by Minna Howard
Aurelia’s warnings still buzzed in his head like an annoying wasp. It had been partly due to her that he had got on the agency’s books, as they were very particular on whom they included in their list of luxury chalets. Some people, as the firm’s representative told him when he came to inspect Jacaranda, did like the charm of the older chalets, though they still expected the highest quality of care. He needed to attract the upper echelons if he wanted to succeed in this ever more competitive business and carry out the repairs Jacaranda sorely needed.
‘I’ll bet Eloise’s cooking is better than that poncy stuff some of the exclusive restaurants kid their clients is what they should be eating,’ Desmond said with feeling. ‘I’d hate to see the sort of people poor Jacaranda has to put up with today – with more cash than taste. I don’t suppose I’d like them.’
‘Unfortunately they are the ones with money and to keep Jacaranda going we have to cater for them and they expect the best.’ He knew he sounded impatient but really he didn’t need his father’s views at this moment on something he didn’t understand.
‘If dear Maddy was there, she would know what to do,’ Desmond said mournfully. ‘She knew how to make the place happy and comfortable. She just had a feel for it.’
‘I know, but times have changed, Desmond,’ he said quietly, knowing how much his father still missed Maddy, he missed her himself.
‘For the worse,’ Desmond said sadly, and after telling him to send Eloise his love, he rang off.
He heard the front door open, announcing the arrival of the first batch of guests. Being occupied with his father’s call, he hadn’t moved the Christmas tree in time and he hoped they’d get into the hall. Doing his best to ignore the squeeze of anxiety, he shut a disappointed Bert in his office before going upstairs to greet them. Franz, the taxi driver he often used on these occasions, stood by the open door and two men and a woman came into the chalet.
‘Welcome,’ Lawrence pinned a smile onto his face. The woman was the first in, sidestepping the tree, moving into the hall and leaving room for the others to follow her. She was very young and beautiful, dressed in a short fur coat with a matching pair of honey-coloured earmuffs, which she took off now, shaking out her blonde hair while she looked round the hall with interest.
For a moment he saw the hall through her eyes and though he loved the pictures and the old wooden skis on the wall by the cuckoo clock – which told the time but no longer cuckooed – he now thought it rather untidy, almost shabby, though she didn’t remark on it, just smiled, exclaimed at the warmth and took off her coat. Vera had tidied out the cupboard by the door, so some of the coats could go tidily in there.
‘Come in out of the cold,’ he said to the others, knowing their names in his head but not knowing who was who.
He took the young woman’s coat, wondering if he should put it in the cupboard, or take it to her room. He’d never worried about this before but these people could make or break him. The two men had come in and were also looking round, squeezing in past the tree. If only it had arrived yesterday, as he’d been promised, then Aurelia would have decorated it. She was not free to do it today, but she had promised to come tomorrow, but he was annoyed it was delivered so late when he wanted everything to be perfect for these guests, and he hoped they wouldn’t grumble to the agency about it.
He snatched a look at the men: one middle-aged with a weary look of someone who was always being called upon, the other was younger, tall and rather gangly, reminding him – for some odd reason – of a heron, with his long legs and pointy face, though he had beautiful blue eyes.
The two men looked around dispassionately, not seeing the charm of the place. No doubt they’d feel happier with something more lavish that shrieked money – minimalist probably, with a strange lump of something classed as ‘art’ carefully arranged in a prominent place – the sort of thing that the new chalets were doing.
Lawrence led the young woman into the main room where a fire blazed in the grate, giving the room a focus, a warmth that made her exclaim with pleasure and go towards it, hands outstretched.
‘How lovely,’ she said and smiled at him and he felt better, wondering how she fitted into this group. He only had a list of their names and this young woman had been added at the last minute.
He turned back to welcome in the men while Franz brought in the luggage – expensive cases that looked as if they had never been used before and most likely bought especially for this trip.
‘Travis Ormond,’ announced the short middle-aged man who had not much hair when he took off his fur hat. He stuck out his hand towards him and Lawrence took it.
‘Lawrence Maynard,’ he said, ‘welcome to Jacaranda.’
‘Thank you.’ Travis followed the girl into the main room, scrutinizing it as if he were a potential buyer, prowling round the room examining the pictures on the walls.
The ‘heron’ man – unmuffled from his winter clothes, high-necked ski jacket, hat and scarf – had a pale morose face, and a thatch of dark hair. He sloped into the room almost as if he was incognito. Lawrence supposed he was one of those rich people who lived in terror of being robbed, or challenged about the amount of money they had, while so many in the world went without. If being rich was so painful, Lawrence was glad he was not, though he needed more money to keep Jacaranda going.
‘Welcome,’ he smiled at the man, his hand ready to clasp his, but the man only nodded, thrusting his hands in his pocket as if afraid to be contaminated.
‘Jerry Simpson,’ Travis gestured towards him, ‘and this is Gaby’ – he nodded towards the young woman – ‘his fiancée.’
‘Hi,’ she said, throwing herself down on one of the chairs, ‘what a journey, thought I’d be sick in that helicopter. I’ll go back with the others in the minibus.’
‘Would you like some tea, or something stronger, or to go straight to your rooms?’ Lawrence asked them. These first hours were always difficult while the guests got their bearings and settled down… or not, as the case may be.
These three had requested single rooms, while the two couples about to arrive with Theo from the airport had asked for doubles. In fact, all the bedrooms on the upper floor were double, though some had two single beds, which did for people who wanted a room on their own.
‘Tea please,’ Gaby said.
‘Tea with a shot of brandy to warm me up,’ Travis said, still prowling round the room, reminding Lawrence of an anxious, moth-eaten wolf he’d once seen at the zoo.
‘Thank you I’ll have the same,’ Jerry said, sitting down on the arm of Gaby’s chair, staring into the fire.
Lawrence left the room and went down the passage to the kitchen to ask Vera to take tea into them.
When needed, Vera became a parlourmaid. She enjoyed the role and Lawrence paid her extra for it. She waited at table and hung about ready to iron any clothes as required, and even would have unpacked for them if the clients requested it.
She was in the kitchen washing up at the sink – he could never get her to put everything in the dishwasher – while Eloise arranged some untidy mince pies on a plate, the mincemeat having escaped from the base, leaving brown, sticky trails on the pastry during the cooking. There were some home-made biscuits and a sponge cake with vanilla icing standing ready for tea.
Eloise looked up when he came in. ‘Have they all arrived?’ she said, her eyes searching his face to gauge his reaction.
‘No,’ he said, ‘just three of them, two men and a young woman.’ He didn’t add that he wondered why that beautiful woman was engaged to such a morose man. He had written their names down and memorized them. Some secretary had made the booking for Mr and Mrs Collins, their son and daughter-in-law; another relative whom he guessed was Jerry, and Travis the colleague. The young woman added at the last minute was the mysterious Gaby Jenson.
‘The others will be here with Theo soon and I expect they’d like tea’ He regarded Eloise’s mince pies with dismay. They probably tasted delicious but
their rather battered appearance was off-putting and they would probably need to be eaten with a spoon. He turned to Vera, ‘That’s tea for seven, please, Vera.’
‘Something to eat?’ Eloise asked, her face anxious.
He eyed the mince pies doubtfully, ‘Let’s send in those biscuits and the cake.’
‘I know these look a bit messy,’ Eloise said sadly, ‘I think I put too much fruit in and it sort of exploded while they was cooking.’
‘They taste good though,’ Vera said, ‘and they are home-made, much better than bought pies.’
‘I’m sure they are, but we’ll have them later,’ Lawrence said, Aurelia’s warning of the amateurism of home-cooked food compared to the sophisticated, well-presented dishes this sort of guest expected, nudging painfully at him. He picked up the tray of plates, the cake and biscuits and made for the door, telling Vera to bring enough cups and plates for the rest of the party and a pot of tea.
Vera had just brought in the tea and was pouring it out when the rest of the party arrived with Theo; she stayed in the room, fussing round with cake and biscuits, surreptitiously inspecting everyone. He hadn’t confided his fears to her, but he knew how loyal Vera was and how she would fight for Jacaranda’s future with all she had, not only to keep her own job but also because she was so grateful to him for rescuing her from a life of virtual slavery and paying her a decent wage which restored her dignity.
Debra Collins was also clad in furs, an elegant woman he guessed to be in her sixties. She glanced contemptuously towards Gaby who barely acknowledged her. Her husband, Ken, was friendlier and threw Gaby a warm, rather lecherous look, causing his wife to glare at him before she sat down on the sofa and began to talk earnestly to Jerry. Their son, Radley, was a rather effeminate-looking man, though he had his mother’s good looks, his hair still glossy black while his mother’s, though obviously tinted, was now a paler brown. His wife, Pippa, with pretty doll-like features and a cloud of chestnut hair, hovered uncertainly on the threshold, causing her mother-in-law to say brusquely. ‘Do sit down, dear, and stop hovering. It’s getting on my nerves.’
Lawrence watched Vera assessing them as she handed round cups of tea and the cake and biscuits. Theo having done his duty in delivering the guests had disappeared. He hoped he was taking their luggage upstairs but suspected he had gone to the kitchen to see if there was anything to eat as he’d missed lunch. He’d go there himself in a minute and see that Theo took the luggage upstairs, and when the guests went to their rooms, he must help him move the tree in to the corner of the living room.
He surveyed the party. It was obvious that Debra was the dominant person here. He wondered if she worked, was responsible for their wealth or was just another wife, perhaps once a trophy one, keeping her worker husband in order and spending his money.
He thought it would be prudent to introduce Eloise now, she could tell them what she planned for dinner and ask if there were any special requests. He put the idea to them and Debra said that would be a good idea. Ken, her husband, asked to see the wine list.
Vera went back to the kitchen to refill the teapot and after a few minutes Lawrence followed her. He could hear the soft drone of their voices, but the minute he entered, Vera stopped talking.
Theo, not caring what the mince pies looked like, was busily eating them. He looked up when Lawrence came in. ‘They’re delicious, and I haven’t had any lunch,’ he said as if to explain his hunger.
‘You need to take their luggage to their rooms and then we must get the tree in the living room, it can’t stay in the hall.’
‘I will in a sec when I’ve finished this pie,’ Theo said. He lowered his voice, ‘Vera says one of the women is a prostitute… a sex worker.’
‘Vera, what do you mean?’ Lawrence turned to her in horror, not only was he in danger of getting a black mark at the agency if these clients complained about the chalet not being up to scratch, but Vera was now insulting them.
Vera, guessing his thoughts, protested, ‘I won’t say it to them, but I know. That young woman she is high-class, I have seen it before, these men, they bring this kind of girl with them.’
He’d heard the stories, there was even a place here called Cocaine Castle where all sorts was said to go on, but so far he’d never had anything like that here, not that he knew of anyway.
‘You must not talk about such things, Vera. She is Mr Simpson’s fiancée.’ But even as he said it, he felt cold. What if Vera was right, would he have to turn a blind eye? No, that would be too much, and yet what was he to do? If he questioned these guests about it, they would no doubt complain to the agency, even leave and demand their money back, and yet nor did he want Theo to be exposed to such behaviour, or set such a precedent for Jacaranda’s future. These mega-rich people could buy anything – or anyone – they chose, but Theo, he didn’t want him to be among such people, people who bought and sold others for their greedy pleasure.
Theo appeared to be unperturbed, shoving another mince pie into his mouth before going to collect the luggage and taking it upstairs.
‘You are not to mention such a thing again, Vera,’ he repeated sharply. ‘Now, Eloise, please come and let me introduce you to the guests and bring with you the menus in case there are any allergies or whatever, though I did ask them to let me know if there was anything when they booked. I’ll introduce you and then I’ll go and fetch the wine list.’
‘OK,’ Eloise said reluctantly, going to the sink to rinse her hands.
He wanted to say something to boost her morale, but he felt as nervous as she did, worried that these people would demand culinary skills from her she did not possess. They walked down the passage in silence, Eloise following slowly behind him to the living room. They could hear the chatter of the guests, describing their journey out here, each one trying to outdo the other.
He waited at the door for Eloise to join him, turned and put his hand gently on her shoulder to guide her into the room before him, to give her courage. There was a sudden silence as they all saw her and he introduced her, ‘This is Eloise Brandon our… chef, who will be…’
Before he could finish, Gaby shrieked, ‘Oh, Mrs B, what a laugh, are you here doing the cooking? Are Kit and Lizzie here too?’
Fourteen
Eloise stared at Gaby, Vera’s words drilling into her. Gaby, a prostitute, surely not, she must be mistaken. It must be a language mix-up; there were many words that described a young and beautiful girlfriend of a rich, and not very attractive man, who was sitting close to her, his hand on her leg.
Gaby was a year or so older than her twins and used to live in the same street as they did until her father died and she, her mother and her three younger brothers had moved away, struggling to make ends meet in London. Gaby, Kit and Lizzie often went on the bus to school together, and later, Eloise heard that Gaby had got into Oxford, or was it Cambridge, she couldn’t remember, but she was a bright girl and surely destined for greater things than being a rich man’s plaything. Vera must have got it wrong.
‘Lovely to see you, Gaby,’ she said, as Vera whisked past her with a fresh pot of tea and an inscrutable expression.
How pretty Gaby was, fresh-faced and shining eyes, her lips now clamped together to hold back laughter. She almost felt like laughing at the realization that one of the terrifying guests that could make or break Jacaranda’s future was this young woman, one-time friend of her twins. Perhaps they wouldn’t be so demanding to cook for after all.
‘So you know each other?’ The older woman threw Eloise a look of contempt.as if by knowing her she was somehow complicit with Gaby’s relationship with her nephew. She was swathed in a lilac cashmere shawl and seated on the edge of the sofa as though something nasty might be hidden in the depth of it and could spring out and bite her.
Eloise held her gaze. She’d known Gaby since she was eight. ‘Yes we do. What a wonderful surprise that you’re here, Gaby. I hope we have time to catch up.’ Eloise was amazed to see her, then catching
Lawrence’s stern eye, she went on, ‘I’ve come with the menu for tonight’s dinner to make sure it suits everyone.’
‘I’ll get the wine list,’ Lawrence escaped.
Apart from Debra saying she never touched fat or white sugar – though she had just eaten a large slice of cake with vanilla butter cream icing with relish – there were, to her surprise, no complaints about the dinner menu and Eloise thankfully went back to the kitchen.
Soon she heard the guests clump up to their rooms. Lawrence remained out of sight, and Vera, who’d also been out of the room, now appeared with the tea things and began to wash them up. Neither woman spoke for a while, then Eloise, not wanting to offend Vera if she’d inadvertently used the wrong word to describe Gaby, said quietly, hoping no one would overhear them, ‘What did you mean, Vera… about… prostitutes?’
Vera came closer to her, watching her spread fruit cream between the baby macaroons she’d made in various soft colours to go with the fruit compote for supper – she left some plain as a token for Debra, who she suspected wouldn’t be able to resist them.
‘I don’t tell lies,’ Vera said as though she’d been accused of a major crime. ‘You should see what I have seen in places I’ve worked. Some of these girls are very intelligent, far more intelligent than the men they go with. To train for a good job, you need university and it is expensive, and not always possible to pay for. If they are pretty like that girl, and find a rich man to pay, it is better than cleaning, working all hours like me… until Lawrence rescued me,’ she said, making Eloise feel ashamed that she had never been so desperate that she’d been forced to sink to such depths. Gaby’s father had died young, leaving them with little money – was Gaby giving out sex to pay her tuition fees? Could she really be engaged to that dreary-looking man? Her own children came to mind. It would be a struggle to get them both through uni but the thought they’d ever have to succumb to such things filled her with fear.