshen up after such a long flight.” She looked apprehensively around the kitchen, and then looked down at her feet. “Oh, and this is Little Miss,” she said as a tortoiseshell cat appeared, winding its way between her ankles.
Becky leaned down to pat Little Miss on the head as the cat sashayed over to her. “Hi, Little Miss. Cute name you have there, girl.”
“Named after the little girl in Bi-centennial Man,” Elise said. “It’s one of my most favourite Robin Williams movies. That man is a genius in my opinion. It will be a very sad day indeed when he departs from this world.”
“I’ll have Gary fetch your luggage in a moment,” Polly said. “I saw him out by the car just now-”
“SHIT! WHAT THE FUCK!”
Polly turned back and peered through the side door to see Gary gazing into his tool bag, a mortified look on his face. “I think he’s just found his tool bag,” she said, trying to suppress the urge to giggle by pressing her fingertips to her lips.
Monty shot out of the open door like a bullet, then bounded up to his master standing by the car. Little Miss doubled in size, hissed, and then shot off in the opposite direction toward the hallway, disappearing up a tinsel and fairylight-decorated flight of stairs which led to the upper floor of the sprawling retreat.
Mallory burst out laughing as she looked through the window, and then sucked in a breath when she saw the look on Gary’s face.
“Oh, no. I feel so embarrassed,” Becky whined, ducking behind Elise to hide. Becky didn’t want to see Gary, and she most certainly didn’t want him to see her, either.
“What have I missed?” Elise asked, glancing from one woman to the other, then out through the door to watch Gary storming toward the house like a bull at a gate, his head low, his tool bag swinging back and forth by his side, Monty trotting loyally in his wake.
“Oh, heavens. Come on,” Mallory said, taking hold of Becky’s elbow and leading her quickly down a wide hallway decorated by framed artwork, and towards the same flight of stairs Little Miss had disappeared up during her hasty escape. “I’ll take you up to your room. It has a nice little balcony with a lovely view over the lake, very relaxing. Well, technically, it’s a man-made reservoir, but everyone calls it a lake, or a dam. There’s a nice en-suite, too, so you can take a shower and freshen up a bit. A nap after such a long flight wouldn’t hurt, either.”
“What about Gary?”
“Don’t you worry about Gary. Polly will set him straight and explain what happened. He’s had a bee in his bonnet ever since he split up with little-miss-I’m-so-perfect Wendy Lowman six months ago. Don’t know what he ever saw in her. Wendy is one of those Kim Kardashian wannabe types. As original as a Hermes handbag knockoff.”
Becky allowed herself to be led quickly away by the elbow. Surely throwing up in the tool bag was a far better option than throwing up all over the floor of his car. Or perhaps not. Perhaps he wouldn’t have noticed if she’d thrown up on the car floor, which was littered with so much trash you could barely see it.
Mallory continued with her spiel like a hotel concierge, while pointing out particular features. “You should find the bed more than comfortable. You’ll find clean towels in the bathroom. A lovely writing desk here, to set your laptop up on.” She walked over to a side table. “Help yourself to the fresh fruit. And don’t worry about your bags. Someone will be up with them shortly.”
Mallory pulled the door to Becky’s bedroom closed, but Becky could still hear Mallory’s voice trailing off down the hall. Becky tested the bed with her hands, then fell backward onto the queen-sized bed. She closed her eyes. After a few moments, she forced herself to sit up. Leaning down, she unzipped her three-inch heeled boots and pulled them off. Sighing, she wriggled her toes, relishing in the simple pleasure of being barefoot.
A welcomed breath of cool air billowed the curtains hanging on either side of a double doorway, beckoning her off the bed and out onto the small balcony furnished with two brown wicker chairs and a round table with a glass top. In the centre was a pottery bowl holding a white pillar candle. Becky leaned against the railing, her eyes sweeping across the lush, green grounds surrounding the retreat, then over the picturesque lake stretching out in all directions before her. Sunshine glistened and danced on the glassy surface of the water. The wake of a speed boat in the distance sent a wash of water splashing lightly along the grassy embankment. She could hear faraway voices and kitchen noises in the house below, and a strange thought took root in her mind. What if she stayed? What if she never went back?
Suddenly feeling tired, she turned her back on the lake and went back inside to lay down. A quick nap would make her feel better.
Ten minutes later she was still wide awake, with tears running down her cheeks. “I miss you, Mum,” she whispered into the damp pillowcase. She never knew when the tears would come. Sometimes, like now, grief for her mother would slam into her like a speeding train, and the overwhelming desire to have her mother’s arms around her was more than she could endure.
Becky sat up suddenly when she sensed a sudden movement. She looked down wearily to the foot of the bed, which was drenched in afternoon sun, and saw two yellow eyes peering back at her.
“Come on, Little Miss,” she said, wiping her tears away with the back of her hand, and then patting the bed beside her. The cat sauntered up to Becky’s side, then curled up in a ball, the
purring managing to drown out the chirping cicadas outside.
Moments later, Becky was fast asleep, and only woke when Elise knocked on the door to tell her that dinner was ready.
Becky’s eyes darted around the room, until realization sank in. Little Miss stretched lazily by her side, then went abruptly back to sleep. Outside, the sun was low on the horizon, drenching her room in a muted glow.
Becky sat up, wiping saliva off her chin. “I’ll be down shortly. I just need to take a quick shower and dress,” Becky called back.
Chapter 7
Tropical Wonderland.
BECKY JENSEN’S FACEBOOK STATUS: Cairns – As hot as bloody Hades – but awesomely beautiful!
Becky bathed, then quickly dressed, deciding on a floral sundress with spaghetti straps and a pair of flat, yellow sandals. She pulled her hair back and fastened it into a ponytail, then looped a sheer, orange scarf around her neck, just in case the weather turned cooler later in the evening, down by the lake. Apart from the orange lip gloss she applied, the rest of her face remained make-up free. She quickly unpacked her luggage, which had been delivered to her room, as promised, while she’d been showering, and hung her clothes up in the lovely timber wardrobe.
Thinking about home, she sat down on the bed and rummaged through her bag for her phone. “Damn it,” she said, remembering that she’d forgotten it. She thought about Uncle Steve, and how over the years he had proven time and time again that he was her rock, her go-to person, whenever she needed a shoulder to cry on, or simply needed someone to confide in. She thought about his advice at the airport.
“Forget about all this Roger and Mandy stuff, okay? You go and have a good time, alright? They’re not worth it. Don’t let them take this holiday away from you. You deserve this.”
“Thank you, Uncle Steve,” she said, smiling to herself. She did deserve this. She would not let Roger and Mandy take this holiday away from her by thinking about them every minute of the day.
Downstairs, she accompanied Elise out to the pergola down at the lake’s edge. A small jetty stretched out before them, with a small row boat bobbing up and down at the end. Farther out, a moored pontoon rose and fell gently on the water. On the water’s edge, two pelicans ambled idly along, enjoying an evening stroll.
“How’s your stomach? Still upset?” Elise asked.
Becky nodded. “A little,” she replied.
“Here you go, this will help,” Elise said, pouring Becky a cup of tea from an old china teapot. “A nice cup of tea will soon settle that upset stomach of yours.” Walking around to the other side of the table, Elise pulled out a chair opposite Becky and sat down. Overhead, fist-sized passion fruit swung to-and-fro from the pergola as a light breeze came in off the lake. Picking up a lighter from the table, Elise stood, then walked slowly along the table, lighting potted candles. “Citronella,” she explained, “to keep the bugs at bay.”
“There is something very soothing about candle light,” Becky said, competing with the cacophony of cicadas and frogs as they chirped raucously from treetops and along the lake’s edge.
“You are feeling a little better, though, aren’t you?”
“Yes. A shower and a nap was just what I needed,” Becky replied, taking a sip of her herbal tea. “This tea is absolutely lovely. What is it?”
“Gorgeous Geisha. It’s a green tea we purchase especially from a store in Cairns. Can you smell the strawberries and cream?”
Becky inhaled. “Yes. I wondered what the smell reminded me of. But you’re right, it’s strawberries and cream. Amazing. Dessert in a cup, without the calories. I’ll have to buy some, if I get the opportunity. Uncle Steve and Grandma would really love this. They are both real sticklers for a nice cup of herbal tea in the evenings.”
Elise smiled, cleared her throat, and then looked away. The sun had set, painting the sky in an exotic fusion of colours as far as the eye could see. “The lake looks lovely at this time of the day, doesn’t it?” Nearby, a flock of birds chattered noisily in the tall branches of a massive fig tree as they prepared for nightfall.
Moments later, tiny white light bulbs suspended from the pergola blinked on among the passion fruit vine, lighting the table in a soft glow. Then suddenly, as though on cue from some unseen conductor, patches of the landscaped gardens were bathed in light as concealed floodlights beamed skyward. A tall Norfolk pine twinkled with hundreds of tiny colourful lights.
Becky looked up in surprise. “It’s like a magical wonderland. I love it. Everything is just so beautiful here.” Becky took another long sip of her tea, enjoying the warm, fragrant liquid in her mouth. Placing her cup on the table, she looked out over the darkening lake as the sun flickered on the horizon, then, moments later, blinked out completely. She could actually feel the heavy weight of the last year lifting slowly off her shoulders as the day turned into night. She couldn’t imagine anyone, ever, not loving it here. “You really have a beautiful spot up here by the lake,” she said. “I envy you living here.”
“It really is a beautiful little corner of the world,” Elise agreed, then sipped her white wine. “So I take it you’re not missing the English winter back home?”
“I’m not missing anything back home, except Uncle Steve and Grandma.” The words ran out of her mouth without a thought. “I did have second thoughts though, when I first stepped off the plane in Cairns. I thought I’d landed in hell. I actually thought I was going to melt into a puddle on the spot, never to be seen again.”
Elise finished the wine in her glass and quickly poured another. “I remember thinking the very same thing when I first arrived from the U.K. Trust me, you get used to the heat after a while. The heat takes your mind off everything else.” Elise gazed far off into the distance, her eyes unseeing. “Well, not everything.” She drew in a long breath then exhaled. “Ignore me,” she said, waving a hand in the air. “I’m just being all doom and gloom. It’s just one of the reasons why I love writing. Writing allows me to slay my demons, even if only on paper, whenever they raise their ugly heads.”
Becky looked at Elise and felt a sudden pang of sorrow. As much as she longed to ask Elise what it was that saddened her, she knew that this was not the time to ask. If Elise wanted to share her demons with her, she would do so in her own good time. Perhaps she would when they had the chance to get to know each other a little better.
They both sat in silence for a moment, sipping their drinks beneath the glittering starlight while surveying the dark, still waters of the lake. The silver moon, almost bright enough to read by, appeared close enough to reach out and touch.
“You have an English accent, or is it Scottish?” Becky asked, the tea cup cradled in her hands.
“I was raised in London, but when I was twenty I moved to Scotland with my family. My father was relocated with his job.”
“What did your father do?”
“He was an airline pilot. He was away from home a lot when I was growing up, so it was just me and my mother at home most of the time. The cheap airfares were a bonus, though. Not that I got to travel much. Too much to take care of at home.”
“And what about your writing? When did you know you wanted to write?”
Elise open a small timber box on the table and retrieved a small note pad and a pen. “You may need this. We writers always make sure we have a note book and pen handy. You never know when inspiration may hit.”
“Oh. Thank you,” Becky said, opening the spiral note pad.
Elise smiled. “I always loved writing and reading. I think most people who love to write start with a love of reading. I started writing poems when I was about twelve. Then I started writing short stories for my friends at school. They were all terrible romance stories. I took some writing classes, but I didn’t really like them much, so I figured I’d never make a very good writer. When I was still in high school, I helped edit the school newspaper and wrote a few articles. At the weekends, I worked in a bookstore and read every spare moment I got, which rekindled
my desire to write. So I started writing again. I never thought I’d actually end up making a living out of it. I hoped that one day people might like reading what I wrote. As it so happens, they did.”
“And what about your own life, was it romantic? Is that where you found your motivation to write romance novels? Did you have a high school sweetheart? Did you ever marry, have a family?” Becky fired off one question after the other.
Elise shook her head, held up a hand and laughed. “One question at a time, please. You’re giving me whiplash.”
“Sorry,” Becky said, smiling apologetically. “I get carried away sometimes.”
“No, I never married. Not to say that I didn’t break a few hearts along the way, with some great guys, because I most certainly did.” She smiled, but the smile didn’t quite make it to her eyes. Eyes that held a secret past, Becky imagined. “There was a guy, once. A truly wonderful guy. He was romantic, caring, the whole package, but, well… Let’s just say the timing was all wrong, and I never found anyone else that I could see spending the rest of my life with. Most of my romance stories are based on finding true love, loss, and what-if-things-had-turned-out-differently kind of love.”
“I’m sorry,” Becky said, noting Elise’s sadness, no matter how much she tried to hide it.
About Three Authors Page 9
