Nine Perfect Strangers

She walked over to touch the lustrous mahogany wood. Flecks of light streamed from a stained-glass window on the landing.

‘As you may know, Tranquillum House was built in 1840 and this is the original red cedar and rosewood staircase,’ said Yao. ‘Other people have commented on the resemblance to the Titanic’s staircase. So far we’ve had much better luck than the Titanic. We won’t sink, Frances!’

He’d clearly made this joke many times before. Frances gave him a more generous laugh than it deserved.

‘The house was built of locally quarried sandstone by a wealthy solicitor from England.’ Yao continued to recite facts like a nerdy museum guide. ‘He wanted a house that would be “the best in the colony”.’

‘Built with the help of convicts, I understand,’ said Frances, who had read the website.

‘That’s right,’ said Yao. ‘The solicitor was granted five hundred acres of good farming land and assigned ten convicts. He got lucky because they included two former stonemason brothers from York.’

‘We have a convict in our family tree,’ said Frances. ‘She was transported from Dublin for stealing a silk gown. We’re tremendously proud of her.’

Yao gestured away from the staircase to make it clear she wasn’t to go up there just yet. ‘I know you’ll want to rest after that long drive, but first I’d like to give you a quick tour of your new home for the next ten days.’

‘Unless I don’t last the distance,’ said Frances. Ten days suddenly seemed like a very long time. ‘I might go home early.’

‘No-one goes home early,’ said Yao serenely.

‘Well, yes, but they can,’ said Frances. ‘If they choose.’

‘No-one goes home early,’ repeated Yao. ‘It just doesn’t happen. No-one wants to go home at all! You’re about to embark on a truly transformative experience, Frances.’

He led her to a large room at the side of the house with bay windows overlooking the valley and one long monastery-like table. ‘This is the dining room where you’ll come for your meals. All the guests eat together, of course.’

‘Of course,’ said Frances hoarsely. She cleared her throat. ‘Great.’

‘Breakfast is served at seven am, lunch at noon and dinner at six pm.’

‘Breakfast at seven am?’ Frances blanched. She could manage the communal meals for lunch and dinner, but she couldn’t eat and talk with strangers in the morning. ‘I’m a night owl,’ she told Yao. ‘I’m normally comatose at seven am.’

‘Ah, but that’s the old Frances – the new Frances will have already done a sunrise tai chi class and guided meditation by seven,’ said Yao.

‘I seriously doubt that,’ said Frances.

Yao smiled, as if he knew better.

‘There will be a five-minute warning bell before meals are served – or smoothies, during the fast periods. We do ask that you come promptly to the dining room as soon as you hear the warning bell.’

‘Certainly,’ said Frances, with a rising sense of horror. She’d quite forgotten about the ‘fast periods’. ‘Is there . . . ah, room service?’

‘I’m afraid not, although your morning and late-evening smoothies will be brought to your room,’ said Yao.

‘But no club sandwiches at midnight, hey?’

Yao shuddered. ‘God no.’

He led her past the dining room to a cosy living room lined with bookshelves. A number of couches surrounded a marble fireplace.

‘The Lavender Room,’ said Yao. ‘You’re welcome to come here any time to relax, read or enjoy an herbal tea.’

He said ‘herbal’ the American way: erbal.

‘Lovely,’ said Frances, mollified by the sight of the books. They walked by a closed door with the word private stencilled on it in gold letters, which Frances, being Frances, felt strongly compelled to open. She couldn’t abide member-only lounges to which she didn’t have membership.

‘This leads to our director’s office at the top of the house.’ Yao touched the door gently. ‘We do ask that you only open this door if you have an appointment.’

‘By all means,’ said Frances resentfully.