Coffee, Tea, The Gypsy & Me...

by Caroline James

  “I wanted to wish you luck.” He muttered. “I thought you might like these but can see you’ve plenty.” He remembered all the flowers he’d passed as he came through the hotel.

  “Good Lord no, I can never have too many flowers.” Jo took the bouquet. “You’re naughty to spend your money on me.” She kissed him on the cheek. Robert smelt her perfume, it was heavenly and her hair soft against his cheek.

  “Will you stay and have coffee?” Jo asked.

  “I will, but I don’t want to be in the way.” Robert said. “We’ve booked for dinner tomorrow, with the Gavmins. I’m looking forward to it.” God, she was ravishing! “I just wanted to wish you luck.” He found it difficult to look Jo in the eye. “Make sure you keep your wits about you too, the gypsy’s have settled in Butterly.” He’d passed countless horses tethered to the roadside and hundreds of caravans were already on Fair Hill.

  “Thanks Robert but I think we’re a bit pricey for the travelling folk.”

  “Well be sure to be on your guard.” Robert warned.

  “Make yourself comfortable by the fire and I’ll have Hattie bring you some coffee. Or would you like something stronger?”

  “Coffee’s fine.” Robert turned reluctantly and withdrew to the lounge as Hattie swung though the kitchen door with a tray in her hand.

  “Don’t tell me you’ve only just clocked it?” She nodded at Robert’s retreating figure. “He’s mad about you. He’s got such a hard-on seeing you in that get up, he can barely walk.” She grinned. “Coffee for one in the lounge was it?”

  “Hattie, you’re terrible! Whatever makes you say such things?” Jo watched Hattie gather a lace liner and place it on the tray, then add a coffee pot, creamer and sugar bowl. “He’s right about the gypsies though, we’ll have to watch out.”

  Hattie picked up the tray and disappeared in the kitchen. Jo remembered the expression on Robert’s face. Did he have feelings for her? Jo realised that Hattie, as usual, was probably right.

  * * *

  The French Ormolu Clock on the hall table struck noon. It was a wedding gift from Greg’s mother and Jo was reminded of Greg, she thought about him relaxing on a warm sunny beach, far away from the responsibility of a baby and business. Her heart ached as she thought of him with Estelle. She must pull herself together! Greg had forgotten about them and Jo had a business to run. If only her stomach would calm down. She smoothed her suit jacket and tugged at the camisole, then whipped the lipstick out of her bra and leaned into the mirror to apply it. You’ll do! She took a deep breath and walked to the front door where she turned the brass key then wedged the outer door back with a heavy granite curling stone. Here goes!

  Lunch was booked for one o’clock and Jo hoped that her guests would appreciate being ‘guinea pigs’ and not be too demanding. She closed the inner door and went for a final check round. In the restaurant, Judy gave last minute instructions to two waiters, twin brothers from Saltby Farm. In smart black trousers, crisp white shirts and black bow ties, Simon and Steven were drop-dead gorgeous. Jo gazed at their dark curly hair and olive skin and wondered if one of their ancestors was a slave who somehow found his way from Whitehaven to Westmarland? They were so handsome! Their sister, Suzy, was lovely as her brothers and studied music; she was to play the piano in the restaurant.

  “All ready?” Jo said.

  “Yes Mrs Edmonds.” Simon twisted a white cloth in his hand.

  “Don’t screw your serving cloth up Simon.”

  Jo folded it neatly over his arm. His bow tie was crooked and as she straightened it she was tempted to smooth the shirt across his muscular torso. She tore herself away and headed for the kitchen, where delicious savoury smells wafted through the doors of the stillroom. Gerald Harrison wiped down stainless steel surfaces and checked the temperature of the water in the deep metal sinks.

  “How are you getting on Gerald?” Jo asked.

  Gerald was Arthur Harrison, the plumber’s son and Jo expected Arthur to don a rubber apron at any moment and join Gerald. She’d been warned by locals that Gerald ‘wasn’t all there’ but Arthur had begged her to give Gerald a job.

  “Hello Mrs Edmonds.” Gerald wrung a dishcloth and his heavy fringe flopped over his eyes.

  Gerald’s mother had died in child birth and Arthur never remarried. In school, Gerald was slow and the other kids teased him. He’d helped on farms and stacked shelves in shops but his vagueness irritated employers. In desperation Arthur turned to Jo and she decided she’d give Gerald a chance. Today was a trial shift and although not required until noon, Gerald had been in since eight with Arthur by his side, showing him how to operate the dishwasher. Arthur was joining the lunch party and had gone to tidy himself up.

  “I’m sure you’ll get along fine Gerald.” Jo smiled encouragingly. “Where’s Michael?” She asked Sandra.

  “He’s checking his herbs in the greenhouse. He potted some up t’other night and checks them at least three times a day. He’s got the furnace working. Seems determined to have them on the menu soon, bit much if you ask me.”

  “Nice that he’s keen. Are you ready?”

  “We’ll soon find out Mrs E.” Sandra said. The canapés needed finishing, she’d better get Michael back in.

  * * *

  “Are you having a bracer?” Hattie carried a bucket of ice and placed it on the counter. The bar sparkled with every optic polished and bottles of liqueurs gleaming above shelves stacked full with mixes. Hattie held a glass under a beer tap and pulled a pint.

  “Better make sure its drinkable...”

  She filled the glass and held it to the light.

  “I hope you’re not thinking of supping that.” Jo said.

  “I’ll taste it then tip it, much as it grieves me to do so.” Hattie sipped the beer and poured it down the sink. “You look nervous. Here get your laughing gear round this.” She poured a shot of Cointreau into a crystal glass and handed it to Jo.

  “Don’t be daft Hattie. I can’t possibly breathe alcohol fumes over the guests.” Hattie pulled a packet of extra strong mints out of her pocket. “Stick one of these in the side of your mouth.”

  “You’re leading me into bad ways.”

  Jo picked the glass up and tossed the clear, syrupy liquid down her throat. It exploded in her stomach.

  “Better?” Hattie grinned.

  “Christ that’s strong!” Jo grimaced as Judy appeared in the bar.

  “Shall I light the candles?”

  The front door buzzer sounded and Hattie and Judy turned to Jo. Hattie crossed her fingers and held them up.

  “Go get ‘em Tiger!” Hattie winked.

  The alcohol had a calming effect on Jo. She smiled and with purpose went to greet her guests.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Thomas lay snuggled in the crook of his Mother’s arm and sucked hungrily on his bottle. Jo kissed the top of his head. She breathed in his soft baby smell and stroked her face against his silky crown. Outside the sun was rising, it was going to be glorious for their opening day.

  Jo wondered where Greg was. She listened to an early morning chorus as the birds bought the garden to life. Thomas finished his bottle and in the warm, drowsy surroundings his eyes drooped and he fell asleep. Jo looked at his little face and thought about his Dad. Greg would be waking up next to Estelle, probably in a posh hotel as they journeyed through Europe. He’d always wanted to see Europe. Jo cursed the day that she’d let the Gavmins introduce her to Estelle - here on an exchange visit to learn English. It’d seemed ideal to employ her as a nanny - she’d cared for countless younger siblings at home in Spain. Estelle wanted to learn and Jo needed help. She imagined Greg in Estelle’s arms, making love to her on a balmy Mediterranean morning. Her heart ached.

  She climbed out of bed and walked to the window. Yesterday the grass had been mown and the damp mulchy smell wafted up. Jo gazed at the garden. She knew that he’d have loved all this but it was no good dwelling on things, he was gone. She sat on the window seat a
nd cuddled Thomas.

  “Morning Jo, I thought I heard you.”

  Jean was dressed and carried two mugs of tea. “Here have this, big day today.”

  “Thanks Mum.” Jo took the tea and sipped it.

  Yesterday afternoon Jean had interviewed Ann who was nineteen, with good references from the nursery in Marland and wanted a live-in position.

  “Ann can start straight away.” Jean sat on the bed and watched her daughter. “I’ll stay until I feel confident that she’s right, but it’s my gut feeling it won’t be long.”

  Jean waited. Jo seemed miles away.

  “Your Dad and I need to get home and see to our own garden” She added. “We’ll be back, don’t think I’m abandoning you.”

  “I know Mum.” Jo thought about Ann as she gazed at Thomas. “It‘ll feel odd having a stranger in the house.” She sighed. “I sometimes wonder what the hell I am doing taking all this on.”

  “Stop it.” Jean was brusque. “It’s your choice and you have to make a living to keep a roof over the child’s head, so don’t start feeling sorry for yourself.” She held her hand out.

  Chastised, Jo drained her tea and handed the mug to her Mother. Jean was right. No time for regrets or feeling sorry for herself - she had a hotel to run!

  Jo left Thomas with Jean and showered quickly. She dressed in her black suit and added a cerise vest. She called out to Jean that she’d catch her later then knocked gently on George’s bedroom door.

  “Morning Dad.” She whispered, but George was dressed and sat in a chair in front of the open window.

  “I’m admiring the lawns.” George looked down the garden. “Do you know the rules of croquet?” He held the empty barrel of a pipe and placed in his mouth. Nipper lay asleep on his lap.

  “Thank God that thing isn’t lit Dad. I wouldn’t see you for the fog it used to make.” Jo remembered the smell. Her Father’s pipe had been notorious for its terrible aroma no matter how good a tobacco he smoked. Tobacco was a thing of the past on his doctor’s orders.

  “First day Jo, are you ready?”

  “Yes. Ready as I’ll ever be. Will you come and have a look round when you’ve had breakfast”

  “I’ll start with that croquet lawn and work back. Don’t worry about me, just get stuck in.” George held out his hand and Jo took it. It was warm and strong. “Don’t worry Love. It’ll be grand.”

  Nipper raised her head and nudged George’s hand away from Jo. Looking down at the dog George shook his head. “Always gets jealous, little sod. Now get off and get some work done.” He sucked the empty pipe and returned his gaze to the garden.

  Jo walked down the stairs. She glanced at her watch, it was still very early. She went over to the window in her lounge and looked out to the gravel drive where her battered old car stood. She’d have to change it at some point. Hattie and Dad were right. It didn’t really suit the image of the hotel. She sat down and thought about the lunch the day before.

  * * * *

  Yesterday the drive had been half full. Most folk walked over from the village and left their transport at home.

  Jo greeted her staff and their family members warmly, they’d all turned out in their smartest clothes for the occasion, even Old Johnny - who’d oversee the garden, wore a shirt and tie. In his youth he’d been head gardener at Kirkton House and was keen to see the garden back to its former glory. With a couple of strong lads, labouring under his instructions, he’d already made it respectable and tidy.

  The twins led the guests through the hotel to the restaurant. They stopped to explain the layout and areas of interest and pulled out chairs for the ladies, then shook serviettes for waiting knees. Arthur Harrison tucked his into his shirt collar, he was anxious about Gerald. Judy poured wines and conversation became animated.

  The lunch had gone well.

  Sandra had rolled and poached Dougie Cannon’s lemon sole and served it with a creamy sauce and grapes. Trevor Pigmy delivered his best steak and everyone said it was sensational. Individual dishes of vegetables amused the diners, who were used to sharing stainless steel dishes of limp, overcooked produce at the Templars pub.

  Jo wandered around the tables as they finished their desserts and asked if anyone would like to have a look around before retiring to the lounges for coffee. She took them out to the garden and one or two had a stab at croquet, where George discussed tactics and Nipper snapped at the heavy balls as they rolled over the lawn. Jo led them across the courtyard and they admired the four bedrooms in the coach house. In the kitchen, Sandra and Michael donned clean aprons and stood to attention. Sandra’s mother swelled with pride. Gerald stacked the dishwasher in an effort to contain debris from the restaurant, which was stacked high.

  Guests climbed the stairs behind the conservatory and admired the garden from the gallery. In the bedrooms, they noted Mrs. Brough’s stunning drapes with matching counterpanes. Each room had a welcoming basket of fruit, copies of county magazines, folders of tourist information and fresh flowers beside a decanter of sherry and glasses. Jo guided them down the front staircase where they returned to the reception rooms and enjoyed coffee and chocolate tiffin – a special recipe of Jo’s.

  In the evening, Jo and Hattie kicked off their shoes and sat by the fire with a glass of wine. George and Jean had joined them. George sat in a wing-backed chair and enjoyed a whisky, while Jean cuddled a sleeping Thomas and sipped a gin and lime. Ann was due to move in next day.

  The house was quiet, the staff long gone and the front door locked.

  “Make the most of this.” Hattie sighed. The phone had been ringing all day and the local paper wanted to run an article next week.

  “I wonder if Greg gets the Westmarland Tribune in Spain?” Jo stared into the flames.

  “Oh who gives a shite?” Hattie snapped. “Sorry Jean.” She added. “Greg’s toasting his flesh and flashing his cash with the Spanish Madam and hasn’t even called to ask how Thomas is. I doubt he’ll be giving you any thought.” Hattie was angry. Greg reminded her of her own errant husband.

  “You’ll probably never see him again Jo.” Jean nodded.

  George rolled the whisky round the glass and Jo decided to change the subject. Mention of Greg sent George’s blood pressure soaring.

  “I need to keep my eye on Gerald.” Jo sighed. “I thought Arthur was going to have a fit when he heard the glasses break during desserts.”

  “Well so he should.” Hattie said. “That was a dozen of your best claret glasses - it sounded like a car crash. Sandra’s Mother nearly fainted.”

  Jo poured herself another glass of wine. She’d have to keep her eye on Gerald.

  * * *

  Jo stirred. There was traffic on the road outside. The village was waking up and commuters and holiday makers drove past her door. She put thoughts of Greg and Gerald to one side - she was about to open the doors to the public!

  The familiar knot of anxiety tightened her stomach and she tried to ignore it as she went to her desk and took out a large bunch of keys. She must unlock the hotel and get ready.

  Jo headed to the conservatory.

  Selecting the correct key, she placed it in the lock. Something pushed her shoulder! Jo stumbled and fell forward into the door as it hit her again… It felt fleshy and cold. What the hell was that?! Fear like cold steel sliced through her body. The room felt icy and Jo couldn’t move. She gasped for breath and forced her paralysed body to turn but there was no one there. Her heart hammered and beads of sweat trickled down her cold brow. Was that a shadow? Jo shook. With trembling hands she forced herself to unlock the door then threw it open.

  Warm air gushed in and Jo fell onto terrace with relief. When she turned, the conservatory was empty! Convinced that someone had pushed her, she forced herself to go back and search the hotel. Four croquet mallets stood by an urn of umbrellas and Jo grabbed one. With trepidation, she went through to the Panel Room - it was empty. As was the Rose Room and bar. The kitchen was in shadows and reception exac
tly as she’d left it last night. Jo flung doors open and searched furiously. The cloakroom was dim and she poked about with the mallet but nothing lurked in the shadows. She moved quickly round the front rooms, opening curtains and shutters to let the morning light in.

  Gradually she began to feel calmer. Had she imagined it? Was it just in the conservatory? She caught sight of herself in the hall mirror, her face was white. She took a tissue from her sleeve and wiped the perspiration from her forehead then stared at her reflection - she must pull herself together! She walked down the hall to reception and told herself not to be so stupid - she must focus on the day! Jo sat down. She must’ve been dreaming in the conservatory! There was nothing there - she mustn’t be so paranoid! But as she rubbed her shoulder, she realised it was sore…

  The phone rang and she jumped.

  “Anything you want on me way in?” Hattie shouted. Jo sat back and breathed a sigh of relief.

  “Just your lovely self and pick up some change from the Post Office.”

  Jo gave Hattie instructions and put the conservatory episode firmly out of her mind.

  CHAPTER NINE

  “You can put a bit of that pie up and I’ll take it as me bait.” Alf pointed to the venison pie on the kitchen table. He looked at the crisp, golden pastry with succulent layers of meat and smacked his lips.

  Sandra cut a large slice and placed it before him. He ate with enthusiasm, grunting approval with each mouthful. A few crumbs remained on the plate and Alf picked it up and pressed it to his face, then licked every last morsel of pie from the smooth white china.

  “Get your big gob off that plate and leave it for the next person. Don’t you get fed at home?” Sandra scolded Alf. She hid a smile – it was good to see a man appreciate his food, especially if she’d cooked it.