Who doesn't love a luxurious holiday? But even paradise can have an off day... A funny, warm and wise insight into the joys and challenges of finding community in the most unlikely places, from the bestselling author of The Road Trip.
As manager of a luxurious Kimberley resort, Nelda has a lot on her plate. So when Beatrice Foreston, a wealthy friend of the owner, arrives in fragile health to recuperate from an unpleasant battle with cancer, Nelda is not happy. Beatrice will need special treatment, and isn't it enough that some of the clientele are particularly obnoxious this season, and new staff Kathleen and Omar are clearly out of their depth?
Worse, Nelda has heard there is a spy in their midst - and they will have to be dealt with. Because a spy could uncover Nelda's secret, and if that happens, it could ruin the resort and destroy the livelihoods of all who depend on it.
When Kathleen starts to investigate something amiss, Nelda has no choice but to confess what she is hiding, and Beatrice, determined to get her mojo back, joins forces with them to try and put things right and save the community they all love - before it's too late.
Beatrice Foreston sank against the soft leather of the Jaguar’s back seat and closed her eyes as the driver pulled the car smoothly from the kerb. Her treatment was over, at least for now. She’d think about the breast reconstruction. Was it something she needed at seventy-six? Her chest had already been almost flat except for the poor saggy sacks that had once been pert breasts. There was certainly no one else who’d be looking at her naked body.
The car turned onto Kings Park Road and she looked across at the sprays of white flowers on the gums and the lush green around them. Even though it was winter in Perth the sun was shining and the park looked inviting. She leaned forward.
“Can we go into the park, please, Marina?”
The dark eyes of her driver met hers briefly in the rear-view mirror. Marina smiled. “Of course, Ms Beatrice.” Her heavy Russian accent was made even more pronounced by her recent cold and the mask she insisted on wearing.
Marina swiftly manoeuvred across the lanes and turned into the entrance. She’d been Beatrice’s driver for several years and Beatrice had grown very fond of her level manner and dark but cheeky sense of humour. Arthur, Beatrice’s brother, always cautioned her about getting too attached to staff but he hadn’t been there when she was going through surgery and treatment. His wife, Mary, had called on her, of course, but the business had faced some tough challenges earlier in the year and poor Arthur had been on a constant rotation of travelling and meetings.
He’d sent flowers – ridiculous arrangements that had no place in a hospital room. Marina had been the one to drop her off and pick her up, offering a tactful arm, holding the door, making sure she was comfortable. It was her job to do it but there was more to Marina than paid help. They’d driven many kilometres together and shared many personal stories. Marina was discreet about her past but Beatrice knew there was a child back in Russia she would never see again. And Marina had heard all about Beatrice’s last relationship and how it had fallen apart. They’d become good friends.
“Stop here, please.”
Marina pulled into a parking spot and swiftly opened Beatrice’s door. She didn’t fuss, simply offered a scarf as Beatrice did up the buttons of her coat against the stiff breeze gusting across the clifftop straight from the Swan River below. She wrapped the scarf snugly around her neck and pushed her hands into the warm wool of the pockets.
“Thank you, Marina. I won’t be long.”
She crossed to the cliff walk and found a spot where she could huddle against a wall that sheltered her from the wind but allowed her to enjoy the sunshine. Before her the huge expanse of the Swan River spread left and right, traversed by the long strands of the busy motorway. She took a slow, deep breath, closed her eyes and opened them again. She had so much to be grateful for, a busy well-lived life, but cancer had a way of taking the wind out of your sails.
She thanked the lord for the day five months ago she’d chosen to organise a mammogram instead of letting it slide. When she’d turned seventy-four she’d dropped off the recall program and it had been the note in her calendar that had reminded her. It most certainly would have been a much worse outcome had she not pushed herself to do it. The cancer had been caught early and she could have had a lumpectomy but the lump was large and she’d chosen the full mastectomy. Then there’d been the follow-up radiation. There was no way she wanted to go through any of that again.
Thank goodness for her efficient and dedicated PA Maeve, who’d held the fort and, like Marina, had been a steady support. Ever since her diagnosis Beatrice felt as if she’d been on a merry-go-round of appointments and treatments. Now here she was, a free woman with no need to see her doctor for three months and yet she didn’t feel the release she’d expected. She’d cancelled all her social and philanthropic commitments for the rest of the year to give herself time to recover which meant close to five months still of little to do.
She felt rudderless.
Mary and Arthur were in Europe holidaying for Mary’s birthday and visiting their only child, Henry, and his family in London. Beatrice had given Maeve time off to take her belated honeymoon, so apart from Vicki, who came daily to do meals, and the cleaning staff, who came once a week, there was no one at home.
The sun went behind a cloud and the wind whipped at her scarf. She hunched her shoulders against the chill. She’d lost weight. Too much, her doctor had said. She certainly felt the cold more than usual. What she needed was somewhere warm. A holiday on a tropical island would be nice, but could she be bothered? The Dampier Peninsula was one of her favourite spots but a bit rustic for her current mood. She wanted discreet and pampering with restaurant-worthy meals.
A sudden thought struck her. Gerard Bon’s resort in the Kimberley would be perfect. He was a friend of her brother’s, and she’d stayed there several times in the past, although not for the last few years. It’d be a pleasant thirty degrees up there; her meals would be taken care of and the comfortable retreat Bon had built for himself with views across the bay included a small private pool where she could swim. The doctor had said she could resume swimming now, but even though the pool at her home was heated and under cover, she didn’t enjoy it when the day outside was grey and cold.
Beatrice straightened her shoulders. Gerard used to have a massage therapist and someone who ran yoga sessions as well. And if she wanted company there was always the bar and restaurant areas of the resort.
She turned and retraced her steps to the car. She’d left her handbag with her phone on the seat. Marina had seen her approach, of course, and had the door open for her.
“Home please, Marina,” Beatrice said as she climbed into the warm car and reached for her bag. Her brother was overseas and the jet wasn’t in use. As long as she could hire a helicopter in Broome she could be at Bon Beach Resort in time for dinner.
***
The car park at Broome airport was an awkward place to say goodbye. Taxis, four-wheel drives, vans and buses filled the limited space as the latest group of arrivals swarmed from the terminal trying to find their ride. It was a particularly warm July day, well above the usual thirty, and the sun beat down on the asphalt, reflecting its heat back at the three women huddled beside a battered four-wheel drive. The youngest woman sobbed uncontrollably but it wasn’t that sound that wrenched Nelda’s heart and twisted her stomach. She looked to the other woman dragging her backpack from the vehicle. She was going to miss Heather, who’d been her right hand for three seasons at the resort.
“Will you be all right?” Nelda asked.
Heather nodded, her face muscles rigid trying to control the tears ebbing in her own eyes.
“Once we get inside and we’re checked in we’ll compose ourselves.” She put an arm around the young woman’s shoulders. “Won’t we, Astrid?”
Astrid took several shuddering breaths, her sobs slowing for the first time since they’d left the resort. She nodded.
A taxi tooted as a gaggle of people dragging cases cut across the road in front of it, distracting Nelda. Thank goodness she had no one to collect today. She had several jobs to do including a mountain of shopping, and then it was a two-hour drive back to the resort. While her assistant manager Heather wasn’t there to hold the fort when she was gone, she didn’t like to be away too long.
“I’ll see you in Sydney for Christmas.” Heather hugged her. “You will.”
Without Heather’s protective arm around her Astrid began to sob again. Nelda sighed. Working at a place like Bon Beach Resort on Western Australia’s remote Kimberley coast was physically demanding and isolated, and as a result the staff tended to be younger people with few ties, seeking adventure. Some of them were from overseas on working visas, like Astrid – but Astrid had fallen in love with one of the other workers and her visa had expired. As soon as Nelda had found out she’d terminated her employment. They wanted no excuses for Border Force officers to be poking around.
Gerard, the resort’s owner and Nelda’s boss, always left the hiring to her, which made it all the more odd that he’d replaced Heather so quickly.
“Don’t give my substitute too much grief,” Heather said as if she’d read her thoughts. “She seems like a nice woman.”
“Bit too soft for my liking—”
“Give her a go,” Heather chided.
“Her partner’s fit and a jack-of-all-trades so that’ll come in handy, at least. We’ve been short on help since that last guy left. None of the others this season are all that good mechanically, even though their resumes say they are. Tom will be glad of his help.”
“Not bad looking either.” Heather smirked and Nelda rolled her eyes.
“Trust you to notice.”
“I notice them all.” Heather leaned in as Astrid gave another soggy blow of her nose. “But unlike Miss Astrid I don’t sample their wares,” she muttered to Nelda. She adjusted her hat and turned back to the maudlin young woman. “Let’s get checked in.” “Safe travels,” Nelda said as they hoisted their packs to their shoulders. Heather gave her a mock salute and Astrid’s face crumpled, her tears flowing again.
“Come on.” Heather hurried her away and Nelda watched until they disappeared into the terminal. Heather would accompany Astrid to Sydney and make sure she boarded her flight for Sweden. Then Heather would travel on to Newcastle to look after her dad, who’d been in an accident and had several broken bones. By the time he would be well enough to do without his daughter’s help the tourist season at the resort would be winding down. There’d be no need for Heather to return until the following year. That’s if any of them still had their jobs by next tourist season.
In their last fortnightly phone call, Gerard had mentioned selling again and he’d sounded serious this time. He’d become a bit hit and miss with his decisions the last year or so, almost dithering, which was not like him at all. That’s why she’d been surprised when he’d told her he’d employed someone to replace Heather plus someone to fill the groundskeeper-and-all-rounder role that had been empty a few weeks. She’d always been the one to source and hire staff.
Supposedly the two new employees had somehow heard about the jobs going and Gerard had employed them immediately with hardly a question about their suitability and without asking for Nelda’s opinion. The woman filling in for Heather was an odd fish. She seemed competent enough but she moved on silent feet and never looked Nelda in the eyes. There was something about her Nelda didn’t trust, and her partner might be good-looking but that didn’t make him a good worker.
Her phone rang. The caller was Gerard’s personal assistant.
“Hello, Camille.” Nelda cleared her throat and ran a hand over her hair, tugging at her ponytail. It wasn’t a video call but the only person in the world who could make Nelda feel inadequate was Camille. She was efficiency personified.
“Good afternoon, Nelda. I’m ringing to ask you to prepare Mr Bon’s personal beach retreat at the resort, please.” Camille was always very polite but her tone let you know it was a command rather than a request. Even so Nelda was relieved. If Gerard was coming to stay they could have a proper conversation face to face, which she preferred, and she might get a better idea of what his true thoughts on selling were.
“Of course. It won’t take much to prepare. How many in Mr Bon’s party?”
“Mr Bon will not be coming.”
Nelda only had time for a brief pang of regret before Camille’s next words hit like a punch in the stomach.
“The retreat is for Ms Foreston. She will be travelling alone.” “Beatrice,” Nelda hissed and then gave a short cough and cleared her throat.
“Mr Bon asked me to make sure there was a floral arrangement in the entrance hall,” Camille continued with barely a pause. “Of course it’s not easy being so remote but perhaps some kind of local flora, and Ms Foreston will require plenty of fresh fruit and vegetables so please make sure the fruit basket in her accommodation is refreshed daily. She won’t require any red meat dishes. Fish, chicken or vegetarian will be suitable, and please make sure there’s adequate stock of sparkling water in her fridge. She’s bringing a selection of her own tea. I’ll email a summary. Do you have any questions?”
Nelda’s head was spinning. Heather gone and now Beatrice bloody Foreston coming to stay. That’s all she needed. “When can we expect Ms Foreston?” she asked.
“Oh, didn’t I say that at the start? My apologies. She will be taking off soon from Perth airport. A helicopter will be ready for her in Broome when she arrives. She should be with you by late this afternoon.”
“Today?”
“That is what I said, yes. Is that a problem?”
“No…well, yes. I’m in Broome myself with quite a bit to do. Extra now to accommodate Ms Foreston’s needs.” Nelda took a breath. Camille remained silent.
“I’ll ring my new second-in-charge and get her to prepare the retreat.” Nelda paced beside her vehicle.
“Oh, yes, of course, Heather’s had to go home to help her father. We sent a fruit basket. I hope her replacement is suitable. Will you be able to manage?”
It was less a question than an assumption.
“Yes, but I’d better make some calls to set the ball rolling.” “I won’t keep you. Have a good day.” Camille ended the call before Nelda could blink.
A sudden gust of wind blew across the car park, slapping a paper bag against her leg and flicking dirt into her eyes. Nelda shot one last look towards the terminal then climbed into the vehicle, cranked up the air con, made some calls then drove towards town. It would be now Heather had to leave and Nelda had to rely on mousy inexperienced Kathleen, but at least Peggy, who was head of housekeeping, was very capable. She pushed away the stab of annoyance and concentrated on the jobs she had still to do before returning to the resort.
Publication Date: 29th September 2026