Sitting Pretty Read online

‘And how about something non seafood for a starter? Maybe the griddled fresh asparagus with hollandaise sauce and a poached quail’s egg?’

  ‘That sounds great,’ I enthused, thankful that after last night’s rich dinner I hadn’t been hungry enough to do more than pick at some fruit at lunch time.

  ‘I expect all your Sitting Pretty clients will miss you after this week,’ Henry said when the asparagus plates had been cleared. ‘Davina tells me you’re one of the most requested sitters and dog walkers she’s ever had.’

  ‘Really?’ That was news to me, but it was a nice thing to hear. No wonder she hadn’t wanted me to leave. She was still giving the impression that she didn’t really believe I would go this time, although what she thought I was doing going out for meals and shopping with Henry, I couldn’t imagine.

  ‘You’ve been very popular with the staff, too.’

  ‘I will miss Daisy,’ I confessed. ‘She’s a lot of fun and good-hearted and I’m hoping she’ll be the one to come and look after Talisker for you after I’ve left.’ I’d already mentioned this to Henry so I was pretty sure that Daisy would be my replacement. He’d probably already sorted that out. ‘I expect I’ll even miss Katya and Natalia a bit …’

  ‘Ah yes, Natalia,’ Henry’s right eyebrow raised ever so slightly.

  ‘I didn’t realise you knew Natalia.’

  ‘Oh I don’t,’ Henry said quickly. ‘I just hear bits and pieces from Marvin.’ His eyebrow moved again.

  ‘Oh?’ I was intrigued now, but he was saved from having to say anything else as the three-tiered tower, absolutely crammed with mouth-watering seafood – as long as I ignored the oysters which had arrived separately in their own serving dish as they were hot and everything else was on ice – made its arrival. Blimey! Was that just for us two? We’d be here all night. And when they wanted to close up so the staff could go home, they’d have to phone for one of those winch things to hoist us out of our seats – and after all this food, I would probably be firmly wedged into mine.

  ‘Bon appetite!’ Henry indicated that I should help myself first. I wasn’t sure where I should start so I just pulled off a crab claw and a couple of prawns.

  ‘Well?’ I asked, once Henry had helped himself to some of his yucky oysters.

  ‘Well, what?’

  ‘Are you going to elaborate or are you going to leave me guessing?’

  ‘About what? Oh! You mean your friend Natalia,’ he suddenly realised what I was talking about. ‘Oh, there’s no mystery there. It’s just this rather dodgy friend of Marvin’s …’

  ‘You don’t mean Sti … Steve, do you?’ I stopped myself just in time.

  ‘How do you know this Steve?’ The easy smile had slipped down a notch.

  ‘I don’t,’ I said, quickly. ‘He was sitting in the park one day when I happened to take one of Natalia’s dogs for a walk as a favour. It was a very badly behaved dog and he made some comment or other, I can’t remember what. I probably wouldn’t even have remembered it but then, when Marvin took me out on that horrible yacht, we bumped into him on the Isle of Wight.’ I just stopped myself saying that he came and had lunch with us. Henry certainly didn’t seem to like the man.

  ‘I know it’s not my place to tell you what to do, but I’d advise you to stay away from Steve. He’s a smuggler.’

  ‘A smuggler?’ I laughed, thinking he must be joking. This was all a bit Jamaica Inn.

  ‘Yes, really. He gets up to all sorts in that old fishing boat of his. How he hasn’t got caught I don’t know, but it’s only a matter of time, which is why I don’t want my brother getting mixed up with him. I wouldn’t trust that man as a far as I could throw him. Marvin knows I won’t have him in my home. But Natalia seems to be spending a lot of time with him. The two of them seem to be as thick as thieves.’

  That was curious. Natalia always had an opinion about anyone she met, and she’d never, to my knowledge, been shy about voicing it. She’d seemed completely uninterested in Stinky Steve when I’d mention him to her in the office. All she’d said was that he was harmless.

  I hoped Henry didn’t notice that I spent quite a lot of the rest of the meal wondering just what Natalia had managed to get herself caught up in.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  ‘Katya?’ I was glad to find her on her own when I got to the office the next morning. ‘Is everything all right with Natalia?’

  ‘Yes, of course. Why it should not be?’

  Did Katya sound cagey, or was it my imagination making her words sound that way? I decided to try another tack. ‘Do you know this guy called Steve?’

  ‘Stinky Steve?’ Katya’s nose looked as if I’d just wafted a carton of month old milk under it. ‘Why you want to know about him?’

  ‘No reason,’ I lied. ‘It was just that …’

  ‘What? You hear something bad about him? So, he get his hands on some black market DVDs. So what? Is not crime.’

  The way I could feel this conversation was going, there was no way I was going to be Miss Goody Two Shoes and remind her that actually, yes it was. After all, it was none of my business and anyway, Natalia would laugh her head off at the thought of little old me trying to look out for her.

  So I kept what Henry had told me to myself and told myself I would keep an eye on whatever might be going on. But from a distance.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO

  ‘Good morning. How may I help you?’ The smartly-dressed receptionist at the New Forest’s smartest hotel and spa smiled at me from between two beautiful arrangements of Christmas flowers in gold-coloured vases. I wondered if she could sense that the sleek Samsonite spinner being wheeled effortlessly alongside the hotel porter like a well-trained Labrador was not mine, but lent to me because my own shabby excuse for luggage had been deemed unfit to be seen in public. Or that just ten days ago I had been a homeless pet sitter caught squatting in one of her customers’ homes and that, luckily for me, the customer in question had turned out to be a knight in shining armour. What would she think if she knew that I had spent the last week pet sitting and dog walking by day, but by night, being coached like Eliza Doolittle by Henry Halliday’s Henry Higgins?

  ‘Oh, good morning.’ I tried to sound as if this was the type of place I wandered into all the time. ‘I have a reservation, Beth Dixon, but I’m probably a bit early for check-in.’ Test number one – would they make me wait until check-in time, and if so, would they offer me a complimentary drink while I waited?

  ‘Beth Dixon,’ the receptionist repeated. ‘Just a moment please.’ God Rest ye Merry Gentlemen played gently in the background as she checked my reservation on the computer. ‘No, that’s absolutely fine, Miss Dixon,’ she smiled again. ‘If you could let me have the credit card you used to book, then the porter will take you up to your room.’

  I mentally gave check number one a ten out of ten, as the lift smoothly took the porter and I up to the third floor. He commented on the seasonally cold December weather and enquired if I’d travelled far, then made no further conversation until we got to the door of my room.

  ‘Room three twelve,’ he announced, slotting the key card into the lock and opening the door for me, standing back to let me go ahead. While he hefted my case onto the luggage rest, I fumbled, slowly and deliberately, in my handbag for my purse. Test number two – would he slow down and drag out his duties for as long as possible until I found and handed over his tip?

  ‘Sorry, I just …’ I mumbled, pretending to be embarrassed, which was very easy because I was – the two pound coin had been in my hand when I arrived and I would much rather have just handed it over. Especially as he was indeed dragging this out, wandering around the room, showing me where the mini bar was and how the light switches worked, opening the en-suite door to show me where it was.

  ‘Oh, here we are,’ I hammed it up, when I could stand it no longer. ‘Thank you so much!’ I pressed the coin into his hand and watched him give a brief nod of acknowledgement an
d withdraw from the room like a tide ebbing swiftly away. I wondered how long he would have hung around if I’d had the nerve to pretend any longer – would he have run the taps in the en-suite to show me how the water worked? Would he have put the little kettle on and made me a cup of tea?

  I got out the tiny file Henry had given me, found the check list and filled in my comments straight away while they were still fresh in my mind. Then, as he’d instructed me, I programmed my chosen code into the safe in the wardrobe, tested it, put the file in it, and locked it.

  This was far too easy a way to earn a living, I decided a couple of hours later, as I sprawled out in my fluffy, white bathrobe on the comfortable king-sized bed with the pillow top mattress – ten out of ten – watching How to Train Your Dragon on the huge TV screen, the remains of my room service tray – only eight out of ten as my first choice of starter wasn’t available and the soup I ended up ordering wasn’t as hot as it should have been – on the bedside table. I’d had a luxurious soak in the bath, marinating myself for at least an hour in the fancy bath foam then slathering myself with the matching body lotion. The complimentary spa toiletries had scored ten out of ten as they both smelled and felt delicious. Of course, it was up to the chambermaid to keep that ten out of ten by replacing the products that had been used. The shampoo and conditioner were still untouched as I’d washed my hair at the little studio flat before setting off, not wanting to arrive with it looking greasy, but I’d give those a try the next morning.

  As soon as the film finished, I got dressed in my new jeans. Henry was right, they were a very good cut and a whole world away from my old ones. I could see now why he gave me what I’d considered to be a huge clothes allowance – every item of clothing I’d owned before would have screamed out that I didn’t belong in a place like this. Dressing the part was really helping to give me the confidence to play it. With my brand new hiking boots, warm jacket, scarf, and gloves to complete the outfit, I headed downstairs and looked around for somebody to offer assistance. Even though I already knew where it was, I had to ask for directions to the park nearby.

  When you reach the end of the drive turn right, Ms Dixon,’ the man, who I guessed was the concierge, told me. ‘Then drive for about five minutes until you see the sign for The Barn Owl pub. Take the next left, then the first right, and then after a couple of minutes, the entrance to the park will be on your right. Enjoy your walk.’

  I thanked the man and set off in the lovely clean car Henry had hired for me – you don’t notice just how whiffy and hairy a car that gets used for transporting animals is until you drive one that isn’t – following his instructions exactly. About ten minutes later I pulled into a parking space next to Henry’s car – also hired, and changed regularly, he’d explained to me, so he could arrive at any of his UK hotels without his car being recognised and putting the staff on guard. Sneaky, I’d almost said, but had managed to stop myself just in time.

  We wound down our windows almost simultaneously. It felt like being in a spy film and I bit back the urge to giggle.

  ‘How’s it going so far?’ Henry asked me.

  ‘Really well. It’s absolutely gorgeous,’ I enthused. ‘They let me go up to the room straight away and …’

  ‘That’s fine, Beth,’ he stopped me. ‘You don’t need to tell me now. Are you marking it all up in the report file, like I showed you?’

  ‘Yes, and I’ve put it in the safe, like you said.’ I forced myself to stop gabbling in case I annoyed him and made him think better of offering me the job.

  ‘Any questions? Anything you’re not sure about?’

  ‘No, not that I can think of.’

  ‘Excellent. Well, I shall look forward to reading it. Enjoy the spa tomorrow.’ He smiled at me, closed his window, and pulled out of the parking space.

  I watched him drive away, wondering if he checked up on all his staff’s first assignments or if it was just me.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  Dinner last night was sumptuous and I rather missed having Henry sitting across the table from me; it was one thing wandering into Dominic’s on my lonesome, grabbing a table, and shovelling their pasta of the day down my throat – it was something else doing this fine dining lark at a table for one.

  My starter of hand-dived scallops, served on black pudding with little cubes of chorizo and squiggles of green pea puree, more than made up for the weeks of living off pre-packed salads and sandwiches. The Dover sole, filleted at the table, just melted deliciously in my mouth. And as for the trio of desserts, my taste buds thought they’d died and gone to heaven.

  It looked as if breakfast was going to be just as delicious. I was torn between the full English – although where I’d put it after last night’s overload of scrumptiousness, I wasn’t sure – and the kedgeree. But then there was poached haddock topped with a poached egg – which sounded yummy – or grilled kippers. It was so hard to choose and yet I had to look as if I ate like this all the time and it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary.

  There was a buffet of fresh fruits – including some I’d never even seen before, yoghurts, cereals, and all kinds of breads and pastries for guests to help themselves to while their hot breakfasts were being cooked. It all looked so fresh and colourful and inviting – I did my best to keep my bottom jaw from straying too far away from the top one.

  After being seated, I ordered a freshly squeezed grapefruit juice, as it wasn’t something I would normally have in at home, a decaffeinated latte – I couldn’t bring myself to say ‘decaf’ – and I decided at the last minute to go for the kippers, as that was something I would never cook for myself. Then I took some berries and Greek yoghurt from the buffet, as I was going to be spending time in the spa and didn’t want to be lying down on a full stomach for my massage or burping all over the masseuses and therapists.

  The spa oozed elegance and serenity. The air was fragrant with rubbed, scrubbed, cleansed, toned, and moisturised, elegance. The soft tinkly music gently wafting in the air was serene and calming. It felt as if nothing bad could ever happen in a place like this.

  I was so glad Henry had made me go to those beauty appointments while he was training me for these assignments. All the girls who worked here, from the receptionist to the girl who showed me around and explained what was what, to the massage therapists, they all had skin which seemed to glow – they were a wonderful advertisement for the place. If I hadn’t had the previous treatments, my skin would more than likely have looked and felt like coconut matting to them. They’d have been drawing straws not to be the one to have to put her lovely hands on crumbly me.

  My spa experience began with an exotic lime and ginger salt scrub. The girl applying the scrub had soft, gentle hands, and the scrub itself smelt fresh and zingy.

  ‘Are there any areas you would like me to pay special attention to?’ she asked me, in such a soothing voice I wasn’t completely sure she’d even spoken.

  ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘Do you have any problem areas, such as elbows or heels, that you would like me to spend more time on?’

  I thought of the state of my feet a few weeks ago and sent Henry another telepathic thank you. ‘No, I don’t think so, thank you,’

  She didn’t speak again until the scrub was over. I supposed it wasn’t like being a hairdresser where you chatted to your clients while you worked on them. This was far more intimate and it would probably be a bit strange asking an almost naked client where she’s planning to go on holiday while you spend half an hour rubbing citrusy, salty paste all over her body.

  After the top layer of my epidermis had been scrubbed to within an inch of its life, I was directed to a shower cubicle to wash away all traces of the scrub – and probably a few million dead skin cells, although it could have been a lot more – before my next treatment. This was going to be a Swedish massage, and a vision of a muscular Scandinavian man with strong hands had been floating around my head ever since I booked it.
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  My masseuse came in, reading the health check form I’d been asked to fill in when I booked the appointment. She was neither Scandinavian or a man, but she did have very strong looking hands.

  ‘You would prefer oil or lotion?’ she asked, in an accent so similar to Katya’s and Natalia’s that I had to look at her face again just to make sure that neither of my old workmates were moonlighting here.

  ‘Lotion please,’ I told her, remembering how slippery I’d felt after the first time with the oil – although I still wasn’t sure that the masseuse where Henry had sent me for my first massage hadn’t been a bit too heavy-handed with the stuff. I mean, loads of people have Swedish massages all the time. They can’t all come out feeling like a penguin in an oil slick, or else they wouldn’t keep doing it.

  So there I was, face down on the massage bed, glad I hadn’t had a big breakfast, and looking forward to a relaxing hour. After all, I’d practically fallen asleep last time. The next thing I knew, one of those strong looking hands was ploughing a line down my upper back as if it thought it was Moses and my shoulder blades were the Red Sea. The force brought my head up, like a cat’s does if you stroke down its back really hard. Except that a cat does it – usually – in pleasure. In my case, I think all my vertebrae were having a sudden panic attack.

  ‘You must relax. You are very tense,’ the masseuse told me, bringing her hand back around in a circular movement. No kidding! Having someone try to break your neck with one hand will do that.

  ‘That’s actually a bit hard,’ I winced, as the other hand started to do exactly the same thing, veering off to circle the other way.

  ‘You have very stiff neck,’ she insisted.

  Better a stiff neck than a broken one, I thought, trying to get up, and failing miserably. She really was very strong. ‘That is definitely too hard.’