Page 32 of Boomerville at Ballymegille

‘Aye, he’s got a bad bout of the Delhi belly.’

‘He’s not the only one.’ Bill rubbed his stomach.

‘I’m coming with you,’ Melissa said.

‘Then I’m coming too.’ Bill looked at Melissa. ‘To protect you.’

‘Oh, bloody hell.’ Hattie shook her head as she realised that the rescue party had swelled. ‘Everyone in my car and let’s hope we’re not too late!’

13

It had been a week since Pete had broken the news that their romance was over and, to stop herself from dwelling on the pain of rejection, Jo was hard at work. The cobwebs were flying at Flatterly Manor and with housekeeping staff recruited, the old place was undergoing a shake up as room by room, spring cleaning took place. To Jo’s relief, James had agreed to stay on for two months while his employer, Long Tom, was on a tour of the Far East to promote a new album. Jo found that she now had a payroll to fund. James didn’t come cheap and together with the new housekeeper, who’d worked at Flatterly Manor in the past, and the gardening staff, the hours already added up.

Jo sat at a desk in the uninviting study. It had little furniture and the heavy floor length curtains brushed over a polished wood floor. The room wouldn’t be used by guests and was last on the list for refurbishment. Jo longed to have her comfy old rocker nestled by the fireplace, with Bunty curled on her blanket alongside. She thought of the shabby chair, where Hattie had flopped out at the end of the day with a glass of gin as they plotted and made plans. Since she’d been in Ireland, Jo missed her friend and wished that Hattie was beside her. Two heads were so much better than one. But at least Jo had James and he was proving invaluable as he set about interviewing and employing staff and supervising the preparations for paying guests.

As Jo made notes, she silently thanked her predecessor, Hilary, who’d restored the house when she married Long Tom, and ensured that facilities included an ultra-modern kitchen capable of catering for big numbers. All sixteen guest bedrooms had their own bathrooms and although fire regulations were in the process of being upgraded, the fundamentals were in place.

Studying the list on her notepad, Jo ticked off some of the tasks. She’d made a plan for the countdown to opening and was working her way through it. New mattresses were being delivered today and a laundry service was in place. Additional crockery, cutlery, linens, bathroom essentials and glassware, suitable for hotel use, were also on the way and supplier accounts had been set up.

A mower could be heard in the garden and Jo looked out of the window to see Declan, the gardener, walking purposefully up and down the lawn. His thick sandy hair was gathered in a pony tail and well-muscled forearms gripped the mower. Grass clippings billowed as he trudged on, determination set in the lines of his chiselled face.

Declan was cousin to Finbar and lived in Kindale.

Finbar had assured Jo that Declan Murphy was to gardening what Gordon Ramsey was to cooking and the estate would be fit for public tours in no time at all. Jo thought it was a tall order but on Finbar’s recommendation, she’d employed Declan on the spot. Aware that the garden was the first thing a guest would see, Declan had said that, together with his twin sons, they’d soon have things tidied up.

Finbar assured Jo that there was a plentiful supply of Murphys lined up to step into the vacant positions in the kitchen and dining room too.

‘Might as well keep it in the family,’ Finbar said as his nephew, a chef, came forward. A talented lad, with excellent references, who’d trained in the best restaurants in Ireland, Connor Murphy had recently returned from a stint at a Michelin-starred establishment in London. His family lived on the other side of Ballymegille and he’d told Jo that the position at Flatterly Manor was a great opportunity; he’d make it his duty to create a fine restaurant that would attract folk from miles around.

Having sampled Connor’s signature dishes, Jo was impressed.

James came into the study. ‘I thought you might like some refreshment, Chef is baking,’ he said and placed a tray down before leaving the room.

Jo stared at the buttered scone and pushed the plate to one side. She wasn’t hungry.

Staring out of the window, Jo fiddled with her pen. She found it hard not to think about Pete, who invaded her thoughts when she least expected him to.

She’d heard nothing from him.

Not a word nor a call. He’d dropped her like a stone and Jo felt devastated that after all this time, their relationship meant so little. Pete had moved on. As hard as she tried not to think about him, her heart ached and there was a knot in her stomach that wouldn’t go away. Jo was angry with Pete for depriving her of the pleasure she should be feeling as she set up her new business. Keeping busy was crucial for it stopped the emotional clock, but when Jo lay awake in the early hours, she found herself sobbing into her pillow and longed for the comfort of his embrace and his voice telling her that it was all a mistake. Pride stopped her from phoning, even though she yearned to hear his voice. It was over and now she was on her own again.

The phone rang, rousing Jo from her thoughts and she saw that it was Hattie’s number.

‘Hello,’ Jo said. ‘I’m glad it’s you, I could do with a chat.’

* * *

Hattie put the phone down.She sat at the reception desk in the hotel and frowned. Jo was still in a bad place emotionally and as flippant as Hattie might be about picking yourself up and moving on, she knew that only time would heal the wounds of Jo’s broken relationship.

Time and perhaps a new romance?

Hattie thought it unlikely that her friend would find a new lover so soon after Pete had packed up and pissed off, but she felt sure that there would be someone in Ireland willing to oblige and it would probably do Jo good. If only Long Tom was in the vicinity. A few notes strummed on his aged guitar and a couple of bars of a love song crooning in her ear and Pete would be a distant memory. Not that Jo would recognise romance, and if Cupid shot an arrow directly into her heart, she’d reach for an indigestion tablet. Her friend was drowning in a river of grief and it was one that looked set to flow for some time.

Thank goodness Teddy hadn’t been mentioned. News of the little dog nearly slipping into permanent oblivion might have had Jo heading back to Cumbria. Fortunately, after two days on a saline drip and more antibiotics, the puppy had pulled through. Teddy was back in Bunty’s box and faring well as he snuggled up to his older companion.

Unlike Melissa, who was proving to be an ongoing problem and Hattie wasn’t sure what to do about her. Melissa had gone into meltdown following Malcolm’s visit and hardly ventured out of her room. Audrey and the Babes had been supportive, when news of the domestic upset rippled through the airwaves at Boomerville and, with encouragement, Melissa had ventured into the pool. But it was her only daily excursion and after swimming in silence for an hour or so, she would return to the hotel and take meals in her room. Hattie wanted to wrench Melissa out of her self-imposed exile and thrust her onto some courses, but Melissa was not to be moved. Malcolm had left instruction that he’d had to return to Spain and would pick up her account for the time being.

It was stalemate and Hattie didn’t know how it would end.

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