Chapter Two
Jo Docherty stood by a border in the walled garden and reached across a patch of late-blooming chrysanthemums until her secateurs found a bunch of prize salvias.
She snipped at the stems and held them out to admire the pretty flowers.
Her gardener had found a new species called Blue Enigma, which was far removed from the dumpy scarlet bedding plants she remembered in the mature garden at her parents’ home.
Jo placed the blooms in a wooden tray and stepped onto a path.
A puppy hurtled across the lawn and as she pounced on the cuttings, a stem came away. The dog tossed it in the air.
‘Bunty, that’s very naughty.’ Jo bent down to scold but as her hand fell on the silky fur, she smiled.
It was impossible to be cross with the adorable chocolate-brown Labrador.
The puppy was a gift and statement of affection from the man that Jo had allowed into her life.
Bunty wriggled as Jo scooped her up and removed the gnarled plant from the sharp baby teeth.
Walking across the neatly mowed lawn, Jo noted that the croquet set was laid out. The game had been at the hotel for as long as she could remember and was popular with residents and their guests.
A voice called out and Jo looked up. Hattie, her close friend of many years and manager of the hotel, stood in the conservatory doorway.
‘I thought you’d got lost,’ Hattie said. She tucked her hands into the pockets of a dress that stretched tightly across her ample hips. Ginger curls bounced as she shook her head.
‘Just getting some flowers for the house. I’m creating an arrangement for tonight.’ Jo walked past Hattie and placed her tray on a table.
On a Saturday night Jo hosted a cocktail party. Canapés and cocktails were served and it was an occasion for everyone to socialise. Residents looked forward to meeting new guests alongside Boomerville tutors and staff.
‘Shouldn’t it be on a lead?’ Hattie stared at Bunty. She didn’t approve of a dog in the hotel.
Bunty was exhausted and snuggled into a box that lay in a corner of the conservatory. She yawned and thumped her tail then rolled onto her back and fell asleep.
‘No, the guests love her.’ Jo leaned down to caress the pink tummy and tiny brown paws. ‘It’s good therapy having an animal about the place.’
‘The hotel is almost full,’ Hattie said as they made their way through to the Green Room, a lounge at the front of the building. ‘There’s folk checking in today and bookings for dinner from non-residents.’
The restaurant at Boomerville was thriving and it hadn’t taken long for locals to learn that Jo was opening up again.
The menu had earned many awards in the past and with a revamped set of recipes devised by Jo’s youngest Michelin-starred chef son, Zach, Sandra and her team looked set for further success.
‘Are you staying tonight?’ Jo asked. She knew that her friend wouldn’t miss the party.
Hattie had her own home in Marland, a stone-built property with a view of the fells, but she loved being involved with the business and, instead of driving home to an empty house, often stayed over in Jo’s spare room.
Boomerville was Hattie’s salvation. Single again in her fifties, with family far away, she refused to give in to advancing years and loved having a busy and active job as Jo’s right-hand manager.
‘I’m going to knock ’em dead with a new dress,’ Hattie said, ‘but I might lose one or two down my cleavage.’ She thrust out her chest.
‘Just as long as they settle up before they go missing.’
They’d reached the Green Room and Jo began to arrange her flowers in an urn on a plinth in the bay window where the view overlooked the gardens at the front of the hotel.
A log fire crackled in the hearth and a gilt framed mirror hung above the marbled fireplace, reflecting a brightly lit chandelier.
Paintings, depicting scenes of local mountains and valleys, graced the walls.
‘Is Pete coming over?’ Hattie asked as she flopped down on a chair.
‘He might call in for a nightcap.’ Jo teased her flowers into an oasis block and snipped foliage into place.
Pete Parks had been smitten with Jo for as many years as she cared to remember, and now, as village gossip had it, they were officially ‘walking out’.
‘Aye, nightcap and a leg-over.’ Hattie smiled.
‘He knew what he was doing when he got that daft dog.’ Hattie thought about Pete’s gift of the puppy, a timely gift when Meg, Jo’s faithful canine companion of many years, suddenly departed to the great kennel in the sky.
Hattie couldn’t remember a time when Jo hadn’t had a dog trailing along beside her.
Jo ignored Hattie’s comments. ‘I’m so glad that we’ve re?opened, I love Kirkton House,’ she said as she tidied the cuttings.
‘Better get used to calling the place Boomerville.’
‘I’ll never get used to that, the name seems wrong in such a gracious old building.’ She stood back to admire the room. ‘I wonder what John would have thought.’
‘Your late husband would have approved of your idea.’ In reality, Hattie thought that John would be turning in his grave but went on, ‘Personally, I think it will become a posh dating destination for the elderlies and why not? Let there be new life in old limbs.’
A car appeared on the drive and the two women looked out. New guests were due to arrive. Kate Simmons was travelling from Wiltshire and Andy Mack from London. Hattie reached into her blouse and pulled out a lipstick. ‘Shall I do the honours?’ she asked and smoothed pink gloss over her lips.
‘That would be lovely.’ Jo plumped cushions and tweaked at a curtain.
Hattie straightened her skirt and sucked in her tummy then bounced across the room. When she reached the door, she glanced out of the window. A member of staff was helping the guest with luggage.
Hattie turned and gave Jo a wink.
‘Just like the old days,’ Hattie said. ‘You never know who’s going to walk through that door.’
* * *
Kate sat at the dressing table in her bedroom and reached for a jar of moisturiser. She dipped a finger into the creamy lotion and began to smooth it over her neck. The cream felt wonderful, instantly reviving her skin after a soak in a hot bath.
Having checked in that afternoon, Kate had been shown around Boomerville by the manageress.
‘Call me Hattie,’ the woman told Kate as she pointed out the main rooms of the hotel. They went through a conservatory to a large garden. She took Kate to the studios and asked her which courses she was taking the following week.
‘I thought I might try my hand at creative writing. I’ve always wanted to write.’
‘What stopped you?’
‘My mum died unexpectedly when I was a student and my writing got put on the back burner.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.’
‘Then business got in the way and my dad got dementia and, to be honest, I never thought I was good enough to write.’
‘What’s your business?’
‘I was in IT and my internet company grew beyond my wildest dreams, but I had to sell it when my dad became ill.’
‘Well, let’s hope your creative juices flow during your time here,’ Hattie said. ‘Let me show you the writing studio.’
They stepped into a room where a bank of computers sat on desks along one wall.
A wood-burning stove, in a brick chimney breast, was surrounded by leather sofas and armchairs.
Books lay everywhere, stacked on shelves and coffee tables.
Kate felt drawn to the room and had to stop herself from settling in a chair by the fire.
‘Well, this class should give you inspiration,’ Hattie said. ‘The tutor is very popular and they say that there’s a best-seller in all of us.’
She guided Kate across a courtyard, past tubs of late-blooming flowers where flourishing herbs grew in rich dark soil beside the garden wall.
Aromatic leaves scented the air as woody stems of thyme nestled under succulent bushes of rosemary and sage.
Basil and coriander in pretty pottery containers sat in a window box.
Hattie pinched the fresh herbs and nibbled, then opened a stable door and stepped into a bright and airy space.
‘We hold cookery classes in here,’ she said, flicking a sprig of thyme from her lips.
She indicated that Kate follow.
Individual workstations faced a tutor’s bench, each with a hob and oven, fully equipped with all the utensils needed for a busy session.
They crossed the tiled floor into a corridor and Hattie pointed out a dry-store area where a brace of pheasant hung from the beams. ‘We can arrange for you to go on a shoot, if you fancy it.’
‘I’ve never held a gun,’ Kate said. ‘I’m not sure that I’d like to kill anything.’
Hattie smiled. ‘Early days.’
They’d wandered out to a walled area and Kate took in the sprawling borders bursting with herbaceous plants.
Weed-free, they were a riot of colour and she was reminded of her own immaculate garden.
Apple trees laden with fruit bowed in an orchard and, as they strolled through wrought iron gates to the meadow at the far end of the property, Kate caught her breath.
Wild flowers swayed in the afternoon breeze, their heads held up to the sunshine, creating a glorious mass of colour and scent.
She reached out and stroked the silky heads.
‘This is the boss’s favourite bit.’ Hattie pointed out Jo’s old gypsy caravan.
Ornately painted and decorated with carvings, it had wooden steps and a raised roof with a chimney peeping out.
Windows to the side looked out over open fields where, beyond a stile, the River Bevan flowed close by.
‘It’s perfect for a walk out here,’ Hattie added.
She looked around and pointed to a tall tepee that stood in the corner of the meadow.
Smoke puffed from the top of the cone shaped structure and animal designs and celestial drawings covered the outer canvas layer.
‘Come and meet our resident Shaman.’ Hattie took Kate’s elbow.