Chapter Twenty-Eight
Boomerville looked magnificent. Dressed for the occasion by Hattie and her helpers, the old building was resplendent and shone with the atmospheric light of a multitude of lanterns and lamps as guests arrived for a night of Indian cuisine at Boomerville’s Taste of the Raj evening.
‘Amazing what you can get from the pound shop,’ Hattie said to Jo as they walked through the hotel.
The rooms looked rich and exotic, decorated with lengths of brilliant gold and ruby red fabric, hung in swathes around the walls and festooned with garlands of paper flowers.
Gentle notes of a melodic sitar floated down the corridor as Hattie pushed a beaded curtain to one side, and tiny bells, strung through several rows, tinkled as they went into the cocktail bar.
Hattie’s sari, still fresh from the Balti night at Biddu’s, was draped across her shoulder and secured at her waist. Her bare arms were covered in bangles. ‘Borrowed them from Lucinda,’ Hattie said as she held out her wrist. ‘She doesn’t wear them now she’s gone all Camilla Parker Bowels.’
‘I think you mean Bowles,’ Jo corrected Hattie and stared at a set of intricate patterns covering Hattie’s skin. ‘What’s that on your hands?’
Hattie splayed her fingers and admired the outlines. ‘It’s mehndi, an Indian form of body art. I got the Shaman to do it.’
‘Have you got it anywhere else?’
‘I might have.’ Hattie lifted up the skirt of her sari where her heavily decorated feet peeped out from the hem of her long johns.
‘How far does it go?’
‘Never you mind.’
‘I hope it washes off.’
‘Make sure you get a bindi.’ Hattie stared at Jo’s forehead. ‘We want everything to be authentic.’
Jo had no intention of having a bindi. She’d seen Sandra apply one to Hattie earlier that afternoon and was doubtful that cochineal was a suitable substance to use on the skin.
‘Oh, darlings, isn’t this marvellous?’ Bob ran towards them, clasping his hands together.
‘I feel like I’m an Indian Prince.’ He wore a collarless silk shirt above a length of white fabric, draped and knotted around his legs.
‘Do you like my dhoti?’ Bob pointed at the pyjama-like trousers. ‘I got it in Nepal.’
‘Very nice,’ Hattie said and stared doubtfully at the nappy-like garment.
‘Your turban makes you look very distinguished.’ She reached out to straighten the layers of cloth that made up Bob’s headwear.
It was one of several that she’d hired for the male guests when she found the turbans in a fancy-dress shop in Carlisle.
Jo had kept her outfit simple.
She wore a sharara, a palazzo-style flared trouser that fell softly to the floor, the bodice a bell-sleeved blouse. She ushered Hattie and Bob into the reception room as boomers and guests from around the county gathered for pre-dinner drinks.
‘Don’t worry, I can liven the drinks,’ Hattie whispered to Bob as they stepped into the Green Room, where trays of mocktails, known as sharbats, were being passed around.
Hattie whipped her sari to one side and, reaching for a pocket in her long johns, produced a mini flask of vodka, which she poured into Bob’s glass.
‘Delicious,’ Bob said as he sipped the fruity concoction.
He looked up and nodded to a space above the fireplace.
‘I love the replacement painting.’ The leak from his bathroom had slightly damaged a landscape and it had been replaced with Lucinda’s painting of Hattie lying naked on a chaise.
‘You’ve given yourself a bindi,’ Bob giggled. ‘Jo will have a fit.’
‘It’s only a sticky,’ Hattie said. ‘It looks quite effective, eh?’ She grinned as she admired the image of herself.
‘I’ve been on a strict diet of humble pie since I damaged the ceiling,’ Bob said.
‘Well, come off it immediately. It was miniscule damage and I think my replacement painting looks wonderful there.’
They turned to the room, where Sir Henry had risen to his feet.
‘The Queen!’ Sir Henry boomed and held up his drink. ‘Long may she reign.’
Several people stood to attention and joined in the toast. Lucinda, elegant in a long silk dress that flattered her slim body, held up her glass.
She patted her neat chignon that was decorated with tiny flowers.
Gone were the heavy green eyeshadow and layers of thick mascara and she wore pearls at her neck and wrists.
The pancake make-up had been replaced with a tinted moisturiser and her lips were pale rose.
She sat by Sir Henry and held onto his arm.
‘Blimey, Lady Lucinda scrubs up well,’ Hattie said as Jo re?joined them. She couldn’t believe her eyes as she watched the eccentric artist fawn over Sir Henry.
‘It’s good that she’s teaching classes.’ Jo watched Lucinda smile politely as Sir Henry told a joke. ‘I don’t think Lucinda has a bean to her name.’
‘She soon will have, if her advances to Sir Henry come off.’
‘I’ll let her stay for free if we need to. It’s time I offered a bursary of sorts to boomers who can’t afford the fees.’
‘If she’s our resident artist now, you won’t need to.’
The event was in full swing and with all the guests having arrived, the atmosphere was lively.
Jo looked on as everyone complimented each other’s outfits.
The men had identical turbans, worn at lopsided angles, above a variety of long cotton shirts and loose-fitting trousers.
One or two wore heavily embroidered jackets.
The women mingled in makeshift saris and kaftans and their costume jewellery glittered in the candlelight.
‘Dressed for excess,’ Hattie said.
‘I thought the invitation read, dress to impress?’
‘Not at Boomerville. There’s only one way to dress.’
Biddu appeared and announced that dinner was served. Hattie broke into a Bollywood-style belly dance and indicated that everyone should follow suit.
Jo stood to one side as giggling boomers sashayed behind Hattie to disappear into the restaurant, and as Jo watched the merry troupe, she crossed her fingers and hoped that no one put their hip out or dislocated a knee.
* * *
Kate was in her bedroom where she could hear the sound of revelry from the reception rooms below. The Taste of the Raj evening was gathering momentum and she heard diners dancing down the corridor on their way to their Indian banquet.
She wore a towelling robe and stared at an elaborate outfit, laid out on the bed.
The lovely emerald-green sari that Hattie had kindly collected in Carlisle was a subtle match for Kate’s hair and skin and the fabric shone with bright threads and pretty patterns. It was perfect for the night ahead.
But Kate wouldn’t be wearing it.
Since her meeting with the Shaman that afternoon, Kate had been overwhelmed by an unpleasant feeling and after the outing with Andy that followed, she needed some personal space. She would feign a headache. Anything to get out of the festivities.
She had to have time to think about the events that had taken place that afternoon.
Andy had driven her to Ambleside. He’d parked the car and led her along a walking route that followed a fast-flowing beck through a pretty valley.
They were surrounded by arable farmland that stretched out to limestone uplands in the distance and there wasn’t a soul about as they wandered along the pathways.
As they approached an old packhorse bridge, Andy led her to the centre.
He stopped and reached for her left hand.
With a swift movement, he produced a ring from his pocket and slid it onto Kate’s third finger.
‘Kate, shall we get engaged?’ Andy asked and gripped her hand.
Kate stared at the jewels that glittered on her finger, mesmerised by the large emerald as it dazzled in the afternoon sunshine.
‘The ring is perfect.’ He smiled. ‘It suits your hand.’
The stones felt heavy, the platinum band tight. Kate could hear Andy as he told her how expensive the ring was and how he’d had it specially made but his words were distant, drowned out by water, which thundered below the bridge.
A shiver shot up her spine and pain raced through her fingers.
There is a power amongst us that threatens . . .
Kate could hear the Shaman’s words!
She pulled her hand back and looked up. Andy was glaring at her.
His eyes were dark and for the first time since their meeting, Kate felt afraid as she stared into the menacing black pupils.
He reached out and gripped her arms and as they stood on the narrow bridge, Kate was pinned by the strength of a man that she suddenly realised she didn’t know at all.
‘I can’t take the ring.’
‘Why not?’
Kate felt his grip tighten.
‘I just can’t.’
Andy’s face was close and Kate could feel his hot breath on her skin. His breathing quickened, coming in short bursts as he glared. ‘Don’t be silly, darling, you know it’s what you want.’
Kate was terrified. She glanced around but there wasn’t another soul to be seen. They were completely alone. She knew that she had to think fast and not upset him further or, with one push from his overpowering grip, she would be in the water below, pounded against the rocks in the icy current.
‘It’s just so sudden,’ she began, ‘and so unexpected.’ She looked into his eyes and forced a smile. His lips quivered and Kate prayed that he would believe her. ‘Let’s go back. We’ve got so much to talk about.’
Moments seemed like minutes as they stared at each other. Kate held her breath as she counted the seconds, every fibre of her body craving release.
‘Of course, my love.’ Andy suddenly let her go. ‘I’ve surprised you and you didn’t expect it.’