Chapter Fourteen
‘I cannot believe that you did this!’ Jo was furious. She stood before Hattie in reception and hurled a copy of the Westmarland News across the desk. Jo and Pete had extended their break to two nights and now, on her return, Jo glared at Hattie. ‘What possessed you?’
Hattie glanced at the headline.
Boomers Enjoy Nude Sessions at Boomerville!
A painting of a naked woman, with the Westmarland fells and River Bevan meandering in the background, sat alongside an article announcing that renowned artist, Lucinda Brown, was in residence at Boomerville, a local hostelry that held creative workshops.
She’d produced her first local portrait, whilst staying in the North West.
‘Renowned artist?’ Jo pointed to the paper. ‘Since when did Lucinda lay claim to that title?’
‘Oh, it’s just the local rag, pumping up a story to create a headline.’
Hattie scanned the article. She’d worked hard to get the journalist, a pimply-faced lad who’d been at school with her sons, to cover the story.
The promise of a slap-up dinner at Boomerville with his equally spotty girlfriend had clinched the deal.
Hattie stared at the portrait and smiled.
Lucinda had done a bloody good job of catching a likeness and to use artistic licence and add a local background was pure genius.
Hattie had visions of herself prostrate across posters, cards and notelets.
They would fly off the shelves.
‘You can stop looking so pleased.’ Jo was angry. ‘I leave you for five minutes and the hotel becomes a den of iniquity; there are drawings of you plastered everywhere. Sir Henry and Hugo have been out in Marland looking for a frame shop for their own dubious efforts.’
Hattie thought of the crazy collection of drawings that had been displayed after the art class. Everyone was proud of the first work to come off their pads and over several bottles of wine and much praise from Lucinda, an area had been cleared in the Red Room to exhibit the drawings.
Hattie, naked as the day she was born, with the exception of a diminishing bunch of grapes, which had provided a snack during the life class, had been drawn from all angles. The class had shown a variety of styles and the results were impressive.
Jo rounded up the drawings and placed them in a stack on the desk. ‘Bloody hell, Hattie, did you really need to put the grapes there?’ She held a canvas to the light and stared into the drawing.
‘The portrait is in the painter’s eye. I never moved a muscle.’
‘You could have kept your legs together.’
‘I did.’
‘Hell fire.’ Jo squinted as she examined another drawing. ‘Is that a rolling pin?’
‘Lucinda said I needed props.’
‘I hope that doesn’t get in the papers.’
‘Oh, come off it, Jo, it’s hardly Hello!
magazine.’ Hattie threw the paper to one side.
‘Let’s face it, there’s nowt interesting in the news around here other than the price of sheep, this will give the place a bit of publicity, mark my words.
You should have a viewing gallery. They’ll be queuing to come and see our artists at the coalface.
Your food and bar takings will double. Be positive about it; I’ve done you a favour. ’
Jo sighed. Hattie was probably right. The waiting staff had been run off their feet all day with visitors arriving for morning coffee, lunches and afternoon teas and the restaurant was fully booked that evening.
‘Well, I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to create a small display.’
‘That’s my girl!’ Hattie grabbed Jo and held her in a bear hug.
‘Have you asked Lucinda to do any more classes?’ Jo pushed Hattie away.
‘Yes, and she’s booked up for the next month.’
‘Permanently in situ then?’
‘Afraid so.’
‘Shall we have a livener?’ Jo asked.
‘You took the words right out of my mouth.’
‘I wish it had been the rolling pin.’
‘Keep up, Jo, the punters love it.’
The two women stared at each other and Jo began to laugh.
‘Oh, Hattie, what on earth am I going to do with you?’
‘It’s what would you do without me that you need to worry about.’ Hattie took Jo’s arm. ‘Anyway, I think I make a wonderful nude.’ She picked up Lucinda’s painting from the top of the pile and opened the door. ‘I think this should be displayed in the bar.’
‘It might put people off.’
‘Are you mad? They’ll be knee-deep as they queue to see it. You should name a cocktail after me.’
‘Now, there’s a thought.’
‘The Boomerville Bend Over.’
‘That’s your next life class.’
‘Lucinda’s Leg-Up?’
‘Not on your life.’
‘Each to their own,’ Hattie said. ‘Lucinda clearly has talent and is the queen of our financial canvas. I say she stays in residence as long as she likes.’
Hattie reached up and, moving several liqueur bottles to one side, placed Lucinda’s portrait on the middle of a shelf. She grabbed a bottle of wine and poured two glasses.
‘To Queen Lucinda,’ Hattie said. ‘Long may she reign.’
* * *
Bob was exhausted. He lay on his bed and ran his fingers over the droplets of smooth stones that formed bracelets around his wrist. An hour’s meditation had helped with his fatigue and in a while he would go for walk before he changed for dinner.
The workshops had proved stimulating and so far, his participation in cookery, pottery and Lucinda’s life class had whet his creative juices and given him a taste for subjects outside his normal working box.
He’d been terrified at the sight of Hattie, displayed on the chaise with mountains of pale flesh quivering almost as much as his shaking hand, but he’d steeled himself and, putting pencil to paper, had begun to draw.
He was proud of his effort and thought that his ‘Study of a Woman on White’ had been a worthy runner-up, when Lucinda judged their work.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stretched, then walked over to the window.
It was late afternoon and the light was fading but as he glanced at the drive below he could see Andy.
He was standing by his Porsche, checking his phone.
Bob felt a deep dislike for Andy and he couldn’t understand why the feeling was so strong.
The man had been perfectly charming in Bob’s company and other guests all spoke highly of the handsome widower.
Including Kate.
Bob thought of the wealthy entrepreneur. She had a warmth that attracted company and Bob failed to see why she had never married nor hooked up with a life partner who was worthy of her attention. How strange it was that some women of a certain age struggled to find love and ultimate happiness.
Bob thought of his own relationship with Anthony that had stood trials at times, but survived.
These days the pair had a mantelpiece of invitations to gay weddings and blessings.
Friends of similar age were mostly settled with a partner and, like Bob and Anthony, content with their lot.
But Kate had much to lose if she fell into bed with the wrong man and as far as Bob could understand this had happened on several occasions.
He felt uneasy as he stroked the beads on his bracelet and began to utter a soothing chant. His instinct told him to keep an eye on Andy.
In the meantime, he had a call to make before he went for his walk. Anthony would want a word-by-word account of Bob’s newly-found talents. He turned from the window and reached for the phone.
* * *
Jo studied the paperwork spread out on the table.
Her extended break with Pete had put her back and she needed to catch up.
She’d had a meeting with her accountant that afternoon and the overall outcome was positive.
The financial forecast that they’d put together, following the first few weeks of trading, showed that Boomerville had the makings of a very profitable business.
The old place had needed a large amount of investment to create the new studios and upgrade the previous hotel; maintenance was ongoing but, fortunately, borrowings were non-existent.
When Jo’s husband, John, died suddenly, he’d left her with a comfortable amount of capital which had enabled her to revamp the buildings and relaunch her business as Boomerville.
Jo looked over to a desk in the corner of the room, where a collection of framed photographs was grouped.
In the centre was a picture of John and Jo on their wedding day.
His handsome face beamed as he looked into his bride’s eyes and Jo felt a lump in her throat.
She’d never loved anyone as much or as totally as she’d loved her Romany man and knew that she probably never would.
Their romance had been all consuming and had stayed that way throughout their marriage, as they embraced the birth of their beloved son Zach, a half-brother for Jimmy, Jo’s son from her first brief marriage.
Jo’s eyes travelled to photographs of her sons.
Jimmy, tall and handsome, silhouetted before a Caribbean sunset, where he ran a fashionable bar in Barbados.
Zach, mischievous and grinning from beneath a mop of dark wavy hair, holding a copy of his best-selling cookery book.
She was immensely proud of her offspring and knew that John would be too, for he had loved Jimmy as much as Zach and treated his sons as equals.
But, after all the pain of loss, when she least expected it, love had blossomed again for Jo. Cupid had reached out and shot his arrow, wrapping her with affection from an admirer who’d stood in the shadows for years, waiting for his opportunity.
Pete had been in Jo’s life for almost as long as she could remember.
When she was a young mother with an unpleasant divorce still fresh, Jo had bought Kirkton House and risked everything she had on building a business. Pete, a local garage owner, had been one of her strongest supporters and frequented the restaurant with family and friends.
They’d led lives in their own ways, Pete in an unhappy marriage, where he’d stayed loyal until his wife’s death, and Jo; blissfully married to John.
When both lost their partners, Pete’s persistence to be with the one he had always loved eventually weakened Jo’s defences and in time, she’d allowed him into her life.
He’d never replace John, but Pete was kind and loving and would walk to the end of the earth for Jo if he had to.
She felt lucky to have him in her life, in whatever form their relationship took. She felt good with Pete around.
After all, what was life without love?
Jo reached for her papers and gathered them in an orderly pile.
She studied the figures, which showed healthy occupancy levels as some residents, booked for only a week, extended their bookings or booked to return at a later date.
She thought about the people who’d arrived at Boomerville in search of something but with little idea of what that might be.
Divorce, death and being single could be so unsettling on lives that had been full and rewarding.
When the clock was ticking down, society slotted the more mature into categories many didn’t wish to fill, and Jo hoped and prayed that Boomerville would bring fulfilment to the folk who passed through her doors.
Life could begin again at any age and Jo vowed that she would do everything she could to help.
Bunty stirred in her box.
The slow beat of her tail pounded into life and in moments the puppy was up and skipping around. She found an object peeking out from a pile of toys and hurled it high, encouraging Jo to play.
‘Come here, my beauty,’ Jo said and Bunty grabbed her new toy as Jo scooped her onto her lap, gently easing it from the dog’s mouth.
Bunched into a ball was a short length of pink coloured fabric, threaded with bright gold silks.
Jo spread it out on the table and smiled.
Hattie had wound the cloth around her body in an effort to create an Indian-style outfit to cover her ample chest, and in a fit of temper had rolled the fabric and thrown it on the floor. ‘It makes me look like pork sausage!’
Hattie’s efforts to enthuse Jo into making plans for a Balti evening had fallen flat and she’d stormed off. Now, as Jo stroked Bunty and looked at the cloth, she decided that she must show enthusiasm and support Hattie in her effort to bring variety to Boomerville. The event would be fun.
‘Come on.’ Jo placed Bunty on the floor.
‘Let’s go for your evening walk, we’ve some planning to do.
’ Jo grabbed a coat and soon the pair were heading out of the house and into the garden where, in the distance, smoke puffed from the tepee.
‘I think we’ll visit our favourite Shaman,’ Jo said as Bunty shot ahead.
‘I’m sure he’ll want to add his blessings to the Balti evening. ’