‘You will meet the director later today,’ said Yao, as if this were a special treat she’d been long anticipating. ‘At your first guided meditation.’
‘Awesome,’ said Frances through her teeth.
‘Now you’ll want to see the gym,’ said Yao.
‘Oh, not especially,’ said Frances, but he was already leading her back across the reception area to the opposite side of the house.
‘This was originally the drawing room,’ said Yao. ‘It’s been refurbished as a state-of-the-art gym.’
‘Well, that is a tragedy,’ Frances proclaimed when Yao opened a glass door to reveal a light-filled room crowded with what appeared to be elaborate torture devices.
Yao’s smile faltered. ‘We kept all the original plasterwork.’ He pointed at the ceiling.
Frances gave a disdainful sniff. Marvellous. You can lie back and admire the ceiling rose while you’re being drawn and quartered.
Yao looked at her face and hurriedly closed the gym door. ‘Let me show you the yoga and meditation studio.’ He continued past the gym to a door at the far corner of the house. ‘Watch your head.’
She ducked unnecessarily beneath the doorjamb and followed Yao down a flight of narrow stone stairs.
‘I smell wine,’ she said.
‘Don’t get your hopes up,’ said Yao. ‘It’s the ghost of old wine.’
He pushed back a heavy oak door with some effort and ushered her into a surprisingly large cave-like room with an arched wood-beamed ceiling, brick walls lined with a few chairs, and a series of soft blue rectangular mats laid out at intervals on the hardwood floor.
‘This is where you will come for yoga classes and all your guided sitting meditations,’ said Yao. ‘You’ll be spending a lot of time down here.’
It was quiet and cool, and the ghostly smell of wine was overlaid by the scent of incense. The studio did have a lovely, peaceful feel to it, and Frances thought she would enjoy being here, even though she wasn’t that keen on yoga or meditation. She had done a transcendental meditation course years ago, hoping for enlightenment, and every time, without fail, she’d nod off within two minutes of focusing on her breathing, waking up at the end to discover that everyone else had experienced flashes of light, memories of past lives and rapture or whatever, while she’d snoozed and drooled. Basically, she’d paid to have a forty-minute nap at the local high school once a week. No doubt she would be spending a lot of time napping down here, dreaming of wine.
‘At one point, when the property operated a vineyard, this cellar could hold up to twenty thousand bottles of wine.’ Yao gestured at the walls, although there were no longer any facilities for keeping wine. ‘But when the house was originally built, it was used for storage, or as somewhere to secure misbehaving convict workers, or even to hide from bushrangers.’
‘If these walls could talk,’ said Frances.
Her eye was caught by a large flat-screen television hanging from one of the beams at the end of the room. ‘What’s that screen for?’ It seemed especially incongruous after Yao’s talk of the house’s early colonial history. ‘I thought this was a screen-free environment.’
‘Tranquillum House is absolutely a screen-free environment,’ agreed Yao. He glanced at the television screen with a slight frown. ‘But we recently installed a security and intercom system so we can all communicate with each other from different parts of the resort when necessary. It’s quite a large property and the safety of our guests is paramount.’
He changed the subject abruptly. ‘I’m sure you’ll be interested in this, Frances.’ He ushered her over to a corner of the room and pointed to a brick almost concealed by the joinery of one of the arched beams. Frances put on her reading glasses and read out loud the small, beautifully inscribed words: Adam and Roy Webster, stonemasons, 1840.
‘The stonemason brothers,’ said Yao. ‘The assumption is that they did this secretly.’
‘Good for them,’ said Frances. ‘They were proud of their work. As they should have been.’
They silently contemplated the inscription for a few moments before Yao clapped his hands together. ‘Let’s head back up.’
He led her up the stairs into the house and to another glass door featuring just one beautiful word: SPA.
‘Last but not least, the spa where you will come for your massages and any other wellness treatments scheduled for you.’ Yao opened the door and Frances sniffed like Pavlov’s dog at the scent of essential oils.
‘This was another drawing room that was remodelled,’ said Yao carefully.
‘Ah well, I’m sure you did a good job retaining the original features.’ Frances patted his arm as she peered inside the dimly lit room. She could hear the trickling sound of a water feature and one of those ridiculous but divine ‘relaxation’ soundtracks – the kind with crashing waves, harp music and the occasional frog – piped through the walls.
‘All spa treatments are complimentary, part of the package – you won’t receive a scary bill at the end of your stay!’ said Yao as he closed the door.
‘I did read that on the website, but I wasn’t sure if it could be true!’ said Frances disingenuously, because if it wasn’t true she would be making a complaint to the Department of Fair Trading quick-smart. She made her eyes wide and grateful, as Yao seemed to take personal pride in the wonders of Tranquillum House.
‘Well, it is true, Frances,’ said Yao lovingly, like a parent telling her that tomorrow really was Christmas Day. ‘Now we’ll just pop in here and get your blood tests and so on out of the way.’