Bobby McGee

Chapter Forty. The Search for Lodgings

Chapter Forty

The Search for Lodgings

The hotel sat atop a hill. A small stone cottage that in former years had probably lodged a gate keeper stood to the right of the ungated driveway entrance. To the left, almost concealed amongst the rhododendrons, hung a weather beaten sign with the words "The Centaur Hotel" written directly above a cracked painting of the mythical beast. In the bottom corners of the sign were two partial words "icen" and "mmer".

"They're not big on advertising are they?" Peter said. "Let's give it a try anyway."

Gillian drove the car slowly up the drive in the shade of overhanging branches of monkey tail pines. They emerged from the shadows just as the road reached a small plateau and circled to the left in front of the hotel. She stopped beside a semicircular portico covering the hotel entrance. The view was spectacular. In the distance could be seen the waters of Morecambe Bay, glistening in the afternoon sun, backed by hills browned from the summer heat. Directly in front of them was a huge, well-watered lawn that could have graced Wimbledon. It had been set up as a putting green.

"It looks lovely, Peter."

"Sure does. It's strange though."

"What do you mean, strange?"

"There aren't any other cars."

"That is a bit weird, but it looks so nice. Go and check it out. I'll wait here."

Peter slowly approached the massive double oak doors. They were each more than twelve feet high and six feet wide with large burnished brass knobs centrally located on each door. The knobs were decorative. They didn't turn, and pushing or pulling had no effect. Peter knocked as hard as he could. There was no response. He turned towards the car, shrugged his shoulders and lowered his arms with palms outward.

"Try again," Gillian yelled. As Peter turned back to the door, he spotted to the right, partially hidden by the ivy, a dark grey metal disc underneath which was written the word "PULL". He pulled. In the distance he could hear a faint ringing. He pushed the knob back in and pulled once more. Again there was a definite ringing sound, but no one came to the door.

Peter stepped back and walked over to one of the incredibly tall narrow windows, which were a feature of the ground floor of the building. Through one on the left he saw a large carpeted dining room. The tables were set for dinner with white linen tablecloths and highly polished silverware. A large fireplace dominated one side of the room with a gigantic oil painting hanging over the mantel. No diners were to be seen. A window to the right of the entrance revealed a luxurious lounge furnished with small tables, reading lamps, comfortable looking armchairs and settees – but again, no guests.

Peter was still peering in to the lounge, when one of the doors rumbled open. He sprang back under the portico. Through the half open door of the hotel he glimpsed a marble floored entrance hall, and a grand spiral staircase, but his gaze was drawn elsewhere. She was a very attractive blonde, dressed in a white frilly apron partially covering a tight fitting black silk dress. Peter guessed she was in her late twenties.

"May I help you?" she asked in a sultry voice.

"I was wondering if it would be possible to rent a room for a couple of nights."

Looking askance at Peter's khaki shorts, sandals and short-sleeved shirt, she haughtily asked, "Which company do you represent?"

"Company?" queried Peter.

"Yes, which company? This is a commercial establishment .We only take reps as guests, and even then, only those that have been recommended."

"But surely you must have rooms available. The place looks deserted."

"Oh we do. Plenty. But I'm under strict orders. Reps only during the week, and no guests at all at weekends."

"That's crazy. It's a sure way to go out of business."

"We're doing very nicely thank you, young man."

Peter, realizing that no room would be made available, changed his approach.

"Look, we're desperate to obtain a room. No one in town seems willing to take us."

"I'm not surprised," she said with a chuckle." If I were you, I would drive up the Lakes. There's a pub in Coniston, the Black Bull. They serve a fabulous breakfast and they're quite discreet." She winked. She had obviously seen Gillian in the waiting car, and the absence of a wedding band.

Peter just knew that this gorgeous creature had intimate knowledge of the Black Bull.

*****

The route to Coniston followed the A road along the western edge of the lake. It was an easier drive than along the eastern side and there were no unexpected delays. They pulled in to a small parking lot just behind the inn as dusk fell. Clouds were massing above the "Old Man" and there were rumblings of thunder. They hoped it meant the end of the heat wave. There was a spattering, but no relief.

They obtained, without any embarrassing questions, a small attic room situated directly under the eaves. It was sparsely furnished with a double bed, a bedside table holding the only lamp, a wardrobe, a dresser, and a wooden kitchen chair. The landlady showed them a communal bathroom on a lower floor containing a toilet and a sink, but no bathtub and no shower. It was going to be a hot, sticky night.

*****

A shaft of sunlight streaming through the one and only skylight directly on to his face woke Peter. He stirred and looked over at Gillian who was lying naked next to him, her body still glistening. A kiss on the forehead, and a gentle massage of her soft belly with the back of his hand, brought a whimper. Her eyes flickered open. She smiled when she saw Peter gazing at her. She looked down. Peter was rampant. Gillian gave him a playful punch on the shoulder. "I see you're ready to go again."

"Always ready to please."

"I'm beginning to think you're a sex maniac, Peter McGee."

"Likewise, Miss Dean."

Gillian laughed. "But not now Peter. It's so hot and I really need to freshen up. How about we go back to the lake - where we were yesterday?"

*****

The village was quiet. Normal on a Sunday morning as the religious minority was at church, the hikers had already left for the mountains, and the majority were sleeping off the after effects of Saturday night binges. Peter guided Gillian around the head of the lake and back on to the B road. She had adjusted well to the hazardous roads, and they made good time. Unfortunately their spot was taken, their mutual hope of solitude shattered. 

A lorry was parked in the very same spot they had stopped the previous day. On the shore were three men. One was stooped over a pump connected to a gas cylinder, the other two, were dragging a raft loaded with equipment over the rocks towards the lake. They were dressed in black diving suits.