‘Yes?’
‘This is Lark Lodge?’
‘Lark Lodge,’ she repeated vaguely.
‘The guesthouse,’ Jake confirmed.
‘Guesthouse?’ She opened the door wide and looked left then right as though she had misplaced something. Then she turned back to Jake, smiled, and shut the door.
‘What the …?’ Jake shook his head. He knew for a fact this was Lark Lodge; it said so on the gates. But this was obviously no guesthouse. Mr Addison had got it wrong. Jake had no option but to pick up his bag, take the suitcase, and return to the car.
‘What, no room at the inn?’ Marcus said with a wide grin.
Jake scowled as he walked past Marcus, depositing the bag and suitcase on the gravel beside the car. He opened the boot and had just lifted the first bag back into the car when he heard footsteps on the gravel. He was just about to tell Marcus to stop larking about and help him out, when a woman’s voice called out. ‘Excuse me … hello …’
Jake moved from behind the open boot to see a middle-aged woman trying to run but instead taking large steps across the gravel towards them. The first thing Jake noticed, and the most striking thing about her, was her hair which was beaded with an assortment of different-coloured plastic beads that flew around her head like a swarm of multicoloured bees as she strode.
‘Excuse me, don’t go,’ she said breathlessly, not slowing down even though she had caught his attention. Jake thought she was going to run straight into Marcus.
‘Whoa!’ Jake held up his hands.
She skidded to a stop as Marcus gingerly took a step back.
The woman was wearing skinny black jeans and a snug-fitting purple cotton shirt with a flower print, which accentuated her figure. The outfit was not complemented, though, by her old-fashioned apron, which was dusty with flour. A streak of flour dusted her left cheek.
She wiped her hand down her apron and held it out to Marcus. ‘I’m Gayle,’ she said cheerfully.
Marcus did not make a move to take her hand.
Jake quickly stepped forward and took her hand instead. ‘I’m Jake.’
She smiled at Jake, her smile fading as she glanced at Marcus.
‘Oh, this is Marcus.’ Jake felt like prodding him in the back, but to Jake’s relief, he reluctantly offered a shaky hand.
She took it, shook once and then turned her attention back to Jake, her smile back on full beam. ‘Would you like a room?’
‘This is Lark Lodge, the guesthouse?’ said Jake. He was confused.
‘Yes. I nearly missed you. I was in the pantry, and you can’t hear a thing in there, not a car turning up or even the doorbell, though god knows, it’s loud enough – the doorbell, that is. Anyway, I was carrying the pot of flour into the kitchen when I thought I heard someone outside on the gravel.’ She beamed. ‘And here you are.’
‘You have rooms available?’ Jake inquired.
Marcus scoffed at the question; by the looks of the deserted driveway, it was obvious they had plenty.
Jake wondered how many other potential guests had been turned away by Mrs Belafonte answering the door.
‘She’s a beauty, isn’t she?’
Jake looked back at Gayle, puzzled by the question.
‘The car.’ She nodded at the green Bentley.
‘Oh, yes,’ Jake readily agreed, although he probably wouldn’t enjoy driving it with no power steering and its old suspension. It was just nostalgia. Jake still preferred the smooth sleek lines of modern cars, the comfy interiors, the easy handling. He looked lovingly at his shiny blue rental and knew he was going to have a hard time handing it back.
‘Do you need a hand with that?’ Gayle offered as Jake heavedhis bag back out of the boot for the second time.
She was standing with her hands on her hips, eyeing Marcus disapprovingly.
