With drivers despatched and dogs in kennels, the twins took the Mulberry brothers’ luggage to the front bedrooms. They deposited the antique leather cases on wooden racks and placed gun cases from Holland & Holland safely in bureaus. Jo and Hattie waited by the front door for the next arrival.
“It’s like Upstairs Downstairs!” Hattie said as she watched the Range Rovers park outside the pub. “And how good is this?” She added. “Not only do you have No Vacancies on the board outside but you’ll soon have a fleet of amazing metal out there too. That’ll set tongues wagging as folk drive past.”
She folded her arms across her chest and leaned forward to watch the traffic beyond the gates. A man in a pink shirt got out of a car on the pub car park and stared over at the hotel. Hattie recognised him.
‘Frigging Hell not Greg!’ Hattie silently cursed.
Jo had her back turned and was busy dead-heading the geraniums in an urn by the door. Hattie glared at Greg and raised her middle finger. A vehicle turned into the gates and Jo spun round.
“Here we go, bloody hell it’s a Roller!”
Hattie placed two fingers in her mouth and whistled down the corridor for the twins as a silver Rolls Royce purred to a stop by the front door. Yet another liveried chauffeur appeared and ran round to open the passenger doors.
Henry Mulberry climbed out of the car and stretched himself, his chauffeur held out a silk lined jacket and Henry slipped it on. Another man appeared from the back seat.
“Good afternoon Mr Mulberry, we hope you had a pleasant journey.” Jo held out her hand in welcome and Henry shook it warmly.
“Indeed we did Mrs Edmonds. Meet my brother Hugo.”
His companion stepped forward. An older version of Henry, Hugo was immaculately dressed in wheat coloured chords, checked shirt, cashmere sweater and a red silk cravat.
“Our guests are in transit and should arrive shortly.” Henry rubbed his hands in anticipation.
“Of course Mr Mulberry, would you like to freshen up after your journey? Simon and Steven will show you to your rooms. You might like tea and cakes when you’re ready?”
“Or something a little stronger…” Hugo leaned in and Jo could feel his breath on her face.
“Are the dogs being attended to?” Henry ignored his brother.
“They’re comfortable in their kennels Sir.” Hattie chirped up.
She bowed her head as though addressing royalty and seemed to dip at the knee. Jo looked at her incredulously, Hattie being reverent? Fortunately, the brothers appeared not to notice and Henry asked to see his dogs - Sefton and Oscar.
“Follow me Sir.” Hattie curtsied again and led Henry off to the Kennels. Jo shook her head and followed Hugo, who’d wandered into the Green Room.
“Perhaps have a snorter before they all arrive.”
Hugo studied the paintings on the walls and looked at Jo. A leer crept across his shiny face.
“Of course, what can get you?”
“Now there’s a thought.” His eyes rested on her breasts. “Whisky and a dash for now old gal, make it a large one!”
Jo forced a smile. Hugo’s ruddy round cheeks bulged and she wondered if he rubbed tomato feed in his skin to make them so rosy.
* * *
The guests arrived over the next two hours and soon familiarised themselves with the hotel and each other. Jo and all the staff were kept busy, as luggage was whisked away and unpacked and numerous dogs deposited in the kennels.
Alf was on hand to supervise the kennel arrangements.
“I hardly recognised you.” Jo said.
They stood on the cobbled yard by the coach house. Alf looked immaculate in single pleat breeks, complete with gleaming buckle and shiny leather boots. He leaned over the dog run and dug deep in the cartridge pockets of his tweed waistcoat, pulling out a handful of biscuits to feed to the pack.
“You’ll be wanting to marry me next.” Alf gave Jo a cheeky smile.
“Bugger off Alf and make sure those dogs don’t foul my lawns.”
“I’ll be over the road with the drivers having a pie and a pint.”
He doffed his cap, checked his watch and decided to go and meet the chauffeurs and brief them on timings for the following day. He’d been working all hours in preparation for this shoot and was pleased with the results. The red grouse he’d reared had been allowed to breed unmolested; they were fully mature and ready for the Home Counties set to enjoy a weekends sport. Most likely with a lot of misses and cock-ups, Alf thought cynically as he stroked the heads of the agitated Springer Spaniels and Labrador Retrievers. When he was satisfied that the dogs were fed and comfortable, he headed for the pub. As he approached the kitchen window he waved at Sandra and Gerald. Judy was at the stillroom door and wolf whistled as he went by.
“Nice threads Alf!” She called out and smiled when he turned round.
Alf felt himself colour and hurried past before Judy noticed. She seemed to be smiling at him a lot these days. He made up his mind to pop back in a bit to let the dogs have a run in the meadow and perhaps have a word with her. In the meantime there was a pint with his name on in The Templars.
“If there’s a fella by the pub a poofy pink shirt clocking this place, warn him off will you?” Hattie ran after Alf.
“Who’d that be then?” Alf stopped.
“That twat Jo was married to. I think he’s got his sights set on her again.”
“Sorted.” Alf nodded.
Judy appeared behind Hattie’s shoulder. Alf winked at her and with a spring in his step, headed off for the pub.
* * *
“Only two more to arrive and they won’t be here ‘till after dinner.” Jo checked names off the booking chart.
“By heck there’s some right posh pieces out there.” Hattie watched Jo write out bills on duplicated headed forms and place one for each room in a concertina rack.
“It’s a sea of yah’ing and braying, I’m amazed any of them knows what the other one’s saying.” Hattie shook her head.
“Will you help with the bar?” Jo said. “The twins are run off their feet.”
Jo filed the bar tabs into the folders and looked at the clock on the switchboard. It was nearly seven thirty. She put her pen down. She must help Simon with the champagne and check that Sandra’s canapés were ready. Henry wanted aperitifs at seven forty five and dinner at eight fifteen. Tonight’s menu sat on the desk.
Cream of Leek Soup
or
Duck Terrine
* * * *
Whitebait with Sauce Tartar
* * * *
Medallions of Venison with Juniper and Redcurrant Jus
or
Fillet of Sea Bass on a bed of Fennel Mash
* * * *
Sticky Toffee Pudding with Ice-cream
Summer Fruits in Raspberry Sauce
* * * *
Westmarland Cheeses with Crisp Oatcakes
* * * *
Coffee and Tiffin
Jo was relieved that she’d checked Hattie’s typing for errors. The ‘D’ in the duck had begun life as an ‘F’ and Jo wondered if Hattie did it deliberately. She picked up the menus as the phone rang.
“Good Evening, Kirkton House Hotel.”
“Not playing with rugby balls tonight?” John Doherty’s voice was prickly.
Jo stifled a gasp.
“Pub lunches aren’t your style Jo, don’t lower your standards.”
“Who on earth are you to tell me...” She dropped onto the chair and gripped the receiver.
“Ok, I’m sorry.”
There was a silence and neither spoke. Jo’s hand shook. Had she just heard an apology? She closed her eyes and wondered where he was calling from.
“I’ve got a shooting party here for the weekend. I can’t talk to you now.” She said.
“I’m taking you out next week for a proper lunch, I want to spoil you.” John’s voice softened. “I’ll call you in a couple of days. See you soon Gorgeous...” He hung up.
Jo stared at the receiver. Her heart threatened to burst through her ribcage.
“Seen a ghost?” Hattie stared at Jo. “Has Creepy in the Conservatory come back?” Jo seemed to be in a trance.
“Who the hell was that?” Hattie asked.
“Erm…wrong number.”
“My arse! It wasn’t anyone of Romany stock by any chance?” Hattie shook her head in disbelief. How could that man have such an effect on Jo?
“He wants to take me to lunch next week.”
“Now there’s a surprise, probably putting out a contract on a rugby player as we speak.” Hattie banged the desk with her hand.
“Come on Jo stir your stumps – you’ve got half of Chelsea & Kensington out here speaking a language I can’t fathom.”
Hattie took the phone out of Jo’s hand.
“I’m coming.” Jo stood up. Put him out of your mind! She told herself angrily. But he’d called her gorgeous and he wanted to spoil her! Jo’s stomach did bunny hops and with an effort not to punch the air and whoop down the hallway, Jo followed Hattie to the Green Room.
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
The shoot departed for the moors after breakfast. Jo and Hattie sat at the table in the Rose Room amongst the debris of the meal.
“What time did you eventually get to bed?” Hattie spoke with a mouth full of buttered toast.
“God knows.” Jo replied. “Hugo bloody Mulberry is like a one man missile, charged up and raring to launch.” She reached for her coffee and yawned. “I spent the early hours being chased round the kitchen table, fending him off with a rolling pin.”
Hattie spread lemon marmalade on a croissant.
“Hmn… he had his hand up my skirt a couple of times during dinner.” She munched hungrily. “He’s a letch.”
The fleet of Range Rovers, Cider 1 to Cider 6 had cruised away from the hotel packed with hung-over residents. Old Johnny and several villagers stood and watched from the opposite side of the road, as the party set off. Gerald and Marion had carefully packed their lunch into wicker hampers in bespoke chests alongside a wooden drinks cabinet in the back of the vehicles. They would dine on Hunters Stew from large flasks and freshly baked rolls. A savoury picnic loaf, fruit cake and cheese would follow with coffee and chocolate tiffin. The first ‘livener’ of the day would begin with a brandy when they met Alf on the fell.
Jo put her feet up on a chair and cradled a glass of fresh pineapple juice. She watched Judy snuff out tea lights from beneath a Georgian food warmer, then lift the lid to one side. Pippa nudged Judy’s leg and drummed her tail against the linen cloth.
“Fancy some scrambled egg and bacon Mrs E?” Judy asked. “It still looks ok and there’s kidneys and mushrooms left.” She discreetly held out a slice of bacon and Pippa snapped it up.
“God no. You and Penny get some though.” Jo drank her juice. The thought of food make her feel queasy.
“You hit the Cointreau a bit hard last night?” Hattie brushed crumbs off her mouth with the back of her hand.
“Yes I suppose I did, it hardly seems to affect me anymore though.” Jo thought of previous night. She’d drunk a couple of large bracers to set her up before service and several afterwards. The place had been dripping in diamonds and pearls as sophisticated couples appeared for dinner and queried her endlessly on every detail of the hotel and shoot.
She reached out and stroked Pippa who had her head on Jo’s lap, glancing sideways at the warming tray. The food had been lovely last night and everyone was complimentary about the menu. They’d been especially enthusiastic about the sea bass. Gerald had patiently made a delicate sauce with the stock and combined with Sandra’s stunning mousse it had paid off - a toast had been made to the Chef. Sandra was mortified when Jo told her that she was wanted in the dining room. She changed her apron and bustled forward to acknowledge the drunken cheers before returning to the kitchen flushed and happy. Gerald and Marion had clapped their hands proudly.
“Food was great.” Hattie pushed her plate to one side. Pippa switched allegiance and put her head on Hattie’s lap.
“Who’d have thought it?” Jo pondered.
“You did. You gave them a chance, no one bothered to before.” Hattie looked at the left over bacon and sautéed potatoes.
“Is there something going on between Arthur and Sandra?”
“Have you only just noticed?” Hattie took two strips of crisp and curling bacon and a large spoonful of potato.
“Think of your hips.” Jo said as she drained her juice.
“Bertie likes the fuller figure.” Hattie looked smug. She broke a piece of bacon rind off and gave it to Pippa. “They’ve been an item for a bit now. He runs her home when he’s sure Gerald is safe in the caravan.”
“Is he running her back in the morning?”
“Let them have a bit of fun you miserable devil, just because you’re not being bonked senseless by the gypo.”
“Hattie how can you say…”
Jo let her words hang in the air. The trouble was she knew that Hattie was right. Everyone around her seemed to be pairing off. She’d even noticed Judy making eyes at Alf, but he did look very dapper in his finery. Thinking of finery, Jo smiled as she thought about the guests that morning. The rain lashed down as the cars were loaded and Barbour raincoats appeared to breed over an army of tweed and leather, with some very fetching combinations. Vibrant wool socks and an interesting variety of head gear peeped out and a Lady Malvern tucked damp feathers into the band of her trilby. The dogs had barked excitedly and drowned out conversation. Pippa stared longingly out of the window. With her paws on the window seat she howled as Sefton and Oscar were led across the drive.
Jo remembered the gun boxes on the gravel.
“Let’s hope no one shoots anything other than birds.” She wondered if the guests were experienced shots. “Did you see Lady Malvern this morning?”
While the guests had dined the night before, Linda and Kath tidied the rooms and turned down beds. They’d placed a wrapped chocolate on each pillow.
“Did I… Her pearl earing was encrusted in chocolate!” Hattie shook her head. “She was out for the count last night, must have hit the pillow like a plank.” The girls giggled.
“She’d had nearly two bottles of Saint-Émilion before the end of the main course.” Jo remembered Lady Malvern at breakfast.
“Morning M’Dear’s!” She’d barked as she strode into the Rose Room. Thick lisle stockings rubbed against a heavy wool skirt. “Slept like a log!”
“Pissed as a fart.” Hattie said. “She poured brandy in her tea.”
“I think she was married to a Mulberry cousin.”
“No wonder she’s permanently pissed with Hugo’s roving hands.” Hattie forked the last of the potato into her mouth.
“She was rambling about nannies.” Jo was thoughtful. “And Hugo kept banging on about uniforms, saying how much he liked them. I wonder if my black suit and stockings encouraged him?”
“Undoubtably.” Hattie dabbed her mouth with a serviette. “God help you if you were wearing a pair of Vera’s big support pants, mind you - you’ll need them.”
“He leered over reception earlier, to whisper good morning.” Jo shuddered. “He’s got terrible breath.”
“Be all those cigars.” Hattie wrinkled her nose in distaste. She glared at an abandoned plate where someone had rammed the butt of a large cigar into a congealed egg yolk. They both shook their heads.
“Think of the money Jo. Just think of the money…”
“Hmn… I’m thinking.” Jo stretched. She stood up and opened the French doors. “At least the rain’s stopped. We need some fresh air in here.” Pippa flew past Jo and bounded up the garden.
“For God’s sake don’t let her anywhere near those dogs.” Jo thought of Sefton. “I don’t know what’s wrong with her. You don’t suppose she’s in season do you? She’s like something demented at the moment.”
“Not the only one.” Hattie mumbled.
>
“Are you going to get your fat bum off that chair and do some work?”
“Yes M’Lady! Just as soon as I’ve put me big knickers on….”
“Bertie’s on the phone Hattie.” Judy called out. “I’ve told him we’ve got a load of VIP’s in and you’re taking very good care of them.”
“Oh shite, he’ll have a heart attack! I’ve told him I’m very prim and proper now.” Hattie ran to reception.
“Give him my love.” Jo called. “Tell him I’m sending you back very soon.”
Jo watched Hattie retreat. Should she start planning a wedding outfit? It wouldn’t matter when it was - bookings were bleak over the next few months. The hotel should be full - autumn in Westmarland was usually busy. Jo walked out to the garden and watched Pippa race around the top lawns, her nose glued to the ground tracing every scent. Jo had heard on the radio that morning that interest rates were going up again and property prices falling, she daren’t think about her overdraft and hoped that the shoot takings would keep Mr Knight happy for a bit. She’d need to be very creative to drum up business over the next few months. Jo knew she must work on building up conference business and more shooting parties would make things easier too.
“Pippa!” Jo called the dog. Pippa raised her head, ignored Jo and disappeared through the gate to the meadow.
“Bugger you! You can stay out.” Jo said crossly and hurried back in to work.
* * *
The guests arrived back in the late afternoon, bedraggled but happy from the wet and windy moor.
“She’s sitting on the drive.” Hattie whispered to Jo. Her arms were full of soaking raincoats.”
“I’m not going near her, she’s got a knife!” Jo said.
They looked out of the side door where Lady Malvern sat cross-legged on the gravel with a brace of grouse in her lap, more lay piled up beside her. Feathers flew as she plucked the limp and lifeless birds and a light down stuck to her mud encrusted face.
Coffee, Tea, The Gypsy & Me... Page 21