Jo spun round.
“Christ Pete, do you have to sneak up on me?” Pippa licked at Jo’s hand.
“Are you sinking?”
Pete looked down at Jo’s feet where mud covered the top of her shoes. She reached to take his hand and as she moved, Jo found herself stepping out of them onto the path. Pippa began to dig and John reached down to recover the pumps.
“Nothing that a good wash won’t sort out.” He grinned and held the shoes up. Pippa shook herself, sending particles of mud over his trousers. “Got the kettle on? I could do with a coffee.”
Jo glanced at the sky. Dark clouds threatened more rain and big drops began to fall. She ran over the lawn to the conservatory. Pete followed and placed the shoes on a mat inside the doorway.
“Do you want to sit in here while I fetch it?” Jo asked.
“Aye, can do.” Pete sat down on the Lloyd Loom sofa and picked up a copy of the Farmer’s Weekly.
Barefoot, Jo stood in the still room. As she waited for the coffee to percolate, she rinsed the mud from the petals of the rose and put it in a stem vase. She padded through the bar to put it on reception. The post had arrived and a large pile of brown envelopes stared at her. Jo sighed and buried them under the desk, then returned to the still room where she poured two mugs of coffee. As she heated milk, she wondered what had bought Pete to the hotel. She reached for a tin of shortbreads and returned to the conservatory where heavy rain drummed on the roof and pelted against the windows.
“Are you sure you want to sit in here?”
Jo put the tray on a table and pulled up a chair. He looked up from his newspaper and Pippa wagged her tail.
“Nothing wrong with a bit of rain.”
“Not in my line of work, I’m afraid.” Jo pushed the coffee towards him. “Milk?”
Pete nodded and added two heaped spoons of sugar, then dunked a shortbread into the hot sweet liquid. Pippa placed her head on his knee.
“Delicious.” He smiled and folded the newspaper up. “Bit quiet then is it?”
“Too quiet, September’s been a disaster.”
Jo thought about the previous weeks. She’d dreamed of an Indian summer, with last minute bookings filling the rooms and shooting parties stacking up after the success of the Mulberry Shoot. But the opposite had happened. The rain had been incessant and the phone didn’t ring. They were now in the first week of October and things didn’t look any better. Jinny had cancelled her September luncheon club, saying there were too many members unavailable and Mark Pucker had taken his ‘troops’ off to Majorca for some company bonding. Jo wondered why she hadn’t heard from Mark and hoped that he would book another conference soon. Fortunately, with Alf’s help, she’d two shoots booked for January and February - but the coming weeks were a worry. There seemed to be an uncertainty in the air and everyone was reluctant to spend money. People weren’t taking short breaks or holidays. Jo thought of her wage bill and wondered if she should be laying staff off.
“Bad business with Hattie.” Pete reached for the shortbread tin. “How is she?” He bit into another buttery biscuit and flicked the crumbs off his dark blue sweater. Pippa snapped her head back to catch them.
“She’s heartbroken.” Jo sipped her coffee and stared out at the garden. “She won’t go out of the house. Eileen Atkinson is taking the boys to school and Hattie’s Mother stays over to make sure they get something to eat, but Hattie is stuck in a chair in front of the television and won’t move.” Jo turned and looked at Pete. “I don’t know what to do.”
“It’ll pass.” He leaned forward and put his empty mug on the tray.
“I’m not so sure. She seems to have lost all her energy and drive, it’s like her own life has been taken too.”
“It’s grief. It’ll get over, give her time.”
Jo put her mug down and began to tidy the tray but Pete grabbed her hand. She tried to pull away but he held on to it.
“As much as I’d like to be here for a social visit, I’m not.” He started. “We were in for dinner the night Hattie got the news.” His blue eyes bored into her. Jo crossed her fingers with her free hand. She prayed that they hadn’t got food poisoning.
“Despite you not being here, we had a great night. You’ve got a grand place.”
Jo relaxed a little as he went on.
“The food was outstanding and your staff made us more than welcome. You’ve done a terrific job Jo. It’s not your fault that the economy’s struggling but it’ll get worse before it gets better if Thatcher has her way.”
“So what should I do? I can’t drag folk in here.” Jo managed to extract her hand and folded her arms stubbornly across her chest.
“You’ve got to hang onto it. There’s a recession coming and the stock market will go tits up anytime now. You’ve got to stick at it.”
“I’ve thought about getting Robert back in for a valuation, he always said a small chain would buy this sort of property in a flash. Maybe now would be a good time, at least it’s had the renovation and is trading.” Jo stared glumly out of the windows.
“Aye, snap it up for nowt as likely. Don’t be doing that.” Pete followed her gaze. The weather was miserable. “A couple of years ago, I had a leak in the drains at the garage. We’d been leaking diesel into the town’s drains for months. Hell of a fuss, the council threatened to sue me and the insurance wouldn’t pay up. I nearly went under.”
“What happened?” Jo asked with interest.
“I hung on. Robbed Peter to pay Paul, fought the buggers off and battled it out, it was hard but I wasn’t going to be beaten and you mustn’t too – you’ve only just got this place off the ground.”
“But I didn’t see this lot coming Pete. My clients are affluent. This sort of crisis doesn’t usually touch them.”
“It does when their property’s worth nowt, borrowings high and shares tumbling - they get hit worst.”
“So what do I do?”
“I don’t need to tell an intelligent girl like yourself what to do Jo. I’m only saying you need to hang on with all your might. It’ll pass.”
He stood up. Jo sighed, easy for him to say, but her bank account was well into her overdraft and there was a VAT bill due. If only she could find a way of raising more capital...
“And don’t be borrowing any more.” Pete read her mind. “Interest rates will kill you.”
“Well thanks for your thoughts.”
Jo stood up too. All very well him telling her to hang on, he wasn’t faced with the daily calls from Mr Knight at the bank.
“I’ll keep bringing folk in for dinner and do my bit.” Pete smiled. “I take our staff, their partners and some customers out after Christmas for a do – you can have that if you can entertain a hundred of us?”
Jo focused. A hundred? She hadn’t a clue how she’d do it but she wasn’t going to turn it away.
“Consider that a firm booking Pete. I’ll get menus and details over to you.”
“Make sure there’s some music on, they like to get up and have a dance.” He moved towards the door and Jo went to follow him, she stepped over Pippa who lay alongside the sofa. Pete glanced down at Jo’s feet.
“I’ll just slip out of the back here and let you get on. You’ll want to get cleaned up.” Jo looked down. Her toes were encrusted with dry mud.
“Well thanks Pete…” Suddenly, he grabbed her! Before she could twist away, he had his arms around her and was kissing her passionately. His hands were all over her, Jo felt his strength and smelt his aftershave as she wriggled out of his grip. Furious, she found her strength and shoved him off. Pippa barked and jumped up.
“Pete!” She said. “Why do you have to spoil it? You’re a married man!” And even if you weren’t I wouldn’t touch you… She thought as she stumbled back.
“Aw Jo don’t be mad, you can’t blame me for trying.” He had lipstick on his face and wiped it away with the back of his hand.
“Let’s just keep it as friends for now, shall we.”
Jo thought of the hundred or so guests at Christmas and smiled. Two can play at your game, Pete sodding Parks! His eyes glinted in comprehension but he suddenly shuddered. Pippa had begun to howl and leaned against Jo’s legs.
“Christ it’s cold standing here.” Pete looked around as he stood in the doorway. “You’d never think it was only September.” He rubbed his arms and shook himself. “I feel as though someone walked over my grave!”
Jo felt it too. An icy chill surrounded them, emanating from the doorway. Pippa was trembling.
“You’d better be off then.” Jo watched Pete. He’d turned quite pale and was eager to go. Still rubbing his hands he blew warm breath on them, said goodbye and left with haste. Despite his limp, he ran round the side of the hotel to the car park at the front.
The artic air froze Jo to the spot. Fear seized her and she thought she heard someone whisper… Dance! Go! Jo shivered. Pippa disappeared out of the door with her tail between her legs. What the hell was in this room? The last time she’d felt this presence, John Doherty had crept up and rescued her. A fresh blast of sub-zero air hit her and she slammed the door shut, locked it and ran out.
As she got to reception, she stopped. It was warm here. She gripped the desk and sat down. Pippa was under the desk. She no longer trembled and Jo put her feet on the dog’s warm tummy. Jo longed to put her head in her hands and sob. Everything seemed to be crumbling! Not just the business, but her heart too. She’d not heard from John since the funeral. The rotten bastard hadn’t so much as telephoned to see how she was, nor asked if Hattie was OK. She couldn’t believe that he was such a shit but now, weeks later, she knew she’d got to accept it and it hurt more than she could explain. They’d been so close! She thought of the beautiful diamond necklace on her dressing table. She couldn’t bring herself to wear it. Perhaps she should pawn it and pay a few bills.
Reluctantly, Jo had even started to be nice to Greg. He was now on a charm offensive and had taken Thomas out at least twice a week in the last couple of weeks. Greg always adhered scrupulously to Jo’s strict rule on timings. Oh Christ, she thought, at this rate she’d be taking him back! Jo was sure Greg still had some money stashed, and it would at least sort her cash flow out for a bit. She was certain he’d dump Estelle in a flash if he could get his feet under the table here and the way Jo felt, she feared she may have to consider it. Or sell up. Oh God what a mess!
Jo pushed her hair back from her face. This wouldn’t do. She needed to get a grip and do something about bookings. Pippa began to lick Jo’s ankles and Jo caressed the dog’s head. Perhaps a theme night would get some punters in? If only Hattie were there. Jo longed for her sarcasm and sharp words. Hattie certainly wouldn’t let Jo sit here feeling sorry for herself.
She shook her head and forced herself to clear her thoughts. Right… a theme night it would be! But what should they do? Chinese! Jo’s brain spun into action as she thought about it. The only Chinese food round here came from a greasy takeaway in Marland. Jo felt sure she could sell the evening if she made it sound attractive. She’d make the Rose Room look like a pagoda! Jo turned the pages of the diary and chose a date. Friday the 23rd October, that will give them chance to advertise. She felt a little better. The kitchen door opened and Judy popped her head round.
“Cuppa Mrs E?” She looked down. Pippa thumped her tail on the carpet.
“That would be lovely Judy.”
Jo began to make notes for an advert to be placed in the Westmarland Tribune - an oriental banquet at a set price.
“You’re deep in thought.” Judy placed a mug of coffee on the desk and held out a bone shaped biscuit for Pippa.
“What do you think about a Chinese night?”
“Great idea. Alf loves Chinese…” Judy stopped abruptly. A blush spread over her neck and face.
“Better make sure he books a table then and brings some friends.” Jo winked.
“Shall I tell Sandra and Gerald to start thinking about menus?” Judy side stepped the subject of Alf.
“Yes, get them on to it – give them something to do.” Jo reached for the telephone. “Anything you can think of to get some bookings Judy, anything at all…” Jo dialled the number for the Westmarland Tribune and asked to be put through to classified adverts.
“Mrs E?” Judy said hesitantly. She looked puzzled as she stared at Jo’s feet. Jo glanced down. Her ankles were clean but dried mud had crumbled from her toes onto the carpet. Pippa licked biscuit crumbs from between the flecks of mud.
“I can’t afford shoes anymore Judy – we need to do something!”
CHAPTER THIRTY THREE
Greg sat at the window table in the Lemon Tree Café and lit another cigarette. It was his third of the morning. He sighed happily as he placed his lighter neatly on the packet then sat back, tilted his head and blew smoke rings towards the ceiling. Thoughtfully, he traced the edge of the pottery ashtray with his finger. Life had begun to improve.
The waitress recognised Greg. She flicked her blonde hair over one eye and gave him a sultry look. Then, pushing her chest out, she leaned over and with a slow, deliberate movement, reached across the table to change the ashtray. Greg’s finger moved over her hand and gently rubbed her ring finger.
“Morning Christine.” He smiled, letting his finger linger on the bare skin.
“Anything else I can get you?” Christine left her hand on the ashtray.
“A coffee would be great – for now.”
Greg winked at the girl and she licked her lips suggestively as she moved away. Back of the net! He thought confidently. He watched her ample bottom sway in very tight blue jeans, and slide behind the counter. He thought about Jo’s bottom – that used to sway too, but was rather more pert these days. He longed to get his hands on it again. Well, he wouldn’t have much longer to wait. By the way things were going he reckoned he’d be in by Christmas.
Christine appeared with a mug of coffee and placed it before him.
“Sugar? Or are you sweet enough…”
“I don’t need any extras Sweetheart.” Greg gave her what he considered to be his knicker-melting gaze. “Unless you’re offering anything else that is?” He looked her up and down.
“Might be.” Christine said.
“Better write your number on the bill then.”
Greg picked up his coffee and licked his lips. The café door opened and a man walked over to the counter.
“Chrissy – a cheese n’ pickle on white to go.” He called out and looked round. He recognised Greg and their eyes locked. “When you’ve finished wasting time with riff-raff that is...”
Alf glared at Greg, who turned away and spooned several heaps of sugar into his coffee.
“Piss off Alf!” Christine retorted as she sailed past and slapped thick slices of cheese between wedges of bread. She shoved it into a paper bag, then spooned two fat pickled onions from a jar on the counter and added them. She held her hand out and Alf placed several coins on her palm. He grabbed the bag and marched past Greg. He glowered at him, but Greg was focused on the sport pages of his newspaper. Alf stuffed the sandwich in his pocket and slammed the café door.
Greg looked up. He was relieved that Alf had gone without any fuss. He hadn’t seen him since the incident in the pub and had kept clear of the place. They’d all change their tune when he was ensconced in the hotel with all the creature comforts around him. He’d be the boss then and that gobby gamekeeper would find himself out on his arse. Greg clicked his fingers and Christine appeared. He handed her a five pound note and waited for his change. It came back on a saucer with a number scrawled across a scrap of paper. Greg smiled and pocketed it. He left fifty pence.
“Be seeing you Sweetheart.” He patted her bottom. Christine giggled and watched him stride out of the cafe.
Greg walked up the main street of Butterly with a confident spring in his step. Things were going well with Thomas. The kid was high maintenance, but Estelle was always on hand and knew how to look after him. It wasn’t th
at Greg didn’t enjoy seeing his son, he did. He just had more pressing matters on his mind. Jo was at last, being civil to him and had even asked him in last week. Greg had stepped into the house, via the back kitchen and been overly gracious. He’d complimented Jo on her great taste and comfortable home.
“I haven’t actually done anything in here.” She’d looked bemused. “All the investment went on the hotel. I just hope it was worth it.”
Greg tactfully questioned her about business. He’d noticed fewer cars outside the hotel since the shoot and wondered if the imminent recession was affecting her? He asked her if she’d borrow more money to see her through.
“Not a chance,” she snapped back. “The banks have stopped lending and anyway the interest rates are too high, I just need to get people in here.”
Jo was talking to him! Keep this up Mate, he told himself and you’ll have her weeping on your shoulder. She’ll be overcome with gratitude when you step in with the readies to tide things over - on the condition that they all play happy families again. After all – Thomas needs his Daddy! Greg walked past the greengrocers and waved at Dick Littlefair, who was stacking fruit and vegetables in boxes outside his shop. Dick waved back and continued placing fruit bruised side down. At least the locals seem to be accepting him again, Greg thought happily as he crossed the road to the Alms houses on the hill.
Estelle came out of the red door in the middle. Several elderly people lived in the houses and Estelle did their cleaning, she’d set up a nice little round. She looked up as she saw Greg and smiled. It was unusual for him to meet her, he’d seemed very distant recently and she thought that he must be worrying about money. He’d told her that his separation settlement had run out as he’d spent so much on her when they were travelling. Estelle was pleased to get some cleaning work. She was good at it and often got tips. Sometimes the old people gave her things that they no longer wanted. Her English improved and now that Greg had Thomas a couple of times a week, he seemed a bit happier.
Coffee, Tea, The Gypsy & Me... Page 25