Coffee, Tea, The Gypsy & Me...

by Caroline James

  John Doherty’s eyes were shaded by expensive Ray-Bans but he wore a cocky grin as he held the reigns of a beautiful dapple grey mare. The horse held her head high; she seemed aloof to her surroundings and walked arrogantly beside her master.

  They stopped in front of Jo.

  “Fancy a ride?” John lifted his sunglasses.

  Jo felt her heart pound as his blue eyes met with hers.

  “I don’t ride.” She replied and instantly regretted her words.

  “Not what I’ve heard...” Hattie whispered. She extricated herself from Bertie’s embrace and took a glass of ice cold lager from Harry.

  John and Jo gazed at each other and he stroked the bruise on her arm.

  “You won’t have any trouble at the hotel again.”

  Jo wanted to lean forward and kiss him, the rhythmic stroking aroused her and she had to stop herself from reaching out.

  “Fine beast you’ve got there John.” Ken interrupted. He ran his hand over the mare’s back, appreciating the strong muscled body as the horse sniffed curiously round his face.

  “Selling her?” Ken asked.

  John reached out and took Jo’s hand, he gave it a squeeze.

  “No, she’s not for sale and never will be.” He looked at his horse with pride. “She’ll be racing tomorrow. Make sure you bet on her.” He spoke with quiet confidence.

  “What’s her name?” Jo asked.

  “Mirabelle the Magnificent. John smiled.

  Jo felt her whole body turn to jelly and she longed to reach out and kiss him.

  Hattie sensed the electricity and nudged Bertie.

  “That didn’t touch the sides, are we having another?” She held out her glass. Bertie was engrossed in the horse.

  “It’s my round I think.” He gave Hattie a kiss on the cheek and laughed as she blushed again, then collected their empty glasses and headed to the bar.

  Harry and Elvis patted the horse too and John turned to answer their questions. Hattie moved Jo to one side.

  “Why don’t you just shag him standing up against the horse?” Hattie hissed.

  “Oh you can talk! Bertie can barely bloody walk he’s got such a hard on.” Jo snapped back.

  “I didn’t know he was going to make a grab for me.”

  “You hardly shoved him off - sure you didn’t fall on purpose?”

  “Listen to the kettle calling the pot.” Hattie raised her eyebrows and nodded towards John.

  Hattie and Jo glared at each other then both began to giggle. They huddled over as their laughter became uncontrollable.

  “You couldn’t write this lot could you.” Hattie shook her head and punched Jo on the arm. “Just be careful with him.”

  “I should say the same to you.” Jo winced and rubbed her arm. “But somehow I feel you’re safe with Bertie.”

  Bertie returned with a tray of beer, his face deep in concentration as he endeavoured not to spill any. Hattie looked at him with affection.

  The men turned from the horse and reached for their drinks.

  “Will you be having one John?” Bertie asked.

  “Not at the moment, maybe later.” John locked eyes with Jo. He raised his eyebrows and smiled. Jo sipped her drink and spattered the foam as his innuendo registered. She’d swallowed the wrong way and began to choke. Bertie rushed in to slap her back and take the glass from her.

  Bent double from Bertie’s slap, Jo grabbed Hattie by the arm and hurried to the ladies room.

  “Jesus, you’ve got it bad.” Hattie rubbed Jo’s back as she stood over the sink.

  “Have I ruined my make up?” Jo looked into the cracked and misty mirror.

  “Nah, you’re perfect – just horribly besotted with a rum ‘un. It’ll pass when he’s gone. It’s the getting there that bothers me.”

  “You’re right Hattie. I’ll never see him again after the Fair and I’ve got a business to run. I’m being stupid. I think I should get back to the hotel and see what’s happening.”

  Jo rinsed her hands and ran her fingers through her hair. Hattie leaned over the sink into the mirror and applied a lipstick. Jo reached out and took it off her then smoothed it over her own lips. They stood back and assessed themselves.

  “Not bad for two down trodden divorcees.” Hattie said.

  “We’ll pass muster.” Jo replied. “You stay a while and enjoy yourself with Bertie. I’m going to head back.” Jo picked up her bag.

  They pushed through throngs of inebriated bodies in the bar and stepped out into the sunshine. John had gone and Bertie beamed as he watched them approach.

  “See you all later.” Jo called. She thrust her shoulders back and swung her handbag onto her shoulder then walked purposefully off to find her car in the field beyond the hill.

  “She’ll never get there in one piece.” Harry and Elvis said in unison, eyes glued to Jo’s retreating bottom. Bertie nodded as he watched Jo disappear into the crowd.

  “Greg was an idiot.” Ken shook his head.

  “Must be my round lads?” Elvis downed his glass and rubbed his hands together. “All the fun of the Fair, eh?”

  * * *

  Jo felt troubled as she wandered back to her car. Hattie was absolutely right. John was completely unsuitable and would only cause her anguish. But she couldn’t help the way her heart ignited and sent shock waves to every part of her body whenever she saw him and was certain he knew how she felt. It was so long since she’d felt like that and she realised that she’d stopped thinking about Greg. Just as well, Jo thought, she doubted that she’d ever see Greg again.

  She looked around. It was such a glorious day, she would have liked to stay with the others at the pub but she must get back and focus on the business of running a hotel. The Fair would be over in a couple of days and life would return to normal.

  John would be gone.

  She mustn’t make a fool of herself. It had been a stupid mistake. She mustn’t repeat it! Jo made a resolve to ignore his advances and focus on her work.

  She quickened her pace. She’d had a narrow escape last night and must make sure that the doors remained locked during the Fair. Thank God Ken and everyone had been there, who knows what might have happened! But somehow she knew it wouldn’t happen again – John had reassured her of that today.

  Jo pushed through the crowds. She was jostled as men shouted and called out as they paraded their horses and looked for buyers. They laughed and swore in the searing, dusty heat and made suggestive remarks as Jo passed. No wonder the locals disliked the fair so much Jo thought, the town was completely disrupted. Their idyllic country life was turned upside down by this mass invasion of a culture very alien to the day to day comings and goings of Westmarland folk.

  With relief, Jo found her car and threw herself into it. She opened the top and started the engine, then slowly edged off the field. Life will soon be back to normal she assured herself.

  * * *

  Simon and Penny served afternoon teas to new residents, while guests enjoyed drinks on the patio in the sun drenched garden. Judy sat in reception and made a list for the dining room that evening. She looked up as she heard Jo come in.

  “Good time on the Hill? By heck that’s a cracker, I’m surprised you’re back in one piece.” Judy admired Jo’s outfit.

  “I left Hattie in the arms of an amorous Bertie.” Jo leaned over the desk to look through the diary.

  “Well I never.” Judy said. “Good old Bertie.”

  “Let’s just hope she comes back, she’s on duty at six.”

  They could hear a man talking in the kitchen and both turned to investigate.

  “And I says ‘that’s no gypsy – that’s my mate Jo!’”

  Alf had his back to the door as Jo stepped into the kitchen.

  “By heck you should have seen her outfit; she looked like a sexy snake winding down the Hill.”

  “And she will start hissing if you don’t get your backside out of here and let Sandra get on with some work.”

 
; Alf spun round.

  “You want to be careful in that get up - I hear them gypos was about to smuggle you away.” He shook his head.

  “The only smuggling round here is your illicit contraband and me convincing myself it started life honestly.”

  Jo looked at a haunch of venison lying on the stainless steel table. Four large salmon gazed lifelessly alongside, their silvery blue bodies plump and shimmering.

  “I expect you’ll want cash for that lot?” Jo nodded and Judy went to find some notes.

  “Very kind Ma’am” Alf touched his cap and bowed. “I’ll be on me way, mind how you cook that beast.” He reprimanded Sandra. “You buggered it up with that crumbly crap, leave it be this time.”

  Alf took the money from Judy’s outstretched hand and folded it into his pocket. As he turned to leave, Michael appeared with a large basket filled with herbs. He set it down by the sink and separated the foliage, then placed a large bunch on the table while Sandra poked the venison.

  Alf picked up some of the leaves.

  “A sauce of juniper, red wine and Dijon mustard.” Sandra said as she planned her recipe for the venison.

  “Delicious! And some of Michael’s lovely herbs?” Jo asked.

  With a clatter, Sandra lifted a large roasting tray from under the table and thrust the salmon towards Michael.

  “Stop fanning around with them herbs. Make yourself useful with a knife and get filleting these buggers.” She swiped out with her tea-towel and Michael dodged away.

  Alf meanwhile, held a bunch of herbs to his nose and pinched the leaves. He sniffed and wrinkled his brow.

  “You’ll be sending folks to the funny farm if you cook with these.” Alf made a face and thrust the leaves back in the basket.

  Jo felt the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. Comprehension suddenly dawned. Her mouth went dry and she felt her forehead pulse. Visions of the giggling Gavmins flashed through her mind as they scoffed chocolate tiffin by the plateful. She could see Mrs Brough falling around the dining room in hysterics with Paulie and numerous, equally hysterical residents.

  The tick from the wall clock sounded like oncoming thunder as the kitchen fell silent. They all turned to Michael.

  His eyes darted nervously from one to the other then, quick as a flash, he lunged forward and grabbed the herbs. Spinning round he thrust them into the waste disposal unit and snatched frantically at the switch to crunch them down the drain. But Alf got there before him and wrenched Michael’s hand away. He twisted his arm behind his back.

  “God Almighty!” Sandra roared. She held the venison haunch in one hand and blood dripped onto the kitchen floor.

  Michael’s face was contorted in pain as he tried to wriggle from Alf’s grasp, but Alf held firm and looked at Jo.

  “Out…” Jo uttered. “Everything out… NOW!”

  Alf spun Michael round. With his feet barely touching the floor, the chef was manhandled through the kitchen and marched up the yard to his caravan.

  The three women watched in silence, stunned by the realisation that Michael had been growing marihuana and unknowingly they had drugged their guests with his home grown weed!

  Jo closed her eyes and gripped the kitchen table. When she opened them Judy’s face was white and Sandra looked like she was about to explode.

  They looked up the yard and watched Michael remonstrate furiously. Alf had flung the contents of the caravan to the ground and hurled suitcases at Michael’s feet.

  Sandra bit her lip. She wrenched the knife drawer open and picked up a machete then threw the venison onto a chopping board and swung the knife in a wide arc. It smashed the haunch in two. Blood splattered and two specks landed on her nose. She looked up.

  “If he comes in here again, it’ll be his head on this board.” She said. “Not a word to anyone Mrs E. And you too Judy.” She glared at Judy. “We’ll say he’s gone ‘cause of drink.” Sandra shook her head in disbelief. “I blame myself - I should have known he was doing summat stupid, spending all that time heating the greenhouse and growing things and me not knowing what they were.”

  “The only person to blame is me.” Jo spoke quietly. “We’ll replace him as soon as we can.”

  She began to make plans.

  “Judy, can you step in here for now?”

  Judy nodded and reached for an apron. She thrust it over her head and tied the strings round her waist.

  The reception bell rang and the women looked at each other.

  “Not a word!” Sandra said.

  Each nodded and made their pact then moved swiftly about their business.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Jo glanced at the clock on the hall table. She could feel panic clutching vice-like across her chest as it struck seven o’clock.

  Where the hell was Hattie?

  A couple approached in search of pre-dinner drinks and Jo guided them into the Red Room and settled them in a corner by the window. She took their bar order and drummed her fingers on her order pad as they chattered about their day at a Beatrix Potter Exhibition and their huge collection of Peter Rabbit plates.

  The front door sounded as more guests arrived for dinner. Jo extricated herself politely and went in search of assistance. The place was filling up. She gave the bar order to Steven and looked around for Simon. He appeared from the garden with a large tray of dirty glasses.

  “Simon, can you see to Reception please?”

  “I’ll just put these down.” He disappeared through the still room door.

  Seconds later Jo heard a monumental crash and curses could be heard in the kitchen, as the bell on the hall table rang and the front door buzzer sounded again. Harry Hunt came in from the garden and held out two empty beer tankards.

  “You busy Darlin’?”

  Jo was unsure of what to do first. Angry voices could still be heard in the kitchen and guests approached from the hallway.

  “I’m never too busy for you Harry.” She took the tankards from his large beefy hands and indicated to Steven to take over. A red faced Simon appeared from the kitchen.

  “Sorry Mrs E.” He rushed to assist Jo. “Judy’s all over the place and that idiot Gerald knocked into me.”

  Jo forced a smile. Poor Judy had been plunged in at the deep end, but the guests came first and she motioned to Simon to attend to reception.

  Where the hell was Hattie?! Jo took a couple of orders through to the kitchen. She didn’t linger. Sandra was struggling to cope with a multitude of tasks in the absence of Michael and Judy was struggling to keep up.

  Bertie strolled into the bar. He seemed very pleased with himself and whistled as he looked round, then asked where everyone was. Jo pointed to the garden. The Hunts sat on the terrace with Ken enjoying drinks in the evening sunshine. Bertie politely thanked her and disappeared through the conservatory.

  Jo wanted to call after him and ask if he knew where Hattie was but restrained herself. She’d a damn good idea… Starting with Bertie’s bedroom! Jo sighed and went to take more orders.

  As she hurried through the panel room, Jo noticed the door to her house creak open slowly. Hattie peeped through. Unaware that Jo was watching, Hattie checked to see if the coast was clear then slipped into the room. She closed the door and smiled at the seated diners.

  Jo stopped dead.

  Hattie was wearing Jo’s black two-piece suit and her chest spilled out of the jacket while the skirt strained across her hips. She wobbled precariously as she moved through the room in a pair of Jo’s court shoes.

  Jo stepped forward and Hattie ricocheted into her.

  “Shite! Didn’t see you there…” Hattie mumbled.

  Jo glared at Hattie’s chest - a strawberry coloured bruise marked her creamy skin.

  “Been bitten?”

  Hattie coloured.

  “Only two hours late and you’ve found yourself a lovely new outfit?” Jo looked Hattie up and down. “It’s like a bloody knocking shop in here. Do you think you could join us? We could do with a h
and.”

  “I left my uniform at home, I didn’t realise I…” Hattie’s voice trailed off.

  Jo placed her hands on Hattie’s shoulders and turned her in the direction of the garden then shoved her forward.

  “You didn’t realise you’d be shagging all afternoon? The Guests!” Jo hissed, but smiled as Hattie tottered away on unfamiliar heels.

  Jo wasn’t in the least angry with her - she was grateful that Hattie had turned up. The bell rang in reception and with a sense of relief Jo went to attend to it.

  * * *

  Both dining rooms filled up as the evening wore on. There’d been an almighty fight on Fair Hill that afternoon and guests were animated as they discussed the gypsy brawl.

  The sons of two disputing families had vied with each other and in time honoured tradition, the only way to sort the matter out was by bare knuckle fighting until either party gave in. But the fight had brutally escalated, much to the horror of the police who had no control over it. Tourists stood aghast as limbs were broken and body parts severed. It was only resolved when the head of the gypsies stepped in and fought until the opposing families could fight no more. The fight left a trail of carnage - much to the delight of the fair-goers who, thrilled to lay claim to being there, would discuss the matter for years to come.

  Hattie managed to get herself together and worked hard alongside Jo. The guests enjoyed Sandra’s delicious drug-free food, accompanied by plenty of wine.

  As the contented diners sipped coffee and after-dinner liqueurs, Jo and Hattie sat in reception and went through the bills.

  “I thought you were mad at me.” Hattie ate a chocolate dessert and handed Jo the bar receipts.

  “Hardly, I was relieved to see you, even though you look ludicrous in my suit. You better not burst the stitching.” Jo glanced at Hattie’s thigh where the fabric strained.

  “I can’t believe Michael had everyone stoned.” Hattie shook her head.

  “We must keep it to ourselves. Sandra would kill me…”

  Jo looked at the diary. “I see Mrs Brough has booked a table for next week and the Gavmins are in again tonight.”