by C. A. Larmer
Cutlery clinked loudly against china at the other end of the table and Helen sat back in her chair looking stunned.
“Book? What book?”
“My autobiography of course.”
“Your what? But... but you can’t write to save yourself.”
“Yes, that’s true, Helen, which is why Roxy’s here to—what’s your term for it, love?”
“Ghostwrite,” said Roxy softly.
“That’s it! Roxy will be ghostwriting for me. Ghosting I think you guys call it. Sounds spooky doesn’t it? She’ll write it, I’ll get all the credit—nothing spooky about it!” She laughed heartily at this and one or two of the diners joined in but Helen was not amused.
“Are you serious, Mother?”
“Yes, ’course I am, love. Roxy will be with us for a few weeks, depending how it goes. I’ve simply told you so you’ll answer any questions she might have and then leave her alone to get on with it. I’ll also be very preoccupied with Roxy so I’m counting on you, Helen—and Joshua, of course—to run the ship for me.”
“Yeah, absolutely, Abi, no problems, I’m your man,” gushed Joshua and Helen threw him a withering look.
She turned back to her mother.
“Sorry, but I’m slightly confused. I... I don’t understand. I’ve been begging you—imploring you—to do publicity for years now. Years, Mother. You always insist on your precious privacy, to the detriment of the hotel, I might add. Now, suddenly, you’re going to write a tell-all?”
“Well, I don’t think we’ll call it a tell-all, Helen. No need for the melodrama. I’m simply putting my story down before it’s too late.”
“Too late for what?” asked Helen and Roxy swept her eyes back to the hotelier, keen to know the answer to that question, too.
“I’ve already told your mother, I think it’s a good idea,” interrupted Doc.
Helen’s eyes widened. “You already knew?”
He nodded cautiously and she held her palms out, defeated.
“Well isn’t that grand. I suppose Maurice and Popeye are also in the loop?”
“Come now, Hel’,” said Joshua.
“Don’t tell me you knew?”
He shook his head emphatically.
“Well I didn’t know, if it makes you feel any better,” purred Maya, once again trying to keep the mood light, “but I must say, I think it’s a fabulous idea!”
She raised her glass of wine high in the air, managing to spill a few drops across the tablecloth.
“Goodness, think of all the delicious stories you can tell, Abi! You’ve had so many famous guests here. Mick Jagger, Hugh Grant, Madonna!”
“I hardly think that will do the hotel any good, gossiping about our clients,” said Helen, clearly trying to keep her tone civil but not quite pulling it off. “It’s not very ‘Dormay’.”
“Now, now, Helen,” chided the doctor but Abi touched his hand briefly and shook her head.
“There’ll be no gossip,” she said firmly. “It won’t be that kind of book.”
She glanced anxiously at Roxy. “It won’t be that kind of book, will it Roxy?”
They all stared at the writer who stammered, “No, not if you don’t want it to be. Not at all.”
“Hell, I reckon it’s not a bad idea, Helen,” said Wade, finally weighing in. “Any publicity is good publicity after all.”
Helen still looked doubtful and Abi turned their attention to the prawn dish that had been placed in front of them.
“Now, please, everyone, enough about me. We’re here to have fun! How are those marinated prawns going down, Ingrid?”
The Swiss woman, who’d watched the conversation with clear disinterest, swallowed her mouthful and nodded her head slowly giving it considerable thought.
“It is good, yes, very good. Where did you get your prawns?”
As a long conversation ensued about the state of prawns in the region, Roxy stole a few glances at Helen. She couldn’t help feeling sorry for the hotelier’s daughter, despite her cold demeanour. She was right to be upset. Autobiographies were incredibly personal affairs and could strike fear into the heart of even the most distant family and friends. Abi should have passed it by her daughter long before now, and in a much more private setting. Not only was Abi’s oversight insensitive, it would do them no favours. Already she had Helen off side and this would be no help to anyone, least of all the ghostwriter.
Why, then, did she do it, Roxy wondered? Was there an ulterior motive to bringing it up so matter-of-factly in front of a bunch of hotel guests?
As she polished off her entrée and glanced around the table, Roxy realised that, apart from the Zimmermans, none of these people were strictly ‘guests’. At least, not the typical tourist type. For starters, the doctor was an old friend of Abi’s and, as far as she could tell, had been living on the island for some time. Wade and Maya—what an unlikely couple, she thought, there must be 30 years between them—were expatriate locals from the mainland who clearly spent their downtime at Dormay. And Luc was practically staff.
“Don’t let them put you off, my dear,” the doctor murmured beside her. “Their barks are usually bigger than their bites. And Helen will come round.”
“Glad to hear it,” whispered Roxy. “But Abi’s right, it doesn’t have to be that kind of book if she doesn’t want it to be.”
“I’ll keep my scandalous stories to myself then,” he said, chuckling.
Second course was a grilled snapper over rice with Asian greens on the side and it was delicious, but Roxy noticed that Helen barely touched hers. Abi noticed, too.
“Not hungry tonight, Helen?” she asked from the other end of the table.
Helen took a large swig of her water glass. “Not really, thanks Mother.”
Then she glanced at the Zimmermans. “But, please, I’m sure it’s lovely. I’m just not feeling myself, that’s all. Popeye, how about some more iced water, hey?”
The waiter returned with a jug of water and the rest of the meal was relatively subdued with the conversation turning to safer ground—the state of the local currency (something that had Wade in quite a frenzy) and the best place to buy decent skin-care products (duty free on the way out, slurred Maya with disgust).
Roxy was relieved when the final course, a mango sorbet that shut them all up, was eventually taken away and they were ushered back to the main veranda for coffee. The Zimmermans refused, keen to get an early night, and Maya, who’d managed to drink more than she’d eaten, stumbled off, hopefully to bed.
This time Helen locked arms with the writer and pulled her towards the edge of the balcony where the sea could be witnessed in all its moonlit glory. The wind had died right down and the waves sounded less like a crashing drum kit now and more like the tinkling of a distant piano. Helen had cheered up considerably since her earlier outburst and seemed almost upbeat.
“Now, let’s see if we can spot you a flying fish before the night is out,” she said, scanning the horizon. “They say it’s good luck to spot one on your first night.”
“Who says?” said Joshua joining them.
“Local folklore.”
“Local folk-lies,” he scoffed back. “Just to reel the tourists in.”
“Don’t take any notice of him, Roxy,” Helen said, giving the hotel manager a Cheshire Cat-like smile. “He might look like he knows what he’s talking about but believe me he’s as ‘fish out of water’ as you are. Isn’t that right, Beela?”
Joshua clenched his jaw tightly.
“Jesus, Helen, you just can’t let it go, can you?”
He turned on his heel and left. Unperturbed, Helen kept scanning the view.
“Ah-ha! There’s one! Did you see it?”
Roxy stared hard but shook her head. “No, I’m afraid I missed it.”
“Never mind.” Helen’s green eyes gleamed in the moonlight. “You’ll start seeing things more clearly the longer you spend with us.”
Roxy wondered if that was a promise or
a warning of some sort, but before she could ask what she meant, Wade strode up, two cups of coffee in hand. Helen brushed him off.
“I’m going to bed,” she told them. “I feel drained.”
Wade dropped the cups on a side table and took hold of one of Helen’s arms.
“I need to see you,” he growled.
She shook her arm free. “Not tonight, Wade. I’m really not in the mood.”
“It’s the only bloody reason I came out here, Helen.”
She sighed impatiently. “You know where to find me.”
Helen turned back to Roxy who was pretending to be preoccupied with the view. “Good night, Roxy, enjoy your sleep.”
“Thanks,” Roxy called after her.
Wade looked immensely relieved, scooped the cups back up and handed one to Roxy.
“Here you go, this’ll put hairs on your chest.”
Then he took the opportunity to have a good, long stare at the aforementioned chest. Roxy hoped she had disappointed him sufficiently; although, compared to his waif-like wife, she was practically Dolly Parton.
“Okay then, tell us about this book. You’ll be needing to talk to me, naturally.”
“You?”
“Of course, me! I’m in charge of the bloody region, I reckon I deserve a mention. Besides, I’ve been coming to Dormay since Helen was a pimply teenager. I can give you any history you need about the area, assist with publicity stills that sort of thing. I’m in thick with the chief tourist officer, you know?”
“Very impressive,” she replied wryly. “But you’ll need to talk to Abi about all that. I’m yet to find out exactly how she wants to work it. Not sure if it’s about her exactly, or about Dormay more generally. It’s really early days. Can I get back to you on that?”
Before he could answer, she placed her coffee cup back down on the table. “It’s been a long day, I think I’ll turn in. Will you be around tomorrow?”
“Christ no, I’ve got important business back at the mainland. Just come over when her Ladyship calls and when I feel like seeing my wife—who appears to have forgotten she has a real home.”
“How do you get over here from the mainland?”
“Whichever way I like. I’ve got the speedboat this evening—takes about 20 minutes max. Sometimes I give the Cessna a run, occasionally the yacht if I’ve got all day, which I usually haven’t, despite what Maya thinks.”
He looked away then, deep in thought and, noticing the doctor zeroing in, Roxy quickly said good night and returned to her room.
Half an hour later, as she peered up at the billowing mosquito net and listened to the humming ocean outside, Roxy couldn’t help wondering what she’d got herself into. She knew this job wouldn’t be conventional but she hadn’t expected this. There was something in the air here, some deep undercurrent that seemed to have everyone on edge. She might not be an aficionado of luxury island resorts, but it didn’t take an expert to know this was no ordinary resort. Instead of light-hearted fun and frivolity, all she sensed was suspicion, friction and something else, too. Something she couldn’t quite place.
Was it fear, perhaps?
Chapter 4
The sun screamed into the room and Roxy groaned. She’d forgotten to close the shutters the night before. She groped for her glasses and glanced at her travel clock. It was 6.47am. She stretched like a cat in the luxuriously soft Egyptian cotton sheets and then, realising she wasn’t about to fall back to sleep in a hurry, climbed out of bed and hit the shower. Twenty minutes later and dressed in a white sundress and blue and white wedges, she was back in the dining room helping herself to fresh pawpaw and yoghurt.
The place was empty except for the room maid Mary who looked almost relieved when Roxy ordered a latte, and quickly scuttled off to fetch it as though terrified Roxy would take that job from her, too. The local staff clearly wore many hats at this hotel and Roxy wondered how many people Abi had under her employ. She glanced around. Last night’s tables had been stripped back and separated, and she chose one out on the deck so she could drink in that stunning view.
Already Roxy spotted the Zimmermans zooming off in what she now knew was a Zodiac, one of the local men by their side, and she envied them their energy. It might be early but it was already very hot and she was feeling suddenly lethargic as she peered up at the sky and out to the horizon. There was just a small gathering of harmless looking clouds. So far, so good.
“Good morning, Roxanne!” croaked Abi who had entered the dining room from the set of stairs on the cliff side.
She stopped to wash her sandy feet in a basin at the top of the steps, then hobbled over to Roxy’s table and sat down, placing her cane to one side and a sprig of stiff, candy pink coral in front of her.
“That’s beautiful,” Roxy said, picking it up and turning it over.
“You’re welcome to it, just be sure to enjoy it now because the colour fades fast. Just like us, I guess!”
Today Abi was as colourful as her coral, a magenta lap lap tied around her bronzed and wrinkled body, a fresh pink frangipani at her ear.
“I didn’t pick you for an early morning person,” she said. “Great stuff, we’ll get lots of work done that way.”
Roxy winced internally. If truth be known, she despised mornings, especially bright sunny ones, but put on a cheerful smile and raised her pineapple juice to the dazzling sun.
“What’s not to love?” she lied. “Have you just come from the beach?”
“You betcha! I always take a stroll first thing... well, it’s more like a wobble these days just to iron out the creaks and say g’day to the sea. Dip my old toes in and feel young again. Sun rises just after 6 around here, so might as well join her. You know, I’ve walked the beach every morning for the past 40 years? It’s probably half the reason I’m still alive!”
She chuckled at this then turned quite serious again. “Listen, love, I’m sorry about last night. What a bloody debacle! I didn’t handle that well at all. I should’ve realised Helen would chuck a hissy. Don’t let her put you off, though. She’ll come to the party, always does. Ah, here’s your coffee. Good, good. I’ll have my usual, thanks Mary.”
The young waitress took off again and Abi turned back to Roxy who was piling the sugar into her cup. This early in the morning, she needed all the help she could get. “So, how do you want to go about this?”
“Well, it’s sort of up to you,” said Roxy. “The more time you can give me up front, the faster I can get on with this and the sooner you can get back to your life.”
“How does it work?”
“I have my recording gear with me and we just find a quiet spot where you tell me your story. I’ll ask questions to prompt you along the way. I usually like to work chronologically—it just helps give it some structure, but you may find you want to start at the present and work your way back. We can sort that out once we start talking.”
“How long does it normally take, love?”
“Well, it depends how lengthy you want this book to be and how much detail you’re prepared to give. If we can talk over the next week or so, I can send the interviews straight to my transcriber in Sydney and she can turn the text around fairly fast. I’d want another couple of days to iron out a few things and then I guess I return home and knock it all into shape. We can then liaise via email. I’ll have plenty more questions once I start making sense of it all. I’ll also email you the rough chapter drafts as I write them so you can correct and approve. I notice you have internet connection here.”
Abi took the espresso that Mary was now handing her and said, “Yes, Joshua’s baby, that one. If it were up to me, we’d still be beating wooden drums! He managed to get us a mighty great satellite to beam us in with the mainland. It’s all French to me, but he knows what he’s doing. He majored in computer science at school. Clever boy.”
She paused, a proud look sweeping across her face. “Joshy’s been a Godsend to me, you know? He’s the son I never had. The brother I wish I coul
d have given Helen. And an A-class worker, to boot. That’s his real strength. You know, he probably puts in more hours, more sheer hard work at Dormay than anybody else, myself included! You can’t put a price on that. If only...”
Her voice cracked a little, she shook herself out of it. “Ahh, never mind about all that.”
“About all what? What were you about to say?”
“Hmm? Oh no, not important now. Let’s get back to business or we’ll never get through it all. I get off the track a lot so you’re gonna have to be firm with me.”
Roxy did a mock salute and she cackled.
“Okay, so I guess I can give you a few solid hours in the mornings before things hot up, and maybe late afternoon, before cocktails. Will that do?”
“For now.”
“Rightio, I’ll leave you to enjoy your breakfast in peace.”
Abi finished her coffee with one gulp, reached for her cane and stood up.
“Do try the coconut milk pancakes, they’re one of our specialities. Shall we meet, say, in half an hour at the lobby?”
“Great, see you then.”
As Abigail hobbled off, Roxy returned to the buffet table to give those pancakes closer inspection. She was surprised to find Helen and Wade now sitting at one of the tables inside, their heads locked together in conversation. They had coffee cups before them and Roxy glanced at her watch. It was now 7.30am. An early morning meeting perhaps? Helen looked up, spotted Roxy and said, “Roxy Parker! How did you sleep?”
Wade swung his head round and grunted at her.
“Very well, thank you, Helen. You?”
She glanced from Helen to Wade and she noticed the woman blush just slightly. Wade stood up abruptly.
“I gotta get out of here, I’ve got a region to run.”
He tipped his head at both women, growled something about the bill to a terrified looking Mary and left.
“Not a morning person then?” Roxy said to Helen.