Lottie drained her coffee mug and placed it on the tray. “I’m surprised we didn’t see you when we were down in the summer for a holiday. We came up here once or twice because we liked the view over the village and out to sea. Still do, of course.”
“I see, so when exactly were you here?”
“For three weeks during August but I can’t remember the exact dates.”
“I can,” Hetty raised her hand as though at school, “because we came down the day after a wedding I attended and so were here from the sixth until the twenty seventh. It was Bank Holiday when we went home and the weather was absolutely glorious.”
“I see, well in that case for most of it I would have been away visiting my cousin in Hunstanton. I go every year for two weeks.”
After Miss Vickery had gone on her way, Hetty washed up and made herself and Lottie cheese on toast for lunch.
“I was just looking at the walls in the kitchen, they’re looking quite shabby round by the back door. If we had some paint I’d give them a quick coat today since we’re not going anywhere.”
Lottie took the plate from her sister’s hands. “Thank you, Het. Yes, I thought the same the other day. I’d like to decorate my bedroom too as the wallpaper in there is very faded around the window. But my Hugh always said winter wasn’t a good time of year to decorate because the light isn’t very good and it’s often too cold to open the windows and let in the fresh air.”
Hetty sat down. “Very true, and I suppose it’s best to do the whole house properly rather than patch it up now. I shall have a new carpet in my bedroom too because it’s well-worn in the doorway, and the one in here is quite stained in places so that will have to go as well.”
Lottie’s face looked alarmed and she pointed to the floor. “Oh, Het, that horrible stain over there. The one we’ve cursed. It’s just occurred to me. I mean, do you think it might be blood? Faith’s blood and the spot where she was murdered. I know blood is hard to get rid of.”
“Ugh.” Hetty put down her toast to take a closer look. “It might well be and that’s not a nice thought. Perhaps we ought to buy a rug to cover it up until we get the room done.”
“Good idea and I’m sure I saw a couple of rugs in the charity shop the other day. One of them would do as a temporary measure. We must pop down sometime and have a look.”
By midday the rain had stopped and a few patches of blue sky had appeared amongst the grey, so in the early afternoon, Misty Merryweather rang for a taxi to collect her from the hotel and drive her to Pentrillick House, as she was keen to see the Wonderland that everyone was talking about and the place where her husband had died.
On arriving she walked straight down through the avenue of trees and on towards the lake. After stepping over the police cordon she sat down on a bench and watched swans gracefully swimming across the still water. The sight reminded her of Hyde Park and the many times that she and Simeon had walked hand in hand around the Serpentine and then sat, as now, watching the swans and ducks. With her thoughts far away she recalled the many happy times before and after the short time that they had been married. He had been and always would be the love of her life.
After leaving the lake she sauntered back towards the wooden huts hoping that speaking to Finn would lift her spirit, but he and Woody were both busy with customers as were Shelley and Ginger in the adjacent chalet. Not wanting to be in the way, she wandered off towards the maze where she saw a long queue of people outside a caravan which she observed was the workplace of someone called Psychic Sid. She smiled. The idea of someone looking into her future appealed greatly because she had no idea how her life would pan out with Simeon gone. And so without hesitation she joined the long queue; her time was her own and there was no-one to wonder or worry where she was should she be gone for some time.
When Misty took a seat opposite Sid, a puzzled look crossed his face. He wondered if he had seen the lady somewhere before but if he had he couldn’t remember where and certainly not anything about her. If she were a complete stranger then he’d quite happily say the first things that came into his head but it was different with locals because he might bump into them after his predictions. As Misty placed her handbag on the floor beside her chair he noticed that she was wearing a wedding ring so at least he knew that she was married. She also spoke with an East London accent. His heart began to thump. Might she be one of the actors in the BBC soap, EastEnders? But then he never watched the programme so it was impossible for him to have seen her there. Feeling he must play it safe he span a yarn about her making new friends over the festive season but that one of them would disappear into the night leaving a gaping wound in her heart.
After leaving Sid’s caravan, Misty went back towards the chalets. As she reached Santa’s Grotto she paused and peeped inside. The children looked so happy, so content. She sighed. How nice it would be to be a child again and to recapture the magic of Christmas.
Leaving the laughter behind, she walked back towards the chalets where she saw that trade had quietened down. Glad to see a familiar face, she went to speak to Finn, happy to have someone with whom she could pass away the time. She chuckled as she recalled Sid’s prediction. For Finn, Woody, Shelley and Ginger were all new friends. Well, not Finn actually because she’d known him for some time, but the others were and so already Psychic Sid was correct in his prophecy, for her new friends would certainly all disappear into the night when Wonderland closed. She laughed. But whether or not that would leave a gaping wound in her heart remained to be seen.
Early on Thursday afternoon, at the Pentrillick Hotel, as Anna was saying goodbye to guests who were going out to look around Falmouth, an elegantly dressed lady in her mid-thirties wheeled her designer suitcase into the reception area and stopped at the desk.
Anna smiled sweetly. “Good afternoon, how may I help you?”
“Do you have a room, please?” she asked in broken English.
“Would that be for one?” Anna asked.
The lady nodded. “Yes,”
Anna looked at the computer screen. “Yes, we have two rooms available now. A double on the front of the hotel with sea views and a single on the back which looks to the open countryside. Both are on the second floor but we do have a lift.”
“The double sounds perfect, thank you.”
“And may I ask for how long you would be wanting to stay?”
“I don’t know. Three, four days, a week maybe. It all depends.”
Anna told the lady of the rates which met with her approval and then asked her name.
“Aimée,” she said, “my name is Madame Aimée Dupont.”
Chapter Twelve
News of Aimée’s arrival in Pentrillick went through the village at break-neck speed but it was not until the evening that the news reached Misty Merryweather. At the time she was in the Crown and Anchor being showered with drinks by sympathetic well-wishers, Finn and Woody amongst them. It was Shelley and Ginger who broke the news when they arrived later in the evening.
“Umm, have you heard the latest?” Shelley casually asked, looking at Misty, trying to establish if she really was who she claimed to be.
“News,” said Misty, crossing her long legs, “what news?”
“About Madame Aimée Dupont.”
Misty shrugged her shoulders and frowned. “And who might this Aimée woman be?”
Shelley cleared her throat and smiled weakly. “She says she is Simeon Dupont’s widow.”
Misty’s face froze in a look of utter confusion. Her jaw dropped and she banged her glass down on the table. “But she can’t be. I’m his widow. We got hitched in Hackney back in September.” She flashed her wedding and engagement rings as if to prove her point. “She must be an imposter who’s after his bleedin’ cake shop.”
Finn looked at Shelley. “Are you sure, Shell? I mean, might you have got your wires crossed? She could be his sister or something like that.”
Shelley shook her head. “No, she’s definitely his wife,
well, his widow. I heard it from Tess Dobson. You know who I mean: Tess, the woman that was Simeon’s waitress. She was up at the Wonderland today helping in the marquee while they sort out the café problem. I saw her when I popped in for a holly wreath for our door. Poor soul seems a bit lost with no café to work in. Anyway, she’d only just heard the news from a mate who’d sent her a text. She doesn’t know any details other than that Aimée Dupont arrived in the village this afternoon and claims to be Simeon’s widow.”
Finn shook his head. “Well, it’s news to me. Can’t believe we didn’t get wind of it while we were up there today. Having said that, neither of us had a chance to go for a wander because we were surprisingly busy, I’m pleased to say.”
Ginger felt slighted. “Well, we were busy too but I knew Shell was keen to get a wreath so I held the fort on my own. You know, us women we can multi-task and so forth.”
Finn opened his mouth to retaliate but couldn’t find the right words.
“You alright, Misty?” Ginger asked. “You’ve gone awfully quiet.”
Misty’s face was flushed. “Yeah, I’m alright, Ginge, but do you know where this French woman is staying? I mean, I think I need to have a word with her, don’t you?”
Ginger nodded her head. “Yes, you do but I’ve no idea where she’s staying.”
“I’m pretty sure it’s The Pentrillick Hotel,” said Shelley.
“What! I do hope so then I’ll see her at breakfast. Any idea what she looks like?”
Shelley shrugged her shoulders. “Sorry I don’t. All I know is that she’s French and arrived today.”
Meanwhile at the other end of the bar, as Sid was enjoying a drink with Bernie who was celebrating his birthday, he spotted Misty.
“Who’s the smashing looking bird sitting with Finn, Woody and the girls?” he asked. “I ask because she was up at Wonderland today and had her fortune told by yours truly.”
Bernie smiled. “Yes, she’s a beauty, isn’t she? She’s called Misty something or other and what’s more she’s Simeon Dupont’s widow. She arrived here a few days ago. Tuesday, I think it was and according to my missus she’s staying up at the hotel.”
“She’s who? Oh no, I hope I didn’t put my blooming great foot in it,” said Sid, trying hard to remember what he’d said to Misty. “I didn’t know who she was, you see. I mean, I thought her face seemed familiar but couldn’t place it. In retrospect, I realise I must have seen her in here if she’s been around for a couple of days but for some reason it hadn’t registered. What an idiot I am.”
“Don’t worry, I daresay she won’t have remembered much of what you told her anyway,” said Bernie, standing and taking a ten pound note from his trouser pocket. “She looks a bit of an airhead to me. Another drink, Sid? I’m going onto the whisky now. Care to join me?”
Sid nodded. “I shouldn’t as I’ve got to work tomorrow, but yes, go on, count me in.”
Chapter Thirteen
On Friday morning, Psychic Sid was woken after a late night drinking with Bernie to hear the sound of knocking on his caravan door. Rubbing his aching head, he slid out of bed and peeped through the curtains to see who was there. To his surprise, three people, two men and a woman, stood outside chatting excitedly amongst themselves. Intrigued as to the reason for their early morning visit, Sid opened the door, clutching the front of his dressing gown as he tried to fasten its sash.
“Mr Moore?” asked the pretty, young female.
Sid nodded. “That’s me.”
“If we may, we’d like to interview you.”
Sid then listened in utter amazement. The woman was a reporter from a local newspaper and the two men were members of the team who published The Pentrillick Gazette. The reason for their visit was because all had heard of his uncanny predictions regarding a murder in Pentrillick before the festive season was out. Sid was flabbergasted and flattered too as they sang his praises and asked if they might take his picture for the articles they wished to write. The young woman then added that they were particularly eager to learn from which of his parents he had inherited his extremely psychic skills. Realising there was money to be made from good publicity he invited them all inside his caravan, made them tea and offered them jammy dodger biscuits before excusing himself while he dressed in order to give himself time to think. He then span them a yarn about a grandmother who had been brought up by gypsies, all the time with his fingers crossed, hoping that his ancestors were not able to listen in to his blossoming fabrication. By the end of the interview Sid was hailed a celebrity and promised a large spread on the newspaper’s website as well as in print.
Meanwhile, down by the lake, two police officers removed the cordon to enable the area to be used again and then later in the day, the café was to reopen. During a meeting of the Wonderland committee earlier in the week it had been agreed they would ask Chloe whose own café in the village was closed during the winter months, if she would help them out as there was insufficient time to advertise and get someone for what little time there remained of the season.
Tess Dobson, who had worked briefly as Simeon’s waitress, was delighted to be employed again for the money earned in the café would go a long way towards the extra expenses brought about by Christmas. Furthermore, it was agreed that Emma, the student who worked at Chloe’s café during the summer holiday, could also be employed, because the college she attended was due to break up for Christmas that same day, so she would be free then to work full-time until Wonderland closed on twelfth night.
This news was welcomed by everyone, especially Patrick and Patricia who ran Pat’s Hook a Duck stall, when they learned that Chloe had a very good reputation for her Cornish pasties and that she even made her own doughnuts.
On Friday evening, patrons of the Crown and Anchor were surprised to see Aimée Dupont and Misty Merryweather walk into the pub together. They were even more surprised when it became apparent that their attitude to one another was anything but hostile. The two women had met during breakfast at the hotel when Misty had introduced herself. Aimée at first had been shocked and asked for time to get her head round the bizarre situation. They then met again in the afternoon on very amicable terms and during the conversation which ensued, Misty suggested they go to the pub in the evening to discuss the situation further in a more relaxed atmosphere.
“Are you feeling a little better now?” Misty asked, trying hard to tone down her broad Cockney speech which sounded harsh against Aimée’s attractive, soft French accent.
Aimée nodded. “Yes, thank you. I am composed again now but it was a dreadful shock to learn who you are.”
Misty smiled. “Yeah, same for me. You could’ve knocked me down with a feather when I heard you’d turned up.”
“So tell me again. How long had you and Simeon been married?” Aimée asked, “For some reason my brain seems unable to retain the facts.”
Misty took a sip of her wine. “It’s just over a couple of months now because it was back in September. It wasn’t a big do, just us and a few friends. We got married at the registry office and then afterwards had a bit of a do in a nice hotel.” She shook her head. “I can see now why Simeon only wanted a small wedding. He said it would be a lot of hassle to get his family over from France and of course I believed him.”
Aimée smiled sweetly. “So where did you meet?”
“In his shop. I liked his posh cakes, you see, and got to know one of the ladies who worked there. One day Simeon was actually in the shop and the lady introduced me. I was gobsmacked, but we sort of hit it off and he asked me out.”
“Oh, I see.”
Misty smiled. “What about you? “When did you and Simeon get hitched?”
“Hitched?” Aimée queried.
“Married.” As the word faded on Misty’s lips, her smile vanished and her brows puckered into a frown. “It’s only just struck me,” she muttered, “but Simeon must have come over here and left you on your own in France. Why on earth did he do that? I mean, it wasn�
�t very gentlemanlike, was it?”
Aimee nodded. “I’ll explain.” She cast a glance at the rings on her left hand and then took in a deep breath. “We were married fifteen and a half years ago in Paris just after my twentieth birthday on a beautiful sunny day in May. For a while everything was good but sadly it didn’t last. You see, shortly before the wedding, with the help of an aunt, I had started up my own business and because I was eager to see it succeed, it took up a lot of my time and I must admit that it was the root cause of our marriage failing. Of course Simeon had his own business too and it has to be said that he was passionate about baking. Inevitably, all too soon the novelty of being married wore off for both of us, simply because we were far more interested in, and preoccupied with, our own work than we ever were with each other. Sadly the situation did not improve and eventually it became so bad that we mutually agreed it might help save our marriage if we took a break from each other for a year or so. I knew Simeon was keen to open up a patisserie in England and so that seemed to be the perfect solution. He left Paris for London about eighteen months ago. We frequently kept in touch but our correspondence was more business-like than intimate.” She half-smiled and her voice softened. “But he always put a kiss at the end of every email.”
The colour drained from Misty’s face. “Fifteen and a half years. Cor blimey, I feel really bad now. If only I’d known.”
Aimée reached out and stroked Misty’s hand. “Don’t feel bad, ma chérie. It was not your fault.”
“Thank you, but…I mean, blimey, I’d never have married him if I knew he already had a wife.” Misty twisted the rings on her fingers. “I hardly dare ask, but did you have any nippers?”
“Nippers?”
“Sorry…kids, children.”
Aimée shook her head. “No, when we first married we both agreed that children must wait and so it never happened because the time was never right.”
A Pasty In A Pear Tree Page 9