by H. Y. Hanna
“Oh, they do fantastic chips there: thick, chunky, and crispy—and drenched in salt and vinegar… just the way a proper English chip should be. None of that ketchup nonsense!” said Cassie with a laugh.
We walked down to the village pub and I smiled to myself as I stepped into the cosy warmth of the quaint old building, with its low-beamed ceilings and leadlight windows. The Blue Boar was the heart of the village once the sun went down and it was heaving with a mixture of local residents and tourists visiting the Cotswolds region. We wrestled our way through the crowd to the bar and ordered our drinks, then repaired to a snug little wooden booth in the corner. A couple of hours and several drinks later, we ordered some food and I tucked into my first English pub meal with gusto, savouring the soft, flaky white fish coated in crispy beer batter, accompanied by piping hot chips, tangy with salt and malt vinegar. We were just finishing and I was licking the salt from my fingers when my phone rang. I dug it out of my handbag and glanced at the screen. It was a local number I didn’t recognise.
“Hello? Gemma Rose speaking.”
“Gemma—it’s Jenn! Jenn Murray, from the airplane.”
“Oh, hi, Jenn—how are you? Did you get my message about your scarf?”
“Yes, I only just got it now actually. There was a bit of a mix-up at the front desk; the hotel seems to be short-staffed and the manager has been off sick—some flu going round—and when the girls on Reception changed shifts, they forgot to pass the message on. Anyway, thanks so much for picking it up for me! I was so upset when I thought I’d lost it—it’s my favourite. In fact, I even thought it was stolen from the hotel.”
“Stolen?” I said in surprise.
“Yes, there’s this maid here—I’m sure she’s been going through my things. I caught her with her hands in my handbag this morning, although she pretended to cover it up.”
“Have you missed anything?”
“I’m not sure—I think one of my lipsticks is missing; it was a really expensive Christian Dior one and it was brand new. But I suppose I could have forgot to pack it and left it in Australia…”
“Maybe you ought to report it to the hotel.”
“Maybe… although I hate to cause a scene and it’s just one lipstick. They’ll probably laugh at me. I don’t have any proof—but I just have a feeling about this maid. I know you’re not supposed to judge on first impressions but there is something about her and the way she looks, all dark and furtive… and she’s bloody nosy too! Kept asking me all these insolent questions the first day I arrived—I mean, are you cleaning my room or doing my family tree? Anyway,” Jenn said brightly, “at least I’ve got my scarf back. Do you think… Would you mind posting it to me?”
“Well actually, I’m quite near your hotel at the moment. I’m in Meadowford-on-Smythe, having dinner with a friend. I could stop off at your hotel on my way home. Lucky for you, the scarf is still in my handbag.”
“Oh, could you? That would be wonderful! It’s been so cold and windy—it would be fantastic to have my scarf.”
I laughed. “I’m glad somebody agrees with me about the cold! Okay, I’ll drop it off later...” I glanced at my watch. “I’ll probably be there around nine-thirty. See you then!”
***
The Cotswolds Manor Hotel was one of the new breed of resort hotels that were springing up around the English countryside, offering a combination of luxury accommodation, golf facilities, and an in-house spa for bored and neglected wives. It had only opened in the last year or so—I seemed to remember my mother telling me about it in one of our long-distance conversations—and I admired the great job they had done converting the old country manor house into a modern, comfortable hotel.
There was no one on Reception when I arrived in the lobby and I was surprised, especially considering how busy it was. There was a large Japanese tour group congregating in the centre, all chattering away enthusiastically and comparing their Nikon and Canon lenses, whilst scattered throughout the comfortable lounge on the other side of the lobby were several smaller groups of tourists, families, and businessmen.
I remembered Jenn’s comment about the hotel being short-staffed and wondered if there was a bell I could ring for attention, but just as I was leaning over the counter to look for it, a tall, suave-looking man stepped out of an inner office behind the reception desk. He saw me and hurried over, his face anxious.
“I’m terribly sorry—have you been waiting long?”
“No, no, I just arrived,” I assured him with a smile. “I’d heard that you’re a bit short-staffed.”
“Yes.” He sighed. “It’s this flu that’s been going round—I’m only just recovering from it myself and this is my first night back—and today, both our receptionists suddenly called in sick at the last moment…” He gave me an apologetic smile. “Anyway, my name is Derek Sutton; I’m the manager. How can I help you?”
“I’m here to see one of your guests.” I gave him Jenn’s name and room number and he rang her room.
“She’s coming right down,” he said as he hung up. “Would you like to take a seat in the lounge while you’re waiting…?”
He trailed off as his eyes went beyond me and I turned around to find myself facing a tall, handsome man with dark blue eyes and blond hair styled to flop boyishly over his face. He was dressed in a Ralph Lauren blazer coupled with expensive chinos and suede loafers. The designer chic effect was slightly spoiled by one arm being in a sling but that didn’t seem to affect his confidence. He had the air of a man who was good-looking and knew it. He was eyeing me with a leer and instantly I felt my hackles go up.
“Hello-hello-hello… Looks like it might be my lucky night,” he said, a smile curling the corners of his mouth. “Not checking in, by any chance?”
“No,” I said coolly. I was about to turn away again when he thrust his good hand towards me.
“I’m Andrew. And you are… let me see, you look like a Giselle? No, a Selina? Or I know, you must be an Ava?”
“None of those,” I said coldly.
He smirked. “Well, go on then, tell me what it is.”
I drew back slightly, my English upbringing and the stricture to “always be polite” warring with my desire to tell him to sod off.
Behind me, the hotel manager cleared his throat. “Mr Manning…” he said, his voice heavy with polite disapproval.
Andrew Manning held his good hand up. “All right, all right… But you can’t blame a chap for trying when he sees a pretty girl. Anyway—” he winked at me, “—I’ll be over there by the bar. Let me know if you’d like a drink… or anything else.” He gave me a loaded smile, then sauntered off.
Ugh. I turned away, feeling like I needed a shower. At that moment, there came a soft ping from the lift on the other side of the lobby and, a minute later, Jenn Murray stepped out.
Her eyes lit up and she hurried over. “Gemma! Thank you so much for coming!”
“Oh, no problem—I told you I was in the area,” I said, reaching into my handbag and pulling out her scarf. “Here you go.”
She took it gratefully. “Thanks so much. I really appreciate you returning it. I have to say, I wasn’t prepared for the English weather—I seem to feel cold all the time!” She turned to the manager, who was still standing behind the reception counter. “I was wondering if the hotel supplied hot water bottles? I know you probably think that’s a bit pathetic but I’m dreading the thought of getting into bed tonight.”
Derek Sutton looked taken aback and stared at her for a moment, then quickly recovered his poise and said smoothly, “Not at all, madam. We understand our guests come from all over the world and may be used to different climates. I will check with Room Service and see if they can locate a hot water bottle to send to your room.”
He turned away to speak on the internal phone and Jenn turned back to me.
“He probably thinks I’m mad,” she said in an undertone, laughing.
“I’m sure they’re pretty used to dealing with gue
sts’ eccentricities.” I smiled at her. “Anyway, I’ll head off now. I hope you enjoy the rest of your stay and—”
“Oh, wait—don’t go,” said Jenn. She gave me a shy smile. “Do you… Would you like a drink? I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep for hours yet and I don’t really fancy going back to sit alone in my room…”
I hesitated. It was a quarter to ten and I should probably have been getting back. On the other hand, it wasn’t as if there was anything to rush back for. My parents were early sleepers and would probably be in bed by now, which meant that I would have to tiptoe around the house. I didn’t fancy going back to sit alone in my room either and, with the jetlag, I’d probably be wide-awake for several hours yet.
I accepted her invitation and we headed over to the lounge area, settling into seats near the bar. The bartender came to take our orders and Jenn looked at me in surprise as I ordered a glass of lemonade.
“You’re not driving, are you?” she said.
“Oh, no, I’m getting a taxi back. But I’m not much of a drinker, to be honest. I’ve had a couple of drinks earlier this evening already.”
“Well, then I’ll just have to drink for both of us,” said Jenn with a grin as she gave the order for a double vodka martini.
As we waited for our drinks, a man sitting at a table across from us leaned over and gave us a knowing wink, followed by a jaunty wave. It was Andrew Manning.
“Oh God, not him again,” muttered Jenn.
“I’ve had a run-in with him too,” I admitted. “Loves himself a bit, doesn’t he?”
“He’s an absolute creep,” said Jenn. “And I’ve got the misfortune to be in the room next to him. He kept trying to chat me up earlier this evening when we happened to be in the lift together. I thought I’d shut him up by telling him I was too old for him, but he had the cheek to say that he preferred older women!”
I laughed and shook my head. “Some people are just so thick-skinned.”
“The good-looking ones are the worst, I think,” said Jenn. “They’ve probably been used to girls falling over them since high school and they think they’re God’s gift to women.”
I laughed again. “Yeah, now that you mention it, I remember this boy at university who was very handsome and everyone used to say he looked like Tom Cruise. Bloody hell, did he milk it! In fact, I think he even got some modelling work as a lookalike…”
“Mm… I actually think a lot of people look like celebrities. Like that guy sitting across from us on the plane. Didn’t you think he looked a bit like George Clooney?”
I did an exaggerated stare. “Are you sure? I think I would have noticed if someone looked like George Clooney!”
Jenn chuckled. “Maybe it was just the dim light in the cabin, then. Okay, what about the hotel manager? He reminds me of someone—”
“Robert Redford?” I suggested. “He’s got that dark blond hair and the square-jawed good looks.”
“Hmm, maybe…” She didn’t look convinced. “Oh, I’ve just realised that you remind me of someone too!”
“Me? Who?”
“Audrey Hepburn. You’ve got the same petite frame and big dark eyes and the short hair in a pixie bob…”
“Really?” I beamed, rather flattered. “Thanks.”
The bartender returned with our drinks and we settled back in our seats. I found myself telling Jenn all about the tearoom. She was a good listener and, in a way, it was nice talking to a stranger about it—someone who didn’t know me and didn’t have any expectations. We discussed the renovations I was going to do and even had fun thinking up some items for the menu.
“I think it’s wonderful what you’re doing,” said Jenn enthusiastically. “It takes a lot of courage to give up a cushy job and take a risk like that, but I think you’re doing the right thing.”
“I hope so,” I said. “Otherwise, it’s going to be a very expensive mistake!” I glanced at my watch and was surprised to see that it was nearly ten-thirty already. Jenn was on her fourth martini and she was about to signal the bartender for another refill.
“Are you sure you should be having another one?” I blurted out. “Sorry, I just thought…” I stammered, embarrassed, cursing my wayward tongue. It was really none of my business if Jenn wanted to drink until she was unconscious under the table.
Jenn giggled. “Don’t worry, I can hold my drink,” she said, slurring her words slightly. She hesitated, then waved the bartender away. “But maybe you’re right and I’d better stop.”
“And I’d better head for home now,” I said, rising.
“I’ll come and see you off,” said Jenn. She stood up, swaying slightly, and as she tried to push her chair back, she lost her balance and nearly fell over.
“Oops!” She giggled again. “Maybe I have had a bit too much…”
“Maybe I should come up with you to your room,” I said in concern.
“Eh? No—no need! I’ll be fine!” she insisted as she stepped away from the table and began trying to cross the lounge. She tripped and lurched sideways, nearly toppling into a potted palm by the wall.
I caught her elbow to steady her. “Whoa! Okay, come on, I’m seeing you up to your room,” I said, not giving her any more chance to argue.
CHAPTER FIVE
I steered Jenn towards the lift and stood waiting impatiently for it to arrive, with Jenn sagging heavily onto my right shoulder. For a modern hotel, they certainly hadn’t planned things very well. There was only one lift and while it was beautiful, in an antique style with an ornate metal cage exterior, it seemed to be working at a 17th-century speed.
Finally, it arrived and I shepherded my new friend into the compartment and then up to the third floor. Outside her door, I propped her against the wall whilst I prised the key from her hands. This door, like the lift, was done in an antique style, with an old-fashioned lock to match, and I had to jiggle it a few times before it opened. At last, I escorted Jenn in and deposited her on the bed, then went into the bathroom and drew a glass of cold water.
“Here,” I said, thrusting it at her. “Drink this. You need to get some water into you.”
She took it obediently and finished the glass. Perhaps the cold water revived her, because her eyes looked slightly less glazed as she put the glass down on the bedside table.
“Thanks for that, Gemma,” she said, giving a little hiccup. “I’m sorry… That was a bit embarrassing… I don’t know why I let myself drink that much…”
“Well, you can sleep it off now,” I said kindly. “Is there anything else you need?”
“No, I think I’m…” She looked around and gave a gasp. “Where’s my handbag?”
“Your handbag? Don’t you have it? I saw you picking it up when we left the table—”
“I did and I was holding it… But I don’t have it now…” She looked around wildly. “I must have dropped it on our way up!”
I sighed. “Don’t worry, I’ll pop down and get it. It’s probably still in the lounge—or maybe on the lobby floor somewhere. You just wait here.”
I left the room and paused for a moment. There was a back staircase right by Jenn’s room, whereas the lift was down the other end of the long corridor, but I decided to be lazy and use the lift. Soon I was regretting this decision because it seemed to take the lift ages to arrive again. Just as I was deciding that I might brave the stairs after all, it pinged softly and the doors opened. I started to step in, then jerked back, embarrassed. There was a couple already in there, locked in a passionate kiss.
“Oh! Excuse me!” I cried, my face flaming as I saw the way they were groping each other.
They didn’t seem to hear me and I hovered uncertainly. The last thing I wanted to do was ride down in a small, confined space next to them! As I stood there, undecided, the doors slid shut again and the lift continued down without me. I sighed. Why can’t people just get a room? I thought irritably, jabbing my finger on the call button again.
There was another long wait before the
lift returned, this time thankfully empty of amorous couples. A few minutes later, I was back in the lobby, my eyes scanning the floor for any sign of a fallen handbag. I walked down the length of the lobby, trying to retrace our route, then wandered into the lounge area. There was now a large group of German tourists occupying most of the seats, talking and laughing boisterously. They had moved some of the tables and chairs around in order to sit together and it completely disorientated me. I couldn’t remember which table we had been sitting at.
It took several more minutes of frustrated searching before I finally spotted the handbag, tucked underneath an armchair. Relieved, I grabbed it and headed back to the lift, for another torturous wait before the doors finally opened and a group of giggling women spilled out. I took their place in the lift car, wrinkling my nose against the cloying perfume they had left in their wake, and ascended once more to the third floor.
Just as I was about to step out, I almost collided with someone rushing in. His shoulder smacked into mine, making me stagger backwards.
“Oh!” I gasped, surprised and annoyed.
It was Andrew Manning, I realised, though he didn’t look anything like his earlier smug self. He was breathing rapidly, his face pale and sweaty. I wondered if he had had a nasty put-down by some woman he had been trying to chat up and couldn’t help feeling a malicious stab of pleasure at the thought. It was time someone took him down a peg or two!
The lift doors shut behind me and I hurried back to Jenn’s room. The door was slightly ajar—had I not pulled it shut properly when I left? Possibly I did, but the stiff lock hadn’t latched properly.
“Jenn? It’s Gemma.” I knocked and pushed the door open.
There was no one in the room but I could hear Jenn in the bathroom, using an electric toothbrush. I smiled, glad that she was getting ready for bed properly. I’d gone to bed a few times without taking my make-up off or brushing my teeth, and it was horrible waking up in the morning!
“I found your handbag,” I called. “It had fallen under one of the armchairs in the lounge. I’ll just leave it here on the table by the door.”