The Implausible Story of Olive Far Far Away

by Tonya Alexandra

  Earl and Lady Wroxden?

  I scan the article until I find: Lady Wroxden announced happily that her daughter, Lady Prudence, will return to Shewthrop for Christmas from Sydney, Australia, where she has been working towards her MD (Doctor of Medicine).

  The phone almost drops from my hand.

  Holy cow. Felix is marrying the daughter of an earl!

  CHAPTER

  24

  Well, I guess they have enough room for me, I decide, and stroll through the gates.

  Shewthrop Hall is a BBC director’s wet dream. It is three storeys high with numerous wings and outbuildings, the roof is gabled with at least six smoking chimneys disguised among its decorative parapets. A portico with stately Corinthian columns marks the entrance to the hall. You can imagine horse-drawn carriages pulling up there, carrying grand ladies in huge crinoline skirts, footmen at the ready to assist them. It’s kind of thrilling to imagine what’s gone on here over the years. It smacks of romance and scandal—all sorts of grand history.

  Walking up the driveway, I pass a shimmering lake, and take in the seamless view of the gentle parkland grounds to the woods beyond, expecting Mr Darcy to appear at any moment on a glossy black stallion. But I’m more of a Heathcliff fan and this is no barren moorland. This is the epitome of civilised. No wonder Prue is a monarchist. She probably had play dates with the Windsors.

  I resist pushing the buzzer to the front door even though I’m certain some butler-type person would answer, which is kind of a fantasy of mine. Instead, I snoop around the side of the building, peering into rooms I’m sure have titles like ‘the library’, ‘the drawing room’, ‘the music room’ and such. It’s surprising inside; antiques and portraits in gilded frames line the walls, but the furniture reads more thrift-shop than filthy rich. Someone here needs a subscription to Italian Vogue.

  I pass a swimming pool housed in a glass conservatory where tendrils of ivy grow obediently around French doors that open onto a sun-trapped courtyard with deck chairs and an alfresco bar. Maybe it won’t be such a terrible stay. I wander through a formal rose garden, the crushed stone path crunching satisfyingly underfoot, until I happen across a helipad. A helipad! Felix will be flying around England with an earl in a helicopter! No wonder he locked in Prue so fast.

  To the rear of the building, I hear the pop-ping-popping of people playing tennis. I hear the posh haw-haw-haw of their laughter.

  How jolly! I think, as I go to find them. How absolutely smashing!

  I’m never going to fit in here.

  I round the building and spot the happy couple playing tennis. It’s certainly not the earl and his wife. These two are younger, fitter, somehow familiar …

  ‘Jordan!’ I scream, running to the courts.

  Jordan lets the ball bounce past her. ‘Olive? You’re here already?’

  I throw my arms around her. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘Surprise!’ Jordan says, hugging me back so the tennis racket is digging into my spine. ‘Felix is marrying Simon’s sister.’

  I hold her at arm’s length. ‘What? ’

  ‘Prue is Simon’s sister. They both grew up here. We’re all going to have Christmas together!’

  I am having serious trouble digesting all this. The facts are getting stuck in my brain.

  Jordan leans forward to whisper in my ear. ‘Simon’s father is an earl! Can you believe it? Simon is going to be an earl!’

  Yes. Indeed. This will take some time to reconcile.

  Simon approaches cautiously. ‘Olive has arrived?’

  ‘I told Simon you’re invisible,’ Jordan says. ‘But he knows that you’re much, much more than that.’

  I’m a little annoyed she didn’t ask me first but any anger I feel is melted by the fact she remembers my desire to be more than just an invisible girl. Plus I kind of blew my cover yelling out her name …

  ‘It must be a relief to know Jordan’s not mental,’ I say to Simon.

  His body twitches away a fraction when he hears my voice but he handles it okay. ‘It was a relief. But I must apologise for my behaviour. It was unacceptable.’

  ‘You don’t have anything to apologise for,’ I say. Apart from being an arrogant ass, I resist adding, because it’s obvious now why he was an arrogant ass—he is an arrogant ass. It’s in his blood. ‘You didn’t know Jordan was a lying rat,’ I say instead.

  Jordan punches me.

  ‘Ouch!’ I say. ‘Lucky shot.’

  Jordan runs her fingers through Simon’s hair, which doesn’t seem quite so thin now that I know he’s aristocracy. ‘At least he knows now I wasn’t trying to ditch him.’

  ‘No, it was me,’ I admit. ‘I thought you were too posh.’ I look around me. ‘Turns out I was right.’

  Simon inhales sharply and Jordan laughs. ‘I told you she’s rude.’

  I shrug it off. ‘You’ll learn to love me.’

  Simon wipes his brow with the sweatband on his wrist. He doesn’t know how to handle me, which is amusing. ‘Perhaps we should call for tea?’ he says.

  ‘Absolutely,’ Jordan says, swinging her tennis racket as they exit the court.

  ‘A capital idea,’ I add, following behind.

  ‘Ignore her mocking,’ Jordan tells Simon. ‘In fact, ignore most of what she says.’

  ‘Hey!’ I complain.

  ‘It will make for an interesting Christmas,’ says Simon. ‘An invisible smart alec and a blind brother-in-law.’

  ‘The hoi polloi colonials invade Shewthrop Hall!’ I trill.

  Simon guides us to a white wicker table and chairs in the glass conservatory then sets off to find ‘help’ to bring tea.

  ‘He needs help? I thought he was clever?’ I say when he’s out of earshot.

  ‘Go easy on him,’ Jordan says. ‘He’s trying.’

  ‘Oh, yeah, I feel real sorry for the guy. Son of an earl and all. No wonder he had money issues in Asia.’

  Jordan bends towards me. ‘Can you believe it? He didn’t tell me anything until we were in his flat in London.’

  ‘He has a flat in London?’

  ‘Well, more like a townhouse. It’s bigger than your place and mine put together. I thought it was an impressive family home.’

  The whole thing is still blowing my mind. ‘But you … why did he choose you?’

  ‘I’ll try not to be insulted but—I know, right?’ She holds up her hands, baffled. ‘It’s so Princess Mary. I can’t believe it’s happening. Not that I’m planning on marrying him or anything.’

  ‘And what are you wearing?’ I say, pointing to Jordan’s tennis skirt. ‘Who are you?’

  ‘It’s Prue’s. Unfortunately I didn’t seem to have packed my tennis wear.’

  ‘What were you thinking?’

  ‘I know. Such an oversight.’ We both cackle.

  ‘What does your mum say about all this?’

  ‘Oh god. There is no way I’m telling her. She’d have an absolute fit. You know her obsession with the bloody royals.’ Jordan’s mother has a china collection of every royal wedding, coronation and baby born. She’d auction her house as dowry if it would see Jordan married to an earl.

  ‘Have you told Simon you want Australia to become a republic?’

  Jordan screws up her nose. ‘Might have avoided that one.’

  I’m horrified. ‘Jordan!’

  ‘What?’ she says. ‘We get along on every other level, why rock the boat?’

  ‘Especially when you can be easily convinced that you’re wrong,’ I say snidely.

  Jordan changes the subject. ‘What about Felix marrying Simon’s sister? What an amazing coincidence.’

  ‘Tell me about it! When did you find out?’

  ‘Maybe a month ago. Prue and Simon were on FaceTime and I walked past and saw Felix mooching around in the background. It was kind of hilarious.’

  Seriously. How did people realise they were dating/ engaged to the sister/brother of their friend before the internet?

  ‘The
n Felix told me you’d be here for Christmas, so we planned the surprise. I had no idea it would be in such style,’ she says, looking around at our palatial surroundings.

  ‘Have you met the parents?’

  ‘No. But they sound okay about Felix being blind so they must be reasonable people. Apparently, they’re more worried about how fast the proposal was.’

  It’s good news. I don’t really feel like plotting revenge on Earl and Lady Wroxden. They could be useful allies. ‘It was fast. Stupid Felix.’

  There is a moment of silence between us. I can see Jordan smacking her lips, working up the courage to say something. ‘What?’ I demand.

  ‘We’re okay, aren’t we? I mean after that call … I’m sorry I said your life sucks.’

  ‘Of course we’re all right,’ I say. ‘What kind of friends are we if we have to worry about saying dumb stuff to each other?’

  ‘I was worried about you. With Dillon and everything. Are you okay?’

  ‘What can I do? He’s not up for it.’ I shrug. ‘But it was brilliant so I don’t regret it.’

  ‘Would you see him again?’

  ‘Um, yeah,’ I say. ‘I mean, you do remember him, right? G to the O to the R to the G—’

  Jordan holds up her hand to cut me off. ‘I get the picture.’

  I sigh. ‘Too bad he doesn’t want to see me.’

  ‘But that’s two now,’ Jordan points out. ‘Maybe there are more who can see you?’

  ‘Maybe. I’m trying not to care. I can live with this invisible thing.’

  Jordan frowns. ‘That’s very mature sounding …’

  It’s amusing to see how worried she is about me sounding mature. ‘I’m going to Ireland after this to try and find my grandfather. I’m hoping he might know something.’

  ‘Derry Nial McDonagh? That’s amazing!’

  Huh. I must have told that tale more times than I thought.

  ‘It’s a long shot, Pins. A mega-sized long shot. I’m not getting my hopes up.’

  ‘Still.’

  ‘Still.’

  She looks at me slyly. ‘There’s always Tom …’

  ‘Too confusing.’

  ‘You don’t even want to be friends?’

  ‘How? I’d just be thinking about jumping his bones.’

  ‘Jumping whose bones?’ Simon returns carrying two blankets. He passes one to Jordan and one to me. ‘For the chill.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I say, spreading it across my lap as Jordan does. I guess he is kind of sweet. ‘My ex, Tom. He was waaay hot, Simon, you would scald your pallid Pom hide just looking at him.’

  ‘You’re not partial to the lily-white?’

  My mind flashes to Dillon lying in Central Park, the morning sunshine on his shoulders. ‘Eh. Some of you are all right.’

  ‘And some of you are more than all right,’ Jordan says, giving Simon a look I really shouldn’t be witness to.

  He takes her face in his palms like he’s just uncovered the most precious treasure from some ancient king’s tomb and I’m forced to cough before they start sucking each other’s faces off or something equally disgusting.

  ‘I know I’m invisible but please don’t forget I’m here.’

  ‘My apologies.’ Simon pulls his wicker chair closer to Jordan so he can touch her knee. ‘You do drink English tea, Olive? I’m sorry I forgot to ask.’

  ‘I love it, thank you. It’s better than salted yak tea any day.’

  He chortles. ‘It was nice to get home and have a proper bathe.’

  ‘Couldn’t agree more, old chap,’ I say, amusing myself if nobody else. ‘I thought you two would be in India for another six months at least. What happened to the guru?’

  I notice Simon’s lips draw tight.

  ‘He turned out to be a fraud,’ Jordan says. ‘He stole five grand off Simon.’

  ‘Five grand!’ I slap the table with fury. ‘What a tosser.’

  Simon calmly catches the table which is rattling from my knock. ‘People are desperate over there. One must consider their circumstances—’

  ‘Just because you’re loaded, doesn’t give him the right to rip you off.’

  A smile quirks at the corner of Simon’s lips. ‘He was a tosser.’

  To my absolute delight, a butler, complete with starched shirt and tie, black jacket with tails, arrives carrying a silver tray of tea things with scones, jam and cream. He lays it on the table with such poise I’m forced to realign my own hunched posture.

  ‘Milord,’ he says, his voice as stiff as his spine.

  I muffle my giggle. How did Jordan and I end up here?

  ‘Thank you, Huntley,’ Simon says. ‘This is Miss Withadrew’s friend, Miss Olive …’ He hesitates.

  ‘Oil,’ Jordan answers for me.

  Oh, ha ha.

  Simon frowns for an instant but he trusts Jordan implicitly. He turns back to Huntley as I pinch Jordan, who squeals. ‘Miss Oil will be staying with us for Christmas. Please see to it that her belongings are taken to the Lilac room.’

  ‘Belongings, milord?’

  ‘I didn’t bring any,’ I whisper into Simon’s ear. ‘But there’s a box arriving by mail.’

  ‘My apologies, Huntley,’ Simon says. ‘Miss Oil’s belongings will be arriving by mail. Watch out for them, will you?’

  Huntley doesn’t flinch. ‘Yes, milord.’ Then he leaves.

  ‘Do you have to call Simon lord?’ I ask Jordan.

  ‘Only when I deserve it,’ he says, doing that eyebrow wiggle he does. Urgh.

  ‘Not very often then?’ I say.

  Simon laughs. ‘No. Not very often.’

  At least he can take a joke.

  ‘By the way, it’s Olive Banks, not Oil,’ I tell Simon.

  ‘Banks, eh?’ Simon looks impressed. ‘That’s a very British name.’

  Is it? Crap. ‘Maybe we’ll stick with Oil.’

  Jordan laughs as she stands to pour the tea. I think how natural she looks in Prue’s fancy tennis clothes, silver pot in hand. So different to the grungy folk-singing guitar player she was six months ago. It’s crazy to think that if she stays with Simon she’ll end up Lady Wroxden. It’s a whole fruit bowl of bananas.

  ‘I’m sorry you can’t speak in front of the help, Olive,’ Simon tells me. ‘I do wish for you to feel at home here.’

  It’s very sweet of him. ‘Why did you tell him about me at all?’

  ‘So the staff will take care of your needs, naturally.’

  ‘I’m still confused.’

  ‘We’re going with my story,’ Jordan tells me as she pours the milk. ‘The staff are pandering to my imaginary friend because of my neurological disorder.’

  ‘So they think you’re mad?’

  Jordan chuckles. ‘They probably think Simon’s mad for bringing me home.’

  Simon takes his cup and saucer from Jordan, then sits back and crosses his lordly legs. ‘Don’t be ridiculous. They think you’re charming.’

  Every cell of him reeks of privilege. No wonder he was so keen to rough it. He was trying to understand how the other half live but he’ll never get it. Not when you can run home to this.

  ‘What about your family?’ I ask him. ‘Will you tell them?’

  ‘My mother and father are in Gstaad until Christmas Eve …’

  ‘The Swiss Alps?’

  ‘They have a villa there.’

  Of course they do.

  ‘I’m happy to stay quiet when they arrive,’ I say. ‘I don’t want to make things difficult.’

  Simon looks at me kindly. ‘You needn’t be afraid of being yourself at Shewthrop, Olive. You’re important to Jordan so you’re important to all of us.’

  And that right there makes me add Simon to my very short list of friends. Maybe Jordan wasn’t such an idiot choosing this pompous ass.

  CHAPTER

  25

  We’re just finishing tea when Huntley reappears. I’m so jealous of Simon for having a Huntley. I desperately want one of my own. I can just ima
gine him standing alert in the corner of our dingy lounge room while Rose and I watch TV, polishing the one silver teaspoon we own, feeding the cat, calling Rose an Uber for her late night shifts. I wonder if Simon would get me one for Christmas?

  ‘Lady Prudence and her party have arrived, milord.’

  ‘Thank you, Huntley.’

  Felix is here! I jump to my feet as Felix and Prue come through the door. Prue is exactly as I imagined: horsey-faced and pale, with hair as blond as Simon’s. She wears riding boots, skinny jeans and a chunky-knit sweater. Chunky-knit sweaters must be a family thing. She and Simon embrace rigidly.

  ‘It’s jolly good to see you,’ Simon says, patting her back. ‘You look terrifically well.’

  ‘You too. Look at your tan!’

  I squint at Simon. Tan? He looks a bit freckled, but there’s certainly nothing tanned about him.

  ‘And this must be Jordan,’ Prue says, holding out her hands to take Jordan’s. ‘Hello! It’s a tremendous coincidence, you knowing Felix.’

  ‘Yes, isn’t it?’ Jordan is rarely nervous but she is now. She must want Prue to like her. Urgh.

  ‘We must have pleased the Fates somehow,’ Felix says, standing at the door.

  It’s such a Felix thing to say and he looks so super handsome I would snog him if it were socially acceptable. He’s got new sunglasses and a brilliant haircut that give him a rakish devil-may-care air. His cheekbones are doing their magnificent thing, sticking out like scaffolding under his skin.

  Can I go over and kiss him? It’s not like anyone would see …

  ‘Felix!’ Jordan beats me to it, giving Felix a hug and introducing him to Simon.

  Simon takes his hand. ‘How d’you do, Mr King?’

  ‘Don’t call him Mr King,’ I say. ‘He’ll get a big head, especially over here.’

  Felix tilts his head to the sound of my voice. His face lights up which I have to admit makes me feel pretty good. ‘Olive.’

  Prue looks a little spooked but she’s also fascinated. ‘Olive’s here?’

  ‘I sure am. Although I thought I was in the wrong place at first—no white.’