As the car turned off to follow the road to Hollywood, John sighed. He stared at the village green and throngs of locals and tourists enjoying their afternoon out. It really was a chocolate box picture and he wondered if he would miss it.
But as the car drew to a halt, John knew that he’d had enough.
Since the death of Barry, whom he’d considered a friend and an integral part of his business, he’d lost heart. Barry’s suicide had hit John hard, though he tried not to show it. John hadn’t a clue why his trusted employee should suddenly take his own life and in trying to reason this out, John had been troubled. If a man like Barry could be gone in an instant, John wondered what the world was really all about. His own life was a sham and he’d had enough. He was sick of his business and worrying about an ever-increasing wage bill each month. Marriage to Venetia was excruciating and his extra marital relationships were set to cause him complications, very soon.
Unless he did something to change it all.
John longed for freedom from all this and had his heart set on a new life, while he still had the years left to enjoy it. He visualised himself on a Caribbean island or perhaps as far away as Tahiti or Thailand, with exotic women at his beck and call and all the money he needed to entertain them.
The driver had stopped the car and now held the door for his boss.
‘I’ll give you a call when I’m ready to be picked up,’ John said and climbed out. He straightened the collar of this Ralph Lauren polo shirt and smoothed the line of his immaculate linen trousers. There wasn’t a prayer that he would wear cowboy gear for this shindig, it would damage his image.
Having decided that he may as well enjoy his last few events in this backward, claustrophobic county, and with a nose for the bar and the sun shining brightly, he tipped his Panama hat, pushed a pair of Ray-Bans over his eyes and set off.
‘LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, the results of the cake competition are about to be announced. Please make your way to the main marquee.’
Hattie looked up. She was busy spinning the tombola barrel but stopped to listen to Roger make an announcement. She turned to Marjorie. ‘That’s me,’ she said, handing her fanny pack over.
‘You surely don’t think that you’re going to win anything?’ Marjorie asked. ‘You can’t bake to save your life.’
‘Well, that’s for you to ask and me to know.’
‘You’ll never beat Joan’s fancies; she’s been perfecting them all week.’
‘I can’t stand here discussing the possibilities, when I need to be standing on the stage to receive my prize.’ Hattie stepped away from the tombola stall. ‘You can keep shop while I’m gone,’ she said and she hurried across the green.
As she arrived, Hattie could see that the mayor was handing out prizes to competitors who’d entered their cakes in the various categories. Alf’s sister Grace was grinning from ear to ear as she took a first for her Victoria sandwich. Judy, his wife, was beaming to receive a second for her fruit scones and, to her shock and surprise, Penny got a third for her rock cakes. But as Josh and Hannah jumped up and down excitedly, pulling at their mother’s skirt, Joan was beside herself and staggered back in shock. Her fancies had been overlooked and hadn’t come in the first three.
It took three cowboys, including Arnie, to calm her down.
A low murmur now rippled through the marquee as everyone whispered excitedly, wondering who was going to receive the most prestigious prize of all, for best cake in show. There had been a surprising number of entries this year, with bakers old and young encouraged by the vicar, who was determined to raise funds by charging an entry fee enabling him to offer a cash prize. This was the first time such a prize had been made available and there was a hundred pounds in an envelope waiting for the winner.
Hattie edged forward and straightened her bouffant of hair. She ran a coat of lipstick over her lips and thrust her chest out. She wanted to look her best for the photograph in the Hollywood News.
‘And it gives me great pleasure to announce that the winner of the show-stopper cake, the best-cake-in-show, goes to…’
The audience held their breath, bakers crossed their fingers and mature WI ladies turned up their hearing aids.
‘A relative newcomer to our village,’ the mayor said with interest, glancing at the name on the envelope. ‘Congratulations to Mrs Hattie Mulberry!’
Polite applause rippled around the room as Hattie stepped up to claim her prize and a photographer took a picture for the local press.
‘Any tips for the cake makers amongst us?’ the mayor asked.
‘Oh, just years of experience, perfecting the recipe,’ Hattie said.
‘Well, your sugar work is something to be seen and we congratulate you.’ The mayor clapped his hands together as Hattie took her envelope, picked up her cake and stepped off the stage.
Marjorie, who’d shut the tombola down, stood at the edge of the crowd. She shook her head as Hattie came towards her. ‘How the hell did you manage that?’ ‘Years of practise,’ Hattie replied.
‘You might be good at bacon butties, but you can barely boil an egg.’
‘I had a few tips from those that know.’
‘More like having a best friend in Bath who is a hotelier and has a chef famed for his patisserie work?’
‘Shush!’ Hattie grabbed Marjorie’s arm. ‘You won’t be complaining when we use this lot on booze in The Best Little Whorehouse in Hollywood.’ She waved her envelope.
‘As long as you make it champagne.’
‘Absolutely, lead the way, I’m starving and ready for a slice of sponge.’ Hattie steadied her cake and together they wound their way out of the marquee.
JOHN WAS DEEPLY REGRETTING his decision to come to the fete. He’d made the mistake of entering the beer tent where Nancy was holding court at the bar and as soon as she saw him, had grabbed his arm, insisting that he join her. To make matters worse, Camilla had arrived and, seeing the two of them seated and enjoying a drink, had strode over and invited herself to their party.
He’d warned Nancy to keep quiet about their arrangement, nothing must be said yet for he couldn’t make any commitment until Venetia was paid off. If his wife got wind of his relationship with Nancy, she’d take him to the cleaners and, he’d told her in no uncertain terms, there’d be nothing left for either of them. Nancy had nodded sullenly and, having agreed to keep quiet, seemed to be drowning her sorrows. He was aware that she longed to announce his biggest fear to the world, that they were now an item.
Something that would never, ever happen in John’s new life.
He looked at Nancy and felt a stab of panic; she was downing shots of bourbon. He’d never seen her like this before; God only knew what the woman would come out with if she kept this up.
At least Camilla was being exceptionally polite and endearing. She’d asked about Nancy’s welfare and how were all the residents at Marland Manor, a subject John knew was of the least interest to his accountant. She’d even enquired after Venetia and was sorry that his wife was away visiting friends and not able to attend the fete. John knew that Camilla hated Venetia’s guts and as he took a drink from a pint of Reggie’s finest ale, he wondered what her game was.
Suddenly, a distraction caught everyone’s eye and John, Nancy and Camilla turned to see who had entered the beer tent.
Hattie, wearing a large rosette pinned to her blouse and waving an envelope, strode ahead of Marjorie, who was carrying a fancy-looking cake. Joan and Arnie fell into step behind them, followed by Grace, Alf and Judy and most of the Hollywood WI.
‘Drinks all round,’ Hattie called out to Reggie. ‘Have we got a cowboy handy to cut up a cake?’
A rush of goldminers descended on the group.
‘So, you won,’ Reggie said as he popped the cork off a bottle of champagne.
‘There was never any doubt in my mind that I’d walk away with first prize.’
“Well done, you can make our wedding cake.’ As soon as he’d spoken the word
s, Reggie regretted them. He looked at Hattie and saw that she was about to pick up her drink but had stopped. She stared at him and opening her mouth began to reply.
‘Only joking,’ Reggie said. ‘Cowgirls like you never settle down.’
‘Aye, that’s a fact.’ Hattie took a drink. ‘I’ve seen off two husbands and won’t be taking on anymore.’
Hattie turned to John’s group. ‘Everyone here got a drink?’ she asked as they raised their glasses. ‘No Venetia today?’ She looked around.
‘No, she’s visiting friends,’ John said.
‘Very cosy.’ Hattie looked from Camilla to Nancy and back again to John.
Nancy, despite being three sheets to the wind, squinted at Hattie and poked her on the arm. ‘Ah,’ she said in recognition. ‘How’s your Uncle Charles?’
‘Sadly, no longer with us,’ Hattie said and returned to the subject of Venetia. ‘Do Venetia’s friends live far away?’ she asked John.
‘Suffolk,’ he replied.
‘Venetia will be away visiting friends permanently soooon…’ Nancy said.
Alarmed, John stood up; his worst nightmare was unfolding.
Camilla stared at Nancy and, suddenly, comprehension dawned. A light seemed to spark in her eyes as she looked at the inebriated nursing home manager, who was clinging on to John’s arm and smiling worshipfully. ‘You bastard,’ she hissed at John. ‘I came here to ask if you would be kind and help me, but now I can see that you couldn’t give a shit about anyone and are shagging anything that has a pulse.’ She glared at Nancy. ‘And her pulse is fading as fast as her looks.’
Hattie hoped that Nancy hadn’t heard Camilla. The woman was as drunk as a skunk and Hattie decided to help before there was a punch up. She hooked her shoulder under Nancy’s arm. ‘Shall I lend you a hand?’ she asked and looked around for Reggie. ‘Taxi for Nancy!’
John let out a sigh of relief. Nancy hadn’t comprehended Camilla’s words and was now being removed from the bar. He reached for his drink but as he drained the last of the ale, he realised that Camilla had raised her glass and was about to empty the contents on his head.
‘I wouldn’t be doing that if I was you,’ a voice called out. Harry, dressed as Butch Cassidy, was followed by the Sundance Kid. Constable Derek Jones, who’d hooked his thumbs into the pockets of his faded old Levi jeans followed close behind, chewing on a length of straw. Harry tilted his Stetson and took the glass out of Camilla’s hand. ‘You’re in enough trouble, don’t add assault to the list.’
Hattie handed Nancy to Reggie and everyone breathed a collective sigh of relief, as the inebriated woman was carried to a taxi.
But Camilla didn’t take her eyes off John. She seemed to be pleading with him and it was blatantly clear to Hattie that Camilla had strong feelings for her boss. Could it be love, Hattie wondered? How long had it been going on and why was the young woman so attracted to him? Surely, she could get any man that she wanted, so why settle for a philanderer twice her age? There had to be more to this than a passing affair and perhaps now was an opportune moment to catch Camilla off guard.
Seizing the moment, Hattie touched Camilla’s arm and whispered, ‘What’s wrong, Camilla? Would your father want you to behave like this? Did you upset him too?’
Camilla whipped her head round and hissed, ‘My father knew the truth.’ She spoke so quietly that only Hattie could hear.
‘The truth?’ Hattie asked, willing Camilla to continue but Camilla shook Hattie’s hand away and wouldn’t answer.
Harry had ordered a drink for himself and Sundance. He was expecting Janine and some of her friends to join them for the barn dance and clapped as the Hollywood Hillbillies took to the stage and began to play. Stallholders were packing up and visitors surged towards the refreshment marquee to tuck into bangers and beans. In the area in front of the stage, people began to dance, whilst others, seated on bales of hay, encouraged them on.
Hattie stared at Camilla. The moment was lost. Camilla had turned and was pushing her way through the crowds to leave. But Hattie was convinced that she was on to something and decided that the next day she would find out exactly what was behind Camilla’s words.
24
Nancy woke with a pounding head. Tired and dehydrated, she lay still on her bed and tried to piece together the previous day’s events. She had a terrible feeling that she’d disgraced herself and wondered if she’d let the cat out of the bag as far as John was concerned. The last she remembered of the previous day was being at the fete, where the bourbon had flowed, and she’d drunk way in excess of any amount she ever remembered drinking before. Faces blurred in her mind and she was unsure of how she’d got back to Marland Manor, or indeed put herself to bed.
She pulled herself up and slowly swung her legs until her toes touched a rug. Waves of nausea hit hard, and fearing that she was about to throw up, Nancy teetered into her bathroom, gripping anything she could find to steady her trembling legs. As she retched over the sink, her fingers turned the cold tap and she splashed water on her face. Life slowly came back to her body. She fumbled in a cupboard for painkillers and swallowed two, then staggered back into the bedroom and sank onto her bed, willing the drug to take effect.
Nancy couldn’t ever remember being so out of control. It wasn’t like her at all to drink to excess but perhaps the joy of knowing that John had said that he loved her and wanted her to be involved in his property business was the trigger that set her binge off. Surely with such a massive commitment from him, it was only a matter of time before he left Venetia?
She caught sight of her reflection in the full-length mirror on the wardrobe door. Crouched on the edge of the bed, she looked ancient. Her hair was frightful and her face was a mess, like a stale cake, the icing cracked and split. Her rouged cheeks and dark mascaraed eyes were obscene, against pale white, wrinkling skin. She ran her hands over her body and was relieved to find that she wore her nightdress, a slip of silk. Her “Annie Get Your Gun” outfit was folded neatly on a chair by her dressing table. How had this happened? Had she undressed herself? Nancy had no recollection of getting home and getting into bed.
She reached for her watch and tried to focus. It registered half past ten but was it morning or night? She stood unsteadily and tugged at the heavy chintz curtains. Sunshine streamed through the window. God almighty! It was morning and she had slept through the medicine rounds! What on earth was she going to do? With shaking hands, she began to fumble about for clothes, but another bout of nausea suddenly hit her, and she fell back on the bed, praying that it would pass so that she could get dressed and get to work. The home could be closed down for this this terrible act of malpractice. Residents needed their meds on time and the smallest change to routine would cause dreadful complications. Whatever did the staff think and why had no one called her?
A door opened in the apartment and Nancy was paralyzed as she listened to footsteps pad across the thick carpet. She heard the lounge door open and close and, wondering who on earth was in her home, she anxiously called out, ‘Who’s there?’ The footsteps came closer.
‘I’ve brought you something to make you feel better.’
Nancy stiffened. It was Grace. She reached for a blanket but before she had time to cover herself, Grace had stepped into the room. She carried a glass containing a dark substance and came forward to place it on the table by the bed.
‘Grace,’ Nancy began, ‘whatever are you doing in here?’
‘Well, someone needs to look after you.’
‘I am perfectly alright, thank you.’ Nancy spoke sharply and attempted to sit up, but the room had begun to spin, and she was helpless as she fell back on the pillows.
‘Now, you can come down off your high horse, madam.’ Grace placed her hands on her ample hips and shook her head. ‘You were in a terrible state last night and it was just as well that I was here and able to carry you out of the taxi and get you up here. It wasn’t easy, I can tell you. Especially when you tried to go on duty. The n
ight staff saw you in a right old state.’
‘Oh, God help me,’ Nancy said. ‘I need to do the medicine round; it will be catastrophic if I don’t get downstairs.’
‘You should have thought about that last night.’
‘I’m begging you, Grace.’
‘The place deserves to be shut down, with you as an incompetent manager.’
‘Oh, God, please don’t tell anyone.’
‘You needn’t worry, the night staff won’t say anything, and the day staff think you have a migraine.’ Grace reached for the glass. ‘Here, drink this, it’ll sort you out.’ She leaned forward to support Nancy and held the glass to her lips.
‘What’s in it?”
‘It’s known as a “Reggie Special”. The landlord at the pub makes it. He gave me the recipe many years ago.’
Nancy smelt the vile looking liquid and retched.
‘Trust me,’ Grace said and, gripping hold of the back of Nancy’s head, tilted it back and held the glass to her lips until it was empty. Nancy’s face turned several shades from white to green then blue. Her skin glistened with sweat and her eyes bulged and just when Grace wondered if the woman was hyperventilating and about to pass out, colour flooded back into her cheeks and her face glowed.
Nancy suddenly stood up and began to collect her clothes. ‘What on earth did you put in that drink?’ she said. ‘I was at death’s door two minutes ago and now I feel like a new woman.’
Grace passed no comment. She’d given Reggie’s recipe a bit of a boost and wasn’t in the least surprised at Nancy’s astonishing recovery. Having secret access to the medicine cupboards had come in handy. There was nothing that Grace didn’t know about the workings of Marland Manor and Nancy may think that her keys and locks were secure but having been in the same employ for years, spending many hours on night duty when the place was silent and sleeping, Grace had made it her business to discover as much as she could in case such information ever came in handy.
Hattie Goes to Hollywood: Shenanigans, fun & intrigue in a new mystery series! Page 21
