As they sped along, Finbar took pains to inform Hattie of the occupants beyond these gated communities. Kindale and the surrounding area, he explained, was home to an abundance of private and corporate wealth and many rich and famous people had made this area their permanent residence.
‘Do you know a man named Ronald G. Montjoy?’ Hattie asked.
‘To be sure, he lives at Grandon House, we’ve just passed his place,’ Finbar replied, ‘it lies on the banks of the river. I understand that he made a fortune on the horses, a string of betting shops under his belt, so they say.’
Hattie spun round, craning her neck to see the property, but high hedges blurred her vision. ‘Do you know him?’ she asked.
‘He’s a recluse, doesn’t venture out and lives alone,’ Finbar continued, ‘there’s a housekeeper but no one else visits.’
Finbar hit the brakes and screeched around a bend. Hattie was hurled across the back of the cab and as she grabbed the driver’s seat, she felt relief as the vehicle slowed, its tyres crunching along a gravelled driveway.
‘Here we are,’ Finbar called out.
Hattie stared out at the shrubberies and trees that surrounded the drive and remembered what Jo had told her about the property. The manor was built on the lands of Flatterley Friary, a monastery of the Franciscan order, whose slender mediaeval church tower could be seen from the avenue that led to the house. The previous owner had rescued it from dereliction and with careful restoration, kept the historic character of the building.
‘Welcome to Flatterly Manor, Hattie,’ Finbar said. He’d stopped the car at the front of the building and opened the door for his passenger, ‘Your friend, Jo, is looking forward to welcoming you to her new hotel.’ He placed her case down.
‘How did you know who I was?’ Hattie was puzzled as she wriggled out of the taxi and rearranged her coat.
Finbar leaned forward and winked, ‘’Tis the fairies that told us,’ he whispered. ‘I wish you happiness during your stay and remember one thing…’ Finbar held out his hand and took hold of Hattie’s and as his fiery green eyes met hers, he began to sing.
May the Irish hills caress you.
May her lakes and rivers bless you.
May the luck of the Irish enfold you.
And may the blessings of Saint Patrick behold you.
His voice was clear and melodic and for a moment, Hattie was stunned. She stared as Finbar kissed her hand. He let it go, then with a cheery wave, leapt into his taxi.
Welcome to Ireland.
Hattie stood alone on the driveway, relieved that she’d arrived in one piece after the white-knuckle ride, and watched the vehicle disappear down the drive.
‘Hattie!’ A voice bellowed and Hattie turned to see Jo running down a set of steps. The heels of her leather boots tapped on the stone slabs. ‘You’re here, at last,’ Jo said as she greeted her friend.
Jo’s slender body moved quickly, and she held her arms out in welcome. The two women embraced then stood back to study the other.
‘You’re looking well,’ Jo said. She touched Hattie’s cheek and stroked the pale, freckled complexion, ‘Your hair looks great too.’
Hattie ran her fingers through her freshly tinted, strawberry blonde hair. The cut was short, unusual for Hattie, but her hairdresser had advised a change, to keep Hattie’s advancing years at bay, and she’d agreed to a neat pixie cut. It suited her and she was embracing the new look.
‘You’re still scrubbing up well, yourself.’ Hattie stepped back and examined Jo, who did a twirl to show off her outfit.
‘Do you like it?’ Jo asked as she smoothed the surface of her slim-fit Barbour jeans and navy quilted jacket. Her cashmere sweater, a soft shade of pink, highlighted her auburn hair.
‘Aye, very country lady, we’re not bad for our age.’
‘We’re knocking on the door of sixty.’
‘I’ve no intention of knocking on any doors, age is just a number and you’re as old as you feel.’
‘Well, you’ve felt a few in your time,’ Jo giggled.
‘Look who’s talking!’
Jo tucked her arm in Hattie’s, and picking up her case, led her into the manor. ‘I see that you’ve met
Finbar.’
‘Finbar the Fastest?’
‘I hope you wore your seatbelt.’
‘He drives like a maniac. Do you know him?’
‘I sent him to fetch you.’
‘Ah, that explains things,’ Hattie nodded her head, ‘he drove off before I had time to pay him.’
‘Oh, don’t worry, it’s on my account.’
‘Does the singing come free?’
‘You’ll get plenty of that while you’re here, Finbar is our local crooner.’
They stepped through a massive oak doorway and Hattie looked around. The hallway of the house was vast, with a polished wood floor and curving staircase that led to the first floor. ‘It’s like the set of Gone with the Wind’, she said, in awe.
An antique desk with a leather surface was positioned across one corner. The sweet smell of fresh flowers in a tall glass vase, cut through the scent of bees’ wax emanating from the highly polished furniture. Hattie imagined guests being greeted and checked into one of the many luxurious bedrooms, before enjoying refreshments in elegant reception rooms that led to the gardens.
‘It’s lovely Jo, you’ve found a real treasure.’
‘It’s been one hell of a lot of effort, but we’re nearly ready,’ Jo smiled, ‘I’m so glad that you’re here, even if it is work that has bought you across the water.’
‘Well, let’s wait and see. I’m not committed to anything yet and I’ve yet to meet the client, but I have a feeling that, given the coincidence that he lives so close to you, I will no doubt take his case, if I think that I can solve it.’
‘If it doesn’t work out, you can always come and work with me again.’
‘It’s a thought, but I quite like this private investigating, poking about and finding things out about folks.’
‘No different to your life as a hotel manager,’ Jo smiled, ‘you always had the guests sussed out, before they’d checked into their rooms.’
‘We had some fun, didn’t we?’ Hattie smiled too as she remembered their days, running Jo’s first hotel in Cumbria. ‘Now what about some refreshments after my flight?’
As Jo disappeared to fix them both a drink, Hattie wandered into a lounge that overlooked the garden at the rear of the property. She stood by the window letting her gaze follow a broad, neatly trimmed lawn that bordered an ornamental lake, where two peacocks pecked at the grass, their magnificent tail feathers quivering. In one corner of the room, stood a grand piano. The maple case shone as a shaft of January sunshine streamed through the window and latticed across the surface.
‘That’s a beauty,’ Hattie whispered and ran her fingers along the rim of the piano.
‘It belonged to the previous owner, I’m told he was very fond of it,’ Jo said as she returned with their drinks.
‘He must have been musical?’
‘Yes, he certainly was.’
Jo held out a glass and Hattie took it. She flopped down into a chair and wriggled her ample bottom into the thick, soft cushions. Taking a sip of a large gin and tonic, she sighed as the spirit hit the spot, ‘Ah, that’s better,’ she said and kicked off her shoes, ‘how long can you put up with me?’
‘As long as you like,’ Jo perched on a stool by the piano, ‘you’ve always got a room in my hotels, they are your home as much as mine.’
‘If it’s okay by you, I’ll spend the rest of today having a look around and getting familiar with this place, then I’ll crack on. I’m due to visit the client, Ronald G. Montjoy, first thing.’
‘Good idea, make yourself at home and meet some of the staff,’ she cradled her drink, ‘we open in a couple of weeks, so everyone is about, getting ready for the grand opening.’
‘Is it a big affair?’
‘I’ve invited t
he who’s who of Kindale and there will be residents joining us, all the rooms are booked.’
Hattie stared out of the window and thought about the successful format that Jo had introduced to her business. Her hotels were unique, for she ran a variety of courses that were specifically designed for those of a certain age. Being in that age group herself, Jo had long ago decided that she wanted her guests to embrace getting older and make the most of their final decades. The policy had paid off and business was brisk in both Cumbria and Bath where she’d introduced the format to her two hotels. Bookings were full for months in advance. Guests, wishing to stimulate both mind and body, enjoyed new creative experiences, in the comfort of a luxurious country house hotel.
‘I can’t see a tepee in the garden?’ Hattie asked as she stood and walked over to the window.
‘No, there isn’t a Shaman available to take up a residency in this part of Ireland.’
‘Probably just as well.’ Hattie smiled as Jo joined her at the window and they stared out, both with thoughts of the, Sharing with the Shaman course.
‘They love the Shaman in Cumbria,’ Jo said.
‘They love getting stoned and dancing wildly round his tepee at all times of the day and night,’ Hattie knocked back her drink, ‘I don’t know how you get away with it.’
‘In our brochures, it comes under the heading, Therapeutic practices for the more mature.’
‘Aye, till the council closes you down.’
‘It’s better than being propped up in a nursing home.’
‘Ain’t that the truth.’
‘Let me show you to your room, you can unpack and settle yourself in.’ Jo took Hattie’s empty glass and handed them to a staff member, who’d come into the lounge. ‘Thank you, James,’ Jo said as he held out a tray. ‘Could you be very kind and take Hattie’s bags to the Hendry suite, please.’
‘With pleasure,’ he replied.
Hattie watched James disappear into the hallway, her head cocked to one side as she examined his formal wear. ‘Very nice, did he come with the fixtures and fittings?’
‘Actually, yes, he did,’ Jo took Hattie’s arm and led her out of the room, ‘he used to work for the previous owner and is staying on as manager, just while I get things up and running.’
‘How very convenient.’
‘It certainly is, Miss Marple, now, shall I show you to your room?’
Hattie Goes to Hollywood: Shenanigans, fun & intrigue in a new mystery series! Page 33
