by Laura Briggs
"Don't say anything else until you see if you're satisfied. I'll begin negotiations, and have the contract drawn and sent to you ASAP," Arnold tripped over his words in his eagerness. "It might be a month or so before you're a proper author under contract, but I do believe you'll be satisfied if I put myself to the task as I should."
"I already am." My legs were shaking a little. I was 'in negotiations' with a real publisher. My book could be on digital and physical bookshelves sometime next year. Amazing and terrifying ideas were coming at me in a rush of feeling that I could hardly absorb.
"This will be wonderful practice for both of us, won't it?" he said.
"For your negotiations with big publishers for Michael, absolutely." But my head wasn't connecting with the rest of my body's operations just yet, so I was scarcely aware of what subject we were discussing now.
"Well, it will be, obviously, but I was rather joking," he confessed. "To be perfectly serious, I am glad for you, Maisie, terribly glad I could do this. It makes up for the other, you know."
"Arnold, don't say that," I protested.
"Now, not a word of thanks until negotiations are finished," he said. "I'm a bit new, and sometimes shrewder companies might be tempted to cut freedoms and perks if they think the writer won't easily turn them down. I shall be convincing them that we are quite formidable when it comes to your rights. Never fear — I'll leave no battle unfought on your behalf, and you have my word as a businessman and a gentleman."
"I don't know what to say, Arnold. Truly, really, I don't. It's already more than I believed possible."
I had never pictured Arnold as a knight in shining armor, but that was how I pictured him going into battle with the startup publisher's satellite branch — with his eyeglasses framed by the visor's opening, of course. To think I had doubted him, and had only let him try in the first place because of his guilty conscience. If I had said 'no' — I shivered.
"Signing the contract and taking me as your agent officially would be enough gratitude for me," he said. "Not that I'm pressing you —"
"Arnold!"
"I know, I know. Cross your fingers, and I'll call you soon with further details."
Me, a soon-to-be-published writer. I simply couldn't grasp the reality of it yet. Not this soon in my amateur career — not after the string of rejections that had set the tone for others to come.
Arnold the budding literary agent was a boy wonder in disguise.
As I tied on my server's apron outside the Penmarrow's kitchen, Sam gave me a funny look in passing. "All right, love?" he asked. My distracted state was showing — call it dizzying amazement.
"Fine," I answered. I didn't say a word about Arnold's announcement, since this wasn't the time, place, or person that should be part of its first telling. I hadn't even called my mom to ask her to cross her fingers that this was the real thing.
In the kitchen, I found reality was firmly entrenched, with Ligeia rushing around to complete the banquet's five-course menu. Trimmed mint leaves decorated bowls of refreshing summer soup, and orange peel curls studded the salad's dark greens.
"I want three people finishing the first two courses, and someone minding the swordfish at all times," she ordered. "Who's finishing dessert? Where are my edible meringue lace bowls?"
"Drying by the spice grinder," Sam replied as he toted a giant bowl of newly-finished pastel sorbet scoops into the freezer.
"Then I need two volunteers to take the ice sculpture, and someone to help, though I can't spare anyone." Her gaze fell on me. "You'll do. Upstairs with the lot, then come back straightaway and begin serving in the main hall."
"Ay ay, captain," I said, as Janine and Trevor wheeled the banquet centerpiece out of cold storage. I helped them negotiate a path that avoided the hall's furnishings and wallpaper, then through the ballroom's double doors.
Brigette's white star lilies glowed in silver vases, showy bouquets at intervals down each dining table, to match the silver-rimmed white china and crystal at each place setting. Stark white linens, white-draped dining chairs, brought the ballroom's usually colorful elegance down a notch to 'simple-and-classic' status. In the middle of the head table, we positioned the ice sculpture on a silver tray decorated with white roses and narcissus. Ice carved in the shape of a shooting star, tail glistening beneath the crystal chandelier's light.
"If it wasn't for the big white projector screen, it would be like a fairytale," Janine remarked, as we surveyed the finished room. "But I suppose the presentations are the point of it all, so it can't be helped."
"If we don't scurry, there won't be any help for us if that lobster sauce burns," Trevor said.
I didn't have any sauce to babysit after we closed the doors on the elegant banquet scene, but I did have several hungry diners waiting to order risotto or grilled chicken, many of whom were making plans to visit the comet gazing party in the village. The Eastern European crowd was arguing whether there was a magnifying app for mobile phones that would help them see it better.
"Wish we weren't shorthanded," grumbled Katy. "Did Molly have to leave so early?"
"She did?" I answered. "Why?"
"I expected her to dress up a bit before meeting the astronomer, rather than wear her striped uniform," said Katy. "I just hope she doesn't have cold feet if the big moment is showered out."
"Big moment?" I took this as a highly-suggestive metaphor, which my tone conveyed to Katy apparently, who arched one eyebrow.
"The comet, of course. What did you think I meant?" She snorted with contempt. I glanced out the windows, where I thought I detected a flash of lightning in the distance, from somewhere over the sea. Maybe I wouldn't be stargazing with Sidney as planned in a couple of hours after all.
Servers in formal staff uniform carried silver trays of fish and seafood through to the astronomer's banquet, where the awards ceremony was in full swing. By the time I served cheese and coffee at the European tourists' table, dusk was settling over the outside world, and the distinct rumble of a storm seemed audible even indoors.
"The astronomers will be caught in the rain if they set out for a stargazing point after their dinner party," Brigette remarked, as she stood at the windows in the dining room.
It was rare to hear her comment on anything non-business related, especially during dinnertime inspections. "What makes you say that?" I asked.
"I suppose it's the scent of a storm," she answered. "My gran always said you can taste it when it's going to come ashore. Silly, really." She squared her shoulders. "Katy, you really should tidy the buffet — the artificial sweetener has spilled." And bossy Brigette had returned.
Brigette's gran had a point, I decided, because the wind was beginning to rise outside, whipping through the shrubbery and the shade trees near the yard's gate. Norman's summer blossoms slipped free of their petals, carried away in bits of red and pink. I crossed my fingers, and listened for the sound of final applause as the banquet drew to its conclusion.
When the bus pulled up in the car park, it signaled the transition of the astronomers from fine china to field observation. They were boarding it in formal dress, someone on staff following with a basket of champagne and glasses. I could see it by the yard's lantern, for it was well past dark now. The tourists had gone, presumably to the village party, and the remaining dinner guests were finishing dessert.
"Maisie, hurry and catch the banquet's party before they leave," said Brigette, appearing from the ballroom undergoing its clearing-away stage of the party. "One of the guests left her wrap, and it will be chilly out of doors if the wind continues."
I took the gauzy chiffon shawl from her and took off for the car park through the door leading to the closed yard where the hotel's car was parked. I struggled with the rusty gate latch Norman was always meaning to oil, but I passed through to see the bus was already driving away. I checked the time on my phone — the comet's best observation time was beginning.
The low rumble of the storm growled louder. I felt a dr
op of rain on my face before it began peppering my shoulders in earnest. The rose growing by the gate nodded its droopy pink blossom heads anxiously. I tried to decide if I tasted the storm on the wind as I stood facing the sea's direction in the nighttime, where the world went black beyond the hotel grounds' lanterns.
Peppering became a downpour mere seconds later. It would be drenching the poor banquet astronomers and the telescope team planning to show off the innovative new lens, as well as the stargazers in the village. This was not a few seconds' shower, as Brigette's gran would probably predict if she were here.
By the next flash of lightning, I saw two figures on the roof outside one of the hotel's towers. The telescope was pointed skywards, but the two figures, underneath George's canvas coat held overhead like a canopy, weren't watching the heavens. They looked too occupied by a kiss to be disappointed that they were missing celestial history.
____________________
We cleared away the china from the banquet, stacked empty wine glasses and water goblets in washing tubs, and stripped linens freckled by cold summer soup and currant sauce. The shooting star ice sculpture was hauled away by Janine and Trevor, leaving a puddle in the silver tray. In the dining room, rain streamed past the windows as I stacked ice cream saucers and scraped chocolate shavings from the tablecloths.
Shift's end, I hung my apron up, and felt something in its pocket. I had forgotten to give Sidney the lonely guest's thank-you gift, I discovered. The little box was still there, surrounded by paper wrappers from straws and stray crumbs.
I switched it to the pocket of my jacket this time. I would give it to him when I gave him the news about my book. What did it matter if the stars weren't shining, if there were reasons enough in life itself to celebrate?
"My feet are like bricks," groaned Riley, as he undid the collar of his formal jacket. "Serving those sorbet scoops was a nightmare — like carrying about a frozen tub of rocks. Couldn't it be a proper cheesecake next time?"
"It could have been worse," said Gomez. "Flaming cherries atop a souffle."
"Stop whining, you two," Brigette ordered. "I seem to recall you are both on duty for several more hours after this assignment?"
"Have a heart," Riley pleaded. "I'm still not fully recovered in strength from that grueling ordeal in the sea. Saving the life of that poor drowning surfer, caught in a chance wave —"
"Oh, please do go on about it for the hundredth time," said Katy. "We're not bored with hearing about it yet, Riley."
"I think we've had sufficient discussion of your heroism, thank you," said Brigette, although the pink spots had returned to her cheeks. "I'm sure he would have been rescued quite as thoroughly without your help. Besides, your primary use of it has been to pose for snaps with attractive female guests —"
"Can I help it if my natural roguish charm has consequences?" Riley asked.
"Did I miss something interesting?" Molly entered the dining room, with her own cheeks in bloom, and a pair of pretty earrings taking the place of her hair ribbon as a personal ornament, uniform traded for a summer dress. Her clothes and loose cloud of hair were both extremely rain-dampened.
"Only Riley being ridiculous," Brigette answered. "Riley, take that champagne and ice bucket to the kitchen, since they obviously have no business here at this point. When you're clearing away from the private halls, kindly don't leave bits in the main dining room."
"Actually, I requested that bottle be brought." Mr. Trelawney's voice instantly canceled all petty staff squabbles. "I have some news I wish to share with staff in the coming days, beginning with those on duty tonight."
We exchanged glances in pockets and pairs. My eyes met Molly's at this point, remembering the other 'official' solicitor's letter in the manager's mail. The odds his news had nothing to do with it seemed very slim.
"As you are all aware, Ms. Claypool has the intention of selling this hotel," he said. "I have the honor of informing you that she has now done so. The title to the Penmarrow has been deeded officially to its new owner as of this week."
There were a few gasps of surprise, a ripple of shock passing through the staff present. It was not a pleasant one. "Who's the posh new miser we'll be groveling before in the future?" asked Riley.
"I am," answered Mr. Trelawney.
The second ripple of shock was slightly more audible than the first one, as Mr. Trelawney signaled for Sam to enter, wheeling a dessert cart. It bore a cake decorated with white frosting, and miniature marzipan hotel and trees on a green fondant lawn. Ligeia had fashioned a comet out of a sparkly gumdrop with a glittering candy tail, sailing over the hotel's roof from its slender, arching wire stand.
"If all of you would join me in celebrating its acquisition, I would be honored," the manager — now owner — announced, as he lifted the serving knife. "If you would do the honors with the champagne, Mr. Bloom?"
"Glad to be of service," said Riley, briskly. "Would it be too soon to discuss the terms of salary —?"
"Riley," snapped Brigette.
"But I thought — I heard — that you didn't want to buy the hotel," said Molly, accepting the glass of champagne Riley offered.
"I hesitated to do so, yes," said Mr. Trelawney, as he served the cake onto party saucers. "For financial reasons in part, until I was satisfied that I could secure the funds...and for personal reasons also. But circumstances sometimes call for one's dreams to merge with one's reality, when an opportunity comes that may never return."
His glance met mine, as if for the conversation we shared in his office, the fateful tale of a hotel destroyed in its prime, lost to history along with the celebrated family name behind it. Maybe this was Mr. Trelawney's way of building a new future and laying the past aside. I certainly hoped it was.
He held up his champagne glass. "A toast, if you please, to the Penmarrow Hotel," he said. "And to a bright future for all who are entrusted to maintain her beauty and grace."
"To the Penmarrow," we echoed. Glasses clinked, and Riley's finger swiped the frosting trim from the newest slice of cake, despite Brigette's glare.
Rain fell steadily as I skirted puddles on the way to the vicarage, getting soaked from my sneakers to the mobile phone with flashlight app, protected partway up the shelter of my jacket sleeve. But the day's events had me running on air instead of water-splashed cobblestone. Even without the comet's visibility, there had been developments enough to make it a triumph from my perspective, between my excitement for my book's big chance and the Penmarrow being saved. I couldn't wait to tell Sidney about all of it.
The dogs were asleep in the open work shed, snoozing on the old Victorian sofa, as I huddled under the eaves just shy of the downpour. I knocked on the door to the rooms attached to it, where I could see a light burning on the other side of the drawn lace curtains. I imagined Sidney reading as he waited out the rain, in case I came by after work as originally planned. That was before the rain caught up with our possible outing and Mr. Trelawney's surprise champagne celebration began.
On my second knock, the door cracked open, and a sleepy-looking version of Sidney peered out into the rainy darkness with an uncertain smile of greeting. "Friend or foe?" he asked.
"Friend," I said. "I'm so sorry I'm late — I was going to go home, but I wanted to see you because I had some news to share — oh, and I have this for you, too." I pulled the gift from my pocket and handed it over, getting it out of the way before I could forget again in the face of bigger things. "From a well wisher at the hotel."
"Why?" His half-awake smile became one of puzzlement as he tugged the string tying it closed. He tossed it aside, and removed the lid of the box. It was then that Sidney's smile vanished altogether, as if something inside him had been switched off.
The contents of the box slid into the palm of his hand. It was a necklace, an old-fashioned one with drip-like, rectangular crystal stones framed in silver, suspended from a chain of the same. He stared at it as if seeing a ghost, as one end of the chain dangled freely li
ke a hypnotist's watch.
"Where did you get this?" he said, softly. "Who did you say gave it to you?" Something in his tone was strange, and made me feel the same way. A funny kind of ache deep within it was the cause.
"A woman at the hotel," I said. "What is it? What's wrong, Sidney?" I felt as puzzled as he had looked a moment ago, only worse. Because it was as if he had become a completely different person without changing anything.
"I have to go." His voice sounded faraway. "I'm sorry. I have to go, Maisie." Without inviting me out of the rain, without looking me in the face, he shut the door, leaving me alone on his doorstep.
I was so surprised, I hadn't time to speak. I stood there helplessly instead, with a door between me and whatever had just rocked Sidney to his core.
It was clear that the gift had meaning to Sidney the moment he laid eyes on it. It was not a random item, but a piece of the past returned to him, which had made him unhappy to the point of hurt in a matter of seconds.
The woman had known it would, too.
Why? Why was it happening? If he had only told me about the past instead of trying to shield it from me, then I would understand what it had done to him tonight. But the pieces he had given me were taking shape on their own, a dark picture in my mind as I walked blindly in the direction of the cottage.
Why hadn't he trusted me? What did I have to do to convince him that I cared enough to see a way through it? It put a lump in my throat when I imagined he had done it because he cared about this woman more than me. If that was the real reason. Disappointment surged like the tide coming in, the brief burst of storm that had showered over Port Hewer during the comet's bright debut.
The rain had stopped by the time I reached the coastal road that eventually ended at the Penmarrow's drive. I was halfway between the village high street and the lane that wound through the wood to Sonia's house. Instead of walking either way, I walked straight ahead, until I climbed down to the public beach near the bus shelter.
