“I can’t understand a word they’re saying.” Jo replied. She hadn’t placed a bet all night and toyed with the idea of backing Mirabelle. She reached into her bag to find her purse.
“You don’t need that.” John appeared and put his hand out to stop her. He dug into his pocket and handed a wad of cash to Ken.
“Put this on the nose for Jo will you?”
Ken took the money and headed off to his favourite tout.
“You don’t have to do that…” Jo began but John put his finger on her lips and silenced her.
“Enjoy it.” He said but was distracted. “Hello Robert!” He held out his hand. Jo turned and came face to face with Robert Mann.
“Robert!”
“Jo.”
Robert stared at Jo. He saw how close she stood to John and comprehension dawned as he acknowledged them. “John, my dear fellow, how are you?”
Jo was glowing and as he took John’s hand and shook it, Robert realised why.
“I didn’t know you liked harness racing?” Jo leaned forward to kiss Robert on the cheek.
“You look well” Robert replied. “I like your outfit.”
John watched their exchange and raised an eyebrow. He looked to Jo for an explanation.
“Robert found Kirkton House for me.” Jo began. “He was an absolute God-send. I don’t know what I’d have done without him.”
“And you and Greg did so well with the sale of the pub.” Robert gazed at her.
“The ‘forced sale’ you mean.” Jo added quickly. The last person she wanted to discuss in front of John was her errant husband Greg.
“How are you John?” Robert regained his composure.
“Oh you know, trying to earn a crust and yourself?”
“I’m thriving on jobs like Kirkton House.” Robert smiled at Jo.
“Obviously.” John said. “Excuse me. I need to speak to my driver.” He politely extricated himself.
“Good Luck!” Robert called out as they watched him disappear into the crowd.
“Is he staying at the hotel?”
“Yes, how do you know him?”
“I knew his father” Robert said.
“What did he do?” Jo was intrigued. Robert sighed, he was reluctant to enlighten Jo but could see that she was eager to learn something of John’s past.
“The old boy began with a rag and bone cart.” Robert said. “He did well on his rounds and began to deal in antiques. He was a true Romany and always came up here for the auctions and the Fair, of course. Quite a character if I remember, all the family travelled with him. He refused to move them into property and they all lived in caravans.”
“Is John an antique dealer?”
“No. Not to my knowledge.” Robert shook his head. “Property’s his main interest. I’ve sold him one or two large places which he’s converted and sold on. And cars of course, he’s made a fortune…” He trailed off. Jo was eager to ask more but Hattie shouted over. The final race was about to start. Robert looked longingly at Jo.
“I have to go.” She spoke softly.
“Of course, you must.” Robert stood back. “Good luck on the race. I hope John’s horse wins.” He sighed. “We’ll be over for dinner again soon.”
Jo touched his arm. For a moment their eyes met, Jo could see the adoration in his eyes. She turned and ran to join Hattie and Bertie. Robert watched as she disappeared in the crowd and with a sigh returned to his colleagues.
The final race was about to begin and as the carriages paraded round, before heading off to the starting line, clouds of dust from pounding hooves rose up and merged into the haze of the sultry evening. The impatient horses sensed the tension and drivers struggled to keep control. Last minute bets were placed and punters jostled for a clear view of the track.
Jo stood in the stands that overlooked the finishing line. She was surrounded by the Hunt party, who were animated and excited as they waited for the race to begin. John stood alone, several steps higher, where he had a clear view. He scrutinised the field and focussed on Mirabelle as she trotted into the arena. The horse stood out, she was composed and elegant. John checked his watch and turned to look for Jo. Their eyes met and he smiled. Jo wanted to run to his side but Hattie held onto to her.
“It’s about to start!” Hattie shouted and linked Jo’s arm.
Nine carriages lined up. The crowd cheered as the race and runners were announced. Jo sensed the anticipation, a lot of money rested on this race.
Mirabelle stood a head above her rivals. Jo had heard people say that the horse was unsuitable for harness racing – she was too big and ungainly. But as the light faded and a dusky sun caressed Mirabelle’s sleek grey coat, Jo thought that the horse was just like her name - truly magnificent!
Westmarland Prancer lined up some distance away. The jet black horse snorted with impatience and banged her hooves on the hard ground. The starter raised his pistol and they were off! Jo crossed her fingers and Hattie clutched her arm. They hopped up and down to try and see the horses as they rounded the first bend. The race was a blur of colour and dust and the spirited crowds shouted and waved.
A few minutes in and it was a two horse race. Mirabelle and Westmarland Prancer pulled away from the rest of the field and pounded furiously alongside each other. Whips cracked as their drivers urged them on. Jo looked at the stand above and searched for John. He stood perfectly still with his arms folded, his eyes never left his horse. Hattie wrenched Jo’s arm.
“She’s pulling away!” Hattie screamed.
The cheers and shouts reached fever pitch as the horses rumbled along the back straights. On the last bend, Mirabelle gained a lead and looked certain to have a clear route to the finishing line, but suddenly Westmarland Prancer lurched forward - her driver dragged the harness to one side, lashed out with his whip and careered Westmarland Prancer into Mirabelle. Mirabelle’s carriage squealed and teetered over as it lunged towards the railings. The crowd was hysterical. Hattie fingers dug into Jo’s flesh as the girls witnessed the carnage. Jo dragged her horrified gaze from the frenzy to look for John. He gazed down, not moving a muscle as he watched his beloved horse stumble and begin to fall.
“Cheat!” The crowd screamed. The track was almost obscured by the dust that flew up in the fracas and with Mirabelle tearing into the railings and blood pouring from her injuries Westmarland Prancer began to romp home. John’s driver stood at an angle, every muscle on his body strained as he pulled on the harness and tried to drag his floundering carriage back up. Mirabelle was almost down, her legs buckling as her grey coat turned as red as the setting sun. The crowd gasped and Jo flung her hands over her eyes.
“Look Jo, look!” Hattie screamed.
Jo opened her eyes. Mirabelle had righted herself! With gargantuan strength the horse had pulled the cart from the railings and with her driver clinging on for dear life, somehow gained pace round the bend. She headed in a straight line for the flag but Westmarland Prancer had the edge. The two wild-eyed horses surged alongside each other - nose to nose, then with a final massive surge Mirabelle pulled ahead and cleared the line by inches!
The crowd went ballistic. Their roars, cries and cheers were deafening and Hattie and Bertie jumped up and down and hugged each other. Jo pushed through the mass to find John, but he’d gone. She turned frantically to see if he was in the stand but Harry and Elvis grabbed her and Ken tried to tell her how much she’d won.
“By heck! Cumbrian Prancer should have been disqualified!” Hattie said angrily. “Poor old Mirabelle got a pounding – is every final like that?”
“No.” Bertie replied. “In any other horse race there would be a disqualification, but this is trotting…” He trailed off and Hattie shook her head in disgust.
A loud-speaker announced the winner and the cheers went up again. Jo managed to climb higher in the stand and looked down on the arena. She easily picked John out as he pushed people aside, everyone wanted to congratulate him and some slapped his back while others
tried to hug him, as he fought to reach his horse. He approached the winners paddock and the crowd stood back. John tore at the buckles on Mirabelle’s harness and with his driver wrenched it away. Jo saw his hands tenderly caress Mirabelle, blood from her wounds seeped through his fingers as he calmed his beloved animal. A vet reached them and threw his bag on the dust, then began an inspection of her injuries. Jo winced as she looked on.
“She’ll be OK.” Ken appeared. “The cuts aren’t too deep. Probably be scarred for life though.” He gave her shoulder a squeeze. “Come and have a drink.”
They all trooped off to the champagne bar to celebrate.
Surrounded by their friends in the corner, Billy and Jinny consoled themselves with second place. Jo didn’t want a drink. She needed to get back but wanted to see John before she went.
“I’m off.” Jo turned to Hattie. “You stay here and enjoy yourself.”
Jo realised that Hattie wasn’t listening; her attention was focussed on the Atkinson party. John had entered the bar and Jinny stopped him. He wore a jacket but blood was clearly visible on his white shirt. Billy turned from his cronies and walked over to John. The two men glared at each other. Billy said something and held out his hand. After a moment, John took it. They shook and John walked away but Jinny ran after him and pulled him back. She spoke earnestly and John leaned in to listen to her. Billy had his back to them, oblivious to their conversation as he laughed and joked with his friends.
Jo dragged her gaze away and with a sigh said goodbye to Bertie and Hattie. She hurried away before they could stop her.
Bertie put his arm round Hattie as they watched Jo disappear.
“What was all that about?” Hattie nodded towards the Atkinsons but Bertie shook his head. He smiled as John approached them.
“She’ll have her heart broken with this one.” Bertie said softly. He kissed the top of Hattie’s hair, then moved to greet John who was surrounded by well-wishers. Quite a party had begun.
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
It was a lovely sunny day as Jo walked briskly along the high street in Marland. She pushed the buggy, while Thomas chortled happily and kicked his chubby little legs out as he was whizzed along.
The Fair was over.
Jo thought about the week and what a weird few days it’d been. She felt as though she’d briefly existed in another world and now stepped back into her real one.
There was no obvious change, the hotel was the same - rooms as before and staff all going about their business, with the exception of Michael, whom she must replace immediately. But Jo felt different. Her heart was doing things she’d forgotten it could do and every time she thought about John Doherty, it jumped about in her chest and tears pricked her eyes. She told herself that she mustn’t think about him, the Fair was over and so was her fling. For that’s all it was – a fling. Something that had ended as abruptly as it had started.
A colourful display of tennis gear in a sports shop reminded Jo that Wimbledon week approached. Strawberry teas in the garden…
Pippa tugged on her lead and stopped by a lamp-post. She began to sniff.
“Ippa Mumma, Ippa.” Thomas pointed at the dog. Pippa looked up and Jo tugged her away from the scent.
They stopped at a newsagent on the market square to buy a paper. She’d no idea what was happening in the news and there’d been no time to watch the television. The headlines announced that Van Gough’s Sunflowers had sold for twenty four million pounds at Christies Fine Art Auction. Jo shook her head - a few daubs of yellow paint on a canvas! Thomas leaned forward, he’d spotted some miniature toys on a shelf beside him - rabbits, bears and mice stood to attention. Jo picked one up and read the label - Sylvanian Families. She held the rabbit out and Thomas took it eagerly. Jo dug into the pocket of her jeans to search for a note and remembered that she had a large carrier bag stuffed with money under Thomas’ seat. She must get it to the bank! She paid for the toy and Thomas pulled at the rabbit’s ears then began to suck them.
Jo dragged the push chair up the steps of the Westmarland Trust Bank and pushed hard on the door with her bottom, to manoeuvre the push chair and Pippa into the marble vaulted lobby.
At the counter, she reached for the carrier bag.
“Good morning.” Jo spoke pleasantly to the cashier. “I think the paying-in book’s in here somewhere.”
Beyond the counter Mr Knight waved as he saw Jo.
“Mrs Edmonds, you’ve survived Fair Week?” He came forward to greet her and noted the considerable sum being counted.
“Yes we did. It was a bit different to the pub days but the takings were just as good.”
Thomas flung his rabbit across the polished floor. As Jo turned, Pete Parks entered the bank and the toy skidded to a halt by his feet. He picked it up and handed it back to Thomas.
“You’re a grand little lad.” Pete smiled. “The image of your Daddy.”
Mr Knight stood behind Jo and grimaced. Pete quickly changed the subject.
“Had a good Fair Jo?” He nodded at the cash.
“No as good as you Pete.” Jo stared at his bulging briefcase.
She thanked the cashier and said goodbye to Mr Knight, then turned and pushed the buggy out of the bank. Pete caught up with her and touched her arm.
“When are we going to have a drink then?” .
“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.” Jo removed his hand. “If you remind yourself you’ve got a wife.”
Pete leapt to hold the door open.
“Aw come on Jo. You know you want to, no one need know. That hotel of yours is a big old place with lots of room.” He pleaded.
“Don’t flatter yourself Pete. I’ll see you around.”
“Aye you will one day. I won’t give up!” He called after her, admiring her bottom in tight blue jeans. She wore shiny red pumps and a red cashmere jacket with animal print panels that hugged her figure. John shook his head as he watched her hurry up the street to the car park.
* * *
“Did you get the advert in Hattie?” Jo threw herself on the stool in reception.
“Yes, it’ll be in the Caterer this week but can’t you look closer to home? There must be someone local who can train up under Sandra?”
“Well maybe you should put it in the Westmarland Tribune too. Give your mate Peter Pigmy a call.”
“That slimly little devil will be round here in a shot, if he thinks there’s a coffee and a cleavage shot up for grabs.” Hattie said.
Jo collected the post from the counter. There were lots of brown envelopes. She sighed as she began to open them.
“You can’t be busy and not have bills.” Hattie peered at the post.
“Oh look - there’s a card here from Ireland.” Jo held the card and scrutinised the writing.
“To my Darling Harriet…” She began. Hattie made a grab for the card but Jo held it high and continued to mimic Bertie’s accent. “I miss you terribly and wish you were here with me, looking at the meadows and sea.”
Hattie snatched the card out of her hand and turned it over. Her face lit up.
“Time you got yourself on a plane.” Jo poked Hattie in the ribs. “Go and spend some of that cash you won at the trotting races.”
“No way, I couldn’t leave you.” Hattie turned the card over and gazed dreamily at the picture on the front. “The place will fall apart if I go off gallivanting.” She tucked the card into her pocket and picked up a telephone directory.
“You should go Hattie.” Jo was serious. “Take your boys over there for a week or two. For God’s sake don’t worry about this place, I can manage. It’s not as if I have anything to distract me...” Jo’s voice trailed off.
Hattie dialled the number for the Westmarland Tribune.
“I mean it Hattie, get a holiday booked - enjoy it while you can.”
Jo watched Hattie flick through the directory and knew by her expression that she was about to start asking questions about John Doherty. Jo hadn’t mentioned his name sinc
e the night of the trotting and didn’t want to discuss him now. She walked away.
“Classified ads please.” Hattie picked up her pencil and waited. She began to doodle on the job description Jo had written out. A hangman’s gallow appeared on the page, beside a gypsy caravan with a matchstick man beside it. The lead in the pencil snapped as Hattie etched a noose round the figure’s neck.
* * *
Jo wandered into the garden and thought about the night that Mirabelle won the final race. John hadn’t come back to the hotel. Jo had been busy and the Hunt party drank late into the night, celebrating with other residents. It was almost two o’clock when she locked up.
The following morning Hattie noticed the key to Room Two still on its hook in reception. She tried to make conversation but could see that Jo wasn’t in the mood.
“I’ll crack on with breakfasts then.” Hattie said.
Harry and Elvis appeared, fresh and alert despite their party the previous night and asked for their bills. Ken and Bertie followed shortly afterwards. They’d all got long journeys home and were keen to get on the road.
Jo was filing the bills when a man appeared and asked to settle John’s account. He explained that he worked for John, his name was Rory. He apologised – John had been unexpectedly called back to Leeds. Jo handed Rory the key for Room Two. She knew she should check his credibility but decided against it and as Rory disappeared upstairs to pack John’s things, she made up the bill. There was a credit from the cash deposit, which she put in an envelope and handed to Rory when he returned the key.
He opened the envelope, took out fifty pounds and asked her to put it in the gratuity box.
“John sends his regards.” He smiled politely.
Jo forced herself to smile back. Rory left no forwarding address or number for John and Jo was determined not to ask. She watched him leave by the side door then locked the money in the safe. She didn’t look up as Judy ran down the hallway.
Coffee, Tea, The Gypsy & Me... Page 16