by Emma Jackson
And when I slipped the classy black dress I found over my head I thought it really might work. As long as most sophisticated women spent their evenings trying to tug the hemline of their skirt back down without anyone noticing.
That buffet turned out to be a godsend, since no other staff made it in to help me. It was getting a little ridiculous, but I couldn’t really blame them. The snow was piled so high outside I couldn’t see the front steps anymore.
As soon as I set out the buffet I left the guests to help themselves and cracked on with preparing the bar for the Mince Pie Evening.
Bublé on the CD player – check.
Twinkly lights turned on all around the room – check.
Cosy log fire lit – check.
Mince pies baked and red wine mulled – check.
Very tired person behind the bar, ready to smile and pretend she had it all covered – check.
Chapter Ten
I was in the middle of balancing the last mince pie on top of the pile on a silver platter, when the door to the dining room swung open, bringing the first guest into the bar: Stephen.
He was still chewing on something and when he saw me, drummed a little ditty on the edge of the bar and headed in my direction. ‘You’re still here. Don’t you have a home to go to, young lady?’
‘Young lady?’ So much for the black dress making me look mature and sophisticated.
He folded his arms on the gap of highly polished wood between my mince pies and the soft drinks pumps, propping his shoe on the brass foot rail that ran the length of bar. Short of sliding across the counter on his belly, I wasn’t sure his body language could have focused on me any more directly. ‘That’s not offensive is it? You are young and you are a lady, correct?’
‘I guess that depends on your perspective. I’m young if you compare me to a seventy-year-old rather than a seventeen-year-old.’
‘And the lady part?’
I raised my eyebrow at him and turned my attention back to the mince pies. I didn’t want to get drawn into any flirtatious conversation with him. He’d been verging on rude to me at breakfast and I was sworn off unprofessional interactions with guests.
An intense flashback to Nick standing so close to me in the kitchen I could’ve licked him – and wanted to – had me accidentally knocking the mince pies out of line and my tower almost toppled. I homed in on the here and now, nudging and twisting until they sat perfectly… God, I was turning into my mother. Was this why she was always fussing over everything? To avoid intrusive thoughts and inappropriate fantasies about guests? Not a possibility I’d ever considered.
Beth, step away from the mince pies.
‘Weren’t you very hungry?’ I asked him, since he was still standing there, and I guessed the polite thing to do was make conversation.
‘Oh, I’m on strict instructions from my nan to save her favourite seat.’
‘I see.’ So Dorie had woken up from her siesta and made it down to dinner. I was glad to hear it. Not only was she good company, but hopefully she’d also keep her inconveniently attractive grandsons out from under my feet. ‘She likes the armchair between the fire and the Christmas tree.’ I pointed over his shoulder.
‘Thank you for the tip.’ He moved back a step, then hesitated. ‘Beth, since we’re on our own, I just wanted to say, about this morning… I hope I didn’t come across as jealous or resentful. I know I’ve no reason to feel either of those things.’
There was no hint of his usual humour on his face, his dark eyebrows drawn together in a frown that said: I’m concerned and earnest, and I want you to know it.
It was a very interestingly phrased apology. Not much of an apology at all. He had no reason apparently – not no right. And for the first time I could see, not just his natural charisma, but the clever politics of a businessman. He was fishing for me to say something about how I felt about Nick. A sharp desire to know what Nick had said to him about last night stabbed at me.
I gave him a blithe smile. ‘Okay, no hard feelings.’
‘Excellent.’ He was back to grinning again. He’d done his bit. Cleared his conscience or got back in my good books or confirmed he hadn’t been usurped by his brother – whatever his goal was. He moved back towards the bar and rubbed the pad of his thumb across my cheek, making me jump. ‘Icing sugar,’ he explained and then looked over to the door. ‘Nick, you’re finished too. Grab that seat by the fire, would you? I’ll get the drinks.’
I tried to turn my head casually, slowly, towards Nick. He stood still in the doorway for a moment, his eyes moving from Stephen to me and back again before he gave a sharp nod and walked over to the fireplace.
‘A pint of bitter for me,’ he called out, sinking into an armchair facing away from us so all I could see was the back of its embroidered upholstery, the top of his dark golden curls and one of his long legs sprawled out.
‘So. He’s bitter.’ A little smirk played at the edge of Stephen’s lips. ‘And I’ll have a Coke please. Steering clear of the whisky tonight.’
As I fetched their drinks more guests started coming into the bar. Either lingering over dinner was not as appealing when it was self-service, they’d been missing their alcohol fix too much or they wanted to nab the best seats too. The two families with young kids took up positions on the big sofas that faced each other at the far end of the bar. They made use of the coffee table between them for the kids to play with the toys and colouring books and devices their parents had wisely brought along, while the other guests chose from the Queen-Anne-style furniture strategically placed by the French doors, which led out onto the veranda, the Christmas tree, or the large fireplace.
I began circulating with the glasses of mulled wine and mince pies and then discovered the first logistical issue of the evening. Like Stephen and Nick, some guests did not want any mulled wine, they wanted to stick to their usual tipples and that meant I needed to make periodic trips to the bar too. Julius Mundey had taken up residency on the bar stool at the corner as though keeping note of how many times I had to run back and forth and how long guests were being made to wait.
I had just ferried a gin and tonic over to June, of Jane and June, and was wondering where I’d left the tray of mince pies, when a group of non-guests walked through the door.
My first thought was, Please God don’t tell me this event was advertised to the public too, quickly followed by a burst of sheer joy when I saw it was Lydia. With the exception of my mother, no other person spontaneously arriving could have made me feel so happy. For some bizarre reason she was with Ben and Rachel, who she didn’t make a habit of going out on the town with.
Careful to avoid photo-bombing the artistic shot June was lining up with her G&T and the twinkly lights of the Christmas tree in the background, I virtually skipped between the guests and threw my arms around her.
‘Lydia, did Mum send you?’
She gave me a firm squeeze around the waist and then leaned back, keeping hold of my elbows and studying my face.
‘I haven’t spoken to her since she left for Norfolk. Am I to assume she’s gone and got herself snowed in up there?’ When I nodded, she swept her eyes around the crowded bar and one of her finely threaded eyebrows hooked up. ‘Where is everyone, honey?’ She shook her head without waiting for an answer, clearly not referring to the guests. ‘Your mum told me about this evening when she came up with the idea, but I wasn’t intending to come. Then this afternoon I had this nagging feeling—’ she rested her fist against her tummy, just below where her belly button was ‘—right here. I knew something wasn’t right. Are you okay?’
I wanted to throw my arms around her again, but I restrained myself.
‘I am okay. I think.’ I glanced around the room to try and take an objective look. There was a pleasant hum of conversation and no one had choked or spat out a mince pie in disgust yet, so I’d say that was good. ‘I could use an extra pair of hands though.’
‘Tell me what you want me to do.’
‘You’re like my fairy godmother. Would you be able to circulate the mince pies and wine, so I can stay behind the bar?’
‘Of course. Gimme those pies.’ She laughed and nudged me with her elbow. ‘Good job no one from my weight loss group is around to hear me say that.’
‘You don’t go to a weight loss group do you, Lydia? You’ve got a lovely figure,’ Rachel volunteered.
‘Oh I know.’ Lydia waved a hand. ‘I just like going to get the gossip really. Always interesting to see who’s going through a midlife crisis.’
Ben and Rachel exchanged a careful smile and I bit my lip, knowing that Lydia actually went to help maintain her weight because she had an overactive thyroid, and she was just teasing them. I should introduce Lydia to Noelle; I had a feeling they might get on well.
Which reminded me, I hadn’t seen her yet. She’d been at dinner but hadn’t made it into the bar yet.
‘Can we help at all?’ Ben offered.
‘Um, no, I think we’ll be fine.’ I wasn’t about to ask Rachel to waddle around the room and if Ben was helping, then she’d be left on her own. ‘You find a seat and relax. Err…there aren’t any other villagers on their way up are there?’
‘Oh gracious no.’ Lydia unhooked her handbag and handed it to me. ‘Would you put that behind the bar? No, Ben kindly offered to bring me up in my jeep – I don’t like driving when it’s such bad weather.’
‘And of course, I couldn’t leave Rachel at home on her own.’ Ben rubbed her back and Rachel gave him another small smile. I wasn’t sure, but I think Rachel might’ve appreciated an evening in – she was looking quite fatigued.
‘That was kind of you, Ben, and of course, you and Rachel are more than welcome. I’d love to stay and chat but duty calls and all that.’ I backed away a step, sensing more than seeing that someone else was heading up to the bar. Plus, Bublé was crooning his last song of the album and I was going to need to switch it to another CD.
‘Oh, isn’t that your date from last night over there? How did that go, Beth? Actually, that’s a silly question isn’t it – we saw that video of you dancing with… Hang on, is that him, the other one?’
Fantastic, they’d seen the video too. I supposed I couldn’t really complain – they could just have easily seen Nick and I dancing in person. We had been at a public event and making a spectacle of ourselves. And despite that little burst of spontaneity coming back to bite me on the bottom, I found that deep down, I didn’t actually regret it.
‘Oh, yeah, that’s his brother,’ I said faintly. ‘Sorry, I’ve really got to get back to it. Come with me, Lydia. We’ll find those mince pies.’
She followed me, all the while quietly hissing in my ear: ‘Dates? Dancing? Brothers? What have you been up to, my darling? Two days ago you’d resigned yourself to cats.’
‘I’ll fill you in later, I promise.’ I scanned the room and spotted the platter on an end table next to the Nakamuras. They’d drawn their chairs together and were looking through a big guide to the Sussex countryside for ramblers. I really hoped they weren’t thinking of going out hiking in these conditions. They looked up in unison as I stopped and picked up the tray, politely shaking their heads when I offered them another pie and going straight back to their tourist guide.
I passed the tray over to Lydia and headed back to the bar. While I served, I watched her out of the corner of my eye. She was smiling and circulating – this wasn’t her first rodeo, helping the hotel out in a tight spot – but it didn’t escape my notice that her walk was less of a meander and more of a beeline for Stephen, Nick and Dorie.
She’d already been beaten to the role of nosy-busybody-far-too-interested-in-my-love-life by Ben and a very slow-moving Rachel. I tried not to ruin the head on the pint of beer I was pulling at the tap as Stephen shook Ben’s hand and then waved towards Nick, who was still mostly hidden by the back of his chair.
But then he stood up and was pulling the chair back, offering the seat to Rachel. She smiled up at him like he was an angel. Dorie pulled a pack of playing cards out of her handbag and started dealing them all in for a game of something around the table. Lydia reached them a moment later and joined in the chatter and it was all very cosy and likely to make me start coming out in a rash if I let my mind linger on what they were talking about.
Nick settled himself on the corner of the tiled hearth, knees drawn up and elbows resting on them, the fire dancing off to his left, making the gold in his hair gleam and a shadow fall in the hollow beneath his cheekbone. As he leaned forward to collect his cards, he looked straight over at me. I froze. Completely caught out, mid-ogle, I did the only thing a reasonable person could be expected to: I ducked down behind the bar, pretending to check the glasses.
‘Are you all right down there?’ Noelle’s voice carried down to me and I looked up to see her red hair trailing over the bar as she leaned over towards me.
I rose slowly to my feet and yanked the skirt of my mum’s dress down with a somewhat wobbly sigh. ‘Oh, I’m just peachy.’
‘Anything to do with the c-r-u-s-h that I’m supposed to pretend I don’t know about?’
‘Among about a dozen other things. Can I get you a drink? Mulled wine?’
She pulled a face and stuck her tongue out. ‘No offence but why would I want to drink something that tastes like a boiled bottle of perfume?’
‘Fragrant breath?’
She laughed and shook her head, climbing up onto the bar stool. ‘You know how to make any cocktails?’
‘Some.’
‘I knew I liked you. You’re a woman of many talents. Surprise me with something interesting.’
So, of course, I went about making her a vodka martini.
‘Stirred, not shaken.’ I presented it and she laughed again and checked over her shoulder towards the corner where Stephen and Nick were. I popped an olive on a stick into the glass and congratulated myself on not looking over. ‘Where have you been? I thought you were planning on doing some sleuthing?’
‘Absolutely. Still the plan.’ She took a healthy swig. ‘Ooh, tasty. My late arrival is entirely strategic. I wanted to let them all start hanging loose, y’know? First couple of drinks under their belts, inhibitions lowered. Much easier. Plus.’ She leaned forward, pressing her generous cleavage against the bar and pointing one finger slightly towards the V-neck cut of her sparkly dress. ‘I needed to get my equipment in place.’
I blinked a couple of times, for the first time ever feeling some sympathy for men trying to keep their eyes off women’s breasts when they might be so beautifully arranged under their noses.
‘Urr, you’re planning to seduce someone with your ample charms?’
‘Nooo – although always a good back-up plan.’ She lowered her voice. ‘My Dictaphone is in my bra.’ She leaned back and gave me a wink. ‘Compliment is appreciated though, beautiful.’
‘Oh, Noelle, if only I were a lesbian.’ I waggled my eyebrows at her.
‘Same, precious. Something tells me a relationship with another woman would be a lot less hassle.’
‘Well, my friends Lisa and Geri say not – unfortunately. Same sex, same relationship shit to deal with.’
‘Less pee on the toilet seat though.’ She took another swig and hopped down from the bar stool. ‘Right, I’m off to schmooze. Hang in there, kiddo.’
Noelle began wandering, heading over to the spinster sisters, Matilda and Olive, first. Lydia was circulating again too. I busied myself queuing up another CD, this one Nat King Cole, Dean Martin and Frank Sinatra, and pointing out to myself that the evening was going well. People were chatting and laughing, the mince pies were going down nicely and even the kids were entertained. One of them was a boy about Joseph’s age. He was playing a game on his dad’s phone and every time he levelled up, he’d bounce up and down and his dad would look over to check and ruffle his hair. It was lovely; and yet, it turned my mouth as sour as if I had been drinking perfume.
I’d been so busy all day, fig
hting the fire, that I hadn’t spent much time dwelling on the arsonist and I didn’t know if that was me or Henry. I’d sacked him two nights before Christmas. Yes, he had deserved it, but Joseph didn’t. And it wasn’t my responsibility to keep Joseph happy, he wasn’t my son, but it didn’t stop me feeling lower than a woodlouse.
I swapped a tray of glasses full of mulled wine with Lydia’s now empty one and went to the kitchen to collect some more mince pies for it. I decided to use the main door, crossing the lobby, rather than use the dining room because if I didn’t see the mess in there, then it couldn’t get me. I was passing the toilets beside the office, when I heard a low moan that sent the hairs on the back of my neck prickling up.
I paused, looking around the empty lobby and waiting to see if it would come again. Everything was quiet except for the muffled bubble of noise behind the doors to the bar. I shook my head and was about to carry on my way – I wouldn’t have put it beyond the realms of possibility that I was hallucinating – when it came again, from the Ladies toilet.
Leaving the tray on the reception desk, I pushed the outer door to the toilets open. There were two cubicles inside and the one on the right was locked. ‘Is everything okay?’
‘Oh, Beth,’ Rachel’s voice gasped at me from behind the wooden door. ‘Yes, I went for a wee, but I think—’ She broke off to breathe and that was all I needed to hear.
‘I’ll get Ben.’
‘Yes. Please,’ she gasped.
I barrelled out of the toilet and slammed through the door into the bar in a way that made half the room turn and look at me.
Clearing my throat and straightening my dress, I attempted to send a reassuring smile around the room and then made my way over to Ben. He had a good hand, but I was sure he wouldn’t mind folding under the circumstances.
I touched his shoulder and leaned down to murmur in his ear. ‘Ben, Rachel needs you.’
He immediately spun to look at me, headbutting my eyebrow. I straightened up quickly, resisting the impulse to rub it.
‘Sorry. Is she okay? Is it the baby?’
