I just can’t dine alone anymore

La Vergne Lehmann

4 July 2012, Hotel Kurrajong, Canberra

‘Can I still get dinner?’ I asked Joseph, the reception manager, as I booked into the Hotel Kurrajong. It had been a long drive, almost ten hours that day, so I was ready for dinner and a comfortable bed.

‘Isabella’s is open until 9.00 pm, Mrs Latimer, so there is still plenty of time,’ Joseph replied. ‘Would you like a table reserved for you? You should have time to freshen up first.’

After thanking Joseph, I wandered upstairs to the first floor, checking the number on the key as I reached the landing. ‘Room number twenty-one, I wonder who has slept here before?’ I said under my breath as I inserted the key into the lock and turned the handle.

I always stay at the Hotel Kurrajong when I visit Canberra. It is a beautiful two-storey art deco style building. More importantly, it is only a five-minute walk from Parliament House. But what I love the most is the history of the place and the fact that it has quite a nice restaurant in the hotel.

Twenty minutes later I was entering Isabella’s Café, named after Isabella Southwell, the manageress of the hotel for nearly fifteen years from 1931. I always stop and have a look at some of the historical documents and photographs that are on the wall of the hotel and café because it has such a rich political history and, as I was to find out later on, a history of some intrigue.

I dined alone. I chose a macadamia crusted lamb fillet with Mediterranean roasted vegetables drizzled with balsamic vinegar, accompanied by a rather pleasant 2009 local shiraz cabernet. On retiring to my room, just after 10.00 pm, I took one look at the comfortable bed and knew it would only be a matter of minutes before I would be asleep.

I woke with a start. There was someone in my room! Dappled light from the streetlights outside illuminated a shadowy figure sitting at the table in the corner of my room. I opened my mouth to speak but nothing came out. As my eyes adjusted to the dim light I could see it was a woman. She appeared to be sitting at the table as if she was waiting for someone to join her. And then, just as quickly, she disappeared. Maybe I was dreaming, I thought, as I tried to get back to sleep. Maybe she was a ghost!

The next morning, as I came down for breakfast, I stopped at reception to ask Joseph about the possibility of any ghosts in my room. I felt like I was asking a ridiculous question but the feeling that someone had actually been in my room last night was still very strong. Joseph answered my question with a wry smile.

‘With a history like this hotel, there are bound to be ghosts.’

‘Do you know of any female ghosts?’ I questioned. ‘This ghost appeared to be sitting at the table in my room as if waiting for someone to join her.’

‘That would be Bella Southwell,’ replied Joseph.

‘You mean the “Bella Southwell”, manageress of the Hotel Kurrajong during the Depression and World War Two?’

‘That Bella Southwell, indeed!’ replied Joseph.

My appetite for breakfast had now disappeared, only to be replaced by my appetite for getting to the bottom of what sounded like an intriguing mystery. ‘So why would Bella Southwell’s ghost be in my room after 11.00 pm waiting for someone to join her?’ I wondered out loud.

‘Perhaps this will help you,’ Joseph replied, handing me a large folder full of papers and clippings that appeared to date back many years. Now I was curious and, quickly taking possession of my newfound booty, headed into the café for a strong coffee.

Several hours and quite a bit of coffee later, a picture of what had happened was starting to form in my mind. I also could not help but think that this may not have been the first time that Joseph had been asked about the ghost.

Isabella Southwell had indeed been the respected manageress of the Hotel Kurrajong from 1931, at the height of the Depression, and continued in that role until her untimely death in 1946. But it was when I discovered her journal and found one particularly intriguing entry that I began to put the pieces of this puzzle together. The date was 5 July 1945, exactly sixty-seven years ago today.

I waited for news as I sat down to supper that night, alone. I was worried. I had not heard any news and around the hotel there was a quiet sense of foreboding. My table was set with my usual late night meal and as it had been the case recently, it was only set for one. Dining alone had become more frequent of late. I had a light vegetable broth with fresh herbs from the garden, freshly baked bread from the kitchens followed by a bread and butter pudding. John had always said it would never do to be seen ‘living it up’ while everyone else was going without because of the war.

Who was John, I wondered and read on.

It was nearly midnight when I finished my supper. I checked again with the front desk and still no news. I made my last round of the hotel before retiring to bed. Everything was quiet, although I could still see the light on in Ben Chifley’s room. I suppose Phyllis may have been staying that night and I thought wistfully of the pre-war days when John and I would sup late with Ben and Phyllis. Those were the good years, after the Depression, before the war and before John became prime minister. He had lived at the Kurrajong then, spending most nights with me. Of course, we were discreet, just like Ben and Phyllis.

John was the prime minister? John who? Then it came to me, John Curtin, the Labor prime minister during the war years. He died in office just after victory was declared in Europe. I continued with Bella’s diary entry, turning the page.

I finally went to bed at 12.30 pm still not knowing how John was?

I wondered what she meant by that and noticed she had continued the diary entry further down the page.

There was a knock on the door just after 5.30 am. It was almost time to get up anyway but I wondered whom it might be. As I opened the door I saw it was Frank Forde, with Ben Chifley standing just behind him. I could see from the look on their faces that they had bad news. Ben was the first to say he was sorry to tell me that John had died that morning at 4.00 am at the Lodge. I felt numb but somehow thanked them for letting me know. After all it was what I had been expecting.

Suddenly it all fell into place. Today was the anniversary of John Curtin’s death and during her time as hotel manageress, Bella Southwell had been his lover. This, however, still did not explain why Bella had been sitting in my room late last night.

I managed to spend the entire day reading through the folder of information that Joseph had given me. Bella’s journal had been particularly illuminating and although I was aware of rumours about political romances in Canberra, I had not been aware of her involvement with John Curtin.

I dined alone again that night. I could not get Bella out of my mind. The war had been virtually over when John died and maybe Bella had every reason to think that everything would return to the way it had been before the war. I had ordered a ginger and chilli Atlantic salmon cutlet with a dressed Asian salad. As I finished my meal I looked up and noticed a photograph of Bella hanging on the wall. She was standing out the front of the Hotel Kurrajong. The caption indicated that the photo was taken in early 1946, just four months before she died.

It was then that it hit me. Bella died just a few months after John Curtin. Perhaps she died of a broken heart … or is that too sentimental? I couldn’t get the tragedy of Bella’s early death out of my mind as I got into bed that night. But having spent the whole day reading about her, the hotel and the politics of the time, I was exhausted.

Once again I awoke with a start and again I could see a figure at the table in the corner of my room. But this time the figure looked across at me and smiled sadly, saying, ‘I just couldn’t eat alone anymore …’