Chapter Six #2
‘Hello, old girl,’ Hugo said when he saw Hattie and reached out to pinch her cheek. ‘You’re still a damn fine filly. How are you?’ A slither of dry clay came away in his hand.
Hattie watched Hugo wander into the bar. She was surprised that he was so sprightly. Clearly the years had been kind.
Lucinda sat beside Sir Henry on a straight-backed couch. She wore a silk tunic, buttoned high at the neck. Her legs were crossed to reveal ox-blood-coloured stockings with matching pixie boots and she leapt up to tower over Hugo as he was introduced.
‘Do you paint?’ Lucinda asked, her bangles clanging as she shook Hugo’s hand.
‘Daubed a couple of coats on Nanny’s walls a long time ago.’ Hugo stared at Lucinda as she slithered back into her chair. ‘Never been one for the artistic brush.’
‘Then you must learn.’
‘Then you must teach me.’ Hugo winked.
‘I’ll be holding classes soon,’ Lucinda confirmed. ‘Jo is arranging a studio. It’s bound to be popular.’
Jo and Hattie looked at each other with raised eyebrows but before Lucinda could elaborate, Sir Henry insisted that Hugo join them for a drink.
‘I’ll sort everything out,’ Jo said to Sir Henry as Hattie sloped away. ‘Hugo’s luggage has gone up to your room. Now, what drinks can I get you?’ She fussed around the guests, making sure that they had everything that they needed.
‘What’s all this about Lucinda holding art classes?’ Jo asked Hattie. She’d found her in the kitchen, regaling Sandra with her tale. The cook was all ears as she pushed a bowl of hot soup across the table. Hattie began to tuck in and Jo watched her spread butter over a chunk of crusty bread.
‘Nothing to do with me,’ Hattie said, ‘but I think it’s a cracking idea.’
‘Do you think you might go and get changed?’ Jo frowned as a lump of dry clay from Hattie’s fingers fell onto the table.
‘All in good time,’ Hattie replied. ‘My nerves are shattered, I feel weak.’
‘Well, I suggest you gather your strength, ready to show Hugo around the hotel.’ Jo winked at Sandra.
‘Do I have to? Can’t you do it?’
‘Nope, you’ve a penance to pay for the potter.’
‘Shite,’ Hattie said, but as she glanced around the kitchen her eyes fell on a rolling pin and she made a mental note to pocket it. Finishing the soup, Hattie held out her bowl for more. ‘Set it up, Sandra,’ she said, feeling revived. ‘I feel a show round coming on.’
* * *
Kate was having a panic attack. It had been a mistake to sit next to Andy and her brain had refused to concentrate and participate in the morning’s tutorial, where students had been asked to write about a favourite childhood toy.
Her thoughts strayed persistently to the previous night and with her lover within touching distance, Kate could only think of one thing.
It had nothing to do with childhood toys.
But now James was asking everyone to read out their work and Andy had risen to his feet to give a glowing account as he recalled memories of a neat little pedal car. His words tripped poetically off the page and when he’d finished the class applauded enthusiastically.
‘And finally, we’ve one more piece to share.
’ Kate heard James say. ‘Kate, would you like to read your work?’ He indicated that Kate stand up and as she forced herself to her feet, Andy, ever the gentleman, reached for her chair to assist; several female students nodded in approval as he blinded them with a smile.
Kate gripped her notepad and stared at the line she’d scrawled across the top of the page. She’d wracked her brains to think of a toy and remembered a moth-eaten rag doll that her mother had made when Kate was young.
‘Er, it’s called “Rag doll”.’ Kate squirmed as she looked at the expectant faces. She lowered her head and began to mumble. ‘I had a little rag doll, its name was Peggy Sue, I didn’t really love it ’til I was forty-two.’ She felt a flush spread across her face. ‘It’s a work-in-progress.’
Kate sat down. She was mortified and wanted the ground to swallow her up. Where the hell had that nonsense come from?
There was silence and everyone stared at Kate.
Suddenly the door burst open and Hattie bounced over the threshold with Hugo hot on her heels. Thankful for the diversion, Kate grabbed her bag and raced to the ladies’ room.
‘Let’s take a break,’ James said as he stood to welcome the newcomers. He’d noticed Kate’s distress.
‘Another literary genius joins us,’ Hattie announced and introduced Hugo. She stood back as the two men shook hands. ‘Hugo has just arrived at Boomerville and would like to start his time here with one of your classes.’
‘Penned a few ditties in my time.’ Hugo stared at Hattie’s chest.
‘I’d be happy to welcome you to the group,’ James replied. ‘Would you like to join us for coffee?’
‘Got anything stronger, old boy?’
‘We won’t be stopping, thank you.’ Hattie grabbed Hugo’s arm and led him towards the door.
‘I’d like Hugo to catch an hour or two with the Shaman before lunch.
’ The old codger was persistent and driving Hattie mad.
She’d had enough of his wandering hands and leering eyes as she’d shown him around Boomerville and intended to shove him in the tepee to let the Shaman work his magic.
‘Happy writing everyone,’ Hattie said and guided Hugo to the door. ‘Remember, pencil power!’
‘Nice to meet you, Hugo,’ the class chorused.
Kate had returned and looked around for Andy, who was sitting by the fire. He was surrounded by a gaggle of women and looked comfortable in their company. She was hesitant to join them.
‘Would you like a coffee?’ James asked.
‘Yes, I’d love one.’ Kate turned. She was grateful to be rescued and hoped that a dose of caffeine would jolt her out of her stupor and enable her to join in and not make such a fool of herself.
‘It’s quite intimidating to begin with,’ James said, noting that Kate was distracted.
‘But we’ll sit at separate desks for the next session.
Some people feel more comfortable with their own space.
’ He followed Kate’s gaze to the group by the fire.
The object of her distraction was holding court with a besotted group of women.
Andy Mack was certainly a charmer and the would-be writers hung off his words.
‘I liked your rag doll,’ James said.
‘I’m afraid I wasn’t concentrating. It was a stupid thing to write but I didn’t know what else to say.’
‘Did you really have a rag doll?’
‘Oh yes, my mother made it for me when I was young but I hated it. The doll’s eyes were huge and scary and I used to hide it in a cupboard. Mum always retrieved it and placed it at the foot of my bed.’
‘So it was hardly conducive to a good night’s sleep?’
‘I had nightmares all the time; the damn thing seemed poised to attack.’
‘Why did you keep it?’
‘I didn’t have much from my childhood.’ Kate fiddled with the handle on her mug. ‘I found the doll in a trunk, years later. It was hand-stitched and I suppose I finally came to appreciate how much effort Mum had put into making it. I was a student when she passed away.’
‘And you finally forgave her for leaving you.’
Kate stopped fiddling and was wide-eyed as she looked at James. ‘How very astute,’ she said. ‘I never thought about it like that.’
‘Were you close to your parents?’
‘I was an only child. I looked after my dad until he died, he had dementia in his later years.’
‘That must have been very hard.’ James looked into Kate’s eyes and the passion he’d felt earlier leapt into life. He longed to reach out and touch her, to stroke her face and assure her that the world was a safe place. But before she could reply, they were interrupted.
‘Back to school, my lovely.’ Andy appeared beside them and wrapped a protective arm around Kate’s shoulder. ‘My memoirs are calling and yours need brushing up.’ He pulled her towards him and Kate looked at him with adoring eyes.
The spell was broken and James had the urge to punch Andy, very hard on the nose. His fingers balled into a fist as the couple moved away.
James regained his composure and felt annoyed for feeling such emotion but there was something about Andy that grated and James found it hard to warm to the man.
He turned to the students and gave instructions on a writing task to be completed in the hour and a half left.
With their heads bent over notebooks, he left the class and went into the kitchen to rinse and dry mugs.
James stared out of the window and thought about Kate.
A few innocent words had unearthed long buried feelings and he knew that this was the beauty of these sessions.
He hoped that all of the students would dig deep and discover treasures that might enhance their life in some way.
Kate was obviously complex and vulnerable and he’d felt a magnetic pull to protect her, for she was clearly besotted with Andy.
James’ instinct suggested that Andy was trouble but as he closed the cupboards and neatly folded a tea towel, he told himself not to be so stupid.
It was only day one of the course and anything could happen.
It was wrong for a teacher to form personal opinions and he was being paid to do a job.
He closed the door and tiptoed back to his desk. The class were engrossed and no one looked up. James read the quotes written on chalkboards displayed around the walls and his gaze fell on one by Oscar Wilde:
The true mystery of the world is the visible, not the invisible.
He turned to the students and realised that Andy was staring at him. James felt a shiver of foreboding and wondered if, on this occasion, Oscar was right.