“Yes, it’s part of the topiary garden. Fantastic isn’t it. We’ll go down and have a look tomorrow. It’s a bit late to explore today. It’ll be dark soon. The nights seem to draw in quicker up here than down south.” A cool draught fanned on the back of her neck as he moved away and she turned to see where he’d gone. He was sitting on the edge of the bed. “I’ll leave you to unpack and rest a bit if you like.” He glanced at his watch. “It’s later than I thought. They only do one sitting for dinner,” he explained. “They don’t have a lot of staff. Helps keep the running costs down. Shall we meet in the bar, at what, say seven thirty and have a drink before we go in?” He bounced up and down on the mattress. “Nice bed this one. I’ll bet its more comfortable than Stan’s at the Roses.”
“Maybe you should have been a mattress quality tester and not a medium.” Brigitte quipped, refusing to blush like a school girl, though she could feel the tell-tale heat creeping into her cheeks again.
“Now wouldn’t that be a nice job.” He laughed and sprang off the bed startling her. “See you in the bar then.” He strode silently across the carpet and the door closed behind him with a soft, well-oiled click.
Brigitte glided down the staircase, or at least tried to in case Jack was watching, and stood in the reception area. She’d put on a simple, but stylish calf-length black dress which made her look really thin and some strappy high heels. The dress was one she kept for those occasions when she didn’t have a clue what to wear. She hoped the other guests weren’t wearing jeans or she’d feel overdressed. She looked about her, but there was no sign indicating which of the two hallways led to the bar. A muffled murmuring of voices was coming from the passageway to the left of the desk. She hesitated a moment before heading down the wood panelled corridor. Crossing her fingers and feeling like an intruder she hoped she didn’t end up in the owner’s private quarters.
“Are there you are,” Jack made her jump when he popped his head out of a doorway on the right. “I was just coming to look for you. Thought you’d dozed off or got lost on the way.”
“Sorry” she apologized; embarrassed she’d kept him waiting. “It’s a big place and I wasn’t sure where to go. There are no signs or anything.”
“No, they say it feels more homely without and I think I’ll have to agree with them on that. Don’t worry, you’ll soon find your way around.” He took her by the elbow and guided her into the bar, seating her at a small table just inside. He bent down and whispered, “You look lovely. That’s a very fetching dress. What shall I get you to drink?”
“Oh, isn’t it warm in here,” she said, blushing again. She fanned her hand in front of her face to dissimulate. “A gin and tonic would be nice, thank you, Jack.” He left her sitting alone while he went and ordered the drinks. There were only two other couples in the bar. One pair sat, engrossed in deep conversation while the other appeared to have been married for ever and were discreetly ignoring each other as they sipped at their drinks. Two men sat on the high stools at the bar. They glanced over to where she sat and gave her the undisguised once over. She crossed her legs and pretended not to notice.
Jack placed a drink on the table in front of her. Instead of the customary slice of lemon, inside the glass were two green olives pierced through with a cocktail stick.
“That’s a dubious looking G and T. Or is that how they make them up here?”
“Try it and find out.” He smiled and sat down next to her. She took a sip the spluttered and coughed as the strong neat alcohol burnt her throat.
“What the hell is that?”It'd taken her breath away
“A gin-martini, shaken, not stirred. Nice to have a change sometimes, don’t you think. You’ll probably need the fortification.”
“Why is it I don’t like the sound of that.”
Jack took a deep drink and then looked over the rim of the glass at Brigitte, “Gin turns me into a sexual deviant, you know.”
Well no, I didn’t know, but I wouldn’t mind finding out. “Are you planning on having another?”
“Ah! Here comes Sue and Graham, the owners.” The moment was lost. “They said they’d try and pop in to say hello before dinner.” Jack stood up and shook hands with the grey haired man who had entered the bar. His wife hovered nervously behind him before Jack drew her forward and said, “Sue, this is Brigitte, the friend I was telling you about.” The woman’s face lit up with something like relief. Brigitte grew puzzled as she spoke.
“We’re so appreciative you could come down at such short notice. Jack’s told you so much about you. It’s awfully good of you to come and help him. All this palaver is really affecting business.”
“Not to worry, Sue.” Jack interrupted her mid-sentence. “I’m going to fill Brigitte in on the full details over dinner.” A look of pure confusion passed over Brigitte’s face. She was anything but ‘filled in’. “Let’s not bother her too much with it all now. She’s still a bit tired from the drive down.”
No I’m not, thought Brigitte and took another sip of her cocktail. Unable to think of a suitable comment, she fished around in the glass with her fingers, caught the stick of olives and pulled one off with her teeth. It tasted green and salty after the cool freshness of the gin.
“It’s time we went into the dining room, Sue, to make sure everything’s ready.” Her husband seemed to have caught Jack’s subtle meaning and led his wife away.
As Jack sat back down Brigitte gave him the inquisitive stare she usually reserved for her daughters when they were in trouble. Under normal circumstances it was a look which would have a saint confessing to a crime he hadn’t committed, but Jack didn’t seem to notice. “Don’t you think it’s about time you told what this is all about Jack. It’s a long way to come and I really still don’t know why I’m here”’ She didn’t add, well apart from the obvious that is.
“Was that the dinner gong I heard?”
“No it wasn’t, Jack Jamieson, so stop trying to change the subject and tell me right now why you’ve dragged me up here at a moments notice without even a decent rational explanation.” She began to enjoy the way the strong combination of alcohol had loosened her tongue. He held his hands up in mock surrender.
“Ok. Ok, I give in. I wanted to wait and tell you over dinner, but seeing as you insist...’” He tailed off and looked at her thoughtfully. “I’ll get us another drink first...”
“Jack!” She almost screamed at him with frustration.
“Patience woman, it’ll only take a minute.” A few minutes later he placed a fresh glass down on the table in front of her. Brigitte sat back in the chair, legs and arms crossed, waiting. Jack coughed lightly and settled back in the hard wood chair before he started to speak. “Since the present owners, the couple we just met, you know Graham and Sue...”
“Yee-es...” Brigitte drew the word out as if she was listening to an invented explanation from an imaginative child. “I know who they are.”
“Since they bought the property and had it so beautifully renovated, which cost them lots and lots of money, as you can tell. You only have to look about to see how much they’ve invested. Well not only money, but time and effort too.”
“Yees...” He was about to outdo her in the prize contest for waffling.
“Well,” he gave a soft cough, “no sooner had they started to attract guests, which in this day and age is no easy feat, not with all those modern, motorway hotel conglomerate places renting rooms so cheap.”
Brigitte nodded and wondered if he was ever going to get to the point. Somewhere in the distance the gong for dinner echoed, but she beat him too it. Taking hold of his arm by the wrist, she held it down to the table and told him, “I’m not moving from here until you’ve told me, dinner or no dinner. So don’t stop now.” That’ll spur him on, she thought, food or the threatened lack of it. Jack glanced down to where her hand held him prisoner. He seemed surprised she was touching him. She somehow got the impression that people didn’t very often. Embarrassed at her fo
rwardness she whisked her hand away.
“The guests started complaining.” He paused to take a sip of his drink.
“Complaining about what?”
“Well,”
If he says well once more I’ll scream. Brigitte held her breath. He placed his glass down carefully on the damp beer mat before he continued.
“About noises in the night. A sort of pitiful wailing.” Her mouth dropped open. Jack carried on quickly before she could get a question in. “Quite a heartbreaking sound so those who’ve heard it say. At first Graham put it down to a cat trapped in one of the attics. They searched everywhere but found nothing. Then he thought it might be a trick of the wind. After all, the house is very old and not all the work's been finished. They thought it was the wind coming through a broken window, again zilch. He told me he’s sick of Sue waking him up in the night. She can’t sleep because the wailing wakes her up and he can’t sleep because she wakes him up. Sleepless nights are not good for married couples. It puts them under a lot of stress.” He said it as if he knew what he was talking about and it made her wonder. “Not good for the guests either, they don’t come back. Come on,” he said, standing up with the glass in his hand. “Let’s take these with us and go into dinner. I’m starving?”
Side by side, they left the bar and he guided her back down the long hallway and into the dining room, his hand at her elbow. It was a gentlemanly touch and she liked the feel of it.
“Oh my goodness, this is a bit grand.” Brigitte was shocked at the immensity of the dining hall.
“Don’t forget it was a manor house. This used to be the banqueting hall. See all the coats of arms around the walls.” Her eyes followed his pointing finger, but looking up, the height of the ceiling or maybe the gin, made her dizzy. She swayed. “Graham did tell me once what they all stood for, but I’ve forgotten. They’re thinking of hiring it out for weddings and the likes or maybe doing special medieval theme nights here in the summer. Should go down well, don’t you think?”
“It’s a perfect setting. I could just imagine everyone in fancy dress. You’d look pretty dapper as a joker with white tights and a ruffle.” There goes that eyebrow again she thought, and smiled. “Where are we going to sit?”
“Graham’s kept us a place by the fire. It gets a bit chilly at the back here. Mind you there aren’t a lot of guests at the moment so we won’t upset anyone by getting the preferential treatment.’ He ushered her along the aisle between the tables, away from the doors and towards the huge stone hearth. It was complete with a wrought iron roasting spit. “Look at that, do you know what that’s for?” he asked.
“It’s a roasting spit.” She was beginning to think he thought her completely clueless.
“No, it’s a torture device for keeping novice mediums in check.” He laughed at the dazed expression on her face. “Madam,” He slid a chair out and indicated for her to sit down.
Brigitte was nonplussed by his gallantry even though it seemed to come to him quite naturally. Nice to know there’s still some gentlemen in the world. She tried not to compare him to Paul or her ex but gave up. He was too different for her to even try and that was a thought she found quite comforting. She watched him move around the table and take his seat, admiring his unrushed movements. He never appeared to be nervous or stressed, just took everything in his stride. He seemed to have all the time in the world. He caught hold of the linen napkin which lay across the soup plates already set out on the table and as he shook it open, he smiled at her. For once, feeling well and relaxed, she smiled back. The rattling noise of crockery being wheeled across the hall broke the moment.
“Oh good,” Jack turned to see where the noise originated from. “Sue’s nearly here with the soup train.” Sue and her hostess trolley rattled to a halt at the side of the table. Fragrant curls of vapour rose when she lifted the lids of the two tureens balanced on the top tray.
“Which would you prefer?” She waved a silver ladle through the rising steam. “There’s vegetable or oxtail. The vegetable’s home-made from stuff grown on the grounds or the oxtail which...”
“I’ll go for the vegetable, please,” interrupted Brigitte, not really wanting a detailed description of where the oxtail had originated from.
“Good choice. It’s seasoned with fresh basil from our own herb garden.” Sue ladled the thick reddish liquid into Brigitte’s bowl. “What about you Jack?”
“Same for me. Have you got any of those rolls left over from breakfast? They were something else. Did you make them yourself as well?”
Sue bent down and took a woven basket from the trolley’s bottom shelf. She placed it on one side of the table. In it nestled four small, neatly twisted bread rolls and a glass dish of butter curls. “I always bake enough for breakfast and dinner. Graham says I’m quite a little cottage industry in the kitchen. Though I’ve not started churning butter yet, that’s Sainsbury’s own. Graham’s always complaining about putting on weight, but he doesn’t stop eating.” She laughed and pushed the trolley away to serve some more guests at the next table.
Brigitte watched as Jack broke one of the small loaves in half and spread butter over the spongy whiteness. Mesmerized, by his long elegant fingers smoothing the creamy spread on the crusty bread, her mind strayed to other things and she didn’t realise she was staring.
“That soup will be Gazpacho if you don’t get started.” He nodded at her bowl.
“Sorry, I was miles away.”
“What were you thinking about?’
Nothing that I would mention in public. “The wailing, have you heard it?”
“Yes, the last night. Starts around about the same time and goes on and on and on. I’m sure it’s of a female origin…”
“Just what do you mean by that Jack Jamieson?”
“I’ve never heard a male spirit carry on quite as much as this one does.”
“So you’re saying women carry on are you?”
“Would I do a thing like that?” His expression of pure innocence had to be seen to be believed. “The truth of it is Brigitte I really am at a loss. It just won’t communicate with me, full stop. Which is unusual. I can normally pick up anything.”
“Why doesn’t that surprise me?” Jack’s mouth fell open with a dramatically exaggerated look of feigned shock. Enjoying having the advantage for once Brigitte carried on quickly and between spoonfuls of soup asked, “This is such a big place, whereabouts in the house is the spirit?”
“That’s another problem.” Jack’s expression changed to one of exasperation. “I can’t find it.”
“Oh! So what are we supposed to do then?”
“Just wait and see what happens basically. There’s not much else we can do, well not at the moment anyway. Have you finished your soup?”
“Yes, why?”
“The rest of the dinner is served sort of buffet service. As I said before Sue and Graham are on a serious economy drive until they get more guests so we have to take our plates over there.” He pointed across the room to a wooden tallboy in one of the far corners. “And then we go over there.” He pointed in the opposite direction and she wondered if he’d be any good at directing traffic. “And that’s where we help ourselves to the rest of the goodies. Ready?”
There was a long metal hot-buffet contraption on the far side of the room where other guests who’d already finished their first course were lifting lids and filling plates. Brigitte started to gather together the empty soup bowls. “I’ll take these if you like, Jack, you go and get started on the rest. I’d hate to keep a hungry man from his food.”
He was stirring a meaty looking stew around with a long handled spoon when she joined him, empty plate in her hand. She peered down into the metal container. “That looks good, what is it?”
“Ha, ha got one,” Triumphant, he lifted a translucent, white blob out of the thick gravy and put it on his plate. “Don’t tell everybody else or they’ll all want one.” he whispered to her as though it was a state secret. “
Beef and baby onions. One of my favourites. Only Sue cooks it for too long and the onions just sort of disintegrate so you only get a whole one if you’re lucky,” He held the spoon aloft with another small onion on it. “And it looks as though my lucks in today.”
You never know, Jack, it just might be if you play your cards right.
Brigitte smiled innocently as he asked, “Do you want some?”
“Just a couple of spoonfuls for me. The soup was really filling.”
After they’d filled their plates with an array of potatoes and vegetables they made their way back to the table.
“This stew reminds me of something.” Puzzled, Brigitte looked down at the meat on her plate. “But I can’t think what.”
“Good home-cooked food perhaps?”
“No, something apart from that.” She frowned and squashed the mash potatoes even more with her fork and then mixed them with the gravy until they were no more than a dark brown sludge.
Jack’s face was a picture as he asked, “Are you really going to eat that?”
“Of course. Now I’ve remembered. It’s just like the one they served in one of the taverns on the Greek island I went to a couple of years ago.”
“Where was that?”
“A tiny island just off the coast from Athens called Aegina. I’ve been there a couple of times. Oh!” Brigitte felt as if someone had tipped a bucket of icy water over her head.
“By the look on your face I’d say you’d just remembered something else.”
“I’m not sure, but when I was researching on the internet about Brigid and I saw a photo of some stone cells somewhere in Ireland and now, thinking about it, they had the exact same set up as a place over there.”
“Really?”
“Yes. Though I’m sure it was some sort of monastery or disused hermitage right in the middle of the island. I’ve photos of it at home somewhere. For the moment for the life of me I can’t remember what it’s called.”
“Have you had any more flashes of anything interesting?”
“Only one that keeps coming back, but I don’t know what it’s related too. It doesn’t fit in with anything else or at least doesn’t seem to at the moment.”