The House on Rosebank Lane Read online

  Without realising it, she had taken her eyes from the trees and had started to slowly stroll through the park and on to Pilrig Street itself. She had been so deep in her thoughts she had to literally give herself a shake. It was time, she reminded herself, to stop thinking back because today she was on her way to visit Stella. Stella, who had frequently called on her after Dixie died. Dear loyal Stella, who would just sit and not comment when she had railed against Duncan’s injustices to Dixie – Dixie, who had so enjoyed life, and who had been denied the chance to go on living the life he so clearly cherished.

  Still half-oblivious, Kirsten had diced her way through the traffic to the far side of the road. That main road then took her into the lane where Stella’s house stood. On seeing the house come into view she smiled. She was now thinking that today, as promised, she would sit down with Stella. They would then discuss something of great importance to Stella. Her grin widened when she thought that today it might be her turn to listen and stay tight-lipped.

  Mrs Baxter, as usual, opened the door to Kirsten. Also, as was customary, she asked Kirsten if she would be having tea or coffee. ‘Tea, please, Mrs Baxter,’ she replied while advancing towards Stella’s lounge.

  ‘Bang on time, Kirsten,’ Stella observed before laying down the Scotsman she had been reading.

  Kirsten nodded. There then followed a chat about this, that and nothing at all, until Mrs Baxter had served them their tea and diplomatically taken her leave.

  Stella sighed. ‘Right, Kirsten, my dear, what I require is your ear.’

  ‘Why?’

  Stella chuckled as she lifted her arthritic hands up and waved them towards Kirsten. ‘Ten out of ten to you, Kirsten, for being very diplomatic and not mentioning the fact that not only am I growing old but I now look it. Hands are like my face now – all twisted and wrinkled.’

  Kirsten tittered before saying, ‘Yes, but you are still sprightly . . . and you are so vivacious and lively that you belie your age.’

  ‘True, I still have all my marbles, but physically I am just so sick and tired.’

  ‘Of what?’

  ‘The hassle.’

  ‘Don’t tell me the police pressure has been stepped up again.’

  Stella nodded. ‘Never really went away.’

  ‘But I thought there had been a decrease in their attention to you since . . .’

  ‘They threatened to close me down and I took them on?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘It is true that there is no longer an eviction notice hanging over me . . .’ Stella sighed. ‘But every chance they get they pull me up for every petty misdemeanour, and that is whether I have committed it or some other person six streets away. Honestly, Kirsten, it borders on blatant harassment.’

  Kirsten bit on her lip to control her laughter. ‘But surely you expected that after you called that press conference?’ she said.

  ‘I had no alternative but to call that conference! And always putting as much business as I can towards you, I even hired your hotel for the meeting!’

  Kirsten squirmed. ‘Yes, but when you stated that your most regular and loyal customers were the clergy within all our religious groups within our city, well . . .’

  ‘Truth hurts.’ Stella snorted and shrugged. ‘Especially those who believe they are the keepers of the truth.’

  Kirsten stifled a smile before quipping, ‘And I don’t suppose the landed gentry were too happy to be mentioned in your despatches.’

  ‘Hasn’t, I can assure you, affected their attendance at Castle View!’ Stella stopped to ponder. ‘In fact, most have stepped up their visits. Think the notoriety we were given has added to their titillation and excitement.’

  ‘Okay, I accept that you are being harassed.’ Kirsten took a sip of her scalding strong tea. ‘But you are not in danger of being put out of business, so why have you asked me here today?’

  Stella drew her chair closer to Kirsten’s. ‘Having assessed the situation and the fact that I am weary, I have decided . . . Kirsten, I wish to get out of the business.’

  ‘Good. So why don’t you sell up?’

  ‘Certainly I could do just that. But, Kirsten, there are others dependent on their living from . . .’ Her right hand encircled the room.

  ‘If you are concerned about dear Marigold and the girls, surely they will be kept on by whosoever takes over the business.’

  ‘Not just Marigold and company.’ Stella fell silent. Kirsten could see by the way she was biting her lower lip that Stella had another worry. ‘There is also my son in London. Through no fault of his own, he has inherited his father’s flair for being . . . a waster, really. Would you believe that he completely depends on me to keep him afloat?’

  ‘I see,’ said Kirsten, as realisation sunk in. ‘So, the money you would get from the sale of Castle View would soon be eaten up?’

  ‘At the rate Jamie squanders money, believe me it would all be gone and I would still be here. But I have a plan that would help us all.’

  ‘A plan?’

  ‘Yes, a wonderful plan.’ Stella was now quite animated. ‘One that I require your assistance with,’ she added with a chuckle.

  ‘My assistance!’

  ‘No need to look alarmed. I just wish you to advise me.’

  ‘You require advice from me . . . about exactly what?’

  ‘How to turn this house into an upmarket bed and breakfast.’

  ‘You’re thinking of turning this place into a small hotel?’

  ‘No. You see a hotel, as you know, requires a liquor licence and I wouldn’t get one. Powers that be seem to think I am a reincarnation of Lucrezia Borgia, or someone yet worse, and therefore I am not a fit person to pour up a dram.’

  Kirsten giggled.

  ‘You can laugh, but it is true that they see me as some sort of hellcat. As you know all I do is provide a service. A service that I do not advertise, yet men, some of whom dream up the rules we must abide by, queue up at my door to take advantage of.’

  Kirsten was going to reply, but she hesitated. This gave her time to allow her eyes to sweep the room. She could see that Stella’s proposal had merit. Castle View at one time must have been the multi-roomed seat of a very distinguished family. Now it was an upmarket – and notorious – house of ill-repute. But anyone could see that if it were gutted and refurbished, it could become a pleasingly superior bed and breakfast accommodation. This would mean that Stella could keep her home and still provide an income for her spendthrift, wayward son. Only snag Kirsten could foresee was, would the Edinburgh Corporation grant a ‘change of use’ for the house? But then Kirsten smiled inwardly: of course they would, nothing would please them more than to get this thorn in their flesh pruned right back – right back to respectability.

  Stella interrupted her thoughts. ‘Nothing to say?’

  Kirsten nodded. ‘Of course I have plenty to say. Oh yes, Stella, I can see clearly what you mean. And I agree that your home would make excellent bed and breakfast accommodation.’ Kirsten stopped to weigh up the obstacles. ‘But have you considered that there will be a considerable loss of income?’

  Stella nodded.

  ‘Also what are you going to do about Marigold and the girls?’

  ‘The girls I will give warning to.’

  ‘Warning?’

  ‘Yes, in that I will advise them to consider their position. I won’t beat about the bush. I will tell them straight out that in three months’ time this house will no longer be accommodating their clients. It will then be up to them either to carry on with their trade under a different roof and management or find alternative employment. I admit that neither option will be easy for them, but if they are determined, they will find something to suit. Now when I say them, that means everybody except Marigold.’ Stella smiled. ‘Where she is concerned, you and I will see to it that we train her up to run the bed and breakfast.’

  Kirsten nodded – such a role would fit Marigold like a glove. ‘And your son?’

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p; Stella sighed. ‘He will have to get used to providing some of his needs by himself.’ She then added, more for her benefit than Kirsten’s, ‘And that won’t be a bad thing. No. No, the time has come for me to advise him to stop sponging from me for his every need. I accept that it will come as a shock to him that his playboy days are over.’ She paused and grimaced. ‘And, even worse, he will now realise he will have to equip himself with some earning skills. Skills that will see him survive when I am gone.’

  ‘But, not wishing to be morbid, when you go, will he not just sell up here and live off the proceeds?’

  ‘If he were left my home, he could. But that is something else I have to see to.’

  Kirsten looked at her friend, quizzically.

  ‘I am going to make a new will. My sons will get any loose change I leave lying about, but as you can leave your home to anyone you wish . . . some people, including my sons, will be in for a surprise, a big surprise, when I go.’

  ‘So that is that, then?’

  ‘Yes and no, Kirsten. You see, I wish you to keep us right on what our new customers will expect from Marigold and me as landladies. Also, if you could please help us by advising on the refurbishment.’ Stella stopped to look Kirsten directly in the eyes before adding, ‘And, of course, I expect you to return the courtesy I paid you when I hosted my press conference at your hotel.’

  ‘Sorry, Stella, I don’t quite get your meaning here.’

  ‘Put your surplus business my way . . . just at the start, that is.’

  Kirsten chuckled. ‘You wish me to direct those I cannot accommodate at Armstrong’s down here?’

  ‘Yes, dear. And also the ones who cannot afford your inflated room charges.’

  Kirsten bristled at that. ‘Stella, I’m sorry but I would like to point out that Armstrong’s provides a first-class service and we only charge what is fitting for that service.’

  Stella laughed at her friend’s indignation. ‘Yes, I accept business is business. However, there will be those who,’ she coughed, ‘like here, cannot afford the exotic and have to settle for the . . .’ She hesitated, a wicked grin playing on her lips. ‘Let’s just say, less appealing.’

  Kirsten nodded. She got the message loud and clear.

  And so it was that Kirsten was co-opted in to assist with the long overdue change of use for Castle View. She knew that the decision to make these changes would not only be welcomed by the neighbours in Pilrig Street and beyond, but also by the ever-vigilant constabulary.

  *

  Assisting with the renovations of Castle View gave Kirsten a much-needed distraction from her mourning. But then that had been the first of Stella’s objectives – albeit her secret one. The second reason was that she knew from experience that Kirsten, like her mother Aileen, had a flair for colour and design where curtains and bedding were concerned. Her third objective, probably the most important one to her, was she wished to tap into Kirsten’s expertise where running a hotel was concerned. After all, hadn’t Kirsten, and Jessie to a lesser degree, dumbfounded those who thought that Armstrong’s would never become the profitable hotel it now was.

  At the beginning of December Kirsten advised Stella that she would be standing back from assisting her from now on until after the first week in January. This was to allow her to be on hand in York Place for the festive season. She smiled when she added, ‘And Stella, both Jessie and I are delighted that we are fully booked out with office lunches, dinners, dances and Hogmanay revellers.’ She winked before she said, ‘And in December next year I hope you too will do equally well.’

  Nonetheless, Stella was piqued by the fact that Kirsten wasn’t going to be around. This was because it was her intention to open Castle View for the Hogmanay celebrations. Indeed, she had hoped that she would have her precious change of use for the property in hand to start her new business and be making money when the bells heralded in the new year of 1973.

  What Stella did not quite appreciate was that Kirsten really would be disappointed not to be there for the grand opening. However, much as Kirsten would wish to assist Stella on that occasion, she had to put the needs and obligations of Armstrong’s first. After all that was her bread and butter.

  As 1973 loomed ever closer, Kirsten’s thoughts turned to Bea. Bea, her firstborn, would be eighteen soon. Kirsten drew up and smiled as she thought, That is what I can do that might help to break the ice between us – give her a present of anything that she would like for her very special birthday.

  Kirsten wondered whether Bea would say that she wished to get a passport and go on a foreign holiday, and so she decided to approach Bea at the earliest opportunity.

  Sunday, the family day, when neither Kirsten nor Bea would be working at the hotel, seemed to Kirsten to be the ideal time to speak to her daughter. However, like most teenagers, Bea liked to sleep late on a Sunday, so it was approaching lunchtime when she surfaced from her bed, her hair a tangle and her eyes sleepy.

  ‘I suppose I’ve missed breakfast, and lunch will be awhile,’ Bea remarked, as she strolled into the lounge.

  ‘Yes,’ Kirsten replied, ‘but I could make you a bacon roll.’

  ‘Thanks, Mum,’ Bea snorted. ‘Suppose it will have to do.’

  While Kirsten was in the kitchen busying herself frying the bacon, she called back, ‘Bea, since it won’t be that long until you are eighteen I was wondering what you would like for your special birthday? Don’t be scared to ask for anything you really would like!’

  ‘In that case I’d like to ask – no, demand – that I can stop working in your damn awful hotel! Mother dear, that is all I wish for. And before you answer, let me remind you that you said when I was eighteen I could leave school and either get a job or go to college. And whatever option I plunked for I would no longer be obliged to work in blasted Armstrong’s!’

  Before Kirsten could reply, Jane came into the living area. ‘Mum,’ she called through to the kitchen, ‘could you stop cooking? The smell is . . .’ She swallowed hard. ‘Oh, Mum, I think I must have got that sickness bug that is going around the school.’

  Kirsten entered the room with a bacon roll on a plate and a mug of tea, both of which she handed to Bea. Going over to Jane, she said, ‘Oh, darling, you do look a bit peaky. Have you been sick?’

  Without warning, Jane started to flee towards the bathroom. ‘Not until. Oh please, please let me make it . . .’ she called out as she sped.

  All that could then be heard was Jane vomiting violently.

  ‘Well, if that is not enough to put me off this cremated bacon roll, I don’t know what else is,’ Bea said before stomping into the kitchen and dumping her belated breakfast in the bin.

  Kirsten was now knocking on the bathroom door. ‘Jane, please unlock the door and let me help you.’

  ‘It’s okay, Mum, I’m on my knees cuddling the lavatory. Best place for me, as I feel so . . .’ Kirsten could hear her throw up again.

  Kirsten couldn’t help but smile. That was Jane all over. No matter what happened to her she never wished to be a bother to anyone – never really complained. She was so unlike Bea, who whinged her way through life. Without further ado, Kirsten returned to the living room, where she found Bea lounging on a chair.

  ‘So, you were saying, you no longer wish to work in my hotel?’

  ‘That’s right. I will be going to college. And before you ask what I will be studying, I am now thinking of doing something that would cover family relationships.’

  Kirsten did not rise to the bait. ‘That’s just so good to hear, dear,’ she simpered. ‘So glad you have made up your mind. And I will finance your fees, accommodation and books. Which means you will only need to earn your pocket money.’

  ‘But – but you said I wouldn’t need to work in Armstrong’s.’

  ‘Indeed, but with the experience you have gained at the hotel I am sure you will soon find some other employer to take you on.’

  Before Bea could reply, a very sickly Jane came back into the lounge.
‘Mum,’ she said as she breathed in deeply, ‘sorry, but I can’t go out with Rosie today.’ She paused to burp. ‘Could you explain to her what’s wrong with me?’ She gulped again. ‘Hope you don’t mind, but right now I just want to climb back into bed.’

  ‘That’s what you get for eating school dinners,’ Bea said, her face hard. ‘If you were like me and bought a sandwich you could have carried on being the wee toady you are and sucked up again to Rosie’s mum by pretending you’re Rosie’s friend.’

  Kirsten glared at Bea. ‘Look, Jane, let me get you through to bed.’

  ‘But, Mum, I still feel sick.’

  ‘That’s okay. I will put a basin by your bed.’

  ‘Thanks, Mum. And I will try and be okay by tomorrow. You see, the other girls in my class who have had it were better after a day.’ She hesitated and sighed. ‘But a few were two, even three days.’

  ‘Don’t worry, darling. We all understand. Now, off you go.’

  Once Jane had left, Kirsten turned to Bea. ‘Since you hate the hotel so much, would you like to stay off this week and look after Jane for me?’

  ‘And who,’ Bea asked, will you draft in to serve in the restaurant?’

  ‘Myself. I have done it many, many times before so it won’t be a problem.’

  ‘That’s all settled then.’ Bea smiled, or was it a smirk, before wheedling, ‘Where the hotel is concerned. But, Mum, you were saying I really could have anything I wanted for my birthday?’