Part 6 (2/2)

'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!'

<script>