A Convenient Gentleman. Victoria Aldridge

spoke of you, Aunt Charlotte,’ Caro said hesitantly. ‘Was there…ah…I mean, I don’t know what happened between you…?’

      Charlotte gave a light, brittle laugh and waved her hands dismissively. ‘Darling, it was all a long time ago, and all really rather silly. Your father never did forgive me for marrying his father, you see, and when Edward died on our honeymoon to England, and I had to come back to Sydney, he cut me off without a penny. If it hadn’t been for some very kind friends I would have…well, I would have starved on the streets, darling.’ She gave a little sniff as her eyes filled with bright tears, and she went on bravely, ‘But I survived and married again—to the sweetest man imaginable!—and when he died my heart was broken all over again, and so I came here and married again, and—well—I’ve done all right, haven’t I?’

      Immeasurably moved by her aunt’s stoicism, Caro leapt to her feet and embraced her warmly.

      ‘Of course you have, Aunt Charlotte! Oh, you poor, poor thing! But why would Father have done such a thing to you? I can’t believe that he could have been so cruel!’

      Charlotte dabbed at her eyes with a scrap of lace. ‘I couldn’t say. Well, I shouldn’t say this, darling, but…’ she managed a tight, courageous little smile and said in a rush ‘…oh, I rejected him in favour of his father, and I don’t believe he’s ever forgiven me! Isn’t that silly, to hold such a grudge over so many years?’

      ‘But Mother and Father have always been so happy,’ Caro said in bewilderment, remembering the easy affection she had always witnessed between her parents, the way her mother’s face lit up whenever her father came into a room, the way their eyes would meet over the heads of their children in amused camaraderie. Lovely as Aunt Charlotte probably used to be, Caro simply couldn’t imagine her father ever looking at any woman other than her mother. Charlotte, correctly reading the expressions on her niece’s face, leaned forward to tap her gently on the wrist.

      ‘It was years ago, darling, before you were born. Why, I’ve almost forgotten about it myself. Except that…well, things would have been very different if your father had been one to let bygones be bygones. But, here I am and here you are and…oh, isn’t this just lovely?’

      She clasped Caro’s hands in hers and smiled warmly. She was being so kind that Caro, remembering what the hotel staff had told her about her aunt’s straitened circumstances, felt a twinge of guilt.

      ‘Aunt Charlotte, I haven’t any money with me,’ she said in a rush. ‘I can’t pay very much for accommodation, but I can work hard at anything that needs doing…’

      ‘Oh, darling!’ her aunt chided her fondly. ‘Don’t you even think about such a thing! How could I put my own niece to work? The very idea!’

      ‘But I know that the hotel isn’t doing very well,’ Caro said bluntly. ‘If I can help in any way at all, then that’s what I want to do.’

      ‘How terribly sweet of you.’ There was a slightly speculative tone in her voice as she put her head on one side and looked assessingly at Caro. ‘You are a very pretty girl, aren’t you? I’m sure we could find you something to do, if you really want to help. In fact, a friend of mine will know what’s best…’

      ‘Mr Thwaites?’ Caro asked, and was taken aback by the sudden snap of suspicion in her aunt’s eyes.

      ‘Who’s been talking to you about him? No, don’t tell me—the kitchen staff!’ At Caro’s nod she heaved a dramatic sigh. ‘Harold’s doing all he can to turn this business around. He runs the public bar and bottle shop downstairs, and if it wasn’t for the profits from that we’d be in even more of a pickle. You’d think the staff would show some appreciation for all his hard work, wouldn’t you?’

      ‘I think they want to be paid…’ Caro ventured.

      ‘Oh, the silly things! They’ll be paid, of course, as soon as the business gets back on its feet—and it will, in a few weeks! In the meantime, they’ve got a roof over their heads, and food to eat. I don’t know what they’re complaining about.’ She got fluidly to her feet. ‘Anyway, darling, I’m being a dreadful hostess, aren’t I? I’ll show you to your room—you have a choice, you know. Isn’t it fun?’

      Chatting all the time, her hands fluttering like animated, delicate little birds, her aunt took Caro down to the far end of the hall, and flung a door open dramatically.

      ‘Here you are, darling! Now make yourself at home. We’ll be dining downstairs around six, I imagine.’

      She floated off back down the hallway, leaving Caro staring into a darkened room. The drapes had been pulled, presumably against the cold, and after some groping in the dark Caro drew them back to reveal a surprisingly luxurious little bedroom. Plush rugs lay over the polished floorboards, and the large bedstead and matching washstand were of carved mahogany. Yet every surface had a layer of dust, and the sheets on the bed might have been of the finest quality cotton, but they were unmistakably damp.

      The room overlooked the avenue, giving an interesting view of the traffic below. It had stopped snowing and so Caro opened the big, double-hung window as wide as possible. Finding it a positive pleasure to have something to do, she went in search of clean linen and cleaning materials and found both in a cupboard in the hallway. It took almost an hour until every surface was dusted and polished to her satisfaction; by the time she had finished, the pale winter light filtering between the lace curtains had all but gone. Closing the window against the encroaching dark, she lit a small fire in the grate and was soon able to put a warming pan filled with hot coals between the clean sheets to dry them out.

      Hands on hips, she surveyed her handiwork with satisfaction. The room looked cosy and welcoming now, and smelt warmly of beeswax polish, just like home. She thought of all the other rooms in the hotel, no doubt waiting to be cleaned, and found herself viewing the prospect with pleasure.

      In the hallway she found her bag, sitting forlornly where someone—she suspected Oliver—had left it. It did not appear that the staff here were inclined to be in the least bit helpful. While she unpacked her single change of clothes, Caro thought about that.

      The staff had told her that her aunt had no business sense and, as utterly charming as Aunt Charlotte was, Caro could see how that could be true. It would take both business acumen and hard work to keep an hotel this size running, but why the hotel should have run out of funds was a complete mystery to her. There had obviously been a fortune spent on establishing the place, with no cost spared in the furnishings or decor. In a town as thriving as Dunedin, with an all-too-evident accommodation shortage, the hotel should have been fully booked every night. So why was there no food in the kitchen and no guests in the rooms?

      Caro had always taken an active interest in the bookkeeping side of her father’s businesses and Ben had been too intrigued by her persistence to really discourage her. She now possessed a sound grasp of the principles of good business, and she had never been afraid of hard work. What better way to repay Aunt Charlotte’s hospitality than by restoring her business to its full health?

      The clock in the civic building down the street chimed six o’clock, but for Caro the few unbuttered scones in the hotel kitchen were far too many hours ago, and her stomach rumbled hungrily. Her aunt had said that they would be dining—presumably in the hotel dining room—but the staff had told her that there was no food left. She decided that now was as good a time as any to discover the truth of the situation.

      She changed into her second dress, of serviceable green wool, and pulled a shawl around her shoulders against the chill; she had allowed the fire to burn down and the air was now so cold that she could see the mist of her breath.

      The foyer of the hotel was deserted, and when she looked through into the dining room it looked as if nothing had been cleaned or moved since the morning. The great chandeliers hung unlit and palely gleaming in the crack of light showing from beneath the kitchen door, but the place was eerily quiet. A single lamp shone forlornly on the registration desk. Caro revised downwards her chances of a gracious meal in the dining room that night.

      There