by Della Galton
Ed cleared his throat and scratched his forehead. He’d clearly lost his thread. ‘Where was I – ah yes… Birthdays are times when we all reflect on milestones and the importance of family and…’ He broke off as if he’d suddenly remembered that one particularly important member of the family was missing. ‘They are also a time to remember abshent friends and family.’
He was definitely drunk, Clara thought, glancing across to where he stood with one hand on the wooden rail of the decking a few feet in front of her. God bless him. Ed wasn’t allowed to drink much most of the time, in view of driving artic trucks around the country. He was obviously letting his hair down. He had a grass stain on the backside of his jeans where he’d been sitting on the lawn with the kids.
‘I’d like you to raise your glasses and join with me in a Happy Birthday toast to Rosanna and Thelma, without whom today would not be possible. Happy birthday, Rosanna and Thelma.’
‘Happy birthday, Rosanna and Thelma,’ everyone echoed.
Then, into the silence that followed the toasts, a little girl, who Clara thought might belong to a friend of Rosanna’s, said in a loud voice, ‘What a tittle lipsy, Mum?’
Clara smiled and took a sip of Prosecco, relishing its taste on her tongue. She hadn’t drunk anything else as she was driving and she rarely drank much anyway. She was sitting on the opposite side of the wooden decking from Gran. On her left there was a lavender bush in full flower – she could smell its distinctive sweetness and she could feel the summer air on her face. In the sky, a plane had left a curving smoke trail behind it and, beneath the murmur of chatter in the large garden, she could discern birdsong.
Maybe this was the best place to be today. It was a good distraction. If she’d gone into work, she would only have been worrying. She’d have got caught up in the speculation that had been hard to stop at the Bluebell Cliff, no matter how much she’d asked them not to discuss it. Who had cancelled the Young Farmers Booking? What had they been trying to achieve? Who would possibly want to do a thing like that?
She closed her eyes for a second, but she could still see the brightness of the sun behind her lids. Then a shadow passed over them and she heard Rosanna’s voice.
‘Hey, Sis. We haven’t had a proper chance to catch up. How’s it going?’ The chair beside her squeaked as Rosanna settled herself into it. ‘Thanks for that beautiful scarf. It was inspired. You have exquisite taste. I’ve only just discovered how much I love teal.’
‘You’re very welcome.’ Clara opened her eyes. ‘Lovely party. What happened with Grandad? I thought he was coming.’
Rosanna glanced over at Gran, who appeared to be snoozing, but was in hearing range if she wasn’t. ‘I don’t think Gran’s quite finished punishing him yet. You can’t blame her.’
‘I’m not punishing him, girls. That is not what’s happening here.’ Gran’s eyes snapped open and she sat up stiffly. ‘I simply don’t think it’s appropriate that Eric comes waltzing back into a family gathering after a gap of several weeks.’
‘But it’s your birthday, Gran.’
‘Yes,’ Rosanna echoed. ‘Did he send you a card?’
‘He did.’
‘So are you planning to meet up with him then?’ Rosanna asked. ‘To talk about him being integrated back into the family.’
Gran sat up straighter and adjusted her glasses on her nose and tutted. ‘Before any integration can take place – as you put it – yes, I will need to meet up with your grandfather. But the timing of that is down to me. And me alone.’
Neither of them argued. It was pointless. She had that stubborn look on her face.
Clara changed the subject. ‘I keep meaning to tell you I saw your friend Anastasia in The Anchor the other day. When I was dropping off one of our guests for a meal.’
Rosanna looked worried. ‘You didn’t blow your cover, did you?’
‘No. I don’t think so. Although it was quite a close thing. She was there with someone I know. Another hotel owner.’
‘Oh bugger. That must have been awkward.’
‘It was.’ Clara told her about Foxy’s shenanigans with the upended table and Rosanna shook her head in amazement. ‘Dogs and children eh – they always let you down. I’m sorry I put you in that position, honey.’
‘You’re forgiven. Just promise me you won’t do it again.’
‘I won’t. And if it makes you feel any better, I may have redeemed myself by letting out your house for the next fortnight to a couple who are down here on a house-hunting mission. How’s that for a good result?’
‘That’s fantastic, thank you.’
Rosanna looked smug and Clara sipped her drink. ‘Do you know Adam or Nick Greenwood who co-own the Manor House Hotel? They’re Anastasia’s cousins apparently.’
She was trying to keep her voice ultra-casual. Even though saying Adam’s name made her feel super aware. It was an odd mixture of emotions. Good and bad. She still hadn’t totally decided whether he was friend or foe. Fortunately, Rosanna was now too distracted to pick up on Clara’s mood. She was busy checking what her children were up to.
‘No. I can’t say I do. I don’t know any of her relatives, apart from her husband, Charles – he earns shedloads of money – hedge funds.’ She shielded her eyes against the afternoon sun and called across to Tom, who was feeding a delighted Foxy bits of sausage roll from the buffet. ‘Don’t give her too much darling. You’ll make her sick.’
‘He probably won’t,’ Clara said. ‘She’s got a cast-iron stomach. Perks of being a stray.’
The conversation moved on to other things, like the fact that Clara’s FunFit had clocked up 400 steps when she had driven over here and only 450 when she’d taken Foxy for her morning walk. And how it misspelled many of its motivational messages. The latest one she’d noticed was, “Say no to coke.” She was pretty sure it meant “cake”. Clara wondered why she hadn’t told Rosanna about the Young Farmers cancellation and whether she could get away with quizzing her any more about Adam without awakening Rosanna’s matchmaking radar. Then Mum came across for a chat and she decided to just put everything to do with work out of her mind. She would drive herself mad if she wasn’t careful.
On the Tuesday after the joint birthday party, Adam turned up in person at the Bluebell. Clara was in the restaurant talking to Phil about some holiday cover they needed when Zoe came in to give her the message.
‘He’s in reception and he’s Mr Stroppy. I wasn’t sure you’d want to speak to him, so I said I’d check if you were in.’ She looked anxiously over her shoulder as if she expected him to have followed her.
‘Did he say what it was about?’
‘No. Just that he wanted to speak to you.’
‘It’s fine. Send him into the office. I’ll be there in a second.’
Adam did look pissed off when she went into the office. He was standing up by the window in profile to her. Grumpy Orlando, she thought as he turned.
‘Clara, hi. Apologies for turning up unannounced, but I felt it was warranted. It’s about the Young Farmers.’
Her heart thumped hard. ‘Go on.’
‘Nick just told me what’s been going on over here.’
‘In what respect?’ she asked carefully. She had closed the office door, but she hadn’t sat down. Now she walked across and stood beside him at the window and stared out at the view across the lawns. A young couple was strolling hand in hand towards the gate that led to the cliff path. They had a group of writers in this week. They were a random collection of people, all of them escaping from the restraints and routines of home. Some more than others, by the look of it.
‘Nick said they’d booked us for their annual event, last minute, because it had been cancelled by yourselves. Due to a double booking that turned out not to be a double booking.’
She glanced at him. ‘You’re very well informed.’
‘Yes.’ He didn’t elaborate. But she wasn’t surprised he knew. ‘I’m here out of courtesy,’ he went on. ‘In view of our meeting.’
‘Thank you,’ she said. It’s nice of you.’
‘It felt like the right thing to do.’ A beat during which she was hyperaware of him. His scent, his proximity, his tension. She could hear the worry in his voice as he went on. ‘I understand that the cancellation call was made by a third party. I wanted you to know it had nothing to do with us.’ Another little pause. ‘That’s all.’
‘I didn’t think it had anything to do with you.’
‘Did you not? Not even for a second?’ He met her eyes. ‘You’re more generous-spirited than I am, Clara.’
She didn’t contradict him. Even though she knew she should have done. Because she had doubted him, hadn’t she, and for quite a bit longer than a second. ‘It was good of you to come,’ she said. ‘I appreciate it.’
After he had gone again, she reflected that he hadn’t said a thing about the fact that the Young Farmers had traditionally always gone to the Manor House anyway.
He might be in denial about it, but he was every bit as generous-spirited as he’d credited her with being.
Clara and Phil held an extra mini emergency team meeting, where they warned the staff to be hypervigilant.
‘What are we supposed to be watching out for?’ Ellie May asked, smoothing down her dark skirt. ‘Unattended luggage? Bombs under tables? People starting fires?’
‘No. Nothing like that,’ Phil said quickly. ‘There is absolutely no need to turn this into a drama.’
‘I thought you liked dramas,’ Mr B taunted.
Phil glared at him. ‘We just want you to be careful and for all of us to be aware that someone out there does seem to have a gripe with us. We clearly have an enemy.’
‘Do you mean like making sure that we double confirm every booking?’ Zoe asked. ‘And we make sure deposits are paid. Stuff like that.’
‘That’s exactly what we mean,’ Clara said.
‘I will certainly make sure that no one sneaks into my kitchen and poisons the food,’ Mr B said, with something resembling a flounce. He could be incredibly camp sometimes.
Phil glared at him again and Clara bit her lip. She wished he hadn’t said that. She’d never have thought of it otherwise.
‘I will patrol vigilantly the restaurant at all times,’ Jakob said, swinging his arms, military-style
‘And I will ensure we have no mysterious visitors in the dead of night,’ Keith said. ‘Although I may make an exception for attractive, twenty-something blondes. Call me the eternal optimist.’
Everyone laughed. Keith was a very stocky five foot six in his built-up heels, with thinning hair. He was definitely more Jack Nicholson than Jack Reacher. But Clara was grateful to him for lightening the mood.
‘I’ll keep an eye out when I’m changing beds,’ Janet said. ‘It’s amazing what you find in people’s rooms. This old couple left a pair of handcuffs under the bed last week. They were pushing seventy.’
‘You’re making it up,’ someone said.
‘I am not. They were pink and fluffy.’
‘The handcuffs or the couple?’
‘Did you take them home and try them out on your hubby?’
‘They were locked,’ Janet said, pursing her lips. ‘I never found the key.’
‘Give me strength,’ Phil said, exchanging glances with Clara. ‘Right, everybody. Back to work. Don’t get paranoid.’ He shot a glance at Mr B. ‘But don’t be too complacent either.’
‘Kate will be back very soon,’ Clara reminded them all. ‘Her appointment with the consultant’s on Friday, so I should have an update for you at our next meeting.’
There were murmurings of, ‘Give her our best.’
Clara nodded an acknowledgment, but unease tugged at her. The truth was that neither she nor Phil really knew what to tell them to watch out for because they didn’t know themselves. It was very difficult to be on your guard against an unknown attacker. Especially as you didn’t know when or from which direction the next attack would come.
16
September began without any incidents, although they did have some false alarms.
There was chaos in the restaurant one breakfast time when a guest discovered a black beetle, which turned out to be plastic, floating in his teapot.
‘How on earth did it get there?’ Mr B shouted, storming around the kitchen with the offending item held between his thumb and index finger and a look of utmost distaste on his haughty, angular face. ‘One of you zounderkites must know something about it?’
After about five minutes of ranting, a young waiter from the agency owned up. ‘I put it there as a joke,’ he admitted, holding his hands up and looking very worried. ‘OK, with hindsight, I shouldn’t have done it, but I knew the guy. He was the best man at my wedding. I thought he’d laugh. How was I to know his wife would find it?’
‘It was in very bad taste,’ Mr B scolded.
‘It would have been if it had melted,’ Ellie May offered.
No one dared laugh. Mr B was in too bad a mood.
Clara, who had been party to the whole thing only because she’d been in the kitchen at the time, made a tactical retreat. Everyone was still on edge. A few years ago, a prank like that would have been funny, but these days there was too much health and safety, too many rules, and too much litigation.
The second week of September began badly. Kate phoned to update Clara about what had happened with her consultant, but it was obvious as soon as she started speaking that it was not good news.
‘You’re not going to believe this, but I’ve managed to get an infection in my foot? The consultant took one look at it and started shaking his head.’
Clara could hear the despondency in her voice and she murmured sympathetically.
‘It’s not serious. Well, not in the big scheme of things – but it means I can’t have the plaster on yet, which means, of course, that I can’t fly. So I’m afraid I’m stuck out here. On the plus side, Aiden’s now here with me. He flew out last week to give me moral support – so now Mum has two of us in her corner.’ She sighed. ‘Actually I’m really glad he’s here. It’s lovely not to have to do everything on my own.’
‘I’ll bet,’ Clara said. Aiden was Kate’s partner. Clara had only met him a couple of times, but she remembered him as being Mr Laid Back. He was also quite a hottie – he looked like Jude Law and managed to be ultra cool and always have a twinkle in his eyes. She was pleased he was looking after Kate.
‘You don’t need to worry about anything here,’ she added. ‘I know we never got to the bottom of the Young Farmer’s cancellation, but we’ve had no more problems. We’ve warned everyone to be hypervigilant.’
‘Thank you,’ Kate said. ‘Clara, I’m aware that I must owe you some holiday. As soon as I’m back, you must take some time off. No arguments.’
‘OK,’ Clara agreed.
Despite everything, there was a part of her that still didn’t want Kate to come back. It would be weird no longer having total autonomy. She would miss looking after Foxy too – she’d got really fond of the little dog. And although it would be nice to be back in her own house, there were advantages to living in Kate’s bungalow and having an eight-minute commute to work. She was certainly not looking forward to fighting her way through the holiday traffic every day like everyone else had to do.
To cheer herself up, she decided to invest some of her Airbnb money in another bag and she trawled through eBay for a bargain and found a Poseidon blue Mulberry with tags and a receipt for less than half the recommended retail price. There was a fierce bidding war going on and Clara felt a tingle of excitement as she joined in. The deadline was eleven a.m. on Wednesday and she was busy upping her bid at ten forty-five when Zoe came in for a tea break. She looked up guiltily.
‘Are you on a bag-buying mission?’ Zoe asked idly.
‘Is it that obvious?’
‘Only to me. Mum accuses me of having this certain look – somewhere between sparkly-eyed excitement and teeth-gritting obsession – I might be to
tally wrong, but I think I just saw that very same look on your face.’
‘Well, you’re right as it happens.’ Clara beckoned her over and showed her the Mulberry and, to her alarm, Zoe looked horrified. ‘What?’ Clara said. ‘Don’t tell me we’re bidding against each other again because if we are it’s definitely your turn to drop out.’
‘No, we’re not. But I think that’s a fake. Can you withdraw?’
‘No way.’ Clara dropped her phone as though it was hot. ‘It doesn’t look like a fake.’
‘I know, but I think it is. There are a lot of fake Mulberries around. I was reading this blog about how to tell the difference. One of the ways is the stitching and that one’s got really odd stitching. If you zoom in on the strap, you can see it. Funnily enough, I was looking at it last night.’
Zoe flipped up the blog on her phone and for a few seconds they pored over the stitching on the fake bag compared with the real thing and Clara had to concede that the younger woman was right. There were a tense few moments when she tried to retract her bid and couldn’t, but then, to her huge relief, someone outbid her and the pressure was off.
‘That’s one way to win an auction,’ Zoe said, widening her eyes. ‘All’s fair in love and war, isn’t it, boss?’
Clara stared at her in shock. ‘You wouldn’t? Would you…?’
Zoe’s eyes sparkled with merriment. ‘Of course I wouldn’t. And if I did, I’d hardly confess ten seconds later. No, I really think it is a fake.’
They both burst out laughing and for a while they found they couldn’t stop.
‘Oh, I needed that,’ Clara said eventually, wiping her eyes.
‘Me too. Things have been way too serious around here with this saboteur business.’
‘How’s the sweepstake going for the naming of Mr B?’ Clara asked and Zoe’s mouth dropped open.
‘When did you find out about that?’
‘The day Phil opened the book, I think. So what’s the current favourite?’
‘Bertram Bumppo, I think. And yes that is a real surname. Ellie May found it online. For ages, the top favourite was Bertram Bottomley with odds of two to one, but I think Bumppo’s trumped that one – if you’ll excuse the pun.’
