by Laura Briggs
"I love you madly, Maisie Clark," he answered. The way he said it, the way he looked at me as he spoke, said more than any paltry lines about my looks could ever do.
"And I love you," I replied.
Simple words like those needed no dressing up. I would never again think twice about saying them.
He pulled me closer, settling me against him as we swayed gently in the breeze. I rested my head on his shoulder and watched the clouds, thinking of nothing and everything at the same time. The afternoon sun was golden and lazy, and the orchard's foliage shimmered pale silver and green in the wind.
"Hungry yet?" Sidney asked. His voice was soft, close to my ear as he uttered this completely unromantic statement.
I buried my latest unwanted snort of laughter against his shirt. "Sidney —"
"I ask purely for hospitality purposes. You are my date, after all. I should be chivalrous when it comes to entertaining you."
"I am? I thought this wasn't a proper one," I answered.
"It isn't by everybody else's standards, but we're not everybody else, as you said."
"Am I your girlfriend, then?" I let this idea roll off my tongue on its own, pondering all its potential meanings. "Are you my boyfriend?" For the first time, I didn't think of my ex Ronnie when uttering this word. That was new.
"If you don't mind the terrible looks the village gossips will give you for being with someone like me," he answered.
Sidney as my boy. I had been thinking of him in those terms for a long time, but never officially.
"I've had some practice putting up with it," I answered. I looked into his eyes, then leaned in as he kissed me lightly, feeling his lips against mine.
We could stay like that forever, I felt. Except Sidney wasn't the only one who was a little bit peckish after so much fresh air. We tore ourselves away from each other to dig the picnic out of his basket, and tossed a few crisps to Kip, who had been digging at the tree roots for acorns all this time.
"Cheese crisps and pickle relish?" I held up two of the items from Sidney's basket, lifting one eyebrow questioningly.
"I told you I raided the larder for the best," he answered, as he sliced a pink apple into sections. "You'd be surprised how well they pair with Wensleydale." He dug a wedge of cheese from the hamper and tossed it to me. I rolled my eyes.
"At least the biscuits will be good," he said, pulling out a couple of boxes, including the digestive biscuits that I usually ate at the vicarage tea, and a pastry-type box wrapped in cellophane.
"Custard tarts?" I popped the lid from the box and stole one with a little cry of satisfaction.
"Told you," he said. That smile, as teasing as it was, kindled its heat inside me once again, which I felt I would never be able to resist. But, again, I'd have to be trying to say for sure.
____________________
"Take Doctor Chilton to the Driftwood Room, Riley," said Brigette, with a cheery smile for the guest's benefit. The porter grunted as he lifted four very heavy bags from beside the desk, refraining from a sarcastic remark only for the sake of his future tip.
I lifted the half-empty teacups from the parlor table and stacked them on my tray. The hotel was extra busy today now that guests were turning up from the International Society of Astronomers for the week-long lecture series and presentations which led up to the banquet held on the comet's predicted night for peak visibility. It changed the atmosphere from only the carefree Eastern European friends and the quiet, mysterious widow to that of scientists clustered over powerpoint presentations and digital models of the cosmos.
I cleared away an empty coffee mug at the elbow of a man hunkered seriously over an academic journal filled with complicated-looking maths and a photo of a black hole. At the desk, Brigette was attending to a new guest, who turned away as I was passing by in order to collect his things. That heavy-looking hard case was familiar, as was the man lifting it.
"George?"
He looked up, and the piercing blue of those eyes was unmistakable. "Hello," he answered, in a friendly way that tipped me off instantly that he didn't remember me from his last stay.
"I was a maid here when you came before," I said. "You were testing out a new telescope? Around last Christmas?"
"Right. Yes. I was here then," he said.
"You must be here for the big astronomy banquet," I said, to which George blushed slightly.
"For the presentations and lectures, but not the dinner," he answered. "I'm not celebrity enough to be invited to the table, since I'm just an entry-level member. Mostly I'm here in hopes of a clear night in which to view the comet." He patted his telescope's case.
Just then, Molly appeared from the parlor. She saw George standing there, and a deep rose blush immediately filled her cheeks. "George," she said. The stars in Molly's eyes were as bright as the ones anticipated by the astronomer's society.
"Molly." He smiled in greeting. "How are you?" He set down his bags again. "I was hoping you'd be around when I arrived."
"I'm ... I'm well ... I—I was just hoovering the parlor." Her face was crimson, her voice fluttering. I think it was the crinkles at the corners of George's eyes that were to blame. "I thought — I mean, I'm glad — that is, I remember you said you'd be here this week."
"Did you reserve my old room for me?" he asked. "I can't very well stay without a good view of the night sky, can I?"
"No! Oh — that is — well, that would be Brigette. Who reserved it, I mean. I remember which one — that is, I know which one —" Molly's words tripped over each other. "I mean ... I hope you really enjoy your stay."
"I'm sure I'll see you around often," he said, smiling. "We'll have to do some more stargazing."
Molly looked as if words would be completely impossible at this point. "We will," she managed to answer. "I — I should probably —" She fumbled with her duster, then hurried away, glancing back shyly at George. He stared after her, a look of slight confusion on his face despite his smile.
"What is the matter with her?" Gomez asked, as he lifted George's duffel bag. "Is she ill?"
"With the bleeding bug o' fancy," said Norman, sneering as he stalked to the front desk with a big vase of lilies. "Are you that daft? Youth today are a dense lot o' tossers."
"Norman, what are those?" demanded Brigette.
"Lilies. Ye asked for 'em," he answered.
"I said 'star' lilies not 'stargazer' lilies," she said. "These are pink, Norman, and I specifically wanted white ones to match the new motif."
"How was I to know that?" he answered scornfully. "Think I'm a ruddy psychic, do you?" He swept one of the stray petals onto the floor, ignoring Brigette's dismay as he stalked out again.
"Maisie, take those lilies to the butler's pantry, if you please," said Brigette, stiffly.
I bit back my smile. "They are pretty, Brigette," I pointed out.
"The pantry, Maisie. And be so kind as to bring back the paperwhites bouquet from the buffet." Primly, Brigette swept up the stray petals with the carpet sweep she kept tucked behind the desk at all times. Vase in hand, I retreated and obeyed, hoping to run into Molly in the privacy of the near-empty dining room or kitchen passage, but disappointment awaited on that score.
Poor Molly. I knew she had meant to say something better when face to face with George after waiting an age for him to come back. There had been chemistry between them almost from the first time the young astronomer laid eyes on her, and Molly had told me enough about that experience that I didn't need to speculate about how she really felt.
She hadn't told me he was coming, however. I wondered if it was because she was nervous, or if something else was in the way. Molly had confided in me before. Had something changed her mind? Surely she knew I understood the pull of chemistry all too well after giving in to my feelings for Sidney.
I banished the unacceptable bouquet to the silver pantry and fetched back the one featuring Brigette's preferred color scheme. The paperwhites looked slightly faded, but decent enough after
I pulled out some strays that had wilted, and adjusted the vase's position so the best ones were facing the foyer and incoming guests.
I swept the last petals into the garbage and admired my finished handiwork. That ought to satisfy Brigette even if it didn't have the crusty gardener's usual style. I was too busy reflecting on whether a few of the white flocks from the front garden would look well in it to realize I was no longer alone in the foyer.
"Maisie." It was my turn for a surprise now. The voice which spoke was female, and I recognized its owner before I turned around.
There, in the marble and palm-lined entry hall, stood Megs Buntly, better known to me as Alistair 'Alli' Davies. Her designer carpet bag was at her feet, her usual white chiffon outfit paired with a burgundy scarf and broad-brimmed hat trimmed with felt autumnal flowers.
She gazed at me hesitantly. Her smile was uncertain, her hands clasped as if not quite sure what my reaction would be if she came any closer. Obviously she was here to collect the key to the infamous writer's suite and put in an appearance as the author incognito.
"Alli," I said. I forgot all about the flowers in need of tweaking as a big grin appeared on my face. I crossed the carpet in double time and threw my arms around her in a tight hug.
"Goodness, I didn't expect that," she said, putting her arms around me in return with a chuckle of relief. "I thought you would still be a bit angry with me, perhaps."
"Did you really?" I drew back. "I thought you knew that was all over after what I said in London. How could I ever hold a grudge against anyone who was as generous and well-meaning towards me as you?"
"When that someone is a liar?" She lifted one eyebrow, challenging me to defy that statement.
"Believe me, I'm the last person who can chide anybody about pretending to be what they're not." Alli knew a little bit about my 'pseudo maid' status from before. "But what are you doing here?"
"I thought I would put in my yearly appearance, and this stargazing conference seemed like excitement that shouldn't be missed — not for a writer or for a curious woman who enjoys a crowd." She squeezed my arm. "Although I shall have to see the comet from a point more southerly since I'm making my way down the coast to attend a festival in Penzance," she continued. "Paige and her niece are meeting me there, but I have some business to attend to first."
"Would that be business business?" I asked. Was she here only to collect the author's mail that was delivered to a Cornish address, perchance? That had been the address to which my own letter had been forwarded possibly. I lifted my eyebrow now, letting curiosity grab me just for a moment. A teeny tiny one, since I had decided to leave Alistair Davies as a part of my past.
"As it happens —" Alli began, then laid a finger against her lips. Brigette had come back from her momentary retreat to the staff office, her usual prim-but-cheery smile for guests pasted on.
"Welcome to the Penmarrow, how may I be of assistance?" she asked.
"My standing suite, if you please," answered Alli, producing the card which marked the permanent reservation held by Alistair Davies. Upstairs was the Royal 'Magic Margins' typewriter which had presumably helped bring A Dark and Glorious House into existence, and the beautiful view that had been witness to my fateful and semi-embarrassing meeting with Alli this past year.
"Of course. Here we are." Brigette produced the key after typing a line briskly into the computer's database. "Sign the book, if you please, and Riley will take your bags upstairs. Maisie." She gave me a pointed look.
"Right, Brigette." I caught a glimpse of the name Alli signed to the book — Perry Kimball, a minor character from the real Davies' Uninvited Hauntings. I couldn't help but smile.
"We'll catch up soon," whispered Alli, waving at me as I retreated.
While the first round of presentations for the International Society of Astronomers' convention was taking place in the ballroom, plans for its banquet were the topic of Mr. Trelawney's latest staff meeting, held in the upstairs parlor. I took a seat next to Katy who was buffing her nails, while Riley and Gomez jostled each other for the prime seat in the very back which was partly hidden behind a statue of Venus. Brigette was sorting colored handouts into neat little stacks as the hotel's manager took the floor.
He cleared his throat. Even at minimum volume, it had enough power to quiet the room and command everyone's attention. Mr. Trelawney's imposing power of presence was equally matched by his broad-framed, impeccably-dressed self. I had often said he brought Nero Wolfe to mind for me, and I still felt that comparison was close, although the manager had surprised me in many ways over the past year. Including his relative silence on the Penmarrow's impending sale and his own possible dismissal by proxy.
"I wish to call your attention to the fact these two weeks will be busy with regards to hotel maintenance and kitchen duties," he said. "Additional staff will be needed for the society's banquet, and I have drawn a preliminary list of experienced servers tentatively assigned to the event. If you please, Miss O' Brien."
Brigette was handing out the colored pages now, beginning with Molly in the front row of chairs.
"A second list of help assigned to kitchen and dining room duty will also be circulated. As you are aware, we will be serving our customary menu to all guests not attending the convention's closing dinner. Regular staff duties will be carried out in the hotel's public rooms, as usual."
Brigette passed out the second color sheet. To my disappointment, my name was on the list of regular staff. I wouldn't be attending the stargazers' ball after all.
"In other matters of importance, Ligeia will be enlisting help for transporting the ice sculpture to the head table, and arranging the flowers. There will be a signup sheet for duties for staff wishing to work additional hours. Our current head of staff will make the final decision regarding those assignments based upon available staff and the importance of each task in relation to our high standards for this event."
My phone's message alert chimed loudly at the end of this sentence, and I silenced it guiltily. I felt the manager's eye upon me briefly. On the other hand, it probably woke whichever porter had won the hidden corner seat.
"The society's convention will continue using the ballroom's space daily until two days prior to the main event, during which time they will convene for smaller dialogues in the upstairs parlor and the Rose Conference Room usually reserved for business guests. During this time, the grand dining room and ballroom will undergo maintenance and rearrangement for the grand event —"
"Brigette will have us papering the place with white flowers all those days," whispered Katy. "Have you seen the florist order? Dripping in white lilies, it is."
" — and ordinary maintenance of those rooms until then will take place during the conference's tea time in the main dining room downstairs," Mr. Trelawney continued. "For those of you assigned to the banquet, a complete menu and order of its courses served will be posted by the service pantry tomorrow. That will be all for the present."
Brigette, who had been waiting for this, sprang from her seat as if touched by a pin and clapped her hands for attention as she assumed command of the floor. "Everyone may return to their assigned duties, since Mr. Trelawney has concluded his address."
"Shouldn't we stand at attention for the national anthem first?" Gomez's joke was ignored by Brigette, pretending she was too busy to hear, although two crimson spots appeared in her cheeks.
Riley yawned and stretched as we filed out. "For a moment, I thought he was going to break down the stages of Brigette's celestial decor," he said. "More joy for us that he kept it short, for that would've taken two days in the telling, minimum."
"Don't exaggerate," said Brigette, who appeared behind him with her armload of printouts. "Aren't you assigned to help move tables in the dining hall for the cleaning staff's thorough hoovering?"
"Thanks for reminding me," he groaned.
"Any time," she answered, sweetly, before making her way back to the housekeeping office.
En route to help clear away the 'tourist tea' hour, I switched on my phone again. One new email was in my inbox. It was from Helen.
My heart skipped a beat. It had been weeks since I first emailed a copy of my finished manuscript to the acquisitions editor at Saxx and Brighton, the company that published Alistair Davies. My finger shook a little as I opened the message.
Maisie, I've read your submission, and have some thoughts about it, as well as some advice. If it's convenient, might you come to London and lunch with me at the Green Tree Room sometime this week? If this plan won't suit, we can talk by phone, but I would prefer to discuss your manuscript face to face if possible. Helen
It was impossible to tell whether this was good news or bad. I stared at my phone's screen, trying not to be too hopeful. Helen wanting to see me in person seemed like a good sign, and had made me curious to know the reasons why. But was I too nervous to face her and find out?
I closed the email. I needed time to decide. This moment was big — the first attempt to find a place in the world for my story, the first time I would taste real success or rejection as a professional writer, not just a student being turned down for a chance at a prestigious amateur prize. Now that it was here, I had no choice but to face it and make the best of it.
But I didn't have to decide which way of facing it was best just yet, did I?
____________________
I gathered flowers from the patch of garden that Sonia told me needed thinning after I tidied the parlor. The two hikers had returned from their Cornish version of a walkabout and were having cream tea, while the photographer was sleeping in late after a long night's partying in Newquay.
The door to Dean's cottage was standing open when I arrived, and I could hear voices. Even with his back to me, I recognized PC Pringle, the local constable who was overly-eager sometimes in his duties.
"... and what with the rash of burglaries recently, the pilfering of a telly and one of them DVD players, it's only natural that I should be asking a few questions, since there's been disreputable types known to hang about this neighborhood."
