Coffee, Tea, The Gypsy & Me...

by Caroline James

  “He wishes me luck with the business.”

  “You’ll need a lot more than luck if you don’t start to look the part!” Jean returned the child to her hip and marched off to give Thomas his lunch.

  Jo read the card again. Her heart knotted in anger – he hadn’t even asked after Thomas! Holed up in some Spanish bar no doubt, overlooking a sun kissed beach with his nubile mistress in attendance. Jo ripped the card into tiny pieces and stuffed them in her pocket. She stomped through the hotel and caught sight of herself in a mirror. A tired expression stared back from under tousled hair. Get a grip Jo! She whispered to the forlorn face. He’s never coming back – get over it! Her mother was right. This new start needed a new image. She felt the scraps of paper in her pocket and glared at her reflection. Watch this space Greg!

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Four days to go. Jo’s head spun with last minute details as she poured herself a mug of coffee and hurried to reception where Hattie was on the phone. She looked up as Jo sat down.

  “All booked.” Hattie replaced the receiver. “I’ve made appointments at Camille’s in Carlisle at twelve o’clock today, then Dorothy Osborne’s at two.” Jo sipped her coffee.

  “Tomorrow, you’re booked into The House of Beauty from nine o’clock, and you’ll be there most of the day.”

  “Are you mad Hattie? I can’t have two days out now.”

  “I’m completely sane.” Hattie smiled. “As your Mam says, we want a boss who doesn’t look like the cleaning lady. Put your cheque book in your handbag – you’ll need it.” She stood up. “Do you want something to eat?”

  “I do, but I don’t” Jo replied. She glanced at her hips and pulled a face.

  “Well I could do with a bacon buttie to keep me going, we’ve a busy day.”

  Jean had been insistent that Hattie accompany Jo, to ensure she purchased several new outfits and Hattie was looking forward to the trip.

  The phone rang.

  “Table for four on Saturday Mrs Parks?” Hattie spoke with her best voice. “Yes of course. What time would suit you? Eight o’clock. Perfect. We’ll look forward to seeing you then.” She replaced the handset.

  Jo leaned over the desk and flicked through empty pages of the restaurant diary.

  “Don’t worry, it’ll fill up.” Hattie wrote the reservation down. “Pete Parks hasn’t wasted anytime. That was his wife booking a table.”

  Jo glanced at the accommodation chart. Only two rooms booked for Saturday, visitors to the village for a family party, the rest of the chart was blank.

  “I’m surprised you want to open so close to the Fair.” Hattie murmured.

  Jo too, was worried about the practicalities of opening her beautiful country house days before the gypsies and travellers descended on Butterly. She knew she’d need to be vigilant. The fair officially lasted for a week but trouble often began long before.

  Most pubs closed and barred their windows and doors during Fair Week, but Jo and Greg had stayed open. They doubled their staff and worked all hours. Jo enjoyed it. The gypsies and travellers flocked from all points of the compass. This was the main event of the year for them, a time to show off and catch up. Dressed in their finest clothes, they traded horses, bet on trotting races, got wildly drunk and wickedly promiscuous. They loved to eat, drink and be merry and had the time of their lives. When trouble occurred, the locals blamed the gypsies and the gypsies blamed the visitors.

  In the kitchen at the pub, Jo and Sandra had manned the stoves hour after hour and grilled steaks as the orders poured in. Always hungry, the gypsies wanted the finest local meat and had the money to pay for it. Greg worked the bar and restaurant and took orders late into the night. The staff knew that a big cash bonus would be in their pay packet at the end of the week. The pub had stayed trouble free and if there was a hint of a problem the gypsies, grateful for the good food and service, soon sorted it out.

  Jo knew she couldn’t possibly let the gypsies near the hotel. The affluent locals would never cross the threshold again if they saw charabancs and vans outside, and they wouldn’t like Jo for encouraging ‘that sort of trade.’ Best to keep the doors locked and only answer the bell to residents.

  * * *

  An hour later, Hattie and Jo began their journey to Carlisle. Jean watched from the doorway with Thomas in her arms. She waved his hand and at the departing car.

  “Look at Mummy, you won’t recognise her soon!”

  Jo forced a smile. She wasn’t looking forward to the shopping trip and doubted that they’d find anything suitable in her size. She stalled the engine and it lurched across the gravel. Muttering obscenities under her breath, she tugged on the choke and the car bunny hopped out of the driveway.

  “I don’t know why you’re so grumpy.” Hattie finished her bacon sandwich and bounced about on the passenger seat. “Most women would be ecstatic to spend a bit on themselves.”

  Jo concentrated on the road ahead. She knew she was frumpy but hadn’t a clue what look she should be aiming for. It was easy to keep up when she lived in London, where it was imperative to look great to attract a man but Jo was slimmer then and had buckets of confidence. She never socialised in Westmarland and had no need for sophisticated clothes.

  Hattie held her bag on her knee and reached for a toffee as the countryside whizzed by. “You should change this car.” Hattie un-wrapped the sweet and popped it in her mouth. “Even your Dad says ‘to be prosperous you have to look prosperous.’ She sucked on the creamy caramel and thought about George’s comments on his daughter’s battered old car.

  “I don’t really think a Fiat Uno is cutting it on the drive do you?” Hattie crossed her fingers and hid them beneath her bag. She knew she was wading in deep. Jo was after all, her boss but someone had to tell her.

  “Well Greg went off with the Rover and I haven’t thought about a car.” Jo said. “This was cheap and gets me around.” Jo knew Hattie was probably right but she felt loathe to part with money.

  “Get your self glammed up and go and see Pete Parks. A bit of cleavage and a wiggle and you’ll have a BMW on the gravel before you can say How Much?

  “He has got very blue eyes hasn’t he?”

  “And wandering hands I’ve heard, but you can cope with a grope round the gear stick if it gets you a decent discount.”

  “Hell Hattie, I wouldn’t know a grope from a gear stick, it’s been so long.”

  Jo looked miserable as she turned off the motorway and followed the road into Carlisle. “I don’t even think I want to remember. I’m not sure that I’ll ever get over Greg.”

  Hattie smiled. All this was about to change and she knew she’d enjoy being around to witness it!

  * * *

  “Is she One of Us?”

  Jo tentatively opened the door of the lingerie shop and peeped at the woman who’d made the comment. Hattie gave her a shove and Jo fell forward over the threshold, plunged into a luxurious room filled with exquisite silk and lace lingerie.

  “Ah, who have we here?” The woman said.

  She peered over the top of gold lorgnettes and held her head at an angle, as though an obnoxious smell had entered the room.

  “This must be Mrs Edmonds, your twelve o’clock appointment Madam.”

  A nervous assistant came forward.

  “That’s right Love.” Hattie took Jo’s arm and walked her to a brocade-upholstered chaise. “You must be Mrs Camille? Mrs Edmonds is the new proprietor of Kirkton House Hotel.”

  They sat down and Hattie continued. “She hasn’t got much time, so we’ll begin with a glass of bubbly and a selection of your finest support wear for day-time and evening.”

  “It’s Mrs Sherwin Madam.” The assistant whispered to Hattie.

  “Sherwin, Camille, whatever… pink bubbly will do for both of us - to start with.” Hattie put her handbag on the floor. “Shove up.” She said to Jo, who appeared stunned by her surroundings.

  “She’s the biggest cow in the North West.” Hattie wh
ispered. “Her hubbie deals in diamonds and whores in Hatton Garden, but she knows her underwear.”

  Jo was white faced and clutched her old quilted gillet tightly round her body.

  “Do I have to take my clothes off?” She asked. “I’m terrified. Mrs Sherwin is so elegant and so bloody thin.”

  “What do you think the champagne’s for?” Hattie giggled. “Half a bottle and you’ll be ripping your vest and drawers off and telling the old bat to Sex Me Up! You won’t get this in Debenhams.”

  Two crystal flutes of pink champagne appeared on the coffee table, beside brochures with shiny covers. Slim, toned models in the briefest bras and tiniest knickers taunted Jo.

  “When Mrs Edmonds is quite ready.” Mrs Sherwin appeared. “Shall we start with daytime garments?”

  Tall and still with her hands clasped together, she wore a beautifully cut, grey wool dress. It had a round neck and long sleeves. Her jet black hair was swept into a severe chignon, the narrow face powdered and cheeks rouged. Her lips were shiny with red gloss. Mrs Sherwin held her bony fingers together and tapped long scarlet nails impatiently.

  Jo was reminded of a crow about to attack.

  “Marie will take you to the changing room - when you’re quite ready.” Mrs Sherwin glanced at the champagne.

  Hattie held Jo’s elbow and helped her up. Jo felt like a lamb to the slaughter and knew she was being mentally undressed and sized. No tape measure required - this woman knew her business!

  The next hour flew by. Marie was discreet and helpful. Stripped down to her plain white pants, Jo was manhandled into an array of structured undergarments that pushed and pulled her into shape. She looked at herself in the mirror and was amazed - she had a waist! Her bust was hoisted into an under-wired bra and by some miracle, she had a cleavage and her hips had shrunk at least two sizes. Faces intermittently appeared round the curtain. A stern Mrs Sherwin nodded approval and a red cheeked Hattie grinned - she’d consumed the remainder of the champagne.

  “Now something to get the mortgage paid off.” Hattie suggested. She looked at Marie and winked. Marie held out a wisp of scarlet lace.

  “I can’t wear that - it’s no more than a handkerchief!” Jo gasped.

  “If Madam would be so kind and slip it on.” Marie adjusted the silk ribbons as Jo eased the fabric over her body.

  “Holy Smoke…” Hattie roared. “Jo you look amazing!”

  Jo stared at her reflection in disbelief. The figure in front of her looked wonderful and the body suit was divine. It was cleverly constructed - enhancing every curve and hiding every bump. Even her legs went on forever.

  “Don’t look at the price tag.” Hattie hissed.

  Marie pursed her lips and shook her head.

  “Mrs Sherwin never puts prices on the garments Madam.”

  * * *

  Hattie and Jo left Camille’s laden with carrier bags and giggled like schoolgirls as Jo fanned herself with her chequebook.

  “I just signed a cheque without looking at the amount!”

  “You’d better get used to it today.” Hattie held Jo’s arm and guided her over the road. “I fancy some dainty sandwiches and I’m sure Dorothy Osbourne will oblige.”

  “Did you see Mrs Sherwin’s face?”

  They walked through the centre of Carlisle. Hattie steered Jo, she knew exactly where they were going.

  “She never moved a muscle as she handed me the bill. Not a word of thanks or a good luck wish.” Jo shook her head. “The woman’s an absolute cow.”

  “She certainly is.” Hattie agreed. “But she knows her stuff, and you might be surprised to find you’ll start getting custom from those that can afford her prices. She’ll recommend you. She knows how to keep you coming back. What you’ve just spent is an investment for both yourself and your business.”

  Five minutes later, they’d reached their next destination. Hattie rang the bell and pushed Jo forward into the ladies-wear shop.

  “Mrs Edmonds and Harriet?” Dorothy Osbourne greeted them warmly. “Come on through. Make yourselves comfortable.”

  Dorothy gestured towards two velvet covered sofas and Jo and Hattie sank gratefully into the deep pile. They sat back and admired the décor. The walls were covered with a William Morris paper and hunting prints hung from chains on a high picture rail. Dorothy stood before them, she was immaculately groomed in a two piece cream coloured silk suit. Good tailoring disguised her ample shape.

  “I’m sure you must be ready for some refreshments ladies?” Several rows of pearls bounced across her bosom.

  Hattie and Jo nodded and watched her glide away. Dorothy’s strawberry blonde hair was flicked up on her shoulders and stayed rigidly in place.

  “Is that a wig?” Jo whispered. “It looks like a helmet.”

  “She’s had four husbands” Hattie replied. “Anyone would lose their hair.”

  Dorothy returned with a younger version of herself who carried a tray laden with sandwiches and cake.

  “This is my daughter Vicky. Would you ladies like a soft drink or something stronger?”

  “Tea for me Dorothy.” Hattie leaned over to take two plates from the tray and handed one to Jo. “These butties look good. I’ll have a bit of cake too.”

  Jo put her plate on the table and looked around. She was mystified, there didn’t appear to be any garments? The room was very old-fashioned. She’d never experienced shopping like this and wondered how Hattie knew what to do.

  “Perhaps Mrs Edmonds would like to make a start?” Dorothy said.

  “Yes that will be grand.” Hattie dusted crumbs from her blouse. “Now as I said on the phone, Mrs E needs to look the part. She’s running a country house hotel and needs some smart daywear and cocktail outfits suitable for a hostess.”

  “I understand perfectly” Dorothy said. “We’ll be ready for you shortly.”

  Vicky followed her out of the room.

  “Hattie, how do you know about this place?” Jo whispered. “I’ve never seen a set-up like it. There’s not a dress to be seen and she doesn’t even know my size.” Hattie was enjoying her sandwiches and was not going to be rushed. She selected a slice of fruit cake.

  “The ladies who lunch round here all come to the likes of Camille and Dorothy Osborne’s. You’ll come across Jinny Atkinson soon. Billy, her hubbie, owns a construction company. He started with a wheelbarrow and a bucket of tar and laid driveways, then went on to build most of the motorway up here. His company is Westmarland Manufacturing. You must have heard of it?”

  Jo looked puzzled.

  “Well, Jinny was an accounts clerk and Billy got her pregnant so they had to marry. Now she’s Lady Muck living in a huge house at Stainton. Billy loves the horses and has taken to buying Jinny a racehorse every birthday. They’ve a son called Young Billy. Golden balls just like his Dad. Got a local lass pregnant – Eileen, had a shotgun wedding...”

  “How do you know all this?” Jo was fascinated.

  “I’m coming to that.” Hattie continued. “They had a baby girl but Young Billy’s a bit wild and was out on the lash all the time. Naturally Eileen wanted out, so Jinny and Billy bought her a flat opposite me on the new estate. She’s lonely and we’ve become good mates over litres of Lambrusco. I hear all about the racing world and Eileen says this is one of Jinny’s favourite shops. If Jinny isn’t shopping in London, she comes here. Dorothy knows her customers personally and you’ll never meet anyone in your set wearing the same outfit.”

  “It wouldn’t bother me if I did,” Jo said. She sipped her tea.

  “Might not bother you but you’d never see Jinny or her cronies again and at these prices I think you’ll change your opinion.”

  Dorothy returned and scrutinized Jo, whose shabby old clothes were definitely not in keeping with a country house and affluent clients. Vicky guided Jo to a curtained area.

  “You’ve booked her in at The House of Beauty?” Dorothy whispered.

  “First thing in the morning.” Hattie said.
>
  Dorothy nodded approval. “This way Ladies please.”

  “Don’t hurry Hattie” Jo said. “You finish my cake. Oh you have.”

  Hattie followed with a cup in one hand and cake piled high on the saucer. “You don’t need cake, think of your hips.” Hattie gathered her bag and followed the procession. She smiled sweetly at Vicky.

  “Lead on!”

  * * *

  “I’ve never spent so much money on myself. Not just in a day, but ever.” Jo said.

  “Well you won’t have to do it again for a bit.” Hattie drove them back to the hotel. She glanced sideways at Jo’s worried face. “You should be grateful that you can.”

  “I know you’re right Hattie but it feels strange.” Jo looked out of the window. “Greg was so mean when it came to spending anything on me.” She fiddled with her watch strap. “I haven’t had any decent clothes for years, other than the occasional Laura Ashley blouse or a Jaeger skirt. It seems strange to think that in London I wore bespoke Hardy Ames suits to work.” She sighed. “What happened to me in the married years?”

  “You became a product of your husband.” Hattie said. “Safe and boring. Not a chance anyone else should find you attractive.” She studied the road. “It happens to women, including me. Lots of husbands want their wives that way, but in the process you lose your confidence.” She glanced at Jo. “I think you’re going to make up ground pretty quickly once you get that lot in your wardrobe.” Hattie nodded towards the carrier bags on the back seat.

  “It was fun wasn’t it?” Jo allowed herself a smile.

  Dorothy had chosen a selection of outfits to take Jo through her working day. She’d begun with a smart black suit by Vera Mont that looked plain and ordinary on the hanger. Jo had her new scaffolding-like underwear in place and tried it on. Fabric covered buttons fastened the jacket and the knee length skirt skimmed her hips. It was simple but chic and Jo adored it.