Alice-Miranda on Vacation (16 page)

“Ah, Dougal, God rest his soul.” Ambrose made a sign of the cross.

Dolly’s explorer husband, Dougal, had met an untimely end on one of his expeditions after his food supply had run out and he was stuck in the middle of one of the worst blizzards Europe had ever seen.

“Well, you are a trick,” Ambrose said admiringly. “And Mrs. Smith, what is your role in all of this?”

“I’ve just come to give Dolly a helping hand for a few days while the girls are on holidays. I have no brain for inventing, but I can follow instructions and am happy to assist wherever I can,” Mrs. Smith replied.

“And what’s that through there?” Ambrose pointed
to an area at the other end of the room paneled off by thick, gray-tinted glass.

“Oh, that’s where Mr. Kennington-Jones keeps the most important stock—the wine, of course.” Dolly smiled and touched a fingertip to the side of her nose.

“But I thought the wine cellar was accessed from the pantry at the end of the kitchen?” Mrs. Smith frowned.

“Oh no, you must be confused.” Mrs. Oliver shook her head. “Anyway, we should get back to the children. They’ll be waiting for their supper.” Mrs. Oliver motioned for Ambrose and Mrs. Smith to go on ahead of her. She flicked the light switch and pulled the heavy metal door closed. A light on the electronic pad at the entrance flickered and she hastily punched in a series of numbers. The door shut tight and there was a sound of air rushing out.

Mrs. Smith couldn’t help wondering why her friend had lied about the cellar. She herself had seen it—through a passage and down some stairs in the pantry off the end of the kitchen. The glassed-off area was nothing to do with Mr. Kennington-Jones’s extensive wine collection at all. But then again, she didn’t know what was in there either, and Mrs. Oliver likely had good reason to keep it a secret.

The ladies bid goodbye to Ambrose, who set off in his rattly Land Rover, vowing to return the next evening.

The children had set the table in the kitchen and were now watching television with Shilly and Cecelia in the small sitting room.

“Dolly,” Shilly called when she heard the screen door open. “Dolly, you must come and see this. It’s just ghastly.”

Mrs. Oliver and Mrs. Smith bustled into the room to catch the tail end of the news story.

“All those little children starving—goodness, there must be something can be done.” Shilly shook her head.

“What about FDF, Mrs. Oliver?” Alice-Miranda asked. “I thought Daddy was working on contracts with some governments.”

“Yes, darling girl—your father has been busy—but these things just take such a long time, I’m afraid,” Mrs. Oliver replied.

“And then there are the people more interested in making money than anything else,” Mrs. Smith added.

“Yes, like Alethea’s horrid father. I read somewhere that one of Addison Goldsworthy’s oil mines poisoned a whole river and lots of people got very
sick. If he’s anything like Alethea, it probably didn’t bother him one bit, as long as he got richer,” Millie added.

Alethea Goldsworthy’s father was one of the richest men in the world. He had made his money mining for oil and gold and just about any other precious commodity—and had quite an appalling reputation for caring little about his employees. He was even said to be on first-name terms with several of the world’s worst dictators.

Shilly flicked off the television.

“Well, I don’t know about anyone else, but I think we need to have dinner and then I would love some help finishing off upstairs. What do you say, girls? Do you think you could give me a hand?”

“Of course … yes … what do you want us to do?” the children chorused.

“Let’s talk about that in a minute, shall we? Now off you go and wash your hands.”

A
fter dinner, Alice-Miranda, Millie and Jacinta followed Cecelia to the third floor. Off the broad hallway with its pretty gold wallpaper there were eight bedrooms, including Alice-Miranda’s parents’ own. Cecelia explained that they were having quite a few guests for the weekend and so the group was on “final inspection” duty for Shilly, which meant checking that there were towels in all the bathrooms and fresh flowers in the bedrooms and that there was not a crease or wrinkle on any of the duvets. The girls were rather enjoying their jobs, eagerly ticking off the list that Shilly had sent with them. Alice-Miranda knew, however, that while
this was called “final inspection,” it would be Mrs. Shillingsworth who would do the final,
final
inspection after everyone was tucked up in bed.

“Mummy, why is Aunty Gee’s room on this list?”

Alice-Miranda was quite used to having a house full of visitors, as her parents often entertained at home, but the suite at the very end was strictly off-limits to everyone except Aunty Gee—and it had been that way for as long as anyone could remember.

“Is she coming for the weekend?” Alice-Miranda asked.

Cecelia frowned. “Well, darling, you know that we are having some people to stay. But it’s a little bit more than that, actually.”

“Yes, Mummy, I know. It’s a surprise—for Aunt Charlotte.” Alice-Miranda smiled.

“Oh, darling, however did you guess?” Cecelia said, pouting.

“Well, you don’t usually have half the village up to help with the cleaning unless there’s a special event—and there have been so many deliveries too,” Alice-Miranda noted.

Cecelia straightened a painting on the wall as she spoke. “You don’t miss much, do you?”

“I can’t wait,” said Alice-Miranda, and hugged her mother.

“But you mustn’t say anything to Charlotte.” Cecelia looked each of the girls in the eye. “She thinks we’re just having a small get-together with Lawrence and everyone here at home.”

The party was planned for the following evening. Charlotte would be home in the morning, and to keep her out of the house while the guests arrived, Lawrence had suggested when he was there earlier in the week that he would try to convince her to take a lovely long ride to a couple of the neighboring villages.

“Now that you’re all in on the plan, you can help make sure that Charlotte stays away until everything is in place,” Cecelia announced.

There was a loud creaking noise and Alice-Miranda turned to see her father arriving at the top of the stairs.

“Hello, Daddy.”

Hugh Kennington-Jones did not reply. He seemed quite lost in his own thoughts.

“Hellllllloooooo, Daaaadddddy,” Alice-Miranda called again in a singsong voice.

Hugh jolted as if surprised and turned toward the girls. “Oh, hello, darling.” He walked toward the group at the end of the hallway. “Sorry, I was far, far away,” he said. “Hello, Millie—lovely to see you again.” He reached down and gave her a hug. Then
he stepped back and looked at Jacinta. “And how are you feeling, young lady? You’re certainly looking much better.”

“I’m fine, thank you,” Jacinta replied.

“And we’re all so excited about Aunt Charlotte’s party,” said Alice-Miranda as she put her tiny hand into her father’s and the group walked back toward the top of the stairs.

“I thought we were keeping that a surprise,” Hugh scolded Cecelia.

“Yes, well, we were, but you know this one”—she rolled her eyes affectionately and pointed at Alice-Miranda—“has a habit of asking just the right questions.”

The grandfather clock on the landing began to chime.

“All right, girls. It’s late—you’d better get off to bed. I’ll come down and tuck you in soon,” Cecelia instructed as the clock struck nine.

“Good night, Daddy,” said Alice-Miranda.

Hugh lifted her into his arms and gave her a kiss on the cheek. She kissed him back again as she always did. It was their bedtime game.

“Love you.” She pressed her cheek against his, and then rubbed her face with her hand, objecting to his evening stubble. “You need a shave, Daddy.”

“No, I don’t think so,” he teased. “Perhaps I’ll grow a beard.”

“No,
I
don’t think so.” Cecelia shook her head.

“Me either.” Alice-Miranda wrinkled her nose. “Beards are awful.”

Hugh put Alice-Miranda down.

“Good night.” Millie and Jacinta waved.

“Can we show Millie the roller coaster ride tomorrow?” Jacinta asked as the girls walked three-across down the stairs.

“You have a roller coaster?” Millie gasped.

“Well, sort of,” Alice-Miranda smiled. “Not quite what you think, but a lot of fun.”

“I’m up for it,” Millie enthused.

“Yes, perhaps we can have a turn tomorrow?” Jacinta ran her fingers down the highly polished balustrade and winked at Alice-Miranda.

“Maybe.” Alice-Miranda winked back.

Meanwhile, Hugh and Cecelia headed into their bedroom.

“So, how was your day?” Cecelia asked as Hugh slipped his jacket off and began to undo his tie.

“I’ve had better,” he sighed, walking into the spacious wardrobe.

“Why? What happened?” Cecelia called.

“It’s the FDF contracts. I thought we were ready to sign the deal, but apparently there’s another player about to enter the market. Hector Baines called me this afternoon to say that there had been mutterings about someone else having an identical product, and now the governments aren’t willing to sign anything until they meet with this new supplier.” Hugh walked back into the bedroom.

Hector Baines, the CEO of Care Planet, had been negotiating contracts with several Third World governments, having seen the incredible results of the FDF trials. He was anxious to get things signed and delivered as quickly as possible.

“So who’s this new supplier?” Cecelia asked.

“That’s just it. Nobody’s talking. I have no idea,” Hugh replied. “As far as I’m aware, no one else has come close to Mrs. Oliver’s formula.”

“Well, I’m sure it will work out,” Cecelia reassured him. “I’d better pop down and tuck the girls in. You should see Alice-Miranda’s room. It looks like the school dorm.” She kissed her husband on the top of his head as he sat at the writing desk scanning the afternoon paper.

“Say good night from me.” Hugh didn’t look up as his eyes locked onto a small article in the bottom
left-hand corner of page eight. The headline read
Goldsworthy Industries Enters Food Relief Market—a Helping Hand for All …

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Hugh muttered.

“What was that, darling?” Cecelia leaned back inside the doorway.

“Nothing, Cee. Nothing at all,” he lied.

A
t breakfast on Friday, Alice-Miranda asked what time her aunt and Mr. Ridley would be arriving. Just as her mother opened her mouth to reply there was the sound of crunching gravel on the driveway and the low rumbling of a sports car engine.

“She’s here!” Alice-Miranda leapt from her chair, ran to the kitchen door and raced outside to greet her beloved aunt.

“Goodness me, now, there’s a welcome you don’t get every day.” Charlotte lifted herself from the passenger seat and scooped Alice-Miranda into her
arms. Alice-Miranda kissed Charlotte’s cheeks and forehead and lastly the tip of her nose.

“How is my favorite only niece?” Charlotte maneuvered Alice-Miranda onto her left hip. “I think you’ve grown—you’re getting much too heavy to be carried about.”

Alice-Miranda frowned momentarily, and then smiled.

“You
can
put me down. I’ve grown a centimeter since I started at my new school,” Alice-Miranda proudly told her aunt.

“A whole centimeter—is that all? I thought it must be at least five.” Charlotte kneeled down to meet Alice-Miranda’s big brown eyes.

People often said that Alice-Miranda was the image of her aunt Charlotte when she was little. Both had the same cascading chocolate curls, and brown eyes as big as saucers. They shared much the same attitude to life too. Charlotte headed up the public relations team for Highton’s, and it was often remarked that there was no one she couldn’t win over—eventually.

“So what do you have planned for me this weekend?” Charlotte stood up and held Alice-Miranda’s hand.

“Tons of things—but you’ll just have to wait and see.”

Lawrence was retrieving their bags from the trunk of the car.

“Hello, Mr. Ridley.” Alice-Miranda smiled. “It’s nice to see you again.”