Valentine Surprises 1

This is a submission for the Valentines Day 2025 promotion

ONE: ST VALENTINE'S DAY EVENING

I approached the brightly-lit Moulsthorpe Restaurant with some trepidation. I was feeling somewhat self-conscious and completely out of my comfort zone wearing a borrowed, ill-fitting suit. Though I was extremely hungry, my stomach was filled to the brim with fluttering butterflies. Usually, particularly lately, I have tended to eat alone, mostly a meal that I have cooked myself, often made in large batches which I split into meals-for-one for freezing, then warmed-up as convenient in the microwave.

I parked the borrowed car in the car park and approached the restaurant entrance. I could see through the windows that the place was absolutely packed to the gunnels with intimate diners at small tables for two lit by candles. I wasn't surprised, of course, it was a cold, wet Friday night and if you had worked hard all week and could afford to splash out and enjoy a classy night out in the hamlet of Lesser Moulsthorpe, this high class and expensive restaurant was really the only place in town.

Looking at the diners, all smiling and enjoying happy company in this cosy and welcoming hostelry, I honestly couldn't blame them being patrons here; if I could afford it I would consider dining here too. On first impressions alone, this seemed to be a perfect venue.

I stopped at a glass fronted frame to look at the illuminated menu sealed within, immediately under the proudly highlighted red Two-Michelin Star plaque. There were probably mouthwatering starters, exquisite main courses and delightful desserts fantastically described upon that packed menu, but they were all listed in French, which I could only guess at the meanings of. I looked for but could see no pound signs and adjacent numbers in evidence indicating prices for any of the items listed. I guess if you can afford to step into such an establishment you don't need to worry about the prices. Unfortunately I had to watch every penny.

Actually, I already knew I didn't have to worry about the cost of tonight's meal, that was already apparently paid for, I had been told. I had already thanked her Ladyship for her generosity but, although she was a dear old lady and in the brief conversations I'd had with her she seemed as sharp as a tack, she was pretty old. Guessing the age of ladies wasn't my forte but she seemed in her 80s at least, and I wondered, not for the first time on my way here, if I would end up with a bill at the end of the evening that I couldn't possibly pay for in a month of Sundays.

Who am I kidding? Even leaving a tip using the only banknote I had, a "spare" tenner that I had folded into a deep pocket in my wallet only to be used for dire emergencies several months ago, would be a problem. I know, because I counted everything I had twice, and it only amounted to £3.78 in loose change in my pocket, enough for a pint of milk and a sliced loaf from the village convenience store for my weekend breakfasts on Saturday and Sunday.

I stood still, not really focusing on the menu, just contemplating whether I could abandon the embarrassment of entering the restaurant and simply go home hungry. I did have a couple of cold left-over sausages in the fridge, some raw potatoes and carrots in the veg rack and, as a last resort, a couple of frozen dinners which I hoped would keep me going on Monday and Tuesday until the fortnightly Giro covering my Job Seekers Allowance came through to my new bank account on Wednesday.

As I dithered, with my back to the doorway, I heard an "Ah-hem!" immediately behind me. I turned to find myself faced with a smartly-dressed and rather distinguished-looking man in his 50s/60s, judging by his greying temples, dressed in a penguin suit complete with perfectly-tied bow tie. He looked me up and down, increasing my anxiety ten-fold, before speaking to me again, this time in words.

"Do you have reservations, Sir?" he asked.

"Er, well..." I started.

He impatiently interrupted my stuttering attempt to reply, "Because, otherwise Sir we are fully booked this evening."

"No, I er, sort of..." I stuttered, "I er believe er that Lady Moulsthorpe said she was the owner of this restaurant and that she had booked me in for a meal for one and that you'd er take care of the er bill, etcetera, etcetera."

The man bowed his head ever so slightly, "Mr Jolly is it by chance?" he asked.

"Yes, that's me," I replied, "John Jolly."

"Very well. And pray tell me, what is your association with her Ladyship, Mr Jolly?" His face looked stern and clearly didn't trust me even though he had already admitted he was expecting me.

"Well, I'm sort of her handyman, gardener, on a purely voluntary basis, not actually in her employ ... and she has kindly put me up in one of her old cottages..." I replied, as he continued to stare silently at me and I felt pressured to continue with my job description, such as it was, "and I've been pruning her roses all week until about an hour ago... and she sort of asked me what I was having for tea ... and I said I was probably going to buy some bread and milk and have a sausage sarnie and a pot of tea for tea ... er and her Ladyship then said that 'that wouldn't do at all' and ordered me, yes, ordered me to come here ... er then she made me shower in one of the bathrooms and to put on this suit, shirt and tie ... I think it must be her late husband's clothes ... and she has allowed me to borrow one of her cars to drive down here ... er and return the car to the garage when I'm ready ... and I was to work at the Manor again next week pruning her fruit tree orchard. Well, er, she's a force of nature she is... her Ladyship ... So here I am considering whether to come in and embarrass myself or just bugger off home. Then I wondered what I'd say on Monday when she asks me what I thought of the place." I ran out of words to say and sifted through in my mind to see if I could distill anything else of interest and really couldn't.

His stern countenance softened a little and he turned and held the door open before ushering me in by a wave of his hand. So I stepped into the light and warmth within.

"His Lordship was indeed a large man when in his prime, not so towards the end, sadly," he said, "what are you, 42 long?"

"Er, not sure, my ex- used to look after my wardrobe and she'd send me into the outfitters' changing booths with a couple of suits to try on whenever she thought I needed one, which wasn't often."

"Quite," he said, before turning to one of the waitresses or a hostess, not sure which, who was hovering nearby, "Karen, would you fetch this gentleman a jacket, blue, 42 long, please?"

The young girl grinned and turned away, saying, "Certainly, Mr Carroll, on my way," and flittered away swiftly to her assignment.

"Please hand me your jacket, Mr Jolly, a loan jacket will be here shortly," the smart restaurant manager, Mr Carroll, I now knew, said to me.

I reluctantly removed the oversized jacket, revealing the waist of an over-large pair of trousers pinched rather untidily into my much narrower waist with my cracked and well-worn but reliable belt that normally holds up my rough working jeans. I had lost a lot of weight since the divorce proceedings started and I was noticeably thin and, I must admit, a tad undernourished.

"I was hoping that I could keep the jacket on to hide these trousers, but Her Ladyship insisted," I lamely apologised, "I was sort of stuck at her place and well, she has that manner that sort of must be obeyed, if you know what I mean."

His stern face cracked a barely discernible smirk, "Her Ladyship is indeed 'to the manor born'," he admitted, "we do keep a few jackets on hand but not trousers I'm afraid," just as the replacement jacket arrived borne by the young girl Karen.

Mr Carroll took the jacket, dismissed the girl clutching my recently removed borrowed jacket, and held the replacement open for me to put on. It was a perfect fit.

"That's better, Mr Jolly," he almost actually smiled but immediately checked himself, "Lady Moulsthorpe has indeed booked you in for a complimentary meal for one. Her Ladyship slightly misinformed you about owning the restaurant, but we can forgive her that little slip. She owns the building of course but the leaseholders who own the restaurant business hold the lease with a proviso that her Ladyship may dine here gratis as often as she likes and we hold back a table for two persons every night of the year, but she rarely visits nowadays, especially since his Lordship passed recently. Your table awaits."

"Thank you, Mr Carroll, for your assistance," I smiled gratefully back, "and the loan of the jacket, I confess I was worried about coming here as I am not at all used to fancy cuisine, I'm more a frozen beefsteak pie, mashed potato and gravy person and I feel a little grubby and out of place here."

"We can't have you here as a reluctant diner among a host of keen participants in the delights we provide. I hope you will be as comfortable as you can be during your evening here. I saw you were perusing the 'fancy' menu earlier, have you decided what you fancy?" That slight smirk had returned to his lips, but tempered with a little softening around the eyes which I interpreted as the nearest Mr Carroll ever got to a warm smile.

In for a penny in for a pound, I thought, "I'm afraid my schoolboy French has completely disappeared from my tired brain and I couldn't work out a single item on the menu. I may have to put myself and my preferences in your experienced hands."

"Mmm, fine. Firstly, do you have any food allergies that I need to consider, Mr Jolly?" Mr Carroll asked and I shook my head in lieu of 'no'. "Then I suggest one of our signature main dishes ... in simple English, it is tender slow-cooked lamb and mussels pie, with a light onion gravy and creamy butter mash with grated truffle; for a starter, as this is the night of lovers, we have oysters or you may prefer mussels that in this instance is cooked in a creamy garlic sauce, the garlic only a hint..."

"Night of Lovers!" I exclaimed as the implications of the evening dawned on me, "of course, it is Valentine's Day, the fourteenth of February, no wonder you are so busy, Mr Carroll."

"I assure you, Mr Jolly, we are always busy, but I do admit that tonight we are absolutely packed, with most tables booked for at least two sittings. Your table, of course, is yours for however long you want tonight and the ambiance I assure you is worth being part of for as long as possible."

"No, that's fine, I'm not a big eater," I assured him, "I'll just have the pie and mash you suggested and get out of your hair, so you can fit someone else in."

"We cannot possibly do that, Mr Jolly," he actually smiled, I was almost sure it. It was so brief a change of countenance that I almost persuaded myself that I was mistaken.

He continued, "It might be considered rude to leave so early because you have a dining companion this evening. She is seated already and waiting her appetiser as well as your arrival. The lady may well wish to enjoy your company for far longer than just the main course. You may not usually be a consumer of large meals, Mr Jolly, but our courses are extraordinarily good at invigorating our diners' appetites one dish at a time."

"Oh, I'm sharing the table! Has her Ladyship decided to dine tonight?" I asked, continuing, "she must've made good time as she waved me off from the front door and she didn't appear to have her chauffeur or even her car standing by."

"No, the lady at your table is not Lady Moulsthorpe, Mr Jolly, but a lovely young lady more your age, a Miss Milly Sangster, will be dining with you; do you know her at all?"

"No, never even heard of her," I replied.

"Milly is quite a regular, she dines with us several times a month, although usually on her own in recent months, but she used to visit us a lot more often with her husband in years past. I noticed that she doesn't wear her wedding band on her ring finger any more and so I assume she is either separated or divorced. Perhaps, her Ladyship is playing matchmaker on such a night as this? Or perhaps Miss Milly is here in her role as food critic for the local newspaper and reviewing how we're handling Valentine's Day diners?"

"A food critic?" I said, "I doubt we will have much to talk about. I'm even more certain that I'll be just one dish and done. I've got to get my daughter's bedroom in the cottage tidied up to the court's satisfaction as soon as poss, so I can get her to stay with me when it's my turn to keep her overnight, and I need to spend as much time as I can on it before I start pruning apple trees all next week."

"Mmm, Mr Jolly, I do not wish to pry, but we at Moulsthorpe Restaurant like to consider our diners as friends who we want to see return to us time and time again. Now, you say you are working for her Ladyship voluntarily and she is allowing you to stay in one of her cottages gratis. Plus she is feeding you gratis tonight. Could I enquire about your circumstances without prejudice of your position as an honoured guest diner and therefore friend of this establishment?"

"Um ... I am recently divorced," I said resignedly, "the decree nisi came through at the start of last week and I was forced to leave what is now my ex-wive's home where I've slept in the spare bedroom, more an office really, for the previous three months or so. I'm on Job Seeker's Allowance of £90 a week, payable fortnightly, and I can't get a job of any kind anywhere locally because my wife's lover was my boss and he sacked me with prejudice as soon as I started divorce proceedings."

"Very good, Mr Jolly ..."

"John," I said with a sigh, "everyone calls me John; I've not been very Jolly for a while."

"Okay, John," he almost smiled again, "I wonder, though, where does Lady Moulsthorpe come into your story?"

"I was looking in the Greater Moulsthorpe newsagent's window at the postcard ads for digs, having removed myself from the marital home. The decree nisi came through much quicker than I thought and I'd hoped to find a job and get my share of the family savings before I had to leave. I found a bed-sit I could afford and stayed there for a few days. However, I had also noticed in the window a poster for volunteers needed to run classes for U3A based at both the Moulsthorpe Primary School and the Village Hall. I checked with the Job Centre to see if I could run a free course on DIY for the U3A. They've virtually given up getting me a job as my sacking has blacklisted me from anything local and I can't travel to work without a car as I lost the company van as soon as I was sacked. I would need a vehicle to get to any distant workplace and yet I need to stay living nearby so I can regularly see my 9-year-old daughter. So I started doing a couple of basic DIY courses for the U3A to help keep me sane and also did some volunteer repair jobs for some of the members who needed help. Lady Moulsthorpe is Chair of the U3A local branch and she has given me two weeks of gardening work and then, completely out of the blue, has given me one of the tied cottages to stay in, in exchange for trying to make the row of three cottages habitable again."

"The row of cottages in Ludlow Lane?" he asked.

"Yeah, those," I admitted.

"They've been empty for ten years at least!"

"They are dirty and have clearly been neglected, but they are sound, quite solid, mostly needing some elbow grease to clean up the mould and mildew. Then I'll PAT-test the electrics, check the plumbing for leaks and air bubbles, and next payday I will try and gradually replace the rotting fabrics as long as Lady Moulsthorpe lets me stay on."

"Okay, John, thanks for your honesty. Where did you used to work and what did you do before?"

"Swinleys kitchens and bathrooms in Greater Moulsthorpe industrial estate. I worked there man and boy for 19 years as estimator, basically as a quantity surveyor. Once the salesman makes the sale and jots down the outline of the job to a basic price list, I would go in, measure up properly, look for any making-good issues, calculate costs of removing what's there, before installation that needs doing, work out and order all materials, assess skilled and less skilled operators needed and timings, schedule the unit build and installation teams, all entered on CAD and spreadsheet to work out profit margins and that the price quoted meets what we are prepared to do the job for."

"Swinleys, eh?" Mr Carroll said, "They have a great reputation for the quality of their work locally. How did they get you out, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Never had a complaint before, until I found my boss screwing my wife about four months ago. She works there still, in accounts and has done for years, except for maternity time off when my daughter Cassie was born until she started play school. Mr Groater the boss called me into the office three days after I found him and Katie, my ex-, in fragrante delicto when I came home early from work with a migraine. He showed me printed out 'evidence' of three drastically wrong estimates and forged three letters to me dated a month apart warning me of losing my job if I didn't improve, and before I could take it all in Security escorted me off the premises. No payment in lieu of notice, no holiday pay, no redundancy, just instant dismissal based on false evidence. The Citizens Advice in Gravesport managed to get my accrued holiday pay owed and wages for the days worked during the calendar month before the sacking, but that took weeks to come through. The divorce judge at the hearing ruled that I had to allow Katie to stay in the house until Cassie finishes her education, continue to pay the mortgage and maintenance as well as child's allowance, leaving me completely broke. I'm supposed to have been given half the family savings after the divorce was granted but, because I defaulted on the first mortgage payment while I was still trying to set up a new bank account with no money, that the judge ruled Katie could control my half of the savings to ensure keeping up the payments."

"Aah, that's bad luck. What time in the morning were you going to start cleaning up your cottage, John?"

"Well, I was going to make a start at first light but then I have a U3A home improvement course to run from 10 to noon ..."

"You will have five or six cleaners at your cottage at 8am, John, they are trusted friends of this restaurant who owe me favours. They can be safely left to carry on cleaning your place and the other two cottages if they've got time while you are out. If they decide a skip is required, it will arrive, be filled and taken away at no cost to you. You know what this means though, don't you John?"

"That I will owe you favours which you will call upon at some future date?" I replied.

"Indeed," Mr Carroll stated.

"Like ... what for example?"

"The beer garden has rose bushes and a crab apple in the corner, for example."

"I'll fit that in sometime next week. I'll have to inform the Job Centre in Gravesport, so they may call you to check that I'm not doing paid work."

"That will be no problem, Mr Grimshaw the manager of the Job Centre is a regular diner," Mr Carroll said, "now, let's escort you to your table."

He walked off and I followed behind. I had noticed that, while he had been conversing with me, the hostess Karen had been greeting the three or four couples who had arrived and shown them to their previously booked tables. It seemed a very efficient set-up. I had no doubt that I was going to get help cleaning the cottage tomorrow. Something magical was happening to me on St Valentine's Day. For what divine purpose I knew not and felt that questioning anything good happening to me would be counter productive.

My table was towards the back of the restaurant close to the kitchen and positioned in a relatively private alcove. This old inn had been here since at least Tudor times and had gone through many changes of layout, so there were isolated vertical beams holding up the first floor everywhere, probably indicating where walls and doorways once were. As we rounded the corner and Mr Carroll moved out of my line of vision, I could see my possible dinner companion.