Qwilleran related the story without mentioning his aerobic feat with an armful of hysterical botanist. "She said she lived at The Pines, and I helped her get home. Two men were playing croquet, and one of them happened to be a doctor. He took her away in a golf cart, and I would guess she was airlifted to the mainland."
"Well, well, well!" Mrs. Harding exclaimed.
"Three holes in the ground," her husband said mock-
"Oh, Arledge!" She slapped his wrist. "He always says that," she complained to Qwilleran fussily.
The vicar said, "We haven't seen the royal family since the Ritchies disposed of their property. As their house guests we were invited to garden parties at The Pines. Th'e matriarch of the Appelhardts always presided like the dowager queen mother."
"The refreshments were sumptuous," Mrs. Harding recalled, "and there were peacocks strutting around the garden, spreading their tails and making horrendous noises when one least expected it."
"Alas, the Ritchies are gone, and the royal family is still with us," the vicar said in a grieving tone. "If you are interested in a little authentic history, Mr. Qwilleran—"
"I'm very interested!" He pulled up a chair.
"In the 1920s, the Appelhardts bought the western half of the island from the government and displaced the islanders, who had been tolerated as squatters. They established the Grand Island Club for millionaires who enjoy nature—if not too uncomfortably natural. According to widespread belief, they bought the land for ten dollars an acre and sold it to club members for ten dollars a square foot. I suspect it is now worth ten dollars a square inch." He finished with a chuckle that developed into a coughing spell.
Mrs. Harding rummaged in her handbag. "Here, "Arledge, take this lozenge, and do be careful!"
Qwilleran said, "I had only a brief glimpse of their estate from the rear, but it seems extensive."
"Oh, yes!" she said. "Besides the main lodge there are smaller lodges for the married sons, cottages for the help, stables for the horses, a large swimming pool with pool house, tennis courts—"
"My dear, you sound like a real-estate agent," her husband chided.
She gave him a reproving glance and continued. "The married sons are professional men. The young woman you met is their only daughter. She never married. There's also a very handsome son—married several times, I believe. He appears to have no serious calling."
"The prodigal son," Mr. Harding explained. "Inevitable in every family of means."
His wife said, "The Moseley sisters will want to hear about this, Mr. Qwilleran. The daughter was a student at the school where they taught. I'm sure you've met Edith and Edna, haven't you?"
"I met one of them at the fruit basket, but I don't know whether it was Edna or Edith. She was promoting bananas as a source of something-or-other."
"That was Edna. She's the taller of the two and wears glasses."
"It's Edith who wears glasses," her husband corrected her. "Edna wears corrective shoes and speaks with a soft voice. Edith taught dramatic arts and always projects from the diaphragm. Edna taught science, I believe. She's the prettier of the two—"
"Well, you must excuse me," Qwilleran said as Mr. Harding paused for breath. "I have an important errand to do. We'll continue this later."
His next stop was the Vacation Helpers service center where he dropped off his clothes to be pressed. Shelley greeted the silk shirt like an old friend. "You're really hard on your clothes," she said.
"Don't blame me. My roommate flew off the handle."
"Do you let her get away with that?"
"My roommate is a male with four legs and a tail and sharp teeth," he explained.
"Oh, don't tell me! Let me guess! You have a German shepherd.... No? A Weimaraner?"
"You're not even warm. I'll give you a clue. He has a dark mask."
"A Boxer!"
"No. I'll tell you what," Qwilleran said. "I'll pick up my pressing in an hour or so, and you think about it in the meantime."
The Island Experience was the last in the row of commercial establishments on West Beach Road, and it was the most imposing. The rustic lodge was landscaped with taste and money. Instead of the traditional porch, a contemporary deck spanned the front elevation, overlooking the lake. There were tubs of salmon-pink geraniums to match the salmon-pink umbrella tables, but there were no guests in the salmon-pink canvas chairs.
Qwilleran assumed they were all in the gazebo, drinking the complimentary champagne. He rang the bell.
The woman who greeted him was a handsome, well-dressed, mature woman with a sparkling smile. "Welcome to Island Experience! I'm Carla, your merry innkeeper."
"I'm Jim Qwilleran, a bad-humored traveler from the mainland."
"Trudy!" she called over her shoulder. "Guess who just walked in! The Qwill Pen himself!"
