Chapter Nineteen
The following morning, residents at Boomerville who’d been out to the Bengal Balti the previous evening were animated as they ate their breakfast.
They’d much to discuss with those who’d stayed behind at the hotel.
Andy, who’d decided to get up, sat in the Rose Room and listened to the gossip which escalated as it whipped around the tables.
He’d heard the original version last night when Kate knocked on his door a few moments after midnight.
She’d arrived at the hotel with the other Balti diners after a hair-raising return trip on the coach.
Willie had pushed the old engine to break-neck speed on the journey back to Kirkton Sowerby and the journey left Kate in need of a stiff drink.
Andy welcomed her into his room and as she flopped down on his bed, feigned an interest as he poured them both a whisky.
He buttered a croissant and spooned marmalade onto the warm folds of pastry then summoned a waiter to refresh his coffee.
‘Joining me in the art class, old boy?’ Sir Henry raised his cane when he saw Andy. Hugo followed behind.
‘I may,’ Andy replied. ‘Will it be an interesting session?’
‘I didn’t think anything could top the last class, but who knows what could happen today,’ Sir Henry said. ‘Let’s hope there’s more models lined up to whet our artistic appetites. Lucinda is a woman of many talents.’ He chuckled as the brothers were shown to their table.
Hugo sat down and, placing a napkin onto his knee, gave Andy a conspiratorial wink. Hugo’s session on the internet the previous evening had clearly been a success.
Andy sipped his coffee. Little did the old fool know that the ‘woman’ Hugo had been baring his soul to by way of email chat on the fabricated website was none other than yours truly, and with the help of the webcam on the laptop, a very incriminating set of photographs were ready to be printed off.
It had been far easier than Andy anticipated.
With photos of a well-endowed woman named Helga, copied from a porn site and dressed in a variety of uniforms from a nanny to a cook, Andy, alias Helga, had begun a dialogue chat with Hugo and Hugo had been very explicit, not realising that the camera had recorded his every move during the session.
When Andy collected the laptop later that night, Hugo had answered the door in his dressing gown.
Gone was the bizarre outfit that he’d worn for his chat with Helga and Hugo hadn’t had the sense nor the knowledge to realise that he’d been framed.
Andy had little doubt that Hugo would want to repeat the sessions and as he had time to humour the old man’s fantasies, he thought that he might let things run for a little longer.
After all, he had yet to crack Kate’s accounts and it would be better to run both operations to a satisfying climax at the same time.
A hush descended and Andy looked up. Lucinda was making her way through the Rose Room.
‘The Queen of Bengal, I salute you!’ Sir Henry called out and one or two guests began to clap as Lucinda tossed her head back and ignored them all.
‘Fine filly,’ Sir Henry said with a sigh as he watched Lucinda’s defiant back. ‘I was worried about her last night when they took her away, but thank the Lord, she’s back in the bosom of Boomerville.’
* * *
Jo sat in reception and held her hands over her face.
‘You have no idea how embarrassing it was to find myself in a police station at that time of night.’ She rubbed her tired eyes.
‘Lucinda didn’t seem in the least perturbed that she’d been arrested.
’ Jo had had very little sleep the previous night and her head was throbbing.
‘Oh, don’t get your knickers in a twist,’ Hattie said, rocking gently in her chair.
‘Knickers in a twist?’ Jo was incredulous as she stared at Hattie. ‘One of our guests lights up a spliff, leaps onto the buffet table, takes off her clothes and you say, “Don’t get my knickers in a twist?”’
‘She put her foot in the biriyani Balti, it was the best dish of the night, I was looking forward to a portion.’ Hattie sighed.
‘Biddu was mortified; it will take his wife hours to get the stains out of the cloth.’ She remembered Lucinda kicking up her bare toes as lashings of dark red sauce splashed around the restaurant.
They both stared ahead.
‘It was a pity that the local plod was in for a takeaway,’ Hattie said. ‘A few moments later and she’d have got away with it.’
‘Constable Harry could hardly ignore a stoned woman when she offered him the biggest joint of cannabis his county has ever seen.’
‘Shame he confiscated it.’
‘He was going to charge Lucinda with lewd behaviour too. I don’t know what possessed her to take off her clothes.’
‘Good job I whipped me long johns off and managed to cover her up in time.’
Lucinda had gesticulated wildly and added to her embarrassing antics by prancing around the restaurant, stoned and half-naked.
‘She’s spending too much time with the Shaman,’ Jo said, ‘and that article in the newspaper must have gone to her head.’
‘She’s become a celebrity. The guests loved it.’
‘Thank goodness I know Harry from the old days,’ Jo said. ‘He used to come to Kirkton House with the rest of the local force for their Christmas parties.’
‘So you talked him out of pressing charges?’ Hattie raised her eyebrows.
‘Yes, thank goodness. He was very decent about it and let her off with a warning.’
‘Ah.’ Hattie smiled. ‘A favour for an old friend.’
‘Well, I wouldn’t put it like that.’
‘Hmm.’ Hattie was thoughtful. She knew that Harry the Helmet, as the constable was known to his colleagues, was probably more concerned with the look she’d given him as he led Lucinda away.
Harry and Hattie went back a long way.
With a knowing nod, Hattie had mouthed the word, ‘Truncheon,’ and watched the fear sweep across Harry’s face as he lowered Lucinda into the back of a squad car.
The officer of the law had been in Hattie’s embrace on many occasions and had many uses for his truncheon and most of them were unconnected to his police work.
Harry was very aware that one word from Hattie and his marriage would be over.
‘Aye, always good to have friends in high places.’ Hattie stood up.
‘I do hope that Lucinda behaves from now on,’ Jo said. ‘She seems to be causing chaos.’
‘The residents love it. Where else would you get such stimulation at their age?’
‘I hope she doesn’t stimulate anyone in her art class today. I see it’s fully booked again.’
‘She’s promised to do a bowl of fruit and a basket of vegetables.’
‘With a naked Sir Henry strategically placed?’
‘The old boy would catch his death of cold.’ Hattie yawned. It had been a late night and she was tired. ‘I hope Willie got home in one piece,’ she said, and stretched out her arms.
‘Which would be more that the majority of our residents.’
‘They had a ball.’
‘Of course they did.’ Jo shook her head. ‘Death defying speed, racing through the countryside in the dead of night, in a cloud of diesel fumes that could kill you. I’ve never seen so many inhalers in use at one time. We’re lucky there were no broken bones or asphyxiations.’
‘Aye, it was a real white-knuckle ride.’ Hattie grinned. ‘Good old Willie, he knows how to keep the punters coming back for more.’
‘If anyone can walk this morning.’
‘Will you please take a chill-pill?’ Hattie stared at Jo.
‘Your residents are having the time of their lives. Those that have only booked a week or two, have booked ahead to come back for more. They never know what’s going to happen next and are loving each moment of every day.
You don’t get this sort of excitement in suburbia.
We’re giving everyone a new lease of life. ’
‘Well, that’s what I always intended, but not like this.’ Jo scowled.
‘Get a grip,’ Hattie said. ‘Everyone’s happy and Boomerville’s bank account is bulging.’
‘Hmm, I suppose you’re right.’
‘I’m always right. Now I’m off to see the Shaman to see if he can come up with some entertainment for our Indian evening.’
‘Could you ask him to stop supplying the residents with his aromatic herbs?’
‘Yes, Jo, of course I will.’ Hattie gave Jo a hug then opened the door of reception and made her way through the hotel. She’d have a look in at the art class and see what Lucinda was up to before she went to visit the Shaman.
Hattie glanced at her watch. It would be break-time any minute, she thought, and she’d not had a peek in pottery for a day or two. Potter Paul might have fifteen minutes to spare.
With a smile as wide as the walled garden, Hattie headed across the cobbles to the studios.
The Shaman could wait.