A Change Of Heart 10

Grace Elle Louise Granthom-Wesley, the only child of Sir Edward Granthom-Wesley and Lady Louise Granthom-Wesley of Fellows Park in Surrey, is to be married to the Honourable Captain Charles Montgomery, youngest son of the late Earl Partington and Mrs Elisabeth Bennow.

So ran the announcement in London's Tatler magazine, the wedding to be held in The Guards Chapel, London. Some two hundred guests were expected at the reception and the bride and groom would be departing later for a honeymoon in The Bahamas.

The groom was well known in the city with a partnership in one of the top broking houses. His house in Chelsea was reputed to boast a swimming pool, car parking for six cars and his earnings were undisclosed although reported to be considerable.

The bride's wedding gown was by Emmanuelle, her hair by Paul Edmonds and her makeup by Hannah Martin.

The bride, her bridesmaids and page boys left on time for The Guards Chapel, a Rolls for the bride and her father and three Bentleys for the bridesmaids and page boys. All in all, a grand affair, suitable for one of the society weddings of the year.

However, in the Rolls, sitting beside her father, who had nodded off after a few glasses of pre-ceremony champagne and a large whisky, Gracie, as she was affectionately known, was having second thoughts.

She wasn't fully sure why she'd asked all the bridesmaids, other than Charles wishing her to, and she didn't know any of the pageboys nor their parents. Her own friends had been relegated to the guest list.

Rounding a bend in the road she caught a glimpse of The Guards Chapel in the distance and a crowd of guests and paparazzi waiting for her arrival. It was she thought, now or never so she leant forward and tapped on the driver's shoulder.

"Stop here please driver."

Dutifully, the car pulled up along the kerbside, as did the three Bentleys behind, and she very regally stepped out of the car, leaving her bouquet on the seat beside her dozing father, smiled to the bridesmaids who were peering over the shoulders of their respective drivers, and bolted. The snow-white fluffy tulle of her under skirts billowed around her and her veil was like a cascading cloud of candy-floss floating behind her as she ran across the road, waving down a passing London taxicab.

In the weeks prior to the wedding things had become rather frightening for her. As the preparations became more organized, with her being less and less involved, she'd had time then to realize that not only did she not love Charles, but could barely even say that she liked him and in fact was beginning to think him an insufferable prick. Somehow, she'd allowed herself to be immersed in a relationship that parents on both sides approved of and, with all the social standings, it had become very prudent to agree to the marriage.

The taxi stopped and she slammed the door behind her.

"Where to miss?"

She shook her head.

"I don't know, just anywhere away from here for the moment, just drive."

She turned to look out of the rear window. Guests and photographers were milling around in the street, some waving their arms, while an array of long lenses was pointed at the departing cab. The driver glanced in his mirror.

"Hang on miss." and with that he took a sharp turn and then several more in quick succession.

To hold a licence to drive a black cab in London, drivers are tested on 'The Knowledge', an encyclopaedic knowledge of all the streets and alleyways in London and this cabbie was no exception. Within a few minutes he was the opposite side of The Guards Chapel and heading away from the guests and paparazzi who were still looking in the opposite direction.

"That should do it miss." He smiled at her in the mirror. "They won't find us now."

They drove in silence for a while.

"So where would you like me to take you?"

"I want to go to Grasmere in the Lake District please."

The driver looked at her in the mirror, frowning.

"Where, the Lake District? Are you sure? That must be ... well must be very nearly five hundred miles. Are you sure miss? It'll be very expensive."

Gracie had taken the precaution of tucking her credit card into her cleavage before she left her parent's London house for the wedding, the only thing she'd allowed herself the time to snatch.

"Yes, I'm sure and please, no more questions."

They drove in silence for a while and Gracie looked at her reflection in the taxi's window. She looked a wreck with her tear-streaked mascara running down her cheeks so she grabbed the train of her dress and wiped her cheeks. She wouldn't need it again anyway.

The driver glanced at her in the mirror.

"Last minute change of heart miss?" He had a kind face and she nodded.

"Something like that. I suppose I've known for some time but it's amazing how much pressure there is to just go along with it all."

He nodded sagely.

"Best to be certain before making such a big commitment. Do you know someone in Grasmere, a friend or a relative?"

She shook her head.

"Not really, not at all actually, it's just that we used to spend summer holidays near there when I was a child and it's the only place I can think of that is far enough away for my father not to be able to get to me."

She slumped back in the seat.

"Mind if I call my missus? She'll be wondering where I am later on."

"No, not at all. Do whatever you need to do. And thank you for being so kind."

"All part of the job miss."

She heard him talking to a woman, his wife she supposed, and he mentioned Grasmere and then there was a pause before he spoke again and then the call ended.

"My missus sends you her love and hopes everything turns out ok for you and she's found a hotel in Grasmere, there's just the one, The Red Lion Hotel."

"Thank you, that's very thoughtful of your wife. Thank you so much."

Gracie sat back and was soon asleep, not even waking when the driver stopped for fuel.

She woke as the taxi pulled up outside the hotel

"What's happening? Where are we?"

"Grasmere miss, The Red Lion Hotel."

"What already?"

The driver chuckled.

"Almost seven hours since you flagged me down in London."

"Right." She paid the driver, adding a very generous tip.

There was one thing that Gracie had insisted on before she was engaged to Charles and that was the money that had been held in trust for her was transferred into her sole name. She wasn't going to be financially beholden to anyone, particularly her husband, and at a stroke she'd became a multi-millionaire.

She stared at the hotel. It looked deserted and there was a 'No Vacancies' sign hanging from the door knocker but she wasn't going to be put off by that and, gathering her skirts and unclipping her veil, she got out of the cab.

She was aware of a few people staring at her but what else could one expect so far away from London? Yokels at best and probably all interbred. She stared back and mouthed "Piss off" at them. Who the hell did they think they were? Didn't they know who she was?

The No Vacancies sign wasn't going to deter her and she climbed the half dozen steps to the entrance and knocked loudly.

She was aware that she was still wearing her now very dishevelled wedding dress and had nothing but her credit card to her name. Of course, the taxi being from London had accepted it, but here? She wasn't even sure they had electricity. She glared again at the people staring at her and knocked again at the door.

After the third round of knocking she heard the door being unlocked and it was opened by a man wearing a dressing gown and slippers.

"Can I help you?"

"Is the manager available? I know there's a No Vacancies Sign on the door but I'm sure he'll be able to find a room for me. Tell him Elle Granthom-Wesley would like to speak to him."

This would have worked in London but the man at the door was not impressed.

"The manager's not here tonight." he said tersely and he started to close the door.

"Just a minute my man. I haven't finished yet." she said, barging her way past him into the entrance hall and looking around. Dark, gloomy, the most awful, tasteless décor imaginable, pictures of local sporting events from the past and horse brasses. Ugh. It was ready for demolition but for the moment she had other things on her mind.

"If there's no room at the inn," she said in a very caustic voice, "Could you tell me where I might find a taxi and another hotel and oh yes, a boutique? As you can see, I'm a little unprepared for travel."

The man she was speaking to was, in reality, the owner of the hotel and he didn't like the condescending tone the young woman was using, not one bit.

He'd had to put up with a lot as owner of the hotel but rudeness and a snobbish attitude were too much and even a beautiful young woman in what looked like a very expensive wedding dress cut no ice with him and her hoity-toity manner had annoyed him. Even so, she was so out of her depth and territory and so obviously in need of help that he'd see what he could do for her but it wouldn't hurt to take her down a peg or two in the process.

"Why don't I offer you somewhere to sit and something to drink first. That's quite a list you have and it may take a few minutes to sort out. We're very busy at this time of year -- had two new visitors last week and due three next week as well."

The hotel was actually empty. The early Easter and the cool spring had done no favours to the Lake District hospitality businesses and he'd been taking the opportunity to do some much-needed maintenance before the season proper started.

Gracie was not impressed. 'Five guests spread between two weeks?' she thought. 'Hardly the hub of the universe' but she accepted his offer and wondered what, even in a dressing gown and slippers, such a fine handsome specimen of man was doing in this part of the world, but then she mused, one finds farmers just about everywhere these days. At least he had manners and she noted that he was taller than her fiancé Charles and more rugged and very 'raw' but she supposed that was down to the manual labour that she assumed was his work but he'd offered her a drink and she could certainly do with one.

"Hennessey please...with ice."

The man looked at her and almost grimaced.

Hennessey with ice? Good god. Do Londoner's have any taste at all nowadays he wondered? But she wasn't done yet.

"The sign outside says there's no vacancies but this place looks rather quiet. Is that a ploy to draw custom or is a clientele of two one week and three the next the height of your season? Anyway, I'll pay you twice your normal rate for a room, double bed please, and could you have someone draw a bath for me? It's been a rather difficult day and I'm absolutely exhausted."

He watched as she deliberately reached into her cleavage and pulled out her credit card, waving it at him.

The cheeky little bitch, he thought. Does she really think that just because she's got money people will jump at her command? He answered bruskly.

"Thank you for your offer to pay double but the hotel is absolutely full, people are sleeping three to a bed in the attic. I'll make a couple of phone calls though and see if I can find somewhere for you. Oh, and I'll get your drink but we don't have Hennessey -- or ice for that matter. We have Camus XO if that will do?"

He was pretty certain that even for all her money and faux sophistication she would never have tasted or perhaps even heard of Camus XO but he only kept the best in his hotel. He fetched her drink and picked up the phone. A little fun was in order and he pretended that he was calling another hotel.

"Hello... Betty? It's Bill Howard from Grasmere. I wonder if you have any space for tonight, just one single?" He paused as if listening to the answer. "No? Ok, that's ok, thanks anyway. Bye."

He repeated this charade a couple more times and then finally:

"Oh hello it's Bill Howard from Grasmere. I'm looking for a single for tonight, just one night... I pause... you do? That's great. I'll get Jack to drive her over...yes, about twenty minutes. Thanks... bye."

He delivered the news.

"Ok, I've found you a room at a place about twenty minutes from here. It's very pleasant, I know the owner and if you ask nicely they may even draw you a bath. The taxi will be here in a few minutes. He usually blows his horn when he arrives so just help yourself."

He smiled sweetly at her.

"There's no charge for the taxi or for the drink. I do hope everything works out for you." And with that he opened the door marked 'Private', closed it behind him, and left Gracie sitting with her half-finished glass of Camus XO cognac.

It took him less than five minutes to dress, don a shabby overcoat and battered trilby and be at the front door of the hotel in his car, tooting the horn a couple of times. He was confident she wouldn't recognise him.

A twenty-minute meander around the lanes and he'd have her back outside the front door of The Red Lion. He hadn't quite figured how he was going to get to the front door to greet her but he'd think of something.

He watched Gracie appear from the hotel like some ghostly apparition, her hair awry and her once pristine wedding dress now looking like a collection of yesterday's bedsheets more than anything else.

She stood by the car waiting for the door to be opened for her but when that didn't happen, she muttered 'fucking farmers', opened the door for herself and slammed it shut, hard enough to shake some of the rust off Bill's eighteen-year-old battered Volvo.

He looked at her in his rear-view mirror. She looked furious and he had to suppress a smile. 'Welcome to the real world' he thought to himself.

"All set are we?" he asked, affecting a strong Cumberland accent, threw the car into gear and set off with a jerk that threw her back into the seat. 'Fucking tractor drivers' was all he heard from Gracie and he had to stop himself from laughing out loud when she instructed him to "Drive on."

Drive on. Drive on! Who the hell does she think she is? Imelda bloody Marcos? he thought, still, for the moment he stayed in character.

He took the quietest and most winding route that he knew and eventually drove back into Grasmere from a completely different direction and pulled up outside the Red Lion.

"Here we are miss, you'll be comfortable here, I know Bill the owner, a lovely man, so generous and kind. Carry your bags miss?"

He made a point of opening the door for her and bowing slightly as she once again climbed the steps to the front door.

"G'night miss."

Now he had to be quick, driving down the village and then doubling back to the rear of the hotel, throwing off the overcoat and trilby and then dashing through the hotel so that he was standing behind the desk as the front door opened.

This should be fun he thought.

Gracie was not amused. She'd already twigged that she'd been taken for a ride, both actually and figurately, and now here she was, knocking on the same bloody front door with the same bloody No Vacancies sign.

Shit, shit, shit.

When she got hold of the bastard that thought this was funny she was going to give him hell with a capital H.

She didn't like being played for a fool. She'd dismissed servants for less but this was in another league.

Who the fuck did this jumped up, dressing gown wearing, shit-shovelling farmer think he was?

If only Charles was here. He'd sort him out but then, perhaps that's why she was here because she knew, deep in her heart, that Charles would have run a mile rather than confront this country bumpkin.

Nevertheless, she had a strong desire to smack Bill whoever he was in the face, several times and hard.

The front door opened almost immediately to her knock and she was in no mood for pleasantries.

"You fucking farmer, you think this is fucking funny? You think it's all fine and amusing to send me around the countryside with some arsehole of a driver, a complete stranger that didn't say one thing to me? You don't think I've come here dressed like this because I just felt like a trip to see cowsville? You....You......prick!"

In a flash she took off her satin wedding slippers, the pearl comb fell from her hair and without it the clips that were assisting keeping her hair in its desired style weren't enough to hold back the tendrils that were beginning to work free and in a rage, with a satin slipper in each hand, she flung both of them at him, quickly followed by her credit card.

"Now you give me a fucking room. I tried asking politely last time but that clearly doesn't seem to be something you understand so I'll say it for you now, slowly. One...room...with...a...double...bed...and bath... NOW, or so help me, I'll demolish this place so fast you'll think there's twenty of me."

And all the while she was hiccupping and sobbing. In her heart she knew that Charles, the little ass, was probably on his way to the airport now to go on their honey moon in the Bahamas, probably with one of the bridesmaids, mummy would be worrying about the headlines in the newspapers next morning, and not one of them would give a tosh about her. Suddenly she was deflated. Her parents that loved her when she did what they wanted would be thinking of how her leaving would look to their social circle. Charles would more than likely be more bothered by the days he'd taken off at the expense of his business and this creature in front of her wouldn't even give her a room. She gulped for air and tucked back some strands of her hair and then, gathering her skirts again, took a long needed calming breath and sniffs.

"And I'd like a cup of Bovril please and some chocolate ice cream."

Bill regarded her with a mixture of contempt and sadness. How could such a beautiful young woman behave like this and find herself in a situation like this?

She, whatever her name was, was severely pissed off with the faux taxi ride and he admitted that he wasn't expecting such an angry and aggressive reaction but he supposed she had had a terrible day though who that was down to was another matter. Nevertheless, he didn't like being called a fucking farmer or a prick.

'I do farm the family's eight thousand or so acres but the Red Lion is where my heart is, it's the homeliness that I cherish' he thought 'and I don't like it or me being insulted this way'.

He shook his head to clear his thoughts. She's good, he thought, I'll give her that, but what works in Harvey Nichols doesn't work here and she's not so good with the slippers either as they clattered harmlessly against the wall, missing him completely.

What had happened though is that the comb thing that was holding her hair in place has fallen out letting her hair fall loose so that it framed her face.

She was very pretty, he'd give her that but not the fucking farmer bit.

"The hotel is closed, as are the kitchens and I have no Bovril or ice cream. It appears that you've had a pretty awful day but I don't like being spoken to the way you did when you arrived and I'm minded just to tell you to 'fuck off'. There is however one room made up and you may use it for the night. There's a complimentary toiletries bag in the bathroom and I do have a selection of clothes, some of which might fit you; they're the clothes that guests forget or leave behind and I collect them at the end of the season, have them laundered and then pass them on to the charity shops.

I do have tea, coffee or hot chocolate and could organise you some toast and butter... but not ice cream."

He handed her the key to the room.

"Oh, there's one other thing, as the hotel is closed there are no staff on duty so if you want someone to draw you a bath it'll have to be me."

Gracie stood, glowering at the man, not caring whether his name was Tom, Dick, Harry or even Bill as she'd heard him call himself earlier while he was making those fake phone calls.