Chapter Three: NOT Liverpool!
"Ready to go?"
"You bet! I'm off to Lyttleton."
"Great. Scott will fly you to the nearest airport and I'll book your flight. Good luck."
"See ya, bro." Gordon hugged Virgil, and yelled "SEE YA!!!" off the balcony at Alan. And so, in the very same day, Gordon found himself settling on board a 737 for a short flight to Christchurch Airport.
He'd changed his mind about England, and decided for New Zealand after all. Then, less people are likely to recognise him.
***
Gordon yawned. The soonest flight had got him in to Christchurch Airport at 1am, so he was now feeling a bit tired. He made his way through customs and grabbed his gear, then wandered out into the arrivals lounge. People were milling about everywhere, but mostly just people meeting people, not many were boarding because there were no International flights for a couple of hours yet.
He yawned again and wandered out to grab a taxi. The driver turned and grinned at him.
"Where're ya headed?" he asked.
"Know any good places to stay in Lyttleton?" he asked. The driver shrugged.
"Nah, in the city's more my territory. How about you grab some shut-eye in the city tonight, and head to Lyttleton tomorrow?" Gordon nodded.
"Sounds fair. Okay. Where's a good place to go?" The driver pulled out of the curb and headed off.
"Depends. There's a couple of Backpackers, and a YHA, if you're going for the cheaper option, or there's the Grand Chancellor Hotel, for the more expensive budget. There's stuff in between too, but it's going to depend on what's open at this time of night." Gordon nodded and shrugged.
"Whatever's closest, money is no object. The people at Backpackers are more friendly though."
"Tell ya what, my aunt works in the bar at the Grand Chancellor, I'll take you there, huh? 'Sides, you need your own bedding for the YHA and stuff."
So Gordon found himself looking up at the impressive stature of the Grand Chancellor Hotel.
"Looks fair. Okay, thank you," he called to the driver, after paying and giving agenerous tip. Then he headed in and went to the front desk.
"Hello, I was wondering if there's a room free?" he asked politely. The girl at the desk looked up at him.
"Yeah, what sort of suit were you after?" she said with a smile of welcome.
"Oh, any, I don't mind."
"Oookay. What's the name for that?"
"Tracey." At that the girl sat straighter.
"As in, THE Tracey? Of Tracey Enterprises?" she gasped, goggling at him. Gordon tried to shrug it off.
"Well, no, my father is THE Tracey, I'm just one of the lackeys." But that didn't matter to the girl.
"We'll have a luxury suit made up for you immediately, sir!" She rang the bell and sent two room service people running to fix it. After a few minutes, (in which the desk girl ran to the bathroom and fixed her hair and makeup) Gordon was escorted to one of the best rooms the hotel had to offer, and his luggage carried up too. Finally he was left alone to sleep, perchance to dream.
***
The next day Gordon was up in plenty of time to get out and do a bit of exploring. He wandered down the street in a tee-shirt and jeans, so no one would get all uppity if he introduced himself. Everyone seemed to have somewhere to go, yet, not many people ignored him if he said hi. He decided in a very short time that th city was very beautiful, and enjoyed it very much. Then he caught a taxi to Lyttleton and got out at the pier. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he looked out at the blue-green sea. He felt rest decend on him. He didn't have to go anywhere, or do anything, or make jokes, or act up, or do rescues. Everything was so peaceful. He knew he couldn't stay that way for long, but for a short while it was good. Then he headed off to find a nice place to stay, walked around some more, fetched his bags from the GC Hotel, bought fish and chips, ate them on the edge of the wharf, and fed the seagulls. He didn't get in to the motel until eleven that night, but he didn't care. He was up before seven anyway, enjoying the mild early-morning air, and the sea tang. He gossiped with early morning joggers, then went to the wharf and watched the wharfies working. The wild wasn't too strong, the air was just on the brink of being too hot, and the sun was beating down on his head. This was it. Life was beautiful.
***
A/N: So how'd you like that, all you people who asked "Why Liverpool?" It's NOT Liverpool! Ha ha! Tricked you! ~^_^~