Coffee, Tea, The Gypsy & Me...

by Caroline James

  Jo stopped to enjoy the moment and stood in the open doorway gazing out. A sudden chill made her shiver! Invisible tentacles of ice began to claw at her skin and she spun round but as she turned something crashed against her shoulder! Jo stumbled back into the room and grasped a chair. What the hell was it? Fear raked through her body. What the hell was in this room?

  The door crashed shut.

  “Steady, you’ll break the glass!” Hattie held a glass of Cointreau. “You want some water with this?”

  Paralysed, Jo felt her pulse drum in her ears but whatever had upset her was gone. The room was suddenly warmer.

  “My don’t you scrub up well!” Hattie admired Jo’s appearance. “Are you ok now? You look a bit peaky.”

  Jo felt the pain in her shoulder. What had hit her again? She forced herself to smile and slowly let go of the chair. Whatever was in this room must be dealt with later. She had to carry on!

  “Just checking the garden...”

  Jo willed her legs to work and walked over to Hattie. She took the drink and knocked it back.

  “Mmn that’s better.” She said as the alcohol hit her veins. “Are the first guests in?”

  “Robert is suited and booted and leering longingly at the door, waiting for your bewitching arse to sashay round the frame.”

  “Better not keep him waiting then…”

  * * *

  “And I said ‘He must be with the enemy!’ And do you know what? He was!”

  In the Rose Room, Peter Gavmin perched his portly figure in a winged armchair and entertained his wife Isabel, Robert and Miriam. Jo found them grouped by the fire. In his role as local solicitor ‘the enemy’ referred to a rival practice and their clients.

  “And here’s our hostess!” Peter exclaimed and rose with difficulty.

  Jo greeted the party.

  “My Dear this is credit to you.” Peter waved his chubby arm around the room. “It’s marvellous to be here on your opening night.” He puckered his pouting lips and kissed Jo on the cheek. With a tight hold on her arm he turned to the rest of his party. “You know my lovely wife Isabel.”

  As stout as her husband, Isabel heaved herself forward. Jo remembered her from Butterly, Peter’s office was in the main street opposite the pub and they’d often called in for a bar meal.

  “And of course you know our property expert Robert and his beloved, The Lady Miriam.”

  ‘Lady’ Miriam remained seated. She feigned annoyance at Peter’s reference but secretly preened herself. She hoped Jo would appreciate her assumed status and nodded curtly as she calculated the cost of Jo’s off-the-shoulder cocktail dress. She crossed one long thin leg over the other and wrapped bony fingers round her flute of champagne.

  Robert stood as Jo extricated herself from Peter’s grip.

  “None of this would have been possible without this man.”

  Jo took Robert’s hand and kissed him fondly on each cheek. He was immaculately dressed as usual in a smart suit.

  “You’re a very lucky lady.” Jo told Miriam.

  Miriam fumed. How dare this tarty girl be so familiar with her husband! Miriam considered Jo to be way above her station and shouldn’t be so intimate with her guests.

  “Fetch the menu.” Miriam ordered. Her glare bore holes Robert’s back and he sat down.

  “Just doing my job” Robert said. “It was a pleasure to help a client.”

  Robert reached for his glass and took a large gulp, fearful that Miriam would sense his true feelings. Jo looked absolutely stunning! The change from a shabby abandoned wife, to the striking confident woman with an amazing cleavage, unsettled him in more ways than he cared to think of. He retreated deeper into his chair.

  “I hope you enjoy your evening.”

  Jo handed out menus and placed a wine list on the table. She threw a dazzling smile in Miriam’s direction and left them to select their meal.

  Hattie appeared with a tray of champagne.

  “You’ve not self-combusted then?” She shot a glance in Miriam’s direction and hurried into the Green Room, which was now full of animated guests.

  Jo caught sight of Dougie Cannon. He wandered up the hallway from the bar and looked very smart in a jacket and tie, but he seemed uneasy.

  “Dougie, it’s lovely to see you.”

  “Aye, Annie’s in the bar, erm…” Dougie hesitated and looked around.

  “The gentleman’s cloakroom is on the left” Jo said.

  Dougie disappeared.

  Jo found Annie buried in a chintz chair in the cocktail bar. Annie was a tiny woman with salt and pepper hair. Her stick thin, mottled limbs were childlike and protruded from a short sleeved floral dress. Fortunately, the white knitted shawl that framed her face stopped her blending into the chair. She clutched a glass of mineral water.

  “Dougie’ll be back in a minute.” Annie said. “That champagne doesn’t agree with him, I told him not to have it.” Her worried frown furrowed across her forehead.

  “I’ll pop back and take your order when Dougie’s ready.” Jo said, then raced to reception and found some indigestion tablets. She placed two on the desk as Dougie re-appeared.

  “It’s lovely to see Annie.” Jo beamed. “Your scallops are going to be popular tonight.”

  She pushed the tablets towards him.

  “I don’t know about you, but champagne bubbles always give me indigestion.” Jo whispered. Westmorland men were proud and Jo didn’t want to embarrass Dougie. He picked the tablets up and disappeared again.

  Jo went into the kitchen where there was a flurry of activity. Hattie pinned an order to the board and Sandra barked orders at Michael.

  “First of your residents seated and dining.” Hattie told Jo. “By heck that Peter Gayman doesn’t half go on, and the Lady Miriam must be the sourest woman in Stainton.”

  “It’s Gavmin” Jo corrected Hattie.

  “Hmn, well he’s odd. Never trust a fat man with small round eyes, my Mam always said and he grabs onto you when he is talking. My arm’s sore!”

  “Shall I take over the orders for a bit?” Jo reached for the pad and rapped Hattie’s fingers with it.

  “Stop picking!” Hattie had a canapé in her mouth and Sandra bore down on her with a heavy metal spoon. Jo winced as the spoon swung in the direction of Hattie’s head.

  In the stillroom, Gerald was buried under the hood of the dishwasher.

  “Is everything alright Gerald?” Jo asked.

  Gerald’s face appeared through the steam and he nodded.

  The swing door opened and Simon came though. He deposited two soup bowls by the dishwasher and rolled his eyes in Gerald’s direction.

  “Get on with it Simon, call the next course!” Jo snapped. She had the urge to grab an apron and join Gerald at the sink but instead, said a silent prayer to the guardian of the stillroom and left him to it.

  The sound of piano music was delightful as Suzy’s deft fingers skipped over the keyboard to Scott Joplin’s The Sting. Hattie and Steven danced around each other in the corridor, Hattie’s chest almost impaling Steven.

  In the panel room, the couple from the garden sat at the corner table by the fire and stared lovingly into each others eyes. He stroked her arm tenderly as they waited for their next course.

  “Honeymooners…” Hattie whispered.

  Jo headed for the Green Room and noticed a half consumed pint of bitter on Simon’s tray as he led Dougie and Annie through to the restaurant. Dougie nodded at the bitter and winked at Jo.

  “Enjoy your meal.” She stood back to let them pass.

  Hattie led more new arrivals into the bar.

  “Brace yourself! Pete Parks has arrived.” Hattie said. “I’ve put him in the Green Room well away from Peter Gayman who hates him - he’s ‘with the enemy’...”

  “Gavmin” Jo corrected Hattie again. She gripped her order pad to stop her hand shaking and forced herself to go and greet the Parks party.

  The group sat on the matching Chesterfields i
n the bay window. As Jo walked towards them she felt Pete study her, from her court shoes up.

  “Good Evening everyone.” Jo said. The ruddy, weather-beaten faces smiled back. Simon offered champagne and the ladies giggled and made remarks about getting tipsy.

  Mrs Parks removed her coat.

  “Let me take that for you.” Jo held out her hand.

  Pete slipped his jacket off. With his back to the others he stared at Jo’s cleavage. “You can have mine as well.” His blue eyes bore through her clothes. Jo blushed as she took the jacket.

  Hattie appeared with menus and handed them round, she remarked that the steak was especially good tonight. Mr Pigmy’s best, no less.

  Jo almost ran from the room. She flung the cloakroom door open and hung Mrs Parks tweed on a hanger but found herself holding John’s jacket to her face. The smell of soft, expensive leather with a trace of aftershave was delicious. She closed her eyes.

  “Bleedin’ hell, let’s hope that wears off soon.” Hattie peered round the door and rolled her eyes. “Not The Parks Effect - I warned you!”

  “Oh bugger off Hattie, I’m just smelling real quality, that’s all.” Jo was embarrassed and changed tack. “I wonder where he gets his jackets from?”

  “Who cares? We’re filling up out here.” Hattie held the cloakroom door ajar.

  Jo dodged past and wondered if all Westmarland men were like dogs on heat? Even Dougie had winked at her and the night had only just started…

  * * *

  “Look Lively! The Bentleys just pulled up!” Hattie hissed and gesticulated to Steven, who tumbled through the front door and following precise instructions, began to open car doors and usher the guests into the hotel.

  Jo hurried to greet the Atkinson’s.

  “I’ve put them in the Red Room” Hattie whispered as she bustled past under a mound of fur. “Jinny’s done up like a dog’s dinner, who the bloody hell would wear fox in June?”

  Jo entered the room. Billy Atkinson stood by the fireplace and spoke to Peter Gavmin. The atmosphere was clearly strained and Jo wondered if Billy was with ‘the enemy’. Peter’s podgy little face looked distinctly relieved when Simon called his party through for dinner.

  “Enjoy your meal” Jo said cheerily as Peter and Robert stood back and let their wives go ahead of them.

  Jinny Atkinson scrutinised Jo. The two women cast a calculated eye on each others apparel, both appreciating Dorothy’s work at first hand. Jinny was immaculate in a black cocktail dress with long gloves. Frank Usher Jo thought, pleased that she knew.

  Jinny placed a cigarette in a tortoiseshell holder and glared at Jo. Billy flashed his Dunhill lighter. Jo prayed she wouldn’t light up in the dining room - Kirkton House was one of the few restaurants in Westmarland to have a no smoking policy.

  “So you’re the female version of to Tom Tovey eh?” Billy smiled and sipped his champagne.

  “It’s sweet of you to put me in the same league.” Jo acknowledged his reference to a successful hotelier west of the county.

  “Call me Billy. Looks like you’ve done a good job here Lass.” He looked round. “You’ve worked hard. I remember this place when we built the main road.”

  Jo remembered Hattie’s reference to Billy’s work and wondered if the road outside was in his wheelbarrow days…

  “This is my son, his friend Christine and my good lady, Jinny.”

  Young Billy stepped forward and shook Jo’s hand. Like his Dad, he was handsome in a rugged way, both dapper in designer suits.

  “I’m very pleased to meet you all.” Jo said. “It’s lovely to see local support.”

  Jinny stubbed her cigarette out and looked bored. She flicked a compact open, and repaired her lipstick. She’d no intention of being friendly to this girl, who’d hardly been in the area for more than five minutes and needed to know her place. Several ladies from Jinny’s Luncheon Club had expressed an interest in arranging their next meeting at Kirkton House, Jinny was determined that Jo would hard for their business. Jinny watched her husband as he finished his glass of champagne and ordered a bottle of Krug. His eyes never left Jo’s shapely figure. Furious, Jinny looked away as Jo explained the menu and took their wine order.

  Jo was relieved to leave the room. Jinny was pure venom and the Atkinson men complete leches! Had Young Billy brushed his hand up her leg? She hoped she’d imagined it. She hurried to reception and collided with Hattie who came out of the kitchen with a plate of canapés.

  “Look out! Shite I nearly lost them!” Hattie cursed.

  “You’ve got pastry on your mouth.” Jo snapped. She was reeling from the degrees of warmth and hostility she’d just encountered.

  “She’s a sour cow eh?” Hattie nodded at the beautiful silver fox fur coat piled on the office chair.

  “Don’t you think you should hang that up?” Jo began but stared with horror at the coat. Two of the canapés were face down on the silk lining. Liver pate oozed over the fabric creating a dark stain.

  “Fuck it Hattie! Jinny will kill us if she sees that. For God’s sake do something!”

  “Well I’m not licking it off. It’s nowt that can’t be fixed with warm soapy water.” Hattie disappeared to the kitchen as Jo stared with dismay at the expensive coat.

  “How’s it going Babe?” A man’s voice whispered.

  Jo spun round and in an effort to hide the damage, plonked herself on the coat. Pete Parks had his hands on the counter and leaned over. Jo felt trapped. She also felt a warm oily mess penetrate the back of her dress.

  “Oh, hello there...” Jo said nervously. “Did you want something?” God he has got incredibly blue eyes!

  “You know what I want Babe.”

  Jo felt like a rabbit trapped in the headlights. Cornered with no where to go.

  The reception door flew open and caught Pete on the forehead. He reeled back from the blow. Oblivious, Hattie hurried through with a dishcloth in her hand.

  “What in God’s name are you sitting there for? You’ll look like you’ve shit yourself!” Hattie tugged the coat from under Jo.

  “Oh hello Pete, can we help you?” Hattie saw Pete steady himself. Dazed, he held his hand to his brow.

  “Have you tumbled?” Hattie asked “Not used to the champagne eh?”

  “Hattie!” Jo hissed “Mr Parks was looking for the lavatory.”

  Hattie rolled her eyes heavenward. She threw the dishcloth at Jo then guided Pete away.

  “Well the lav is on the left Love, you’ll not find it in here.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Jo and Hattie sat in the conservatory and mulled over the events of the previous night. The evening had been a success.

  Guests who’d departed that morning had been full of praise and assured Jo that they’d return. Diners in the restaurant had left handsome tips and many compliments, even Gerald had got through the night without any breakages.

  “Hattie, is it me or do most men around here seem to have the urge to stray, or at the very least flirt like hell at any given opportunity?” Jo sipped a mug of coffee.

  “They don’t get out much in Westmarland. You’re a challenge to them.” Hattie dunked a shortbread biscuit in her tea. “It’s only natural that every man with a pulse in his penis is gagging to be the first to conquer the New You.”

  Jo drained her coffee and took Hattie’s mug. Crumbs clung to the sides.

  “Another one?”

  Hattie shook her head. She leaned back and stretched her legs, then circled her feet. They were swollen and bulged over her kitten-heel shoes.

  “My bloody feet are agony. They look like pig’s trotters.” Hattie complained.

  “Well get off home and have a Sunday with your boys, I can manage.”

  Jo’s parents were leaving that morning and Ann would take responsibility for Thomas.

  “Judy’s here all day.” Jo said. Judy was staying in the hotel, Jo had created a small en-suite room by the linen room for staff to use.

  It was a lov
ely day and bright, warm sunshine brought the garden to life. Jo looked out and saw Michael in the greenhouse. He bent over a tray of seedlings and potted his precious herbs and plants. Old Johnny sat on a stool close by.

  “Michael puts a lot of time into that greenhouse” Jo said. “You’d never think he was a keen gardener would you?”

  “Nah, he’s a lazy bugger.” Hattie yawned.

  “The plants must be his relaxation.” Jo picked up a bill folder.

  “You must be pleased?” Hattie nodded at the first day’s receipts. “Billy Atkinson spent a fortune on wine - you’ll need to re-stock the Barolo.”

  “I didn’t have Pete Parks down as a Muscadet sort of man.” Jo mused.

  “Nope, more of a house white - not that his Mrs would know the difference.” Hattie shook her head.

  “She’s not what you’d expect is she?”

  Jo remembered the shy and giggly Mrs Parks, who’d turned into quite a party animal as the night wore on and the wine flowed.

  “Aye, she certainly wasn’t what Peter Gayman expected!” Hattie chuckled.

  “Gavmin.” Jo corrected. “He took it quite well when she sat on his knee.”

  Jo remembered the look of absolute horror on Peter Gavmin’s face as the drunken wife of the enemy plonked her rotund bottom on his lap, removed his glasses and told him to ‘giddey up!”.

  “By heck did you see Lady Miriam’s face?” Hattie said. “She was apoplectic. She nearly burst when she told Robert to ‘Take that horse-faced woman away!’ ”

  The girls giggled as they remembered the night’s exploits. Jo was sure she’d heard Annie Cannon throwing-up in the ladies loo after picking her way through dinner. The vomiting would explain her emaciated appearance. Dougie was hopelessly drunk and had to be led out by Hattie and Simon via the back door, into a waiting taxi. He’d accompanied his flight with a loud rendition of “Show me the way to go home!” Annie had run through the still room after him where Gerald and Arthur respectfully stopped their pot washing.