Le Fantôme Fantastique de Phil

Heavenly Haven

Have you ever fallen in love with a place as much as a person?

For Phil Danté the Hôtel Quaife was that place. The 1879 mansion exuded his dreams of travel from the old black-and-white films he was brought up on, to his nostalgia for the eccentric French family hotels he stayed in.

Boteh paisley carpets on the upper levels leading to the various rooms and rooftop courtyard meandered like the CAN YOU HELP MR. MOUSE FIND THE CHEESE? mazes on fast food restaurant placemats.

Its rooms were tastefully decorated with old-fashioned furnishings and colour, rather than the dystopian white and grey of current hotels that resembled offices or waiting rooms in psychiatric institutions.

The comfortable foyer featured a trendy leopard skin pattern carpet, plush upholstered chairs and couches with tables for tea or drinks; perfect for reading newspapers or swapping traveller’s tales.

The hotel was pet friendly, so he and his wife Francesca could bring their white miniature poodles Franco and Ciccia and admire the visiting pets.

The hotel’s stimulating clientele were a mix of traditional globetrotters in familiar surroundings, new wayfarers reliving the nostalgia of others and a couple eclectic permanent residents comprising colourful cosmopolitans now wiser returned expatriates.

It stood in one of Sydney’s wonderful Eastern Suburbs that kept its traditional houses, stores and churches; you could still see the sky over the buildings. There was a fantastic book shop, an English pub, an Italian restaurant with flavoursome cuisine served on sidewalk tables where Phil started conversations with passersby asking,

‘Isn’t this better than going to work?’

Mistress of the House

Best of all, the Hôtel Quaife was run by his best human friend.

Alison Williams was a former Rhodesian air hostess who was the widow of his commanding officer, Colonel ‘Hellfire Hugh’ Williams. She ruled her Queendom with her black poodle Patrice, Franco and Ciccia’s best canine friend. Mrs. Williams and Patrice were the Danté’s frequent houseguests for her South Coast seaside holiday and his Furstyling by Francesca.

Though she was about the same age as Phil, he always called her ‘Mrs. Williams’. After the death of her husband, who she always called ‘the Colonel’, Phil became ‘the Major’.

‘Major Disaster’, Phil quoted his Dad.

Their final military operation made the international news due to a BBC film crew ‘coincidentally’ being in the area. With no non-commissioned officers in their ‘army’, Major Williams rose to the rank of Colonel and Sergeant Danté to Major. Operation INFERNO may have failed, but no one was hurt, save for a whining traitor who ended up with a literal knife in his back but was saved by his obesity. Everyone was happy, or not put out, as the nation where their failed coup took place ended up with a coalition government that ended its persecution of the opposition, and the superpowers had a comfortable standoff.

They were not only lucratively paid for their efforts, but Colonel Williams wrote his best-selling memoirs concluding with INFERNO. Film rights were paid to him for an exaggerated exploitation film, where he did a Hitchcockian cameo and acted as technical adviser.

On the first day of filming, the director told him,

‘Do you know what I expect my technical adviser to do, Colonel? He says, “Yes sir, that’s right sir” to everything I say!’

Col. Williams frog-marched the director to a toilet, then stuck his head in the bowl,

‘”Yes sir, that’s right, sir”’, he flushed and asked, ‘Do we need another take?’

They got on splendidly after that.

An Anglo-Celtic Australian actor played a character based on Phil with an ‘ocker’ accent as comedy relief. Phil cringed, but his father lamented,

‘I wish I had a son like that!’

With the profits of the book and film, the Williamses bought a dilapidated old mansion scheduled for demolition they restored to the Hôtel Quaife. Now the world came to the retired mercenary commander and his retired air hostess wife.

Poodle patrol

Phil, Franco and Ciccia were at Mrs. Williams’ door to pick up Patrice for their morning walk.

Les trois mousquetaires sont à nouveau réunis!

All three were in doggie coats; Phil wore his black beret and matching brand new M.J. Bale Tasmanian Merino turtleneck sweater beneath his grey suit, for he always felt like dressing up when he stayed at the Hôtel Quaife.

The winter rain had ceased; the morning was still overcast with fog hanging in the barren branches of the Queen Street trees. A pleasant currawong song greeted them as did a laughing kookaburra.

Their first stop was the miniscule Hall’s Reserve around the corner. After doing their doggie business and Phil cleaning it up, they played games of fetch.

Once calmed, they walked down Britannia Lane to a deconsecrated church that now were apartments. Phil recalled when it was torched in an atheist arson attack; the charred roof timbers resembled the church in the final scenes of Mrs. Minerva.

They sauntered to Queen Street that already was alive. Well-dressed university-educated trophy wives sharing coffee and laughter after exercise classes contrasted to the waddling mums from his South Coast.

Returning to their hotel, Phil removed the leads from his Three Poodleteers; they scampered up the steps to the landing and the corridor.

They viewed a woman walk through the wall, face them and point, then walk through the opposite wall.

The panicked poodles dashed to Phil’s room,

Pattes, ne me laisse pas tomber maintenant!!!

Fran heard howling and frantic scratching.

Mama! Mama!

She opened the door; all three poodles dashed beneath their bed and cowered.

‘What’s got into you three?’

Ce ne sont pas nos affaires!

Phil entered with his usual expression.

‘What scared them?’

‘Fran…you’d better sit down for this one…’

She pulled the chair from the room’s desk where Phil was writing a short story.

‘I’m seeing another woman…’

Fran’s eyes grew as big as the proverbial town hall clock.

‘We saw her come through one wall, stop, face us and point, then she walked through another wall…without the benefit of any doors…’

Conclave

Mrs. Williams was busy with a multitude of tasks during the breakfast period. She reunited with Patrice as the Dantés met her for their pre-arranged morning tea, poodles on their pet human’s laps. Sitting on Fran, Ciccia was in her usual feminine position with her front paws crossed. Franco sat eagerly on Phil waiting to see what eventuated, whilst Patrice pondered what was going on in his hotel whilst sitting on Mrs. Williams.

They enjoyed Darjeeling tea, home-made crumpets with honey and doggie treats.

Fran behaved as if Phil spoke a secret clown language that only she could understand and translate. Though she wasn’t a witness, she told the ghost story.

Mrs. Williams would never confirm or deny there were ghosts in the Hôtel Quaife, only saying she knew her late husband was always there. She changed the topic when someone asked whether it was true that a vampire once stayed there.

The Major explained the poodle’s behaviour,

‘If they can’t bite them, they’re not interested.’

Exactement!

‘This explains the alarm of some of our pet guests…‘

Patrice looked up at her,

Je te l'ai dit!

‘…but you’re the first human to see the apparition.’

‘Wasn’t it William James who said, “The art of being wise is knowing what to overlook?”’

Mrs. Williams sipped her tea,

‘This looks like a job for…’

‘Supernatural Man?...Sorry…I’m turning into Phil.’

‘Better than Superman, Fran. It’s a job for Dr. Deanne Laurent.’

‘Is she a medium?’

‘She’s well done, Major.’

Fran’s transfixed facial expression was as if she was in an Italian shoe shop,

‘She certainly is! I read her articles on the occult in my women’s magazines!’

‘Twaddle, New Hypochondriac, Yap Yap Yap and Vapid.’

All save loyal Franco gave Phil the icy stare taught in wife school,

Nous sommes encerclés!

‘Now I know how Custer felt at the Little Big Horn.’

‘Where can we find her?’, Fran continued.

‘She lives in our loft.’

‘Where else?’, Phil shrugged.

Council of Lore

Mrs. Williams introduced Dr. Deanne to the Major and Fran, Patrice introduced Franco and Ciccia to her,

Elle est amusante…

All agreed the polite thing to do was break the ice over lunch. She dressed colourfully but tastefully with a style all her own; they lunched in her favourite restaurant, an orangerie in a courtyard. The rain started again and beat down on the glass roof.

Everyone got on splendidly; Phil roared at Dr. Deanne’s and Mrs. Williams’ stories of his former commanding officer as the Fred Mertz of his international hotel.

None mentioned the supernatural over lunch. though Phil worried that Dr. Deanne may have had too much wine.

The sun returned as they walked back, a rainbow appeared,

‘A wonderful sign’, beamed Dr. Deanne.

Her loft was reached through a steep narrow staircase; inside were two levels. The bottom level was her library and office where she did consultations. Mrs. Williams and the Colonel had formerly lived in the loft, but as age and physical problems crept up, they moved to the ground floor. As it was difficult for guests with luggage to access, Dr. Deanne’s landlady’s daughter returned from living in England and Dr. Deanne and Mrs. Williams were the closest of friends…things serendipitously fell into place.

‘You’ve seen apparitions before…’

‘Only my daughter, who was between two worlds.’

Fran explained Phil’s account of meeting the spirit of their daughter on ANZAC Day when her physical body was near death in an interstate car accident.

Mrs. Williams dropped her spoon.

‘Some mother’s do ‘ave ‘em…’, Phil smirked.

He felt they were in wonderful hands; Dr. Deanne knew the occult like a policewoman knowing her beat, but didn’t take things over seriously. By contrast, Fran behaved as if spirits were terrorists.

‘Are they demons? I’ve bought a squirt gun from the toy shop. I’ll get some holy water from the nearest Catholic Church and-’

‘They’re spiritual beings, Fran; not pigeons or naughty kittens! They haven’t yet had closure with leaving. It’s quite fortunate that your husband’s a sensitive man.’

‘Phil? Sensitive?’, her flowing brook of sniggering became a torrent of laughter, ‘You can’t put those two words together!’

‘Apparitions have been known to communicate through candle flames, liquid, like rippling water in a glass and scent. Of course, our canine and feline friends are also sensitive. There seems to be no problem about demons, Fran. No one has been trying to take control.’

Phil gave a Louis de Funès expression at Fran; the other women stifled their laughter.

‘Mrs. Williams, I’ve been upfront with you and Dr. Deanne. Have you had any events in your hotel that would cause an…infestation?’

‘Let’s take an excursion, shall we? Could you please show us where you made the apparition’s acquaintance?’

Ghost Hunt

‘We were here…

The poodles remained steadfastly behind Phil.

Poursuivre! Nous sommes juste derrière vous…

‘She came out here, pointed there, and entered the wall…here. Have you redeveloped the hotel by building walls where doors once were?’

‘No, Major. But…’, Mrs. Williams wore a look of intense concentration, ‘We had a death of a woman in the room there not all that long ago. Fortunately, the room is momentarily unoccupied.’

She produced a pass key and opened the door.

‘How did she die?’

‘She was no spring chicken, Major. Natural causes. Her husband was a General Practitioner.’

Mrs. Williams examined the room and looked behind the desks and drawers.

‘What on earth???’, she pulled a chest of drawers away from the wall to reveal a missing rectangle of wallpaper.

‘I’ve heard of people stealing towels and ashtrays, but wallpaper?’

‘Maybe someone liked the pattern and wanted to copy it’, Fran remarked, ‘But who buys wallpapers these days? Unless they’re trying to imitate your hotel.’

The whining poodles dashed to the door to be let out.

‘Do you see her? Where is she?’

‘She’s in front of me pointing there, Dr. Deanne…now she’s disappeared!’

‘No wonder France surrendered in six weeks! No offence, Phil.’

The three poodles gave Fran a look of total disgust.

Everyone but Fran roared in laughter.

‘They we’re going for help, to rescue us, Cara Mia.’

The poodles’ expressions demonstrated that was exactly what they were doing…

‘They’re our brave scouts, we need them to help us.’

The poodles gathered around Dr. Deanne for a love-up,

Amis pour la vie!

‘Look, Major. There’s the exact shape of the missing wallpaper!’ Mrs. Williams knocked against the wall, ‘It’s hollow!’

Dr. Deanne produced a blue pocketknife from her handbag,

‘May I?’

Mrs. Williams nodded.

‘Is that a Swiss Army Knife?’

She paused in her scraping to show Phil several corkscrews.

‘It’s a French army knife.’

There was a hole in the wall beneath what was the replaced piece of wallpaper.

‘Do you have mice, Mrs. Williams?’

The poodles decided this was a chance to redeem their honour.

Allons-y!!!

‘A mouse wouldn’t make a hole in the wall off the floor.

Fran demonstrated her quick thinking and produced the reading lamp from the room’s desk to illuminate the inside of the hole.

‘Don’t tell me you’ve secret passageways.’

‘Not here, we…that’s beside the point, Major. It’s…it is!’

‘It’s what?’

‘We heard rumours this hotel had a dumbwaiter back in Victorian times.’

‘Is he still alive?’

‘No, Cara Mia. In the old days some rooms had a passageway where a tray would be raised and lowered into the room from the lower floor’, Phil proudly smiled, ‘I saw one on the Three Stooges.’

Notre Papa…l'intellectuel…

‘It was sealed up ages ago…’

* * *

Once in the hotel’s basement, the poodles shot back up the stairs.

‘She’s here again…and pointing there…now she’s gone!’

They pulled a cabinet away from the wall, Mrs. Williams knocked to find a hollow space. She grabbed a piece of pipe and caved in the wood where Phil pointed.

‘There’s something there! It’s a bottle!’

‘Don’t touch it! It looks like it contains a chemical!’

Police action

Their suburb had its own police station, who were glad for things to do. Phil explained to the guests in the foyer that they were holding the policeman’s ball there.

* * *

The local Inspector-in-Charge was of course a good friend of Mrs. Williams. They agreed to keep it mum that the vial contained ‘inheritance powder’; a poison known to cause death that imitated natural symptoms.

When confronted with the evidence the widower instantly confessed. He had discovered a hole in the wall and hid the vial as the police made their investigation. However, he didn’t know that the hole was on the path of the Victorian dumbwaiter. The vial landed at the bottom, fortunately not breaking.

As the Doctor couldn’t retrieve the poison, he was in a constant state of worry. His brief mistress turned on him and flooded the police with information that gave them the reasonable cause rather than mentioning anything occult.

Home again

‘Would you listen to me if I preceded you in death, Mon Cher?’

He kissed his loving wife, then resumed reading his book in his comfy chair as Franco and Ciccia contentedly snoozed on the floor by his side.

‘Like I always do, Cara Mia.’

Fran went on about housework to be done,

‘N'est pas, Mon Cher?...Phil?...PHIL!!!’

FIN

Author Notes: Happy Halloween!

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