The Last Resort Read online

  Most of the group milled awkwardly on the spot, by unspoken mutual consent allowing a pair of old ladies to go first. The old ladies began to shuffle forward, but the Fisher family pushed ahead, Christopher reaching Violetta first, then Albert carrying a bag from which two oversize fishing rods emerged. Penny followed, dragging her young daughter behind. Violetta frowned, then, overlooking Christopher and Albert Fisher, stepped to one side, and addressed the old ladies. “You must be Mrs Meeks and Mrs Trellis, of the Welsh Ladies’ Institute? Welcome aboard.”

  “Hey!” protested Christopher and Albert Fisher, simultaneously. Violetta ignored them, waiting while the old ladies, the hunchback and their luggage made their way precariously across the gangway, then turned to look at Albert, one eyebrow raised. “Fisher family,” he snapped angrily, simultaneously shooing the hunchback away from his bags, as he might a stray dog. Violetta nodded dismissively and made a ticking motion on the clipboard. The Fisher family boarded, its menfolk muttering darkly. Next, a group of women in their late thirties or early forties came forward – giggly, blonde and wearing hoop earrings. They introduced themselves as Della, from Travel Associates, Doreen from World of Travel, and Beryl from Big Planet Travel. Doreen then looked behind her and beckoned to a sullen faced teenage girl who reluctantly shambled over. She wore a purple hoody top which had the word ‘Princess’ emblazoned across the chest. She also had bright blue nail-polish on, and too much makeup. “This is my daughter, Peaches,” Doreen said. Lisa saw again a flash of anger in Violetta’s eyes as the four moved onto the boat, the bellhop dragging their wheeled suitcases behind him, and wondered why such a hostile woman was working in hospitality.

  A pair of silver-haired men came next, similarly dressed in smartly-tailored sweaters and crisply-seamed blue jeans, their costly brand-name baggage dominated by golf-clubs. Dan and Mike, they announced, flashing expensive dentistry at Violetta as she looked at them appraisingly and marked them present. A married couple, calling themselves Rachel and Philip, were the next to approach Violetta. Lisa hadn’t paid them much attention, since they had kept quietly to themselves. They nodded at the hunchback as he took their bags, and followed him on board. Finally, a single man stepped forward, and gave his name as Ken Trepid. He had flowing hair and a chiselled jaw. He looked like an ad for something… hiking boots, maybe, or men’s cologne. No – Lisa snapped her fingers – she had it! The man looked like the drawing on the cover of a bodice-ripper romance novel. Ick. Lisa noticed Violetta give the man a calculating look. The bellhop offered to take the man’s cases, but he refused.

  Now Lisa shepherded her group forward. Violetta looked at them with a mixture of disbelief, disappointment and distaste clearly written all over her face. “Are you the history group?” she snapped.

  Lisa was a little taken aback. “Well, yes…”

  Violetta scowled. “I wasn’t expecting children. I thought three people were coming to represent the Living History Company – assessing the suitability of our accommodation for use by your tour clients.”

  “Oh, I, er…” Lisa replied, flustered and at a loss for words. Get a grip, she told herself. You’re a professional. She drew a deep breath. “I am the owner of the Living History Company,” she said. “This is my brother and his friend…”

  Their ungracious hostess cut her off. “Never mind.” Then Violetta turned on her heel and marched towards the boat, snapping “Do come along.”

  Lisa felt a hand tugging at the straps on her bag, and looked down to see the bellhop taking it from her. Lisa released her hold, as the man winked again, rolled his eyes dramatically, tapped his temple and said, “Pleathe don’t mind Mith Romanoff. She’ths got bat-ths in the belfry.”

  From the village wharf, the castle simply looked like a white box perched on rocks and surrounded by green hills. As the ferry chugged closer, however, Lisa began to make out details, and she felt her excitement mounting. The centre of the castle projected forward, presenting a massive arched door, flanked by two towers in which stained glass windows gleamed. Behind this central portion, two wings sprouted to the sides, also flanked by towers. Lisa hoped their bedroom would be in one of the towers. She longed to walk the ramparts. “Oh!” said Hayden, standing at the rail next to Lisa. “It’s got those… battlement thingies…” He drew his finger in the air – across, down, across, up – indicating the square shapes that made up the edge of the ramparts.

  “Merlons and crenels,” Lisa said. “The merlons are the bits that stick up. Archers used to hide behind them, leap out to fire through the gap, or crenel, and then duck back behind the merlon.”

  “Nerd!” Craig said, pretending to cough into his hand.

  #

  The staff was gathered in what Harriet was calling “the War Room.” It was a small chamber around the corner from the kitchen, which had originally been used as a dining room for the castle’s servants. This was the scene of Harriet’s final inspection and pep-talk. There were only four absentees. Skully was preparing for dinner – and in any case, would never be seen by a guest, if all went according to plan. Violetta and Edgar were busy settling guests into their seats in the dining hall. And Viktor… well, Viktor was just absent. No excuse given, nor required.

  In truth, Harriet was glad to be away from Violetta for a while. They had been required to work closely together during the weeks leading up to today, placing orders, sending out invitations and ensuring everything was just so. Harriet found Viktor’s cousin efficient, but cold. There was no small-talk, no room for a friendly smile or a kind word. Just a snooty silence, or, worse a self-satisfied smirk. Checking in only a few minutes ago to say that all guests had arrived, Violetta had sniffed the air, detected the faint odour of flea powder on Harriet, and sneered. Reminded now of the voracious little insects, Harriet scratched behind her ear, then shook herself, and focussed on the job in hand.

  With a critical eye, Harriet marched up and down, a sergeant major inspecting her troops, and found that most of them passed muster. Harriet gave Blake a curt nod of approval. He had required the most disguising, and yet the solution had been obvious. He was dressed in a full-length wetsuit, with booties jammed over his webbed-feet, and mittens over his webbed-hands. A hood covered his head and neck, surreptitious slits allowing his gills to function through the thick rubber, and a mask obscured his face, leaving only his perfect even white teeth displaying their customary grin.

  Ankh had also taken some work. He wore a sharp tan suit, with a Nehru collar. Over this was a physician’s white coat. His bandaged hands were covered in rubber gloves. Unfortunately, little could be done to disguise his bandaged head. Instead of a cover, there would be a cover story. As far as the guests would know, Ankh was recovering from extensive plastic surgery following an accident.

  Norm stood next to the doctor, hands hanging loosely at his sides. Luckily, Norm now had a left hand and a right hand. Harriet had insisted that a fitness instructor with two left hands was something that no guest would overlook. Harriet and Viktor racked their brains for a solution before Norm grudging suggested that the Professor could fix him. When Harriet had approached the Professor, the man had grumbled and complained, muttering, “It’ll be throwing good parts after bad,” but he did the job. Harriet was actually a little alarmed by the speed of the process – disturbingly, the Professor already had a spare right hand on hand, so to speak, and so the surgery went ahead straight away – he and Norm not once condescending to look at each other. Of course hands weren’t the only Norm-issue that needed resolving. His oversize track suit had been specially ordered from a sporting goods store in Germany, but the sleeves and pant legs only just stretched to the ends of his long limbs. Sweatbands covered the scars where his hands had been stitched onto his arms, and where his scalp joined his forehead. Finally, a thin layer of loose powder, over a thick layer of pancake makeup, took the edge off his green hue and made him look almost acceptably human. Under Harriet’s scrutiny, he reached up a hand to check his skin, but this was swa
tted down by Callie, who did not want to see her masterpiece ruined.

  “No, Norm,” the gorgon insisted. “You mustn’t touch it!” Callie was looking great, of course. She had initially pouted when Harriet asked her not to wear a toga, but a raised eyebrow from Viktor had sent her scampering off to her room, and within the hour her best golden toga had been converted to a stylish and very modern two-piece suit. Over this she wore a white smock, the pockets filled with scissors, nail-files and other tools of the trade. The snakes had been given a triple treatment – the meat they had been given for dinner had been laced with tranquilisers, then they had been bound up in ribbons, and finally, tucked up under a turban. She hadn’t put beads over their heads this time, however. Not since she had been unable to stop Big Jim from shooting Harriet.

  The zombie band members were all covered in baggy clothes, hats and makeup, and as long as they stayed on the stage, which was suspended like a balcony high above the dancefloor, they would pass. Harriet smiled and moved on.

  As they were all more or less human, Harriet merely nodded at Swizelsticks, the Professor and Barbara. Swizelsticks was very well turned out, with a sharp bow tie, rainbow-hued waistcoat and twinkling earring. The other two were dressed somewhat eccentrically by most people’s standards, particularly the old witch, who carried assorted talismans hanging on chains about her person, but this was the least of Harriet’s concerns. Boo, Sue and Lou also received nods, and even a smile of appreciation. In the last few days, the three old ladies had already proved themselves valuable members of the team, using their telekinetic powers to completely clean and tidy the castle from dungeons to turrets. The ghosts would remain invisible to the guests, of course, and Harriet simply reminded them not to cause objects to float about by themselves in front of people.

  Finally, Harriet stopped in front of the riding instructor. Sir Osis gave her a leery grin, and she took an involuntary step backwards. There was the ghost of an unpleasant fragrance emanating from the spectre – a combination of stale liquor and horse manure. Harriet grimaced. How she wished she could have fired this drunken wretch. From the moment he had turned up, Harriet had known he would be trouble, what with the six zombie chargers he had brought instead of buying decent horses. It wasn’t as if they really needed a riding instructor, after all. He wouldn’t be missed. However, when she had raised the subject of a dismissal with Viktor, he had smiled maddeningly and refused. He had never turned away a soul in need of refuge, he had said, and so Sir Osis was welcome to stay as long as he wished. Harriet had then drew Viktor’s attention (as if it needed pointing out) to the fact that their new employee’s physical state was going to prove somewhat of a problem, what with his head not being attached to his body. Infuriatingly, Viktor had looked at Harriet, and said, “I know you can make it work, Harriet. I have complete faith in you.” Really, the man was too much!

  Now Harriet looked at Sir Osis closely. The riding instructor was doing pretty well at holding physical form. Wearing black clothes helped, as he didn’t have to concentrate on producing colours. He was hovering very slightly above the floor, but this was undetectable. Harriet knew he was doing it, because unlike Boo, Sue and Lou, Sir Osis lacked the ability to interact with physical objects. It was something to do with being ripped away from the material world by a violent death. No telekinetic powers for him, no way even of opening a door or lying on a bed. He would have to remember to hover above chairs too, so that guests didn’t witness him sinking through the seat. Perfectly easy, if he could be kept sober. Otherwise…

  Harriet shrugged and turned her attention to the problem of his past decapitation. Grimacing, she instructed Sir Osis to shake his severed head. It wobbled a bit, but stayed attached. This had taken some serious thinking. In the end, they had burned a quantity of medical thread to ash, and entirely melted a needle, instructing Sir Osis to catch the essence of each object as it was obliterated. This he did, and then Lou had stitched the head back onto the neck, using the ghostly equipment. In order to stabilise the now-attached but still-floppy head, they had then set fire to a foam neck brace – the kind whip-lash victims use. However, the acrid smell of the burning foam rubber had made everyone feel ill, and besides, Viktor pointed out, who would want to take riding lessons from a seemingly injured instructor? So, instead, they had unravelled a thick knitted scarf, and Sir Osis had again captured the essence of the object as it ceased to exist. He wound the ghost scarf tightly around his neck, and now looked acceptable, if unsavoury.

  Harriet had finished her inspection. She clapped her hands together, summoning up some fake enthusiasm to mask her deep-seated feeling of impending doom. “Alright team. Let’s go meet the guests!”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Lisa had never seen a pair of old ladies move so quickly. “Blake Lagoon!” they had exclaimed, squealing in delight like a couple of schoolgirls, as soon as the name of the final staff member was divulged. Then they were up, out of their seats and tottering across the dance-floor, the taller of the two (Mrs Meeks was it, or Mrs Trellis?) elbowing the shorter out of the way in order get to the hapless swimming instructor a few seconds ahead of her friend. Now they stood in front of him, fawning and cooing. Lisa heard one of them say, “Oh, Mr. Lagoon, you’re just as handsome today as ever you were in your films!” Lisa wondered how they could tell. The man was covered from head to toe in a wetsuit, which seemed an odd thing to wear to a staff introduction session, and the only visible part of him was a dazzling one-hundred watt smile. Maybe it was this that had got the ladies so worked up. However, confronted this way with their gushing adoration, the intensity of the old film star’s smile was dimming.

  The small, stocky woman who was in charge gently disengaged the two women as they clung to Blake’s arms, and led them back to their seats, explaining that there would be plenty of time to all get to know each other over the next week.

  “I don’t want to keep you from your rooms any longer,” Harriet Fullmoon said to her guests. “You will no doubt want to freshen up after your long trip here. All of your bags have been placed in your rooms by Mr. Gore, and you should by now have received your keys from Miss Romanoff. Tonight, there will be a welcome party with drinks in this room, and then dinner and dancing to our resident band, when you will get to meet your host, Count Viktor Romanoff. In the meantime, you might wish to take a walk around the grounds, or simply relax in your rooms and perhaps plan your activities for tomorrow. We all hope that you enjoy your stay here at Castle Romanoff Resort, and consider it your home away from home.”

  Lisa joined in the smattering of applause that followed this, and then stood along with everyone else, amid the scraping of chair-legs and murmur of people organising themselves. Albert Fisher’s voice carried above the others. “I doubt he’s a real Count,” Lisa heard him say. The guests began to file out of the opulent ballroom, into the hallway, and up the grand sweep of the main stairs in search of their bedrooms. Craig and Hayden ran ahead to check out their bedroom. Lisa lagged behind. Something about the meeting she had just witnessed bothered her. Reluctantly, she followed the last guest out – Ken Trepid, still inexplicably toting his cases – then turned back. The door remained open a crack, and Lisa now peered through it. The staff, who had been standing rigidly to attention as they were introduced, were now visibly relaxing, letting themselves slump, exhaling great sighs of relief, clapping each other on the back – all as if they had just survived some sort of ordeal.

  Suddenly Lisa heard a small cough. She spun around. A gorgeous, elegantly dressed man, with jet black hair and a thin moustache was regarding her with a steely gaze, one slender eyebrow raised. Lisa knew at once who this must be. “Oh, I… um…” she said, embarrassed at being caught snooping. But Craig saved her.

  “There you are,” he called from the landing. “Come up and see the room!” Relieved, Lisa tore herself away from the Count. She imagined she could feel those dark eyes boring into her back as she sprung up the stairs two at a time.

  By
the time she got to their room, Craig and Hayden had apparently settled in. Craig seemed to be trying to remove a helmet from a medieval suit of armour standing in the corner. He’d succeeded in opening the visor, but it seemed that the helmet was permanently attached to the stand.

  “I don’t think you should do that,” Lisa said. “It’s probably worth heaps of money, and you’ll get into trouble.”

  Craig shrugged. “Okay,” he said, and instead began to work at removing the sword from the armour’s closed gauntlet hand. Lisa sighed.

  Hayden was sitting on a single bed near the door, reading the pamphlet they had been given. He looked up at Lisa. “I’ve got this bed, if that’s okay, and Craig has the one next to the bathroom. Yours is by the window.”

  Lisa picked up her bag from the centre of the room and carried it over to the bed, then stood on tiptoes to look out the window. It wasn’t much of a window – in fact it was merely a slit between two of the massive stones that made up the castle’s walls. Centuries ago, it would have been covered by a tapestry to keep out drafts, but now it held a plexi-glass panel. Through this, Lisa could see formal gardens of flowers, a hedge-maze, greenhouses, beehives, assorted outbuildings and rolling green hills beyond, studded with sheep. Their room was at the back of the castle, and she thought she should have been able to see out the right hand side to the lake, but the window was too narrow for that. Suddenly, she realised that the window was too narrow to let in much light. She looked up at the ceiling, and found the source of illumination – a chandelier, filled with hundreds of lit candles. Lisa was astonished. Lighting every room with candles must cost a fortune. And wasn’t it a huge fire-risk?

  “What are you going to do tomorrow?” Hayden asked Craig, still studying the pamphlet. “This says we can go horse-riding, fishing, swimming or snorkelling, play golf, learn to fence or work out in the gym. Or maybe you should have a beauty treatment,” he joked.