Wickham Hall, Part 2 by Cathy Bramley Page B

sundress; her face seemed free from make-up and her blonde hair was scooped up in a ponytail. Big inquisitive eyes peered out from under a heavy fringe. She broke into a huge smile when she saw the dog.
    â€˜Oh, look at you, mister!’ she cooed, instantly taking him off me. ‘Is he yours?’
    I introduced myself and Jim and Lucky and the curious crowd parted to let us through while Jim recounted the tale of Lucky’s escape from his owner.
    â€˜Well, I think this might just be our first photo opportunity of the day, Jim. Lucky and I, with Jim the dog rescuer. What do you think, Holly?’ Suzanna beamed.
    I was thrilled for Jim. He was pink-eared, besotted and overcome with happiness, and I left them in the festival office being looked after by Sheila just as Lucky’s owners turned up to collect him.
    There was a bandstand ahead, which was currently unoccupied, so I headed for it. Sunlight still filtered through the ivy-covered roof but at least there was partial shade. I perched on the edge for a moment and massaged my temple. I had been exposed to the sun for almost four hours now, my neck felt sore and I had a sneaking suspicion that I was on the verge of a headache.
    I checked my itinerary and cringed inwardly; goodness, I was supposed to have spent the last hour with the official festival photographer but I hadn’t seen her since the ribbon-cutting ceremony. I was sure she’d be fine; I had sent her a list of the pictures we needed, but even so, I felt bad for abandoning her. Never mind, I decided, getting to my feet, I’d arrange to meet her at the indoor arena later for the start of the charity auction where she could take pictures of Lord Fortescue with the gavel in his hand. If all else failed, I would see her then.
    Right now I needed a drink. If I didn’t have water soon, my tongue would be hanging out like Lucky’s, not to mention the fact that I was feeling a bit light-headed. I set off in search of some water and was almost at the refreshment stall when there was a tap on my shoulder.
    â€˜Holly!’
    I whirled round to see Jenny dressed in a purple polka-dot dress, her hair flowing loosely.
    â€˜I’ve never seen those before!’ I grinned, pointing at her bare legs.
    â€˜I’m front of house at the outdoor restaurant,’ she explained. ‘No need for chef whites today.’
    â€˜But no pockets for hidden treats,’ I said, pulling a sad face.
    â€˜No.’ She folded her arms. ‘I’m not in the mood for treats, anyway. Do you know we’ve only got eight bookings for lunch?’
    Eek, that was low.
    â€˜I didn’t know that, no.’ I sighed.
    â€˜Can you do something about it, do you think?’
    â€˜Um . . .’ I thought briefly about Ben making me promise not to tackle every problem by myself, but then I remembered what Pippa had said at my interview: the Fortescues were the public faces of Wickham Hall and today Ben was doing his job. It was up to me to do mine.
    â€˜I’ll go back to the festival office and print out some flyers to hand out at the ticket booths,’ I offered. ‘That should spread the word.’
    â€˜Thanks,’ she said flatly.
    â€˜Jenny,’ I smiled, making an effort to be upbeat, ‘it’s only eleven thirty; there’s plenty of time yet and don’t forget that Lord Fortescue is coming with two guests.’
    Jenny shrugged, unimpressed. ‘All right, eleven. Still not enough.’
    â€˜And as soon as passing trade sees those lucky eleven diners, they’ll be snapping your hand off for a table.’
    She cocked her head. ‘But there isn’t any passing trade,’ she said sarcastically, ‘because you made the restaurant secluded and exclusive. Remember?’
    I swallowed. To be fair that was Ben’s idea but I didn’t want to drop him in it. I opened my mouth, hoping that something soothing would emerge but instead my