The Grand Hotel (17 page)

Now, purely from expressing some of his pleasure with The Blonde Maria, he was all of a sudden a little buoyed up as he walked on the starlit bank beside me. For a moment the shame had been displaced. He started to talk, sixteen to the dozen, but I wasn't listening. I could only feel disturbed at what The Grand Hotel had done to Big Joan's life.

I realised that I couldn't break it to him about The Blonde Maria and The Lazy Tenor. The mere fact that she was twotiming him made me feel coated in muck. If you wanted to talk rain, grass, cattle, or milk, Joan Sutherland had definitely not come down in the last shower – he knew the simple brutality of the food chain and the practical world of creatures – but I feared that when it came to romantic love in the big wide world, if you want to call it that, and the enticement of a thrilling new sexual experience, he was most certainly a babe. To tell him what I saw in The Lazy Tenor's room earlier that day would be to change him. And frankly, at this point, I'd had just about enough of change.

So we walked along and I listened in silence to Joan's effusions about his new romance. Eventually, probably because I didn't sustain him by a response, his enthusiasm began to dwindle again, his mind turning away from the delights of The Blonde Maria and back to the betrayal of Jen.

As we rounded another curve in the river, we were now quite a distance from any houses, right smack in the middle of the riverflat, and he started to dwell upon his boys as well. Oh my God, it was torture. He was caught in a vice he couldn't get out of. I began to try to dissuade him from his passion for Maria before it was too late; I even went so far as to betray Maria by intimating that she had a bit of a chequered history and perhaps would just leave him for dead. Her current shenanigans with The Lazy Tenor allowed me to justify the lie to myself. But Joan was having none of it anyway.

‘If I had a choice, Noel,' he said, ‘I'd take it. But I don't feel like I have. When I fell in love with Jen, I was a kid. Seventeen years old. But now I'm a man. I've never fallen in love as a man before. Doesn't everyone have to fall in love as a fully grown adult?'

I scoffed. ‘The irony of that, mate, is that you're not behaving like an adult. You're carrying on like a seventeen-year-old. But worse. Coz of Dylan and Dougie.'

I felt him shudder beside me. ‘Oh the boys,' he groaned.

We were out on that riverflat until three o'clock in the morning, walking, arguing, confessing, not even noticing the lightest of northerlies as it sprang up in the trees of the western hill on the other side of the river. By the time we'd said all that could be said, the warmer air was gusting in waves all about us and Joan in his fervour had stripped off and dived into the river near the old Bootleg Creek pontoon. He splashed and swam about in that unmistakable fashion of a man in love, sober now in terms of alcohol but drunk on the new quickstep in his heart.

He prowled around and shouldered himself through the water, eventually floating on his back and calling out to me on the bank to join him. I said, ‘No way.' So he said he was gonna lie on his back in the river for as long as it took to see a falling star.

‘You look up too, Noel,' he called, ‘and if we see it together we can both wish for the same thing.'

‘Oh yeah. And what would that be?'

‘For a cure, mate. I'm lovesick.'

As crazed as it was, it was the first sane thing he'd said all night. I lay down on my back on the bank, partly from exhaustion I must admit, and used Joan's clothes for a pillow. Above our heads the galaxies seemed even brighter than before; the Milky Way could easily be defined in its cloudy clusters. There was Venus and Jupiter out in the west, the Pleiades low in the northwest, and the Southern Cross, of course, draped like a celestial beach-kite over the ocean sky to the south. Even without a moon the radiance of the night had managed to unite the land and sky. I marvelled again at the unpredictable nature of things, how something that at first could appear so dim was, just a short time later, as obvious as the nose on your face. And so together we lay, he in the river and me on a patch of kikuyu grass wildly sown, staring up to the heavens in the hope of a sign.

Confronting The Blonde Maria

I woke up in the loft of my barn the next morning to The Lazy Tenor singing both parts of the duet from Bizet's
The Pearl Fishers
. I exhaled with relief and lay listening in bliss, swooning again in the embrace of the voice and marvelling at his improvisations. The
Pearl Fishers
duet was a favourite of my papa's when I was a child, and as such was the only operatic music that featured strongly in my childhood. Despite The Lazy Tenor's lack of a singing partner it was a revelation to hear each vocal part separated from its pair.

As I lay there, I nudged my loft shutter open with my foot and looked out. There was an ever-so-faint drizzle falling from an off-white sky. Inevitably I began to recall the events of the night before. As soon as The Lazy Tenor finished, I was gonna have to go and flush out The Blonde Maria.

Then I heard the sound of Dr Feast's Peugeot pulling into the yard. Craning my neck out the loft window, I watched him get out of the car and gaze up through the drizzle at The Lazy Tenor's room. He made a dramatic gesture with his right arm, the racing-green elbow patch of his tweed jacket suddenly cocked, and his hand clutched passionately at the air, as if conducting the music.

Jen Sutherland emerged from the sunroom of the hotel with a broom in one hand and Frankie the Canary's cage in the other. The doctor's arm returned to his side. They greeted each other, before Jen hung Frankie's cage on the hook under the sunroom awning and began hosing down the beery concrete where the barrels had been standing for days before Rennie had come to pick them up. I lay back on my pillow and listened to The Lazy Tenor, and the doctor and Jen discussing Kooka's health. Then the talking stopped and all I could hear was the sound of the water washing the concrete and the singing over the top.

Later that morning I climbed the hotel stairs with a belly full of Eno, not knowing what my strategy was to be. In the hallway I found the atmosphere all ructious on a wind-ruffled creek. The ducks had taken shelter up in the willows and were dotting the walls in crisp symmetrical arrangements. At The Blonde Maria's door I knocked and received a polite ‘Come in'.

Once again I found Maria seated at the window table. This time she was fully dressed rather than in her dressing gown. She had an open book in her hand, but it wasn't the book of the saint.

‘I hope you don't mind,' she said. ‘I've been making my way through the shelf here.'

She held up the book to show me. It was a novel called
The World of Carrick's Cove
, by Gerald Warner Brace. Then she said, ‘I never knew, Noel, what a remarkable hotel this really is,' as if somehow it had something to do with the book. ‘And I had no idea of just how special old Kooka is.'

I didn't answer. I suspected that Maria's native cunning had smelt a rat, that she knew something was up and my visit wasn't to be benign. There was no hint of the little-girl voice anymore; instead she spoke in a calm and intelligent tone, as if a full engagement with me on the merits of my hotel and its patron and historian could somehow see me off at the pass.

She lit a cigarette now and blew a blue cone of tapering smoke towards the open window. ‘It's so easy isn't it, Noel, to presume that someone as old as Kooka has no sense of beauty or romance?'

Once again I chose not to answer. I could see by her brow now that she was thinking fast.

‘But I've been reading to him in the evenings and he's quite something.'

‘Oh yeah? He stays awake?'

The Blonde Maria's eyes lit up. By my asking this question, she figured she had me diverted. ‘Sometimes,' she said, before rising from her chair and making her way to the sink. I saw a quick cast of desperation come over her face as she plugged in the kettle, but it disappeared just as quickly.

‘So there weren't any other books on holy people on the shelf here?' I ventured wryly.

She answered me with a sheepish look.

I let her clatter around among the tea cosy and cups and spoons for a while. Then I said, ‘You know it's one thing for you to leave all the cleaning of the hotel to Jen Sutherland but it's another altogether to go shagging her husband.'

There, I'd said it. There was no avoiding the issue anymore. So I pressed even harder. ‘Particularly when he doesn't know you're also having it off with the guy up the hallway. I presume Kooka's safe from your affections?'

Maria's face looked aghast. ‘Noel!' she exclaimed indignantly, as if dragging Kooka into it was a lower moral blow than she could countenance.

I raised my hands in the air. ‘Well, I don't know what to think anymore, Maria! Last time I looked, you were about to take religious vows and then, in the space of twenty-four hours, I find out you're screwing half the hotel.'

‘Oh, Noel!' There it was again, that look of moral shock, as if Purity and Honour were her only true companions.

‘Well you tell me!' I cried. ‘I'm actually the novice here. You seem to be the one pulling all the strings. Joan's head over heels and he's a married man with kids. Did you ever consider that?'

‘Of course I did.'

‘What, and you just figured that nothing else mattered but your satisfaction?'

Oh dear, now I was really getting heavy, hectoring her like that.

The Blonde Maria sat back down at the window table with the pot of tea – and let me have it.

First things first, she burst into tears. I slumped in the armchair, sighing and scratching my head. The tears were really flowing, but after a minute or so she started to dry her eyes with a tea towel. But she was still sniffing and gulping a lot. ‘I didn't know any of this was going to happen,' she eventually got out. ‘How was I to know that he'd fall in love with me? He just seemed like a sweetie who needed a bit of fun.'

I said nothing.

‘And then that bloody brute turns up out of the blue. With a voice like that! Did you hear him this morning, Noel, singing
both
parts of the duet from
The Pearl Fishers
?'

I nodded.

‘Well you've got to understand my predicament. One day I was living freely in your hotel, with everyone very appreciative of my music and you very grateful for my cleaning, and then the man I've always been destined to meet comes into the bar.'

‘Who, The Lazy Tenor?'

She scoffed. ‘Well, who else? It's all I've ever dreamt of, Noel, you know that, to live the musical life. Even if I'm not singing, just to be around a voice like that means everything to me. But now I'm stuck. The thing with Joan is just frivolous, a simple mistake gone wrong. And I know it's gotta stop, but he's so insistent. He's up here half the night, either desperate with guilt for his wife or boiling with passion for me. I'm worried about him. I don't know what'll happen if I let him down. He could do anything. He's quite mad at the moment.'

‘So I found out last night.'

‘Yes, but can you see my position? He's madly in love with me but, Noel, I'm madly in love with Louis.'

‘Louis?'

‘Yes, Louis. The Lazy Tenor.'

‘Oh. And how does he feel about you?'

A sad look came over her face at this question. Her tearmoist eyes scanned the leaf-dappled floor. ‘He doesn't really say, but he's tender to me and now, in the mornings, I'm sure he's singing as if ... for a muse.' She shrugged her shoulders. ‘I tried, Noel. Why do you think I started reading St Thérèse? I have tried. But it's hopeless. Louis Daley is my destiny. Everything leading up to this was just like a soundcheck.'

‘So is that why you won't come down and sing anymore?'

‘Oh, Noel, how could I sing with that man in the hotel? I'd stand no chance at all. The only possibility I have with him is if I never sing again. We've all got to find our true path in life, Noel, and I'm sure mine is just to support him, to make him a household name.'

‘A household name!' I exclaimed. ‘Are you sure he wants to be a household name?'

‘There's nothing he can do about it. You've heard him. With my devotion and musical knowledge I can make sure his gift is protected in the process.'

‘Have you spoken to him about this?'

‘Not exactly. But I've spoken to Kooka about it.'

‘To Kooka?' I said, incredulous.

‘Yes.'

‘And pray tell, what does Kooka think about small town adultery in his old age?'

‘Oh, I haven't told him that bit. But I've told him how I feel about Louis and he understands. He's a beautiful old man, Kooka, and he understands the heart of love.'

‘I see.'

‘He also understands how much love can hurt.'

‘So does Jen.'

‘Oh, Noel. I'm trying to be serious here.'

‘Well, if that's the case then you've got to protect Jen and Joan. I refuse to let them become casualties in all this, Maria. Let alone their two boys.'

She grimaced.

‘So you've got to tell Joan what's going on. And quickly. It'll cut him alright, but at least he'll see there's a reason it can't go on. Because you're devoted to The Lazy Tenor.'

‘What? You want me to tell Joan I'm in love with Louis?'

‘Yes.'

‘Oh, Noel.'

‘Stop that “Oh, Noel” business would you?' I said in frustration. ‘It's what you've gotta do.'

‘Do you think?'

‘I don't think, I know. For Christ's sake, Maria!'

‘Well, can I talk to Kooka first? I'd like a second opinion.'

I raised my hands in the air and slapped them down on my thighs. ‘What the fuck has Kooka got to do with it?' I shouted. ‘He's just an old man who can't get out of bed anymore!'

‘Noel! Keep your voice down. Kooka understands life. And love. Have you ever stopped to think why he can't get out of bed?'

‘I know why he can't. He's old, he's had enough, he's exhausted.'

‘It's not as simple as that. He's going through stuff.'

‘Oh, is he now?'

‘Yes, he is.'

I blew out an exasperated breath. This was impossible. ‘Pour us a cup of tea, would you, Maria?'

‘Certainly, Noel,' she replied with a smile.