Aunt Dimity Down Under (7 page)

“I beg your pardon? ” said the solicitor.

“Never mind,” I said, motioning for him to go on.

“I have been given to understand that you are independently wealthy,” he said. “If such is the case, you will be able to make the journey without risking a loss of income or requiring a leave of absence from your employer.”

“I don’t work for a living,” I conceded, “but I have two young sons and a husband who travels a lot, so I don’t see how I can—”

Mr. Makepeace held up a chubby finger for silence.

“My clients,” he continued, “believe that your father-in-law, who currently resides with you, will not only be capable of looking after your sons, but glad of the opportunity to do so.”

“My father-in-law is great with the boys,” I acknowledged, “but he doesn’t know the first thing about cooking, cleaning, or doing laundry, so—”

“My clients,” Mr. Makepeace broke in, “have informed me that your father-in-law’s, er, legions of admirers will, without hesitation, rise to the occasion. I have been advised that the, ahem, merry widows of Finch—my clients’ phrase, not mine,” he hastened to assure me, “will vie for the privilege of providing your family with the home comforts to which they have become accustomed.”

I pursed my lips. If I knew the merry widows of Finch—and I did—they’d provide my family with comforts usually found in five-star hotels. The cottage would be scoured daily, the laundry would be washed by hand, and my menfolk would be fed so many delectable dishes that they’d never again be satisfied by my cooking.

“Your expenses,” Mr. Makepeace concluded, “will, of course, be paid in full.”

“It’s not a question of money,” I said, waving the concern aside. “I have responsibilities at home, Mr. Makepeace. I can’t drop everything and run halfway around the world on a whim. My family needs me.”

The round-faced solicitor leaned forward and gazed at me with a new sobriety.

“You would not be making the journey on a whim,” he said quietly. “You would be fulfilling the deepest desire of my clients’ hearts. They wish to communicate with their only remaining blood relative before they die. They hope to heal the breach that sundered them from him before it is too late. Ruth and Louise need you, too, Ms. Shepherd. I would argue that their need is greater than your family’s.”

I felt as if he’d thrust a knife into my heart.

“I’ll have to talk it over with my husband and sons,” I mumbled, gazing at the floor.

“Naturally,” said Mr. Makepeace. “But please do so quickly. My clients may not have much time left.” He picked up the black leather document case and handed it to me. “My clients have authorized me to present you with papers giving you the power to act as their legal representative in this matter, Ms. Shepherd. They have also written a letter to their nephew, which they hope you will deliver to him personally. Mrs. Abercrombie will, if you wish, make your travel arrangements. We need but a moment’s notice.”

I slipped the document case into my shoulder bag and told Mr. Makepeace that I would give him my decision by the end of the day. He thanked me for my time and walked with me to the double doors. I was about to step onto the landing when I paused to look up at him.

“The letter Ruth and Louise found—the one their brother wrote to their mother,” I said. “It must have given their hearts a jolt.”

“It did,” said Mr. Makepeace. “But if you can find their nephew, you may, perhaps, give their hearts ease.”

 

 

It wasn’t until I started up the Mini that I remembered the rash vow I’d made the night before. Never in my wildest dreams had I imagined that I’d be called upon to keep it, yet it seemed that I would, in fact, have to travel to the ends of the earth in order to keep my promise to the Pyms.

That I would make the journey was a foregone conclusion—I could almost feel Bill’s hand on the small of my back as he pushed me out of the cottage and hear Willis, Sr.’s voice as he urged me to do my duty—but I wouldn’t travel alone.

“I hope you’re up for a trip, Dimity,” I muttered, “because it looks as though you and I are going to New Zealand.”

S
ome time later, I watched Auckland’s bright carpet of lights emerge from the black immensity of the Tasman Sea.

“At last,”
I muttered hoarsely.

I had no idea how many days had passed since Bill had dropped me off at Heathrow Airport. According to my itinerary, I’d spent twenty-three hours crossing the Atlantic Ocean, the North American continent, and the Pacific Ocean, and an additional four hours killing time during a layover in Los Angeles, but I’d somehow lost two days when I’d crossed the International Date Line, so my sense of time was completely out of whack. I
felt
as if I’d spent most of my adult life confined to the first-class cabin of an Air New Zealand jet. I shuddered to think of what the journey had been like for those traveling in coach.

I turned away from my window to gaze blearily at the smiling face of Serena, my smartly dressed and much too chipper flight attendant. Her clear eyes and glowing complexion brought back distant memories of what it had once been like to be freshly bathed, well-rested, and alert.

“It’s five twenty A.M. local time, and we’re about to land in New Zealand’s largest city,” Serena informed me. “If you include the suburbs, Auckland covers sixty square kilometers—that’s twenty-three square miles to you Americans—and it contains nearly a third of New Zealand’s entire population. Auckland was named after Lord Auckland, the Governor-General of India. It was once the capital of New Zealand‚ and it’s ringed by forty-eight extinct volcanoes.”

“Volcanoes? ” I said, roused from my torpor.

“
Extinct
volcanoes,” said Serena. “The
active
volcanoes are farther south.”

“How much farther?” I demanded.

“Let’s prepare for landing, shall we?” she asked, and moved on to her next victim.

I raised my seat back to its upright and locked position, then turned to gaze downward again. I hadn’t expected New Zealand’s largest city to be quite so large. Its glimmering lights seemed to go on forever and a surprising number of them seemed to belong to tall buildings. As the plane descended smoothly toward the runway, I couldn’t help wondering if it was safe to build skyscrapers in a city ringed by forty-eight allegedly extinct volcanoes. In my fragile, sleep-deprived state, I was a bit put out with everyone who’d had a hand in sending me to a place that might blow itself up without warning.

The family conference had gone exactly as I’d predicted. After I’d revealed the true nature of the Pym sisters’ request, Bill had pulled my suitcases down from the attic and Willis, Sr., had used the world atlas to show Will and Rob where Mummy would be going. There’d been no debate about whether I
should
go or not. My loved ones had simply assumed that I would leave as soon as possible.

A phone call to Mrs. Abercrombie had put me on the first flight out of London the following morning. I’d been so busy packing, fussing over the boys, making to-do lists for Willis, Sr., and conferring with Aunt Dimity that I hadn’t had a moment to spare for a last-minute visit with the Pyms. I’d had to settle instead for a hurried telephone conversation with Nell, who’d assured me that Ruth and Louise were doing as well as could be expected.

Bill had arranged via e-mail for one of his old school friends—a native New Zealander named Cameron Mackenzie—to meet me at the Auckland Airport and drive me to my hotel, which turned out to be a very good idea. By the time I exited the plane, retrieved my luggage, and passed through the customs and quarantine checkpoints, I could scarcely remember how to summon a taxi, let alone how to give directions to a driver, but thanks to Bill’s foresight, I didn’t have to fend for myself. I was simply scooped up at the arrivals barrier by a tall, soft-spoken blur of a man who guided me gently to a car and didn’t argue with me when I refused to relinquish my carry-on bag to him.

I conked out before he finished putting my suitcase in the trunk and came to when he shook me firmly by the shoulder.

“We’re here,” he said.

At least, that’s what I thought he said. To my sleep-clogged ears, it sounded more like “Weah-heah.”

“Okay,” I said.

I dragged myself, my shoulder bag, and my carry-on out of the car and allowed the tall blur to lead me into the brightly lit lobby of the Spencer on Byron Hotel, check me in, and board an elevator with me.

“Who are you?” I asked stupidly, peering up at the tall blur.

“Cameron Mackenzie,” he replied. “I’m an old friend of your husband’s.”

“That’s right.” I nodded groggily. “Do you know what day it is? ”

The corners of his mouth seemed to twitch, as if he were suppressing a smile.

“It’s Thursday,” he said.

“Is it?” My attention wandered to the flashing floor numbers on the elevator’s control panel. “Are we in a skyscraper?”

“A small one,” he said. “The Spencer has twenty-three floors.”

“Will it fall over when the volcanoes erupt? ” I asked.

“If the volcanoes erupt, everything will fall over,” he answered. “But I wouldn’t worry about it. The active volcanoes are—”

“—farther south,” I finished for him. “How much farther?”

“Far enough,” he said.

“Do you know why I’m here?” I asked, as the elevator doors slid open.

“Bill filled me in,” he said, steering me into the corridor. “We don’t have to discuss it now, though. You need some sleep.”

“I
do,
” I agreed fervently.

With Cameron’s help, my luggage and I made it to my suite. He deposited my suitcase on a luggage rack in the sitting room, then slipped something into my shoulder bag.

“I’ve written my room number on the back of my card,” he said. “I’m three doors down. Give me a call after you’ve caught up with yourself.”

“Okey-dokey,” I said.

Cameron left and I crawled into bed, still clutching my carry-on bag.

I passed the next two hours in blissful oblivion, then woke with a start, wondering where Bill was, why I’d gone to bed fully dressed, and if Cameron Mackenzie had been a figment of my imagination. After I’d unraveled those mysteries, I sat up in bed, reached for the telephone, and called Bill. I didn’t know what time it was in England and I didn’t care. I needed to hear my husband’s voice.

“Did I wake you?” I asked when he answered.

“No,” he replied, “but it wouldn’t matter if you had. For future reference, Lori, London is twelve hours behind Auckland. How was the trip?”

“Don’t ask,” I said, stifling a yawn. “How are Ruth and Louise? ”

“A little better,” Bill replied. “Nell said they perked up when she told them what you were doing. They requested porridge for breakfast, in addition to their usual tea and toast.”

“Wonderful,” I said.

“Cameron called to let me know you’d arrived,” Bill went on. “He said you seemed pretty jet-lagged.”

“I think I drooled in his car,” I confessed guiltily.

“He won’t mind,” Bill assured me. “I’ve asked him to look after you while you’re there, so if you need anything, ask him. Have you mapped out a plan for the day?”

“After I hand the Pyms’ letter to Aubrey Pym, Junior, I intend to come back to the hotel and sleep until it’s time to fly home,” I said.

“You’d better get going, then,” he advised. “I’ll talk to you later.”

“Kiss the boys for me,” I said. “And tell William I miss him.”

“I will,” Bill promised, and rang off.

A wave of homesickness threatened to engulf me as I hung up the phone. I kept it at bay by opening my carry-on bag and peering down at a small, powder-pink flannel face. Reginald was used to traveling with me. He was my own personal cure for homesickness.

“You have no idea how good it is to see you, Reg,” I said.

I stroked his hand-sewn whiskers fondly and placed him on my bedside table, then withdrew the blue journal from the carry-on and opened it.

“Dimity?” I said. “Weah-heah.”

I leaned back against my pillows as the familiar lines of royal-blue ink scrolled gracefully across the page.

“We’re here,” I said, reverting to my native tongue. “We’re in Auckland. It’s bigger than Upper Deeping.”

“Not too bad,” I said. “My brain’s a little disjointed, but I think I can take a shower without drowning.”

“I didn’t bring a guidebook with me, Dimity. I won’t be here long enough to need one.” I looked at Reginald and sighed wistfully. “I’d planned to get my hair cut this week, not circle the globe.”

“Hold on,” I said, struggling to keep up. “Who are the Maori? ”

I gaped at the journal in astonishment. “When did you become an expert on New Zealand?

“Everyone knows about kiwis,” I said dismissively. “Did you know”—I searched my mind for a handy factoid, to prove that I wasn’t a complete ignoramus—“that Auckland was named after Lord Auckland, the Governor-General of India? ” I finished triumphantly.