The California Club Part 6

Curious. Why would she try and deny the encounter? Before I can probe further, Helen sweeps us through to the Crown Room to enjoy Victorian Afternoon Tea served by waitresses in bustles and buns.

It's an impressive venue: the ceiling is like an upturned ark with its curved wooden beams and the giant-bulbed chandeliers are shaped into the form of crowns.

'Interesting motif...'

'Coronado, coronation...' Helen explains the origin as she pads across the richly-patterned carpet.

'Ahhh!' I nod. This place certainly does have a regal air. We learn that Edward, Prince of Wales has visited and numerous presidents from Roosevelt to Clinton. Not to mention Hollywood Royalty from back in the day Judy Garland, Katherine Hepburn and Gregory Peck...

'All that cla.s.s,' I sigh.

'And now they let in any old riff-raff,' Elise sneers at a woman in low-rise jeans and a cropped top yapping loudly on her cellphone.

'I think it's nice that it's open to the public,' Helen counters. 'I mean, it's more than a hotel, it's a historic landmark.' She stops beside the floor-to-ceiling window, sunlight filtering through the green palm fronds of the front lawn. 'This is our table...'

Within minutes of settling we're presented with the best-dressed cake stand I've ever seen three layers, each with a distinct personality: at the top sit the dainty-girlie-frilly items, all frosted icing and sugared pastels, then comes a succulent fruit topped selection, and at the bottom the rich browns of the chocolate, coffee and nut offerings.

'Helen, you've excelled yourself!' Elliot admires her handiwork.

I look at the antic.i.p.atory rapture on everyone's faces and think how B&Bs really talk up their breakfasts quite logically of course but what if our attraction was a legendary teatime? That would be a lovely bonus at check-in, you'd feel indulged the second you were through the door.

'Lara, are you going to try something?' Helen nudges me. 'I did the mini donuts specially for you.'

My life is one big quest for the perfect donut. I like them light and fluffy with a slightly crispy sh.e.l.l, as opposed to those solid doughy cus.h.i.+ons that are so common.

'Perfection!' I gasp. 'Just a hint of jam and it's the quality stuff with pips and everything!'

Helen grins proudly, grabs an eclair and takes a giant bite.

I can't quite believe my eyes. In the old days, if a raisin got wedged in her teeth she'd consider that her treat for the month. I wonder if there's some new culinary equivalent of wine-tasting take a bite, roll the food around the palette and then spit it out. But no, she swallows. And takes another bite.

'Mmm, and you've got to try these,' Helen raves, plucking one of the flaky pastries oozing custard. 'I know it looks messy but I tried adding a little almond paste to the filling and it's worked out really well.'

'I love these chocolate-dipped Florentines!' Sasha enthuses.

'I have two every morning for breakfast!' Helen smiles. 'Aren't they divine?'

I look at Zo. She nods at me as if to say: You ask. So I do.

'Helen ...' I try to sound casual, not wanting to make a big thing of it. 'Since when did you start eating your own creations?'

She laughs gaily. 'I don't know, one day I just got this appet.i.te!'

'I don't get it you're eating all these treats and you're looking slimmer than ever. What's your secret?' Zo wants to know.

'Please don't tell me you've found true love, I'll have to kill myself,' I whimper.

'As a matter of fact I have met someone!' Helen beams.

'Traitor!' I joke but inside I'm crushed. Is there anything left of the old Helen? I mean, it's one thing to get a makeover but deliberately withholding earth-shattering gossip (I still can't believe she knew about Elliot's engagement first!) and now finding love! It's quite outrageous.

'His name is Reuben,' she sighs, looking elated.

'When do we get to meet him?' Elliot enquires.

'Soon,' she says, mysteriously.

'How did all this happen?'

'You really want to know?'

'Yes!' we insist.

Helen takes a second to look at each of us, almost as if she's a.s.sessing whether we're really ready for her reply.

'Well ...?' Sasha eggs her on.

She takes a breath and whispers: 'The California Club!'

'The what?' We all lean forward, eager to learn more.

'Miss Hill,' a waiter interrupts, 'the mother of the bride wants to thank you for being so creative with the replacement cake, have you got a minute?'

The second Helen is out of earshot we begin our speculation.

'It's got to be a Weight Watchers thing,' Zo a.s.serts. 'It's just like in the ads when people lead these fabulous zesty lives after they've dropped six stone. Look at her she's glowing.'

'She wouldn't be allowed chocolate eclairs if it was Weight Watchers,' Sasha observes.

'Maybe it's just all the extra sugar making her hyper,' Elise opines.

'I reckon it's a surf club.' Elliot gets practical. 'There's more to it than weight loss, she's toned, she's lithe look at her body.'

Elise raises an eyebrow.

'Not that I was,' flounders Elliot.

'Could be,' Sasha muses. 'She's got the look, she's right here on the beach...'

'I think it's a dating agency: The California Club bringing sun-kissed singles together!' I sing.

Hmm. I guess it's obvious which aspect of her transformation is preying on my mind. There I was coasting along, comfortable with having an absolute nothingness of a love life and suddenly Elliot's engaged and Helen's head-over-heels. I don't know if I've ever felt quite so left behind. Something tells me I'll be sneaking a peek at Sasha's self-help books tonight.

'Wait!' I gasp. 'It could be therapy! She's let go of some issue we never knew she had and its freed up her heart to embrace a whole new life!'

'Oh no.' A look of horror flashes across Elise's face. 'What if it's one of those change-your-life cults!'

'What if it's Scientology?' Sasha murmurs.

'What if we get to meet John Travolta?' Zo gurgles.

'She's far too level-headed for any cult,' Elliot tuts.

'A year ago she'd never leave the house without a serum-smoothed ponytail, and now look at her!' Zo points out.

As we lapse into silent contemplation I give myself a chill. 'You don't think she's got us over here to recruit us, do you?' I ask, unsure of whether that would be a good or a bad thing.

'You can rely on my bulls.h.i.+t detector,' Elise bristles. 'If I sense a whiff of mind control I'll scream the place down.'

'Whatever it is, she looks pretty good on it!' Elliot says.

'Yeah, I'd give it a try.' Sasha looks wistful.

'I wonder if she can get us temporary members.h.i.+p,' Zo ponders.

'I don't think we should mention it again till she does,' Elise decides.

'Why not?' Zo frowns.

'That way we'll know if she's trying to convert us.'

'Ahhh!' we nod, all going along with Elise's paranoia for some inexplicable reason.

'So we'll just keep-'

'Quiet!' Elise shushes Zo. 'She's coming back!'

We all resume 'mmmmmm-delicious' poses with various pastry props and act as though our conversation got no further than eulogizing the mini lemon meringue pies. Helen surprises all of us by not mentioning The California Club again, although instead of this being a relief, it just fuels our curiosity. But we daren't cross Elise so soon after we vowed silence on the subject and frankly I could I do with little break before the next revelation.

Besides, we've just been presented with a giant platter of wedding cake.

What's that phrase about eating your feelings? Got to be worth a try...

Chapter 6.

I tilt my head at the swathe of sky unraveling for miles in either direction from our vantage point on the beachfront terrace. The wisps of clouds look to me like powdery icing sugar blown across a sheet of blue silk.

'h.e.l.looo!' Zo whistles as three bare torsos jog by in such strict formation they look like a six-legged Chippendale.

'The Navy SEALS have their base on the island,' Helen explains. 'They're here every day.'

'Welcome, to paradise!' Zo sighs, then frowns as she points to where the flat bands of sand meet the sea. 'What's going on there?'

We follow her gaze to where a family of five are dodging the lapping waves. Head to toe in black, they seem to be transplanted from another era. I remember Helen saying the hotel had a ghost and I'm about to ask whether these might be visiting spooks when we realize they are in fact an Amish family Dad and sons sporting braces and straw boaters, the mother and daughters in matching bonnets.

'It looks like a scene from The Piano,' Elise gawps.

'Now I've never seen that before!' Even Helen is bemused. 'Come on, I want to show you something.'

'Is this the haunted stairwell?'

'Not yet.'

Helen leads us along the seafront walkway to a private bungalow with its own gated entrance. It has a matching exterior to the hotel white wooden frame and red roof - yet seems to have more of a cottagey interior.

'We can't go in because it's occupied, but this is the beach house where Marilyn Monroe stayed during filming.'

As Zo throws herself against the railings, crying 'I want to touch it!' I find myself wondering how I might have lured a celebrity to stay the night at the B&B and then named the room after them. The George Clooney Suite, in an ideal world. Doesn't that sound fetching? But then I experience a stab of regret. Why are ideas presenting themselves to me now when it's too late to implement them?

'Do you like it, Lara?' Helen asks.

'How many does it sleep?' I reply with a question.

'At least six, I think...'

'Room enough for all of us!' Elliot decides. 'How much?'

'At this time of year, about $3,000.'

'Please tell me that's for the week.'

'A night.'

'I've got to find a millionaire,' Zo scans the horizon.

'Have you been inside?' I ask, dying for a glimpse.

'Of course!' Helen nods.

'Well?' I prompt her.

'Maybe you'll get to see it for yourselves soon ...' Helen gives a mischievous twinkle.

Zo swings round, 'Oh Helen, you haven't! Can we ... Are we ...?' Zo splutters, pawing at Helen's sleeve.

'Do you mean a tour? A night?' Elliot tries to get the specifics.

'You'll have to wait and see!'

'Not this too!' Zo wails. 'Helen, you're killing us with all this suspense!'