Chapter Seven #2
Bunty appeared from under a seat and began to bounce up and down as Sir Henry teased her with his cane. She pranced around on the rug to the amusement of the two elderly brothers.
Hattie shook her head in disgust. Grown adults rendered stupid by a puppy that should, in her opinion, be out in one of the kennels at the back of the hotel.
But at least Jo had removed the ridiculous jacket and jewel-studded collar and the animal could be recognised as a dog and not a performing puppet.
‘She’ll make a fine gun dog.’ Hugo tickled Bunty’s neck then stroked her tummy as she lay on the rug, paws up, basking in the attention.
‘Good breeder too,’ Sir Henry said.
The brothers gazed at the dog.
‘Do you remember our shoots?’ Hugo said and Hattie could see that he was thinking about days gone by when, in the company of friends, they’d strutted across the fells, dressed in Barbours and breeches with their faithful canine companions by their sides.
Geared up for a day on the rugged Westmarland moors, they’d watched their dogs race ahead of the beaters.
‘We bagged many a brace when the birds were in season,’ Sir Henry said as he too remembered heading back to the hotel, happy and exhilarated, to enjoy an evening of frivolities, safe in the knowledge that the dogs were being cosseted in Alf’s luxurious kennels.
‘Do you shoot?’ Sir Henry bellowed. The old man’s mouth was full of scone and he sandblasted his corduroy clad legs. Hattie dusted the coating of crumbs and tucked a serviette securely over his knees.
‘Er, no, can’t say that I do.’ Bob was thoughtful. The only thing he’d ever shot was the best part of a bottle of absinthe with his partner, Anthony, at a birthday celebration. Having lost consciousness for the following two days, he’d vowed never to drink shots again.
‘The Portobello Puddicombes always shot.’ Sir Henry looked to his brother for confirmation.
Hugo nodded his head. ‘Petunia shot her mother, damn near killed her as I recall, nasty mishap on the moors, devil of a job to keep it quiet.’ The brothers turned to the fire and stared into the flames.
Hattie could see that Bob was wondering what on earth he’d let himself in for. The old men must appear deranged and Lucinda, under the delusion that she was a sexual temptress, was determined that Bob be smitten by her charms. She stepped in to help.
‘Bob, Jo needs you to check in, can you go to reception?’
‘Oh, thank you,’ Bob replied but as he placed his empty glass on a table, Lucinda grabbed his arm; as her flesh brushed against his jacket, he got a whiff of perfume and winced.
Patchouli oil, circa 1980.
‘Will you join me in the tepee?’ Lucinda whispered.
Hattie tapped Bob on his arm. ‘Jo’s waiting.’
Bob glanced at the group, then muttered an apology and hastily left the room. ‘Where’s Jo?’ he asked.
‘Down here.’ Hattie led him along the hallway.
‘Is everyone barking mad?’ Bob said when he found Jo, who was checking the menus for dinner.
‘Welcome to Boomerville.’ Jo smiled. ‘You’ll soon get used to them.’
‘That artist woman is bonkers.’ Bob closed his eyes and stroked his prayer beads, caressing the smooth stones circling his wrist.
‘Shall I book you a session with the Shaman?’ Hattie asked.
‘The old boys are off their rockers.’ Bob ignored Hattie and ran his fingers over his bald head. ‘What on earth have you let me in for?’
‘Don’t worry, in a couple of days it will all feel completely normal.’ Hattie took Bob’s arm. ‘Let’s get you settled in and then you can meet the rest of the residents.’
‘Dinner’s at seven,’ Jo called out.
‘I might have mine in my room,’ Bob replied and with Hattie in pursuit, stomped off.
* * *
Jo fiddled with her paperwork and thought about Bob.
He loved a drama and was relishing every moment of his arrival at Boomerville, no doubt taking note of the characters and storing up gossip to share with Anthony.
She began to sort out table arrangements for dinner and wondered where she should seat him on his first evening.
It was important that it went well. She looked at the list of names and decided that Kate would make a perfect dinner partner for Bob, even though Jo would have to find a new dinner companion for Andy.
But there was no shortage of women who would kill each other in the crush to bag a seat next to their handsome guest.
Satisfied that arrangements were in order, Jo checked her watch and was pleased to see that she had time to take Bunty for a walk. Grabbing her jacket, she closed the door to reception as Hattie headed down the hallway.
‘He’s all unpacked and comfortable with a cup of Earl Grey,’ Hattie said. ‘Says he’s going to meditate before dinner.’ Hattie inclined her head towards the Red Room where Sir Henry and Hugo were dozing by the fire. ‘Might be best to give that lot a wide berth this evening?’
‘All sorted, Bob is sitting next to Kate.’
‘That won’t suit James Bond.’ Hattie peered over reception and looked at Jo’s seating plan.
‘I think it’s time that Andy met Lucinda.’ Jo winked.
‘Do you think the lovebirds can bear to be parted?’
‘Well, we’re about to find out.’ Jo smiled and with a wave, went off for her walk.