Welcome to England

 The heavy old oak doors swung open violently, crippling the peace, crashing against the four hundred year old walnut panelling. It had been many years since they’d been treated with such disrespect, but they had seen worse in their long life, and they would, no doubt, see worse again. 

“HEY! Excuse me! Can I get a little service round here?” bellowed Hal, he dragged his suitcase over the highly polished brass threshold and onto the plush carpet. Its tiny wheels sinking into the deep, burgundy shag pile, refusing to budge any further. Beads of sweat appearing on his reddening forehead. His temper threatening to spill over.

“HEY, is there someone here who can grab my bag for me? What do you call them in England…Oh yeah, is there a Bell boy around here? Stupid backwards little island! Couldn’t even get the cab driver to get out and help! Man, I hate these business trips in to the ass-end of nowhere!” His brash New York accent at odds with every inch of the old hunting lodge, the ancient oak staircases with their ornate banisters creaked and recoiled at his crassness.

Hal began dragging his suitcase through the dimly lit entrance hall towards the reception desk. Miriam, tightened her grip on her fountain pen. Refusing to look up, she continued with her work. No, no, no she thought to herself, it’s not his fault, he’s American, and no one taught him any manners. Not his fault at all. 

“HEY LADY! A little help over here! Can’t get my case across this ridicules carpet….what’s it made from anyway? Woolly mammoth or something! Ha! Suppose you’re gonna tell me it’s quaint! Damn English call everything quaint! Just another name for old! Hey! You! I need a little help here!” 

Hal’s armpit sweat was bleeding through his suit, his greasy hair flopped over his eyes as he dragged the case through the tiny doorway and up to the reception desk. Puffing, he bent forward with his hands on his knees. Waiting until he had regained enough breath to straighten up.

Miriam, tightened on her stool, squeezing together the heels of her flat soled lace up shoes. She continued staring at her work trying not to dig the fountain pen through the paper. She took a deep breath and promised herself an extra spoonful of sugar in her bedtime cocoa. Glancing at her computer screen she tapped the buttons on the keyboard.

Hal straightened up, noticing the small brass bell on the counter in front of Miriam, he began to ring it repeatedly.

“HEY! LADY!…..can anyone help with my case?” He continued to ring the bell. Over and over.

Miriam clasped her hands together on the desk and peered at the American over the top of her half rimmed glasses. She waited…When Hal finally stopped thumping the bell he wiped his sweaty hand on the front of his suit.

“I have a reservation!”

Miriam took another deep breath.

“Good evening Sir, could I take your name please.” 

“Ha! Lady, you speak like the queen!” Hal laughed. “It’s Jackson, Hal Jackson….No relation to Michael!” Hal looked around the room to see if anybody was laughing at his insane sense of humour….nobody was. In fact, his voice could be heard in every corner of every room in the hotel…still no one was laughing.

A petit, white haired lady perched on a leather Chesterfield, reading Agatha Christie, beneath an oversized reading lamp, glanced in his direction and tutted. Miriam tapped away at her keyboard. She clasped her hands together on the desk again.

“Sorry Mr Jackson, your room is not quite ready for you yet, it won’t be long. If you could just take a seat in the snug, I’ll come and let you know when it’s ready. We won’t make you wait long.”

“Are you kidding me Lady? You’re going to stick me in a waiting room! Get me the manager….I demand to see the manager. This is ridiculous , I have a reservation….What’s wrong with this stupid little country. Wouldn’t know good service if it came up and shot you in the ass! I-.” Hal felt the tightening in his chest and hurriedly reached into his blazer pocket. Producing a brown bottle full of pills, he chucked a couple of them in the back of his mouth he washing them down with some water from his hand luggage. He puffed in and out rubbing his chest.

“Your room will be ready soon sir….please take a seat in the snug…I’ll let you know when it’s ready.” Miriam remained seated and carried on tapping away at her keyboard. Under the counter her buttocks were clenched tight. She promised herself a piece of flapjack with her Cocoa.

Hal left his case and slumped down opposite the old lady. He loosened his tie, kicked off his shoes and put his feet up on the highly polished coffee table, knocking over a neat pile of National Geographic magazines.

“Man my feet are killing me!” He barked. The old lady lowered her book and looked him up and down. She politely cleared her throat.

“Excuse me.”

 Hal flicked his phone open and scrolled through his emails.

She cleared her throat again.

“Excuse me.”

Hal was oblivious. He was oblivious to the old lady. He was oblivious to Miriam, He was oblivious to the stuffed deer heads on the walls, to the open fire roaring away in the inglenook. To the marks he’d left in the four hundred year old walnut panelling. The old lady reached for her glass, she drained the last drop of the forty year old whiskey, making sure she paused for a few seconds so as to appreciate the fullness of its smooth, peaty flavour. When she was satisfied, she moved forward into the light. Miriam glanced up, the old lady raised a hand and beckoned her over. Hal proceeded to make a phone call.

“Hey Roger! Yeah I’m here. Hey, who’s responsible for booking my accommodation? Well make sure they get the bullet will ya!...…They’ve stuck me in a waiting room!.......Yeah it’s the ass-end of nowhere! Some pokey little shooting lodge or something! Full of old people, smells of moth balls……Yeah I’ll make sure I’m on the first plane out of here once I’ve settled the deal in the morning….What’s that?....I don’t know, Cornwall or something….All the places sound the same once you leave London!”

The old lady gestured for Miriam to come closer. Miriam leaned in, the old lady whispered something to her.

“Right you are Mrs Wentworth, as you wish.”

Miriam returned to the desk. Slowly dialling an old fashioned phone with a curly cord, she waited patiently for someone to answer. She relayed the message quietly then replaced the receiver.

Shortly afterwards the old oak doors quietly opened and an older gentleman dressed in various shades of green entered the reception.

Hal hung up.

“Finally I get to see the clown in charge of this joke! I take it you’re the manager…well let me tell you something, if we were in the great U.S of A right now, my company would be suing the pants off you and your hotel. Haven’t you heard about customer service out here?....I take it my rooms ready…and I’ll be expecting some complimentary champagne for all the inconvenience!”

The older gentleman smiled to Mrs Wentworth.

“Mr Jackson, apologies for all the trouble we’ve caused you. My name’s Wilf, I’m the gamekeeper here at the lodge. I’ve been asked by the manager, by way of an apology, to see if you would allow me to take you on a little tour around our historic lodge. We could start the tour, let’s say, here in our gun room…it’s normally off limits to the guests and we’ve got some really old and unusual pieces. We know how our American guests have a particular fondness for guns, I’m sure you’d be impressed.

“Well Wilf, now you’re talking. I’ll still be expecting my champagne though! Why don’t you lead the way Wilf.”

“Of course Mr Jackson….welcome to England.”

Hal slipped on his shoes, slapped Wilf hard on the back, and followed him along a small corridor to a heavy oak door. It bore a brass plaque which read ‘Gun Room-Warning live ammunition’. 

Hal was oblivious. 

Mrs Wentworth and Miriam waited patiently. 

When the gunshot rang out, Miriam produced the bottle of forty year old whiskey from a glass cabinet and poured another dram for Mrs Wentworth. 

“Would you care to join me Miriam?”

“Oh, No thank you Mrs Wentworth, I’m having Coco tonight when I finish. I’ve been looking forward to it.”

“Ok dear, well, will you bring me another glass for Wilf…..I’m sure he’ll join me…..He’s been out shooting vermin!”