Alice-Miranda on Vacation

by Jacqueline Harvey

  “Yes, Grandpa mentioned a few times as we were driving over that he hoped Mrs. Oliver would be home. Apparently they were friends a long time ago, I think even before he met Granny.”

  “Yes, they’ve been having a wonderful catch-up.” Cecelia winked at Alice-Miranda. “I’ve asked if he would like to come back for dinner tomorrow night, but he said something about his favorite show being on the telly.”

  “Oh, that’s just sad,” Millie scoffed. “I’ll have a word to him. He’s become so dull since Granny passed away. He really needs to get out more. You should have seen him this morning when we went to the village and ate ice cream for breakfast—he was making jokes and having the most wonderful time.”

  “Well, come on then, girls.” Cecelia guided her charges toward the kitchen stairs. “I’ll just pop up and see how Mrs. Shillingsworth is getting on, and then I’ll be down in a tick.”

  In the kitchen, Ambrose and Mrs. Oliver were having a very jolly time when they were interrupted by the children. They were laughing so hard there were tears traversing the lines of their wizened cheeks.

  “My goodness!” exclaimed Alice-Miranda. “What’s so funny?”

  “Oh, oh, my dear—” Mrs. Oliver disintegrated into a fit of giggles.

  “Well, you see.” Ambrose almost choked on his words. “I was reminding Dolly about a picnic rally we went on a very long time ago.” He began to chuckle.

  “Yes?” Millicent walked up and put her hands on her grandfather’s heaving shoulders. “Go on, Pa,” she begged.

  “Well,” Mrs. Oliver snorted. “There was a group of us heading off on a car rally, with the goal being to meet up and have a picnic lunch. I was the navigator and your grandfather here had paired me up with his best friend, Dougal. We headed off with the picnic in the back and the map in my hand. I have to say that my heart was somewhat aflutter.…” Her chest began to heave and she was again overcome with laughter.

  “Did you fancy Dougal?” Millie asked.

  “Rather, my dear.” Mrs. Oliver composed herself.

  “But that doesn’t sound funny at all,” Jacinta frowned. “What happened—why are you laughing?”

  Ambrose began again. “Well, you know that the aim of a car rally is to find a range of locations and then the final destination. Dolly wasn’t very good at reading the map, and after missing the first three checkpoints the rest of the party started to get a little concerned about them.”

  “Where were you, Mrs. Oliver?” Alice-Miranda asked.

  “Oh, my dear, I was trying to be very clever and decided that we should take a shortcut. There was a bit of track and we were heading to a village I knew well. So I directed Dougal down into a field. We were bumping along having the loveliest chat when out of the corner of my eye I noticed a big black bull heading toward us. It seemed that he had taken exception to our little car invading his territory. He charged right at us, snorting and pawing at the ground.”

  “What happened next?” Alice-Miranda asked, wide-eyed.

  “Well, we continued until the bull had his nose right up against the front of the car. He actually butted against us a few times, and Dougal was rather cross about the brute damaging his paintwork. Poor Dougal put the car into reverse but only managed to bump back into a huge mud puddle. The wheels started spinning and there we were. Stuck in the mud—bogged—with this enormous beast bellowing at the top of its lungs. There was nothing we could do but sit in the field and wait to be rescued.”

  “Did you find them, Pa?” Millie asked her grandfather.

  “We sent a search party, and in the end we were so worried they had driven off a cliff or into a river that we got the local constable involved.”

  “Then what happened?” Jacinta begged.

  “Well, we were there for hours! At about eight o’clock a light came into view. Sure enough, there was a police car, siren blaring, heading toward us. The bull had gone to sleep in front of the car and the constable found us eating cucumber sandwiches and drinking cold sweet tea. He shooed the bull away as though it were a lamb—made Dougal and me look more than a little silly. My mother and father were quite beside themselves thinking that Dougal had made off with me. It was most improper. It was a wonder that we ever married.”

  “So Dougal was your husband?” Jacinta asked.

  “Yes, dear, God rest his soul.” Mrs. Oliver smiled.

  When Millie suggested that her grandfather come back for dinner tomorrow evening, he rather surprised everyone.

  “That would be delightful,” he agreed. “Now, what about that tour of your laboratory before I head off?” Ambrose guided Dolly by the arm. “I’d love to see what you get up to down there.”

  “Oh my sainted aunt!” Mrs. Oliver declared. “I’ve left Mrs. Smith down there for hours. What a frightful friend I am!” Mrs. Oliver grabbed a wooden spoon from the kitchen bench and handed it to Alice-Miranda. “Darling girl—can you stir that pot on the stove? I’ll be back as soon as I can.” And with that she raced out the door to the entrance of the cellar at the end of the veranda.

  “Bye, Pa,” Millie called to her grandfather as he disappeared after her.

  He ducked his head back inside the door. “Bye, darling, see you tomorrow.”

  Millie ran to give the old man a hug.

  “Well hello,” Mrs. Smith greeted her red-faced friend. “I was beginning to think you’d been kidnapped.”

  “Doreen, my dear, I am terribly sorry. I’ve had a visitor this afternoon and we got a bit carried away with a trip down memory lane,” Mrs. Oliver said.

  Ambrose had followed her down into the cellar, albeit carefully, as his legs weren’t what they used to be.

  “Mrs. Smith, I’d like you to meet my friend, Ambrose McLoughlin-McTavish, grandfather of Alice-Miranda’s little friend Millie.”

  The old man extended his hand, which Mrs. Smith shook gently.

  “A pleasure to meet you, sir.” Mrs. Smith smiled. “I think I may have seen you up at the school.”

  “And you too.” His eyes twinkled kindly. “Yes, I like to pop over and watch Millicent play sport as often as I can manage.”

  Ambrose studied the rows of stainless steel benches lined with all manner of flasks, beakers and other scientific equipment. At the other end of the cavernous room, a full commercial kitchen boasting two gigantic cookers took up a considerable amount of space. Another row of benches ran along the wall, topped by several computers.

  “So what exactly do you do down here in this amazing cave, Mrs. Oliver?”

  “I like to invent things,” she answered.

  “Oh, get off with you, woman. She’s far too modest,” Mrs. Smith scoffed. “Have you heard of FDF?”

  Ambrose rested his chin in his hand. “Didn’t I read something about that in the newspaper recently? FDF, now, what does that stand for again?”

  “Freeze-Dried Foods,” Mrs. Smith replied. “Our Dolly here is the inventor—it’s all her handiwork. But if you can think of a better name, do let us know. We’re all racking our brains to come up with something more interesting, aren’t we, Mrs. Oliver?”

  Dolly nodded.

  “Goodness me, my dear. What a clever old bird you are! Who would have thought?”

  Mrs. Oliver blushed a deep shade of red. “It’s just something I’ve been playing with for a while now. The idea of having proper food, freeze-dried so that it won’t perish and can be easily transported—well, after what happened to my dear Dougal, it was a challenge I couldn’t resist.”

  “Ah, Dougal, God rest his soul.” Ambrose made a sign of the cross.

  Dolly’s explorer husband, Dougal, had met an untimely end on one of his expeditions after his food supply had run out and he was stuck in the middle of one of the worst blizzards Europe had ever seen.

  “Well, you are a trick,” Ambrose said admiringly. “And Mrs. Smith, what is your role in all of this?”

  “I’ve just come to give Dolly a helping hand for a few days while the girls are on holidays. I hav
e no brain for inventing, but I can follow instructions and am happy to assist wherever I can,” Mrs. Smith replied.

  “And what’s that through there?” Ambrose pointed to an area at the other end of the room paneled off by thick, gray-tinted glass.

  “Oh, that’s where Mr. Kennington-Jones keeps the most important stock—the wine, of course.” Dolly smiled and touched a fingertip to the side of her nose.

  “But I thought the wine cellar was accessed from the pantry at the end of the kitchen?” Mrs. Smith frowned.

  “Oh no, you must be confused.” Mrs. Oliver shook her head. “Anyway, we should get back to the children. They’ll be waiting for their supper.” Mrs. Oliver motioned for Ambrose and Mrs. Smith to go on ahead of her. She flicked the light switch and pulled the heavy metal door closed. A light on the electronic pad at the entrance flickered and she hastily punched in a series of numbers. The door shut tight and there was a sound of air rushing out.

  Mrs. Smith couldn’t help wondering why her friend had lied about the cellar. She herself had seen it—through a passage and down some stairs in the pantry off the end of the kitchen. The glassed-off area was nothing to do with Mr. Kennington-Jones’s extensive wine collection at all. But then again, she didn’t know what was in there either, and Mrs. Oliver likely had good reason to keep it a secret.

  The ladies bid goodbye to Ambrose, who set off in his rattly Land Rover, vowing to return the next evening.

  The children had set the table in the kitchen and were now watching television with Shilly and Cecelia in the small sitting room.

  “Dolly,” Shilly called when she heard the screen door open. “Dolly, you must come and see this. It’s just ghastly.”

  Mrs. Oliver and Mrs. Smith bustled into the room to catch the tail end of the news story.

  “All those little children starving—goodness, there must be something can be done.” Shilly shook her head.

  “What about FDF, Mrs. Oliver?” Alice-Miranda asked. “I thought Daddy was working on contracts with some governments.”

  “Yes, darling girl—your father has been busy—but these things just take such a long time, I’m afraid,” Mrs. Oliver replied.

  “And then there are the people more interested in making money than anything else,” Mrs. Smith added.

  “Yes, like Alethea’s horrid father. I read somewhere that one of Addison Goldsworthy’s oil mines poisoned a whole river and lots of people got very sick. If he’s anything like Alethea, it probably didn’t bother him one bit, as long as he got richer,” Millie added.

  Alethea Goldsworthy’s father was one of the richest men in the world. He had made his money mining for oil and gold and just about any other precious commodity—and had quite an appalling reputation for caring little about his employees. He was even said to be on first-name terms with several of the world’s worst dictators.

  Shilly flicked off the television.

  “Well, I don’t know about anyone else, but I think we need to have dinner and then I would love some help finishing off upstairs. What do you say, girls? Do you think you could give me a hand?”

  “Of course … yes … what do you want us to do?” the children chorused.

  “Let’s talk about that in a minute, shall we? Now off you go and wash your hands.”

  After dinner, Alice-Miranda, Millie and Jacinta followed Cecelia to the third floor. Off the broad hallway with its pretty gold wallpaper there were eight bedrooms, including Alice-Miranda’s parents’ own. Cecelia explained that they were having quite a few guests for the weekend and so the group was on “final inspection” duty for Shilly, which meant checking that there were towels in all the bathrooms and fresh flowers in the bedrooms and that there was not a crease or wrinkle on any of the duvets. The girls were rather enjoying their jobs, eagerly ticking off the list that Shilly had sent with them. Alice-Miranda knew, however, that while this was called “final inspection,” it would be Mrs. Shillingsworth who would do the final, final inspection after everyone was tucked up in bed.

  “Mummy, why is Aunty Gee’s room on this list?”

  Alice-Miranda was quite used to having a house full of visitors, as her parents often entertained at home, but the suite at the very end was strictly off-limits to everyone except Aunty Gee—and it had been that way for as long as anyone could remember.

  “Is she coming for the weekend?” Alice-Miranda asked.

  Cecelia frowned. “Well, darling, you know that we are having some people to stay. But it’s a little bit more than that, actually.”

  “Yes, Mummy, I know. It’s a surprise—for Aunt Charlotte.” Alice-Miranda smiled.

  “Oh, darling, however did you guess?” Cecelia said, pouting.

  “Well, you don’t usually have half the village up to help with the cleaning unless there’s a special event—and there have been so many deliveries too,” Alice-Miranda noted.

  Cecelia straightened a painting on the wall as she spoke. “You don’t miss much, do you?”

  “I can’t wait,” said Alice-Miranda, and hugged her mother.

  “But you mustn’t say anything to Charlotte.” Cecelia looked each of the girls in the eye. “She thinks we’re just having a small get-together with Lawrence and everyone here at home.”

  The party was planned for the following evening. Charlotte would be home in the morning, and to keep her out of the house while the guests arrived, Lawrence had suggested when he was there earlier in the week that he would try to convince her to take a lovely long ride to a couple of the neighboring villages.

  “Now that you’re all in on the plan, you can help make sure that Charlotte stays away until everything is in place,” Cecelia announced.

  There was a loud creaking noise and Alice-Miranda turned to see her father arriving at the top of the stairs.

  “Hello, Daddy.”

  Hugh Kennington-Jones did not reply. He seemed quite lost in his own thoughts.

  “Hellllllloooooo, Daaaadddddy,” Alice-Miranda called again in a singsong voice.

  Hugh jolted as if surprised and turned toward the girls. “Oh, hello, darling.” He walked toward the group at the end of the hallway. “Sorry, I was far, far away,” he said. “Hello, Millie—lovely to see you again.” He reached down and gave her a hug. Then he stepped back and looked at Jacinta. “And how are you feeling, young lady? You’re certainly looking much better.”

  “I’m fine, thank you,” Jacinta replied.

  “And we’re all so excited about Aunt Charlotte’s party,” said Alice-Miranda as she put her tiny hand into her father’s and the group walked back toward the top of the stairs.

  “I thought we were keeping that a surprise,” Hugh scolded Cecelia.

  “Yes, well, we were, but you know this one”—she rolled her eyes affectionately and pointed at Alice-Miranda—“has a habit of asking just the right questions.”

  The grandfather clock on the landing began to chime.

  “All right, girls. It’s late—you’d better get off to bed. I’ll come down and tuck you in soon,” Cecelia instructed as the clock struck nine.

  “Good night, Daddy,” said Alice-Miranda.

  Hugh lifted her into his arms and gave her a kiss on the cheek. She kissed him back again as she always did. It was their bedtime game.

  “Love you.” She pressed her cheek against his, and then rubbed her face with her hand, objecting to his evening stubble. “You need a shave, Daddy.”

  “No, I don’t think so,” he teased. “Perhaps I’ll grow a beard.”

  “No, I don’t think so.” Cecelia shook her head.

  “Me either.” Alice-Miranda wrinkled her nose. “Beards are awful.”

  Hugh put Alice-Miranda down.

  “Good night.” Millie and Jacinta waved.

  “Can we show Millie the roller coaster ride tomorrow?” Jacinta asked as the girls walked three-across down the stairs.

  “You have a roller coaster?” Millie gasped.

  “Well, sort of,” Alice-Miranda sm
iled. “Not quite what you think, but a lot of fun.”

  “I’m up for it,” Millie enthused.

  “Yes, perhaps we can have a turn tomorrow?” Jacinta ran her fingers down the highly polished balustrade and winked at Alice-Miranda.

  “Maybe.” Alice-Miranda winked back.

  Meanwhile, Hugh and Cecelia headed into their bedroom.

  “So, how was your day?” Cecelia asked as Hugh slipped his jacket off and began to undo his tie.

  “I’ve had better,” he sighed, walking into the spacious wardrobe.

  “Why? What happened?” Cecelia called.

  “It’s the FDF contracts. I thought we were ready to sign the deal, but apparently there’s another player about to enter the market. Hector Baines called me this afternoon to say that there had been mutterings about someone else having an identical product, and now the governments aren’t willing to sign anything until they meet with this new supplier.” Hugh walked back into the bedroom.

  Hector Baines, the CEO of Care Planet, had been negotiating contracts with several Third World governments, having seen the incredible results of the FDF trials. He was anxious to get things signed and delivered as quickly as possible.

  “So who’s this new supplier?” Cecelia asked.

  “That’s just it. Nobody’s talking. I have no idea,” Hugh replied. “As far as I’m aware, no one else has come close to Mrs. Oliver’s formula.”

  “Well, I’m sure it will work out,” Cecelia reassured him. “I’d better pop down and tuck the girls in. You should see Alice-Miranda’s room. It looks like the school dorm.” She kissed her husband on the top of his head as he sat at the writing desk scanning the afternoon paper.

  “Say good night from me.” Hugh didn’t look up as his eyes locked onto a small article in the bottom left-hand corner of page eight. The headline read Goldsworthy Industries Enters Food Relief Market—a Helping Hand for All …