EIGHT
Eight
Lottie pushed open the door of Madame Dubois and waited a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dark interior before searching the tables.
‘Hi, Lottie. You looking for the boss lady?’ Lenny, the bartender-cum-manager-cum-maintenance man, asked from behind the bar.
Lenny used to be a boxer back in the day and had worked with Cher as a bouncer in her previous business. He’d moved up to help Cher run the bar. Behind his almost-bald head, flat nose, thick arms and tattoos, Lenny had a heart of gold, and he had been a loyal friend to Cher for too many years to count.
‘Hi, Lenny. No, I’m actually here to meet someone—’ She stopped as she caught sight of Damian. ‘Never mind, I found him,’ she said, turning back to smile at the man.
Damian looked up as she walked towards him and a flicker of awareness went through her body. This was ridiculous. She’d only just met him. She’d never had this kind of reaction to a man before—at least, not this fast.
‘Sorry I’m late, I had a last-minute customer come in just on closing time.’
‘No worries, I only just got here myself,’ Damian said smoothly, putting his phone back in his pocket. ‘Did they at least buy something to make it worthwhile?’
‘They did, actually,’ she smiled. ‘I had a gorgeous Dutch marquetry side table that had only come in a few days ago, and they snapped it up without blinking at the price tag.’
‘How much was it?’ he asked.
‘Four and a half thousand,’ she said, still a little giddy. She’d picked the piece up for an absolute steal from a deceased estate. The delicate floral inlay was stunning and the reddish-brown walnut timber was in excellent condition, but it was all the little compartments and hidey-holes inside that had fascinated her. That kind of craftsmanship was a lost art nowadays. It was just beautiful and she’d really, really wanted to keep it for herself.
He let out a low whistle. ‘That’s awesome,’ he said, looking impressed. ‘I did see that there earlier, but I clearly don’t have the eye for detail that you or your last customer does.’ He chuckled. ‘Or the bank account,’ he added. ‘Do you often get sales that large out here?’
‘Now and again. We get a lot of collectors coming up. The weekend tourist crowd is a bit of a mixed bag, but a lot of the boutique cafes and shops bring in the higher income, semi-retired demographic who’ve moved up from the city and seem to have money to spend. I’ve been dabbling in some more pricey stuff to appeal to that market.’
‘Seems to be paying off?’
‘So far,’ she agreed. ‘I’m still dipping my toe in the deep end, but I’m seriously thinking it’s the way to go. It’s just a bigger risk to buy in the more expensive items.’
‘I can imagine. But that’s really cool.’
Lottie flashed him a smile, enjoying the fact he seemed genuinely interested.
He reached over and picked up the menu. ‘So, what’s good here?’ he asked.
‘Everything,’ Lottie assured him.
‘That’s a big call. I take it you come here often?’
‘I may be a bit biased. My friend owns the place, but the food really is amazing here.’
‘Then you should order for both of us. I put my complete trust in your hands.’
‘Who’s putting what in whose hands?’ Cher’s honey-dipped voice came from behind Lottie. ‘Am I interrupting something, my darlings?’ She placed two brightly coloured cocktails on the table in front of them. ‘I’ve brought along some new ones for you to try,’ she said, then rested one hand on the back of Lottie’s chair as she sized up her companion.
‘Cher, this is Damian Loxley. Cher is the owner and creator of Madame Dubois,’ Lottie said.
To give Damian his due, he didn’t bat an eyelid at the sudden appearance of a woman bedecked in a red-and-gold sequined evening gown and Dolly Parton wig and makeup. He simply nodded politely and told Cher how much he admired the bar.
‘I said to myself, “Cher, what does this town need?” And it was completely obvious … it needed a swanky nightclub tapas bar and theatre. So here we are,’ she said, waving an elegant hand in the air.
‘I can see why that was the first thing that came to mind.’ ‘Loxley … why is that name so familiar?’ Cher mused, sending Lottie a quizzical glance.
‘Damian is our guest speaker for the festival,’ Lottie explained, sending Cher a pointed look.
Her friend’s eyes widened for a moment. ‘ You’re the professor?’
‘Guilty.’ Damian shrugged.
‘You’re … the professor ?’ Cher repeated, staring at him in blank disbelief.
‘Why doesn’t anyone ever seem to believe me when I say that?’ he asked quietly.
‘Because you don’t look like any professor I’ve ever known. I think it’s about time that lil’ Miss Cherise Dubois headed back to university,’ she said in a suggestive tone that made Lottie roll her eyes. ‘Aren’t you a little early, honey? The festival is weeks away.’
‘I’m here to do some research for my new book, thought I’d combine it into one trip.’
‘Oh! How exciting. Lottie’s writing a book too,’ Cher said, beaming across at her proudly.
‘You are?’ Damian asked, sounding surprised.
Lottie shifted uncomfortably in her seat. She appreciated Cher’s enthusiasm but why did she feel the need to broadcast Lottie’s work to the world? ‘It’s just a family history thing.’
‘Family history’s the best. Is it local?’
‘You don’t get much more local than the Fairchild family.’ Cher nodded. ‘Our little Lottie here has quite the scandalous family connection to Gentleman Jack himself. Tell him,’ Cher prompted.
‘Well, there’s no actual proof … it’s only really speculation …’ Lottie started.
Cher interrupted impatiently. ‘Her—what is it, five? Six? Times removed great-grandmother?—Was the innocent ,’ Cher wiggled her eyebrows suggestively, ‘grazier’s daughter who was allegedly ,’ she said, using her outrageously long, lethal-looking red nails to mimic quotation marks, ‘kidnapped and held hostage when Jack was on the run from the authorities after the infamous coach hold-up.’
‘That’s part of my research, the events that happened leading up to and after the robbery,’ Damian said. ‘You’re a relative of Emeline Grant?’
‘She’s more than that. She’s a descendant of Jack McNally himself,’ Cher announced.
‘Well, that’s the bit that we don’t have actual proof about,’ Lottie added quickly. Unlike Cher, Lottie preferred not to overplay the I’m-related-to-someone-famous card. It just felt a bit over the top, especially since there was no official link back to her family tree.
‘But it’s common knowledge,’ Cher interjected.
‘That Jack had a child?’ Damian nodded slowly.
‘You … you think the story has merit?’ Lottie asked.
‘I mean, records back then weren’t always an exact science. It often took a long time for people to register births … if at all in some of the more remote places. There was also ample opportunity to be a little hazy with the dates in the case of children being conceived out of wedlock and whatnot. I’ve read the newspaper reports about the kidnapping, and it’s easy to understand why a respectable family might go to great lengths to create a sympathetic story to protect their reputation or that of a very eligible young woman.’ Damian seemed to study Lottie thoughtfully for a moment before he spoke again. ‘Is this what you’re writing about? That angle?’
‘That’s a small part of it. I’m doing all the women in my family tree. Tracing back their histories and stories from each generation and their connection to Banalla,’ Lottie said. ‘The town itself plays a big part. The women always came back here, that’s what made me curious in the first place, the fact that in every generation, the women always ended up back in Banalla.’
Cher nodded solemnly. ‘There’s a whole cemetery full of them.’
‘And Cher has a connection to Jack too,’ Lottie pointed out, partly to take the attention off herself. ‘She comes from Kate O’Ryan’s line.’
‘Kate O’Ryan?’ Damian repeated, turning his head to look up at Cher again. ‘Jack’s sister?’
‘The same,’ Cher said cheerfully.
‘Wow.’ He eyed them curiously. ‘So, technically, if you have family connections with Kate, and you possibly have connections to Jack … that would make you related. Distantly, of course.’
‘Yep. We came to that conclusion too. I think that’s why we’ve become best friends,’ Lottie said.
‘You had to become my best friend. I’m your cousin,’ Cher said cheerfully. ‘If we’d grown up in town together, our mothers would have made us play together.’
‘Yes, well. I prefer to call you my best friend—that way I choose to be around you,’ Lottie said with a smile.
‘Aww, bless your little cotton socks. Isn’t she the sweetest thing? Really, she only keeps me around as her best friend because I give her free food and cocktails.’
‘I keep you around because one day, I might need to borrow a sequined evening gown.’
‘Sweetheart, I live for the day I get to finally give you a makeover,’ Cher drawled before turning to Damian. ‘Anyway, back to you, professor. You’re in town for a while then?’
‘Thought I may as well come out here before the festival and get some work done on my new book.’
‘Isn’t that nice, Lottie?’ Cher murmured.
‘Yes. It sounds very interesting.’ Lottie hoped her expression wasn’t showing how uncomfortable Cher’s blatant interest in the newcomer was making her. Lottie knew exactly what her friend was thinking. The same thing happened any time an eligible man appeared, which thankfully wasn’t exactly common: matchmaking.
At least Damian seemed completely oblivious to the cogs turning in Cher’s mind. ‘If you don’t mind, I’d really love to sit down and go into all this in greater depth one day when you have time? With both of you,’ Damian added, glancing between them.
‘You can go as deep as you like, honey child,’ Cher said in a sultry tone that instantly made the professor swallow nervously.
‘Uh … great. That’s … great,’ he stammered.
‘Shall we order something? I’m starving,’ Lottie cut in swiftly.
‘Good idea.’ Damian nodded.
‘I’ll send over the house specialty,’ Cher announced, fluttering her fingers as she turned to leave. ‘On the house, of course,’ she tossed over her shoulder. ‘Enjoy, darlings.’
‘Well, I guess that makes deciding easier,’ Damian said, putting down the menu.
‘It’s actually what I would have suggested myself. It’s really good,’ Lottie assured him, sipping the purple cocktail cautiously ‘This is delicious,’ she said, nodding at the lime green drink across from her. ‘Have you tried yours?’
‘I’m more of a beer man, myself,’ he said, eyeing the concoction warily, but he took a sip, and gave a small shudder. ‘It’s a bit sour.’
Lottie grinned, ‘I’ll get you a beer instead.’
‘No, I’ll get it. Do you want something else?’ he asked, rising from his seat.
‘I’m fine with these, thanks,’ she said easily. She was a little bit of a cocktail buff and Cher’s were the best around.
‘Cher is … unique,’ he said, after returning with his beer, as they watched her sashay around the room and interact with the customers. ‘Not the usual character you’d expect to find in a place like Banalla.’
‘She’s a character and a half,’ Lottie agreed. ‘She’s theatre royalty back in Melbourne and she travelled all over the world in her earlier years, New York and London. All the big theatres.’
‘And this place … works here?’ he asked, looking around to take in the opulence of the swanky bar.
‘I know. Seems crazy, right?’ Lottie nodded. ‘It’s all Cher, though. She lives and breathes the theatre. She just has this passion for everything she does. Throughout the year, she brings up actual productions that are playing in Melbourne as fundraisers. People come up here from the coast and all over the place just to rub shoulders with the bigwigs in theatre.’
‘She’s certainly a force,’ he said, watching her put another table in stitches before sauntering up on stage to talk to a man seated at a piano.
‘It’s funny. We’re complete opposites,’ Lottie said, smiling softly. ‘She loves the limelight, I prefer to stay in the background. She’s the most confident, self-assured person I’ve ever met. She has a way of disarming people despite the fact she’s completely over the top and outrageous. But she has a huge heart and people end up seeing that. You can’t help but love her.’
‘She clearly champions you and your writing.’
Lottie wrinkled her nose. ‘I’m not really a writer. It’s more like I need to have these stories written out so I can try and make sense of them. I’m usually pretty logical, but when you’re brought up in a family that likes to tell stories about curses and fated lovers …’ She shook her head. ‘I guess I just want to make sure there’s a written history of it somewhere.’
‘Curses?’ he echoed.
‘Well … kind of. That’s what my mother calls it.’
‘Now I’m really invested.’
‘There is no curse,’ she said firmly, ‘which is what I hope to prove to her, by telling these women’s stories. It’s just a long line of tragic events.’
‘Maybe we could help each other out,’ Damian said.
Lottie frowned. ‘How do you mean?’
‘Well, I came here to get some local background history. Maybe between my research and yours, we can find a few missing pieces of each other’s puzzles?’
Lottie stared at him across the table. He thought she would be able to help him ? A professor? She smiled. ‘I don’t know how much use I’d be to someone like you, but I could certainly use any help I can get.’
The piano music interrupted their conversation, and they listened as Cher’s smoky voice filled the room with a sultry classic.
‘Wow, she’s really good,’ Damian said.
‘She’s great,’ Lottie boasted proudly. ‘So what’s your new book about exactly? Or is it a secret?’
‘No, no secret.’ He flashed that sexy, slightly off-centre smile once more. ‘I’m focusing on the era around the last of the bushranger activity in the area. Exploring the background of Jack McNally and others, and also looking into an old cold case.’
‘What cold case?’ Lottie asked, pausing to thank the waitress who had appeared with an enormous wooden serving board of tapas delights.
‘It’s an unsolved mystery from the late 1800s. A missing woman with nobility ties to England. She simply vanished without a trace.’
‘Sounds intriguing,’ Lottie said as she reached for a golden croqueta. The board boasted the best of the tapas on offer at Madame Dubois, which included various tortillas, chorizo, chicken and beef skewers, croquetas, meatballs and garlic prawns. ‘And how does that tie into the rest of the research about bushranger activity out here?’
‘Her husband was one of Jack McNally’s victims from the stagecoach robbery. I’m not really hoping to find anything on her out here per se, but I was hoping to visit the property her husband owned and look more into his past, see if there’s any clues that may have been missed back then. That’s the thing with research—you never know what one tiny, seemingly insignificant piece of information may lead you to.’ He stopped abruptly, looking a little embarrassed. ‘Sorry, I tend to get carried away once I start talking about my work.’
‘No need to apologise. I find it fascinating.’
‘Well, anyway, it’d be good to have a look at any of the research you might have … I mean, if you were okay with that, of course.’
‘Sure. Like I said, it’s mainly just family tree stuff, but you’re more than welcome to it.’
‘Great,’ he said, looking pleased. He turned his attention to the food on the table. ‘This looks amazing.’
‘It’s the best,’ Lottie agreed as they tucked in.
Later, exiting the bathroom, Lottie found herself waylaid by her best friend. ‘Girl! Where did that delectable specimen of a man come from?’
‘I have no idea. He walked into the shop and we got talking, and he told me who he was.’
‘Well, Daphney was clearly keeping this under her hat,’ Cher said, peering past Lottie’s shoulder to ogle Damian. ‘I find it hard to believe she isn’t here, demanding to be the one to entertain him.’
‘I don’t think he planned on telling anyone he was coming this early.’
‘Can’t say I blame him. Once her ladyship hears he’s hit town, the poor boy won’t have a moment to himself.’ Cher tsked softly, her focus coming back to Lottie. ‘He certainly seems into you .’
‘Oh, whatever,’ Lottie dismissed, rolling her eyes. ‘He’s just interested in my research.’
‘Honey, that is not all that man is interested in, let me assure you.’
‘I just met him.’
‘Ever heard of love at first sight?’
‘Now you’re just being ridiculous.’
‘Well, okay. Maybe not love, but attraction? Sexual chemistry? Baby, I can feel the sparks flying. That boy is iiiiiiiiin to youuuuuuu,’ Cher said, snapping her fingers and pouting her ruby-red lips as she slipped back into her favourite imitation of a Southern drawl.
‘Righto. I’m going now.’ Lottie nodded, backing away.
‘Mark my words. You got yourself an admirer.’
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake,’ Lottie muttered as she headed back to the table, and Damian.