Jo’s head spun. Dogs? Where the hell was she going to put a brood of well-bred hunting dogs? In her own bed if she had to.
She picked up the coffee tray and raced to the kitchen.
“Sandra, start thinking about game menus. Shooting parties here we come!”
* * *
“Now bugger off and enjoy yourself.” Jo stood by the departure gates at Newcastle airport and pushed Hattie forward. Hattie’s boys were dressed in neat new outfits and both gripped their mother’s jacket as they stared excitedly at the plane standing on the tarmac.
“You’ll have a brilliant time.” Jo ushered them all forward. “I’m sure Bertie is pacing up and down in the arrivals lounge.” She imagined an anxious Bertie in Dublin.
“We’ll see you in a week then.” Hattie looked lovely in a soft pink jacket and pale blue jeans, her hair curled softly round her face. She leaned forward and gave Jo a hug. “Don’t do anything daft while I’m gone.”
“Bring me back a rich Irish farmer - Bertie must have lots of friends!”
Jo watched the departing trio as Hattie handed over boarding passes, jostled the boys ahead of her and disappeared through the gate.
Her car was in the short stay car park. She paid the exit fee and drove out into bright sunshine, where the traffic was heavy but began to thin as she left industrial areas behind and headed along the route home. She crossed the country from east to west through lush valleys and open moors.
Jo was pleased that Hattie was having a holiday but wondered how Bertie would cope with two young boys. His only daughter Siobhan, had left for America some ten years before, after her mother Oonagh died of cancer. Bertie had nursed Oonagh at home and told Hattie that it was the lowest point of his life. He’d felt guilty that he hadn’t given Siobhan the time she needed and it was no surprise when she up and left. He’d insisted that Hattie bring the boys to Ireland and now they all headed for his coastal farm fifty miles south of Dublin, a dairy farm on a hundred and fifty acres with a full pedigree herd. Bertie adored his horses - he was a keen rider and as she drove, Jo visualised Hattie bursting out of a blouse as she bounded along beside Bertie.
Jo flicked the radio to a classical station and made plans for the weeks ahead. The glorious weather in July had improved business and Jo had taken on extra part-time staff. A widow called Marion who lived in the village was helping out in the kitchen. She’d cooked in hotels all her life and got on well with Sandra. Gerald now worked as a trainee chef – who would have thought it? The shy and clumsy boy had blossomed. Summer students stood in for him in the still room and he oversaw them with army like precision, but his passion was cooking and he thrived alongside Sandra - quickly learning basic skills. With everyone agreeing to keep an eye on him, he’d moved into the caravan. Arthur too was a changed man. He no longer seemed fraught with worry about his son and often dropped by the kitchen for a coffee and chat with Sandra.
Jo worried about business going forward. No one wanted to commit for autumn and bookings were sparse. The daily news bore grim forecasts about the economy and the government warned of austere times. Jo knew it was affecting holiday trade and was thankful that Mr Mulberry’s shoot would help the takings in August. Cases of wine had already arrived and Jo would charge corkage on the vintage wines from the Mulberry cellars. Alf had been commissioned to create kennels and was busy at work on the outbuildings. He’d segregated two sheds into kennel arrangements with warm sleeping quarters and an open run.
“You could eat your dinner off them floors.” He’d announced.
Jo watched him brush up a pile of wood shavings.
“I’d sleep in there myself.” Jo told him.
Alf was true to his word and she was ever grateful for his input. He looked forward to the shoot too. As Chief Beater he was responsible for all the arrangements including the line of beaters who would drive the grouse for the waiting guns, across the miles of moors that the shoot would cover. It was a responsible position. Mr Mulberry had paid a fortune for the rights and Alf was to ensure that they got their money’s worth – even the weakest gun would go home with several brace of birds.
Jo made good time and as she pulled onto the car park she saw her parent’s car by the entrance to her house. George and Jean were visiting for a few days.
Jean sat at the table and spooned mashed potato and gravy into Thomas’ eager mouth. He sat in his high chair and banged a plastic spoon on the tray while Pippa positioned herself below for any falling scraps.
“Hello Mum.” Jo embraced her mother.
“Your Dad’s in the garden stretching his legs.” Jean said. “The place looks lovely Jo, you’ve been busy.”
“This glorious weather helps” Jo replied. “Has Ann left?” Ann had a few days off and was spending it with her family in Marland.
“Yes she’s long gone.” Jean said. “Now go and find your Father and tell him all your news.”
Thomas had potato all round his mouth and spat blobs in Pippa’s direction, Jo kissed the top of his head then went in search of George.
She found him in the garden, on a bench by the fountain where he chatted happily to Old Johnny. Both men sucked on pipes – Johnny’s billowed smoke but George’s was empty. Nipper lay quietly beside them but began to bark as Jo approached.
“Hello Dad.” Jo leaned down and hugged her Father. “Has Johnny been filling you in with all the gossip?” She crossed her fingers and prayed that it wasn’t cannabis burning merrily away in Johnny’s pipe.
“Aye and it sounds like you’ve been busy. I hear the garden’s been getting plenty of use.” George said and looked around.
The fountain cascaded over a rocky ledge and flowed into the pond below. The croquet lawn was smartly cut in defined stripes and sprinklers gently watered the rich turf. Teak steamer chairs with thick padded cushions invited guests to relax and wrought iron tables with colourful umbrellas gave shade from the hot sunshine. The walls on either side of the garden were thick with clematis, climbing roses and large tubs of bright red geraniums tumbled over the patio where hanging baskets overflowed with pink and white trailing fuchsias.
George nodded his head with approval and looked further up the garden where the throb of the ride-on mower could be heard. One the village boys, stripped to the waist, cut the grass which lead to the meadow.
Pippa hurtled across the lawn and Nipper rose to greet her. They wagged their tails and pranced round each other and Nipper licked potato off Pippa’s head.
“Yoo Hoo!” Jo heard a squeal.
Two men stepped out of the conservatory and crossed the garden.
“Excuse me Dad. I need to greet those guests.”
George and Johnny resumed their conversation and Jo ran across the grass to Paulie and Robbie.
“Look at you two!” She exclaimed. Paulie wore a baseball cap, Bermuda shorts and flip flops. Robbie was immaculate in pressed linen trousers, cotton shirt and Panama hat. He carried a hard back novel. Paulie ran his fingers through Jo’s hair.
“You need more high-lights.” He flicked the fringe off her face as Simon approached with a laden tray and Steven followed with a bucket of chilled champagne.
“Be still my beating heart.” Paulie whispered as he watched the twins cover a table with a white linen cloth. He feigned a swoon.
Steven placed a vase of pink garden roses on the table and unloaded plates of dainty salmon and cucumber sandwiches, a china stand of fancy cakes and dishes of strawberries and cream. The twins arranged steamer chairs and an umbrella and with polite nods retreated. Jo picked up a linen napkin.
“I hear you’ve been having a tryst?” Paulie said.
“You shouldn’t listen to gossip.” Jo popped the cork and poured champagne into crystal glasses.
“You shouldn’t create the gossip.”
“The hotel’s been too busy - I don’t have time for trysts.”
“What nonsense!” Paulie said. “A gorgeous girl like you, the more trysts the better! You must have men
falling over you…”
“Well there’s a sales manager who seems very interested.”
“Ah, but has he any money?”
“I am sure he’s very comfortable.” Jo thought about the call she’d taken from Mark Pucker. He’d invited her out to lunch.
“We don’t do comfortable Darling, only stinking rich. We want to get your mortgage paid off …” Paulie whipped a bottle of Hawaiian Tropic out of his back pocket.
“Jo will you join us Jo?” Robbie held a glass of champagne.
“You’re very sweet but I must get on. Hattie is away in Ireland.”
Paulie kicked his flip flops off and sat down. He poured oil onto his palm and rubbed it over his chest and arms then lay back and turned his face to the sun. He extended one leg and dangled his toes in the sprinkler, playfully flicking water over Robbie, who sat in the shade. Pippa settled beside him and with her head on his knee, eyed the sandwiches.
“Don’t worry about us!” Paulie called. “Just keep those twins coming with the fairy cakes.”
More guests wandered into the garden to enjoy afternoon tea in the sunshine. Jo fetched Paulie a fluffy white towel and placed it under his head.
“No naked romps in the fountain.” She ordered.
“Oh don’t spoil my fun Darling.” Paulie pulled a face. “Is that your father?” He squinted over his designer shades. “I’ve always fancied older men.” He gave George a little wave.
“Behave yourself. He’ll have a heart attack.” Jo fussed with the towel.
“Ah, but what a way to go!” Paulie held out his hand and Jo tucked a glass into his fingers.
“Off you go - you’re like the grim reaper.” Paulie sipped his drink. “What the eye doesn’t see…” He teased.
Robbie opened his book and began to read.
“Mrs E there’s a telephone call for you.” Steven called over from the conservatory.
“Enjoy the afternoon boys.”
Jo checked that they’d everything they needed then ran across the lawn. It was deliciously cool in the hotel as she hurried through to reception and picked up the phone.
“Thank you.” She mouthed to Steven and he disappeared into the kitchen.
“Jo Edmonds, how can I help you?”
“Hello Jo. How’s that son of mine?”
Jo gripped the receiver. Her legs gave way and she reached blindly for the chair. Her ex-husband!
“Where are you?” She said.
“That’s no greeting after all these months.” Greg laughed. “Not far away as it happens.”
Jo heard the slow tick of the clock in the hall. Time seemed to stand still.
“I thought you were in Spain?”
“I was but I’m back now. I want to see Thomas, well both of you.”
“Well you can’t come here.” Jo shouted the words.
“Are you stopping me from seeing Thomas?” Greg was incredulous.
“No but I don’t want you here. You’ll have to meet me somewhere else.”
“Don’t be so stupid!” Greg raised his voice but thought better of it. He didn’t want Jo to hang up and softened his tone.
“OK, what if I meet you at the Old Red Hen Tea Room tomorrow?”
Jo hadn’t a clue where the Old Red Hen Tea Room was but she was anxious to end the conversation. She needed time to think.
“I’ll meet you there at two o’clock but if you’re not there I won’t wait.”
“OK, I’ll be on time…” Greg replied.
Jo put the phone down. She could scarcely believe that Greg was back! She walked into the conservatory and watched her parents in the garden. Jean had joined George on the bench and he bounced his grandson up and down on his knee. Jo observed the happy scene and decided no to tell them about the phone call. George would like nothing better than to get his hands on Greg and Jo feared for her father’s health. She’d better just get it over with and meet with Greg. Jo couldn’t bear the thought of Greg having anything to do with the hotel and certainly wasn’t going to get a foot over the doorstep!
Steven walked past with a tray of cakes.
“Where’s the Old Red Hen Tea Room Steven?”
“Marland Mrs E. It’s alongside Pete Park’s garage - he leases it out. Can I get you anything? You look quite pale.”
“No I’m fine, thank you.”
Pete Parks’ Garage had a tea room? Of course he did. She remembered that you could access it from the forecourt shop. It was a great little stop-off, just off the motorway junction. Damn! Why had she agreed to meet Greg there? Pete Parks was bound to be about. Damn you Greg! Why did you have to come back?
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
Greg parked the Rover at the front of the garage and lit a cigarette. He opened the driver’s window to rest his arm on the sill and casually flicked ash on the grass verge.
He checked his watch. Twenty minutes to two. He was early.
Greg tilted the rear view mirror and looked at his reflection. His hair had grown long and was streaked with blonde from the hot Spanish sunshine. Estelle had wanted to cut it but Greg liked the look - it complemented his deep tan. He checked his watch again - still too early. He felt restless and took a last drag on the cigarette, then threw the stub out of the window. He closed the window, picked up his wallet from the passenger seat and climbed out of the car.
Pete Parks stood by a large Land Cruiser in the showroom and folded his arms. He watched Greg stroll across the tarmac. He looped a thumb in his jeans pocket and tucked his wallet in the pocket of his faded pink shirt.
The Rover that Pete had sold to Greg and Jo last year, looked dusty and scratched. Pete shook his head. It’d been a cracking motor but no doubt Greg had thrashed it as he travelled round Europe with his fancy piece. Pete saw Greg hesitate and glance at this watch. He looked around then opened the door to the tearoom and disappeared inside.
Pete wondered what was going on. He stared out of the showroom windows to the road beyond and decided that Greg was meeting someone. A few moments later Jo’s BMW turned off the roundabout and headed to the rear of his garage. Pete smiled and hurried to the workshop at the back of the building. Three mechanics were engaged in various motor repairs but Pete ignored them. He positioned himself in the shadows by an open metal roller door which gave access to vehicle storage. Jo’s car came into view. It inched into a space between a recovery vehicle and cars waiting for MOT’s and Jo got out, she looked around then unfastened the safety belt on the child seat. Pete watched her bend as she slung a bag over her shoulder, jiggled Thomas onto one hip and closed the door.
Pete found it hard to read her expression as she pulled dark glasses over her eyes and walked with purpose around the side of the building. He rubbed his hands together and smiled, he knew where he’d get a good view of the tearoom! He rushed back into the shop.
Jo was nervous and clutched Thomas tightly as his chubby little legs kicked against her bare mid-drift. She tugged at her cerise angora shrug and realised that it was too short. It didn’t come anywhere near meeting the tight black jodhpur-style pants tucked into her favourite leather riding boots. She stroked Thomas’ smooth skin and straightened his white socks. His toes squirmed about under her fingers.
“Piggy toes Mumma.” Thomas chortled happily.
“Not now Darling.” Jo whispered. She pushed the door and stepped into the tea room. It was dark after the brightness outside. Jo hesitated and tried to focus on faces in the room.
Greg spotted her immediately. He was mesmerised and couldn’t move as he saw his wife and baby for the first time in the best part of a year. Completely floored, he felt as though he’d been punched in the stomach and gripped the edge of the table.
Jo looked incredible - she must’ve lost at least two stones! Her short hair suited her face and she was even wearing makeup. The child in her arms was a little boy – not the baby in a crib that Greg remembered. The blond haired little chap was the image of himself and Greg felt a lump in his throat. Tears stung his ey
es. Oh Christ, he was going to cry. What in God’s name had he done? He watched Jo lift her sunglasses and rest them on her shiny locks. She frowned and turned to leave.
“Jo!” He cried out. “Over here!” He stood up.
Jo turned back. She saw Greg and walked over.
“I didn’t recognise you.”
“Nor me.” Greg said.
Both looked at the other. Thomas put his head on his Mother’s shoulder. He pulled and kneaded her shrug and looked shyly at Greg.
“Sit down, sit down.” Greg fumbled and dragged a chair out. Jo walked round the table and sat opposite.
“Erm, what will you have? What about Thomas? What shall I get?” Greg looked from one to the other. “What does he have?”
“He’ll have some juice.” Jo replied. She reached into her shoulder bag and produced a bottle. Thomas began to guzzle.
“He’s beautiful Jo.” Greg whispered, he could feel tears welling up again.
A waitress appeared.
“I’ll have some tea thank you.” Jo said.
“Will the little fella have a biscuit?” The waitress wrote Jo’s order down and stared at Greg, who looked confused. He’d no idea what the little fellow would or wouldn’t have.
“No, he’s fine thank you very much” Jo said. “I’ve got a Rusk for him but the big fella probably will.”
“Er, just tea for me and maybe some scones.” Greg dismissed the waitress and leaned over.
“I hardly recognised you. You look amazing.”
“You’ve got long hair - it suits you.” Jo said.
“You’ve got short hair…”
They stared at each other.
“Oh Christ Jo, what the hell have I done?” Greg felt tears rolls down his face and he reached out. Jo pushed a stainless steel box of napkins towards him as the waitress set their tea on the table with a huge plate of scones.
Coffee, Tea, The Gypsy & Me... Page 18