Tom and I had been married for just over a year when we went on a holiday to Surfers Paradise. Tom's a salesman, and good at it, and he wound up with a nice bonus this year. We decided to blow part of it and headed north to the sunshine.
That first day we didn't really know what to do first. There are so many attractions for gullible tourists, and that's what we were and quite content to be so. We were going to have fun. We finished up spending most of the day at Dream World and were both pleasantly tired when we got back to our motel.
The motel we were staying at was only medium range, rated at just under four stars, I'd guess, but it was comfortable and suited out pocket. They had a decent swimming pool and spa in enclosed gardens and there was also a games room up the top with a magnificent view. Out unit was on the twelfth floor, and overlooked the ocean.
After dinner I wanted to go try out the pool and spa. Tom was feeling lazy but agreed to come down and sit with me. Personally I think it was just that he'd had a couple too many with his dinner and needed to sleep it off. Anyway, I slipped on my bikini, grabbed a towel, and we went down to the pool.
For some reason the pool was deserted, leaving just me and Tom. Probably because we'd eaten slightly early and everyone else were only just settling down to dinner now. It was getting cooler as the evening advanced, but cooler is a relative term. Compared to the temperature back home it was hot and the pool looked good to me.
Tom settled on one of the deck chairs provided, tilted his hat over his eyes and snoozed. I think he fell asleep just like that. Me, I dived in and started swimming. I didn't need all that much exercise as we'd been running around all day, but I did feel the need for a refreshing dip to cool me down. A cool shower would have done the same, but wouldn't have been nearly as much fun.
After a short swim I started strolling around the perimeter of the pool area, admitting the gardens. I like gardens but I'm a terrible gardener. I buy a plant, follow all the instruction about where to put it, when to water it, when to fertilise it and then stand back and watch it die. Tom says some people have natural green thumbs, and then points out that mine are probably black, carrying the touch of death to things vegetative.
"Like my gardens do you?" this deep voice rumbled behind me.
Startled, I turned around, and was even more startled to find myself facing a gorilla wearing shorts and carrying hedge clippers. Gorilla was my first impression, and my second, too, for that matter. He was big, with the sort of face only a mother would love, and she'd probably have her doubts. He was also well-muscled, and extremely hairy. I know men have hairy chests but this guy carried it to ridiculous levels. I'm quite sure his hair qualified as a fur coat.
It was the hedge clippers that gave me the vital clue. He was, undoubtedly, the gardener. And a very good one from the display around us.
"Oh, hullo," I said. "I'm Chantelle. Yes, I do like your gardens. They're superb."
"Gary," he rumbled in that deep voice of his. I'd never heard a voice as low as that before. Although he was smiling, at least I think it was a smile on his face, his voice sounded as though he was a tiger growling. It sent shivers up my spine.
"What is this?" I asked him, indicating a very nice little bush with flowers that resembled little green and red bells. "I've never seen one before."
"Qualope bells," Gary told me. "Quite a rare plant. You won't find them down south. Too cold."
