The Hawkshead Hostage

by Rebecca Tope

  ‘Twice a week is fine.’

  ‘Well, to cover my travel and time spent here as well as all materials, I would want five hundred pounds a week.’ She waited for the explosion at such an outrageous demand. If they paid that, she would find herself able to afford all sorts of things she’d been depriving herself of.

  ‘No problem,’ he said, so quickly that she knew she could have gone higher. After all, they charged their guests a hundred and fifty a night. Anyone staying a whole week was already more than paying for the flowers. ‘Now, let’s give you a guided tour.’

  Again, he trotted ahead of her, skirting around the side of the main building and in through the front entrance. They paused on the spot where Simmy had already mentally planned her welcoming exhibit, and then progressed to the lounge where a scattering of guests were on sofas drinking tea. Simmy recognised only one of them – the tall man with the straw hat and a rather appealing beard. ‘Afternoon, Mr Ferguson,’ Dan addressed him with a smile. ‘Had a good day?’

  The man nodded coolly and turned a page of his newspaper. Dan showed no sign of offence, but returned to his quiet discussion with Simmy. Again a subtle scent was decided upon, with colours in a very discreet and muted palette. The dining room was inspected, and a position next to the sideboard selected as the best place for flowers. These could be more dramatically cheerful, encouraging diners to take a risk with their fish.

  The solar was a fabulous upstairs space, full of light and height. ‘Tall spiky things,’ said Simmy. ‘Fanned out in the shape of a rising sun. Oranges and yellows.’ She was transported by the opportunity the job was creating for her. ‘Which I’d vary, of course. It would never be the same two weeks running. But still along that sort of line.’

  ‘Excellent,’ said Dan Yates. ‘That’s all good, then. Can you start this week?’

  ‘Friday?’

  He pouted teasingly. ‘Is tomorrow too soon, then?’

  ‘Well, yes, it is, really. I need to order everything, and …’ she stopped, fully aware that if she put the order in that evening the flowers would arrive next morning, with nothing to stop her from coming back and arranging them in the middle of the day. Was it not a deplorable laziness that made her pause? ‘I suppose it would be possible. Will you supply the pots, or should I?’

  ‘We’ve got a whole lot in a pantry at the back. I’ll show you.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘The thing is, we’ve got people coming on Wednesday, who we’d rather like to impress. Americans. A little bird has whispered that they might be rather useful to us, with reviews and all that. Even if you just did the foyer and the solar, that would be a big help. Then come back on Friday for the full monty.’

  They were descending the stairs, emerging into the corridor that Simmy had found nearly an hour earlier. Standing there, waiting for the stairs to be clear, was the couple who had reacted badly to the sounds of the hunt for Gentian. It occurred to Simmy that they might occupy a ground-floor room, perhaps accessed through one of the doors at the end of the corridor? She gave herself a mental shake. Too much contact with Ben Harkness, she chided. Always trying to read clues and make deductions, was Ben. She had hoped the habit wasn’t catching, but apparently it was. There was no imaginable relevance to the location of guest rooms.

  ‘Hello there,’ said Dan heartily. ‘Mr and Mrs Lillywhite,’ he introduced them to Simmy. ‘This lady is going to be supplying us with flowers,’ he explained.

  The woman smiled tightly, and the man merely inclined his head. ‘The lost child is restored then,’ he said. ‘No more panic.’

  ‘There was never any panic, sir,’ said Dan. ‘But her mother was understandably alarmed. I’m sorry if you found it disturbing.’

  ‘It was right outside our window,’ the man went on, the rumble of discontent hard to ignore.

  ‘My apologies,’ repeated Dan. ‘I can assure you it won’t happen again. As a gesture, permit me to offer you a complimentary aperitif before dinner. I’ll give Charles a note now, to be sure it won’t be overlooked.’

  Simmy thought that Mr Lillywhite might also benefit from a moustache. He could have bristled it and harumphed at being wrong-footed so effortlessly. As it was, his clean, pink face adopted a gracious expression, and he ushered his compliant wife upstairs ahead of him. ‘Thank you,’ he mumbled. ‘Come along, Rosemary.’

  Well done! thought Simmy. All her preconceptions about the need for unwavering sycophancy in the world of hotels had been confirmed. This man had to set aside any thought of his own self-respect, for the greater good of satisfied customers. It was done with dignity, and the slenderest hint that he was, after all, in the right of it. The complaining guest would be left at best with mixed emotions. Free drinkies – hooray! But offered so glibly, so willingly – didn’t that leave a suspicion that he, the guest, was being humoured like a sulky child? The suggestion that his objections had been foolish, excessive, somehow betraying unfortunate origins, would make him uneasy. Especially as, in this case, something about his wife’s chin made the suspicion all the stronger.

  Nothing could be further from Simmy’s mother’s plain-speaking to her B&B guests. If they complained, she cross-questioned them as to precisely what they had expected. She might ask them if such a requirement, whatever it might be, had ever in their experience been met. She might even point out that she did her best in the circumstances, but was only human and had never promised a weekend in paradise. The people almost always apologised for their importunate demands.

  Dan took her to a gloomy room that must have been the dairy originally. There were slate slabs for keeping milk, butter and cheese cool, a stone floor and very small windows. On a shelf stood at least a dozen assorted containers, from metal buckets to fancy terracotta plant pots with ornate handles. None seemed quite right for the purpose to Simmy. But there were also three large rose bowls with their own pedestals, tucked against the wall. Made of fine-quality china, it seemed odd to find them discarded so carelessly. ‘What are they doing here?’ she asked.

  ‘The manager had them taken out of harm’s way, a while ago now. He was worried that guests’ children might knock them over. Plus he thought they looked wrong with no flowers in them. And until now, we haven’t found anyone capable of filling them regularly.’ He smiled at her, showing perfect white teeth.

  ‘Can we risk using them, then?’

  ‘If you think they’ll do.’

  ‘They’ll be fine. But there’s only three. What else can we use?’ She scanned the room, assessing the options. ‘That’s interesting.’ She went to a large black vase, tall and narrow, with a gold-etched design down the front that looked like Chinese lettering. ‘It would be good in the lounge.’

  ‘Isn’t it a bit low?’

  ‘We’d have to find something to stand it on. Any little table will do.’

  ‘Okay. Shall we take them in now? Or what?’

  She hesitated, wondering how best to organise things. ‘If I can take the black one back with me, I can have at least one display ready in advance. The bowls can stay here until tomorrow, and I’ll do the arrangements in situ.’

  ‘Whatever you say.’ She had the impression that he was tiring of the whole subject of flowers, and eager to see her off. He must have things to do, she realised. The end of the afternoon would see people returning from their day out, dinner to be prepared, plans to be made.

  ‘I’ll see you tomorrow,’ she said. ‘Thank you for spending so much time on this. I won’t let you down.’

  ‘I’m sure you won’t,’ he said. ‘I have complete faith in you.’

  She parted from Dan Yates thinking it would be interesting to get to know him over the summer. Not only him, but also the rest of the staff. And it would be a bonus to see Melanie more often. With a light step, she returned to her car, and navigated the twisting route back to Windermere. Bonnie would have gone home and locked the street door of the shop, but there were all those flowers to be ordered, and some tidying to do. She wa
s busy, she realised. Very busy.

  But there might also be time to more thoroughly explore Hawkshead itself. The fact that very few cars were permitted in the centre of the village had deterred her from ever going there other than to deliver flowers from time to time. Now she might find an hour or so to walk there from the hotel, and even have a drink in one of the cafés. Fridays might be organised accordingly. Arrive at the hotel mid afternoon, and award herself a nice summer evening in the fells of Furness, or the edge of Esthwaite. If she had somebody to go with her, it would be all the nicer, of course – but that was unlikely.

  It all meant change, anyway, and that was a good thing. Her gratitude towards Melanie burgeoned as she realised just what a big thing the girl had done for her. There was, after all, a florist in Coniston and several in Ambleside, any of which might have got the commission instead of her. She would have to do a good job, if only to justify Mel’s recommendation.

  Back in the shop she spent twenty minutes ordering a careful selection of flowers, making sketches of the displays she intended to install at the hotel. Ideas thronged her mind, subtle touches that would enhance the impression she hoped to make. The additional work on Friday was even more exciting and she jotted notes for the solar and dining room as well. Only then did she remember that Melanie had said there might be another site upstairs where flowers could be needed. Dan hadn’t mentioned it, but it set her to wondering whether there actually was a large meeting room up there. All the winter events offered by the hotel must need something of the sort. She remembered her curiosity about the Lillywhites’ reason for going upstairs. Perhaps they’d rented the room for some purpose?

  It was sheer greed, she accused herself, wanting to provide yet more flowers. The work would be onerous as it was, and anything more would have to be renegotiated payment-wise. But the more she thought of the lovely old building and all the hidden areas she hadn’t seen, the more she wanted to discover. Apart from her own fascination with it, she wanted to be able to describe it to her father and play their favourite game of imagining how things must have been centuries ago.

  The original owners were very probably a large Victorian family with servants and regular social events. Dancing in the current dining room; conversing in the lounge; eating in a darker area to the rear, close to the kitchens. There would be eight or nine bedrooms on the upper two storeys, with dressing rooms and large closets now transformed into bathrooms. Alterations would have been considerable, to include en suite bathrooms, for one thing. Walls would have been moved, staircases enlarged or even added. There had to be a lift somewhere. In a combination of preservation and modern vandalism, the building’s new incarnation would be unrecognisable to those long-age residents. She looked forward to gradually finding out more, during her regular summer visits.

  She had to accept that four large displays was plenty. As she listed her requirements for the wholesaler, she discovered that her five hundred pounds would not yield as big a profit as she’d thought. What a fool, she reproached herself. She should have done detailed costings, instead of plucking a figure out of the air as she had. There would in effect be eight lots of flowers to be specially purchased every week – although some might be carried over from one visit to the next. She would have to be very clever with design and colour, using cheaper blossoms to maximum effect, if she were to benefit as originally hoped.

  But it would have unforeseen advantages, too. People would ask who had done the flowers, and make a note of the name. And it would give extra weight to any approaches she might make to other hotels, closer to home. She could send people for a look at the Hawkshead example as proof of her abilities.

  And Bonnie would appreciate the additional responsibility. She loved working in the shop, giving up any pretence to other ambitions. ‘This is the life,’ she often said. ‘I’ve found my vocation. I don’t care what Corinne says about getting some proper qualifications.’ She was certainly very talented when it came to visual effects. After only a few days in the job, she had transformed the interior of the shop with an almost magical set-up suggesting a kind of highway from street to cash register. She regularly reorganised the front window, too. But she was slow to learn the names of the flowers and the importance of the seasons. She floundered when a customer asked for suggestions and could not do the simplest mental arithmetic.

  Her education had been fatally interrupted by anorexia, with exams taken for form’s sake and almost certainly comprehensively failed. The results weren’t expected for many more weeks, but nobody thought there would be any pleasant surprises. She looked much younger than her seventeen years, a pale little pixie creature who few people could take seriously.

  At last Simmy closed down the computer, checked the lights and locks and headed for home. She lived in Troutbeck, at a much higher elevation than the lakeside towns of Windermere and Ambleside. A brisk walk up Wansfell from her cottage would reveal a sweeping view across the lake to the woodlands on its western shore, where Coniston, Hawkshead, the Sawreys and Furness were arrayed between Windermere and Coniston Water. Everywhere in this southern part of the Lake District there were trees and gardens and rich green grass. Only on the high fells did the rocks and heather prevail, assisted by the relentless grazing of sheep.

  The names and character of the various settlements were gradually coming into focus for her as she got well into her second year in the area. There was a lot of catching up to do, though, before she could achieve anything like familiarity. New details were constantly coming to her attention – including the existence of the Hawkshead Hotel and the environs of the tiny town from which it took its name.

  She fell asleep making mental lists of everything she would have to do next day, and for the rest of the week. It would all fall into place, she was sure. There were plenty of hours in the day, after all. Half-dreaming, she saw before her the faces of Dan Yates and Jake the chef, as well as young Gentian and the harumphing ground-floor guest. They were all admiring a great vase of flowers that she had arranged out on the parterre.

  Chapter Four

  ‘How did it go?’ Bonnie asked, the moment she stepped into the shop next morning. ‘At the hotel, I mean.’

  ‘Really well. Although I have a feeling I didn’t ask for enough money. It seemed like a lot until I broke it down, and then it was too late. It’s okay, though. I’ll just have to be extra clever at what I use.’

  ‘The delivery van’s here.’ Bonnie cocked her head at a vehicle pulling up outside.

  The girl helped the van man to unload, admiring the closely packed blooms as she always did before releasing them from their captivity and giving them a drink. ‘Look at this colour!’ she cried, holding a pale-mauve primula aloft. ‘And what’s with all this eucalyptus?’

  ‘That’s for the foyer. It’s going to be mainly mauves and purples. Eucalyptus is perfect for that.’

  ‘What are the others?’

  Simmy produced the black vase. ‘This one’s going in the lounge, at the end of the week. Today, I’m only doing the reception area and the big space upstairs. It’s called a solar, because it gets so much sun.’

  ‘Sounds nice,’ said the girl, sounding wistful. ‘Wish I could see it.’

  ‘We’ll work something out so you can,’ Simmy promised, thinking the girl probably hadn’t ever seen the inside of an expensive hotel.

  By ten o’clock, she had assembled everything she needed and loaded it into her van. She had also checked the computer for new orders and left Bonnie with all the usual instructions for taking charge of the shop. ‘I should be back by twelve,’ she said. ‘Have fun.’

  Bonnie’s mobile prevented her from responding. ‘It’s Ben,’ she said with an unconscious grin.

  For no good reason, Simmy hovered in the doorway while the youngsters conversed. Within half a minute it turned out that she had been right to do so. Bonnie flapped an urgent hand at her, saying, ‘Yes, she’s here. You only just caught her.’ She held out the phone. ‘He wants to speak
to you.’

  ‘Hi, Ben. How are you?’ she greeted him.

  ‘Okay. Listen – are you coming to Hawkshead this morning? Bonnie said you were, when I spoke to her last night.’

  ‘Yes. I’m just leaving. Why?’

  ‘I’m stuck here, that’s why. I assumed I’d got a lift sorted, but they’ve gone without me. Probably my own fault, for boasting about how much I like hiking. Then I went for the bus, but they cancelled the next one. I’m far too knackered to walk to the ferry. It’s hot. And Bonnie says you’re coming here anyway, so that seems the perfect solution. Don’t you think?’

  ‘It’s no problem for me. Where will you be?’

  ‘In the car park. The one on the left as you go into the village.’

  ‘You’ll have to amuse yourself while I do the flowers in the hotel. Is that okay? I should be finished by twelve at the latest.’

  ‘It’ll have to be,’ he said ungraciously, before asking, ‘but can’t I come with you to do the arranging? I could guard the van or something. It’s going to be boring otherwise, kicking my heels in Hawkshead.’

  It occurred to Simmy that sitting in a van was hardly exciting, but she guessed the boy was in need of a rest. He’d probably fall asleep. ‘I suppose so. Stand where I can see you, then, and I’ll be there in about twenty-five minutes, I should think.’

  ‘Thanks a bundle, Sim,’ he said. ‘Can I talk to Bonnie again now?’

  Resisting the urge to give Bonnie a repeat set of instructions, Simmy set out. It was a route she was beginning to find familiar, and to savour accordingly. From Windermere to Ambleside the road followed the eastern edge of the lake, often within a few feet of the lapping water. There were huge, high trees along this road, as there were bordering much of the A591, all the way from Ings. They gave the impression that there was a forest just waiting for its chance to become once again the dominant feature it must have been a millennium ago. If people and sheep were sent into an enchanted sleep for a few years, they would awake to dense vegetation on all sides.