Chapter One #2
Boomerville was a retreat for midlifers, a fresh new concept, and there were lots of enquiries with guests making reservations for rooms and courses at the recently re-opened hotel.
As general manager, Hattie was thrilled that the old place was coming back to life.
Following refurbishment, Boomerville, previously a residential hotel known as Kirkton House, was welcoming folk from all corners of the country, to relax in luxurious surroundings and enjoy the pleasures of the Westmarland lakes and fells whilst embracing first-hand the updated facilities on offer.
Hattie reached for a mug of coffee and as she sipped the hot milky drink, she sat back and contemplated the notion of a bacon sandwich.
The kitchen door flew open and a calloused hand held out a plate.
‘Get yer laughing gear around this lot,’ Sandra, the cook, said. ‘I’ve slathered it with ketchup, just how you like it.’
Hattie fell on the warm doughy bread and sank her teeth into locally smoked bacon. The sandwich was scrumptious and she licked her lips with pleasure.
Hattie was in heaven, for Boomerville had given her a new lease of life.
The owner, Jo Docherty, had a vision for the business and had closed the original hotel the previous year to re-open it as a centre for men and women who, in midlife, through various circumstances, now found themselves on their own.
Unwilling to disappear down the years into old age, Jo hoped that her guests might take advantage of an opportunity to learn new things and take up fresh challenges with others of similar standing.
All in the comfort of a country house. On enquiry, guests filled out a booking form, stating how long they wanted to stay and which courses they wished to participate in.
Footsteps shuffled along the carpeted hallway and Hattie recognised the soft-soled step of their oldest guest.
‘Morning Hattie!’ a voice boomed out.
‘Morning, Sir Henry.’
‘It’s a fine morning for it.’ Sir Henry acknowledged Hattie by waving his silver-topped walking cane. His heavily waxed handlebar moustache stood at right angles above jowls that wobbled as he teetered along.
Hattie pushed her plate to one side. She wasn’t sure what ‘it’ Sir Henry Mulberry was referring to and glanced at her computer to see which course he’d booked that day. She noted that he was down for wine tasting.
Hattie frowned. Sir Henry had caused chaos in creative writing last week and the other students had to be calmed at the end of the session.
Sir Henry’s half-completed memoirs, Fifty Shades of Sheepdogs, had upset some of the ladies in the group, although one or two, including Hattie, enjoyed the scintillating excerpts.
‘Just like the old days,’ Sir Henry said. ‘Marvellous to see the place back on its feet. Book me in for a month.’
‘I’ll be happy to extend your booking.’
‘Good girl. Looking forward to my breakfast,’ he said and trundled off in search of the first meal of the day.
Hattie made a note on her pad. Guests came to stay for a week or two at a time and many stayed longer, depending on their commitments at home.
She wondered how Sir Henry had slipped through the net.
His criteria had been way outside the specifics Jo laid down, breaking the rules on age and health, but they’d needed some fee-paying guests when the hotel re-opened and Jo had a long-standing loyalty to Sir Henry.
In days gone by he’d stayed at the hotel with clients, spending a considerable sum entertaining the hoi polloi of the booze business.
‘Any post for me?’
A deep smoky voice woke Hattie from her daydreams.
‘The postman hasn’t arrived yet, Lucinda.’
Hattie looked up at a woman leaning on the desk. Lucinda Brown was weighed down with chunky wooden beads and a forlorn expression.
‘Have you cut yourself shaving?’ Lucinda asked.
Hattie frowned and, wiping her chin, found a large dollop of ketchup.
‘I see you’re down for a day with the Shaman?’ Hattie checked her spreadsheet. She ticked Lucinda’s name off the list of participants for Sharing with the Shaman, a course that was run in a tepee situated in the meadow.
‘I hope it’s better than Clairvoyance in Midlife.’
Hattie listened to Lucinda drone on about the shortcomings of her experiences.
The clairvoyance course was an intimate little group who met in an old gypsy caravan and, to date, had been a big hit with guests and non-residents alike.
Middle-agers had returned from their sessions with beatific expressions as they floated down the garden, confident that the spirits of their dead granny and Rover the family pet were beside them, whispering and woofing encouraging words from beyond.
Lucinda was probably after a refund. She claimed to be an artist whose work was highly sought after and, after googling her name, Hattie wondered who on earth was daft enough to purchase the paintings that appeared online.
She had doubts about Lucinda’s financial status and would need to keep a close eye on her account.
‘Sharing with the Shaman is right up your street and I can personally recommend it.’
Hattie watched Lucinda’s aloof expression change to one of feigned interest and questioned how the artist supported the weight of that much silver draped around her thin wrists. A lick of polish on her talon-like nails wouldn’t go amiss.
‘The older I get the more ridiculous this all seems,’ Lucinda sighed. ‘I may indulge with the Shaman, but I’ll want a credit if his teachings aren’t to my liking.’
‘I think it will leave you with memories that will stay long after your time here ends.’ Hattie smiled and made a note to nip over to the tepee to tip the Shaman off before the course began. Lucinda’s welcoming drink might need a dash more magic potion than normal.
Lucinda walked away and Hattie watched her ignore a waiter, on hand to guide guests into the breakfast room. At the conservatory door, Lucinda stopped and placed a cigarette in a holder. She held it high as she set off across the lawn, creating a halo of smoke around her diminishing figure.
Hattie looked at her watch. The morning team was about to take over, which meant that she could take a break. Picking up her empty plate, she headed for the kitchen.
Just enough time for another bacon buttie!