“That could probably be arranged” I said.
“Hang on a second Gram, hear her out.” Roland, whose loose-limbed relaxation contrived to make even the rigid little sofa on which he was lolling look comfortable, was mushroom-colour co-ordinated today, cords and a jumper with leathered elbow patches. Etty, on the opposite side of the bow-legged coffee table was black and white in contrast and sitting bolt upright, both hands resting on the bird-head of her cane, which was as eagle-eyed as she was.
“I don’t believe I have to hear any more, Roland.” She said. “To know it is a totally absurd idea, and must you call me that, makes me sound like a new-fangled measurement?” My Mother, sharing the sofa with her brother, snorted softly,
“Nothing’s changed then.” She murmured.
“Meaning?” Etty’s fiercely hooded, green granite gaze locked with Ophelia’s.
“Your word.” Said my Mother, “Still law.”
“My house.”
“And their home.” Ophelia’s impatient gesture took in Roland, Mimi perched tautly on a footstool near them, Bella and Devorah seated on a couple of upright chairs they’d drawn up and Henry, planted on the piano stool, bored and obviously present under duress. He was wire-less now, though the Elastoplast remained in place. He was picking desultorily at the piano keys in a tuneless way that made me want to brain him with the nearby harp.
“Pretty pickle they’d be in without my help.” Etty’s mouth was a thin grim line. “And,” she continued, “I notice you came running back quick enough when you needed to.” Ophelia barked a sharp laugh,
“Hardly quickly, perhaps I thought, after all this time there’d be more of a welcome, obviously I was mistaken.”
“Wouldn’t be the first mistake you’ve made.” Etty said.
“And what’s that supposed to mean?”
“You should know Ophelia – how many years is it now you’ve wasted, swanning round the country shoring up a third-rate vaudeville act?”
“I’ve done well out of it, thank you very much and been happy, happier than if I’d have stayed here.”
“Well, you’re not happy now, are you?” Etty came back. “Shown himself up in his true colours I understand.” Mimi who’d been anxiously swiveling her head between the two stood abruptly, flapping her hands in agitation,
“Stop it, both of you, I won’t have it. I don’t know what gets into you when you’re together… too much… it was always like this… too much then… certainly too much now… I won’t have it, do you hear me, I won’t have it.” For all the notice Ophelia and Etty took, she might as well have remained silent. Roland chuckled, breaking the tension.
“Well, this takes me right back.” He said, “Just like the good old days. Gram, Ophie, back off both of you.”
“Answer me just one question.” I said. I’d chosen to remain standing and from my position in front of the fireplace, I surveyed them all crossly. They all turned to look at me, with the exception of Etty who gazed steadfastly ahead.
“Are you.” I said, and if my tone was that of a teacher with an unruly class it was because that was what it felt like. “In a financial position to turn down anything that might bring in a bit of income to prop up this place?” Roland shook his head, but it wasn’t his agreement I needed.
“Etty?” I asked. Calling her Mrs Goodkind seemed ridiculous, but I certainly wasn’t up for calling her Great Granny any time soon. She shook her head briefly, I wasn’t sure whether in dismissal of me or in answer to the question. “Etty?” I persisted.
“No. We are not.” She said coldly.
“Right. Well, as this documentary thing seems to have fallen into our laps, it would be crazy not to take advantage. It could give you just the sort of publicity you need to get everything moving. Now, because time’s short and there’s a lot to take on board, I’ve produced a fact-sheet.” Devorah giggled and I glowered at her.
“Devorah, do you have something you want to contribute?” She shook her head, “Well shut it then.” I said, handing out what I’d quickly put together on my laptop. I’d been confident that Henry would be able to print it out for me and he hadn’t let me down, although bending over the printer, I hadn’t been thrilled to find a hand that wasn’t mine, resting on my bottom. I’d given it a good hard slap and its owner a sharp rebuke and a brief lecture on harassment he wouldn’t forget in a hurry.
I’d bullet-pointed and numbered the steps already taken:
1.Ophelia’s phone call to Jonathan Harper, together with the equally agitated email I’d sent to my office to forward on, so he’d received two similar complaints from completely different sources.
2.The phone call I’d made on the spur of the moment to the Pyschic Society, where an enthusiastic young lady had taken down details of our manifestation and promised she’d get a regional investigator to make contact.
3.Details on the documentary requirements gleaned from Charlie, including her weekly room bookings which were now nicely filling up some pages in the hitherto sadly blank register.
And finally, to ensure we were all singing from the same song sheet, I’d put down a few brief notes on the rise, demise and re-appearance of the unfortunate Polly, together with a few ideas – asterisked to indicate they were still in the planning stages – on proposed sightings. You might want to label me a little OCD, but years of helping Murray organise my parents, the crew and the dancers had taught me that nothing beats the clarity of a bullet point. Etty was singularly unimpressed,
“You cannot seriously believe, for one single second,” she said, holding the fact sheet, of which I was really rather proud, in a fastidious finger and thumb, before letting it flutter down onto the table, “That this complete poppycock of a scheme will work?”
“Actually,” mused Roland, “I think it’s rather clever and just might.”
“God Almighty you’re certainly organised, are you sure you’re really Ophelia’s?” Bella was still reading through her notes, a pair of reading glasses perched halfway down her nose.
“Never mind that,” protested Mimi, “It’s simply not true is it, not any of it.”
“Mother,” said Ophelia, “It’s marketing.”
“If she was hanged, would she have like a purple face and her tongue all swollen?” Enquired Henry with interest.
“Henry,” snapped Devorah, “If you don’t stop banging on that bloody piano, she won’t be the only one with a purple face and swollen tongue.” She turned to me, “I think it makes sense, anyway what’ve we got to lose?”
“Well?” I said, looking around.
“Well what?” Said Etty.
“Do we go ahead with this, or do I cancel everything and walk out of here right now?” There was a short silence, during which I honestly wasn’t sure which way I wanted her to go. She cracked her stick sharply on the ground, once,
“Go ahead if you must girl. Just don’t come crying to me if you make a complete fool of yourself, not to mention the rest of us. One condition though.”
“Are you in any position to lay down conditions?” I asked mildly. She’d risen to her feet, waving away Mimi’s helping hand impatiently, and now she looked across the intervening space between us.
“You’re very young. There’s a lot you don’t know, for all you think you do and sometimes, when you open the lid of a box, it’s very difficult to close it again.” It was an unflinching stare from those strangely coloured eyes, and I felt the power of her at a deeply atavistic level, barely understood. I wasn’t prepared to show that though, she may hold sway over the rest of the family – not over me. I raised my head and stared directly back and for just a few seconds, all extraneous sound dropped away and it was as if she and I were alone in the room. She lowered her gaze first, but only because she chose to.
“Your condition?” I asked.
“Be
careful. Be very careful. You,” she inclined her head at me, “Don’t know anything about us. The rest of you,” she slowly turned her head, looking briefly at everyone in the room, “Do.” Mimi giggled nervously, but nodded as each of the others in turn, had done. “Mind my words then.” Said Etty and she stalked, stern-backed out of the room, trailing a wake of silence.
“She’s not wrong, you know.” I deliberately brought things down a notch or two. “There’s going to be a lot of comings and goings and you’ll all have to watch your p’s and q’s – you know exactly what I mean, no funny business, otherwise we’ll have all sorts of publicity we don’t want.”
“Thought you said,” pointed out Ophelia, “That you might want the odd ‘performance’ or two.”
“Only if strictly pre-planned.” I said repressively. “We can’t have Mimi falling out of cupboards at unexpected moments or,” and I turned a stern eye on Devorah “Simona floating all over the joint. And where’s that ruddy wolf kept?”
“Enclosure, behind the annexe.” Said Roland,
“But,” Mimi piped up, “He likes to spend time with me, we walk a lot – he helps me.”
“Helps you? With what?” Mimi adopted her daft little old lady look,
“This, that… and the other… you know, we potter around.” I tsked impatiently,
“Potter? Mimi he’s a bloody great wolf, not a craft project.”
“Tame as a kitten.” She protested.
“And twenty times the size. Now, I’m making it your responsibility to ensure he’s kept well away from any guests and only brought out for the documentary people if, and when, I tell you. Is that absolutely clear?”
“As you say, Serenissima dear.” I glanced at her sharply to see if she was being sarcastic, but she was busily re-reading her fact sheet, a small frown of concentration furrowing her forehead.
“Are we done?” Bella had risen, straightening her white coat, “I’ve another colonic irrigation coming in.”
“Thanks for sharing.” Murmured my Mother.
“I’d have thought,” responded Bella amiably, “That a person who’s spent her life, lying in a box while somebody sticks swords in her, is in no real position to be critical of what anyone else does for a living.”
“Bella?” I interjected. Another of those worrying thoughts I seemed to be having a lot of lately had cropped up, “Are you actually qualified to carry out these procedures and treatments you’re doing?”
“Naturally.”
“Letters after your name and all the proper insurances?”
“No, I mean I’m naturally qualified – that’s my gift.” And she sailed magisterially out of the room, followed closely by Devorah and Henry. I turned to Roland,
“Does that mean what I think it means?” I asked with apprehension. He grinned amiably at me,
“You know sweetheart, if you’re not ready to hear an answer, it’s probably better not to ask the question in the first place.” He uncoiled himself gracefully from the sofa, chucked Ophie playfully on the cheek, patted his Mother on the shoulder and followed the others out, closing the door softly behind him. Turning back to Mimi, I opened my mouth to reinforce the wolf warning, but she’d disappeared. Ophie met my furious gaze and shrugged,
“Mothers!” She said.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
It’s always gratifying to see a chain of events you’ve set in motion, progress satisfactorily. Like knocking over the first domino and watching the ongoing effect. Unfortunately, unlike domino displays, events don’t always keel over in the right order.
Prior to our family meeting I’d checked and whilst there wasn’t a miracle makeover in the kitchen, the four cleaners who’d finally pitched up, were even now wringing out cloths and contemplating their handiwork in the dim lighting. They’d done a good job. If it wasn’t actually reaching state-of-the-art, at least it wasn’t screaming botulism quite so loudly. It seemed a shame though, whilst I had four willing bodies and several blank cheques, signed by Ophie, not to take advantage. I dispatched them, under the able supervision of Elizabeth, to expend some more of their energy on further much-needed cleaning efforts elsewhere in the house. Double time, I said, because it was after regular hours.
The phone rang as I was on my way out of the kitchen. I waited a while to see if someone else was going to answer. As expected, nobody did. Why would they indeed now muggins was here? I grabbed it in an exasperated hand,
“Home Hill Hotel, Good evening.”
“Look, this is purely on the off chance and really last minute but I don’t suppose you have a room for a couple of nights do you?”
“Checking in tonight sir? Would that be single or double occupancy?”
“Just me, but happy to take a double, prefer a bigger bed.” Do you indeed I thought, and with that voice I’m not surprised. He’d probably turn out to be a four foot eleven gargoyle, because life’s like that, but right now, over the phone, he sounded charming.
“Bear with me just one moment.” I cooed in suitably professional sing-song, holding the phone away for a couple of minutes and making tapping noises on the dresser with my fingernails to indicate some computer action, then “Thank you so much for holding. We can indeed offer you accommodation for tonight and tomorrow night, because I see we’ve just had a last minute cancellation.” I paused, was this guy going to notice the distinct absence of any other guests when he arrived? I’d just have to ensure the family milled around a lot, but perhaps also best to box clever. “In fact,” I added cunningly, “I see the cancellation was for a family group, so we do have more than one room available,” My tone of slight surprise, indicated this occurrence was rarer than hen’s teeth. “May I take your name and credit card details, to guarantee the reservation?”
“Harper,” he said, “J, and can I book a table for dinner, I have dined with you before.” I grinned to myself, well, well, well, the roving reporter returns, what a gratifyingly quick response.
“Certainly Mr Harper. Would 8.00 suit?” I’d have to make some of the family eat in the dining room too, to avoid him sitting in oddly solitary splendour.
“8.00. Perfect, and I presume your extraordinary chef’s still with you?” He said. I looked across the kitchen. The door to the walk-in larder had just opened and Gladys had wandered out. She was wearing her flowered pinny, a pencil behind her ear and an absent expression. She had a leg of lamb swinging from one hand and some celery and carrots in the other. She stood there, head cocked to one side, swaying gently back and forward as if in a mild breeze. I turned back to the phone,
“Indeed yes,” I said, “She’s still with us.”
“I’ll look forward to it then.” He said. Gladys had stopped swaying and started looking worried – I hoped it wasn’t Sitting Bull on the way back in.
“As will we, sir.” I put the phone down thoughtfully. I’d need to organise a little something over and above a meal and a room for Mr Harper, just enough to give him a really good story.
“Gladys?” I moved in front of her to gain her attention and she started and looked up enquiringly, “Gladys, that was Jonathan Harper on the phone, remember – restaurant critic, rave review?” She nodded silently, “Well, he’s coming to stay again tonight, what’s on the menu?” She looked blank, “Lamb, is it?” I prompted, looking at what she was holding.
“Possibly,” she said. “Possibly not.”
“Right.” I said brightly, “Well, we haven’t really got a lot of time to think about it, I’ll pop back shortly, to see how you’re getting on, shall I?” The phone rang again, I picked it up.
“I’m calling,” it said, “About your issue. Now, I know you’ll be worrying about my equipment.” My mind skittered a little, trying to get its bearings. “Nothing too obtrusive my dear.” The voice on the phone assured me. “And there’s just three things I’m after, let’s c
all them the three esses, shall we?”
“I’m sorry?” I said.
“Sight, sound and shiver factor. From what I understand, you’ve got all three going on.”
“Look,” I said sharply, gripped by a concern we might be fast forwarding into a heavy-breathing situation, and that the next question might well be what underwear was I wearing. “I’ve no idea who you are,” I said, “Nor what you want but… ”
“Well, I’m a complete idiot, that’s what I am. Forgive me. Profound apologies. Completely carried away there. Harold, Harold Hugheson. You rang the Society? The Psychic Society?”
“Right, yes, of course I did, I’m so sorry. Couldn’t think for a moment…”
“Well of course you couldn’t, I know you’ve a great deal on your mind, unsettles people no end does this sort of thing. Now, Monday too soon? I understand you’re a hotel so we won’t trouble you over the weekend. Not to worry though, we won’t worry the guests, we’ll just blend.”
“Monday?” Well why not, I thought, it would certainly give Charley and Co. something to document. “Monday’s fine – you said we?”
“Two of us, Harold and Morwenna, my wife. Always best to work in pairs, double checks you know, science versus spooks and sceptics, proof’s the thing isn’t it, nothing beats an irrefutable bit of proof. Now, we’re not that far away from you, so won’t need to avail ourselves of your kind hospitality. Once set up, we’ll just nip in now and then. But I’ll run through all the instruments with you, make sure you’re happy with them staying in place during the day. Whole thing’ll probably turn out to be nothing more than a draught and an odd trick of the light. Fifteen years I’ve been doing this, not come across a real recordable yet. Still,” he added wistfully, “Hope springs and all that.”
“Indeed.” I said warmly and then because I felt deeply guilty, added, “I look forward very much to meeting you both, thank you for coming back to me so quickly.”
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