“They’re back for more feel-good-fayre.” Hattie giggled. “I hope you’ve destroyed all the plants?”
She finished her dessert and pushed the plate to one side. “Where’ve you packed Michael off too?” She asked as she examined her chest then dabbed at the love-bite with concealer stick.
“Alf packed all Michael’s stuff up and drove him to the station.”
Jo watched the mark on Hattie’s neck disappear.
“I gave Michael a month’s wages and Alf made sure he was on the first long distance train.” Jo said. “Alf’s dug all the plants up and put them in the incinerator, he’s a saint.”
Hattie brushed translucent powder over her bruise, taking care not to get any specs on the lapels of the black suit.
“Are you and Bertie an item?” Jo asked.
“Oh I don’t know. More like two lonely folk in need of a good shag.” Hattie was blunt. “I do like him though, he’s kind and thoughtful and so soft spoken, unlike that Italian bastard.”
Both girls nodded, the bills pushed to one side.
“He’ll be going back to Ireland the day after tomorrow, has he asked if you can get together after that?”
“Nah, never mentioned it.” Hattie said. “But I don’t suppose the love rat you’ve set your sights on mutters about Life-After-Fair-Week does he?”
They hadn’t seen John Doherty since that afternoon.
“He’s never mentioned it and I don’t trust myself on my own with him.”
Jo rocked on the office chair with her back to the desk. Hattie sat on the stool and stared at the wall.
“There’ll be no repeat of that night.” Jo sighed “You’re right, he’s bound to be a complete shit and not one you’d ever rely on. He’ll have a string of women up and down the country all impressed with his fancy cars as he flashes the cash.” She studied her finger nails. “I’ll never sleep with him again or take any of his shifty money.”
“If there’s any left I’d like a vodka and tonic please.”
Jo and Hattie spun round. They collided into each other and Hattie fell backwards off the stool.
John stood in front of the desk.
“Fuck” Jo mumbled.
John moved away into the bar.
“No not me, don’t make me go!” Jo pleaded.
Hattie grabbed the stool and struggled to her feet but as she straightened up she felt the lining of the skirt rip.
“I’ll see to it.”
Hattie reached around her waist - the lining hung below her hem in shreds. She gave it a tug. Jo hadn’t noticed and Hattie darted through the door before she did.
Oh Christ! Jo’s cheeks flamed and she closed her eyes to try and compose herself. The door opened and Hattie held out a large glass of Cointreau. Jo snatched it and swigged the contents back. Fuck, fuck, fuckety fuck! The liquid coursed through her body. She grabbed a lipstick and ran it angrily over her mouth, then threw it on the desk and watched it clatter to the floor.
The door opened again and Jo braced herself. Conscious that John might hear, Hattie waved a note.
“He’s going to have a club sandwich in his room. Wants a bottle of Chablis with it…”
Jo knew she owed John an apology. He was a guest for goodness sake! She took a deep breath and forced herself to move, she crossed her fingers and stepped into the bar.
It was empty. John was nowhere to be seen.
Jo looked around in disbelief – he’d been here a moment ago! She put her head into the panel room and the conservatory but there was no sign of him. As she passed the back stairs she heard the fire door close on the landing. He’d gone back up to his room!
Hattie met her in the corridor. Jo’s face said it all.
Hattie took her by the arm and guided her back into the bar. She poured another Cointreau and stood back as Jo sipped the drink. She looked devastated.
“There’s a good chance he didn’t hear you.” Hattie began.
“Like Hell. He can’t get away from me fast enough - he even took the back stairs to avoid me.” Jo looked miserable and downed her drink.
“Well looking at the state of you there’s only one thing you can do.” Hattie placed the empty glass on the bar. “Get that lipstick off your teeth and halfway up your nose and look lively. You’re going to do a room service order and you’ve got about five minutes.”
“I can’t!” Jo was horrified.
“You can.” Hattie poured another Cointreau.
Jo rubbed her finger across her teeth and along her nose. The red wax left a smudged imprint on her skin. She gulped the drink.
“Don’t have any regrets Jo. You may never meet another man who makes you feel like this.”
Jo was astonished – Hattie had certainly changed her tune!
“Oh what the hell…” Hattie said. “Better to die with the memory… I’ll cover for the rest of the night.”
The kitchen door swung open and Simon clattered through. He carried a tray with a silver dome covering a multi-layered club sandwich. He placed it on a table and added a cold bottle of Chablis.
“How many glasses?”
“I’ll see to it Simon, thank you.” Hattie waved him away.
She placed two glasses beside white linen napkins then reached down and lifted the tray.
“Come on!” She put the tray in Jo’s hands. “I’ll hold the fire doors back.”
They scurried up the back stairs and into the corridor. John’s room was at the front. Jo gripped the tray - the corridor seemed to go on for ever.
“See yah later.” Hattie whispered and gave her a gentle shove.
Jo took a deep breath and willed her feet to move forward in measured steps. At the door of Room Two she balanced the tray on her hip, freed one hand and tapped gently on the door. Her heart pounded.
“Room Service.”
“Come in, it’s open.”
Jo turned the brass handle and pushed the door gently…
John sat by the bureau. He held a drink in one hand and a magazine in the other and looked up as she entered the room. Jo’s feet felt like lead. Her face burned and she dipped her head as she frantically looked for a table.
John put his drink down and stood up. Without a word he took the tray and placed it on the bureau. He stared at her.
Apologies screamed through Jo’s head but she couldn’t speak. Mortified, she reached for the door but in a flash John got to it first. He held on tight to stop her from opening it. Inches apart, their eyes met and John gently lifted her hand. He wrapped his arms around her and Jo felt as though she was drowning as he kissed her. Her legs buckled as she kissed him back.
“You took your time.” He said.
Jo stared into his beautiful eyes and began to reply but he guided her to the four-poster. Their clothes seemed to melt away and John expertly unwound the laces of Jo’s red lacy basque and watched it fall to the floor. He peeled back the thick quilt and lay back on the cool cotton sheets guiding Jo across him. He held her waist as she straddled him and gazed longingly at her breasts, he kissed her gently as she leaned into his face. He smelt so warm and masculine. So delicious! Jo breathed him in and felt every nerve in her body react to his touches, as he traced her skin with his fingers, exploring every inch.
Jo took control of their love making and John responded passionately. She astonished herself with her power, as she slowly guided him into her and gently moved up and down. John groaned with pleasure as he reached for her breasts and pushed more urgently, she felt herself explode as he cried out.
The world seemed to stop for one long, glorious and unimaginable moment. Jo lay in his arms as he sighed contentedly. His hand caressed her thigh and as he opened his eyes he smiled.
“Wow.”
John pulled her to him again. Without unlocking their limbs or extracting himself, he rolled her over till she lay on her side, her leg wrapped tightly round him as he stroked and caressed her. Jo felt him grow firm and responded to his touches. She felt like a wild animal!
Thrusting and gasping with exertion they rode against each other furiously, the quilt and pillows scattered. Locked together they were oblivious to anything but each other. Jo heard a cry and realised that it was her own, as John gripped her hard and spent himself, his fingers digging deep into her flesh.
The room was silent, the storm abated.
John stroked her hair and kissed her face. Jo felt completely sated.
They may have slept, Jo didn’t know but when she opened her eyes John was sitting on the bed with the tray beside them. She watched him pour wine into a glass – the pale amber liquid looked like nectar as he held it out. Jo sat up and reached for the pillows then bunched them behind her head. John unfolded a serviette and began to eat.
“God I’m hungry, want some?”
Jo shook her head. She gazed at his naked body and sipped her wine. His limbs were toned and tanned, soft dark hair covered his chest.
“Have I got you for the night or have you guests to look after?” John munched on his sandwich and stroked her leg, his eyes wandered lazily over her body.
Jo felt like the cat who’d got the cream.
He dabbed at his mouth with the napkin and placed the tray on the floor then stroked her leg and raised an eyebrow.
“Well?”
“All night.” Jo whispered. She placed the wine glass on the bedside table as his fingers walked slowly up her legs and came to rest between her thighs. Jo groaned and reached for him.
“All night.” She sighed.
CHAPTER TWENTY
The crowd went wild! Mirabelle the Magnificent had come from nowhere in the fourth race at the Harness Racing in Butterly - she was a rank outsider in the betting but out of the blue had won!
Jo sat in the stands at Colne Farm Arena and watched the celebrations below. Harry and Elvis congratulated themselves and Ken beamed with delight. Tracey and Stacey leapt up and down, their short skirts bouncing above endless tanned legs, as they teetered precariously on spiked heels. On John’s advice, they’d all placed large bets and now reckoned up their winnings. It was considerable, with the odds at eleven to one.
Bertie danced round the stands in an Irish jig. He held Hattie and as they spun, her breasts threatened to bounce out of her blouse. She was ecstatic! Bertie had placed a hundred pounds on Mirabelle - just for her and Hattie couldn’t believe that she’d won so much money!
Jo smiled as she looked around, she was thrilled for Hattie. The evening was warm and the place buzzed with spirited chatter. Tall leafy trees surrounding the arena swayed in the breeze.
John stood by his driver in the arena below and discussed the race. A young boy, wearing the same colours as the driver, towelled Mirabelle down with great care. He stoked her as he dried her steaming coat. John rubbed the horse’s nose and whispered in her ear. He gave instructions and the driver and boy led the horse away to prepare for the final.
A man stood next to John and as they spoke, John reached down and picked up an oblong case by his feet. He opened the lid and pulled out a phone. Jo was fascinated. She’d heard of mobile phones but never seen one. John handed the phone to the man.
Hattie watched too.
“Who’s the man with the phone?” She asked Bertie.
“Vincent Scott. He’s a leading racing pundit and a representative of the British Harness Racing Club. He’s come up from Cheshire and seems to be well in with our man.”
Bertie watched Vincent return the phone, shake Johns’ hand then disappear into the crowd. “Very interesting.” He mused and sipped his beer. Froth clung to his top lip and Hattie wiped it away with her finger.
Another man appeared and congratulated John.
“Isn’t that Pete Vardy the car dealer?” Hattie asked.
“Aye,” Bertie said. “And the fellow in the camel coat is his minder.”
“Christ. What do you have to do to have a minder?”
“Ask our man himself. He normally has one.” Bertie watched John. A man with red hair was speaking to him and picked up the case with the phone. Hattie looked around for Jo and spotted her in the stand. Jo gave them a wave and hopped over the benches to join them.
“Having a good time?”
“Couldn’t be better.” Hattie smiled. “Hope you had a decent bet on old Mirabelle, I’ve won a bloody fortune.”
“Oh Hell.” Jo said and nodded to the arena. “Look who’s just arrived.”
Jinny and Billy Atkinson walked arm in arm with an entourage of family and friends trailing in their wake.
“Quite an entrance.” Hattie said.
Billy acknowledged everyone and was soon surrounded by racing cronies. Jinny seem distracted and searched the crowd, her eyes came to rest on John. She let go of Billy’s arm, rushed forward and grabbed John by the shoulder. As he turned she kissed him on the cheek.
“Shite.” Hattie saw the exchange and reached for her drink. It was empty. She looked around for Bertie. “She must have a horse racing today. I bet its Westmarland Prancer in next race.”
Jo watched Jinny. Immaculate as usual in a stunning gold dress, the silk gathered at one side and fell in a waterfall to her knees - a Dorothy Osbourne Special Collection. Jo felt out of place in her Mondi Capri pants and top.
Hattie nudged her.
“She thinks it’s sodding Ascot, not the harness racing in Fair Week. Don’t let her get to you.”
Bertie returned with a bottle of champagne and Hattie grinned as she took the glasses.
“Get a glass of this inside you.” Hattie held a glass for Jo and Bertie poured.
Jo watched Jinny hold onto John’s arm. He leaned his head to one side to listen to her and as she spoke in his ear, her fingers stroked his arm. John moved back and Jinny’s hand fell away. He looked at his gold Rolex watch and broke away from Jinny to run up the steps and join Jo.
“Got a glass of bubbly for me?”
“More than a glass my Man,” Bertie poured him a drink. “Be Jeysus, she’s a fine horse you’ve got there.” He raised his glass to John, and Harry and Elvis joined them. They were vociferous in their thanks and Tracey and Stacey sang ‘For he’s a jolly good fellow.’
“To Mirabelle the Magnificent!”
“And may she win in the final!” Elvis added.
John pulled Jo to him and kissed her which set off another round of cheers.
“Mmn, I’m having a good day, you look nice.” His hand wrapped around her bottom. “What’s on the room service menu tonight?” Jo giggled as he nuzzled into her neck. She looked over his shoulder and realised that Jinny was glaring at them.
“I didn’t know you knew Jinny Atkinson” Jo said.
“I don’t really. I’ve done some work with Billy though.”
“She seems to be taking a lot of interest in you.” Jinny glowered in Jo’s direction then spun on her heels and stomped off. She grabbed Billy’s arm and pushed him in the direction of the champagne bar.
John gave Jo another lingering kiss, he told her that he’d people to see and moved off into the crowd.
“Fuck me, you’re not making any friends.” Hattie took Jo’s arm and nodded in the direction of the Atkinson party.
“I’m amazed she’s here.” Jo replied. “I wouldn’t have thought trotting races were her style.”
“There’s an awful lot of money to be won tonight Jo.” Bertie had overheard their conversation. “Westmarland Prancer’s a fine horse and should clean up in the final.”
Hattie was thoughtful. She knew the Atkinson’s loved racing and Jinny had several successful horses. It was clear that Jinny knew John too. Perhaps he held other attractions than racing for her?
The next race was about to start and there was a flurry of last minute betting. Bertie, Ken and the Hunts placed large bets on Westmarland Prancer.
The impatient horses thrashed about as their drivers trotted them to the starting line and manoeuvred them into position. The starting pistol fired and they were off!
The vehicles sped around the course in a clo
ud of orange and brown dust as the horses thundered past. The drivers gripped harnesses in one hand and held whips high in the other, wheels spun and the yelling crowd went mad.
Westmarland Prancer lay in second place - she’d had a good race but was too far behind to win. As she headed for the final furlong her driver whipped her repeatedly, he stood on the running board and yelled as he leaned to one side. The horse thrust forward, the whites of her eyes huge and foam trailing from her mouth, she’d caught up! With a crack of the whip that drew blood, her driver wrenched the harness back causing her carriage to crash into the side of the leading horse. It toppled over onto the white railings and Westmarland Prancer flew past to the final post.
Angry cries went up, surely she would be disqualified? But the protests were drowned by Westmarland Prancer’s supporters. Jinny shrieked with joy and Billy popped a bottle of champagne, he shook it and showered everyone in the champagne bar.
Hattie and Jo watched the performance. Jo felt sickened – surely that shouldn’t have been allowed? Bertie reassured her that the horse that had toppled was fine, and that’s how trotting races are sometimes won. He rubbed his hands together - another windfall!
Jo looked at her watch and wondered how they were coping back at the hotel. “They’ll be alright. Stop worrying.” Hattie said. “Everyone’s down here, there’ll be few folk wanting a meal.”
The heats continued and Jo hardly saw John. He seemed busy and moved around the arena talking to different groups of men. As the final race approached he returned with Vincent Scott by his side. Hattie rushed forward to be introduced. She was delighted with her winnings and intrigued by the betting. She wanted to ask the racing pundit how the bets were worked out and what Mirabelle’s odds were. He explained that it all depended on how good the other horses were in the race, Mirabelle was well fancied for the final as she’d won the qualifier easily. The odds would probably be three to one but they mustn’t forget the favourite Westmarland Prancer, whose odds were currently two to one.
“Are you having a bet Jo?” Hattie watched the bookies wave their arms around and call out the odds. “I could take to this, it beats work!”
Coffee, Tea, The Gypsy & Me... Page 15
