Chapter 31
Ratafia – a sweet, fortified wine with the flavour of bitter almonds. Popular in the nineteenth century.
‘ I hear you’re interested in Ada Lovelace,’ Nats said.
The pub was emptying. Pete had shuffled off, with Skip at his heels, refusing the offer of a lift from Verity.
Mark, Nats and Simona were lounging in front of the wood burner.
Livvy had poured the remains of the mulled wine into a jug and had joined them.
Michael Bublé crooned in the background and it all felt very mellow.
‘Good night, Livvy,’ Jason called from the door. He’d spent the evening talking to Jonquil and her husband.
‘Night, Jason,’ she responded. He swept them with what she thought was an odd look, speculative, not jealous exactly but more the look the boy with no friends in the playground gives to the cool crowd.
The mask had slipped but she still couldn’t fathom what lay beneath.
Livvy shrugged him off, turning back to Nats to answer her question.
‘Not sure if I’m interested in her especially but Mark and I came across someone in the museum who might have known her.
Adela Dickson. Her family owned the house which the museum is in.
The display mentioned she may have known Ada, maybe met her in London.
Then your brother here waxed lyrical about Ada Lovelace. ’
Nats rolled her eyes, her face flushed from the heat of the fire. ‘Caught that off his ex-father-in-law.’
‘Yes apparently, he’s very interested in her?’
‘Obsessed more like. But she is a fascinating character. Byron’s daughter, brought up by her mother to ignore anything arty in case she took after her wicked father.
Trained to be a scientist. Gambler. Two children and dead by thirty-six.
’ Nats sat back looking slightly smug. ‘I’m auditioning to play her in a new biopic, so I’ve had to do some research.
She was an amazing woman. Just imagine what she could have achieved had she not married and died young. ’
‘I don’t have a clue about computers beyond how to use them, but didn’t she have something to do with programming?’
Nats nodded enthusiastically. ‘Don’t know the deets but she wrote some notes on this counting machine Charles Babbage invented. Credited with writing the first computer program.’
‘It’ll be exciting to play her.’
‘You bet! There’s this scene in her London house where she hosts Babbage and Charles Dickens!
At Christmas. Can you imagine it all? Huge Christmas tree, those gorgeous, gorgeous silk dresses, all the men in those sexy tight trousers and sideburns.
Snow. Horses and carriages. Just like something off a Christmas card. Maybe your Adela was there too?’
Livvy smiled. Nats was garrulous and slightly drunk. ‘Not sure if Adela packed quite as much into her life as Ada Lovelace. Did a Grand Tour, owned a big house, lived a long time.’
‘Amazing women at a time when women’s only role was to marry and bear children.
You and I wouldn’t be tolerated, Livvy,’ Nats said, her glass of mulled wine slopping dangerously.
‘No man in sight, no marriage, no children, careers of our own.’ She giggled.
‘We’d be considered wanton, you the owner of an inn, me an actress! One step short of being scarlet women.’
‘Stop boring Livvy,’ Mark put in.
‘She’s not,’ Livvy answered. ‘You’re really not, Nats. It’s just that your world is so different from the one I inhabit, that it’s hard to imagine.’
‘You can say that again, sweetie,’ Simona piped up. She slid her shoes off and massaged Angel’s furry flank with her toes. The dog huffed out a sigh of ecstasy. ‘I wouldn’t mind being in the glam world of acting. The parties, darling, the delicious men!’
‘Now you’ve gone and done it, Simona,’ Mark groaned.
‘What have I said?’
‘Actors,’ Nats tutted. ‘Every last one of them self-obsessed and narcissistic. How long have you got, Simona? I will give out divers schedules.’
‘You what, sweetie?’
‘Stop being pompous, Nats,’ Mark scolded. ‘She’s quoting Twelfth Night ,’ he explained. ‘And misquoting it at that.’
Nats shot him a look. ‘“She never told her love, but concealment, like a worm i th’ bud, feed on her damask cheek.” More accurate, bro?’
He narrowed his eyes. ‘Shut it, Nats.’
Simona emptied the jug of mulled wine into their glasses. ‘Do tell, darling. I mean about the self-obsessed and narcissistic actors.’
‘Well, I had one actor boyfriend who lived his role. All the time,’ Nats began, lurching closer to Simona. She giggled. ‘Which was okay except he was playing a bloke who got his sexual kicks out of pretending to be a cat. He even coughed up fur balls…’
As Nats began to confide in Simona, Mark shifted towards Livvy. ‘How’s everything been? Have the police been helpful?’
‘Not a lot they could do,’ Livvy admitted. ‘They logged it, told me to keep an eye out for anyone who might have a grudge against me. That sort of thing.’
‘It’s such a weird thing to happen. Lullbury is practically crime free. I mean, there are the odd waves of mindless vandalism, but we seem to have escaped the stuff that other seaside towns suffer from.’
‘I’ll put it down to that, then. Mindless vandalism. Dad told me it might not be the last thing to happen. He said pubs can attract behaviour like that.’
‘Not pleasant though. How was it, having your parents around?’
‘Actually, it was nice.’
‘Nice?’ One of Mark’s brows lifted. ‘That good eh?’
She laughed. ‘It was good,’ she amended. ‘We had Simona as a guest for Christmas lunch and she helped ease the tension.’
‘Don’t you get on with your parents?’
‘I get on well with my dad and, in fact, he was a godsend behind the bar. I love him very much. But Mum…’
‘It’s more complicated. I get it. Nats is the same with our mother whereas she’s a real Daddy’s girl. Mum can never understand why she threw away her degree and went into a profession with a ninety-eight per cent unemployment rate. And she hates that we’re both so far away.’
‘I get that. They all want the best for their children, don’t they? Can’t imagine an acting life being an easy one.’
‘Nope.’ Mark sat back, easing his shoulders. ‘But you’ve gone into the same profession as your parents. Your mother must have more of an understanding.’
‘To some extent. She married Dad when he’d already worked in the hotel trade for yonks.
They started with a pub much like this one and then expanded into hotels but I think she’s forgotten their humble beginnings.
Mum is brilliant at the hard-nosed, facts and figures side of things.
She loved having her little office empire.
I haven’t inherited her business sense; she always says I’m too sentimental.
Dad was always happiest front of house and even when they owned seven hotels, he’d often find time to pop in and chat to guests and staff.
Couldn’t keep away. I think his stint behind the bar here took him straight back to how he started out.
Whereas Mum seems happy to put it all behind her and embrace retired life. ’
‘Have they retired completely then?’
‘As good as. They still have The Olde Gates in the Cotswolds. Once they sell that they’ll be fancy-free. It’ll suit Mum but I can’t see Dad being content with lunch at the golf club and five cruises a year.’
‘Still puzzles me why your mother can’t understand you taking this place on.’
Livvy sipped her wine thoughtfully. ‘Sometimes, I don’t understand why I’ve done it either. The responsibility is immense.’ She shrugged. ‘And I live on a knife edge. The George’s reputation lies entirely with Fabio at the moment. If he decides to go, I’m up the proverbial creek.’
‘How did you find him?’
‘Funnily enough, Jason suggested him. No idea of the connection between them but I trust Fab whereas Jason Lemmon, I’m not so sure.’
‘Wise not to trust that one.’
‘How do you know him? I mean, apart from living in the same town.’
‘Just that. It’s a small town, you get to know most people, or of most people.
Jason’s well known for his property developing.
His company built the estate on the edge of town.
Wasn’t universally popular. He obtained planning permission by promising some affordable and rented properties and when it came to it, wriggled out of providing any. ’
‘Ouch. Houses are so expensive here. That must have really hurt. How did he get away with it?’
‘Usual way I expect. Backhanders. It’s the sort of thing that makes me enraged.’ Mark frowned. ‘I can’t bear corruption and deceit like that.’
Livvy waited for Mark to elaborate but he gazed silently into his glass. He was usually so laid-back; it was odd to see the flush of anger on his cheeks.
‘Speaking of finances, can I repeat my offer of looking over the books? I’d be happy to.’
‘Thanks, Mark. I’m concerned about one or two things, mostly why I don’t seem to be making as much profit as I’m expecting. But I’ve a stock taker booked in and he’ll see if there’s anything obvious amiss.’
‘I’ll say night then, Livvy,’ Karl called over. ‘Dropping Eli, Stewie and Brittany home, seeing as it’s so cold.’
‘Thanks so much, Karl,’ Livvy called back.
‘Thanks, everyone, for all your hard work. Been a busy one tonight. Drive safely. See you all tomorrow.’ Watching, as her team disappeared, a wave of fondness for them washed over her.
Or maybe it was the mulled wine talking.
Turning back to Mark, she asked, ‘Will you be around for the Christmas Eve party? Simona has bullied me into having one.’
‘I don’t remember you being all that hard to persuade, kitten,’ Simona said indignantly.
‘A party?’ Nats exclaimed. ‘A Christmas Eve party? Way to go, Livvy. I’m in.’
‘We’re driving up to Yorkshire on Christmas Eve,’ Mark reminded her. ‘Sorry, Livvy.’ He pulled a regretful face. ‘We won’t be around, otherwise I would have loved to come.’
Nats pouted. ‘And here’s me, having heard about the lusciousness that is the fabulous Fabio the Italian chef. I wanted to check him out.’
‘Oh, darling, I am sorry,’ Simona put in, not sounding sorry at all. ‘He’ll just have to put up with little old me, then.’