‘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.’
‘I’m sorry – what?’ said Frances, as she was shepherded into a room that looked like a doctor’s office. She felt discombobulated. Weren’t they just talking about spa treatments?
‘Just sit right here,’ said Yao. ‘We’ll do your blood pressure first.’
Frances found herself seated as Yao wrapped a cuff around her arm and pumped it enthusiastically.
‘It might be higher than usual,’ he said. ‘People feel a little stressed and nervous when they arrive. They’re tired after their journey. It’s natural. But let me tell you, I’ve never had a guest finish their retreat without a significant drop in their blood pressure!’
‘Mmm,’ said Frances.
She watched Yao write down her blood pressure. She didn’t ask if it was high or low. It was often low. She had been checked out for hypotension before because of her tendency to faint. If she got dehydrated or tired, or saw blood, her vision tunnelled and the world tipped.
Yao snapped on a pair of plastic green gloves. Frances looked away and focused on a point on the wall. He buckled a tourniquet around her arm and tapped her forearm.
‘Great veins,’ he said. Nurses often said that about Frances’s veins. She always felt momentarily proud and then kind of depressed, because what a waste of a positive attribute.
‘I didn’t actually realise there would be a blood test,’ said Frances.
‘Daily blood tests,’ said Yao cheerfully. ‘Very important because it means we can tweak your treatment plans accordingly.’
‘Mmm, I might actually opt out of the –’
‘Tiny ouch,’ said Yao.
Frances looked back to her arm, and then quickly away again as she caught sight of a test tube filling with her blood. She hadn’t even registered the prick of the needle. She felt all at once as powerless as a child, and was reminded of the few times in her life she’d had to go into hospital for minor surgeries, and how much she disliked the lack of control over her body. Nurses and doctors had the right to prod at her as they pleased, with no love or desire or affection, just expertise. It always took a few days to fully reinhabit her body again.
Did this young man currently helping himself to her blood even have medical expertise? Had she really done her due diligence on this place?
‘Are you trained as a . . .?’ She was trying to say, ‘Do you know what the hell you’re doing?’
‘I used to be a paramedic in a previous life,’ replied Yao.
She met his eyes. Was he possibly a little mad? Did he mean he was a reincarnated paramedic? You never knew with these alternative types. ‘You don’t mean, literally, a previous life?’
Yao laughed out loud. A very normal-sounding laugh. ‘It was about ten years ago now.’
‘Do you miss it?’
‘Absolutely not. I’m passionate about the work we do here.’ His eyes blazed. Maybe just slightly mad.
‘Right, that’s that,’ said Yao, removing the needle and handing her a cottonwool ball. ‘Press firmly.’ He labelled her test tube and smiled at her. ‘Excellent. Now, we’ll just check your weight.’
‘Oh, is that really necessary? I’m not here for weight loss; I’m here for, you know . . . personal transformation.’
‘Just for our files,’ said Yao. He removed the cottonwool ball, pressed a circular bandaid onto the tiny red pinprick and indicated a set of scales. ‘On you hop.’