Grace took a deep breath and turned to the eight staff assembled behind. Matt, replete with long sleeved red linen shirt to match the attire of the others, stood at the front.
“This is it everybody, ready!”
A collective applause broke out and they cheered and hollered as she reached for the handle with her dainty hands and pulled the door open. A mass of people stood outside and they too, started to clap and cheer, whooping with delight. Standing at the head of the throng was Jack, armed with a magnum of champagne.
“I know, I know,” he said. “Yur sell alcohol but hey, this is yur opening night Missy and yur should enjoy every minute.”
His face broke out into a large grin and bent his huge frame to kiss her cheek.
“Stand back everybody!” he yelled to the queue outside. In a single movement of his arms, he shook the bottle and then popped the cork, spreading the frothy champagne far and wide over the waiting masses and they cheered again.
“The first drink on these premises has to be yurs,” he said gleefully, handing it to Grace.
The frothy bottle dwarfed her tiny frame and she struggled to keep a hold as she raised it to her thin lips. She attempted to gracefully sip at the rim, taking what she believed to be a small mouthful of champagne.
The bubbly alcohol pushed its way out of the neck of the bottle and spilled over her mouth, ran down her slender jaw and dripped onto the newly laid carpet. Determined not to be beaten she raised the bottle once more to her mouth.
More cheers followed as champagne showered the rest of her face, covering her glasses with froth and dampening her newly ironed white blouse. She stood back from the bottle, spluttering to regain her breath, shakily handing it back to Jack. He followed her inside, leading the orderly and good-natured crowd behind him. While the staff hurriedly began to take the first food and drink orders of the night, Matt took his position behind the bar. Jack perched himself onto a stool close to where Grace stood, wiping the champagne from her face and blouse with a small towel. With a broad smile, he lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it gently.
“Yur deserve this,” he said, “It’s gonna be a humdinger of an opening night and yur’ll make a small fortune from this crowd,” he added.
“I couldn’t have done this without you, Jack,” she replied smiling back at him. “If you hadn’t volunteered to put in those extra hours the place would never have been ready on time. Your drinks are on me tonight, a token of gratitude.”
“Why thank you, Missy. I promised the place would be ready on time when I first quoted for the work, and I always keep my word. Anyway, it was more a labour of love as far as I was concerned.”
Jack held his gaze but she quickly turned away to watch the room fill up. Grace’s eyes circled the downstairs area of the pub with pride, looking at all of the happy smiling people sitting at the real wood tables. Candles flickered at each one, bouncing the light off the newly decorated reddish interior. Combined with the glow of the softly-lit wall fittings the whole effect threw dashes of light across the faces of the customers. It gave an ambience of the intimacy and warmth she had envisaged in her mind, how she’d hoped the opening night would look.
“Got another present for yur, Missy,” said Jack, producing a photograph of Grace from the deep side pocket of his desert jacket. Roughly eight by six, it was framed within a slim gold coloured border. “It’s to go above the bar,” he said, “I got the camera guy from the Vancouver Sun to give me a copy of the picture he took of yur for the editorial, and had it framed.”
“Thank you, it’s a very sweet thing to do,” she replied, placing the frame on the bottom shelf of upturned glasses.
She leaned forward and pecked his roughly hewn cheek in gratitude, discreetly and speedily withdrawing from his reach. Jack leaned towards her.
“Yur got green eyes,” he said. “I never noticed them before Missy.”
“It’s the light Jack,” she responded patiently. “My eyes are brown.”
He peered closer at her slender face, covered by shoulder-length dark brown hair. Almost black at first sight, it was well brushed though not particularly styled. Her dark-rimmed glasses dominated the top half of her features, highlighting the pale complexion which gave Grace a China doll look.
“Brown it is,” he said. “Maybe it’s me who needs glasses.”
She smiled patiently, the loneliness of his existence evident in the grey eyes. Jack mulled over how to frame his next sentence when a statuesque woman’s shape joined them.
“Looks like it’s going very well, Grace,” she said, entering the conversation.
Holly had become the owner’s best friend in the few short months Grace had been on the island. She was all Grace was not. A picture of manicured perfection, the plentiful make-up and bottled blonde long tresses were shaped to sit perfectly around Holly’s lean face. Her Amazonian stature, long legs and striking bosom left her rarely short of male admirers. She was a ‘trophy gal’, according to Jack.
“Thanks, Holly. You don’t fancy getting your hands dirty do you? Serving or the kitchen perhaps?” asked Grace.
“In these nails?” was the instant response. Holly raised her hands to show off the brightly red painted false nails.
“Perhaps not then,” laughed Grace.
Jack knew his chance had gone.
“My table should be ready now,” he said to Grace, “I’ll go and sit myself down.”
He stepped off the bar stool and walked his burly frame towards the two-seat table by the window. Jack had hand picked this table, the best in the house, hoping Grace would join him later. With Holly here, there was little chance Grace would be on her own for the rest of the night. Whilst not the best looking man on the island Jack had money, from his building and air taxi businesses, and considered himself to be generous. Grace would surely realise, eventually.
Another time, he thought.
Holly smirked gleefully at Grace.
“Saved you there, then,” she giggled childishly. “Just in time too, by the way he was leaning towards you.”
“Don’t be cruel,” said Grace. “Really, Holly, Jack has many good qualities about him.”
“Such as?” was the curious response.
“Such as he would never, ever let anyone down,” said Grace in defence of her roughly hewn friend.
“You mean he would never let you down,” laughed Holly. “You must know he’s got the absolute shakes for you.”
“Holly!”
“Everyone else can see, and you’re not completely stupid. You know how he feels about you.”
“Holly, stop it. Jack is one of the best friends you could possibly have. He’s very loyal and caring,” insisted Grace.
“So is a dog,” was Holly’s reply.
Grace smacked her female companion’s arm with a half clenched fist, in feigned disgust at her unkindness.
“Even pets have feelings,” said Grace, “Oh, now look what you’ve made me say. Jack deserves better. I’m so ashamed of myself!” she exclaimed, holding her hands to her pristinely white cheeks.
Holly giggled loudly at her friend’s indiscreet remark and instant self-rapprochement, causing some of the surrounding customers to look to see what was going on. Grace’s cheeks reddened with embarrassment. Holly giggled even louder, adding to Grace’s discomfort.
She was about to chastise Holly further when she felt the young, tall man with blonde hair brush by behind her.
“How is it going upstairs, Tim?”
“Like clockwork,” he replied, busying himself with lifting a drinks order from the bar.
She offered to help but he told her not to worry, the staff had everything in hand. Grace noticed Matt wiping the wooden surface with a towel.
“Are you managing to keep up?”
“Walk in the park,” he replied.
“Hello,” said the tall woman standing next to his boss.
Matt smiled without making any direct response to the owner of the unnaturally husky voice.
&nb
sp; “Holly, this is Matt. He’s my new resident handyman.”
“Oh really,” she remarked, edging her impressive bosom towards him. “And just what exactly are you handy at?”
Matt smiled in amusement at Grace’s horrified expression before glancing back to her tall friend.
“A bit of this and a bit of that,” he replied with a grin. “I’m mostly better at this rather than that.”
“And what exactly is this and that?”
“Serving time as a rule,” he shrugged. “Probably explains why I’m so comfortable behind bars.”
Holly singularly failed to appreciate the humour, her face a picture of horrified bemusement. He could see Grace’s eyes widen, and then smile. Matt’s attention was drawn away by Tim, returning for another round of customer’s drinks, and he moved away to set about preparing the sizeable order.
“He’s a bit of a strange one, very odd,” remarked Holly. “Where on earth do you find these waifs and strays?”
“You think any man not immediately attracted to your boobs is a bit strange,” replied Grace.
“Well they are pretty impressive. How could he not notice them?”
Grace laughed at her friend looking admiringly upon her own chest.
“Matt will be fine. He’s already shown hard work isn’t a problem.”
“Do I detect a little bit of interest there?”
Grace laughed again.
“No, not like that,” she smiled. “I just think he’ll fit in well, be good to have around.”
“Be careful, Grace. There are some real weird people in the world today. For all you know he could be a mass murderer. I’d be a little nervous about having this guy living under the same roof as me.”
“You worry too much.”
A voice called from behind.
“Grace, there’s a telephone call for you,” called Tim.
“Who is it?”
“Didn’t catch the name, but he‘s got a loud voice.”
Grace looked puzzled
“Okay, I’ll take it,” she said.
The time approached midnight when Grace locked the front door. She turned to see Matt busying himself with replacing the washed glasses to the shelves above the bar. A few steps later and she had joined him.
“It’s okay,” he said. “You get up to bed. I can take care of things down here.”
“No, I can’t leave you on your own. Besides, you’re going to have to be up at the crack of dawn to start work for Jack.”
“Grace, everything is fine. You’ve had an eventful and tiring day. The rest will do you good. Go on, get yourself upstairs.”
She stood for a few moments and watched.
“Holly is not as forward as she pretends,” said Grace.
“Seems like a real handful your friend, in more ways than one.”
“So you did notice?”
“How could anyone not? She uses the bloody things as a pair of weapons.”
His words made Grace laugh out loud, knowing exactly what he meant. Holly’s unique assets often diverted attention from her true personality.
“Don’t be fooled by the bravado. Holly is quite a sensitive and caring person once you get to know her.”
He glanced across.
“If you say so,” he grinned. “I’ll try and keep an open mind, though I suspect I’ll have to keep the window shut tonight for fear she’ll fly into to my room in the dead of night and try and suffocate me with her breasts.”
She laughed again. Though they had only recently met, she felt comfortable with this new man. Not in the slightest bit threatened by his presence. Grace disappeared for a few short minutes and returned to present him with an unmarked, white plastic bag.
“I bought you a present,” she said.
He stopped abruptly, clearly surprised. She handed him the bag and he lifted out the contents. Inside were a number of red, long-sleeved shirts.
“I’m pretty sure they are the right size,” she said. “They all have long sleeves, to cover the bandages on your arms when you’re working. You can’t wear the same shirt every night. Well, you could, but you might start to smell a little.”
Matt was touched. Although she had done this purely to help him fit in with the rest of the team, he regarded it as a thoughtful gesture on her part.
“How much do I owe you?”
“Nothing, silly,” she smiled. “I’m just looking after my employees. They are the most important part of any business, as you would well know from running your own company back in the UK.”
Matt didn’t know, having never once made any kind of openly supportive gestures towards his own employees. He’d been far too cold and aloof for that.
“Thank you.”
“I think I will turn in,” she said. “See you tomorrow night, after you’ve finished work for Jack. Remember to shower when you get in and I’ll reset the bandages.”
Grace raised herself up on her tiptoes and pecked at his cheek, smiling as she sank back down to her feet.
“I’m pleased you’re here,” she said.
“Good night,” he replied as she headed up the stairs.
Thirty minutes passed before Matt got to his room. Built for a single occupant there was enough space for a small double bed, pushed up against the window to the right. A small, slim wardrobe filled the opposite wall accompanied by a two-drawer desk armed with a wicker chair. He headed to the drawers and found the memory sticks and then retrieved the laptop from the wardrobe. Matt stood for several seconds, and then replaced everything. It had been so long since he had done any manual work and his body was tired, too tired to bother with the memory sticks tonight. He undressed and climbed into bed.
Matt rose early to make sure he would be at the jetty in good time, determined to make the best possible impression. The additional research he should have done last night would have to wait. He had decided the immediate priority should be to prove his worth to Jack and Grace. This way he could keep a temporary roof over his head, and earn some much needed income in the process.
The jetty was stationed about five hundred yards to the right of the main inner harbour front, out of immediate eyesight of the tourists thronging the inner harbour, which was a good thing. Unless someone was actively looking for a person matching his description, Matt could work in relative obscurity during the day. Who was going to notice an ordinary young man labouring at the harbour?
Jack quickly spotted the bandages on the Englishman’s arms.
“What are they for?”
“Sweatbands, I’m guessing it’s going to be very hot work down here.”
“It’s a funny place to have sweatbands.”
“Each of us has our own way flight master,” he replied dryly.
Matt spent the early part of the day cleaning the two floatplanes. He tidied the inside of litter and vacuumed the floor and seats. Once completed, he used the hose to wash down the outside fuselage and rub away the dead insects glued to the yellow surface. On the first occasion he had to pull a plane to the jetty with the rope, to moor it securely, he couldn’t manage on his own because of the injuries to his arms. The machine was so damned heavy Jack had to give him a hand.
“Thought yur said yur had done weights, lad,” said Jack amused by his young companion’s struggle.
“Light weights,” was his deadpan reply.
He understood now why Grace had insisted upon the tight strapping to his arms. Without these dressings he would have failed miserably to negotiate his way through the first morning. Surprisingly though, Matt enjoyed the exertions of his role. Though physically demanding he felt fit, healthy and alive.
It all felt so different to his past existence. The clean odourless air and bright sunny day was a million miles away from the grey weather, clogged road arteries and unhealthy atmosphere of the UK. Somehow, this place was beginning to feel like home.
Jack returned from his first excursion to Vancouver having only carried a single passenger each way. The operator a lit
tle further down the jetty meanwhile, had a queue of people lined up to board. For an entrepreneur Jack hadn’t seemed to grasp the concept of economies of scale, and Matt wondered why. He plucked up the courage to question the Canadian.
“Sam, that’s why,” he replied gruffly.
Matt frowned with confusion.
“Who’s Sam?” he asked.
“The pilot who quit so he could go and work for those bastards down there,” he said pointing to the large operator. “No loyalty, no loyalty at all,” Jack moaned. “Yur give people a start in life by teaching them how to fly, and they just turn their backs on yur at the next best offer. I know why they did it, took Sam on. They’re trying to put the squeeze on. Take my business away.”
Jack was clearly ‘old school,’ operating to a set of business morals that no longer existed in the modern world. In his eyes a person stayed with his employer through thick and thin, working until you dropped to provide for your family without complaint. Matt seized upon the opportunity.
“Why don’t you teach me to fly?”
Jack cocked his head and glared at the young Englishman.
“Bollocks, lad; yur not even a Canadian, how would you expect me to get yur licensed properly?”
“Jack, look at those queues over there. How much longer do you possibly believe you can survive without another pilot? So I wouldn’t be licensed. Who’s going to find out?”
The burly man looked him up and down, uncertain as to how to respond. Matt believed he had caused the Canadian to at least give the matter some thought.
“And another thing,” said Matt. “I’ve been looking at their flight schedules. Those people standing there are going to have to wait for another forty minutes for the next flight. They’d rather wait because they have no idea what your flight patterns are. There isn’t one shred of information around here to tell anybody when you fly or how much it will cost.”
Jack sort of sneered and stormed off to get a coffee. He returned with two plastic cups, one for Matt.
“People think flying is easy to learn,” he said gruffly.
“If it was easy there would be hundreds of operators down here,” Matt replied.
The Canadian turned his gaze towards his competitors.
“I thought it was the new machines,” he said. “These days, people seem to prefer sleek and smart to practical.”
Matt spotted the megaphone by the side of the cabin.
“Wait here,” he said.
Jack watched as Matt strode across and put the object to his mouth, directing the open end to the patiently waiting queue.
“The next Carter Travel flight leaves in five minutes,” he called. “Prices start from a hundred dollars one way to Vancouver, one hundred and eighty for a return. Management apologises to all travellers for the delay in receiving information leaflets, which should be with us tomorrow.”
Matt placed the megaphone back onto the ground, making sure he kept his back to the queue.
“No matter what happens,” he said to Jack. “You are going to take off in five minutes, with or without passengers. Now, tell me what’s happening.”
“Sup up,” said Jack. “We’re going to be busy.”
“Right, before you go. Give me some cash and I’ll get a few leaflets and a sign printed for when you get back.”
Jack pulled out a battered leather wallet from his trouser pocket, noticeably worn and misshapen at the edges. Matt swore he heard it creak as the Canadian flipped it open.
“Uh oh,” said Jack. “We’re about to get a visit from one of our competitors, not looking at all happy with yur little stunt.”
“You get the passengers on board. I’ll see to him.”
“It’s a she, devil troll. Jesus she looks pissed.”
“Better get on board quick then,” said Matt.
Jack disappeared towards the plane as Matt turned to see the tall, short-haired figure striding purposefully towards him. Her face was red with thunder, contrasting with the navy blue skirt and white blouse of her uniform. The dark, narrow eyes looked set to burst from their sockets and assault Matt’s face like a pair of enraged piranha fish. She was almost upon him when Matt raised his right hand.
“Sorry about the noise,” he said. “I wasn’t sure if it still worked. Do you think it disturbed anyone?” He looked around the harbour. “No, doesn’t look like it. Must be just you then.”
He was sure he saw her stamp her feet, much as bulls do before they angrily charge a waiting matador. Matt held his ground as her eyes fired imaginary missiles of death in his direction. Matt smiled politely. Then, with all the precision of a veteran soldier, she spun on her heels and stalked back from whence she came. Matt breathed a huge sigh of relief. God, she was a truly fearsome sight.
With the immediate danger over Matt turned his attention back to Jack, helping the passengers to board. Despite his employer’s evident strength and vigour Matt marvelled at the way the big Canadian gently, and kindly, handled his human cargo. The fragility of the elderly and the delicacy of the young were treated with equal measure of respect and care. His rapport with these customers was instant.
Matt liked this gruff, rough no-nonsense bull of a man. He had overheard Holly poke fun at Jack’s lumbering frame last night. She had been unkind.
Chapter Twelve
Settling