‘There you go, always the writer, researching. All I knew was that it was a three-hour drive and in a valley. I did know about the ruins though.’
They both squinted into the distance, towards the place where the valley became a dead end. Skeletons of old industrial buildings shimmered in the heat, shy dinosaurs peeking through the bush. Crumbling brick towers and rusted steel scaffolding nestled into the side of the cliff wall at the far end of the valley.
‘I hope we can have a good look around the mines. The kids will love it. And this hotel’s incredible, isn’t it?’ said Emmie, walking through the garden towards the entrance. ‘Smack bang in the middle of nowhere. I can’t wait to look around. It’s been restored to a proper working hotel. But somehow it doesn’t look like it gets that many visitors.’
‘Well, there’s nothing out here.’
‘I think that’s the point though. It’s so rare to find somewhere untouched now. No internet. The hotel was left abandoned for years after the mines were closed in 1952. A real ghost town but this family, it must have been Macie’s, came and resurrected it from the dust. It was a complete hovel for years, filled with bats, spiders, squatters. Before that it was reportedly a monastery and then a horse ranch.’
Nathalie’s eyes were wide. ‘You’re not serious.’
‘I’m totally serious. This whole valley used to be a thriving shale oil town. It supplied petrol and gas during the war. Thousands of people lived here, if you can believe it. Hence the abandoned shopfronts when we drove in. There was also a post office, a cafe, churches, a school. The hotel was considered the jewel of the valley but then it lay in ruins for years.’
‘Oh God.’
‘Oh, come on, it’ll be an adventure. Look how happy the girls are.’
‘You might get a book idea out of it.’
The tendril of guilt that had already budded wove itself tighter in Emmie. Not a book. She wasn’t writing a book now. Emmie thought of the last selfie she’d taken of her and Nathalie. At McDonald’s, Nathalie with her eyes shining, mouth full of burger. Emmie’s caption had read: Wagging the bedtime routine at Maccas on a school night. Everyone had commented on Nathalie with her gorgeous face lit with child-like delight.
Somewhere along the line someone had assumed that it was Nathalie’s account. Maybe because when Nathalie was in a picture, she took up all the space, like a low moon on a dark night. Some people’s music or writing stirred people; Nathalie’s looks did that. Emmie hadn’t confirmed whose account it was, but she hadn’t denied it, either. She’d had more hits with a few posts in this new account than she’d had in total with her own @Emmiewriter account.
Maybe it was because these new posts were of people actually having fun. There was life in these pictures with her new mum friends. It was the first time she felt included in something special. She didn’t care that they were in the middle of nowhere; in fact, the remoteness would only serve to make it more of an adventure, to bond their fledgling friendships.
‘Sorry, I don’t know why I’m being a bit negative. It’s actually beautiful out here. And the girls haven’t harassed us for at least five minutes. Maybe it’s being away from Richie for the first time.’
‘Who’s got him?’
‘My mother-in-law for three days and Mike will have him for the last few nights. He’s on a bottle now. And they might come up for the weekend before we go.’
‘That’s a big thing leaving him for a week.’
‘Do you think I’m a bad mother?’
Emmie touched Nathalie’s shoulder. ‘Of course not. You need a break. We all do, having survived the insanity of Christmas.’
‘Oh my goodness. How was yours? Mine was complete madness. So much shopping, so much cooking. So many relatives. This feels like the first time I’ve stopped in weeks.’
‘Ugh, I hear you. The whole month of December feels like a blur.’
‘What we need right now is holiday wine,’ said Nathalie, brightening. ‘Let’s go over there, to that lovely table under the tree. Maybe I should get a bottle of white out of the esky. Day drinking is mandatory on summer holidays.’
‘Exactly. Glasses?’
Nathalie paused. ‘Are we game to go inside and ask for some?’
‘I will. I’m dying to get a look inside. You stay out here with the girls.’
‘Okay, I’ll get snacks from the car.’
Emmie could feel Nathalie watching her as she walked towards the hotel. She turned and gave the thumbs up. The French doors were heavy timber, but they opened easily when she pulled. It took a few seconds for her eyes to adjust to the dim light in the foyer. It felt ten degrees cooler inside and she was grateful for the reprieve.
‘Hello,’ she called, peering at the elegant marble staircase that swept to the upper level. It smelled like furniture polish and perfume. There was a door into a dark lounge room off to the left, which she peeked into. There was an open fireplace and bookcases overflowing with books, a beautiful drinks trolley and a vintage lounge setting. Wood fire and tobacco lingered in the air. She could just imagine them sitting in front of the fire after dinner. To her right stretched a long, darkened hall and up ahead were glass doors, behind which she glimpsed dining tables. Paintings decorated the walls of the foyer. Sleeping Beauty with heavy lids on a bed of roses, and Ophelia’s pale gaze from her watery grave. Two lavishly framed canvases depicted Tennyson’s haunting Lady of Shalott, floating in her boat, and trapped in her tower. There was a definite theme. Statues of women in flowing gowns reclined on the surface of antique tables. The only light came from a vintage lamp at a counter under a sign reading Reception. There was a bell and she dinged it lightly.
‘Hello, you’re here.’ She heard the voice and turned. It was Macie. She was dressed to match the vintage style of the hotel, in a delicate embroidered silk gown and dark lipstick. She moved forward and kissed Emmie’s cheek. She smelled like the powdery perfume that permeated the foyer. ‘So good to see you again. I’m so glad you could all come. I thought I heard children’s laughter in the garden. It’s so lovely to have children here.’
‘Macie, isn’t it? We met at Alexandra’s gallery. Or shop. Though it’s more like an art gallery.’
‘I remember.’
‘Thanks for having us at such short notice. We were devastated when our holiday house fell through. This place is magnificent. I’ve just been having a peek around. The lounge room is gorgeous. And all these paintings and statues. Did you decorate it?’
‘My family did. It’s been a labour of love to restore. I spent my early childhood here while my parents brought it back to life.’
‘I read all about that online. How incredible. Such history.’
Macie took her arm in a sweet, old-fashioned kind of way that Emmie thought utterly charming. ‘Come, come, I’ve got afternoon tea prepared and we’ll take it out the front in the shade of the willow trees and then the kids can have a swim.’
‘That’s so thoughtful of you to make afternoon tea,’ said Emmie, as they walked through a handsome dining room with impossibly high ceilings, stately red walls and gilded mirrors.
‘Wow. I feel like I’m in Buckingham Palace.’
Macie laughed. ‘Perhaps if the Palace had been neglected for a few decades.’
Emmie followed her through swing doors into an industrial kitchen. ‘It looks like this place could feed an army.’
‘It fed the whole hotel at one point. There are 18 guest rooms and the dining room seated 75. In 1957, it was bought by the Marist Fathers and turned into a monastery. All the books are in the lounge if you’re interested in the history.’
‘Oh, how fascinating, yes, I can’t wait to have a look. This spread looks wonderful, Macie. We weren’t expecting anything so fancy. Afternoon tea at ours is cut-up apple and crackers.’
Macie smiled and shrugged. ‘It’s really very simple. I enjoy it.’
‘Oh, and I just need wine glasses. We’re celebrating being on holidays.’
T
hey took the afternoon tea on trays to the tables under the soft leaves of the willow trees. Nathalie’s eyes were closed, her feet up and her hair bundled into a top knot.
She and Macie exchanged pleasantries and then Nathalie got up and went to find the girls in the garden.
‘Oh, Pen and Will are here,’ said Emmie, waving them over to the shade. She hugged Pen and patted Will’s head. Sera was beside him, explaining the currency she and the other girls had established. She put pebbles, flower buds and leaves into Will’s palm, explaining what each one purchased. Extra hiding time for hide-and-seek, the last piece of cake, and immunity from being ‘it’ in tip.
‘Oh, it’s so cool under the trees,’ Nathalie said. ‘Kids, come and rest out of the sun for a bit and eat something.’ She poured white wine from a sweating bottle into glasses and passed them around.
The crisp, cool wine went down a little too easily and Emmie felt its effect almost immediately. Everything felt slightly surreal, like a dream you didn’t want to wake from. The table was filled with delights. There were vintage teapots and matching floral cups with saucers, sugar cubes with tiny spoons and a pitcher of cloudy lemonade. Homemade scones with strawberry jam and cream, and a glazed orange cake sat next to jars of fresh flowers and linen napkins. There were thick slices of watermelon and bunches of grapes, which the children descended on like the small darting birds in the garden.
‘How idyllic is this?’ Emmie said, sneaking a quick photo of the spread with her phone. ‘You’d better wash your hands,’ she told the children. ‘You’ve already collected quite the treasure trove, Seraphine.’
‘There’s a tap and drinking fountain just over there,’ said Macie, pointing to the far side of the hotel, across the garden.
‘Go on, we’ll save some cake, but only if you’re quick,’ said Emmie, watching them disappear, hooting in delight as they raced each other.
She was just pouring the fragrant Earl Grey tea when Will and Sera came running back.
‘Mum, there’s a lady there. We can’t wash our hands,’ said Will, his eyes wide.
Pen turned from where she was chatting to Nathalie. She was silent for a beat and then she spoke quietly, taking Will’s arm and leading him away. ‘Will, please don’t annoy the other guests, we’ve only just got here.’
Macie put the teapot down. ‘We don’t have any other guests.’
Silence thickened the hot air, making the nape of Emmie’s neck tingle.
‘I’ll come with you guys. You can show me.’ She flashed Pen a reassuring look. She could tell she was on edge. Maybe she was worried about whether Will would fit in with the other kids. She knew Seraphine would be fine. She’d have to speak to her about making sure he was included at all times.
Will looked relieved as she followed them across the garden to the far side of the hotel. You could see the aging bones of the structure here, cracks in the brickwork and spider webs in corners, a bird’s nest poking out from the eaves. There was an old-fashioned water fountain with a tap next to stairs leading to a back entrance, presumably the kitchen or perhaps staff quarters.
‘She was right there, in the doorway.’ Will pointed to the top of the steps.
Emmie felt a chill run over her, and she stepped out of the shade, back into the sunshine. ‘Oh, maybe you just saw a movement. Our eyes can play tricks like that sometimes.’
‘I didn’t see anything, Mummy,’ said Seraphine, shaking her wet hands before drying them on her top.
Sim and Findlay were busy flicking water at each other and squealing.
Emmie bent down so she was at their level. ‘Or maybe Macie has a secret guest – maybe it was a garden sprite, like the statues everywhere.’
‘No, it was definitely a woman,’ said Will, his eyes serious. Emmie pushed her discomfort down and nodded brightly.
‘She seemed upset.’ His eyes trained on the empty space at the top of the steps.
Emmie shivered and rested her hand on his shoulder. ‘Sometimes we imagine things. Seraphine’s very imaginative too, aren’t you darling. Always writing stories.’
‘I write stories,’ said Will, his eyes lighting up.
Emmie took advantage of the distraction. ‘Oh, you’ll have to tell us about them. Okay, let’s go back and eat cake before the mums eat it all.’
The kids took off and Emmie looked back to the top of the steps. She wished she hadn’t read all about the valley’s ghosts.
Jean
1948
He brought her small gifts, leaving them on the steps of the hall wrapped in shiny paper, like a satin bowerbird preparing a nest. A bag of scorched almonds and a Cherry Ripe, chocolates in delicate gold tissue tasting of coffee. And then a pair of silk stockings, a tiny bottle of perfume that smelled like roses in full bloom. Liv had asked what was in the packages and Jean had been flustered, sick at the thought of lying to her daughter. Special balm for my sore feet, she had said, pointing to her calloused toes. A balm for my heart, she had thought. She was, at once, flushed with the attention and the beautiful presents, looking forward to the end of class to see what small treasure would be waiting, and filled with guilt and trepidation.
Once he waited for her. As she was locking up the hall he came out of the church next door. Liv and Bertie were playing in the tree outside, like pink plumaged birds. Her heart had raced and, in hushed tones, she’d dismissed him, insisted he stop bringing her precious things, but he had only winked and told her she deserved them and that he would only stop if she agreed to spend time with him. She’d needed him to leave, so she’d agreed upon a day she knew Liv would be with Pam.
And so now he was here, the afternoon sun streaming through the high windows, their shadows stretching along the hall’s timber floorboards, elongating their bodies like spirit creatures.
He put his hat on a chair and took a bottle of red wine and two small glasses from a bag.
She gasped. ‘You brought wine?’
‘You sound surprised. Here’s one more. Surprise, that is. It’s the last one, I promise.’
He reached into his pocket, taking out a small box. ‘Open it.’
Jean’s heart was beating fast. ‘Oh no, I couldn’t possibly take another thing.’
He shrugged innocently and she laughed despite herself. ‘It’s naughty of you. You said you’d stop.’ She had already taken too many things that weren’t hers. She tried to press the box back into his hand.
‘Please. Let a man give a woman a small gift.’
‘You have already given me too much.’
She shook her head but opened the box nevertheless, nerves like butterflies, at once seductive and skittish. Her hand went to her throat. She had never seen such a beautiful piece of jewellery. A tiny diamond embedded in the face of a gold locket on a fine chain. It was like something out of a fashion magazine. ‘Oh, my goodness, it’s stunning. But it’s not a small gift, Magnus. I cannot accept this. Please.’
‘I would be offended if you didn’t take it. Please, try it on.’
She hesitated. She didn’t want to offend him but at the same time she knew she couldn’t take this, couldn’t be beholden to him. The other presents were small, sweet gifts but this was something altogether different.
He walked away from her towards the record player, began flicking through her measly collection of six records. He chose one, took it out of the sleeve, placed it on the player and put the needle down.
The swell of Vivaldi’s Four Seasons filled the small hall. She felt it well in her chest, behind her eyes and she thought she might cry. She stood there, immobilised. He stayed with his back to her, bent over the record player. What was he doing here? Giving her this? She wanted to drop the necklace and run from the hall. She wanted to feel the precious metal against her skin, she wanted to dance. And so, she just stood there, paralysed by conflicting emotions.
The music peaked and then softened. He walked towards her and took the box from her hand. For a moment she thought that he had understood and that h
e was making the decision for her, taking back the extravagant gift. But then she felt his hand brush away her hair from the nape of her neck. It sent a quiver through her whole body. He gently fastened the necklace. She could feel his breath on her hair. Her hand found the stone. She knew it was real. This was not a man to give something fake and yet fake was all she was.
‘Could I have this dance, Miss Rose?’ He held out his arm.
‘I don’t really have anything aside from ballet music to dance to.’
He smiled. ‘Something tells me we don’t even need music.’
She felt her cheeks flush. Her body grew too warm. She crossed her arms across her chest. ‘Magnus, I’m afraid you think me something that I’m not. I’m not glamorous, nor deserving of all these charming gifts. I’m just a dance teacher in a makeshift hall in the middle of the bush.’
He took a step towards her and pulled her into him. He smelled so clean, like the morning air, like eucalyptus and rain. He twisted her out from his body and she spun on reflex. He pulled her back in, resting her cheek against his chest, and then he dipped her and her back arched to the curve of his arm.
‘I know who you are. A beautiful woman with a sweet nature living in the middle of a valley, when really she belongs somewhere far more sophisticated.’
Sweat beaded at her brow and the hall felt hot and the air close.
She laughed, despite herself, and desire curled inside her, like cold toes in front of a warm flame. She was still in his arms and they were moving, a slow waltz.
‘The fact a woman like you ended up in a place like this makes you even more intriguing.’
She was silent. She should tell him right now about Liv and Robert, but her mind was somewhere else, backstage, waiting in the wings, the music swelling around her, her body poised.
‘Will you come on a trip to Sydney with me?’
‘Sydney?’
‘I need to return in a day or two and I can’t bear the thought of not seeing you again.’
She felt herself blush a deep shade of crimson. ‘Oh, I don’t know Magnus . . .’ But her mind was spinning like fouetté turns in a complicated dance. How she had longed to see her hometown during the long, hot months and years here. The beautiful cafes and the dance halls, the department stores, the sea. Oh, to see the ocean again.
The Valley of Lost Stories Page 11