Page 75 of The Woodcarver's Model
“What was that? I missed that last part.”
“I said he is in critical but stable condition, but—”
She cut her off. “He’s still alive?”
“Yes. And he is stable.”
“Thank God.”
“I have to ask, are you his power of attorney?”
“I’m more than that. I’m his agent!”
* * * *
Like Estelle, Karen had decided to extend her visit to the west coast. This was her first time out here and she wasn’t going to waste the opportunity. Rob couldn’t object after that Oscar-winning performance she had given at Hugh McCutcheon’s office.
She spent a good part of the day just wandering the streets of Victoria, avoiding, of course, the area around the politician’s office. If she did run into him on the street, she doubted he would recognise her now that she had swapped out the body-hugging clothes, high-heeled shoes and makeup of Effie Perrine for the jeans, sneakers and loose sweater of an under-employed musician from Toronto.
She started with Beacon Hill Park, a picturesque seventy-three-hectare green space of trees and flowering plants. Karen spent hours meandering along the footpaths, through manicured gardens overrun with peacocks, and at the petting zoo where she found herself overwhelmed by dozens of the most adorable baby goats who divided their time equally between crawling over her and shitting—sometimes at the same time.
Next on her wish list was a must-do while in Victoria—tea at the Empress. Her guide book described it as “…a touch of England in the Canadian West. The Empress Hotel was the westernmost of the grand railway hotels scattered across the country, and afternoon tea in their elegant Lobby Lounge has been a tradition since 1908.”
Karen was shown to her window seat by Monty, a very attractive twenty-something who filled out his vest and trousers quite nicely, thank you very much, and responded well to Karen’s flirtations. He held out her chair for her and smiled, creating small dimples which complimented his jade-green eyes and blond-streaked hair.
“Will you be serving me?” she said in a lecherous tone that would have done Effie Perrine proud.
“I’m afraid not. That will be Christine,” he replied in a heart-bursting British accent.
“What a shame,” she said. “I don’t think the tea will be nearly as nice.”
He beamed and walked back to his station by the door.I could eat him alive, she thought.
Karen picked up her menu and chose the champagne tea with a glass of Veuve Clicquot Brut and smoked salmon, with a raisin scone and clotted cream. The order was taken by a very stern young woman whom she suspected might be on intimate terms with Monty and unappreciative of her earlier advances.
As she sipped her champagne, she thought,This is the life.Even without the champagne and over-priced tea with lox on a pancake, Victoria beat the pants off Toronto in every way—the music scene was healthier, the weather warmer, the guys cuter. It had baby goats that had climbed all over her, for crying out loud! What kept her in Toronto?
Rob, for one. He gave her security, and never asked for anything in return. He gave her a great place to stay. He covered her costs when things were tight without her even asking for help. He could just read her.
My God,she thought as she spread more clotted cream on her scone.I take it back—these things are worth what they charge…Am I just using him? But he never complains.
Just then her cell phone rang.
“Hello?” she answered.
“Hello. Is this Karen Salter?” asked a young female voice.
“Yes…who is this?”
“Ms. Salter, I’m calling from the Nanaimo Regional Hospital regarding Robert Hanson.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Mitch had promised Maggie before she left that he would eat and drink something, and that if he needed anything, he would call her. It had only been a week, but a diet of mushrooms and berries meant he’d lost a good deal of weight and his brain was still a little muddled. All the same, she had said that she would drop around tomorrow to check on him.
Mitch settled on a peanut butter and jam sandwich and a glass of riesling. Did they even go together? He laughed at the thought of wine pairings for childhood foods.What would go best with s’mores?he wondered.A nice vidal ice wine, perhaps.
He wolfed down the sandwich, took the wine into the living room and sat in his chair by the fire. Rufus was always torn between sitting with him or sitting by the fire. Mitch realised that if he sat here, Rufus wouldn’t have had to fuss. Then something came to him. As he lay there on the Peak awaiting the rest of his life, he dreamt that Rufus had come to him. The dog had lain down beside him and rested his head on his shoulder.I’ve left you a gift,he’d said.Whether or not you accept it is your choice.
