Read Online September (1990) by Rosamunde Pilcher - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Rosamunde Pilcher
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must be given value for their dollars.
There were certain guide-lines, printed out on a special instruction sheet for hostesses. Every bedroom must have its own bathroom, preferably adjoining. Beds must have electric blankets, and the rooms must be centrally heated. Also, if possible, there should be supplementary heating . . . preferably a real fire but, failing this, then an electric or gas fire. Fresh flowers must be arranged in the bedrooms.
(Reading this, Isobel had known some annoyance. Who did they think they were? She had never in her life put a guest in a room without seeing that there were fresh flowers on the dressing-table.)
Then there were more rules about breakfast and dinner. Breakfast must be robust and hearty. Orange juice, coffee, and tea, all available. In the evenings, a cocktail must be offered, and wine at dinner-time. This meal had to be formally served, with candles, crystal, and silver on the table, and consist of at least three courses, to be followed by coffee and conversation. Other diversions, however unlikely, could be offered. A little music . . . perhaps bagpipe-playing . . . ?
The overseas visitors awaited them in Verena's drawing-room. Verena flung open the door. "I am sorry we've been so long. Just one or two ends that needed to be tied up," she told them in her best committee-meeting voice, which brooked no question nor argument. "Here we are, and here is your hostess, come to take you to Croy."
The drawing-room at Corriehill was large and light, palely decorated and little used. Today, however, because of the inclement weather, a small fire flickered in the grate, and around this, disposed on armchairs and sofas, sat the four Americans. To while away the time, they had switched on the television and were watching , in a bemused fashion, cricket. Disturbed, they rose to their feet, turning smiling faces, and one of the men stooped and politely turned the television off.
"Now, introductions. Mr. and Mrs. Hardwicke, and Mr. and Mrs. Franco, this is your hostess for the next two days. Lady Balmerino."
Shaking hands, Isobel understood what Verena had meant when she described this week's guests as being slightly more robust than usual. Scottish Country Tours seemed, for some reason, to attract clients of an extremely advanced age, and sometimes they were not only geriatric but in a dicey state of health-short of breath and uncertain about the legs. These two couples, however, were scarcely beyond middle age. Grey - haired, certainly, but apparently bursting with energy, and all of them enviably tanned. The Francos were small of stature, and Mr. Franco very bald, and the Hardwickes were tall and muscled and slim, and looked as though they spent their lives out of doors and taking a great deal of exercise.
"I'm afraid I'm a little late," Isobel found herself saying, although she knew perfectly well that she was not. "But we can go whenever you're ready."
They were ready right now. The ladies collected their handbags and their beautiful new Burberry raincoats, and the little party all trooped through the hall and out into the porch. Isobel went to open the back doors of the minibus, and by the time she had done this, the men were humping and heaving the big suitcases across the gravel, and helped her to load them. (This, too, was novel. She and Verena usually had to do the job by themselves.) When all were safely aboard, she shut the doors and fastened them. The Hardwickes and the Francos were saying goodbye to Verena. "But," Verena said, "I'll see you ladies tomorrow. And I hope the golfs a great success. You'll love Gleneagles."
Doors were opened and they all climbed in. Isobel took her place behind the wheel, fastened her seat-belt, turned on the ignition, and they were away.
"I do apologize for the weather. We've had no summer at all yet."
"Oh, it hasn't bothered us in the least. We're just sorry you had to come out on such a day to come and collect us. Hope it wasn't too much
There were certain guide-lines, printed out on a special instruction sheet for hostesses. Every bedroom must have its own bathroom, preferably adjoining. Beds must have electric blankets, and the rooms must be centrally heated. Also, if possible, there should be supplementary heating . . . preferably a real fire but, failing this, then an electric or gas fire. Fresh flowers must be arranged in the bedrooms.
(Reading this, Isobel had known some annoyance. Who did they think they were? She had never in her life put a guest in a room without seeing that there were fresh flowers on the dressing-table.)
Then there were more rules about breakfast and dinner. Breakfast must be robust and hearty. Orange juice, coffee, and tea, all available. In the evenings, a cocktail must be offered, and wine at dinner-time. This meal had to be formally served, with candles, crystal, and silver on the table, and consist of at least three courses, to be followed by coffee and conversation. Other diversions, however unlikely, could be offered. A little music . . . perhaps bagpipe-playing . . . ?
The overseas visitors awaited them in Verena's drawing-room. Verena flung open the door. "I am sorry we've been so long. Just one or two ends that needed to be tied up," she told them in her best committee-meeting voice, which brooked no question nor argument. "Here we are, and here is your hostess, come to take you to Croy."
The drawing-room at Corriehill was large and light, palely decorated and little used. Today, however, because of the inclement weather, a small fire flickered in the grate, and around this, disposed on armchairs and sofas, sat the four Americans. To while away the time, they had switched on the television and were watching , in a bemused fashion, cricket. Disturbed, they rose to their feet, turning smiling faces, and one of the men stooped and politely turned the television off.
"Now, introductions. Mr. and Mrs. Hardwicke, and Mr. and Mrs. Franco, this is your hostess for the next two days. Lady Balmerino."
Shaking hands, Isobel understood what Verena had meant when she described this week's guests as being slightly more robust than usual. Scottish Country Tours seemed, for some reason, to attract clients of an extremely advanced age, and sometimes they were not only geriatric but in a dicey state of health-short of breath and uncertain about the legs. These two couples, however, were scarcely beyond middle age. Grey - haired, certainly, but apparently bursting with energy, and all of them enviably tanned. The Francos were small of stature, and Mr. Franco very bald, and the Hardwickes were tall and muscled and slim, and looked as though they spent their lives out of doors and taking a great deal of exercise.
"I'm afraid I'm a little late," Isobel found herself saying, although she knew perfectly well that she was not. "But we can go whenever you're ready."
They were ready right now. The ladies collected their handbags and their beautiful new Burberry raincoats, and the little party all trooped through the hall and out into the porch. Isobel went to open the back doors of the minibus, and by the time she had done this, the men were humping and heaving the big suitcases across the gravel, and helped her to load them. (This, too, was novel. She and Verena usually had to do the job by themselves.) When all were safely aboard, she shut the doors and fastened them. The Hardwickes and the Francos were saying goodbye to Verena. "But," Verena said, "I'll see you ladies tomorrow. And I hope the golfs a great success. You'll love Gleneagles."
Doors were opened and they all climbed in. Isobel took her place behind the wheel, fastened her seat-belt, turned on the ignition, and they were away.
"I do apologize for the weather. We've had no summer at all yet."
"Oh, it hasn't bothered us in the least. We're just sorry you had to come out on such a day to come and collect us. Hope it wasn't too much
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