Hattie watched Drake commandeer his pond and when she realised that a smaller figure was paddling in his wake, tears came to her eyes and she smiled. Her duck had company and, by the look of things, the hen was making herself at home.
Hattie wiped her eyes and walked to the kitchen doorway. Marjorie had worked a miracle to finish and furnish the conservatory and Hattie wondered if she’d found time to work on the rest of the house too.
She felt a sense of trepidation as she lifted the latch and opened the stable doors, but her fears soon evaporated. The old place was hardly recognisable. The transformation that had been achieved, by layers of fresh paint in soft pastel shades and additional furnishings in muted, matching colours, was remarkable. Hattie recognised her worn old furniture. With polish and paint, cushions and coverings, it had all been given a new lease of life and looked entirely at home in the revamped surroundings. Even the fireplace was inviting, where an arrangement of fresh flowers filled the open hearth. Upstairs, the theme continued, and dark, shady corners were now bright with light painted walls and carefully arranged lighting. The peeling paintwork on ceilings and doors had gone. Soft white muslin hung from bedroom windows, tied back with thick braided rope and, beneath Hattie’s feet, the polished wooden floor felt smooth and warm as she stood in her bedroom, admiring it all.
Someone was knocking on the front door and before Hattie had a chance to leave the room and cross the landing, Marjorie appeared at the bottom of the stairs. ‘Thought we’d celebrate your homecoming,’ she called out and Hattie saw that her neighbour held a bottle of champagne in her hand.
‘Too bloody true! Marjorie Delaney, you are an astonishing woman.’ Hattie skipped down the stairs and as she got to the bottom, flung her arms around Marjorie’s neck. ‘How the hell did you manage to get all this lot done in such a short space of time?’
‘A creative mind and plenty of help,’ Marjorie said. ‘The good weather helped a great deal too.’ They went into the kitchen and she opened the door of the newly polished dresser and took out two glasses. ‘Don’t worry, it’s all reflected in the bill; you may have got me for free, but my assistants prefer to earn.’
‘Well, whatever it cost, you’ve done a cracking job, I hardly recognised the place.’ Hattie reached for the bottle and popped the cork. She filled the glasses and offered a toast. ‘To my lovely little cottage and all who pass through its doors and, most of all, to you, dear
Marjorie.’
They downed their drinks and Hattie topped them up.
‘Well, nothing is really for free, is it?’ Marjorie said, as she went into the conservatory and sat on the sofa. ‘I’ve fulfilled my part of our bargain, but you have a long way to go to fulfil yours.’
‘Aye, you’re not wrong there.’ Hattie flopped down and wriggled into a comfortable position as she fiddled with the button to elevate her new chair. ‘I need to get my finger out and crack on.’
‘We’ve got the wretched fete tomorrow.’
‘A temporary blip in the investigation; I’ll soon be back on the case.’
‘You’ve got prizes for the tombola, I hope?’
‘My fingers are raw with wrapping.’ Hattie smiled. ‘All we need to do is stick the tickets on the prizes and get the ratio right.’
‘Then I suggest we get on with it before I open another bottle; we can’t afford to bugger things up.’ Marjorie stood up. ‘Are the prizes in your car?’
‘Yep, I’ll go and get them.’ Hattie stood too but when she reached the door of the conservatory, she stopped and turned back. ‘Thanks, Marjorie,’ she said. ‘I really do appreciate all your hard work. Holly Cottage finally feels like home.’
JOHN HARGREAVES STOOD under the shower in the bathroom of the master bedroom, in the apartment at the top of the house at Marland Manor. The scorching hot water pounded against his skin. He turned the dial to cold and, as the icy waves hit his body, his toes flinched on the ceramic floor. John felt tired, both mentally and physically, and as he alternated the temperature, he willed the water to wake him up.
Nancy was asleep in the next room. Sultry and satisfied, she sprawled over the cotton sheets, where traces of lipstick faintly smeared the pillows and the aroma of her perfume lingered. Her skirt and blouse were piled in a heap on the floor, abandoned alongside lace undergarments and kitten-heeled shoes.
John stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around his waist, then stared at his reflection in the mirror above the bathroom sink. He saw tired eyes and a furrowed brow as he wondered how on earth he was going to get himself out of his current financial predicament. He knew that he shouldn’t be in Nancy’s apartment and if Venetia ever discovered him in the care home manager’s bed, it would be curtains on his marriage. There was nothing John would like more than a life without Venetia, but the cost of separating was something he couldn’t consider.
Something had to change.
His borrowings were mounting and although the nursing homes were a cash cow and provided a steady income stream, his property business was in a mess. If he didn’t do something soon to sort things out, John was aware that his creditors would be knocking on his door with battering rams, calling in their debts. Life as he knew it would come crashing down.
John picked up Nancy’s hairbrush and removed several strands of hair. He’d had a meeting with his accountant the previous day, when it had been clearly spelt out that in order to stay afloat, he needed to sell some assets. The assets in question were a large building in Leeds, West Yorkshire and an old school in Kendal, Cumbria; both had stood empty for years. He’d intended to turn the properties into residential apartments but hadn’t been able to borrow the funds to give the go-ahead to a construction company, to commence renovation work. Every property John owned was mortgaged heavily, the result of greedily accumulating too much, too soon. With little by way of finance-free bricks and mortar assets, banks were reluctant to support his plans to extend further. Even his marital home had a hefty mortgage and Venetia would have a fit if she knew. She believed that her father had paved the way in the early days to enable John to build his empire profitably, but John wasn’t the businessman that everyone thought he was and now he was about to come unstuck.
John placed the brush on the sink. Running his fingers through his hair, he considered placing a call to his estate agent to see if there was any interest. The properties in Leeds and Kendal needed to be renovated or sold soon. Both had been on the market for months and despite having planning permission to convert the buildings into apartments, there had been no offers, and the reduced asking price now matched the price that John had paid for them. If things carried on, he’d soon be in negative equity. Costs to maintain both properties had escalated too. The lead had been stripped off the roof of the school by thieves. It had needed replacing and, despite a resident caretaker, twenty-four-hour security was now essential to keep further thefts at bay. But it was expensive. In Leeds, squatters had attempted to move into the building and, again, he needed the round-the-clock services of a security firm to keep intruders out. John sighed heavily; he’d make the call just as soon as he left Nancy. It couldn’t be done in her presence; she mustn’t know that he was up to his eyeballs in debt.
Nancy was a part of his business that he needed to keep sweet.
John wandered into the bedroom and crept around the side of the bed. She was sleeping heavily and as he carefully sat down, he thought about her property portfolio. Nancy was proud of the fact that she had no borrowings on anything that she owned and had enjoyed keeping John up to date over the years, as she’d carefully accumulated a healthy collection of assets. She’d bought at rock-bottom prices and sold at a premium. Her investments would keep her in some style when she eventually decided to retire and live out her days in comfort. Unlike John, Nancy was careful with money and had forgone lavish holidays, flashy cars, foolish losses on the stock-market and living an expensive lifestyle. Instead, she’d worked steadily as manager at Marland Manor, taking little t
ime off. With all her living expenses included as part of her working package, and a decent salary too, Nancy lived wisely.
As John looked at her face, he wished that he’d never got emotionally involved. Beneath the carefully applied make-up, Nancy was no longer the beauty he had first been attracted to. She was beginning to show her years and, despite rigorous exercise and a carefully chosen wardrobe, her looks were fading and her appeal waning. John preferred his extra-marital liaisons to be of a more youthful variety, with fresh taut flesh, enthusiastic sex and a body that didn’t collapse into sleep after every sexual encounter.
But as he sat on the bed and watched Nancy, John suddenly had an idea.
Nancy had properties that could be easily mortgaged. If he could persuade her to raise some cash and lend it to him, he could convert the building in Kendal, possibly Leeds too, creating a considerable profit. As the completed apartments sold, she would be repaid, with interest. With rising excitement, his mind began to calculate figures and John realised that there would be a massive financial benefit for him. He wondered why on earth he hadn’t thought about this option before.
John smiled as he edged closer to Nancy. He touched her naked arm and, ignoring the faint brown age marks that speckled her skin, began to stroke softly. Leaning forward, he nuzzled into her hair. But Nancy’s eyes were tightly closed, and she breathed heavily; a soft snore rumbled from her throat.
Ignoring his instinct to get up and walk away, John persevered with his lovemaking. His business brain was working hard, and he set his body to autopilot as he lifted the covers and reached for her body. With the right words and gentle persuasion, John would be home and dry. If he could assure Nancy that her investment would bring a rich reward and a quick turnaround, he knew that there was every chance that she’d jump at the opportunity to invest.
As Nancy began to respond, John thought of the pretty little waitress at Kirkton House Hotel. She’d smiled suggestively when he’d left her an over-generous tip last week and it had been easy to get her number. He had no doubt that she’d meet him for dinner soon and after a few glasses of bubbly and the promise of a few pieces of bling, he’d have her knickers off and legs open faster than it took to pop a champagne cork. Nancy’s eyes opened and she smiled as she returned John’s caresses. He noticed the lines of skin creasing around her mouth and willed himself on. With the intoxicating fantasy of the waitress catering to all of his sexual needs, John’s body became hard and he pounded into Nancy. With each thrust he thought of the money she would release, as easily as she was giving in to him now.
As he reached his climax, he called out, ‘I love you, Nancy, you’re the best!’
22
Hattie woke up late on the morning of the fete and slowly untangled her arms from the sheet wrapped around her naked body. She opened her eyes and wondered where she was. Sunlight from the open mullioned window cast a checkerboard of light on the pale walls and ceiling and muslin drapes fluttered in the soft breeze, blowing from the garden. She blinked a few times as she savoured the glow that filled the room and smiled when she realised that she wasn’t dreaming.
This was her newly refurbished bedroom and it looked absolutely brilliant.
Hattie sat up. She arched her back and winced as an ache tore through her back and she rolled her shoulders to ease the sensation. Despite her years, Reggie was able to manipulate Hattie into positions she’d long forgotten, but the pleasure of such far outweighed the pain.
Reggie had hardly recognised the place the previous evening. He’d arrived very late, soon after closing, when he’d raced across the green and into Hattie’s garden then fumbled in the dark to find his way through the conservatory and into the cottage.
‘Blimey, I thought I’d got the wrong address,’ he said as he took in the candlelit surroundings. ‘Marjorie has worked wonders.’
Hattie, who’d been sticking tickets to tombola prizes, had smiled. ‘It’s like a feature in a lifestyle magazine,’ she said and spread out her arms. ‘I never imagined it could look so stylish yet cosy and I love it.’
‘And I love you,’ Reggie thought as he nestled into Hattie’s embrace, her warm body wrapping around him like a comforting blanket. He sighed with pleasure and kissed her neck. ‘I missed you,’ he said.
‘Nah, don’t be so daft.’ Hattie pulled away and, reaching for a glass, poured a nightcap. ‘With all those lasses at the pub fawning over you, I’m sure you’ve not given me a thought.’
Now, as she climbed out of bed, Hattie hoped that Reggie had left in plenty of time this morning. She hadn’t heard him go but knew that he had a lot to do to prepare the beer tent and bar for the fete.
Outside the cottage, a car tooted, and Hattie cursed. Marjorie had arrived to collect the tombola prizes.
‘Let yourself in,’ Hattie yelled out of the open window.
She paused as she caught sight of her outfit for the day, hanging on the back of the bedroom door. ‘Why did I agree to this?’ she said, then went into the bathroom. A mirror above the sink reflected Hattie’s puffy face. She had one hell of a hangover. What had possessed her to drink so much? Marjorie’s champagne and Reggie’s nightcaps, which had been pleasurable at the time, now churned in her stomach and her head pounded. ‘Oh hell,’ she groaned as she cleaned her teeth, ‘if only I could go back to bed.’
‘What did you say?’ Marjorie shoved the bathroom door open and stared at Hattie. ‘My God, you look like something that’s crawled out of the pond.’ She shook her head. ‘You’re green!’
‘Keep it down a bit.’ Hattie frowned as she filled the sink with water and splashed her face.
‘I hope you’ve got plenty of makeup handy, we’re running a tombola stall not a ghost train.’ She turned to the shower cubicle and, switching the dial to cold, grabbed hold of Hattie and shoved her under the cascading water.
‘Agh!’ Hattie yelled as Marjorie slammed the glass door and held firm, ‘you’re killing me!’
An hour later, Hattie, fully dressed, sat in the kitchen and drank from a mug of strong coffee while Marjorie fussed about, making breakfast. ‘You’ll feel much better when you’ve got something in your stomach,’ she said, spreading butter and jam onto a slice of toast. ‘Here, eat this.’
‘Well, you’d know all about hangovers,’ Hattie said sulkily but she took the toast and began to tuck in.
‘Oh, my word.’ Marjorie paused by the sink. She stared out at the garden and shook her head. ‘What in Heaven’s name have we got here?’
Hattie stood and, wiping crumbs from her mouth, looked out too. ‘Bleedin’ hell,’ she said, ‘it’s the Rhinestone Cowboy.’
Alf strutted down the steps, heading for the kitchen. He wore a long-sleeved, button-down shirt in a plaid pattern. Gone were his regulation moleskin trousers, replaced by blue jeans with a wide belt and shiny gold buckle. A gun holster hung from the belt. His cowboy boots had a Cuban heel and appeared to be made from alligator skin. On his head, he wore a Stetson. Ness and Drake followed, with colourful bandanas matching Alf’s shirt knotted jauntily around their necks.
Hattie and Marjorie turned wide-eyed as the trio entered the kitchen. Flattened against the sink, the women struggled to contain their giggles.
‘Are you off to a star-spangled rodeo?’ Hattie asked.
‘Piss off.’ Alf stumbled towards the table to pull out a chair. As he sat down, he raised a boot. ‘These spurs don’t half make me walk oddly.’
‘You look very nice.’ Hattie patted the top of Ness’s head. ‘With matching animals too.’
‘Aye, Judy made the ‘neckerchiefs and my outfit.’ He ran his calloused hands along the yoke of his shirt and snapped a pocket open to dig deep for his tobacco and papers. ‘You’ll be giving Dolly Parton a run for her money.’ Alf raised his bushy eyebrows as he rolled a smoke and nodded towards Hattie’s blouse.
‘Do you like it?’ Hattie asked, giving a twirl. ‘We’ve Marjorie to thank for this lot.’ She thrust out her chest and patted her hair.
‘She came up with our outfits.’ Dressed in a short denim skirt and tight-fitting blouse, embellished with sequins and pretty embroidery, Hattie’s hair was skilfully styled into a titian halo. Heavily back-combed, it bounced on her shoulders. Like Alf, she wore cowboy boots but with a pattern etched into the soft leather.
‘I’d drop the spurs,’ Hattie said. ‘You’ll do yourself a mischief.’
‘Good thinking.’ Alf reached down and unclipped the offending objects. Old and worn, he’d found them in a junk shop, rusted with age.
‘Look after those clothes. I’ll lose my deposit at the fancy-dress shop if you ruin them.’ Marjorie put Hattie’s empty plate in the sink. ‘We need to be making a move, the fete starts at two and we have to set everything up.’ Wearing a soft suede tunic and white plimsols, Marjorie’s hair was braided in two plaits, tied with red ribbon. She took her beaded bag from the table. ‘I’ll start packing the car.’
‘I’d best be off.’ Alf stood up. ‘I’m helping Reggie set up the saloon.’
‘Saloon?’ Hattie asked.
‘Aye, Reggie’s named his beer tent the Rusty Spur Saloon.’
‘Very appropriate.’ Hattie carefully picked up Alf’s spurs from the table and dropped them in the bin.
‘I’ll take some of your parcels, she’ll never get them all in her Noddy car.’ Alf stuck his roll-up behind his ear and strode away to find Marjorie. Ness scampered behind, but Drake raised his head towards Hattie and quacked.
Hattie Goes to Hollywood: Shenanigans, fun & intrigue in a new mystery series! Page 19
