Evergreen Falls (7 page)

The tennis court was on the edge of the escarpment, and they walked across it towards the gleaming white stone fence that lined the boundary of the hotel gardens. When Flora was sure they were out of earshot of his friends, she said, “Sam isn’t going.”

“Then you and I will leave him here.”

“You know we can’t. Father was very particular. I’m to take care of him.”

“Take care of him? The impossible task. Does your father
know
?”

“About the opium? I . . . I don’t know. Maybe he does and he pretends he doesn’t. But if he knew . . . It’s just . . .” Her eyes darted away.

Tony stopped and turned her to him. “What is it?”

“I can’t leave him.”

“He’s nearly twenty.”

“No, I
can’t
. I’m to stop him from doing anything foolish if I hope to . . . inherit.” She knew she shouldn’t talk about money. Tony had plenty, but her family had more. Much, much more. The Honeychurch-Black family owned property and titles the world over, and had for centuries.

“Ah. I see.” He tilted his head a little to the right. “That’s cruel.”

“Father’s not cruel. He’s sensible. He wants to make sure Samuel is safe.”

Tony nodded, then he pulled her close against him and bent his lips to her ear. “You will be all right. Don’t you worry.”

“How do you know that? You don’t know that for sure.”

He didn’t reply. Instead, he began to croon to her slowly, softly.
She loved it when he sang to her.
La Boheme
or
Tosca
or any other bel canto tune. She closed her eyes and leaned in to him; his tennis whites smelled like lemon and sunshine.

“Do you really think everything will work out?” she breathed after a time, when her heart didn’t feel so trapped behind her ribs.

“I promise you it will.” Then he gently pushed her away from him. “But I can’t stay another day. I’ll take the afternoon train down to Sydney.”

“You’ll be back?”

“As soon as I can. A few days. I have business that won’t wait as prettily as you.” He grazed her cheek with the back of his hand. “Gorgeous girl.”

She couldn’t help but smile. “Sam said he’ll let me take him to a doctor. That’s good, isn’t it?”

“It sure is, Florrie. Don’t stop hoping.”

They walked hand in hand back towards the tearoom.
Don’t stop hoping.
She wouldn’t. Not as far as Sam was concerned. Not ever.

CHAPTER FIVE

A
grumbling gray sky awaited Violet when she stepped off the train at Evergreen Falls station. She pulled the collar of her wool coat up high and tightened her silk scarf: the rust-colored one with hieroglyphics on it that she had bought the day before. It contrasted beautifully with her structured white dress. Scarves and hats were her weakness. And dresses. And also shoes. She needed to slow down and save her money, especially as the Evergreen Spa had only promised her two months of work. They were closed over the winter, and she would be sent back to Sydney then.

But still. She had a job after only a week out of work. Bless Clive.

Where was he?

He had promised to meet her. She searched the platform but couldn’t see him. She sat on the long painted seat and waited. People arrived, collected loved ones, headed off. Noise and movement. Motorcars and sulkies on the road. Then just Violet, left by herself. A rough wind drove dry leaves skittering up the platform. Cold gray clouds moved in and started to spit.

Of course she didn’t have a brolly. Planning ahead was not her forte.

The clock on the station wall told her forty minutes had passed.
She couldn’t wait here in the rain forever. Violet pulled her hat down tighter over her ears, grasped her suitcase in one hand and her gramophone in the other, and went to the porter’s office for directions to the hotel.

It was raining hard by the time she had walked the half mile to the Evergreen Spa, a cream-colored building of arched windows and colonnades, flanked by a row of pine trees. Her clothes were damp and her shoes were squelching and sodden from deep puddles. Her suitcase seemed to weigh a ton, wearing a deep, purplish groove in her hand. But at last the doorman pulled open the tall front door and ushered her in.

“Thank you,” she said to him, water dripping off her nose. “Do you know where Clive Betts is?”

The doorman shook his silvery head. “No, ma’am. I don’t know that name. Is he a guest?”

“No, he’s a carpenter. A handyman. He started work here recently.”

“Sorry, ma’am. There’s many of us works here. Nearly a hundred. If he’s new, I mightn’t know him.”

The doors closed behind her and she found herself standing in an ornate foyer, on a gleaming parquetry floor. Dark red wallpaper, flocked with Oriental designs, covered the walls all the way up to the remote ceiling, with its dazzling white plaster and relief pictures. Despite the miserable weather outside, the high windows were designed to catch and reflect light, especially into the glittering chandelier that hung in the center of the room. A long rug ran from the door to an oak desk, where a distinguished-looking woman sat reading through a large, leather-bound register. Something about her presence compelled Violet to walk towards her: she would tell Violet what to do and where to go.

“Hello,” Violet said, approaching warily.

The woman looked up. She had the air of aristocracy about her,
with her hooked nose and white hair piled high and severe on her head. She wore an elegant blue dress with an equally elegant gray cardigan over it, and ropes of lustrous pearls. “Oh, you poor child. You’re wet through!”

“I’m Violet Armstrong. I’m . . . new.”

The woman rose, beaming, and held out her hand. “So pleased to have you here, my dear. I’m Miss Zander, the manageress.” She made “manageress” sound like an exotic, foreign term. “Clive spoke so highly of you.”

“Clive. He was supposed to meet me at the train.”

“Tomorrow,” Miss Zander said. “We were expecting you tomorrow.”

Violet cursed herself. First impression: mix up the days and turn up soaking wet.

“It’s of little consequence,” Miss Zander continued. “Here, let me find somebody to watch the front desk and I’ll take you to your new room.” She beckoned a bellboy for Violet’s luggage and muttered a room number to him, then summoned a pretty, red-haired girl to mind the reception desk. Violet admired her smart blue uniform and white scarf and wondered if one day she would be able to work the desk. Already her head was full of dreams. Welcoming the wealthy guests, being admired for the nobility of her smile and the set of her pretty chin . . .

“Come along, keep up,” Miss Zander said from across the room. “I don’t have the whole day to show you about.”

Miss Zander marched her down the hall and stopped at a cupboard with a red door. From around her waist she pulled out a long braided rope holding a set of keys. She eyed Violet up and down. “Hm. You’re a little slimmer than Clive Betts had me expect. Still . . .” She yanked open the door and pulled out three uniforms for Violet. “These should fit.”

Violet took the clothes in her arms: black dresses buttoned at
the front with two rows of white buttons, and white bandeau headbands.

Miss Zander locked the door and marched off again. “It’s bed and board, and we’ll match your salary at the Senator. Let Alexandria know how much you were being paid. Don’t think to lie; she’ll call them on the telephone to check.”

“Who’s Alexandria?”

“The redhead at the front desk. My deputy.”

“How do I get her job?”

Miss Zander rounded on her, peered at her for a moment, then laughed loudly. “Dear, you’d get her job by being born a different person from a very different family.”

The comment stung, but Violet smiled through it.

“Now, follow me. This corridor is used for storage, works, office administration, and, of course, the kitchen. Upstairs are the guests. You never need to go there. Ever.” She paused for dramatic effect. “Downstairs are the staff lodgings and the staff dining room, which is the only place you will ever eat.”

“Where do the guests eat?”

“The grand dining room and the ballroom are one and the same space. That’s where you’ll be serving food. You must, under no circumstances, ever take food from the upstairs dining room. Nor can you smoke. Evergreen Spa is a cigarette-free hotel. We are a health resort, you know.”

“It’s fine, I don’t smoke.” This wasn’t strictly true. Violet always had a shiny case of cigarettes in her bag, for dances or parties or just for flirting, even though she didn’t relish the feel of the smoke scratching her throat.

“Good. It’s a filthy habit. For training, I’ll put you with Myrtle, who’s very experienced, and she’ll show you what to do. Down here.” They began to descend a staircase. No carpet or rug, just unfinished
wood. “Your room is the third on the right. You’ll be sharing with Myrtle and Queenie. Don’t take advice from Queenie. She’s a bit slow.”

Miss Zander knocked briskly once, then fetched a key to open the room. Three beds were lined up under a window that was at the level of the grass outside. Her suitcase and gramophone waited on one of the beds, along with some folded linen. Through the gauzy white curtain, Violet could see a pair of men’s shoes. She approached the window and peered up. It was Clive.

“Ah, there he is,” she said.

Miss Zander furrowed her brow. “Now, I know that you and Mr. Betts are friends, but I expect you to work and not chat. As you aren’t rostered on until dinner tomorrow night, I expect you to leave him be to get on with fixing our kitchen shutters.”

“Of course.”

The older woman then reached across and wiped her thumb hard across Violet’s lips.

“Ow,” Violet said, cringing away.

“Just making certain your lips are that color naturally. I won’t tolerate my girls wearing makeup. You’re not ladies of the night.”

“Understood, ma’am.”

Miss Zander smiled, all high-handedness evaporated. “I do hope you’ll be happy working here, dear. You’ve a sweet face.”

“Thank you.” Violet glowed a little, and wondered how, on such short acquaintance, she’d decided she very badly wanted Miss Zander to like her.

“Myrtle is on shift. Get yourself dry and changed. Laundry and bathroom are just across the hall. Here’s your key. If it fines up, get out for a walk. Fresh air is good for the constitution.” She nodded once, then left in a swirling wake of perfume.

Violet went once more to the window. The room was very dim with so little light, and with the dark clouds outside. But when she
looked up, she could see Clive working in the rain, sleeves rolled up to his elbow, his body flexed in concentration on the task at hand. She knocked on the glass but he didn’t hear, so she simply stood for a while looking at his shoes, dripping on the bare wooden floor.

*  *  *

Myrtle was too young to be described as kindly, and yet that was precisely what she was, with her round body and big bosom and soft white hands. That afternoon and evening she gave Violet a speedy induction to the Evergreen Spa. Fortunately, Violet had worked in hotels long enough not to be intimidated by the various rules and things to remember. She was given a five-day roster, all split shifts: eleven until three, and then five until nine. Even though she wasn’t rostered, she worked the earlier shift alongside Myrtle for experience. The lunch tables were all laid out beautifully, with silverware polished to a blaze, and a huge silver platter of seasonal fruit in the center of every one. Violet pinched an orange and hid it up the leg of her bloomers as she was finishing her shift.

Outside, the sun was shining and the sky was blue and white. It was a day to be outside, preferably singing. She hummed to herself as walked around to the back of the building, where she released the orange from its hiding place and began to peel it. That’s when she saw Clive, still working on the kitchen shutters.

“Clive!” she called happily, and ran over to him.

He looked up, puzzled. “Aren’t I supposed to collect you from the station in an hour?”

“I came a day early. Found my own way. Look, I already have my uniform.” Violet twirled for him.

“You look wonderful. I’m so glad you’ve come.” He beamed, then she remembered what Miss Zander said, and how Clive had made her promise not to get him in trouble.

“I’d best not disturb you. Miss Zander said to leave you be while you’re working.” She pocketed the orange peel.

Clive returned to the shutter, which he was screwing in with a large screwdriver. “Wonders mightn’t cease. Violet’s doing everything she’s told.”

She brandished her orange. “Almost everything.”

He laughed. “You be careful.”

She wandered off, biting into the juicy orange, down towards the escarpment.

Violet stopped under a swaying gum tree and caught her breath. The view that unfolded before her was spectacular. The ancient valley, carved into sedimentary rock faces of gray, red, and brown, bristling with leaves of every shade of green, stretched in front of her for miles and miles and miles. Clouds made dark shape-shifting shadows in the distance, and she could see the flash of sun off the famous Falls. It would be far too cold to swim. Wouldn’t it? She had hours before her next shift.

A gentle slope led down into the valley. Myrtle had told her that if she took any path, she would eventually come to a sign that showed which direction to take: to the Falls; to the farms at the bottom of the mountain that sent their fresh produce straight up on a flying fox; or to the next towns along the range.

“You mustn’t be late for your first proper shift, Violet,” she said to herself as she started down the path.

Because so many guests at the Evergreen Spa came for the health-giving benefits of spa water, fresh air, and physical activity, good money had been spent making the paths clear and wide. She followed the way down until she came to the painted wooden fingerpost that showed her where to go next. As she finished her orange, she studied the sign. Then she wiped her sticky fingers on the grass and headed off towards the Falls.

Violet found herself mostly in the shade, and wished she’d brought
a jacket. Under the long sleeves of her dress she could feel goose bumps rising on her arms. She hugged herself and rubbed her upper arms, hoping that the path would turn her into the sun shortly.