Page 9 of Rescuing Rosie
‘No obvious bottom.’
Rosie giggled. ‘Not like Madison’s, then. Although her bottom is legendary too.’
He let out a bark of laughter. ‘It’s breathtaking. Wastwater is too. And there’s a secret underwater gnome garden.’
‘Gnomes?’ Rosie wished she’d switched on her voice recorder.
‘Originally with a picket fence. But a diver or two died trying to find them, so the police had them removed. However, it’s rumoured the gnomes have been replaced, lower down. That lake holds many secrets.’
This district of many lakes was sounding more interesting by the minute. ‘I’d love to visit it,’ said Rosie, ‘but I don’t suppose that’s on the Wellness Weekend agenda?’
‘No – it’s many miles over the high passes by car. You’ll just have to come back, Rosie. I expect you will – the Lakes are addictive. And then you can walk to Wastwater, over the fell tops.’
They passed a group of walkers trudging along in waterproofs, weighed down by backpacks, looking miserable.
‘Well – they’re having a good time,’ said Rosie.
Ashley tutted. ‘Now see here, southern lass – and you may quote me on this – you need to embrace the changing moods of the fells. Relentless sunshine is very boring. If the sky clears here, you properly appreciate it because that will invariably be after a week of shite weather. You’ve only seen this –’ he cocked his head towards the far side of the lake, where the lower slopes of mountains (apparently) were just visible, ‘– but tomorrow the cloud might have lifted, and everyone will be heading for the fell tops and they’ll look so happy, and they all smile and say hello, and that’s the point of the Lakes. One day broody and dramatic, dangerous … the next, so glorious you feel compelled to climb a hill, sit on top with a sandwich and write a poem. Well, I do …’
‘You write poetry?’
‘Look!’ he said, dodging her question ‘Your second lake. This is Rydal Water; we’re nearly there.’
‘Two lakes down, ninety-eight or so to go,’ said Rosie. ‘So … you write poetry?’
Ashley frowned and looked embarrassed. ‘Why did I just share my deepest secret with you when I’ve known you less than half an hour?’
‘That’s how journalism works,’ said Rosie, smugly. ‘I intend to tease out Madison Tyler’s deepest secrets too.’
‘I doubt those will involve poetry.’
‘Never assume,’ said Rosie. ‘People can surprise you.’
Ashley pondered for a moment. ‘True, I suppose. But the only surprise about Madison would be if any part of her turned out to be real.’ He glanced across at her again, his expression turning serious. ‘You won’t make it all about Madison and the clothes, though? You’ll write nice things about our wellness weekend? The hotel biz is tough up here right now; I’m counting on this promotion to turn things round. I’m fully invested in it, even ifthe staff will almost certainly need a mental health break when you’ve all gone.’
‘I’ll see what I can do.’ Rosie was going to need some convincing that a stay at Grasmere Heights was somethingHolistic Healthreaders would enjoy.
‘And here’s Grasmere – lake number three!’ Ashley announced.
A short while later they reached a village, also called Grasmere. Its narrow lanes were lined with stone cottages, shops, tea rooms, art studios, a bookstore …
‘Oh, this is lovely!’ said Rosie.
‘It is now, out of season,’ said Ashley, ‘but in summer you can’t move for tourists, especially since Instagrammers discovered the gingerbread shop. It’s nuts. Madison will be doing a shoot there. I hope word hasn’t got out.’
‘How does gingerbread fit in with the whole wellness weekend idea?’ asked Rosie. ‘Given the sugar and fat side of things.’
‘Oh, c’mon,’ said Ashley. ‘A little of what you like does you no harm. Grasmere gingerbread feeds mind, body and soul.’
‘I like the way you think, Ashley. It’s all about self-care, right? Is there a chocolate shop too?’
‘Of course. And they do a fine slab of fudge.’
The van turned into a long driveway bordered by enormous rhododendron bushes and tall trees. Beneath them, glorious drifts of yellow daffodils bobbed in the wind.
At the top of a gentle slope sat the hotel, a rambling, two-storey building of whitewashed stone, with old sash windows and a slate roof with quirky chimneys. The photo on the website’s landing-page had been taken from above, and showed the hotel nestled in lawns sweeping down to the sparkling blue waters of Grasmere, those iconic fells beyond. Now, there was nosign of those hills – the low grey cloud sliced off the view at near-ground level.
‘Let’s get you checked in,’ said Ashley, wheeling her case for her, and as Rosie followed him to the hotel entrance she found herself grinning at his back. Were northern men perchance all this peachy, or just the gay ones?
