TOUCHING THE BERLIE’S FAIR BEAR FOR LUCK
Sharon touched the Berlie’s Fair bear for luck and went upstairs carrying Mr Struan Courtald’s cup of tea.
He was expecting her. This morning no different to any other, except perhaps there were more names in the book today, more visitors to Port Brokeferry for the start of the season. They’d taken on an extra girl to help with cleaning the rooms and making the beds. Edwin’s wife, Helen, helped in years past, but now she had Grace’s baby to think on, so they had found someone new. A girl from the school. In her last year and wanting some money, enough to take her places. It was Mr Struan Courtald’s responsibility to make sure she was turned out right.
Sharon set the cup down on the desk in front of Mr Struan Courtald. Then she stood back waiting for him to complete his inspection of her hair and her skirt and the buttons on her blouse and the shine of her shoes.
‘Thank you, Sharon,’ he said. That was all. Like she was dismissed and could go. He hadn’t even looked up from the register that he was checking. Looked like he was checking it, at least.
She did not move. She waited for him to take notice. She waited in silence.
Then the phone rang. Mr Struan Courtald picked it up.
‘The Victoria Hotel, Port Brokeferry, how can I help you?’
His voice was different when he was on the phone. All clipped and official sounding. None of the usual warmth that she heard when he spoke to her in the mornings. Even today’s ‘Thank you, Sharon,’ was softly spoken. She watched him on the phone. Watched him listening as intently as she had listened once to him teaching her how to set the knives, forks and spoons of a table. He made a note of something in the book and thanked the person at the other end of the phone and hung up.
It was then that he saw that Sharon had not left, had not returned to the kitchen. He lifted the cup to his lips and sipped at the tea. ‘Thank you, Sharon. The tea’s fine.’
Still she did not go.
He put down his pen and gave her his full attention. ‘Is there something?’ he said. ‘Something your mother said you should say, perhaps?’
‘No, Mr Courtald. My mother gave me no message today, though I am sure she will expect you to call on her later. She likes it when you call. Looks forward to it. Never a secret, you see. Mr Struan Courtald called today, she says when I get home, and the difference in her is all bright and her cheeks flushed pink.’
Mr Struan Courtald did not know what to say.
Sharon brushed a loose wisp of her hair back from her face. She cleared her throat, like Blair the postman did sometimes, only a quiet sound that was hardly a sound at all, a quiet prelude to speech. Then, without looking at Mr Struan Courtald, she continued with what she had to say, something she had practiced in her head before this day.
‘I just wanted to say thank you, Mr Courtald. For everything. For your visits to my mother. For the teaching you gave me so I could secure this post, all the time you spent making sure that I was up to the task. That was the phrase you used, ‘up to the task’. And for the gift,’ Sharon said. ‘Thank you, Mr Courtald, for the watch that you gave me for my birthday, that you gave so quietly I thought at first it was from my mother. But it was from you. I do not know why it is that you did that, but it is a lovely watch and I thank you for it.’
Mr Struan Courtald still did not know what to say. There were things he might have said, but not then, not standing there behind the desk of the Victoria Hotel and Sharon standing on the other side, the image of her mother years back and Mr Struan Courtald was just plain Struan then.
‘That was all,’ Sharon said, and she turned, pirouetted like a dancer, and went back to the work in the kitchen where Dugald McVey was already preparing breakfast. Sharon touched the Berlie’s Fair bear again for luck.
No comments:
Post a Comment