Ondine (11 page)

A
few days later, Ondine was none the wiser about the jewels. ‘Tell me again why the Hera Collection won't go public?' Ondine asked her mother as they set about rolling out the new carpet for the dining room.

It had been a crazy time. In the last week Ma had taken it upon herself to make contact with the Hera Collection and organise the safe return of the jewels. The cash, on the other hand? Nobody needed to know about that, so it found its way into the deposit box under the kitchen floor.

‘They didn't want to go public because the old Duke and Duchess are no longer with us, and the present Duke's family is one of their best customers,' Ma declared.

‘Haaalp!' Shambles yelled as he fell over backwards under the carpet roll.

‘But the Duke stole from them, or at least, his dad did,' Ondine said as she grabbed Shambles out of harm's way. A good thing she'd acted so quickly, otherwise he would have ended his days as a nasty lump under the new carpet.

Only a few metres of carpet to go and they'd be finished. In this room at least.

‘That's very true,' said Ma. ‘But the present Duchess is photographed wearing their jewels, just as the old Duchess was, and by doing that she becomes a walking advertisement for them. They still make their money. We've spared them a public scandal.'

‘Did they let us keep
any
of it as a reward?' Cybelle asked, hammering the carpet tacks into the corners of the room to keep the new flooring steady. ‘Surely not all of it was theirs?'

‘Surely it was,' Ma said, adding a heavy sigh for emphasis.

Tears pricked the back of Ondine's eyes. All that
beautiful jewellery, gone just as fast as it had come into their lives.

‘But that's not fair! They could have left us some of it, as thanks for saving their reputation,' Marguerite complained as she and Thomas moved another table into position. Despite the hard work, Marguerite's long dark hair looked glossy and wavy. Cybelle's bob looked neat and tidy. Ondine? Her hair hung in messy stringtails and the top of her scalp felt greasy.

‘I'm afraid not. They couldn't risk somebody recognising the pieces on any of us. Imagine if we wore them to a public event. We'd be in jail for theft faster than you could say “that's not fair”.'

‘Because we're not the kind of people who are allowed to wear it. Are we?' Ondine said, clenching her hands in frustration.

That's all life seemed to be lately. One frustrating event after another.

‘But why did you have to give it
all
back then?' Cybelle moaned, doing a very good job of sounding coherent considering that she had a dozen carpet tacks in her mouth.

‘Pfft! I didn't give it
all
back. D'you think I'm stupid?' Ma said, then sat back and had a good chuckle at her daughters' expense.

Anger and jubilation roiled in Ondine. Anger that their mother had told them a whopping great fib. Jubilation that there were still a few nice pieces somewhere in safe keeping.

‘You were winding us up, weren't you, Ma?' Ondine finished rolling the carpet out. Then she trimmed off the extra length with a sharp knife. A few more tacks from Cybelle and they'd be done for the afternoon. Not much left on Mrs Klegg's list now.

In unison, Marguerite and Cybelle rolled their eyes in frustration. Getting a straight answer out of their mother would be impossible now, because Ma knew how much they'd wanted to keep some of those trinkets and baubles for themselves.

‘On to important business,' Da said as he entered the room. He and Chef manoeuvred the piano into its corner in the dining room. Everyone moved out the way to let them get it into place. Shambles leapt to the top of Ondine's shoulder.

Ma brushed down her skirts. ‘We re-open tomorrow for lunch. I'm thinking perhaps with the new opening, we could give the place a new name.'

‘What's wrong with the old one, Mrs G?' Thomas asked.

‘Nyeh, it's too dull,' Ma said. ‘It doesn't do anything for me any more. What do you think, Josef?'

‘I think the present name is fine,' said Da. ‘Everyone knows where
The Station Hotel
is – it's across the road from the station.'

‘How about
The Jewel
?' Cybelle said with a wicked gleam in her eye.

‘Or
The Crown
?' Marguerite said.

‘I know. What if we call it
The Duke and Ferret
?' Ondine said.

They all laughed at that.

‘You know what? That has a pretty good ring to it,' Ma said. ‘And it could prove a handy insurance policy. The Duke wouldn't dare close down a pub named in his honour. Good thinking, Ondi. You truly have the gift.'

With that, her mother kissed her affectionately on
the forehead and surveyed the improvements. ‘It all looks grand. Well done, everyone.'

Later that night, Ondine tried to sleep, but her brain would not switch off. Back in her own room again, she had no one to talk to. She took a walk down the darkened hall to see if Cybelle was awake. Judging from the rollicking snores, her sister was deeply out of it.

There was nothing for it but to chat with Shambles, simply because he would be up for a natter when nobody else would. But where was he? The kitchen seemed the logical place, and indeed, that was where she found him, licking cold fat off a dirty frying pan.

‘Ye've come to take me to bed, lass?'

Did he have to be so cheeky all the time?

‘You should be in the laundry. Everyone else is asleep.'

‘So why are you up?'

A heavy weight pushed her shoulders down. ‘It's Ma. I'm trying to work out how to tell her I don't have the
gift
.'

‘Sure you've got the gift, so you do,' Shambles said.

Maybe some warm milk would help. Ondine set about making herself something comforting.

The drinking chocolate's around here somewhere.

‘I don't have the gift,' she protested, her head starting to throb with confusion. It wasn't right to mislead her mother. If Ma got the idea into her head that Ondine really was psychic, she might send her youngest back to Summercamp and Mrs Howser. ‘I've just been saying the first thing that comes into my head. That's not being psychic, it's just blurting things out. Most of the time without even thinking.'

‘But they're the
right
things, so they are,' Shambles said.

Frustration made Ondine clench her teeth, but she resisted the urge to grind her back molars into powder. ‘Well, maybe I'm just really smart. I mean, is that so far-fetched? Why does it have to be some extra power? Why can't I be the smart one instead of the psychic one?'

‘It really bothers you, doesn't it, lass?'

Taking a few breaths, Ondine sorted her thoughts out. Too right it bothered her, for more reasons than
she could say. Perhaps because the entire psychic concept left her feeling like a liar and a scam artist. She knew plenty of people who had the gift for real, but she wasn't one of them. And another thing. If people said she was psychic, they'd want more of it, and eventually it would all unravel because they'd find out there was no more to give. They'd find out she was a fraud.

It didn't feel right to foster a lie.

‘You're a smart girl. You'll work it out,' Shambles said.

There was no time to think about anything the next morning, as the entire family – which now encompassed Thomas – set about readying for the lunchtime reopening. Chef and Cybelle were little more than a blur of work in the kitchen; Thomas and Da polished the new beer glasses and steins; Margi, Ondine, Shambles and Ma made up the guests' beds on the second floor.

In a flash of black, Shambles darted under the bed they were working on.

‘You've run under every bed up here. I didn't put
the jewels anywhere you could find them, you know,' Ma said.

‘I'm checking for Oose.
³⁶
They breed under beds and frighten folk.'

Ahead of her mother's question, Ondine shrugged. ‘I have no idea what he's on about.'

‘You knew what I was going to ask? I told you, you're psychic,' Colette said.

A muscle twitched in Ondine's jaw. ‘Ma, please. Drop it, OK?'

‘We're done here,' Marguerite interrupted. Apart from the soft red in her cheeks, she still looked neat. You'd never know she'd been doing so much work. ‘We'd better get downstairs before the doors open, or we'll be overrun.'

‘Thank you, Margi, that's very
smart
of you,' Ondine said with deliberate emphasis. Then she looked at her mother. ‘Or maybe Margi's the psychic one?'

‘You'll keep,' Ma said.

They made it down the stairs just in time to see Thomas open the door to half a dozen thirsty people, who made straight for the bar and ordered drinks. In a couple of seconds Da had his hands full of beer steins and the till started ringing with sales. Cybelle walked into the bar carrying a plate of savoury morsels, offering them around.

‘You're not giving food away, are you?' Ma whispered to her middle child.

‘They're samples, Ma, as a re-opening special. It's Chef's idea. Isn't he clever? He has some really good ideas to update the menu and –'

‘Right, I'll have a good talk to Chef.'

From her position in the doorway Ondine watched the exchange, and her heart ached for her middle sister. If she were older, she could walk into the bar and offered her moral support. Being only fifteen, she didn't dare set foot in it, just in case someone dobbed her in to the Duke or Mrs Klegg. Instead, she waited until she caught Cybelle's attention and gave her the thumbs-up, because that was all she could do for now.

Cybelle shot her back a confused look.

So much for being psychic.

The lunch crowd kept them busy all afternoon. The kitchen roared back into life with a host of new and delightful smells, courtesy of Chef's additions. Lunchtime grew into late afternoon and another of Chef's ideas – afternoon tea – brought in more people for scones, jam and cream, with tea or coffee. This time, Ma beamed at Chef's innovation, because it created a profitable time of the day where previously none had existed. And nobody needed free samples.

As Ondine served tea and scones to the guests, Cybelle took to the piano and Marguerite joined her. From out the back, Shambles raced through the dining room and scurried up on top of the piano to join in. Ondine held her breath, waiting for calamity, but this time nobody screamed. The girls laughed as the animal wailed and carried on, holding his little ferrety paws over his chest as he squeaked his heart out.

It had been an excellent idea renaming the place
The Duke and Ferret
. If anyone saw Shambles, they'd know he was the hotel mascot and not a rat.

Above the melody, Ondine heard the chink and clunk of coins piling into the tips jar on top of the piano. A beaming smile cracked her face.

This is brilliant!

‘Shy little thing, isn't he?' Ma joked, then she too started singing on her way back to the kitchen, her arms full of dirty plates.

‘He just wants to get out of work,' Ondine said. With a sigh she bade the piano farewell and made for the pile of dirty plates by the sink. She pushed her sleeves up and plunged her arms into the hot, soapy water.

Late afternoon rolled into early evening. Ondine sat in the private room behind the kitchen with Shambles, Cybelle and Chef. They were eating from a platter of food Chef had brought out for them, resting and recharging before the evening crowd arrived. As far as Ondine was concerned, Shambles had done the least real work out of the lot of them, but that didn't stop him eating his bodyweight in cold meats and cheeses.

‘Born and bred salad dodger, aren't you, Shambles?' Chef said.

‘I used to love potatoes and fresh fruit, but I cannae handle it no more,'
³⁷
Shambles confessed, talking with his mouth full.

‘You probably used to love table manners too,' Ondine said. Cybelle made a large ‘O' with her mouth and re-applied her eyeliner.

Through the sound of munching and slurping water, Ondine heard her mother's voice rise an octave in delight, all the way from the dining room.

‘Sounds like someone's turned up for Margi's engagement party tomorrow,' Cybelle said, as they heard their mother's voice grow louder on approach.

‘It's lovely to see you again. Come through. Oh, you must see the girls, they've grown so much,' Ma said as she walked towards them.

There in the doorway stood Great Auntie Col.

Food dropped from Shambles's mouth. ‘It's the witch! It's really her this time!' he shrieked.

Nobody said anything for what felt like ages, but in reality was probably only five seconds, as the elderly but sprightly woman creased her eyes and scrutinised Shambles.

A tiny bit of sick burnt the back of Ondine's throat, such was her shock and surprise. Old Auntie Col was here, the Witchy Woman who'd turned Hamish the lad into the animal he was today. Ondine swallowed hard and stared up at her elderly relative, her heart beating faster in anticipation of what might come.

‘Hamish McPhee, you haven't changed a bit,' Auntie Col said.

‘Aye, ye cursed me good, so ye did.'

‘Not one of my better ones, but it seems to have stuck.'

‘Aye. Come here and give me a kiss.' Shambles held his furry arms wide for a hug.

A cold spike of jealousy stabbed Ondine's heart. What if Auntie Col returned Shambles to his Hamishness, and he up and left them?

Another cold spike, this time of fear. What if it was even worse? What if Auntie Col returned
Shambles to his Hamish-ness, and he was
ugly
?

Don't be so superficial.

But once the thought took hold, she couldn't stop it.

 

36
Mighty big clumps of dust that gang up into fluff monsters. The origin of this phrase is impossible to verify, much like a Freemason's secret handshake. For more information on Freemasonry, follow the adventures of Pierre in Tolstoy's
War and Peace.
Or check out
Freemasons for Dummies.