‘Jim Farrell. We’re old friends and I know his sister, Amy. Mrs Farrell has gone to help her sister-in-law who I believe is dying of the tuberculosis,’ Daisy lied. This last sentence was said in an exaggerated whisper, accompanied by much nodding of Daisy’s head.
‘Oh dear, I didn’t realise it was as bad as that. Poor Ellen, she must be worried sick.’ Dora stood quiet for a moment. She hadn’t been very sympathetic when John had told her the news. Dora decided to give John some bread rolls to make up for it and was consoled by her intended charity. ‘I’ll see you tomorrow morning then, as early as possible please,’ she told Daisy, and then carried on with her baking.
‘There is just one other thing,’ Daisy said awkwardly and Dora’s heart sank. ‘I have a room at the pub, my own room, which I’ll lose when I give the job up. Is there any chance of a room here at Tapscott?’
Dora considered for a moment. Three rooms were allocated to the servants, all situated on the second floor. Tom Pritchard the butler had one and Dora another. That only left Molly’s room. ‘If Molly is agreeable, would you consider sharing a room with her?’ Dora offered. ‘It’s a good-sized room and would take another bed.’
‘Oh yes, I don’t mind, and I’m sure Molly and I will get along well.’ Daisy would have agreed to anything, even bunking in with Pritchard, if it meant getting a room under this roof.
‘I’m sure Molly won’t mind. Come back tomorrow morning and we’ll have it all sorted by then.’
Daisy was so thrilled she gave Dora a hug. ‘See you tomorrow then, Mrs Stoakley,’ she called, walking out of the kitchen into the now empty yard. Daisy hurried back to the pub heedless of the painful blisters caused by her new boots, imagining the secret romantic meetings and the sexual encounters she’d soon enjoy.
Chapter 13
The Nags Head pub advertised special offer meals on a blackboard propped up outside the pub. Two for one Sunday roasts was their speciality, but for the last few days Amelia had noticed it said BBQ in large letters in red chalk. The theme for the barbeque was country and western and was to be held early evening the coming Saturday. Amelia mentioned it to Grace and they agreed that they deserved a night out. The pub was within walking distance of Primrose Cottage, and Amelia in particular was looking forward to a few vodka and tonics.
On Friday morning, the day before the barbeque Amelia decided to sort through the laundry. It was a never-ending task, with Grace making more washing than was necessary, in Amelia’s opinion. Amelia tipped everything out of the linen basket onto a bedside rug and separated the items more urgently in need of a wash, then stuffed the rest back in to the basket. Before dumping it all into the washing machine, out of habit Amelia checked the pockets in Grace’s chinos and found a bus ticket and a packet of polo mints, which she put to one side on the kitchen worktop. Wedged deep under the mints Amelia found a small scrap of crumpled paper and, curious, she opened it out. Drawn onto the paper were four oblong shapes. One had the pencilled initials JF written in it. Amelia frowned, wondering what they meant. She slipped the paper underneath the polo mints and decided to ask Grace about it later.
In passing, in one of their recent catch up conversations, Amelia had mentioned the barbeque to Gwyneth, never dreaming Gwyneth would take it as an invitation. Gwyneth missed the girls more than she let on, so jumped at the chance to spend time with them. Lack of transport put her in a bit of a predicament though. After she had checked the local bus service and the connecting times for buses from Wrexham to Chester and back again, and the cost, Gwyneth reluctantly accepted Jake’s offer of a lift on his motorbike. Thus the unintended invitation came to include Jake too.
Not known for his punctuality, Jake surprised Gwyneth by arriving on time, but when she came out, her appearance triggered off an argument that nearly put paid to the prospect of a lovely evening.
‘You can’t get on my bike looking like that,’ Jake said, opening up the visor of his helmet and looking at Gwyneth in amazement. Jake was wearing black leather jacket and trousers
‘What’s wrong with me?’ Gwyneth looked down at her neat black pencil skirt and pale pink spotted blouse, black patent handbag and stiletto shoes to match. The evening was warm and she considered her clothes very appropriate.
‘Well, for one thing you’ll freeze to death, especially coming home tonight, and for another, how are you going to cock on?’
‘I beg your pardon,’ Gwyneth said indignantly.
‘Cock on the bike. You know, leg over.’ Jake patted the leather pillion seat behind him.
‘Leg over,’ Gwyneth said astounded, wondering what she had let herself in for.
‘You’ll split your skirt right up to your thigh if you try and get on wearing that thing.’ Jake pointed to her skirt. ‘Haven’t you got any trousers?’
‘Yes, but I wanted to look smart,’ Gwyneth replied.
‘Get with it, Gwyni! Jeans are the smart casual nowadays, and didn’t you say the barbeque has a country and western theme.’
‘I’m not wearing denim, and don’t call my Gwyni. I’ve got linen trousers, will they do?’ Gwyneth retorted.
‘Yes, I suppose so. Be quick though or we’ll miss all the food. Don’t forget, you’ll need a coat or a jacket,’ Jake called to Gwyneth’s retreating back.
Within minutes Gwyneth was back, having replaced her skirt with dark grey trousers. ‘Am I suitable for you now?’ she asked, feeling more than a little put out. Fancy being dictated to on the choice of clothes she wore by Jake of all people.
‘Fine. Here, put this on.’ Jake passed her an enormous purple crash helmet. ‘Now don’t forget, when we go around a corner lean with me. Don’t worry, we won’t topple over.’ Gwyneth scowled at the helmet but did as she was told and squashed it down over her bob, which she’d spent half an hour straightening. Then tottering on her high heels Gwyneth cocked on the bike behind Jake.
‘Okay, we’re off.’ Jake stuck a leather gloved hand in the air, thumb up.
‘Oh my G–’ Gwyneth held on tightly to Jake, trying to remember his advice. She knew she was meant to lean over when they cornered a bend but had completely forgotten which way. Jake kept patting her arm to reassure her and succeeded in making her even more nervous. ‘Keep your bloody hand on the handlebars,’ Gwyneth shouted above the engine noise. She saw Jake’s head shaking and knew he was laughing at her. Gwyneth thought she was doing marvellously, but hoped she wasn’t bandy by the time she arrived.
***
Excited at the prospect of some socialising Amelia and Grace began preparing for the event early. They both dressed in check shirts, Amelia’s a pale blue, Grace’s red, with denim jeans and tan-coloured cowboy boots. To add a touch of glamour they wore a little makeup and added costume jewellery to glitz up their outfits. Amelia intended to wear their Dad’s old Stetson over her thick curls and she tried it on for size. Grace tied a bright blue cotton scarf around her neck like a bandana.
‘Someone’s at the door,’ Grace called from the kitchen where she was busy polishing their boots.
‘Answer it then,’ Amelia shouted back from upstairs.
With one arm down the leg of a boot and a shoe brush in her other hand, Grace managed to open the back door. A small woman looking like a blackcurrant lollypop stood on the step.
‘Thank goodness we’re not too late. We were worried you had gone without us. Jake had to stop for petrol, wasting valuable time. As if he couldn’t have got some before we started off,’ Gwyneth explained hurriedly, giving Jake a withering look over her shoulder at the same time.
‘Gwyneth! Jake!’ Grace stood open-mouthed, looking from Gwyneth to Jake’s grinning face behind her. Gwyneth struggled to pull off the helmet then shoved it at Jake. He took it from her and held it under his arm, still grinning at Grace. Gwyneth’s usual immaculate smooth bob had flattened with perspiration, and instead of turning under it flicked up. ‘Oh my God, Gwyneth, I don’t believe it. You came on Jake’s motorbike.’ Grace literally pulled them both inside the house, hugging each one in turn. ‘This is such a lovely surprise, I’m so happy to see you both.’
Gwyneth looked confused. ‘Didn’t you know we were coming to the barbeque with you?’
Amelia descended the stairs and heard Gwyneth’s question. She intervened quickly. ‘I wasn’t sure if you would be able to make it. I never dreamt for a moment you would be so adventurous.’
‘Never again, don’t you worry,’ Gwyneth said shaking her head.
‘How are you going to get home then? Fly?’ Jake shouted from the conservatory.
‘Maybe she’ll feel different after a few drinks.’ Amelia glanced at her watch. ‘Anyway, we’d better be going before all the burgers are eaten.’
At the end of Marsh Lane they turned left and the walk to the pub took them about five minutes. The smell of burning charcoal and the delicious aroma from grilled steaks and chicken drifted into the bar. The lounge and bar were already crowded; people spilled out into the garden where there were white plastic tables and chairs, and they either sat or stood nursing their drinks. A soundless signal was given and everyone began to line up for food.
Amelia’s group took their place in the line and filled their plates. Jake made sure he was one of the first to be served and then commandeered a table for them all.
Outside the French doors which opened in to the lounge, a group of young people stood, each holding a paper plate brimming with food. Intermittently between taking swigs from bottles of beer or lager they bit into thick burgers or sausages. Pamela Carter, the girl Grace had met at the
Centurion
office, was in the group and Grace waved to her. Pamela waved back, smiling hello, and her friends turned their heads to see who to. A tall woman with flame-coloured hair said something and everyone in the group laughed. Apparently embarrassed, Pamela turned her back on Grace.
‘Nice friends you have.’ Jake glared at them.
‘They’re not friends,’ Grace said defensively. ‘The girl works in the
Centurion
newspaper office; I met her there.’
‘When was this, you never told me?’ Amelia said in surprise.
‘Who’s for another round of drinks?’ Grace said, to change the subject. ‘Same again is it?’
Jake went with her to the bar. ‘What was that all about?’ he asked Grace.
‘Oh! Nothing really, I just get a bit fed up sometimes. She treats me like a child, having to report what I do and where I go.’
It was on the tip of Jake’s tongue to tell her how lucky she was to have family who cared. Instead he placed his arm around Grace’s shoulders. ‘Don’t be too hard on Amelia. You’re all she’s got, remember.’ Grace had a sudden pang of guilt and looked back to the table, trying to catch Amelia’s eye.
Pamela Carter stood at the bar a few feet away, chatting to an attractive young man by her side. Pamela managed to get served first and began edging her way through the crowd, coming face to face with Grace.
‘Hello again, I didn’t realise this was your local.’ Grace ignored Pamela’s obvious discomfort and introduced Jake to her. Jake nodded in Pamela’s direction but was more interested in making eye contact with the barman, his attention fixated on a Carlsberg.
The young man with whom Pamela had been chatting stood holding a tray of drinks. Seeing Pamela wasn’t about to introduce him, he winked at Grace, saying, ‘Hi, I’m Nathan. We all went to the local school together.’ He nodded his head, indicating their crowd of friends.
‘Except Leonie,’ Pamela chimed in. ‘She’s a bit older than us and I think she went to a private school anyway.’
Nathan gave Pamela a funny look. ‘Whatever,’ he said, and then his attention returned to Grace. ‘I’ve seen you before.’
Grace stared at him and shook her head. ‘No, I don’t think so,’ she answered, smiling.
‘You don’t remember me,’ Nathan said, pulling a sad face. Grace blushed and shook her head again. ‘The gang of us get together every Friday evening for a few drinks. You’re welcome to join us if you’re ever at a loose end. The barbeque tonight is a bonus.’
‘Wouldn’t your friends mind?’ Grace asked shyly, not sure she wanted to be friends with the red-headed woman.
‘I’m sure the lads wouldn’t mind. We could do with a bit of glamour around here,’ Nathan said, winking at her again.
‘Shut up you.’ Pamela forced a laugh. ‘You’ll have to excuse him, he’s had one too many.’
‘Oi, Nathan. Is there any chance of a drink sometime soon?’ the woman with red hair called out across the room.
‘Better go, bye.’ Pamela walked away with Nathan in tow. By this time Jake had been served and Grace joined him at the bar to help carry their drinks.
Back at the table Joe Jones had taken Grace’s seat. He rose to offer it back to her but Jake pre-empted the situation and grabbed an empty chair from the table next to them. Jake waited for an introduction, taking in the man’s appearance that could only be described as swarthy. Joe’s jet black hair was streaked with grey and his weather-beaten skin had chiselled grooves down both cheeks. Joe was soberly dressed in a pale grey suit and looked nothing like a cowboy, even by the Lone Ranger’s standards.
Jake whispered close to Grace’s ear, ‘Isn’t this supposed to be a country and western night?’ Jake’s contribution to the themed evening was a black shoe lace tie knotted loosely around the collar of a cream woollen shirt. He’d brought but hadn’t yet worn a black Mexican hat, and that, along with tight fitting black leather trousers, made him look more like Zorro than Billy the Kid.
Grace shushed him, and as she did so she smelled the woody, slightly musky aroma of Jake’s aftershave, and his nearness brought a flush to her skin. She moved back an inch and noticed his long lashes outlining a slight slant at each corner of his large hazel eyes. Jake returned her gaze and from the hidden depths of his eyes a luminous glow shone back at her. Grace’s heart did a funny flip, and under her own lowered lashes she considered Jake properly. Why had she never noticed how tall he was, or his perfectly straight teeth and clear skin? Jake was just the chap who worked with Amelia. A lad whose clothes and face were normally covered in a fine layer of emulsion and dabs of paint, nothing like this gorgeous young man sitting beside her.