When Klondyke Sal had said that my friend would find it interesting, or whatever it was he said, I didn’t know what to expect, but it certainly wasn’t that!
I have never been an Elvis fan myself, but I must say that in the flesh the real Elvis Presley is a sound bloke. I liked Gretta too, bustling about, feeding us home made jam and chattering away to herself. Lovely woman and it warms even my heart, alone for all these years, to see that true love can triumph in the end.
Love. It is something I have never really known myself, until meeting Malika back in Nairobi. How long has it been now? Not even two weeks! It is a feeling you know nothing about until you have experienced it and then you never want to let it go. It’s not something you can talk about without reverting back to a bunch of old clichés. I suppose they have become clichés for a reason, but that doesn’t stop them sounded tired.
Poor old Elvis. The recluse. I can completely understand what he’s done, getting away from it all, although some would undoubtedly question why he would have wanted to leave the bright lights, fortune and fame. It’s my guess that living in the spotlight isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. I shudder to think what he would make of today’s media, should they ever find out about him hidden away up here. Not that they ever will of course, because Elliot and I both swore ourselves to secrecy. I reckon he’s been through enough - they both have - and they deserve their little bit of happiness. So unless the Prof blurts something out before we catch him no one will ever know.
Humphries must have headed back to Lake Louise only that morning, so we hoped to catch him before he left town. We must only have missed him by a couple of hours – maybe even passed him on the road!
To be honest I had wanted to get away again as soon as we found out he had left before dawn, knowing that if he spoke to almost anyone in the village he would find out someone had been asking about him - especially the woman at the Larder. Elliot insisted on staying though, what with all his weird, new Scottish revelations flying through the air. By the time he was finally ready to leave Gretta was just bringing out an early dinner and we’d have felt awful throwing it back in her face and rushing off.
Maybe if we had done, or if we had left straight away when I first wanted to we could have stopped him and averted this disaster. Doesn’t really matter - it’s irrelevant now.
Excusing ourselves as early as we politely could, we high-tailed it back to the car, having to risk driving back just as dusk was closing in. The people back in Lake Louise had been right about night time driving, and we fell victim to our own desperation, coming off the road at a pretty nasty bend neither of us had remembered.
Elliot was driving and conditions were bad. It was darkening and the roads were just beginning to ice up as the Sun went down. Plus we were desperate to catch up with Humphries, plus Elliot was gibbering like an idiot about McPresleys, tartans and God knows what else. I’m not saying that if I’d been driving I’d have stayed on the road, but at least I’d have been paying attention.
Still, it could have been a hell of a lot worse. The car wasn’t damaged and we weren’t hurt, but it did mean that were delayed about nine hours waiting for help. Nine hours! We could have bloody walked it by then!
By the time we finally showed up in Lake Louise we were too late. He had already left for Calgary Airport and by the time we eventually got there all hell was breaking loose. As soon as we stepped out of the car we knew something was up. There was an atmosphere about the place, dark and terrified. People were stunned, confused, frightened. The next thing that hit us was the news on the TV and then we saw all the newspapers sitting in their stands.