Kitabı oku: «Australian Secrets», sayfa 4
‘Someone picking you up, or can I call you a cab?’ Mark enquired, stopping next to her.
‘Yes, a Mister Brown from Brown’s Rentals. I’m driving to Nowhere Else – an hour away according to this,’ she said, reading from the printed itinerary Bill’s assistant had provided.
‘That’ll be Bob – he’ll be here any minute. We were a touch early. I’ll wait with you, if you like.’
‘Thanks but that’s not necessary – I can always call a cab or stay the night in town.’
‘Public phone’s out of order.’
‘That’s okay, I’ve got a mobile.’
‘Take extra care on the road; there are bound to be roos about – they graze at night.’
‘Okay, I’ll be sure to keep a good look out,’ Nicola said, thinking that she couldn’t take much more care than trying to navigate unknown dark country roads in an unfamiliar vehicle. She checked herself; she was being tired and snippy. He was just being friendly.
They lapsed into silence. Mark shifted from one foot to the other. She listened to the sounds of the country – the thick, eerie silence punctuated by the howls of dogs and hum of traffic on a distant highway.
‘This must be him now,’ Mark finally said, nodding to his right. She followed his gaze towards two sets of bobbing lights negotiating the speed humps and winding course of the car park.
The first vehicle to halt in front of them was a four-wheel-drive wagon that looked slightly outdated with its squarish profile. At least she’d have half a chance in an accident. A burly man in bulging workman blue overalls got out and strode over.
He introduced himself and went over the particulars of the vehicle, and then showed her how to flick the lights between low and high beam, how to adjust the mirrors, and where the horn was –’in case there’s a roo sitting in the road or something.’
God, how bad was the roo population? Was she even safe driving? Should she stay the night in Port Lincoln? No, she was expected in Nowhere Else; if she didn’t arrive tonight and someone phoned Bill – the other name on the booking – all hell would break loose.
‘Know where you’re going? Just follow the signs,’ he added. Not waiting for an answer, he pulled open the back door, tossed her suitcase inside and slammed it shut. He then gave her a wave and walked to the small hatchback idling behind.
As Nicola got into the four-wheel-drive, she wondered how she would manage this huge tank after her sleek little convertible. Feeling self-conscious with the other car still behind her, she searched for the seat levers and made herself as comfortable as she could.
A far cry from her leather seats, she thought, grinding her bum back and forth to get a better position. She adjusted her mirrors, pulled her seatbelt over her shoulder, put the vehicle in gear, and drove slowly from the curb.
Chapter Eight
Nicola was still chuckling at the Welcome To Nowhere Else sign at the edge of town when she came across the Hotel Motel. She steered the vehicle into the large gravelled parking area, turned it off, and got out. Her legs were a little stiff after the drive, and she was exhausted from concentrating so hard on the unfamiliar road.
Her Ballys protested at the gravel. She struggled to get traction, and with every step, cringed at the thought of what the sharp stones were doing to her precious heels. Damn not changing into something more appropriate for the drive; they were comfortable, but not that comfortable. If they were ruined, Bill would have to pay for their replacement, she thought with a huff as she finally stepped onto solid pavement and rounded the corner to find an impressive stone façade stretching above and away from her.
To the left was a door – the top half glass, the bottom half shiny aluminium. Across the glass in large gold letters were the words Front Bar. Surrounding the doorway was old red brickwork, and above that, carved into the stone, the date – 1883. There’s something really lovely about old stone, Nicola thought as she cast her eyes back over the building.
Now she saw the main entrance, flanked by large glass panels. The place had definitely had a nineteen-sixties makeover.
Oh well, the good with the bad; at least the sixties had seen ensuites added to most hotel rooms. The thought of traipsing down a long passageway to use a shared loo made her shudder.
Nicola tried to push the door forwards before realising there was a sticker saying Pull. She suddenly felt a whole lot more tired. The stress of the journey had obviously caught up with her; the sooner she got settled into her room and ran a bath the better.
She stood on red and black carpet in front of the reception desk. A label next to a plastic black and white doorbell read Press If Unattended.
It was unattended, but Nicola thought she’d give whoever it was a minute or two – she was probably being viewed on a monitor somewhere anyway.
On the wall behind the desk was a large blackboard with a menu scrawled on it in white chalk. Nicola’s mouth began to water as she quickly read through the list of entrees and light offerings and then the cuts of steak and varieties of seafood and fish – all with chips and salad or chips and veg.
She’d planned to call into a fast food outlet to break her journey, and wouldn’t have believed anyone if they’d told her there wouldn’t be one McDonald’s, KFC, or Hungry Jack’s along the way.
God, I’m starving, she thought, staring at the menu. I really should have something light – soup or a salad, or even the bruschetta. But her gaze kept being drawn back to the t-bone.
When she looked back down she found a lanky teenage girl with glossy but slightly limp mid-brown hair standing in front of her. The girl wore a navy blue polo top with an image of the building’s facade and the words Nowhere Else Hotel Motel printed in white over her small left breast.
‘T-bone, mushrooms, chips and salad – medium rare,’ Nicola blurted, barely giving the lass a chance to open her mouth.
The girl blushed. ‘Sorry, but the kitchen’s closed,’ she said.
‘It can’t be,’ Nicola whined, and had to consciously stop herself from stamping her feet in protest.
The girl, whose name tag read Tiffany, shrugged apologetically and said, ‘Kitchen closes at nine.’
‘But it’s only ten past,’ Nicola protested.
‘Sorry. You can get snacks and toasted sandwiches in the front bar,’ she said, pointing back towards the door Nicola had come in.
Nicola wanted to beat her fist on the faded West End bar towel and tell this kid just who she was – none other than Nicola Harvey – yes, the Nicola Harvey of Life and Times and Walkley fame.
‘Is there another restaurant in town? Maybe a café, hotel?’
‘No, this is it. Hey, you’re Nicola Harvey, aren’t you?’
‘Yes, I am,’ Nicola grinned, suddenly brightening. So the girl did recognise her.
‘Was beginning to wonder if you’d show.’
‘Sorry?’
‘I’ve got you in room eight …’
Nicola realised she’d forgotten all about checking in.
‘It’s all paid for; just sign this and I’ll take you to your room,’ Tiffany said, pushing a clipboard under her nose. ‘Just the date and your signature is all we need.’
Nicola fleetingly thought Tiffany should be asking for an imprint of her credit card for mini-bar purchases too – a bag of chips in her room for tea was looking likely – but didn’t have the energy to point out her error.
‘Where have you parked?’
‘In the car park around the side – is that okay?’
‘Perfect. Where’s your luggage?’
‘Still in the car – I can get it later.’ The words were half-hearted; the last thing she felt like doing when she finally got settled into her warm, cosy room was to have to come back out again. Where was a porter when you needed one?
‘We can do a bit of a detour and collect it on the way if you like – save you the extra effort.’
‘Thanks, that’d be good,’ Nicola said, beaming at the girl and feeling a wave of gratitude.
Tiffany came out from behind the counter, strode to the front door and held it open. It took Nicola a few moments to catch up.
‘I can’t walk in heels – well, not ones that high,’ Tiffany said, staring down at Nicola’s feet.
‘I don’t seem to be able to either now,’ Nicola said with a pained smile. She was suddenly aware of just how sore her feet were – the soles were burning and she could no longer feel her toes.
Nicola followed Tiffany outside and around to the four-wheel-drive as quickly as she could, grateful for the girl not showing the least sign of frustration with her slow pace.
Tiffany didn’t let out so much as one exasperated sigh when Nicola spent ages fossicking in her handbag for the keys, only to realise she’d put them in the pocket of her suit jacket. Finally they wrestled her suitcase from the back.
‘Round the back here – you can also get to your room through the pub,’ Tiffany said, leading the way.
They rounded the corner of the hotel and Nicola stopped when she saw that surrounding her were not quaint old stone outbuildings but something that looked more like the concrete ablution block in a caravan park.
Two things told her the expanse of beige concrete was in fact motel accommodation: the black plastic numbers on a series of regularly spaced mission-brown doors, and the net curtains visible in the aluminium framed windows. She was careful not to show her disappointment; it wasn’t Tiffany’s fault – it was bloody Bill’s!
At least it didn’t look like the building was made from asbestos; thank God for small mercies. And the way she was feeling, she didn’t care what the bed felt like as long as she could take these bloody shoes off and get out of the suit that was now starting to feel stifling.
Anyway, it’s what’s inside that counts, Nicola reminded herself, wheeling her suitcase along the concrete path.
‘Here we are,’ Tiffany said, putting the key in the lock beside the number 8 and throwing open the door. Turning back she added, ‘You can get back into the pub from that door over there – see?’
Nicola followed her pointing finger and nodded.
‘Breakfast is from seven to ten. I’ll leave you to it.’
Nicola watched her make her way towards the back door of the hotel, which she now noticed was almost identical to the entrance at the front.
She closed the door behind her, dumped her bags and looked around the room. It was like the set of a low-budget porno: a sagging bed covered with a faux patchwork quilt, a white vinyl studded bedhead, and a dusty plastic floral arrangement glued into a vase on the TV.
Her nose twitched. The obnoxious scent of cheap rose deodorising spray unsuccessfully masked the odour of stale cigarette smoke.
She summoned the courage to check out the bathroom, and with fingers crossed, slowly pushed the sliding door aside.
Vitreous china, the colour of caramel, was the only plain colour amid a sea of cream tiles with a fancy geometric design that was probably meant to be floral but to Nicola looked more like fuzzy monsters top to tail with their mouths open, screaming. God, she’d go mad if she stared at that too long!
‘Bath,’ she crooned. ‘At least there’s a bath.’ That could almost be considered a feature to redeem all, she thought, as she pulled the clear plastic shower curtain, with strategically placed palm leaves, aside. Great, she’d have to soak with her ankles wedged under her bum, it was so bloody small.
Nicola plonked herself askew on the toilet and put a hand over her mouth to stifle the erupting giggles.
Bloody Bill. This was no doubt his way of stopping her getting big-headed. She laughed even louder when she caught sight of the time-yellowed, once-considered-slimline phone by her left shoulder, and was unable to resist.
‘Hey, it’s me.’
‘Hey,’ Scott replied, his voice crackling and hollow through the ancient handset.
‘Just wanted to let you know I arrived safely.’
‘Thanks – good to know. How was the trip?’
‘Exhausting. But can you believe there was nowhere to eat along the way – I’m absolutely starving. And of course I get here and they’ve stopped serving meals. Missed it by ten minutes.’
‘I’m sure Bill’s budget will stretch to a meal from room service.’
‘There is no room service.’
‘Thank God for mini-bars then, hey?’
Nicola began to laugh. Was she becoming delirious from tiredness and hunger?
‘Scott, you would so not believe this place. It’s like something out of …’
‘Apparently the place we’re going to this week has only four stars. Can you believe it? The rooms probably won’t even have baths. I hope you’ll think of me slumming it while you’re soaking in your tub full of bubbles.’
‘Well I’m in the bathroom but …’
‘Phone in the bathroom, eh? Bill really is taking care of his star these days.’
‘Well actually it’s …’
‘Look hon, I’d love to hear all about your marble and complimentary toiletries but I’ve really gotta run – sorry.’ ‘Right, um, okay. I’ll let you go … Love you.’ ‘Yeah me too, bye.’
Feeling refreshed after her shower, but again reminded of her hunger, Nicola ventured back across to the hotel.
The reception desk now had a cage pulled down over it with a sign that read Closed – All Enquiries To Front Bar.
Swallowing her apprehension, Nicola pushed the door marked Front Bar open and made her way inside.
‘Settled in okay then?’ Tiffany asked.
‘Yes thanks.’
‘What can I get you?’
‘Um … er …’ Nicola frantically searched the menu for something remotely appetising.
‘Something to drink while you decide?’ ‘Do you have a wine list?’
‘There’s probably one somewhere around here,’ Tiffany said, ducking down behind the bar. It didn’t bode well.
‘Don’t worry, I’ll just have a beer thanks.’
‘Hey Tiff,’ a loud voice called from around the corner. ‘Dry argument around ‘ere luv.’
‘Come on,’ another called.
‘Just bloody hang on,’ Tiffany muttered, thumping the glass in front of Nicola and accepting her money.
Nicola had been staring at the menu a full minute when a voice next to her said, ‘The toasted sandwiches are the closest thing you’ll get to sustenance.’
‘Thanks,’ she said, turning. She frowned; the dark features were a little familiar, but from where she wasn’t sure. ‘Have we met?’
The guy smirked. ‘Yep.’
‘When?’
‘Oh, about three hours ago,’ he said, looking at his watch.
Nicola blushed furiously as she realised he was her flight companion – the one who’d held the sick bag for her – the one whose hand she’d held. Oh my God, she silently groaned, could the day get any worse?
‘Um, I’m really sorry about all that,’ she muttered, waving an arm casually, feeling anything but casual.
‘Alex. Even though we’ve already been somewhat intimate, it’s a pleasure to meet you,’ he laughed, thrusting his hand at her.
‘Nicola, highly embarrassed,’ she mumbled, shaking hands.
‘Ah, don’t be.’
‘Right, can I get you anything to eat?’ Tiffany asked, reappearing. ‘The ham and cheese toasted sandwiches are almost edible,’ she offered.
‘Great, I’ll have one thanks,’ Nicola said. ‘Care for a game of pool?’ Alex asked.
Why the hell not? Nicola thought. Things could only get better.
Chapter Nine
Nicola scowled at the crude sketch of the hotel motel in cream on the gleaming chocolate brown plastic placemat. Despite scanning the Yellow Pages and finding a caravan park the only other option, she was still in denial. Surely there was somewhere else to stay.
She was also in denial about the amount she’d had to drink. Disconnected images flickered through her mind, vague and grainy like an old silent movie. It couldn’t have been the drink – the ham must have been off.
‘Good morning.’ It was Tiffany from the night before.
The kid was sweet enough but far too bloody cheery when one was suffering a hangover and stiff back. Nicola glowered in response.
‘Bread, butter and spreads over there by the toaster, cereal and milk on the table, plates and cutlery on the bench,’ Tiffany rambled. ‘Help yourself,’ she added. ‘Can I get you a coffee, or perhaps you’d rather a tea? I’ve just put a pot on.’
‘Coffee, thanks.’ As Tiffany bounded away, Nicola wondered if the pot she’d referred to was for tea, and instantly regretted her request. In her experience coffee that came in a pot was rarely drinkable.
Maybe there was a coffee machine hiding out in some back room and it wouldn’t be so bad. She hoped so, because the only thing she could see making her feel better was a decent latte or three.
She got up for a closer inspection of the breakfast offerings. The cereals were all in little boxes, brightly adorned to attract the attention of children. She sighed and stuck two pieces of grain bread into the nearby toaster, more for something to do to pass the time.
Nicola stared at the toast she’d just cooked. It looked about as nutritious as cement. Tiffany appeared beside her and put down a tray with a plain white mug of inky black coffee, a small ceramic jug of milk and a matching bowl of white sugar.
‘Thanks,’ Nicola said, and set about doctoring her coffee. Fingers crossed.
She took a tentative sip and almost dropped the cup as her tongue was burnt. She put the mug back on the table with a grimace. ‘Sorry, is it too hot?’ Tiffany asked. ‘Not your fault.’
The beverage’s temperature was the least of its shortcomings, but Nicola curbed her desire to point out its flaws. It was bitter, watery, and had almost no depth of flavour. Could it actually be the worst cup she’d ever tasted? It was a little hard to tell now that she’d burnt the taste buds off her tongue. Bad or not, she thought, it is caffeine; a vital ingredient for the treatment of the common hangover. She lifted the cup again and took a couple more sips.
Nicola put the mug down and looked at Tiffany who was still hovering – why, she had no idea.
‘Tiffany. Um, is there a B&B anywhere nearby, or maybe a …?’
Tiffany looked mortified. ‘No offence, it’s just that …’
‘We may not be all the frills floral but we’re clean and comfortable,’ Tiffany said defiantly.
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to …’ Nicola began.
‘Anyway, there is nowhere else,’ Tiffany said.
Nicola wanted to know if the pun was intended, but was far too peeved to give Tiffany the upper hand by praising her wit.
As she stared at her mug, weighing up its drinkability versus her desperation, Nicola felt a slow sinking feeling take hold. If there was no B&B, did that mean there was no day spa either? It was all too awful to contemplate.
‘Is there by any chance a day spa nearby, or a masseuse?’ Nicola asked hesitantly.
Tiffany thought for a moment. ‘Well, there’s an old retired shearer does a bit of work on the footy players.’ Nicola stared at her, horrified.
Taking great joy in Nicola’s obvious discomfort, she chuckled. ‘Though I’m guessing that’s not quite what you’re after.’
‘Could it get any worse?’ Nicola mumbled, thinking aloud. She laid her head on her arms on the table.
Nicola was wondering just what the town did have to offer when Tiffany again materialised at her side and dumped a wad of photocopied and glossy brochures beside her.
‘This place might not have all the city finery but we’re an honest, down-to-earth bunch of good people who do our best with what we have,’ she said a little indignantly.
Tiffany looked like she was waiting for applause. Well she’ll be waiting a while, Nicola thought, sitting back in her chair and folding her arms tight across her chest.
‘You can get paracetamol at the chemist or supermarket. Both are down the street and open at nine-thirty,’ Tiffany said, before turning lightly on her heels and walking away. A door marked Private slapped shut behind her.
Nicola steamed in her chair. The place was a hick town full of country bumpkins and she hated it already. Damn Bill. Boy was she going to give him a piece of her mind! Right bloody now!
She got up and stormed out the door and across the courtyard. By the time she got to room eight she was a little out of breath.
Inside she grabbed her mobile from the bench, remembered there was no signal, and put it down again. Bloody thing; what’s the point of an iPhone if you can’t get any reception? She’d have to do something about that. If she was staying that was.
Nicola reached for the phone by the bed and was about to dial Bill’s office number when she stopped and put the handset down again. What the hell was she going to say, anyway? ‘Get me out of this shithole because I’m drowning in bad décor and crap coffee?’ She’d just sound like a petulant child; not an award-winning reporter prepared to get down and dirty for a great story.
And had he actually promised her a quaint chocolate box village? Hmm. What had he said exactly? Nicola nibbled at her bottom lip. ‘For all I know there’ll be day spas …’
He’d actually only asked her to go out to a town called Nowhere Else and do a story on the drought, hadn’t he?
She’d been the one who had assumed the accommodation would be a posh little B&B. Just heard what she wanted to hear. Fine journalist she was!
Well, she should at least let him know she’d arrived safely. She picked up the phone and dialled his office.
‘Bill Truman.’
‘Hey Bill, it’s Nicola.’
‘Where the hell are you calling from?’
‘Nowhere Else – I’m on assignment, remember?’ ‘Of course I bloody remember; your mobile didn’t come up.’ ‘Oh yeah, right. There doesn’t seem to be any reception out here.’
‘Right, might have to change you over to the national carrier – I’ll check the coverage.’ Nicola could hear him scrawling notes. ‘Everything else okay?’
‘It’s fine,’ she said with a sigh.
‘What? What’s wrong?’
‘It’s just not what I was expecting.’
‘Have you had a good look around yet?’
‘Not yet.’
‘Well, you never know what you’ll find; it might surprise you with what it has to offer.’
A fleeting image of Alex from last night passing through her mind caused Nicola to smile. That had certainly been a pleasant surprise.
‘Oh well, you got there safely; that’s all that matters.’ She told him about the lack of food stops on the road in. ‘It’s that remote? Who would have thought?’ ‘Came as a bit of a shock to me as well,’ Nicola said with a chuckle.
‘Accommodation okay? Too bad if it’s not ‘cause I hear there’s nowhere else.’
‘Ha ha. I’ll be fine, Bill. I’d better go before I blow your budget.’
‘Well, keep in touch. I’ll let you know about the phone.’
‘Thanks.’ ‘And Nicola?’
‘Yes?’
‘Go find me a killer story, there’s a good girl.’ ‘I’ll do my best, boss.’
‘Oh, and be friendly to the locals. See ya, kiddo. Take care.’
‘See ya.’
Nicola hung up and sat smiling, thinking how lucky she was to have a boss like Bill. She felt so much better. But she did feel a little guilty for her behaviour towards Tiffany earlier. She hadn’t been rude, had she? Not quite. But she hadn’t exactly been gracious.
With the words, ‘Be friendly to the locals’ in her mind she got up, left the room, and pulled the door shut behind her.
As she crossed the courtyard back to the pub, Nicola wondered if she’d been a bit too friendly towards another local she’d met – Alex. She was a little fuzzy on the detail of last night.
The dining room was empty when she re-entered. Her untouched plate was where she’d left it, along with toast, mug, and cutlery. She drained the last of the coffee, which, as expected, had deteriorated as it had cooled.
‘Sorry. I wasn’t sure if you had finished or not,’ Tiffany said, appearing beside her. She nodded at Nicola’s plate.
‘Had to quickly phone my boss.’
‘So do you want it or should I take the plate?’
Nicola looked at the toast. She hated cold toast, but didn’t want to add to her already poor standing with Tiffany by wasting it.
She picked up her knife, tore open the packet of butter she’d collected earlier, and started buttering.
‘Don’t suppose you’d like another crap coffee?’
‘Another coffee would be lovely, thanks,’ Nicola said, smiling broadly up at her. ‘Tiffany, look, I’m sorry we got off on the wrong foot – too many late nights …’
‘Whatever.’ Tiffany shrugged, collected the mug and left.
‘Well that went well,’ Nicola mumbled to her toast.
After a few moments alone, she looked around to find Tiffany had returned. She put the mug down but remained standing beside Nicola.
‘Um … er,’ Tiffany stammered awkwardly, her face reddening. ‘Yes?’ What now? Is she going to tell me where to stick my coffee?
‘I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have snapped,’ Tiffany blurted. The glower was a dead giveaway that the apology was being issued under duress.
‘No, I deserved it,’ Nicola sighed. ‘Bloody hangover,’ she muttered, taking a swig of coffee and cringing.
‘I’m not surprised,’ Tiffany grinned, sitting. ‘You enjoyed yourself last night.’
Nicola raised her eyebrows.
‘I never expected you to be so … so relaxed. I mean here, of all places. I think Alex was quite … Sorry, I’m rambling.’
Nicola wished she’d keep going. She hadn’t been that drunk; certainly not drunk enough not to notice the mattress springs poking her in the back and the bathroom tap dripping all night – almost, but not quite.
‘Bugger, I must have made a bloody fool of myself,’ she groaned and laid her head on the table.
‘Nah, everyone loved you,’ Tiffany enthused. ‘The blokes never thought you’d be so normal. You were great. Pretty pissed, but you were great,’ she added, grinning shyly.
‘Do I want to know details?’
‘Probably not,’ Tiffany laughed.
Nicola shot her a quizzical frown. She was actually beginning to like this girl; the cheeky forthrightness. ‘Just kidding, nothing to worry about.’ ‘You’d tell me, right?’
‘Promise – cross my heart. So,’ Tiffany said, banging the table, ‘last night you mentioned you’re here to cover the drought. Maybe I can help. There’s practically no one in town I don’t know. You just have to ask.’
‘Well, I think I’d like to start with the editor of the local paper. Can you point me in the right direction?’
‘Easy – I’ll mark his office on a map,’ Tiffany said proudly, leaping up.
‘Thanks,’ Nicola said, smiling warmly at her new friend.
