‘Really?’
Doherty sounded genuinely surprised. His own apartment was masculine, neat and serviceable. It was not a designer’s dream. Just his. His fingers touched the raffle ticket in his pocket.
‘I wondered if you were free tonight. We could go over things …’ he added cautiously.
Although she detected the hesitant tone, Honey went on to picture how it would be, perched on stools against the bar of the Zodiac, their knees touching. It was a nice thought. She nodded into the phone.
‘Same place, same time.’
She didn’t know that at the other end of the phone Doherty was giving the raffle ticket close scrutiny before tucking it into his pocket. He could hardly believe it. He’d actually won something. The manager at St Margaret’s Court Hotel had phoned him that morning to say he had won a five-course dinner with champagne and honeymoon suite for the night. Now all he had to do was pluck up the courage to ask Honey if she’d join him.
Honey had her timetable to tend to. First she wanted to check on the painters. Things seemed quiet in reception. She went to investigate.
Chapter Eleven
The silence in the crisply painted area was broken only by the sound of Frau Hoffner’s knitting needles. Herr Hoffner was nowhere in sight. Neither were the painters. The paint pots remained where they’d been left the night before. The dust sheets were still spread across the floor.
‘Is your husband having a lie-in?’ she asked Frau Hoffner after wishing her a very good morning.
Frau Hoffner’s bright eyes twinkled above her half-moon spectacles. Her smile was instant.
‘The painters have gone to another job. They asked Hans if he would like to go with them. He jumped at the chance.’
She sounded incredibly happy about it.
‘You don’t mind?’ Honey asked.
‘I have no objection.’
This Honey found surprising. Frau Hoffner was refreshingly pragmatic but she had to make a comment. ‘Some wives would sue for divorce if their husband went off doing other things without them when they were on holiday.’
‘I don’t mind at all. I am having a nice break. I can sit here knitting and thinking. Hans is also doing what he wants to do. We are both happy.’
‘You’ve been married a long time,’ Honey pronounced. It was a statement rather than a question. They were incredibly tolerant of each other. Being happy had to be the only reason they were still together.
‘Forty years,’ said Frau Hoffner. ‘We are very happy.’
Yep! There it was. The only possible reason.
Honey left her there with the click-clacking needles. She met Mary Jane on the first landing at the top of the stairs.
‘Are those needles disturbing your psychic vibes as much as they are mine?’ Mary Jane asked.
‘Um …’ Honey hesitated. It wasn’t every day you got asked the well-being of your psychic vibes. She didn’t know if she’d even had any to begin with. ‘I’m not sure.’
‘They sure are messing about with mine,’ whispered Mary Jane, her eyes darting from side to side as though a giant had taken hold of her by the shoulders and was giving her a good shake.
‘Ah,’ said Honey. ‘That must be a bit of a nuisance. Can you do anything about it?’
She was envisaging that Mary Jane might make herself a cup of herbal tea or something. Her assumption couldn’t have been further from the truth.
Mary Jane’s eyes narrowed in a manner that could best be described as threatening.
‘I thought I might try a spot of hypnotism again to make her stop knitting. If all else fails I do keep a book of spells with my things. You never know when you might need one.’
Honey was overcome by a sense of panic as a thought took hold of her.
‘That isn’t what you did when she went into a trance before, was it? Cast a spell, I mean.’
‘No! What do you take me for? Some kind of charlatan? That was her. She got drawn into something by some ethereal presence – either that or she ate something that disagreed with her. So many things can throw a spanner into the paranormal system.’
Hoping that the something Frau Hoffner had eaten had not been prepared in her kitchen, Honey sighed with relief. ‘Phew. Thank goodness for that.’
‘If I put her under, then under she’d go until the time was right to wake her. Last time was a one-off. I’m sure of it. I’m off for brunch.’
Honey was not so sure. She stood as stiff as a petrified tree trunk. Mary Jane had the ability to confuse, and confuse she did. Honey quite often had problems getting her head around what Mary Jane was about. She would have asked how come Frau Hoffner had entered a trance in the first place, but one psychic puzzle was enough for one day. Besides, she had things to do. Dumpy Doris was away sunning her broad backside in a faraway place. It was down to Honey to step in and give a hand. All hoteliers had to do chores at some time or another. Except Casper of course, but then, Casper was a notable exception in a lot of respects. He had elegant fingers and exquisitely polished nails. Not for him making beds or wielding a toilet brush. For Honey it was a different matter. Doris was away. She had work to do.
Chapter Twelve
Up along the landing Anna was heaving piles of clean sheets from the linen cupboard and on to the chambermaid’s trolley.
‘Ah!’ she exclaimed on sight of Honey. ‘I am going for a tea break and to feed Bronica, but I have to make a phone call first.’
Barely awaiting a reply, she darted off brandishing her mobile phone. Anna had Polish relatives in Swindon. She was on the phone to them all the time, more so than when they’d lived in Cracow.
‘I won’t be long,’ Anna shouted over her shoulder.
She disappeared too quickly for Honey to insist she kept to that. Ten minutes. No more. Hopes on that one weren’t too high. Anna was an ardent cigarette smoker. Honey guessed she was gasping for a smoke. Despite serious misgivings, she reassured herself that Anna would come back for Bronica as soon as she was through. Smoking and speaking to distant relatives was very important to Anna. Not that Bronica wasn’t important. Of course she was. It was just that to Anna everything she did was important. She was a very intense young person.
Gently opening the door so as not to disturb the wee mite, Honey peered into the linen cupboard. The carry-cot was balanced on the bottom shelf next to the spare pillows and mattress covers. The little sweetie, no more than three months old, was sound asleep. Honey couldn’t resist smoothing a tiny hand with her finger.
‘Now be a darling little angel and stay quiet while I get on making the beds. Auntie Honey has a hotel to run. Though sometimes I wonder whether anybody notices that,’ she added in a low voice.
Bronica obviously had very good hearing. She began to snuffle, her little mouth screwing up into a demanding moue while emitting small, cough-like grunts.
‘Ah!’ Honey swiftly removed her offending finger. ‘Bronica, you’re letting me down. If you could just wait …’
It had been a long time since she’d taken on the responsibility of a baby – nineteen years in fact. They did say that it all came flooding back to you. Quite frankly she didn’t want it flooding back at all. Feeding, winding, and wiping a baby’s bottom were all behind her and she’d prefer that it stayed that way, thank you very much.
She glanced worriedly in the direction Anna had disappeared and proceeded to tell herself a host of reassuring lies: that she would smoke only one cigarette, make only a very short phone call, have only one cup of tea. And of course she would not forget the baby … right?
The baby began to wail loudly.
‘Shhh!’ She proceeded to gently rock the carry-cot from side to side. ‘Mummy will be back in a minute. If you could just hang on …’
Bronica took no notice at all. The wailing increased in volume.
A door opened some way along the landing. A guest poked out her head. ‘Do you think you could keep that child quiet, please? My husband’s having a lie-in after his medicati
on.’
Typical! Not all the old bids – correction – seniors had gone sightseeing.
‘I’m sorry,’ she called back, poking her head out from behind the linen cupboard door.
The mauve-haired lady wearing the Dame Edna glasses and sporting a multi-flowered dressing gown grunted something about children being seen and not heard. Mary Poppins she was not.
Honey wanted to call back that she couldn’t possibly see little Bronica, hidden as she was within the linen cupboard. Her wailing was another matter. Perhaps if she closed the cupboard door … no. Somehow that wouldn’t be right. It was back to making soothing sounds interspersed with lickle, tickle, you must go to sleepies.
‘Shhh,’ she said again in her most soothing voice. ‘Mummy will be back soon.’ She smiled hopefully into the bonny pink face.
Bronica was not for soothing. She wailed even more furiously between sucking sounds, pursing her rosebud mouth ready for feeding.
‘Look,’ said Honey, turning more serious than she really should do. She laid both hands on her breasts. ‘These here are for show only. No milk bar.’
To no avail.
She was pretty certain that Bronica was being breast-fed; Eastern European women were very sensible about all that. Breast milk was far cheaper and more convenient than the sort that came in tins or bottles.
Rocking the carry-cot was resorted to once again. Coupled with soothing sounds like ‘There, there. Mummy will be back shortly.’ The child chortled.
Honey was pleased with herself. ‘Good girl. I’ll just go and …’
The moment she tried to exit stage right, Bronica was off again.
She rolled her eyes to heaven. ‘Shit!’
No help was coming from above. Desperately she sought a compromise.
For a start, there was no way she intended to go back and forth to the linen cupboard in between making beds and cleaning the rooms.
Hands on hips, she looked down at the child and shook her head. ‘You aren’t going to let me go, are you?’ She felt kind of privileged at being wanted. It was oddly touching and made her feel quite smug. She hadn’t lost the touch after all.
Of course the child didn’t reply, though her expression said it all. Funny how fat little faces can say a multitude of words without the need to speak. However, feeling privileged that baby Bronica enjoyed her company would solve nothing.
Carry-cot bumping against her side, sheets tucked beneath her other arm, Honey struggled along to each room. Running round each side of the bed, turning down sheets, rocking the carry-cot, running into the bathroom, wielding a toilet brush, replenishing tea and coffee stocks – it all took longer with a baby in tow.
But every baby has only so much patience. At last Bronica was crying lustily, face resembling one of those wooden Russian dolls with scarlet cheeks.
There was no alternative. Honey picked her up. The child made sucking noises in her ear. The pillow the child’s head had been resting on came out with her. That was when she saw the bottle tucked beside the pillow. So Anna wasn’t a slave to the know-it-alls who said breast was best.
Recognizing instant relief when she saw it, she swooped on the bottle. There wasn’t much milk left in it, but enough. Satisfied at having something to suck at last, Bronica went willingly down into her cot.
Honey breathed a sigh of relief.
Finishing the rooms went quicker after that. She began to hum to herself, pleased that she was doing so well. Who needed staff anyway?
‘Pssst!’
Mary Jane appeared around the door.
‘She’s still knitting, you know. Can’t you hear it? Doesn’t it just make you want to stab her with one of those darned awful needles?’
She said this just as Honey was bent double over a large canvas laundry bag. Obviously Mary Jane had finished her brunch. Honey had to admit she was looking a little pale, the lines in her face swirling deeper than they usually did. But this comment – well, wasn’t it a little out of character? Gerda Hoffner was only knitting, not dancing naked from the chandeliers.
‘Couldn’t you confiscate them?’ Mary Jane asked hopefully.
Honey pulled the straps tight on the canvas bag. The men who came to collect the laundry complained if the soiled sheets and bath towels slipped out on their way to their van. But that wasn’t the only reason for appearing immersed in what she was doing; she was visualizing what confiscating a guest’s knitting needles would do for her reputation.
‘Mary Jane, you really shouldn’t let it get to you. How about you give me a moment to finish here and we talk this over out in the conservatory?’
Mary Jane clenched her jaw in the act of gnashing her teeth. ‘I hear that click-clacking in my sleep. It follows me down the hall and out into the street. I wonder how her husband puts up with it. No wonder he’s gone off with the decorators.’
‘Is that so?’ said Honey, taking hold of Mary Jane’s elbow and steering her towards the stairs. ‘We’ll have refreshments in the conservatory. I’ll open the door. We can hear the birdsong.’
‘Dandelion tea for me.’
‘Dandelion it shall be.’
Besides birdsong, it was also quite probable that the sounds of the city might filter in and blot out the sound of persistent knitting. Mary Jane might not notice it so much. Honey hoped it was so.
Her suggestion seemed to have the desired effect. She nodded thoughtfully and her jaw slackened a little.
‘You’re probably right. I shouldn’t let this get to me. A cup of dandelion tea might steady my nerves.’
Determined to steer Mary Jane away from the offending needles, Honey left the bed linen and accompanied her down the stairs. She made a detour away from reception, through the staff rest room and out into the conservatory. On the way she rang through to the kitchen to organize tea. Lindsey brought it out to them.
‘Now,’ said Honey as she poured. ‘Let’s sit here a while and enjoy the view.’
The view wasn’t panoramic, but the old brick walls surrounding the walled garden gave off a warm glow even when the sun wasn’t shining. Just as she’d visualized, the birds were singing.
Mary Jane took a little twist of paper out of her pocket, untwisted it and poured its powdery contents into her cup.
Honey eyed it with misgiving. ‘What is it – that powder?’
‘Oh, this,’ replied Mary Jane after taking a sip or two of her tea. ‘Belladonna. It helps with my hot flushes. Calms me down. Like with like. You know?’
No, Honey didn’t know it helped with hot flushes. It shook her even to think that Mary Jane still needed something like that. What concerned her most of all was that Mary Jane was knocking back what she understood to be a deadly poison, of her own free will. Was her obsession with the knitting needles a sign of something deeper? More distressing? Had her mind become unhinged?
She grabbed Mary Jane’s wrist. ‘It’s deadly nightshade! A poison!’
Mary Jane only barely managed to stop her knocking the cup from her hand. She looked at Honey as though she were seven years old.
‘Honey. Calm down. Belladonna, or deadly nightshade as it’s known, is far more than a poison. Carefully administered, it has quite intriguing therapeutic powers and is used in homeopathic medicine. A little does a lot of good, from calming down to inducing a much-needed sleep.’
Honey was shaking. She’d been ready to see Mary Jane fall comatose – or worse still – dead on the floor.
Mary Jane repeated what she’d said.
‘It’s not just a poison, Honey. It’s a very useful medicine, a beneficial herb when used in the right way.’
Honey fanned her hand in front of her face in order to still her racing heart. The cool air coming in from the open door helped.
‘Have a little. It stops hot flushes,’ said Mary Jane helpfully.
Honey shook her head. ‘I’ll pass, thanks.’
She was about to question Mary Jane in more depth when Anna came bursting in.
‘Oh, Mrs
Driver, I am so sorry. I was talking to my cousin in Swindon and I forgot what time it was. She has problems, you see, with her husband. I was trying to advise her. I hope Bronica was not too much trouble.’
Honey sprang to her feet. She’d had the child with her. Where was she now?
‘Oh, Anna. I’m so sorry. I forgot.’
‘I will fetch her from the linen room,’ said Anna.
‘Oh, she’s not in there,’ replied Honey. ‘I took her with me around the rooms …’
Her voice petered out as the realization dawned that she couldn’t remember which room she’d left Bronica in.
‘Which room?’ asked Anna.
Honey’s mouth hung open. ‘Ah! Now let me see …’ She was playing for time. She hadn’t a clue.
Before Anna had a chance to bound out and up the stairs, Lindsey came in carrying the cot and a sleeping Bronica. She was smiling.
‘Mr and Mrs Stopes said they only booked a room with en suite bath and shower, not en suite baby.’
Chapter Thirteen
‘See this?’
Honey looked. Smudger was showing her a small piece of porcelain – a sweet dish by the looks of it.
‘Is it Spode?’ Honey asked.
Smudger knew enough about collectables to turn it over and scrutinize the base.
‘Yep! Says so right here.’
‘It’s very pretty. Let me guess what you paid. Fifty pounds?’
‘Get off! Course not.’
‘Go on then. Tell me.’
He beamed in the deeply smug way beloved by chefs and people who’ve got themselves a bargain.
‘A tenner!’
‘Ten pounds?’ Honey was seriously surprised. ‘Where did you get such a bargain?’
‘Car boot sale. Pretty, ain’t it?’
Honey studied it and decided someone had made a very big mistake. Spode attracted good prices. It wasn’t usually found at car boot sales, those odd get-togethers that had started life in the USA where they were called swap meets.
Deadly Lampshades (Honey Driver Mysteries Book 5) Page 8