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But this would not end here. He’d left it to his staff to find the girl but now he would tackle the task himself. All he had to go on was a name, the name of the one girl who had not collected her pay – Golden Browne. And Reed had no doubt that he would find little Miss Golden Browne because if there was one thing he would never accept, it was failure.
CHAPTER THREE
The road surface was still wet as Golden pulled into the parking lot of Sunnybrook Nursing Home. They’d had a violent thunderstorm the night before which was unusual for the month of March but thankfully it did not last more than a few hours. Still, the windswept trees and the carpet of scattered leaves on the ground were ample evidence of the strength of the storm. She just hoped this wasn’t a sign of what was to come when the summer brought its own share of stormy weather. If there was one thing that made Golden tremble it was a thunder-rumbling, lightning-flashing summer storm.
But, trooper that it was, the sun peeped out from behind the gray clouds and now it was shining bright in the sky, putting Golden in a cheerful mood, just what she needed as she stepped inside the shadowy walls of Sunnybrook.
“A doozie last night, wasn’t it?” The receptionist greeted her with a smile that looked brilliant in her dark-skinned face.
“Terrible,” Golden said, nodding in agreement. “Let’s hope we see no more of that for the rest of the year.”
“I’m with you, hon.” She placed the register on the counter so Golden could sign in. “And Miss You-know-What has been asking for you. You’d better get up there before she sends out the troops.”
Golden only laughed then she waved her goodbye and headed for the elevator.
She’d been visiting the residents of the home for the past year, ever since she’d completed her stint as a student intern in the administrative office of the organization, assisting the marketing manager. They’d allowed her to visit with the elderly ladies and gentlemen who resided there and she’d grown close to a few of them, but one in particular – eighty-three year old Claire Bertlam, otherwise known among her fellow residents as Mrs. Crab.
The name said it all. Claire Bertlam was feisty and cantankerous and she was saucy with everyone, even the nurses who cared for her. The only person she hadn’t sliced with her razor-sharp words was Golden, to the bewilderment of everyone, including Golden. Claire seemed to have taken a liking to her, a phenomenon which could only be explained by Claire herself. The pity was, no-one dared ask her.
“Where is that child?”
Before Golden even got to her room she could hear Claire’s strident voice floating out into the hallway. Knowing that her friend was probably giving the nurse a hard time she quickened her pace. As soon as she got to the door she knocked and opened just in time to see Claire slapping the medicine tray out of the nurse’s hand, sending pills and their little paper receptacles flying.
“Claire, what are you doing?” Golden dashed across the room and knelt down to help the nurse whose face looked like the thunderstorm that had hit the night before. But who could blame her? Claire Bertlam would try the patience of Ghandi himself.
“Golden, my dear. There you are.” Claire’s wrinkled face broke into a smile and she opened her arms wide. “Come give me a hug.”
“Not yet, Claire. I have to help clean up the mess you made.” Golden was scolding her friend but she knew it made no difference to the old lady. She would continue to demand her own way no matter what anyone said. Only a miracle, or some twist of fate that could jerk her to her senses, would make her change.
After the nurse had left, grumbling under her breath, Golden bent over to receive Claire’s hug then took a seat beside her bed. “So what was that all about?” she asked as she smoothed the sheet covering Claire’s legs. “Got out on the wrong side of the bed today?”
Claire snorted. “That’s the problem, isn’t it? Maybe if I could get up and around I wouldn’t have to be such a crabby old bitch.”
“Claire. Your language.” Golden drew back half in fun and half in genuine shock. The strongest word she’d ever heard her friend use was ‘bugger’ and that was when she’d been really angry with the chef who’d sent her shepherd’s pie so soggy it looked like soup.
“Well, I am a bitch, am I not? Ask anybody here and they’ll tell you it’s true.” Then she smiled. “You’re the only one who sees me for who I really am – a poor, lonely old woman desperate for friendship.” She laid a hand on her breasts and said the words with such drama that Golden couldn’t help but laugh at her antics. Then Claire fixed her sharp gray eyes on her visitor. “So why were you late? You told me you’d be here at ten o’clock.”
Golden shrugged, not the least bit intimidated by Claire’s sudden change in demeanor. “It must have been the thunderstorm. It took me a while to fall asleep so I got up late this morning. How was it for you? Did the wind and thunder disturb you?”
Claire heaved a sigh. “Oh, how I wish. I’m half deaf, as it is. I slept through it all, my dear, like a lamb.” Then she reached out to pat Golden’s hand. “But who cares about me, an old bat on her way out of this rat race called life? Let’s talk about you, dear. How are things with you?”
“I’m alive and well, Claire, so I’m giving thanks,” she gave the old lady a crooked grin, “as should you. Old bat or no, you’re going to be around for a long time. It’s the crankiest ones who live longest. You know that.”
That got her a laugh from Claire. “You naughty girl. But really, how are you, dearie? Last time you told me you were looking for work. Did you find any?”
“Yes and no.” Golden grimaced. “I got a temp position at an event which didn’t quite work out the way I’d planned. I never even got paid.”
“Never got paid? Tell me the name of the company and I’ll have my solicitor write them a strong letter. Outrageous.” The old dame bristled with indignation.
“No, no,” Golden said with a laugh. “It wasn’t their fault.” She proceeded to tell her story, leaving nothing out, not the shock of being dragged on stage, not the humiliation of her fall, not her precipitous flight to the refuge of her home.
If she had expected sympathy – which she hadn’t – she got none from Claire. On the contrary, she was rewarded with loud guffaws that made a nurse come running to check if everything was all right. “What were you thinking?” the woman asked, wiping away tears of laughter. “One would think it takes some training to be a model.”
“I wasn’t thinking anything,” Golden said in self-defense. “It was taken out of my hands.” But she was grinning just as broadly as Claire was. She was glad she had given her friend a good laugh because, with a smile on her face, Claire looked like a new woman. With the frown smoothed away, the tightness gone from her lips and her eyes sparkling with mirth, she looked surprisingly young and carefree, like she’d lost twenty years in the blink of an eye. Golden could see the happy woman she used to be and she couldn’t help but wonder what had made her the person she was now – confrontational, disagreeable and downright rude.
But she wouldn’t ask. One day when Claire was good and ready she would share her story. Golden was sure of it.
Golden ended up spending over an hour with Claire but when she glanced at her cell phone and realized it was twenty minutes before noon she began to rise. “I have to go now,” she said as she collected the half eaten pudding that lay on Claire’s lap. “If I stay out too long Mother will begin fretting and then my cell phone won’t stop ringing.”
“What? How old are you, girl? Seventeen? Eighteen?”
“I’m twenty,” she replied, “and I know I’m a tad too old for my mother to be keeping me on such a tight leash but that’s just the way she is.”
“The way she is?” Claire planted her palms on the bed and pushed herself up on the pillows. “What mother would expect a young lady of your age to be forever at her beck and call?”
Golden only smiled. How could she begin to explain? Who would understand the nature of her mother, so needy and dependent? Unfortunately that had always been her mother’s downfall, a determining factor in her choice of life-long companion.
Golden was reaching for her handbag when Claire stopped her. “Sit down, child. Sit down and explain yourself. What kind of prison are you living in, with that mother of yours?”
Here we go again. Golden almost sighed but she sucked it back in. She’d gone over this with Claire before. It wasn’t like she hadn’t explained her situation at home but her friend was past eighty and prone to spells of forgetfulness which meant Golden had to sometimes backtrack and tell her story all over again.
She sank back into the chair she’d been trying to vacate. It was no use telling Claire she had to go. She knew from past experience that the elderly woman would insist on having her way. Five more minutes. She would give her that and then she would have to go.
