Page 22
By the time we’re on the road to our next overnight stop, the awkwardness of this morning has eased and we’re almost back where we started.
Whether that’s a good or bad thing, I have no idea.
Chapter Thirteen
Jasper
Like all the land we’ve been travelling through since crossing the Great Dividing Range that runs down almost the entire length of the Australian east coast, Leeton is surrounded by low, rolling hills. The streets are wide, lined with Art Deco buildings, palms, gumtrees and pines, all bathed in golden late afternoon light.
We arrive shortly before six, which turns out to be just in time for a brief respite before dinner. I guess people eat early in the country, which is one thing that sets Australian wineries apart from the European ones. As it happens, after the crack of dawn start yesterday, followed by a sleepless night, not to mention resisting inhaling Louise’s perfume, I’ll be happy with an early night.
We pass a couple of pleasant-looking, if bland, motels, but Louise directs me up the curving drive of a large, beautifully preserved old two-storey building at the top of the main street, set in a large garden lined with roses.
I expected she wouldn’t have booked us into your standard, cookie-cutter motel. I’m just grateful it’s a hotel and not a cabin. A little breathing room will be good for both of us.
The front of the building is dominated by a massive porte-cochere, with a white-washed, arched verandah running around the entire building upstairs and down. I pull up in the space provided for parking, and we climb out of the car, grabbing our bags from the boot.
Inside is just as beautiful. The walls are white with dark wood-panelled doors and skirting. Intricate Art Deco details, stained glass windows and antique furniture create the sense that we’ve stepped back in time. There’s an old standard piano in the corner of the massive, two-level foyer, which is dominated by a fireplace surrounded by hexagonal grey and green marble tiles and flanked by two velvet sofas below the second-floor gallery.
The wide, wood-planked floor creaks as we enter. A young guy in a suit that looks like it came straight out of the 1920s appears from a room behind the reception counter to welcome us.
“Nice to see you again, Miss Baker. You look wonderful, as always.”
Louise blushes. “Hello, Joe. Thank you, but you might need to get your eyes checked. I’m sure I look like I’ve been dragged through a hedge backwards.”
He grins as though this is a conversation they have regularly. And for some reason, I find myself bristling at his shy flirting.
“I’ve reserved your usual room, and a second one, as requested. Would you like a table at seven?”
Louise checks her watch and gives him one of her wide smiles. “Yes, thank you, that would be perfect. By the way, could you arrange for this to be put in the cool room for the night?”
She holds up the cooler bag containing the cheeses and fruit pastes Phil gifted us. I’m glad she thought of it, because although it’s now early autumn, the daytime temperatures out here are still in the mid- to high-twenties, and without refrigeration that delicious cheese would be ruined.
We’re given keys and directed to the stairs, which creak and groan as we climb them.
Half way along the corridor, Louise comes to a stop. “Shall we meet in the bar for a drink at, say, six thirty? That gives us just over half an hour to wash up and rest.”
“Sounds good,” I answer, wrangling my old-fashioned key into the brass lock.
It’s been a while since this room was renovated, but it’s spacious and cool. French doors leading onto the upstairs balcony and an old claw-foot bath in the ensuite. There’s a wonderful smell of old wood and lemon furniture polish that reminds me of my grandmother’s house, as does how spotless it is.
Toeing out of my boots I place them beside the bathroom door, and set an alarm to remind me of my dinner date. I look at the wide, white-quilted bed. All I want to do is fall onto it, face first. I take a step towards it. Maybe I could just lie there for five minutes before powering up my laptop. But I can’t. I have too much work to do. So I settle in at the desk between the two sets of French doors and get to work.
Edward has sent me most of the information I requested last night, which I review and incorporate into my ever-growing proposal. I’m deep in thought when the bleating of my phone jerks me into the present.
Damn. I still have so much to do.
I was hoping to finish with enough time for a five-minute power nap. Or a shower. I feel like roadkill, but all I’ll have time for is to wash my face.
Giving my armpit a sniff, I decide I should at least change my shirt before I leg it downstairs.
There’s no sign of Louise, which gives me a chance to take in the bar. Like the rest of the hotel, it’s retained the 1920s décor. Colourful murals depicting Leeton in earlier days brighten the top of the walls between the dark wood panelling and the ornate ceiling. It’s both beautiful and calming.
All calm leaves me, replaced with a racing pulse, when Louise breezes—there’s no other word for it—into the room. Her hair has been freed from its pony-tail, and she’s changed into wide-legged black linen pants and a sleeveless knit top. She obviously put the last half hour to good use because she looks fresh and relaxed.
“Oh, I feel so much better,” she sighs as she hitches herself onto the stool next to me. “It’s amazing what a ten-minute micro-nap and a quick shower can do for you.”
And there speaks the experience of a seasoned Australian road-tripper. I’m glad at least one of us was able to decompress after all those hours on the road. But with any luck, it won’t be too many more days before I can send my proposal off to Tate. And then I’ll be decompressing too.
