Ondine (7 page)

‘Oh good, you're back,' Ma said from the doorway, breaking the tableau.

A sigh of relief escaped Ondine's lips and she felt her shoulders sag. God bless Ma's incredible sense of timing!

‘No, dear, you're not interrupting me this time,' Da said sternly.

Caught in the spotlight of her father's stare, Ondine felt her tongue turn to sandpaper. A squeak came out instead of words.

‘Well, she'd better be quick,' Ma said, looking out through the large front windows. ‘Is that the Duke of Brugel heading this way, with about two hundred followers?' She turned and headed towards the kitchen. ‘Chef! Cybelle! Margi! Thomas! All hands on deck – the whole city's coming for lunch.'

‘I thought that ferret was a ferret, pure and simple,' the head of the de Groot household said. Only moments earlier he'd been cuddling Ondine and telling her how much he loved her. Now he looked like he could happily have her sectioned.

‘I'm sorry, Da. Shambles was a man once, and Old Col turned him into a ferret because he got drunk at her debutante ball.'

‘And what? You just forgot to tell me?'

A confusing sickness took hold of Ondine, spreading out from her heart and filling her body, right down to her boots. Before she could respond, they heard multiple footsteps on the path outside.

Time was against them and Da had to let the situation drop so he could make ready with the beer. Any relief Ondine could have felt from her reprieve was quickly replaced by concern for Shambles. Then her concern for Shambles was quickly replaced by excitement at the appearance of the Duke of Brugel and his son Lord Vincent in the hotel's doorway.

Something light and fizzy stirred inside Ondine. Just from looking at Vincent. Because he was so very lovely to look at.

No time to gaze, they had work to do. To help with the crowd, Margi, Thomas and Josef all tended bar, and Ondine felt seriously impressed at how well they worked together. Like they'd been doing it for years. She had to hand it to Margi, the older girl had held her ground – as had Thomas from
the look of things. But as much as Ondine thought she should be worrying about her sister and her prospective brother-in-law, she couldn't keep her mind from straying to thoughts of Shambles, and where he could be.

You may have heard the expression ‘chick magnet', which is a term applied to a handsome man who draws women – or chicks – to him. Just as a regular magnet attracts paperclips and iron filings, seemingly without any effort. In fact, this is one of the elemental forces of nature at work, and is one of the easier aspects of physics to understand. Shambles the ferret was no chick magnet, but he was a trouble magnet, with an uncanny knack for attracting and finding trouble. You could say his knack for attracting trouble was also an elemental force of nature.

The moment he slipped away from Ondine's shoulder that morning, he followed his nose to the smell of frying sausages from one of the fund-raising stalls along the railway platform. The onions he didn't
care for, but the sausages made his mouth water.
²⁴
A plan formulated in his head – stay close to people near the barbecue and hot plates and sausages will drop from the sky.

Soon, a suitable leg presented itself, with sturdy shoes and thick denim pants, making it easy for Shambles to get a grip. Before its owner could finish yelping, ‘What's on my leg?' he'd dropped his sausage, bread, onions and mustard on the ground. Shambles jumped free and launched himself towards his prize, grabbed it in his teeth and disappeared behind the stall. And oh, it was bliss, eating a sausage that was half as long as his body. The hot fat dripped over his chin. Chunks of meat-ish mince slid down his throat and warmed his belly. In another few chomps, all that remained of the meal was a smear of grease on his black fur.

A clever person, perhaps even a not-so-clever person, might feel satisfied with that score and leave well
enough alone. Not Shambles. Filled with confidence at how well his first attempt had gone, he reasoned a second attempt would be even more successful.

He didn't have to wait long for another mark. This man had pants made from a thick canvas type material (Shambles hadn't studied fashion, so didn't know silk from sawdust) and a satchel on his side that made an excellent hitching post for a ferret to dig his claws and fangs into. In a heartbeat Shambles raced up his leg, grabbed on to the bag and opened his mouth to catch the sausage.

Then it all went horribly wrong.

The satchel opened and a gun fell out. Helpless, Shambles watched the weapon drop to the ground. It discharged on impact. His world split apart with the loudest sound he'd ever heard. Everyone screamed. Shambles hit a nearby wall with a thud and kept falling, his arms scrabbling for something to hang on to on the way down. His claws caught in a thick material – the man's pants – and he clung on hard, lurching back and forth with momentum as the man ran off. Nasty hot bile filled the back of his throat. His ears filled
with screams. Then a whistle blew and heavy footsteps closed in. Several pairs of footsteps.

From the corner of his eye, Shambles saw a policeman lunge towards them. He let go of the leg, fell hard on the pavement, and his world turned black.

Back at the pub, things were so busy in the dining room the piano stood silent. Cybelle worked in the kitchen beside Chef, while Ondine and Colette took orders and served food.

‘Ondi, take these meals to table twelve,' Cybelle said, before she rushed back to the stove to remove a tray of savoury tarts.

Her arms loaded with food (two plates balanced on one arm, a third plate on the other), Ondine took her orders and walked to the designated table. That's when she saw Lord Vincent sitting at the head of it. Not that she was going to drop the plates or anything, but the sight of him nearly made her miss a step. He looked ruffled and gorgeous; his sun-kissed, dark blond hair was all messed up but his brown eyes were clear and bright, and trained on her.

Heat crept up Ondine's neck at the thought of him checking her out.

‘It's Ondine, isn't it? That's a beautiful name,' Vincent said, extending his hand in friendship.

Something turned to liquid inside her.

Being polite, Ondine served Vincent and his companions their meals, then took his hand to give it a friendly shake. Her skin tingled at his warm touch. How long should they hold hands for? Would it be rude to pull away? Then he did something that made her insides go completely gooey. Eyes still locked with hers, Vincent turned her hand over and kissed the inside of her wrist.

The touch of his tender lips against her skin was the most erotic thing Ondine had ever experienced.

Heat shot up her arm, darted into her heart and pinged all around her body. Until this moment, she'd loved the feeling of just looking at him. Now he'd kissed her and she felt something strange, wonderful and new lurch low in her belly.

Ondine wasn't really sure what it was, but she knew she liked it.

 

24
Ferrets require a diet high in protein and fat, and low in carbohydrates. Sausages fit the bill nicely, provided they are not filled with breadcrumbs. Sausages can also become a bit tedious. It doesn't matter what you do with a sausage or how many herbs or semi-sundried tomatoes you add, after a while they all taste the same.

A
whole week later and there was no sign of Shambles. Not a skerrick.
²⁵
For a teenage girl with an overactive imagination, it was a complete disaster. Visions of Shambles lying dead in a city gutter filled Ondine's mind. That's if he was already dead. He might have been carried off by a hawk, his limbs ripped off while he yet lived, to be shoved down the hungry mouths of chicks. Or some revolting child might have found him and taken him home, where she'd be half strangling him to death with affection, then putting a bonnet on his head so that he matched the rest of her dollies! Ondine found herself thinking of Shambles
far too much. Thinking how vulnerable and small he was. Other times she found herself wondering what he might look like as a proper man. If she could find a way to turn him human again, would she like the end result? Would he be as handsome as Lord Vincent?

All the anxiety meant her appetite paid the price – she could barely eat for worry at breakfast. Then she became ravenous around lunchtime and found herself eating scraps off people's returned plates.
²⁶

It had also been a week of astonishing busyness and flat-out-edness. Business had never been so good, all because the Duke and his dishy son had come to their pub after the ballyhoo at the station.

I'll never wash my wrist again
. Ondine cast her mind back to that lush kiss on her tender skin. How she'd blushed furiously in front of Vincent and his gang, and the way he'd looked at her with an unreadable but unquestionably exciting-and-a-little-bit-dangerous
expression. That promise vanished after she had to roll up her sleeves and get stuck into the washing-up.

Laundry duty washed away another layer of skin, so really, all she had were memories. But oh, what lovely memories. His soft, warm lips brushing her skin, his walnut-brown eyes fixed on hers, her heart racing nineteen to the dozen. Even now, as she thought of him, her pulse increased. While folding sheets and tablecloths and pillowcases, Ondine kept seeing the lovely Lord Vincent's smiling eyes. Finishing with the folding, she made sure no one was looking and dared to kiss herself in the same spot.

What a let-down! No sensations at all, just the feeling that she must look like an idiot. Thank goodness nobody had seen her. Not even Shambles, to make her feel like a twit for entertaining such thoughts.

And Lord Vincent hadn't been back to their dining room all week, which was such a shame. Ondine felt sure that he'd be back in a day or two. Three at the most.

A sudden cry of anguish echoed through the kitchen, which sounded suspiciously like Ma having a conniption.

‘I don't believe it! They can't write such things! How dare they publish this! Josef, get a lawyer, let's sue them! This is all lies. Lies, lies, lies! Call themselves a newspaper? This is a rag. It's not fit for the toilet!'

‘Ma, what's wrong?' Ondine called out, as she hot-footed her way towards the centre of the family storm. When she got to the kitchen, she found everyone standing around the island bench, reading an article from the
Weekend Hacienda Leisure Guide
.

Somebody had written a review of their hotel. And it wasn't very nice. The food and wine critic, known by the pseudonym
Dee Gustation
, had gone to town on them.

‘But when was she here?' Cybelle asked. ‘I never saw anyone with a notebook in the dining room. Did you, Ondi?'

‘Nope, and everyone's been really nice as well. Nobody's even sent any food back, which is a good thing, right?' Ondine asked.

‘We haven't seen anyone in the bar who might be a critic, have we, Thomas?' Marguerite added. Thomas shook his head.

Thomas was crowding around the table along with the rest of the family, his pale hair contrasting sharply with the family of brunettes. Where had he come from? Everyone kept talking, so Ondine bent her head at a funny angle (the page was upside down, so it took all her concentration) to read the article.

Dangerous Dining Adventures

A night at The Station Hotel is a true adventure in dining, where the faint-hearted need not apply.

Let's begin with our first brush with death – the table wine. Called such because its only true use should be for cleaning the tables at the end of the night.

This is a hotel with a family atmosphere, which extends to the guests – in such a way that those in the dining room can easily become caught up in domestic disputes emanating from the kitchen.

Despite this, the food – when it does eventually arrive – is edible. That is what little you can find under the sea of gravy.

The beer is suitably cold, chilled from the frosty stares of the publican/overprotective father who has no issue
with using his beautiful daughters for slave labour. In many museums, you can look but not touch – here, don't even look at the daughters lest the father turns you into a block of ice with just one glance.

Towards the end of the evening, the rousing music from a talented but frustrated concert pianist is a fitting way to end the night. The raucous clamour from the piano and singing elder sister distracts everyone from the noises made by patrons in gastric distress outside in the gutter.

‘Oh, I can't bear it!' Ma said as she wiped tears from her cheeks with the back of her hand. ‘Who could be so cruel to us?'

‘Someone who is jealous of our success,' Da said.

From where Ondine stood, she figured her father's guess was as good as anyone else's.

A sad kind of quiet descended in the kitchen, which was pretty remarkable considering there were seven people all hunched around the table, reading the newspaper.