Chapter Twenty-One
Jo woke early on Saturday morning. Harvest festival was being celebrated in the village that weekend and she decided that she would put together a box of fruit and vegetables from the garden to take over to the church.
She turned to Pete.
He was still asleep and she kissed him softly before slipping out of bed. A lump moved from under the bedcovers and Bunty plopped onto the floor. The puppy shook herself and skidded across the polished boards to land by Jo’s feet, where she began to wag her stumpy tail.
‘Shush,’ Jo whispered, ‘don’t wake him.’
She scooped Bunty into her arms and carried her into the bathroom and placed her on a wicker chair while she dressed. Bunty was anxious to be off and, gripping a sock in her mouth, began to tease Jo as she watched her mistress pull on a pair of jeans and slip an old T-shirt over her head.
‘I’m ready,’ Jo said and tugged at the sock then tiptoed out through the bedroom and along a corridor until she came to the top of the stairs.
Loud snores reverberated from the floor above, where Hattie occupied the guest room. The rhythmic sound vibrated through the old building and Jo hoped that guests in rooms on the other side of the walls were sleeping as soundly as Pete.
She skipped down the stairs and found a jacket and boots in the utility room and, opening the back door, braced herself against the chilly morning. Bunty, ecstatic to be out, raced ahead.
‘Tha’s makin’ a fine lil’ dog!’ Alf called out as he repaired a pane on the greenhouse window, which rattled about in the wind.
He knelt down to rub Bunty’s head. ‘No breed as fine as a Labrador,’ he said.
Bunty rolled onto her back and her legs thrashed with delight as Alf’s rough fingers tickled her pink tummy.
‘She’s a little treasure.’ Jo smiled fondly.
‘Is tha’ wanting the crates filling?’ Alf nodded towards a stack of old apple boxes piled along the outhouse walls.
‘Yes, we could take half a dozen down to the orchard,’ Jo replied.
‘Want a hand?’ a voice called out. Bob, cosy in a cashmere jacket, jogged across the lawn. ‘Is there something I can do to help?’
‘How are you?’ Jo asked and looked anxiously at his temple where a bruise had spread. She reached out and gently touched the darkened skin.
‘Oh, I’m fine, darling.’ Bob waved her hand away. ‘It’s nothing, just a little lump. I’ve finally got some sense knocked into me.’
‘But you were so unlucky to fall into the pond.’
‘My own fault, I missed my footing. No harm done.’
‘I think you’re taking it very well.’
‘Your poor guests were mortified. The croquet players thought they’d killed me.’ Bob frowned. ‘Funny though, I haven’t a clue where I was before it happened.’
‘Hattie said you’d been out for a walk.’
‘Then I need to be more careful where I’m walking.’ Bob grinned and, grabbing Jo’s arm, linked it into his own. ‘Now what are you up to with those boxes?’
The trio headed off to the orchard with Bunty trotting alongside. Alf produced a ladder and Jo stepped up.
‘Mind tha’ footin’,’ Alf said as Jo climbed and grabbed a branch. He gripped the ladder to steady her.
‘Hold this branch for me, Bob, then pull it down so I can reach the apples.’
Bob reached up and, dragging the bough down, held on tight. In no time at all they’d filled one of the crates.
‘Tha’s blackberries in the meadow,’ Alf said as he folded the ladder and placed it against the garden wall.
‘We could get a punnet or two,’ Jo said.
‘My favourite fruit.’ Bob grinned and they set off again.
In less than an hour they were in the hotel kitchen with their crates bursting. Sandra looked up with interest when she saw the seasonal offerings and Alf, seeing Gerald, the porter, disappeared for a chat about the workings of the industrial dishwasher.
‘Select what you want and I’ll take the rest over to the church,’ Jo said to Sandra.
‘Can I come too?’ Bob asked.
‘Of course, I’d welcome your company.’
Sandra chose her produce and Bob made a show of arranging a selection of fruit and vegetables. When Jo was happy that it made a good display, Sandra held the kitchen door ajar and they picked up the box to head off to the village.
‘We plough the fields and scatter,’ Bob sang as they walked across the courtyard. Jo, who had Bunty on a lead hooked around her arm, joined in and together, they headed for the church. ‘The good seed on the land, but it is fed and watered by God’s almighty hand.’
* * *
From the open window of his room, Andy leaned out.
He could hear singing and, recognising the words of the hymn, thought that it was time for God’s almighty hand to start reaching out in his own direction.
He longed for a cigar but knew that there was little chance of lighting up, for Kate was asleep in his bed and if there was any scent of smoke, she would wake.
Her laptop was on a chair, underneath a pile of clothes and Andy felt his fingers itching to open the notebook and hack his way into its secrets.
But Kate would stir soon and catch him in the act.
Tonight, he decided as he watched her body move gently with each soft breath, he would grind a couple of sleeping tablets and mix them in a nightcap.
When he was sure that she was out cold, he’d begin his nocturnal investigation.
Andy sat back. He was tired. Tired of the pretence and effort that it took to be Mr Nice Guy all the time. Kate was exhausting both in and out of bed and he was sick of listening to her rave about the merits of Boomerville and how much the residents were benefiting from their time there.
His funds were running low and Kate was expensive to keep in the style that she expected.
Suspicions would be raised if he stopped picking up their bar tabs or paying for meals and his regular order of flowers for her room was an expense he could do without.
The weekly account at Boomerville was draining his funds and the Porsche, standing idle on the drive below, was a rental costing a fortune. Very soon, his money would be depleted.
Yes, Andy decided, it was time to start making a move. Hugo was ripe for the plucking and the photographs he’d collected of the old boy in many incriminating positions were already printed off and sitting in a large brown envelope, hidden in Andy’s wardrobe.
The ex-MP would be mortified if they fell into the wrong hands.
Although he was no longer an active member of the Conservative party, Andy knew that Hugo had recently been vetted for nomination to become a life peer, a position that demanded the highest standard of propriety.
The press would have a field day if the photographs came out, but Andy knew that would never happen as the Mulberry family would cough up enough readies to ensure that the prints never made the light of day.
Kate stirred. She opened her eyes and patted the covers. ‘Why don’t you come back to bed?’
Andy looked at her sleepy face where a smile formed on soft pink lips as she pushed her tousled hair to one side.
‘It’s Saturday, there’s no need to rush anywhere,’ she said and pulled the duvet back.
‘I was thinking of going out for a drive.’
‘We could do that later?’
‘I thought you’d be writing today.’
‘It’s good to have a break; I can pick up again tomorrow.’
‘I feel that I need to get out of here for a bit.’
‘Well, should we go for a walk around the lake?’
‘Yes.’ Andy suppressed a sigh. He longed to get out of the hotel to find a pub on his own and have some time away from all the idiots who constantly plagued him at Boomerville.
Kate was fast becoming as irksome as the rest. ‘That would be lovely.’ Andy pasted a smile on his face.
He knew Kate wouldn’t be satisfied until he got back into bed.
‘Cup of tea?’ he asked, and clicked the kettle.
‘Mmm, please.’
Andy reached into his dressing gown pocket and felt for the little blue tablet nestling in the soft folds.
Just time to swallow it and pep himself up before he got back into bed, where a performance would be expected.
He made their tea and took a sip then, with no more reason to delay, turned to Kate and carried her cup and saucer over to the bedside table.
‘On its way, my darling,’ he said, through gritted teeth. ‘Anything for you, my beautiful girl.’
* * *
Hattie stood in the bay window of the Green Room and watched the world go by.
She’d enjoyed a lie-in that morning and, after a restorative breakfast, had checked all the bookings, happy that everything appeared to be in order.
Saturday was a quieter day at Boomerville with guests checking out and many of those remaining venturing out to the tourist attractions in the area.
Lucinda had taken a party of artists to see an exhibition at the grass-roofed heritage centre and gallery near the town of Marland.
Situated in a former quarry, there were a variety of entertainments to be found there and Hattie knew that some of the party would drift off to the 3D cinema to watch one of the re-runs of James Bond movies that were being shown over the weekend.
At that moment, Hattie watched Boomerville’s very own James Bond, who was holding the front door open for Kate. He reached out to take her hand and guide her across the gravel into his waiting car.
Andy Mack.
Hattie shook her head as she watched his slick performance.
She wondered why the man got under her skin, for he was smoother than Hattie’s favourite Marland toffee and Kate was clearly besotted.
As the car roared into action and moved towards the gates, Hattie saw Kate turn and wave.
She smiled and blew her a kiss. Hattie returned the wave, noting that Andy glanced up but completely ignored Hattie as he turned onto the road and sped away.
‘Creep,’ Hattie muttered. She walked out of the room and went to the front door.