Against Her Rules

  T
he
one thing no one ever tells you about royalty, either of the Hollywood or
Aristocratic variety, is that they all leave a hell of a lot of mess behind
them. Elsie Walsh had scoured the stained sheets of a prince, and had to use a
full bottle of Javex on the jacuzzi of a certain female Oscar winner. No,
sometimes playing host to the rich and famous was not that glamorous. As she
surveyed the room she admitted that it could, after all, be worse. The worst
this room had was a mud stain on the rug, and with the constant wind and rain
of a Newfoundland November, that was run of the mill.

  With
a sigh, she began to strip the butter cream luxury sheets off the king-sized
bed. She’d normally leave the room until later when one of her staff came in, but
this particular guest had asked that no one other than his hostess see the
room. It wasn’t that bad, but he had some major trust issues ever since a
cleaning lady at an upscale New York hotel had bugged his room, which resulted
in the dissolution of his marriage, and in confirming the long-swirling rumours
of his homosexuality.

  He,
and many others, came to the small outport of Heart’s Ease, and its five-star
bed and breakfast “Heart’s Ease Inn” in no small part for the privacy it
offered. At least that’s what brought them the first time. After that, their
reasons for returning were varied. Some came back because they fell in love
with the sheer old-world peace that only a community of 233 people spread over
six kilometres of grass, rock and barrens can offer. They found the idea of
limited cellphone service and a grocery store that closed for lunch and supper
charming. Others came back bringing friends for the surprising gourmet meals,
and to marvel at the jellybean coloured houses nestled into the cliffs
surrounding the harbour of the town. And a smaller number returned in the hopes
of convincing the elf-like owner of the inn to fulfill their lustful fantasies.

  To
her credit, Elsie had broken her rule of keeping her relationships with her
guests to a professional level of friendship only once in her six years of
business. The problem was, she kept breaking it with him time and time again.

  On
Asher Corbin’s first visit to the inn he’d come with his then-girlfriend who
was shooting a movie a few communities over. She won a Golden Globe for her
performance. He won the rare prize of a night with Elsie. To this day she had
no idea why she’d given in. Certainly, other, more famous guests had crossed
her path, although he did have a fine heap of Grammys tossed in a closet in his
townhouse in London. She’d stumbled on them when she’d agreed to spend a
weekend with him. That ranked as number four on her list of “Big Mistakes Never
to Make Again.” Nope. It wasn’t his fame. It wasn’t even his brooding, soulful
looks, common in so many dreamy singer-songwriter types. Maybe it had something
to do with the over-indulgence in her father’s partridgeberry wine, but she
didn’t think so. Deep down she knew it was her fault.

  She
didn’t feel lonely that often. It was hard to find the time to dwell on it,
really. But there were times when she’d see a couple heading out for a walk
hand-in-hand, or catch her mother making a playful swat at her father’s
rear-end as he walked by, and she’d feel a little pang of longing. It was hard
to meet someone special when there were about ten single men combined in the
three towns in her general area. Even harder when two of them were her cousins,
and another four were too closely related for her own comfort, regardless of
what her great aunt Ida said.

  Elsie
kept reminding herself that it was her choice to stay in Heart’s Ease and turn
the crumbling old manor into the home of her dreams. As a little girl she’d
often hike up the hill to the house. It was always a magical place to her. Her
child’s mind concocted grand stories to explain why such a majestic old mansion
towered above the narrow saltbox two-storey houses that made up the small town
below. It had stood vacant since long before her mother was born. Elsie’s
imagination took the facts—an English merchant built the sweeping home for his
family but they left after just a couple of years—and turned it to a tale of
romance and heartbreak. Elsie’s version had tragic deaths, mad old relatives
locked in the attic, and a wicked storm that sent them all back to the tame
confines of England.

  It
wasn’t until she’d gone in search of the owner to buy the property that she’d
learned the real story. It was 1887 and the merchant and his family hated the
loneliness of Heart’s Ease. Instead, they moved to America and built a grander
home in Cape Cod. They still got the salt air, and the sweeping views, but with
neighbours of their own class, and a vibrant social scene.

  Their
loss, she figured.

  Elsie’s
initial plan had been to rent out the rooms so that she could pay off the loans
on the house and then turn it into her own personal home. But she’d always had
a knack for success, and so it was to no one’s surprise, other than her own,
when the first famous face was spotted walking up to her door. Her loans were
practically non-existent at this point, and yet she was happiest when the house
was full of laughter, and music, and glamorous people mixing with the fishermen
and storytellers of Heart’s Ease.

  As
she folded the towels and restocked the toiletries, she conceded that she had a
pretty great life. One of the perks of being single and child-free was that she
could accept tickets to a world premiere, or exclusive concert. The only thing
that she was tied to was the inn. The only people who depended on her were her
guests. And that was fine by her—most of the time.

  “Elsie!
Ellll-seeee!” The shrill call of her great aunt shook her from her thoughts.
“Where are ya, me ducky?”

  “Don’t
come up over the stairs, Aunt Ida,” she called. “I’ll be right down.”

  The
tell-take thunk of the ninety-six-year-old woman’s cane on the wooden stairs
told Elsie to hurry.

  By
the time Elsie got to the top of the stairs, the elderly woman had managed
three steps. Her weathered face was red with the effort.

   “Auntie.
Stop. I’m coming. You know what happened last time you tried these stairs.” It
was the reason she now needed to walk with a cane.

  “Well,
I thought that Hugh Grant was up there.”

  “And
if he was, I would have asked him to come say hello. Don’t I always bring your
favourites around for tea?”

  “Not
all of them,” the old woman grumbled as Elsie helped her down the few steps.

  “Oh
Auntie. How many times do I have to tell you? Not every famous person in the
world comes here. If Hugh Grant or Brad Pitt or...”

  “Channing
Tatum, dear. He’s the newest most sexy man according to People.”

  Elsie
rolled her eyes. “Or Channing Tatum ever come here, I’ll be sure you know about
it. I promise.”

  “I
don’t know why you just don’t write them and tell them you have an old dying
aunt and that you’ll offer them a room for free if they’ll come.”

  “Aunt
Ida,” Elsie scolded. “First of all, you’re nowhere near to death, and second of
all, they can afford to pay for the room.”

  “Just
because they’re rich doesn’t mean they can afford what you charges. Sure no one
around here can afford to even have a bite to eat in that fancy dining room. I
read in the paper that one poor feller had to save up for months just to bring
his wife. I’m tellin’ ya, Elsie, you don’t need no more money. Let good decent
folks have a turn sleepin’ in those big beds. Although I suppose you needs a
ladder just to get up into one of ‘em.”

  This
was an ongoing complaint Elsie heard nearly daily from one person or another.
They were happy to see money coming into the community, but still couldn’t wrap
their minds around the cost to spend a night. The money the new oil industry
was bringing to Newfoundland hadn’t been seen in Heart’s Ease, where most of
the population collected their old age pensions, and those that were still working
made their living fishing.

  Elsie
had just learned to ignore it. She also made a point of ensuring everyone in
the harbour was invited over for some sort of function every month. In reality,
there were far more days when her guests were from the city, than from
somewhere exotic. With the departure of this morning’s movie great, she had
only three rooms out of twenty booked. Once today’s guest checked in there
would be six ordinary, non-famous guests at the inn.

  “Do
you want a cup of tea, Auntie?” Elsie asked as she ushered the woman into a
cozy, upholstered rocking chair by a huge bay window that overlooked the water.

  “Your
mother is getting me one,” Aunt Ida said, as she brushed a white curl away from
her face. “Now sit down because I want to talk to you before she comes in.” She
lowered her voice. “It’s personal.”

  “What
is it?” Elsie asked, settling into a red damask wing-backed chair.

  “I
wants a job.”

  “A
job? Here?”

  This
was not what Elsie had expected. The last personal conversation between them had
involved her aunt trying to fix her up with a recently widowed
sixty-four-year-old man. Apparently a thirty-three year age difference was
quite common when Ida was a young girl.

  “Yes.
Not for a long time, mind now. But I want to save up a bit of money. I’m
thinking of taking a trip.”

  Elsie
opened her mouth but no words came out.

  “Now
don’t start. This is why I’m not telling your mother, or father.” Aunt Ida
religiously permed her hair every six weeks, and the tight curls bounced as she
shifted to face Elsie with conviction.

  “I’m
an old woman, Elsie. My parts are givin’ out on me. And I’ve never gone
anywhere or done anything other than the scattered trip into St. John’s. I’ve
never been on a plane. It was alright when I was younger. I didn’t know what I
was missing. But everything I see on television, all those places and people
and I can only see it on that box. I want to go to Scotland. My mother’s people
came over from Scotland and I want to see it. Men in kilts, wooly cows, real
heather. I want to see it all for real.” Rather than looking sad, the elderly
woman’s eyes danced with excitement.

  “Aunt
Ida, if that’s what you want, I can take you on a holiday.”

  “No,
Elsie. I don’t want to be taken. I want to go.” She thumped her cane on the
floor, narrowly missing Elsie’s toes. “I want to earn my own way, and do what I
want to do. If you pay for it, then it’s your trip. I want my own trip. I want
to plan it, and I want to go on my own.”

  There
was no way anyone in the Walsh family was letting the woman, who was nearly a
centenarian, for Pete’s sake, go off to Scotland on her own. They wouldn’t even
let her wander around the mall on her own when they took her to St. John’s.
Still, Elsie couldn’t say no.

  And
so it was that Heart’s Ease Inn hired its very first concierge. Ida had done
her research and figured that was the best job for her. She knew every nook and
cranny around and was sure she could ensure guests got the inside scoop on
everything they needed to know to enjoy their stay. Elsie just hoped she
wouldn’t come to regret it.