I darted around the display in the foyer, while some tourists occupied the chick at reception. I hated that they’d closed off some of the house to the public. I’d have loved to get a squiz at the guts of the building.
The security guard looked me up and down as I sauntered through the rooms. I tipped my chin up in his direction. “Hey mate. How’s it going?”
The guard maintained his stern face, but gave me a nod. I felt his eyes glued to my back as I walked off. I suppose I looked a bit shady with my ripped jeans and faded T-shirt, carrying a biker jacket in one hand, and my helmet in the other.
The original carpeting was long gone, replaced by a modern, Tree-of-Life patterned carpet. It was beautiful, but out of place in the grand old elegance. Just like me. I snickered to myself while I climbed the staircase.
The William Robinson Art Gallery occupied the top floor. I loved that a painting of a bloke holding two fish won the most prestigious art award in Australia. But I came here to see my favourite painting by far— ‘Professor John Robinson and brother William'. It depicts the artist’s brother, wearing graduation robes over a suit, standing beside William in his pyjamas and bathrobe. Classic Aussie humour. He was absolutely taking the piss when he painted it.
Striding down the hallway to my favourite room, I heard a throaty, feminine laugh. It sounded like it came from somewhere deep and genuine. It did things to me, drawing me toward it with an invisible string. I’d never get tired of looking at the painting, but when I scooted around the corner, the vision in front of the painting absolutely floored me.
It was her … again. Fate was definitely taunting me, or giving me a sign … I couldn’t tell yet. I tried to breathe as I watched her having a good laugh at William Robinson’s depiction of the career structure in his family. Encasing those slim thighs, a figure hugging skirt went all the way up to her ribcage. A tiny little shirt covered her slim shoulders and pert tits. Her head was tipped back, causing that tumble of curls to reach all the way to her arse.
When my eyes reached her feet, a laugh bubbled out of my throat. She was wearing runners. The conflicting style told me more about her than she probably realised. She was classy, but liked to let her hair down. She didn’t mind negating fashion in favour of comfort. She was disciplined and serious, but wanted more freedom and fun in her life. She was saying, ‘come hither, but if you do … I’ll run’.
I’m going to catch you.
My eyes travelled up to find her staring at me in fright. Shit. I’d scared her with my ogling. And the way I was dressed probably wasn’t helping. I took a step back and gave her my friendliest smile. “Funny painting, isn’t it? It’s my favourite of his collection. ‘William and Josephine’ comes a close second. Which one do you like the best?”
Her lips pursed and I watched her throat manoeuvre a swallow. She opened her mouth to draw in a laboured breath. She blinked, but didn’t speak. I’d struck her dumb, it seemed. I took another step back and shrugged. “It’s okay. It’s hard to choose. Let’s face it, they’re all good.”
“Mmm.” The sound fought its way out into the air as if her throat had closed. She bent down and grabbed a handbag that I hadn’t even noticed, looping it onto her shoulder. A pair of black heels poked out the top. She turned and walked away from me, again.
She was damn good at the Cinderella disappearing act. She even remembered to take her shoes with her. No worries. I didn’t need a glass slipper. I’d find her again. I could feel it in my gut and my balls. I smiled up at the Robinson brothers. They had helped make my day.
Ronnie
The imposing beauty of Old Government House filled my vision. I stood like a statue on the perfectly manicured lawn in front of the sandstone magnificence. My stomach tumbled, and the skin of my neck and arms prickled with fear and excitement. I loved old buildings. Old, haunted buildings. I just couldn’t bring myself to go inside them. I spent a great deal of time avoiding spirits, so the idea of putting myself in their path, on purpose, went against my instincts. Ridiculous, I know. But this was all about taking back control.
I pouted my lips, and slowly breathed in and out through my nose, shaking my arms and legs in preparation for battle. Stepping into the building, I could almost feel the people who’d lived here generations before. It smelled of ingrained dust. Not the dirty kind. Just the irremovable layering of years in the pores of every surface. Rich burgundy shaded the walls, complementing the rich, dark wood of the windows and doors. This was the womb of the house, dark and crowded, but cosy.
The receptionist started her welcome speech, offering me a brochure, and pointing the way to the courtyard café where I ‘might like to end my tour’. Not likely. I took it by my fingertips, careful not to make contact, and moved past the people watching a documentary on a small screen.
Immediately, I was drawn to the Governor’s Library, and not because of the books. I could see her. The ghost of a maid wearing a black dress with layers of skirts and a white apron. She bustled around, dusting every surface. Humming quietly, quite happy in her work. A relieved breath eased from my lungs. I could do this. The smile that stretched my face felt foreign, but welcome in this public place.
I worked my way back to the winding staircase that
