Celebrations and Confetti At Cedarwood Lodge. Rebecca Raisin

office in the front parlor, a room once used for pre-dinner aperitifs.

      The couple’s car churned up the gravel and my heart rate increased. They’d called the night before and enquired about hiring the ballroom for their fiftieth wedding anniversary. It had taken all of my might to keep my voice level and act like I’d hired out the ballroom a hundred times already. But it bode well, having interest in Cedarwood at this early stage.

      I peeked out of the newly replaced window and watched Edgar help his wife Imelda into a wheelchair. Damn it! There were no ramps in place. I made a mental note to check we had mobility aids on the list. Cedarwood had to be accessible to everyone.

      With a broad smile in place, I hurried outside to greet them.

      “Welcome to Cedarwood!” I said too brightly, my nerves jangling to the surface as I half jogged toward them, mentally assessing the area for a plank of wood, or something to use as a ramp… when the heel of my stiletto got caught in a hole in the deck. With a calm smile that belied the drumming of my heart, I attempted to wrench my heel out, trying to appear casual, but it wouldn’t budge. Damn it! With one last heave, the heel came free but momentum sent me flying forward with a screech. Oh, god! I flew precariously into the air, taking great leaps to avoid a tray of paint and a scattering of drill bits. Please, I silently willed the universe, don’t let me upend the paint all over her! With a hop, skip, and a jump to avoid everything, I ended up on my knees by the woman’s lap, my pulse thrumming in my ears.

      Note to self: make sure walkways are cleared at all times.

      Sweat broke out on my forehead despite the chilly autumn day. Red-faced and righting myself, I held out a hand and said breezily, “I’m Clio. And as you can see, I’ve been falling over myself to meet you.” Kill me. Thank god I hadn’t taken her out. I could already imagine the story getting Chinese-whispered around town: Did you hear Clio Winters tried to murder her first client, and it was little old Imelda no less!

      Imelda chuckled and shook my hand. “Aren’t you as pretty as a picture? I hope you didn’t ruin those heels, do you think they come in my size? My life flashed before my eyes but all I could think was, I need a pair of those dancing shoes for the party…” her eyes twinkled mischievously.

      Admonishing myself silently for being a klutz, I dared a quick peek at my trousers; they had somehow remained intact – however, from the pain radiating upwards, my knees hadn’t fared as well. “I’m sure they’d have your size and I think the leopard print would suit you…”

      She cocked her head as if contemplating. “I might just have to find some for the party, what do you say, Edgar?” She craned her neck and smiled benignly at her husband.

      “They most certainly look like dancing shoes… Could be a new type of work boot, what would I know?” He glanced at the hole in the deck, and then my heels and raised his eyes to the heavens. I tried to hide a smile and remain professional, but a giggle escaped, it couldn’t be helped, I liked them both instantly.

      I stepped forward and shook Edgar’s hand. The speech I’d prepared had flown straight out of my head as I’d toppled into Imelda’s personal space, but I sensed my spiel would have been too formal, too stuffy for these people. Game face on, I cleared my throat and tried to regroup.

      Right. Explain yourself, and don’t fall over! “As you can see, Cedarwood is getting a bit of a makeover. It’s a work site at the moment, but soon…”

      “It’s just as gorgeous as ever,” Imelda said, her eyes shining. “Can we take a look through?”

      “It’s a little noisy what with the…”

      “Noise schmoise,” she said, waving me away. “We don’t mind that, do we Edgar?”

      I gulped. What if something fell on them, or Edgar tripped and broke a leg? I’d planned on showing them the ballroom from the adjoining outdoor deck and showing my presentation. Not opening myself up for a health and safety lawsuit on the first day.

      “We’re as tough as old boots even if we look a little fragile, don’t you worry about us.” Imelda said.

      If we walked slowly, and carefully, surely it would be OK for a few minutes? Though I’d managed to fall over already…

      “So sorry that we’re not fully equipped at the moment. Let me help you lift the chair,” I said, praying I didn’t get a finger caught in the wheel spokes and drop her, or something equally idiotic.

      “Help with the chair would be mighty kind,” Edgar said and moved to one side while I took the other. We hefted the surprisingly light Imelda up.

      With my back holding open the oak door, Edgar wheeled Imelda into the lobby, the scent of wet paint heavy in the air. Drop sheets were scattered across the floor to catch spills and the sounds of work echoed around the lodge.

      “It might look like a big mess at the moment, but trust me there’s a method to the madness. We have a strict schedule in place.” It was hard to envisage what the lodge would look like with groups of laborers in clusters, drilling, hammering, filing, and edging. Tools were scattered, buckets were littered here and there. Bags of rubbish sat awaiting removal. The couple followed my noisy tread, the wood underfoot making a weird kind of song depending on where we stepped. Squeak, ping, pop, ahh.

      Imelda shook her head as if she was mesmerized, “I’m sure you’ve got a handle on it all.” We continued through the expanse of the lobby with its thick American oak pillars, and dusty chandeliers swaying in the breeze, their crystals clinking gently like a song, prisms of colored light dancing on the walls. The stone fireplace needed a little love, its mantle was missing, but still a fire crackled in the grate, adding to the ambience.

      Firelight shimmered across the room. Even in its disorderly state the lodge radiated a type of warmth, a feeling of relaxation and expectation of what might be…

      “As you can see I’m trying to keep as much of it original as I can.” I wanted the lodge to keep its old world charm. “The overall look with remain as it was all those years ago.”

      “That’s music to my ears,” Imelda said, beaming. “We worried the lodge might’ve been purchased by a huge consortium and turned into some modern monolith. I’m so glad that’s not the case.”

      We continued to a small salon. I just managed to narrowly avoid kicking over a bucket full of cleaning equipment. The room was musty, with old brocade curtains clinging to their rusty rails. “Edgar, don’t you remember, we used to play charades in here.” Imelda said, reaching up to grasp her husband’s hand.

      “You’ve stayed here before?” I asked, a shiver of excitement running through me. They’d stayed at Cedarwood in its heyday? No one I’d known had actually been inside the lodge as it had been closed down for so long.

      Edgar turned Imelda’s chair to face me. “We got married here,” she said dreamily.

      I gasped. “You did? That’s incredible!” No wonder they’d been so eager to see the place as it was – warts and all – and could imagine what it would look like in the future.

      Her face broke into a smile and I could see the bright-eyed young girl she’d been. “Coming up to fifty years ago I was a blushing bride of twenty-five years old. Edgar was twenty-six. We found each other late in life, or what was deemed late back then. All our friends were already married and had a bunch of babies. We fell in love but there was only a few weeks before Edgar was shipped off to the war.”

      “I can’t believe this!” My pulse thrummed knowing their story ended in Happy Ever After, because here they stood. “What a story, and to have you return to the lodge…” I wanted to hug them, but held myself in check. “How long were you away, Edgar?” I shuddered, thinking of the young man – as he then was – being thrust into such a dangerous wartime situation.

      He gave Imelda a meaningful glance and said, “Two years, four months, and one day,” he blushed. “Or thereabouts.