Dreamscapes

by Tamara McKinley

  Catriona snuggled against him, glad of his presence in the absence of any communication from Velda. ‘I just hope they have a comfortable bed,’ she said through a yawn. ‘I’m so tired, and it’ll be good not to be on the move any more.’

  Kane squeezed her shoulder and ran his fingers lightly over her bare arm. ‘Won’t be long now,’ he promised.

  With the refineries behind them they approached a vast logging camp which was stacked high with sweetly resinous timber. The scent of it was less cloying than the molasses, with a sharp, citrus tang that seemed to cut through the air and cleanse it. This logging camp stood on the edge of a small settlement which consisted of one broad street, a few houses, a church and two hotels.

  Herbert Allchom slapped the reins over the horse’s back and they plodded through the little town and out the other side where they were once again plunged into the welcoming cool, green shadows of a rainforest. As they rounded the long, curving bend in the track, Catriona caught her first glimpse of her new home.

  The iron gates looked forbidding, and as Kane clambered down from the wagon and thrust them open, she couldn’t help but notice how darkly the shadows from the surrounding forest fell across the gravelled driveway. She shivered and pulled her cardigan over her shoulders. It was as if that darkness was reaching out to her with its icy fingers, probing deeply, chasing away the heat of the sun.

  ‘Where are we?’ Velda sat up, blinking sleepily as she adjusted her hat and straightened her dress.

  ‘Petersburg Park,’ said Kane. ‘Your new home.’ He talked softly to Allchorn and then began to walk quickly up the driveway.

  Allchorn spat into the dirt, the reins held loosely in his hands as the horse cropped the grass.

  ‘Why are we waiting?’ asked Catriona. She had shaken off the gloomy thoughts and decided she was merely tired and out of sorts – her imagination was playing tricks on her, that was all. Now she was eager to catch sight of the house. Eager to begin this new adventure.

  Allchorn shrugged. ‘Just following orders,’ he grumbled.

  Catriona frowned. Why should Mr Kane want to go to the house alone?

  After what seemed like an age, Allchorn slapped the reins over the rump of the horse and they were trundling down the gravelled driveway.

  Catriona sat forward, impatient to see the house. And there it was. The stone walls looked warm in the sunlight that pierced the surrounding forest, and the turrets and towers were beckoning her to explore them. Her eyes widened as she took it all in. If it hadn’t been for the collection of very grand cars parked in the semi-circle in front of the house, and the presence of several smartly dressed people sitting on the lawn taking afternoon tea, it could have been a fairy tale castle. She would be like Rapunzel – the only thing missing was a Prince on a white horse.

  She looked at her mother for some sign of animation or curiosity – but Velda merely stared ahead, her face expressionless as they trundled on.

  Catriona refused to be downhearted despite her mother’s obvious indifference to where she was, for, as they slowly advanced towards the house she realised that not only was she going to live in a castle – there was indeed a Prince to go with it. He was standing on the steps by the great stone pillars, his white suit gleaming against the dark front doors. Even from this distance Catriona could see he was tall and dark and handsome, with a neat beard and moustache. He was a bit old for a prince – about the same age as Mr Kane, but his broad smile was welcoming as the two men greeted each other.

  ‘Welcome, welcome,’ he said, his voice rich with a rolling, rather exotic accent Catriona couldn’t place. ‘Kane, my old friend,’ he boomed with much backslapping. ‘How good to see you again after so long.’

  Mr Kane appeared to be just as delighted at the reunion. The two men clasped hands and slapped each other enthusiastically on the shoulder as they exchanged greetings and tried to outdo each other in their eagerness to swap news.

  Allchorn drew the wagon to a halt, and Catriona saw the handsome man frown as he caught sight of her and her mother – noticed the swift, questioning look he shot Mr Kane before his smile was once more in place and he was removing his hat in readiness to greet them.

  Catriona followed Velda down from the wagon and was suddenly uneasy as she stood there waiting for Mr Kane to make the introductions. The stranger was looking at her with a curious expression on his face, his dark eyes thoughtful beneath the heavy brows that were drawn together in a frown.

  ‘This is Demetri Yvchenkov,’ said Kane. ‘Formerly of St Petersburg in Russia – now a very rich citizen of Australia.’ He chucked Catriona under the chin and winked. ‘Don’t frown so, Kitty. He won’t eat you.’ He grinned back at his friend. ‘Demetri might look and sound fierce, but he’s our benefactor, the owner of this stately pile.’

  Catriona’s hand was swamped in the Russian’s large paw, and as she looked up into dark, questioning eyes she was overwhelmed with an unusual shyness. He was very tall, his shoulders broad, his brows heavy and dark above his penetrating eyes; but his smile was warm, his handshake firm, and that went some way towards reassuring her. She bobbed a curtsy and he sketched a bow before turning to Velda and lightly kissing the air above her gloved fingers.

  ‘You are a man of great surprises, Kane,’ he murmured as he looked deeply into Velda’s eyes before releasing her hand. ‘To have such a wife and daughter is to be blessed.’

  Kane’s reply was a bark of humourless laughter. ‘Good grief, Demetri,’ he protested. ‘I’m not the marrying kind, you know that. Circumstances have meant we are merely travellers sharing the hardships of this wild and untamed land.’ He slapped Demetri on the back. ‘You know how it is, old boy. Needs must when the devil drives, and all that, eh?’

  Catriona felt a jolt of shock. How easily he’d dismissed them – how swiftly he’d relegated them to insignificant travelling companions. What would happen to them if this enormous Russian decided they couldn’t stay?

  She glanced at her mother, but Velda didn’t appear to be listening. She was standing in the hot sun, staring up at the towers and turrets of this extraordinary house, her face devoid of any expression. Catriona reached for her hand, holding on tightly as she turned her attention back to the two men.

  Demetri looked thoughtful as he adjusted his Panama hat. ‘Is it that you are hoping they will work for me also?’ he asked. ‘Or are they wishing to stay for only a short while before moving on?’

  Kane seem unfazed and totally at ease with the situation. ‘Velda and Catriona are alone in the world, Demetri, and I have taken them under my wing, so to speak.’ He slapped Demetri’s shoulder in an attempt at being jovial. ‘You said you wanted help with this place, and here we are, at your service.’

  Demetri tugged thoughtfully at his neat beard as he eyed Velda and Catriona. ‘We need to discuss this, Kane,’ he murmured, his words almost indistinct. Then he seemed to realise Catriona was listening to this exchange, and visibly brightened – once more the welcoming host. ‘But the ladies must come in out of this heat and see my palace.’ He threw open the doors and signalled for them to follow him into the coolness of the great hall.

  Catriona was struck by the grandness of it all. The wide, sweeping staircase, the intricate plaster moulding on the ceiling, the flowers and paintings and the crystal chandelier were a delight to the eye. There was the scent of flowers and furniture polish in the air, and the temptations of open doors just asking to be explored.

  ‘I see your guests have arrived, sir. And there is a person outside with a cart.’

  Catriona turned and saw a woman of sour countenance. Dressed in black, the dress encircled the scrawny neck and fell almost to her thin ankles. Her hair was an indeterminate brown and pulled tightly away from her face into a thin knot. Her hands were clasped at her waist as the grey eyes swept over them.

  ‘Edith,’ boomed Demetri. ‘This is Kane, who I was telling you about, and this is Velda and Catriona.’

  She nodded in silence,
the animosity emanating from her like a dark cloud.

  ‘Tea in my private drawing room, I am thinking. The lady is tired.’

  The grey eyes swept over Velda and the thin mouth tightened into a hard line. ‘Will the lady be staying, sir?’

  ‘Of course, of course,’ he rumbled, obviously preferring to ignore Edith’s scarcely veiled insult. ‘She and her daughter are in my care for as long as they wish. Any friend of Kane’s is a friend of mine.’ He smiled down at Catriona and winked. ‘And bring some cordial for Catriona, and some of those lovely little cakes Cook made this morning.’

  ‘As you wish, sir.’ She turned away and seemed to melt silently into the doorway that was almost hidden by the wood panelling.

  Demetri laughed and slapped Kane on the shoulder. ‘Better pay off the carter. He seems to offend the sensibilities of Edith.’

  Kane slipped away to see to the carter and the luggage, and Demetri led the way into his private drawing room. ‘Do not be minding Edith,’ he said. ‘She is spinster lady and not an happy woman – but she is good housekeeper.’

  Catriona stared in amazement at the rich carpet on the polished floor, the rows of books lining the walls and the vast chandelier that sparkled in the late afternoon gloom. It was obviously a man’s room, for the furniture was large and comfortable and there were no frills at the windows, just plain drops of velvet tied back with heavy silken ropes.

  As they settled into the comfortable velvet chairs Edith returned with a maid and set out the tea on a heavy oak table that Demetri obviously used as a desk. The maid reminded Catriona of Poppy. She was slender and fair, with a friendly smile which she shot at Catriona when the sour-faced old woman wasn’t looking. The short black dress and perky white apron and cap suited her, and Catriona smiled back, thinking how Poppy would have loved this place. Yet it was the great silver urn now being placed in the centre of the table that really held her attention. It was a vast, ornate thing, etched with cherubs and vines and what looked like grapes.

  Demetri must have noticed her awe at such a sight, for he leaned towards her, his voice muted. ‘It is a samovar,’ he explained. ‘In Russia this is the only way to make the tea.’ He looked across at Kane who had returned from seeing to Allchorn and was now sprawled languidly in a deep armchair smoking a cigar. ‘Not like the English with their mean little china pots, and their warm milk,’ he said with a smile. ‘To drink the tea as in Russia, it is correct to have it with lemon.’

  He dismissed Edith and the maid and handed her the fine bone china cup and saucer. ‘Try it, little one. Is good but there is cordial if you would prefer.’

  Catriona sipped the tea. It was hot and fragrant and like no other tea she’d had before. Feeling a little easier in his presence, she dared to ask him the question that had been in her mind since their arrival. ‘What kind of work will we have to do?’

  He smiled back at her, the humour bright in his dark eyes. ‘None at all,’ he replied. ‘You and your mama are my guests. I, Demetri, am a man of my word.’

  She looked across at Velda who was sipping tea from the delicate cup and staring around her. ‘But we can’t expect to do nothing,’ she said hesitantly.

  Demetri set down the cup that looked too small for his great hand and rested back in the chair. ‘Why not? You are alone in the world are you not? You have no one to look after you. You must rest here and grow strong again – is a good place to heal the wounds of the past.’

  Catriona looked back at him and realised this man understood. Perhaps he too had suffered a terrible loss, and this magical place had brought him solace. ‘You’re very kind,’ she said shyly.

  ‘Not at all,’ he boomed. ‘And now Mr Kane has arrived and the guests have finally found us way up here, I can begin to see my dream take shape.’

  ‘Why do you need Mr Kane? Are you going to have a theatre here?’

  He laughed, tilting his head back and opening his mouth wide. ‘It is not Mr Kane’s experience on the stage that I require, little one,’ he said eventually. ‘But his class, his English quality.’

  ‘Seems a strange sort of thing to want,’ she murmured as she looked from the Russian to Kane. ‘You are very rich. Why not run the hotel yourself?’ She realised she was being too bold with this fascinating stranger, and swiftly busied herself with the cup and saucer. However, his next words reassured her.

  ‘You see my beautiful house, my expensive clothes – but under all this, I am poor Russian peasant, little one. I have no family – they were killed in the pogroms – so I must make new life for myself in this great country.’

  Catriona looked up at him and he smiled broadly, showing the glint of gold in his teeth. ‘I know only work with my hands. I make my money from the gold that is lying in the earth of this generous new country of mine, but I have no education, no English manners for making rich guests comfortable in my castle.’

  ‘Well, I think that’s silly,’ replied Catriona firmly. ‘I bet you’ve got lots of interesting stories to tell, and I’m sure your guests would love to hear them.’

  He laughed again, an uninhibited, open-mouthed roar that lifted to the rafters and made Velda’s teacup tremble in its saucer. ‘I like you, little one,’ he said once he’d contained his laughter and wiped his eyes on a vast handkerchief. ‘You are like Russian – you speak your mind.’ He grinned at her, his voice low. ‘One day I will tell you how I find my gold, and show you the mysteries of turning it into money.’

  Catriona was no longer shy of him. ‘I’d like that very much,’ she said.

  He nodded, his mouth pursed in thought. ‘How would you like to see my palace, Catriona?’

  ‘I’d love to,’ she breathed with childlike enthusiasm.

  ‘Come then. We will leave the others here and explore.’

  The entrance hall was bustling with porters carrying expensive looking suitcases and bags belonging to the new arrivals who had driven up here in shining motors that stood outside in the sun. The women wore pretty dresses with full skirts, their feet clad in high-heeled shoes with peep toes. Jaunty hats perched on their neat heads, and jewellery sparkled at their throats and ears. The men with them wore smart suits of dark material, with silk ties and polished brogues, brushed hats carried in hands that looked as if they’d never done a day’s labour. Maids sped to and fro carrying tea-trays and linen, and Edith stood behind the reception desk orchestrating the entire mêlée, snapping orders to maids and porters, handing out keys and simpering at the male guests.

  Catriona was shamefully aware of her hand-me-down dress and scuffed shoes. ‘They all look very rich,’ she whispered to the Russian.

  ‘They are,’ he whispered back. ‘That’s why I build hotel. To help them spend their money.’

  She grinned up at him. He was teasing her, for she had realised immediately that this house, this hotel meant far more to Demetri than a way of making money.

  Demetri signalled to a porter and their luggage was collected and carried up the broad stairs and out of sight. ‘I cannot show you all of the house,’ he murmured. ‘We have people staying in most of the guest rooms. But there are many more places to explore.’ He held out his hand. ‘Come, little one. Let me show you my palace.’

  There were so many rooms, so many corridors and hallways that Catriona soon lost her bearings, and was convinced she would never learn how to find her way back to the grand entrance hall. Yet the house was beautiful, with rich carpets and gilded mirrors, secret doorways and stairs leading up to the towers where the view spread all the way down to the sea, and down into cellars that were mysteriously dark and cool and housed rack upon rack of wine bottles. The kitchen was vast with a row of ranges and spits and copper pots hanging from the rafters. Cook was a big fat woman with rosy cheeks and a jolly smile who was busy rolling out pastry and throwing orders at the scullery maids who were about Catriona’s age. Mr Kane had not been exaggerating, she realised. Demetri was indeed very rich and no expense had been spared in realising his dream.


  They returned to the drawing room to find that Velda was dozing and Kane was engrossed in a newspaper. Catriona was disappointed. She longed to tell her mother all that she’d seen and her excitement dwindled as she realised her mother didn’t actually care where she was.

  Demetri once again seemed to understand. ‘For now, is time for you to go to your rooms and rest after your long journey. Your mother is not well, I think.’

  Catriona at once felt guilty. Poor Mam was in no fit state to care one way or another what happened to them – she’d been selfish to feel such excitement. ‘My da died only a few weeks ago,’ she said softly. ‘Mam isn’t over it yet.’

  ‘And you, little one? Are you over it?’ His gaze was steady, the kindness visible in his soft brown eyes.

  ‘Not really,’ she admitted. ‘But Mr Kane has been very kind. I don’t know how we would have managed without him.’

  Demetri nodded as he tugged his beard. ‘Mr Kane was right to bring you here, little one. From now on you – and your mother – will be safe in my home. I, Demetri will see to that.’

  Catriona smiled her thanks and crossed the room to Velda. ‘Come on, Mam,’ she said softly. ‘It’s been a long day and you look as if you need a rest.’

  Velda opened her eyes, blinked and shook off her hand before rising from her chair. She stood before Demetri and looked at him squarely for the first time. ‘Thank you,’ she said simply before drifting out of the room and up the broad flight of stairs.

  Catriona hurried after her, for Demetri had showed her where they would sleep and she was eager to share her excitement with her mother in the hope that some of it would rub off on her. The top floor echoed with their footsteps. There were no carpets up here, just bare boards in the narrow corridor that had a line of doors on either side.

  ‘We’re in the servants’ quarters,’ muttered Velda as she stepped into her allocated room and sank down onto the narrow bed. ‘Oh, God,’ she groaned. ‘What’s to become of us?’ She buried her face in her hands and wept.