~~~
Wide awake at four a.m., drinking coffee and having binned the now squishy salad rolls as well as missing dinner, thoughts of scrambled eggs on toast now taunted me.
Since Mr. Shepherd’s long-ago invitation to treat the hotel as my home, I slipped quietly from my room, making my way down the grand staircase, quickly passing The Watchers and through to the kitchen, where I froze at the sight of a shadowy figure by the fridge door. Tentatively switching on the light, I laughed to realise that George Shepherd also had “the munchies”.
Admiring the refurbished kitchen while my old boss scrambled eggs on toast for two, my eyes widened at the cost. “I was thinking of renaming the old place ‘The Arm and Leg,’ Cass. What do you think?”
“You could be onto a winner there. Mind you, the whole place looks gorgeous; all mod cons but still so understatedly elegant.”
We made small talk as we ate, and I was grateful to not have to think about Merry. In a while, as I washed and he dried the dishes, I asked Mr. Shepherd about “The Watchers”. “I’ve always called them that, ever since I first worked here. They used to scare me a bit.”
“Really? Sorry about that, Cass. I’m sure my ancestors wouldn’t do that deliberately.” Good as it was to see his eyes crinkle again with merriment, I still thought The Lion’s owner seemed a little too frail.
“Wow! All these years, and I never knew that! Various grandparents?” He smiled and nodded. “Golly, can you imagine some of my lot hanging on the wall, in paintings that is, gazing after you as you descended the stairs?”
For a few moments, Mr. Shepherd looked serious, wistful even. “Maybe,” he replied, enigmatically. “Anyway, did you meet up with your sister?”
For many years I had trusted this man, this soul of discretion, so I poured out much of what Merry had told me yesterday morning. “When Craig came in I thought Merry was going to pass out; me too, come to that. I must say, since I saw him around five years ago, he’s become even more brutish. I can’t fathom how someone can turn so evil. Mind you, it was no picnic living with him years ago, or any of them, come to that…”
By the time I re-entered my room it was coming on for six o’clock. Bed and shower looking equally inviting, I plumped for the shower. Once dressed, while packing my case I realised that Merry’s carrier bag remained unopened. Still, there would be ample time for that later. I experienced a sudden longing for my cottage.
In the Orangery, coffee and orange juice sufficed. My sister’s situation troubled me deeply. Desperately wanting to inform the police, I only refrained due to her sincere conviction that she would be killed if I did. Anger bubbling inside me, I wondered how someone could sink so damned low as to rape and impregnate his own sister; and what planet was my father on, that he condoned this? While never having been friends, if I could help her at all… But how?
What would Scott have suggested?
Back in the Rose Room, quickly checking that all was packed, I brushed my fingers lovingly over the Queen Anne (reproduction, I supposed) dressing table. Skilfully crafted in walnut, with its cabriole legs and scallop shell motif, I always wished to take this classically lovely piece home to take pride of place in my own bedroom.
Carefully placing Laurie Lee’s Cider with Rosie in my shoulder bag, I was reminded of yesterday’s conversation with Cherry Walters, at the bookshop.
~~~
“Did you enjoy the party last night? You know, at the hotel?”
“Party? What party?”
Joe raised an eyebrow, muttering that Cherry was sometimes given to what he called “flights of fancy”.
“I am most certainly not! We have a really good view of The Lion from our bedroom. I was up around four for a glass of water and I could see them, the usual lot in their fancy-dress garb. We’ve yet to be invited but then, we’re fairly new to Heatherbridge.”
Having explained that I was eating a very early breakfast just after four o’ clock in The Lion’s kitchen, and heard and saw nothing, I thanked them and made to leave. Hand hovering above the door handle, I suddenly turned, distracting Cherry from her brewing spat with Joe.
“The usual lot? Does this happen often?” I could not believe I was asking such questions. “Did you recognise any of them?”
Joe’s eyebrow shot back up and this time we both ignored him.
“Oh, yes.” Cherry’s expression was of pure triumph. “Now, they obviously weren’t those people, because they couldn’t be, but the clothes were just like those in the paintings by the hotel stairs. And the transport! Well, talk about Cinderella! There were a couple of lovely coaches, and, others arrived in two or three beautiful long black cars. Very posh. I’ve seen them three times. And the dresses! Oh, you wouldn’t believe it.”
Lost for adequate words, I thanked them again and left the bookshop. Glancing briefly in the window to tidy some wayward hair, another customer, of whose presence I had been completely unaware, smiled languidly at me. Politely, I smiled back.
Back at the hotel and firmly back in the present, I carried my luggage down the wide, elegant staircase, carefully scrutinising “The Watchers” as I went. I wanted to ask Mr. Shepherd about any fancy-dress parties but he was in a meeting. Since there was also no sign of The Lion’s head chef, I paid my bill and checked out.
FOUR
My journey home was uneventful. Adding a couple of hours to my trip I eschewed, as usual, the motorway. Kidding myself that I preferred the scenic route, in truth, I did not wish to miss the correct junction exit again. Smiling ruefully, I remembered driving around an unfamiliar town for about an hour, years ago, before gratefully disentangling myself from its mesh of streets. I had no desire ever again to experience that rising unease, compounded by everyone else seemingly knowing where they were going, while the fuel diminished and every garage remained tantalisingly out of reach.
Dusk was falling as I parked in front of my cottage. Entering my own familiar little world, warmth from the wood burning stove enveloped me as the aroma of chicken casserole tickled my nostrils. Before settling in, though, my little homecoming ritual had to be performed. This entailed just wandering around, getting the feel of the place again in a reaffirmation of belonging; me to the cottage and it to me. I always did it, even after just a few days away.
Supper finished, I relaxed in my cosy living room and waited. Sure enough, an hour after arriving home the door knocker sounded; you could set a clock by Elfie Patterson. In she bustled, smelling of cold fresh evening air and lightly scented face powder as we hugged. Divesting herself of coat, scarf and woollen gloves, Elfie settled in by the fire while I made a pot of tea, and cut two slices of her home-made chocolate cake, foil-wrapped and left on the kitchen worktop. She nodded and smiled as I thanked her for the edible gifts.
“Nothing you wouldn’t do for me, dear. Anyway, how did things go, Cassie? I must say, you’re looking a bit washed out. Still, I suppose that’s to be expected.”
“A day or two back here and I’ll be as right as rain,” I smiled. Hardly wishing to saddle such a lovely friend and neighbour with Merry’s woes, I informed Elfie that my mother’s funeral had been a small affair, as was expected, and my family were still as obnoxious as ever. “And I expect they speak highly of me, too,” I laughed, unsuccessfully attempting to lighten the conversation a little.
“You’re a deep one, Cassie Harrington, and no mistake,” Elfie said softly, maintaining eye contact for a fraction longer than I was comfortable with. Sometimes, I could have sworn that Elfie Patterson could see into my very soul. As I placed another log in the stove, aware that she could see tears brimming in my eyes, the older woman kept a gentle silence for which I was grateful. As the log spat like a furious cat, showering its brightness against the fireguard, I recovered some composure.
“Honeysuckle’s done well for herself, hasn’t she, Cass? I mean, The Lion’s head chef. She’ll have trained really hard for that. Didn’t you say that you two were school friends? You’ll have to take some p
hotos of her, and the hotel, and show them to me sometime. I’d really like that. I enjoy hearing about your life and friends pre-Summerlea. Honeysuckle, well, she sounds like a real grafter.”
“I didn’t get around to it last time, Elfie, but I made up for it this time. It looks grand after the refurbishment. There’s a lovely long conservatory, The Orangery, and Honeysuckle’s made a Tudor-style knot garden, full of herbs. Shall I pop across for coffee tomorrow morning and upload them onto your laptop? That’s if you haven’t had enough of me!”
“Oh, never that, my girl! Now, I’m going home so get an early night.” Her smile turning into a yawn, Elfie chuckled, “Looks like you’re not the only one ready for her bed.”
Standing in the doorway to see my friend safely to her home, I silently gave thanks for Elfie Patterson. She was a stiff-upper-lip, very independent type of person, and I was never allowed to escort her across the wide village green. Checking my home was locked up for the night, I did a couple of small chores and headed upstairs.
~~~
Having often thought that Elfie had been sent to me, why and how remained a mystery. Never having met, or even heard of, her before coming to Summerlea, I nevertheless felt that I had known her all my life. Trusting each other implicitly, each even kept a spare key to the other’s cottage. Always baking, knitting or sewing for some good cause or other, I had been taken aback when my friend proudly announced her enrolment on a basic computer course, to take place in the village hall. “Well, dear, it’s only a couple of sessions a week and it’ll give me another interest. You never know, it might keep me out of mischief!” I smiled, jocundly voicing doubt.
A year on, the Summerlea Silver Surfers still met weekly. Six or seven of them now took turns to provide the venue and refreshments. A session might be about gardening tips, genealogy, anything at all, Elfie informed me. “Of course, it maintains my typing skills. I used to keep accounts when I was younger, a lot younger! The host/hostess chooses the topic on the day, so no advance research can be done; well, everyone hates a smart-arse. We just turn up with our laptops, learn a few new things and enjoy ourselves.” I smiled at the thought of being a fly on the wall during a session or two!
~~~
Later, I could not think why I had woken so suddenly. Sitting bolt upright and listening intently, all I ‘heard’ was silence, but it was menacing. While the room was comfortably warm, the fingers of a sinister chill crept softly up my spine and neck as an air of utter malevolence made me want to check the wardrobe for a possible intruder, but I was too frightened to move. Scariest of all, everything appeared so completely normal. My fearful gaze for some unknown reason now rested on my slippers, innocently and neatly tucked under the dressing table. I waited for one or both of them to move, just a tiny twitch…
Needing the bathroom, I silently cursed the lack of an en-suite as, summoning the scant remains of my courage, I crept quickly and softly across the landing. The mirror was large, antique and ornate but somehow complemented my modern bathroom. Having hung in a bedroom at The Lion, Mr. Shepherd had offered it to me five years ago, when the hotel refurbishment was being planned.
The female face now staring back from the mirror was not mine, but I recognised it from Coolridge’s bookshop. I would have screamed but my mouth suddenly felt so dry and my tongue several sizes too large for it. Mouthing some words at me, I heard, in my mind, “Home. Go home.”
My voice returned, croaky but with a vengeance. I rasped, “I am home, this is my home! Who the hell are you, anyway? Get out of here and don’t come back! Got it?” Regarding me with mild amusement, the face offered a languid smile then simply vanished. Sorely tempted to smash the mirror then and there, I settled for slamming the bathroom door so hard that the handle broke.
The rest of the night was spent by the revived fire, snuggled into a cheerful red chenille throw, television volume up, and with more tea and chocolate cake than was sensible. I wished Scott was here, he would have known what to do.
FIVE
The front door shut with a satisfying thump and I followed an amused Elfie Patterson into the kitchen, at the back of her cottage. If she was surprised to receive a visitor at seven-thirty a.m. she did not show it, instead grinning at my attire and joking that it was a poor day to be out on the farm.
Dressed in an old tracksuit usually kept for gardening and a ratty old coat with a faded red velvet collar, wellington boots completed my ‘scarecrow chic’ look. I must have cut quite a shifty figure, especially so early in the day, crossing Summerlea’s mist-shrouded village green.
“No, Elfie, please don’t set a place for me. I’ve eaten so much cake overnight that I might burst, but coffee would be lovely, thanks.”
Observing my friend’s plump, pink dressing-gowned little self, hovering around the kitchen in a well-honed routine, it occurred to me how little I really knew about her. Now, sitting opposite her as she demolished a ‘Full English,’ I sensed that I would not be learning much today. Elfie patted her stomach. “Lovely, nothing like a good breakfast to set you up for the day. Now, Cassie dear, I’m off to have a quick shower and then we’ll have a good old natter.”
With that, my friend disappeared. Over the noise of the shower, I listened to Elfie’s voice, clear as a bell, powerfully and beautifully belt out Puccini’s O My Beloved Father. Upon her return, the dishes had been washed, work surfaces cleaned down, and fresh coffee now percolated. Once more opposite each other, Elfie crossed her meaty arms atop the scrubbed pine table and fixed me with her penetrating gaze. “Right, kiddo, let’s have it.”
So, I let her have it. All of it. Even the bit about croaking at a face that smiled at me before disappearing. Sitting there, her mouth opening and closing like a freshly landed fish, Elfie struggled for words. “You’re absolutely sure it wasn’t a dream?”
“Absolutely. It scared the living daylights out of me; I’m only dressed like this because I was, still am, afraid to go back upstairs.” Then, for good measure, I relayed my conversation with Cherry Walters, in the bookshop. Elfie’s face was a picture.
“My goodness, sweetie, you’ve had a time of it, haven’t you? And you’d never heard about the parties, you say? Tell you what, why don’t I come over with you right now and we’ll check your place out together?”
“Well, I suppose I have to sometime, but that damned bathroom mirror goes.”
~~~
Perched on opposite sides of my bed, Elfie took the small brass box from me while I removed the staples from Merry’s carrier bag. We had checked all through my home; nothing had been disturbed, the normal atmosphere had returned, and the ornate bathroom mirror now behaved itself. I felt a little confidence returning.
Holding the smooth round box to her nose, Elfie smiled. “I always do that; I love to smell the age on stuff like this and somehow try to get a sense of its history.” I nodded agreement, asking, “Any ideas as to what it is? It was handed in to The Lion’s reception for me, anonymously.”
“Lucky old you, Cass. It’s very tactile isn’t it, just like rolling a large, flattish pebble in your hands. Quite therapeutic. This, my dear, is a snuff box, circa Queen Anne if I’m not mistaken. Can you open it?”
“Not a chance, and I don’t want to force that lovely combination lock. I know someone who might just be able to help, though. I’ll let you know if there’s any treasure inside!”
The next moment, we nearly jumped out of our skins. Even after so many years, I recognised straight away the husky growl emanating from the carrier.
“Hell’s teeth, if it isn’t Brutus the Barking Bastard!” Quickly tipping the bag up, I grinned across at a rather perplexed Elfie, who declared she thought we could both have suffered heart attacks. Our relieved merriment subsiding, my friend picked Brutus up.
“Wow, I haven’t seen one of these for many a year. I suppose you realise just what you have here, Cass?”
“I certainly do, it’s the ugliest Christmas present ever. Apparently, someone dropped that be
ar in to my Aunt Ivy, next door, to give to me. Naturally, Mother checked first to see if it would do for Merry; seeing Brutus though, it was deemed suitable for me. Christmas Day, Merry unwrapped a plush, bright pink bear.”
“Well, my dear, you definitely got the better bargain.”
“Really? That ugly so-and-so spent most of my childhood in a drawer; well, just look at those red-rimmed eyes, they’re enough to give any child nightmares. I hated the blasted thing.”
Unable to resist grinning evilly, Elfie tilted the bear and Brutus once again performed his demonic party piece. “Actually, Cass, our furry friend is quite valuable. Brutus is a Titanic Bear, his red-rimmed eyes and black fur represent mourning. I think, although I stand to be corrected, that there were only five or six hundred made and this one’s in very good condition, especially with the growler still working. I believe one fetched quite a few thousand pounds at auction a few years ago.”
Letting out a low whistle, I began to see the bear in a new light. “Really? Perhaps I’ll sell him. Anyway, how come you’re so knowledgeable about all things Brutus?”
“I used to own one, unfortunately it perished in a fire. A distant relative went down with Titanic and I ended up, via an old cousin, with a kinsman, kinsbear, of old Brutus here. By the way, why call him Brutus the Barking Bastard?”
I explained that, years ago, a neighbour owned a dog named Brutus which constantly barked as it was alone most of the day. “It was a vicious beast and my brother, Craig, used to egg it on a lot, which didn’t help. One day, the dog managed to scale the garden fence and, by the time it had finished with him, Craig looked like a pin cushion. There was hell to pay, what with Mother flailing around with the yard broom trying to distract it while Father tried to haul Craig to safety. Merry and I stood in the doorway screaming, she with panic, I with delight. That bear arrived the following Christmas, sounding exactly like next door’s dog.” I shrugged my shoulders. “Well, that’s what I thought at the time, but I was only a kid.”
Home is Just a Feeling Page 2
