“Mrs E!” She exclaimed “There’s a brand new Bentley convertible on the drive.” Hattie appeared and hurried down the hall with Judy, they watched Rory open the driver’s door and get behind the wheel.
“Come on you miserable bugger!” Hattie called out. “Your guests are leaving.”
Jo joined Hattie outside as Rory started the car. The interior was upholstered in smooth cream leather with red piping and a polished wood dashboard. Harry and Elvis whistled in admiration as the Bentley purred into life and sped away.
“When you gonna get me one of them?” Tracey and Stacey appeared. They both wore dark glasses and complained of monumental hangovers.
“Wouldn’t suit you Darlin’.” Harry hoisted the girls into his Cherokee pickup and threw their cases in the back.
He turned to say goodbye and Jo hugged and thanked him, then turned and hugged Elvis too. She promised to keep their rooms for next year and leaned into the truck to say goodbye to the girls.
“Mind how you go Jo.” They chimed and winced as Harry started the engine up.
Bertie turned to Hattie and pulled her to him. She was completely engulfed by his embrace as they held onto each other.
“It’s not goodbye my dearest Harriet - I’ll phone you as soon as I get back.” Bertie assured her. “Now you look after yourself.” He gazed at her with longing.
“Taxi for O’Reilly!” Ken shouted from his old motor.
Bertie had accepted Ken’s offer of a lift to the station in Marland. He’d catch a train for Holyhead then a ferry to Dublin.
As they all drove away, they tooted their horns and Hattie and Jo stood and waved until the vehicles had disappeared down the road.
Hattie wanted to ask about John, but Jo shook her head. Hattie was seething and told Jo that she’d shoot the bastard if he ever put a foot in the place again, but Jo was adamant – she wouldn’t discuss him. There were a hundred jobs to do with new guests arriving later.
As Hattie headed back to reception, Jo went quietly up the stairs to Room Two. She opened the door and locked it behind her. The room was neat and tidy with a couple of drawers open on the bureau, where Rory had removed John’s things. She opened the wardrobe door. An empty dry-cleaning bag hung limply from a padded hanger, the label read Platinum Cleaners Leeds. There was an imprint of a suitcase on the thick quilt, Jo pulled it back and reached for a pillow. She buried her face in the soft Egyptian cotton. It still smelt of John. Jo’s heart ached as she breathed it in, she could taste and feel him and as she sank to the bed she hugged the pillow.
After a while she sat up. What was the matter with her? She punched the pillow and threw it back on the bed, then went over to the mirror. She stared at her unhappy face. What was she doing allowing a man to hurt her again? A couple of nights of casual sex and she was a bloody wreck!
Jo knew she needed to pull herself together. She ran cold water in the bathroom sink and splashed her face, then patted it dry with a towel. His wretched smell was on the towel too! She flung it angrily into the bath tub and marched over to the window, where she pulled the curtains apart and flung the windows open wide. The sooner this room was aired the better!
Jo propped the door open with a wooden wedge and took one last look as Linda rattled down the corridor with a bucket of cleaning materials.
“Give it a really thorough going over.” Jo called out as she ran down the stairs. “We need to get the Fair out of this place!”
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
Jo hated interviews. The applicants for position of chef to assist Sandra had been a dismal lot and they didn’t seem any nearer to finding a replacement for Michael.
The caravan had been thoroughly cleaned and was ready for a new occupant. A mountain of empty beer bottles had been disposed of and any traces of plants living, dried or smoked had been removed and destroyed.
“What do you think?” Jo asked.
They sat in the conservatory. Sandra settled her broad backside into a wicker chair and sipped a mug of tea, a pile of CV’s lay on the table beside them.
“Not a lot.” Sandra said.
“Me neither,” Jo agreed. “Do we employ someone for the sake of it or wait for the right applicant?”
“I’d sooner wait than have a wrong ‘un.” Sandra nodded. “Judy’s coping ok. She’s no fine skills but she does a lot of prep and Gerald’s been doing the vegetables. He seems to want to do more and he always asks lots of questions.”
“Gerald asks questions?”
“Oh aye, he’s really come out of himself. Arthur only helps if it’s very busy. Gerald runs the still room like a military operation these days.”
“Well I never.” Jo shook her head. “Well we must make some sort of decision, Hattie is about to off to Ireland and we’ll need Judy front of house.”
She looked up as Penny interrupted them.
“Mrs Edmonds, the gentlemen in reception are asking for their bill.”
“I’m on my way Penny, thank you.”
Jo left Sandra to go through the CV’s again, there may be possibilities that they’d missed.
In reception, two guests waited to check out.
“Sorry to keep you gentlemen. I’ll just total your bill, has everything been alright for you?”
The men wore suits and had briefcases beside their feet. Jo lifted their bills out of the rack and read the telephone meter. As she calculated the amount, the taller man leaned over the counter.
“We’ve had a very pleasant stay thank you.” He pulled a cheque book from his briefcase and reached for a pen. “Do you have facilities to run small conferences?”
Jo thought quickly, she had two restaurants – one could easily be converted for conferences.
“Yes we do.” She handed him her business card and a brochure. “Give me a call and I’ll put a package together for you.” He turned the card over and examined it then tucked it in his pocket, studied the bills and settled both accounts.
“Thank you Mr. Pucker, it was a pleasure to meet you.” Jo said.
Mr Pucker beamed. Jo thought he was quite a decent looking man, if you ignored his battered ears. She smoothed the bodice of her dress and fiddled with a button. Mr Pucker noticed and glanced down. Jo’s red lacy bra was just visible under her tartan print dress. She whipped her fingers away. Christ - he’d think she was enticing him!
The men said their goodbyes.
“Mr Pucker? That’s a corker.” Hattie placed a mug of coffee on the desk and watched the men walk over the gravel where two identical company cars stood alongside each other. “Rhymes with all sorts of things, did you see his ears? Rugby player…” She sat down.
“He wants to book small conferences. What do you think?”
“I think you can do anything and conferences would be great, despite his cauliflower ears.” Hattie sipped her coffee. “He works for a tobacco company, plenty of money. Old Pucker there is Northern Sales Manager no less.”
“How do you know?” Jo asked.
“His mate was boring the arse off me last night, while he nursed a warm G & T and told me all his sorrows.” Hattie yawned. “How miserable his wife was, how much his boss earns, the usual rubbish. You’d gone to bed.”
“Amazes me, how men pour out their troubles and think you’re interested,” Jo mused.
“Then go off to bed and thank you for being such good company, when you haven’t actually said a word.”
Hattie shook her head and finished her drink.
“That’s the art of being a good hotelier.”
“You can say that again, something you need to put into action pronto.” Hattie looked at her watch. “Are you braced for Her Highness? She’ll be arriving in about an hour.” Hattie pulled a face.
Jinny Atkinson’s Ladies Luncheon Club was meeting at the hotel today. Two weeks had passed since the trotting races and Jo hadn’t spoken to Jinny. Menus sent to her home had come back approved and numbers confirmed by the club secretary. The weather looked promising for the luncheo
n and Jo decided that they would serve drinks and canapés on the terrace, followed by lunch in the Rose Room with the doors open to the garden.
“I shall be politeness itself and enjoy taking their money.” Jo told Hattie then went to check the table arrangements.
She looked around the Rose Room with pleasure - laid up for lunch the garden room looked delightful. Big pink cabbage roses, from borders close by, spilled from vases on the mantelpiece and tables, their old-fashioned perfume heady in the sunshine.
The twins polished glasses.
“Morning Mrs E.” They both smiled. Tanned from the summer sun and handsome in their uniforms Jo said a silent prayer of thanks to their Mother. The Ladies of Westmarland would be well and truly charmed today.
“Everyone OK with the menu?” Jo asked. Judy stood alongside the twins and they all nodded.
“Battle stations!” Hattie yelled. “They’re here!”
* * *
A procession of vehicles pulled onto the drive as husbands arranged times to collect wives and taxis disgorged well-heeled ladies. Those guests who’d driven to the hotel found spaces and parked carefully.
“Westmarland’s finest fillies!” Hattie said as Mrs Parks climbed out of her friend’s Volvo and crossed the gravel. They wore outfits from Country Casuals and Jaeger and were met by friends in similar attire. Ruffled blouses and pleated skirts by the yard, were the order of the day and they swept over the driveway to congregate in the hall, where they were met by the twins with trays of pink champagne. There was a jaunty atmosphere as well-upholstered bosoms and stout corseted figures mingled and chatted.
A chauffeur driven saloon came to a halt by the front door and Jinny Atkinson stepped out of the car. She dismissed the chauffeur, patted her hair and tucked her bag under her arm then strode confidently into the hotel. Like the parting of the Red Sea, the ladies fell over themselves to move out of her way as she sailed past.
“Moses I presume.” Hattie whispered.
“Good afternoon Mrs Atkinson, how nice to see you.” Jo forced herself to smile.
Jinny walked past without a word. She snatched a glass of champagne from Steven’s tray and swept down the hallway.
“Count to ten.” Hattie said but her attention was suddenly diverted.
“Christ, look who’s just arrived!”
A Mercedes Coupe screeched onto the drive. Gravel flew as it narrowly missed the gate post and came to a halt by the front door, careering into a stone urn. Brightly coloured geraniums and lobelia toppled to the ground.
The driver’s door opened and to their amazement Mrs Sherwin tumbled out while on the other side of the car, a well-set coiffure wobbled into view. Dorothy Osbourne eased her considerable weight out of the sports seat and rose to full height. She slammed the door and glided round to join her companion. Reaching down, she took hold of Mrs Sherwin’s elbow and guided her unsteadily across the gravel. Mrs Sherwin gripped Dorothy’s arm for support.
“Is she pissed?” Hattie whispered in astonishment.
Jo stepped forward and welcomed them.
“Hello Dear” Dorothy said. “Such a lovely day for the luncheon.”
Mrs Sherwin stared at Jo. She had one eye half closed and attempted to focus with the other.
“You remember Mrs Edmonds, Vera Dear, don’t you?” Dorothy said.
“Of course I do. The large shupport pants and shwilky red bashque…”
Dorothy flashed a smile over lipstick stained teeth and hoisted Mrs Sherwin into the hall. Simon offered champagne.
“Vera?” Hattie and Jo whispered. They tried not to laugh out loud.
“Bleedin’ hell I thought she was at least an Esther or an Avigail – never a Vera!” Hattie shook her head.
They watched Simon lead the guests through to the terrace and Mrs Sherwin polished off two glasses en route.
“Well I never.” Jo grinned and followed them down the hallway.
She distributed menus to the guests on the sunny terrace and Suzy struck up a jaunty recital on the piano.
The meal was a great success. The ladies sighed over the daintiness of the canapés as the twins encouraged them to try the tasty offerings, they giggled and obliged and told themselves they mustn’t, but took two portions of everything. Once seated in the Rose Room, a delicate crab soufflé with warm granary bread was served. It was a hit, as was the main course of tender veal escallops with citrus dressed leaves and a minted potato salad. Fresh summer berries, with white chocolate sauce, completed the meal. An air of well-being oozed as chilled Chardonnay flowed.
On Jinny’s instructions, coffee was served at the table. She stood, picked up a spoon and chinked it against a glass. Her audience snapped to attention. Jinny addressed the group and attended to formalities. Various fund raising events required volunteers and leaving no room for argument, Jinny commandeered helpers. A nervous club secretary scrawled the minutes across a notepad.
“How does the bossy cow get away with it?” Hattie said. They stood in the doorway and both sipped a glass of wine.
“Money? Power? Shagging other people’s lovers?” Jo replied sarcastically as Jinny wound the meeting up and the party began to disperse.
“You can’t let Vera drive home, she’ll never get out of the gates.” Hattie said.
They watched as Dorothy discreetly supported her friend but lost the battle. Mrs Sherwin’s head flopped to one side and as she slid down her chair, she fell asleep.
“I’ll sort a room and call a taxi for Dorothy.” Jo said.
She turned to head for reception and bumped headlong into Jinny. Both women froze. Jinny looked Jo up and down, her cold grey eyes glared when she saw Jo’s cleavage where the wayward red lace bra peeped out.
“Is everything alright for you Mrs Atkinson?” Jo forced a smile.
“Send the bill on.”
“I’m sorry your horse lost at the trotting races.”
“What would you know about racing?”
“I know she ran a very controversial race.” Jo held Jinny’s glacial stare.
“She was unlucky.” Jinny spat the words out and with a ram rod straight back walked angrily out of the room.
“That’s put paid to the next Ladies Luncheon Club.” Hattie said as she watched Jinny retreat.
“Actually Hattie, I don’t think it will. I think that madam wants to keep her eye on me.” Jo looked thoughtful.
“Well you’d better give her something to think about eh?” Hattie raised her eyebrows. “He’ll be back, mark my words. Bad pennies always turn up.”
Jo gulped the contents of her wine glass and banged it down on the table. She was not going to discuss John Doherty under any circumstances.
Two ladies in twin sets, with pearls bouncing on their broad bosoms, grabbed Jo’s arm and gushed praise for the meal. Jo chatted amiably as she walked them unsteadily to their transport. They assured her several times over that they’d be back with family and friends.
As the last guest left, Jo wearily closed the front door.
“Christ, everyone’s three sheets to the wind.” Hattie said as she watched the vehicles pull away. “I’ve called a taxi for Dorothy and Vera’s snores are raising the roof in Room Eight.”
Jo smiled. She looked up as Steven hurried down the hallway.
“Call for you Mrs Edmonds.”
“Thanks Steven, who is it?”
“Sounded like a Mr Fucker?” Jo winced and closed her eyes.
“I’ll be right there.”
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
A distinguished grey haired gentleman sat in the bay window of the Green Room and savoured his morning coffee. Beams of warm July sun streamed through the windows and highlighted the faded pile of a Persian rug beside the fireplace. He shook the pink pages of his Financial Times.
“Would you like any more coffee Sir?”
Jo picked up a bone china cup and poured carefully. The man leaned forward. He ignored the silver tongues, hooked on the rim of the Georgian sugar bowl a
nd put two lumps of crystallized sugar into the steaming brown liquid.
“Are you the proprietor?” He asked.
He wore a tailored Harris Tweed jacket with smart blue shirt and monogrammed cufflinks. Jo recognised the light blue stripe of his woven silk tie - Old Etonian. A hotel brochure lay face down on the table before him.
“Yes Sir, what can I do for you?”
He indicated that she should join him, then laced his elegant fingers together and crossed one leg over the other. Red silk socks flashed above handmade leather loafers. Jo made herself comfortable on the opposite chair.
“I’ve secured some shooting rights nearby and I need a venue to entertain my top clients.” He looked around the room. “I run a cider company. It’s for the Glorious Twelfth and we need exclusivity of course…”
Jo did a quick calculation. August 12th was less than a month away.
“My guests are very important and I want them to have anything they require to make their stay comfortable. Do you think you can cater for a shooting weekend?” He picked up gold case and snapped out a pair of tortoiseshell spectacles.
“We’d be delighted to accommodate you Sir.” She’d crawl across a zillion broken cider bottles to secure this…
“Would you like to have a look around?”
“No need M’Dear. You come recommended. I always trust my game keepers and young Alf said you’d look after us.”
He reached into his pocket and handed Jo a business card. Jo studied the gold embossed writing - Henry Mulberry MBE, Managing Director, Mulberry Cider, Tinerton, Somerset.
“Excellent, my secretary will be in touch.” Mr Mulberry bent to retrieve his briefcase and tucked the hotel brochure into a side pocket. “I’m salmon fishing on the Tay and my ghillie says they’re biting, must be off.” He held out a hand. “You take dogs of course?”
“Of course Mr Mulberry.” Jo shook his hand.
“First class.”
Jo watched Henry Mulberry crunch across the gravel to a waiting vehicle. A chauffeur held the rear door of a silver Rolls Royce and Henry disappeared into the luxurious interior.
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