The article was doing wonders for bookings. They’d had a good week so far and the phone rang regularly with reservations for dinner. But first there was Fair Week, which was now officially underway.
Jo sat in Reception with Pippa asleep under the desk. The dog rested her head on Jo’s feet and snored quietly. Jo munched on a slice of toast and worked through the bookings. Another guest who’d stayed at the pub in Fair Week had tracked her down. Jo looked at the chart and read ‘Big Ken from Rye?’ scrawled across four days. Judy had taken the booking. ‘Says you know him…’ She’d added in pencil.
Jo smiled and put a confirmation tick across the booking. Ken would require a decent bed – he was six foot four and huge. Room nine would be perfect with its king-size bed and generous armchairs.
The kitchen door nudged open and Alf peered cautiously round.
“Morning Alf.” Jo didn’t look up. “Have you got another mongrel tucked up your trouser leg that needs re-homing?” Jo pushed her plate away as Alf cleared his throat.
“What can I do for you?” She tapped her pen on the desk.
“Has she settled in?”
“Are you referring to the dirty, half starved mongrel you left in my kitchen?”
“You need a dog.”
“I don’t know what makes you think I need a dog or that I can afford another mouth to feed.” Jo was harsh. “I’m pleased you’ve come in – you can take her back with you.” She fiddled with the pen and tried to look severe but a warm tongue was gently licking her ankle.
Alf heard the motion, and as Pippa peeped out of her dark shelter she recognised him and squeezed past Jo’s knees to wrap herself round his legs and roll over, wagging her tail excitedly.
“She’s settled in I see.” Alf leaned down and scratched the long silky fur on Pippa’s pink tummy as she sniffed his Wellingtons.
“She can stay for a bit, we’ll see how she gets on.” Jo glowered.
“Aye, alright.”
He straightened up, determined not to show his relief that Jo had accepted the dog. He nodded curtly.
“Your venison’s in th’out house and Sandra knows it’s there.” He took a last look at Pippa and disappeared through the door.
* * *
Jo set about her daily round of the hotel. Fresh flowers were arranged in large vases and sun streamed through open windows. The smell of summer was heady. Linda and Margaret methodically changed beds and cleared debris from the night before and greeted Jo as she moved through the rooms and checked each detail, ready for a new batch of guests. Sheets and towels tumbled out of the laundry room and Simon appeared on the back stairway with armfuls of used table linen.
“Morning Mrs E.” He called out cheerfully and dumped the napkins and cloths on the floor. “Are we going to have a busy weekend?”
“I hope so Simon, although I don’t think the gypsies will come this far out. Are you going up on the hill to have a look?” Jo reached for a laundry list.
“I’m taking my girlfriend on Sunday to have her fortune told.” He began to load a large canvas bag. “She’s never seen the fair before.”
“Make sure you keep a tight hold on her. The gypsies love a pretty girl.”
“I’ll not let her out of my sight.” Simon said as he secured the bag. He stacked it, ready for the daily collection from Culgarth Linen Supplies.
Jo went to Room Nine where she pulled out a chair and sat down at the desk. Taking a pen and a sheet of headed notepaper from the stationary folder, she wrote a welcoming note. Big Ken would find it propped on a small decanter of malt whisky. He had a farm in Rye and bred cart horses and was a seasoned visitor to the Fair, but his interest was mainly in the trotting races.
Jo hurried through the corridor to check Room Two. She held a crystal glass to the light and wondered who’d be drinking from this tonight? Would John Doherty get lucky? She remembered his handsome face and put the glass down with a sigh. There’d be a string of local girls vying for his attention once that amazing car hit town.
The car park was full and the staff busy as they served sandwiches and drinks in the garden. Jo went to check the courtyard rooms. She stopped by the herb bed and plucked a leaf of sage. It was strong and pungent.
“Be sticking that in some stuffing later.” Michael called out as he crossed the yard to the dry stores, Kirkton House proudly embroidered on his crisp white jacket.
“Will you make some sage bread too?” Jo said. “Maybe with olives?”
“Aye, that’ll be grand.” Michael nodded.
In the coach house Kath was singing. She was on her hands and knees cleaning a bathroom.
“Morning Kath, it’s warm in here?” Jo opened a window.
“Dunno what the guests were up to, but there’s enough empty bottles to sink a ship.”
Jo smoothed the counterpane on the freshly made bed. She was proud of the coach house conversion. A few months ago these dilapidated rooms had been over-run with mice. The four oak beamed rooms now had en-suite’s and created generous accommodation, full of character. Jo leaned out and watered the window boxes on the upstairs sills. Old Johnny had planted up tubs and baskets and set them round the courtyard, where they made a colourful display.
Jo closed her eyes. Delicious cooking smells wafted over the cobbles.
“Mrs E! There’s someone here to see you.” Judy stood by the kitchen door and called across. “Well several people actually, the Hunts from Essex?”
“Be right down.”
Jo reached for lipstick and turned to a mirror. She smoothed the velvety pink colour over her lips and looked at her reflection. Dorothy had assured her that the cerise jump suit was bang on trend for day wear - the height of fashion! Jo loved it. Round shoulder pads shaped the button through top and a wide belt made her waist look small. The trousers tapered down to her ankles and she wore matching cerise suede pumps. She turned to check her reflection; she still wasn’t used to seeing her slimmed-down figure and said a silent thank you to the competent ladies in Carlisle who’d given her a new confidence.
“This is it.” She whispered to herself. “Fair Week starts here!”
Two men sat on wrought iron chairs and admired the garden as Judy placed pints of foaming beer before them. They saw Jo approach.
“DARLIN’!” Harry Hunt exclaimed and leapt to his feet. “By Christ you’re lookin’ good.” He opened his arms and wrapped Jo in a bear hug.
“You remember Elvis.” He released her and turned to his brother, who embraced her with the same enthusiasm.
“How are you Elvis?” Jo was delighted to see the Hunts again!
Heavy gold necklaces glinted on Harry’s dark tanned chest and chunky bracelets jostled alongside a jewelled watch.
“You tracked me down!” Jo smiled. Harry grinned and flashed a gold tooth. Elvis, the image of his namesake, looked her up and down.
“She’s a right peach now eh ‘Arry?”
Harry shot him a glance. “Be a bit respectful Elvis.”
“Can’t think what Greg was doin’ up and leaving you,” Elvis said. He raised his glass and downed the contents.
“Business good Boys?” Jo took the empty glass. “You look like life’s treating you well.”
Their casual clothes reflected money and wealth. Elvis wore a cashmere jacket, designer jeans and hand made crocodile skin shoes.
“Can’t complain Darlin’.” They replied.
A commotion began to spill out of the conservatory.
“Gawd ‘Arry! Thought you’d ‘ave got the bubbles out by now.”
Two blondes, with copious amounts of tanned flesh in tight white blouses and denim shorts, stumbled onto the patio. Their white stilettos clacked across the terrace.
“This gorgeous boy’s helping us.”
A red-faced Simon followed. He carried a bottle of Verve Clicquot in a silver ice bucket. Judy spread a linen cloth on the table and placed flutes beside a wine stand. Simon popped the cork from the bottle and it flew across the lawn. The
girls squealed. Pippa barked excitedly and raced to find the cork.
“Meet the gals Jo.” Harry introduced Tracey and Stacey.
Simon returned the bottle to the ice bucket and bolted for the conservatory. Tracey and Stacey grabbed their drinks and fell about laughing. Harry shook his head.
“Leave the boy alone. You’re old enough to be ‘is Muvver”
“It’s not ‘is Muvver I was thinking of being.” Tracey nudged Stacey. “Gawd he’s handsome.”
She pushed Stacey onto a chair and flopped down beside her. They kicked off their shoes and flexed long legs, smothered in St Tropez Bronzing Gel.
“Watcha Jo!” Tracey raised her glass in acknowledgement. “You can keep this coming.” She downed the glass in one. Harry and Elvis rolled their eyes.
“We’ll get some recliners so you girls can relax after your long journey.” Jo fussed over her guests as Judy went off to find Simon, to set up the garden furniture.
“Could murder a plate of chips?” Harry and Elvis looked hopeful.
“Couple of eggs with it?” Jo smiled.
“Magic.” They beamed. Jo knew that Sandra would have a fit and point at the pub over the road.
She walked through the bar. Judy had checked another guest in and was pouring a pint of bitter. He introduced himself as Bertie Carrington.
“I’m very pleased to meet you.” Jo shook his hand. “Are you here for the Fair Mr Carrington?”
“Call me Bertie, won’t you.” He had a strong Irish accent. “Yes, I got the early ferry. I’m here for the trotting.”
The horse trotting was one of the attractions of the Fair and took place on the large showground by the river in Butterly. The main event was held on Monday evening - nine heats and a final. Touts came from all over the country and huge sums of money changed hands. Carriages with two wheels, harnessed to a horse and driven by a single occupant, sped dangerously round the course. It took considerable skill to compete without mishap.
Jo asked Bertie if he’d been to the Fair before.
“No Madam. Not this one, but there’s plenty of trotting back home.”
“Where’s home Bertie?”
“I’ve a little place south of Dublin, overlooking the sea.”
“Do you have horses?”
“I’ve one or two.” Bertie picked up his pint. “I understand this is a busy Fair?”
Jo pushed a bowl of nuts towards him.
“Yes it is.” She said. “The field on the outskirts of Butterly was originally known as Gallows Hill, now it’s known as Fair Hill. Over the next three days you’ll see horses everywhere – in the River Bevan, on its banks and roadsides or tethered outsides pubs and shops in Butterly. It’s quite a sight.”
“And bloody dangerous!” A voice rang out.
Hattie slammed the door to reception where she’d disposed of her coat and bag and joined them in the bar. Bertie munched on a handful of peanuts and looked up as Hattie entered. He smiled and held out his hand.
“Harriet Contaldo Sir.” She shook his hand. “Sorry about the language but I’m not over fond of the travellers. Takes twice as long to get anywhere and the shops double their prices.” She lifted the hatch and stood behind the bar.
“I’m very pleased to meet you Harriet.” Bertie sipped his pint.
“Call me Hattie.”
Hattie busied herself with a tray of dirty glasses. Her breasts threatened to bounce out of her tight blouse as she leaned over to place a coaster under Bertie’s drink. He was mesmerised.
“Hattie will look after you, please make yourself at home.”
Jo left them to it. People were ordering afternoon tea and Judy and Simon hurried about. It was an idyllic afternoon with the sun getting warmer as the day progressed.
The walled garden created protection from any wind and everyone enjoyed the sudden heat. Water cascaded over rocks in the fountain and glistened in the sunlight as it poured into the pool below. Plates of fluffy scones, dainty cakes and sandwiches on pretty china were relayed steadily from the kitchen to waiting guests.
The Hunt party were happy. The brothers ate their egg and chips, smothered in tomato sauce, and the girls munched on cakes as they lay on comfortable recliners. Stripped to tiny bikinis, their skin gleamed with oil and the coconut aroma gave a continental smell to a perfect English afternoon. Harry and Elvis removed their shirts and with aviator sunglasses protecting their eyes, they relaxed and ordered more beer.
Hattie showed Bertie the garden and introductions were made. The Hunts insisted that he join them and a lively conversation about horses and fairs ensued.
The afternoon wore on.
Taking advantage of the lovely weather, Ann set up a paddling pool on the top lawn by the fruit trees. Shaded by a large umbrella, Thomas sat in the warm water and splashed about with his plastic pig. Pippa lay alongside. Jo decided to join them and as she sat down, she slipped off her shoes and rolled up her trousers. Thomas chortled with delight when she dunked her feet next to him.
“I’ve put plenty of sun cream on him Mrs E.” Ann leaned over and stroked the child’s pale skin.
“He’s so fair Ann. Just like his Dad.” Jo thought of Greg’s pale skin and hoped it was burning as he lay on a Spanish beach.
“Is there any room for a little one in there?” A deep voice boomed up the garden.
Jo spun round as Big Ken descended; his massive frame obliterated the sun.
“Ken!”
Jo scrambled to her feet and threw her arms round him. “How are you?”
Ken was exactly as she remembered with a shiny bald head and large round face, his pudgy fingers were covered in gold sovereign and horseshoe shaped rings.
“Obviously not as well as you young lady – this place does you proud.” He looked around the garden.
“It this the little fella I’ve been hearing all about?” Ken crouched down.
He steadied himself and levelled his gaze at Thomas who looked at him with curiosity. Pippa sniffed round Ken’s legs, his huge hand engulfed her head and he scratched the dog affectionately.
“He’s a grand fellow, image of his Dad.” Ken said.
“I’m afraid so Ken.” Jo stared at Thomas. “But how are you? How was your journey? Have you been to Butterly yet?”
The questions tumbled over each other; Jo was so pleased to see him.
“I’ll have a wander over there in a bit once I’ve had a pint with the lads.” Ken nodded towards Harry, Elvis and Bertie who waved back and held up their glasses.
“One waiting for you Ken.” Harry called out.
“You OK girl?” Ken looked at Jo with concern.
He remembered her at the pub and the endless hours she worked. He wondered why on earth Greg had left her, with a baby too.
“Yes I’m fine thanks. It’s so good see a familiar face.”
“Always knew you were a survivor.”
Ken heaved his massive bulk upright. Lawn clippings clung to his moleskin trousers.
“He’s a grand little lad Jo.” Ken smiled. He flicked the clippings with his handkerchief and wiped the perspiration on his brow.
“Now where’s my pint? I’m gagging.” Ken lumbered down the garden.
Tracey and Stacey were well down their second bottle of champagne and called out to him. Jo picked up her shoes, smoothed her trousers and bent to kiss Thomas on his wet head. She smiled at Ann.
“It looks like we’re going to be busy.” She turned. “See you later, bye bye Thomas.” With a wave, Jo ran barefoot over the garden to take care of her guests.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Friday night was hectic as the restaurant filled with casual bookings and the staff had to re-set tables to accommodate everyone.
The Hunt party were late sitting down to dinner. Earlier, a taxi had taken them to Butterly and Ken and Bertie joined them to have a few pints with the locals. By the time they got back - famished and very tipsy, they threw themselves on prawn cocktails and Mr. Pigmy’s finest steaks.
They tucked in with relish.
“Good job this menu is temporary.” Sandra grumbled to Jo after she’d grilled the umpteenth steak. “Anyone would think we were back in the pub. Are they eating this late every night?”
Michael worked his way through piles of dirty pans in the pot sink and Gerald clattered about in the still room.
“Probably.” Jo snapped. “You’ll all get massive tips, so let’s just get on with it.”
“Tell her to stop moaning.” Hattie washed glasses in the bar and had overheard the conversation. Jo straightened cushions and poked the fire. She added another log and the flames leapt into life.
“Take them all a pint will you Hattie. They’ve had a long day, no wonder they’re grumpy.”
Jo looked at her watch. It was nearly midnight. The Hunts would drink ‘til the early hours, if they ever came out of the dining room…
“I’m not complaining,” Hattie filled a pint. “The tips are bloody fantastic. Every time anyone has a round, they buy one for us all. They love her grub.” She nodded towards the kitchen.
Jo sat down. She’d worked hard this evening and an early glass of Cointreau had helped steady her nerves. She’d hardly eaten in the last few days, the Cointreau diet was certainly working! The black lacy dress she wore fitted her perfectly and despite being backless, the cut flattered her figure. Hattie had been despatched to Mrs Sherwin’s to pick up a suitable bra to wear under the dress and had returned with a complicated garment with straps that crossed at the waist. Jo didn’t think the dress was suitable for work but Hattie was insistent.
“Stand out. You’re not a waitress - you own the place.”
Jo had given in.
Simon appeared with a tray of coffee cups and placed it on the table beside the fire.
“The residents in the dining room would like coffee in the bar.”
“Thanks Simon, I’ll see to it.” Jo arranged the cups alongside dishes of chocolate tiffin. She glanced at her watch.
“Still got one room to arrive?” Hattie asked casually as she busied herself, conscious that John Doherty hadn’t shown up yet. Jo had been up to Room Two at least three times to check it, unaware that Hattie noted her absences.
Coffee, Tea, The Gypsy & Me... Page 10