Page 35 of Road Trip
“Hmm,” Therese mumbled.
Maeve looked sideways. Her sister had nodded off. She would have to be her own navigator. Which might be a blessing.
Two hours later,Maeve spotted the turnoff for Tarrymore. The road narrowed and she found herself driving through what felt like a tunnel of green in an old-growth forest. Shafts of sunlight barely penetrated the thick tree canopy. Once she spotted deer grazing placidly at the edge of the woods. It was like driving through a fairy tale. At any moment Maeve expected Robin Hood or Peter Pan to flit through the treetops.
She slowed the car and turned onto the road for Tarrymore Estate and Inn. The surface was gravel and bumpy, and as she grew closer to the hotel the forest gave way to a thick carpet of emerald-green grass and curving manicured flower beds bursting with blooming roses, peonies, and tiny blue and pink flowers she couldn’t identify. Over the tops of the trees, in the distance, she saw the soaring roofline of what must be the Tarrymore mansion.
When she saw a sign for guest parking she turned into the lot.“Therese,” she said, tapping her sister’s shoulder. “Hey, Terri. Wake up. We’re here.”
“Wow…”Theresesaidas they wheeled their suitcases toward the inn’s entrance. They were approaching an imposing stone-and-brick Tudor edifice. “This isn’t even the main house, right?”
“This was originally the gamekeeper’s lodge, if you can believe it,” Maeve said. “It has fourteen rooms.” The lodge had obviously suffered well-meaning but clumsy modernizations, including a carport-type addition rising above the valet parking driveway.
The front doors were heavy and dark oak, and when they pushed through they were in the lobby, which featured more dark oak paneling and stained-glass window panels depicting hunters in pursuit of deer, pheasant, and boars.
The sisters approached the reception desk. An older man wearing an ill-fitting burgundy blazer with a Tarrymore Estates embroidered crest on the breast pocket looked down at them through wire-rimmed glasses. “May I help you?”
Maeve gave them her name and he typed it into a computer terminal and frowned. “We weren’t expecting you for another two hours. I’m afraid your room isn’t ready.”
“But I asked, and paid extra for an early check-in time,” Maeve protested. She plucked a printout from her folder and placed it on the countertop. He glanced at it and shrugged.
“Sorry. Staff shortages, you know, but you’re free to have a seat in the lounge, and I’ll come right over to let you know as soon as your room is ready.”
“Gaaaawd,” Therese groaned.
“No scenes, please,” Maeve said under her breath, steering her sister by the elbow away from the desk.
The “lounge area” consisted of four easy chairs upholstered in worn burgundy velvet. Maeve planted her suitcase beside one and Therese took the opposite chair. “Is this what you call shabby chic?” Therese asked, looking around.
The interior of the hotel was not nearly as impressive as the exterior. Here, the veneer of luxury seemed to have been rubbed thin. The oriental rugs were threadbare in places and the heavy drapes at the windows looked dusty.
But there was a roaring fire in the fireplace warming the chilly lobby air, and the chairs were deep and comfortable. Maeve unlaced her tennis shoes and extended her feet toward the warmth of the fire.
A minute later, another uniformed staff member appeared, a skeletal woman with jet-black hair scraped into a severe bun. She extended a large silver tray holding two heavy cut-glass tumblers and a crystal decanter holding an amber liquid.
“Would you care for a complimentary taste of our Olde Tarrymore whiskey? It’s distilled right here on our property,” she said in a posh accent.
Maeve waved away the glass. “No thanks. It’s a little early for me.”
Therese took the glass that was offered, knocked it back, and reached for the glass her sister had refused. “Don’t mind if I do.”
Maeve waited until the server wandered away. “Try not to get shit-faced, please. I’ve booked us a two o’clock tour of the estate.”
Therese yawned theatrically and closed her eyes. “Wake me when the room’s ready.”
An hour laterthey were admitted to their room. Therese looked around, unimpressed. “I’ve stayed in nicer rooms at a Motel Six in Myrtle Beach.”
Maeve didn’t disagree. The walls were painted battleship gray, the drapes at the single narrow window were a shiny synthetic burgundy brocade, and the quilted bedspreads were made of the same fabric. The furniture consisted of a pair of twin beds and a flimsy four-drawer faux mahogany dresser with a matching single nightstand placed between the beds.
Therese flung the drapes aside. “Oh, look, a great view of the parking lot.”
She opened the bathroom door and peeked inside. Gray linoleumfloor, old-fashioned claw-foot bathtub, and a serviceable pedestal sink. “At least it’s clean.”
When Therese sat on the edge of the bed, the mattress sagged. “I think this thing might be the only true antique in the joint.”
“It’s all they had in our price range,” Maeve said, feeling defensive. “The only other option was a youth hostel by the train station in the next village over, where we’d have to share a bathroom—probably with high schoolers backpacking across Europe.”
“No thanks. Been there, done that.” Therese began unpacking her suitcase, tossing clothing into the dresser drawers.
