The Museum of Things Left Behind

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The tall blonde woman approached the welcoming party, first with a little trepidation and then with confidence, as she realized that these three uniformed gentlemen, each resplendent with shiny ribbons and glinting medals, were there to meet her and her fellow traveller. She towered over the man beside her as her generous mouth spread into a wide smile and she stepped forward, her right hand held out. The male visitor shuffled forward, hand extended, with a puzzled smile. The two weary travellers were greeted with a moment’s confusion followed by three stiff salutes.

Mosconi was the first to gain control of his senses. He wrestled the sports bag from the gentleman, falling smartly into step beside him and only dropping back when it was apparent that they could not both fit through the turnstile at once. In an embarrassing moment of previously undefined protocol, the tall blonde woman was left alone behind the men. With her sunglasses now pushing her silky hair off her face, she waited to have her paperwork examined.

Gabboni’s moment had arrived, but the agreed-upon procedure had disintegrated. On receipt of the required documents, he looked for leadership from Mosconi, who met his eye with a stern shake of the head. He grasped both lots of paperwork tightly to his chest, bowed low and returned it to the owners. With a small scuffle, the dignitaries and visitors shuffled themselves into order, passing through the turnstile one by one and stepping out to meet the rising sun.

The blonde had been delighted by the sweet-smelling station, enthralled by the formal greeting and enchanted by the warmth of Gabboni’s cursory ticket inspection. But nothing had prepared her for the view that met her as she passed through the ticket office to the station forecourt. The sun was poking its head above the far valley wall, and its gentle light was starting to penetrate the vast crevasse below. The landscape of Vallerosa was unique, for virtually its entire landmass was dominated by the steep walls that rose dramatically from either side of the powerful river Florin. The country tilted, too, from north to south, which lent drama to the water, which tumbled and frothed as it made its way through the mountainous region. The only land that could properly be considered horizontal was the plain at the top of the valley, on which the passengers now stood. For as far as the eye could see, the land there was host to hundreds of hectares of tea plantations. To anyone visiting Vallerosa for the first time, this view was quite literally breathtaking. The elaborately whorled tea plants at the top of the valley, resembling acres and acres of tightly quilted velvet, gave way to the city, which clung precariously to the valley walls. Houses, built from a uniform red rock, seemed hewn from the cliffs. And now, as the sun began to play on the rapids below, the river Florin began to reveal its many hues.

‘Oh, my gosh!’ the tall blonde squealed, clapping her hands together in delight. ‘It’s absolutely gorgeous. I had no idea!’ Despite her height, she skipped daintily forward, breathing deeply, then turned to face the ministers. ‘It’s really, really lovely! I can’t believe I’m here at last!’ She gambolled forward and ran her hands across the closest of the tea plants. The densely packed leaves gave under her touch and bounced back into place obediently as she marvelled at the plantation. A goat lifted its narrow head from beneath the leaves and stared unblinkingly at her. It bleated half-heartedly and disappeared again. Around the animal, the shrubs panned out, filling every spare inch between the station and the start of the city. The combination of dark, glossy leaf and the red town below stirred something in the visitor and she stared, open-mouthed, into the distance. Remembering herself at last, she returned to her small audience.