“That’s true,” Mrs. Lloyd agreed. “Not like in the summer.” A comfortable silence fell between them as Eirlys applied two coats of polish and then a top coat. Mrs. Lloyd watched her intently, the way she always did, and then allowed her gaze to wander to the window.
“Do you want to sit for a few moments to give your nails a chance to dry?” Eirlys asked when she had finished. “We have some new magazines you can look at, if you’re careful.”
Mrs. Lloyd shook her head and stood up.
“I think I’d just like to be on my way, if you’ll bring me my shopping bag. But before I go, I need a word with Penny. I’ve just remembered something I need to tell her. Be a love, will you, Eirlys, and ask her to come here.”
A few minutes later Penny appeared.
“Ah, Penny, there you are. Good. Now I was speaking to the deputy lady mayoress herself a day or two ago, and this year they want to do something a little more formal about the Christmas window dressings in the shops and businesses. There’s going to be a proper competition and I suggested that they couldn’t do better than having you and Victoria as the official judges.”
Heading Penny off before she could protest, Mrs. Lloyd held up her hand.
“Now, none of that. I know what you’re going to say. That you’re opening the spa and you’re too busy. But, Penny, my dear, you’ve lived in this community longer than some of us who were born in these parts, like Eirlys here, and you’re one of us now and have been for some time. So with that comes responsibilities and you should be happy that I’ve found this way for you to contribute to the life of our little town.”
“You won’t be taking no for an answer, I guess,” said a deflated Penny.
Mrs. Lloyd smiled at her.
“No, I certainly will not.” She looked at Eirlys, then back to Penny.
“Anyway, you might enjoy it. You have artistic taste and Victoria has a wonderful business sense, so between the two of you, you’ll be perfect for the job.
“All right, Eirlys, let’s be having my coat now, please.”
“You won’t be able to wear your gloves,” Eirlys warned as she held up Mrs. Lloyd’s coat. Eirlys and Penny watched as Mrs. Lloyd threaded her arms carefully down the sleeves, not allowing her tacky nails to touch the lining. Eirlys then handed Mrs. Lloyd her handbag and shopping. “I hope your hands won’t get too cold on the way home.”
“It’s not far,” Mrs. Lloyd assured her. “I’ll be fine.”
“Right, well, we’ll see you next week.”
Penny nodded.
“Mind how you go.”
* * *
Mrs. Lloyd set the shopping bag down on the kitchen table and stood by as Florence began rummaging through it.
“Oh, good, I’m glad you remembered the oranges,” she said.
Mrs. Lloyd gave her a sharp look. “Of course I remembered them. There’s nothing wrong with my memory, thank you very much!”
“I didn’t mean that, Evelyn,” Florence replied evenly. “It’s just that, me, I need to make a list or things slip my mind, so you’re doing better than most of us.”
Mrs. Lloyd threw her a dismissive glance, pulled out a chair, sat down heavily, and sighed.
“I do hate these short November days,” she grumbled. “Look at it!” she said, pointing at the pewter grey sky. “Barely gone four and already it’s starting to get dark. So dreary.” She removed her scarf, folded it, set it down on the table, placed her hands on top of it, and admired her fingernails.
“Well, I guess I’d better call Huw to see if the bridge game’s still on for tonight. With these freezing temperatures and the streets so slippery, it may be that some of the players won’t be too keen to venture out.”
“Oh, you’ve just reminded me,” said Florence, reaching into the pocket of her blue-and-white striped apron and pulling out a slip of paper. She glanced at it, then handed it to Mrs. Lloyd.
“Here you go. As I said, me, I have to write everything down or I forget. Sometimes I don’t think I’m as sharp as I used to be. Forget my head if it wasn’t screwed on! I’ve even got a little notebook now for my to-do lists and all the other bits and pieces I don’t want to forget. Anyway, Huw called and said to tell you that one of the members had decided not to go, but the game’s still on because they found a replacement at the last minute. An American. Apparently he used to give bridge lessons on one of those fancy cruise ships, so if you play your cards right, maybe you’ll get him for your partner.”
Mrs. Lloyd cocked her head.
“An American? I think I met an American man this afternoon in the square. I almost took a tumble and he came to my rescue.”
“Then it was lucky he was there.”
“Yes, it was, now that you mention it,” agreed Mrs. Lloyd. “Seemed very friendly.” She glanced at her fingernails. “But Americans do have that reputation for being friendly, don’t they?”
She studied the message and then gingerly reached into her handbag, pulled out a compact and examined her face critically, turning this way and that, holding the little mirror at different angles. She stroked the skin on her neck and sighed. After a few moments she snapped the compact shut.
“Well, Florence, while you’re figuring out what we’re going to have for our tea, I think I’ll go upstairs and lie down for an hour or so. Do you know, I’m that tired. Do my eyes look puffy to you?” Without waiting for an answer, she added, “I think a little nap will help. I want to look refreshed this evening.” She headed down the hall toward the stairs, then stopped and turned back to Florence.
“I don’t suppose we have any cucumbers in, do we? They’re meant to help with puffy eyes.”
Florence shook her head as she watched Mrs. Lloyd disappear up the stairs. She turned back to the counter and picked up an orange. Thoughtfully, she began grating the rind into a bowl and soon a zesty citrus aroma rose toward her. She glanced out the window, but the garden was now bathed a dusky darkness.
Salmon, she thought. We’ll have some nice salmon fillets with a parsley sauce and rice. Up until a few weeks ago she had been barely scraping by on a meager pension in Liverpool, and she still had difficulty believing that, thanks to Mrs. Lloyd’s kindhearted generosity, she could have almost anything she wanted for dinner.
* * *
Penny Brannigan stood in the centre of the reception area of the about-to-open Llanelen Spa and turned slowly around. Although the space was still littered with leftover construction debris, the walls had been painted a soft, sophisticated shade of green, the recessed lighting was subdued and restful, and the space gave off a feeling of calm serenity. She smiled at her business partner and friend, Victoria Hopkirk, who was pointing at a closed tool box set squarely in the corner.
“They’ll make sure their tools are neat and tidy, right enough,” Victoria grumbled, and then, gesturing at a paper coffee cup lying on its side beside an empty paint can and a few scrap ends of hardwood flooring, “but they leave all this rubbish lying around.”
“We’ll soon have it all cleared away,” Penny said soothingly. “The furniture will be delivered in a few days and we’re in really good shape for our grand opening.”
She held her arms out to the room.
“You’ve done a brilliant job, Victoria. Just a couple of months ago this place was a filthy, run-down, abandoned old building that nobody wanted, and everyone was thinking we were mad to take it on. It’s just amazing what you’ve done.”
Beautifully situated on the bank of the River Conwy, a stone’s throw from the town’s historic three-arched bridge, the charcoal grey, three-storey stone building that had been converted into the new Llanelen Spa had seen many incarnations over the past hundred and fifty or so years. It had begun life as a rather fine coaching inn and then, as horses gave way to the automobile, had gradually lost its way until the Second World War when it had seen service as a billet for the Allied soldiers who trained in the nearby hills. When the war ended and once again it no longer had a defined purpo
se, the building descended into a long period of decline, decaying by the decade. Penny had always admired its façade and loved its location and so, a few months ago, she and Victoria had bought it and poured hundreds of thousands of pounds into its renovation and refurbishment. The structure had been stripped down to its stone walls and rebuilt. Now, modernized and restored beyond its former elegance, the building had never looked better, and municipal officials were excited about the positive economic impact the new business was sure to have on the town.
“And the lighting seems perfect any time of day,” Penny continued. She turned to her friend. “Have you ever noticed that a room might seem cold and grey first thing in the morning but in the late afternoon, when the sun pours in, it seems to come alive, all warm and cozy? I noticed that in Emma’s cottage when I first moved in. The mood shift in the sitting room was very noticeable. Dramatic, even.”
Victoria smiled. “I think that’s the artist in you talking, Penny. I doubt most people notice things like that. Rooms seem pretty much the same to us-the lights are either on or off.” She paused. “But I’m glad you approve, and the great thing, O business partner of mine, is that we’ve all those bookings lined up well into March.”
“And soon you’ll be moving in here, yourself.”
“Oh, I’m so looking forward to that! Not that there’s anything wrong with your old flat, I hasten to add, but my rooms here have a wonderful view of the river. It changes all the time. It never looks the same, depending on the weather or time of day.” Her voice trailed off. “I think I see what you mean.” She laughed. “You should see it by moonlight! It’s magical.”
She sighed and looked at her watch.
“Well, I guess you should be heading back to the salon to close up for the day. I’m going upstairs to the new flat to measure up for curtains. Or should I say window treatments. I’m not sure exactly what I’m going to do yet, but I did see some beautiful fabric with Latin words on it.” She smiled and shrugged. “On second thought, perhaps more suited for a posh library.”
Penny nodded and, after one last look around the room, gathered up her handbag.
“By the way, as if we weren’t busy enough already, Mrs. Lloyd has volunteered us to judge the commercial window displays this year. But the good news is that Eirlys is doing really well at the salon. I think she really enjoys taking on the extra responsibility when I leave her in charge.” She turned to go, and then stopped.
“The smell of this place,” she said. “The new paint and all the new materials… When I was in grade seven, I was moved to a new school and I seem to remember that we started our classes before the construction was even finished. I think the paint and plaster on the ceilings were still damp. Anyway, this project just reminded me of that time. Funny how the smell of something can instantly take you back.”
Three
Mrs. Lloyd studied the cards fanned out in her newly manicured hands and then smiled across the bridge table.
“Three no trump.”
The bidding continued and a few minutes later her partner laid down his cards on the table, in descending order and by suit, so she could play the dummy’s hand in the last round of the evening.
A few minutes later, with the scores tallied, Harry Saunders leaned across the table to take her hand.
“Well played, partner! And your hands look lovely, by the way.”
Mrs. Lloyd smiled broadly.
“Oh, I can’t tell you how much I enjoy having you as a partner,” she exclaimed. “You’re such a clever player. On every hand you just seemed to know what my next move was going to be!”
Saunders smiled at her, then glanced toward the back of the multipurpose room where the other players were starting to gather.
He shot Mrs. Lloyd a quizzical look.
“Oh! Yes, one of the ladies always organizes a little snack for us afterward,” she explained as she pushed her chair back. “Sandwiches with pickles and a cup of tea. Come along now, or the best ones will be snapped up. Oh, I do hope Glynnis made those egg and cress ones I like!”
“Glynnis?”
“Yes, Glynnis Bowen. She’s married to Huw Bowen, who organizes our card evenings here in the community centre.” She lowered her voice. “He’s quite controlling. Insists on everything being just so, but I guess you have to be that way, sometimes, if you want things to run smoothly.” She gave Harry a conspiratorial smile. “Bit of a stuffed shirt, really, but I suppose you’d expect that from a bank manager.”
Mrs. Lloyd prattled on as the two made their way to the white-clothed table where she eagerly helped herself to several sandwiches. With a nice little selection carefully arranged on her plate, she stood by Harry’s side as the other card players approached him, welcoming him to the group, hoping he’d be able to come again and asking polite questions about what had brought him to Llanelen. Did he have family here? Distant ancestors and tracing his roots, perhaps? After a few words with each of them, he disentangled himself and turned to Mrs. Lloyd.
“Would you mind if we sat down over there for a moment? There’s something I’d like to ask you,” he said, pointing to one of the empty card tables.
“Oh!” breathed Mrs. Lloyd. When they were seated, he leaned forward.
“I thought you played the hands you were dealt very well tonight, Mrs. Lloyd,” he said. “I enjoy playing cards with a partner who knows what she’s doing. Those preemptive bids of yours really had our opponents on the run.”
“Oh, do call me Evelyn, please,” Mrs. Lloyd said, and then added, as if to try out the taste of his name on her lips, “Harry.” Harry gave her a broad, encouraging smile. “And that’s very high praise coming from you,” she continued, “as I understand you give bridge lessons on those big fancy cruise ships. I’ve never been on a cruise, but I’d like to hear all about it. Is the food really as good as they say it is?”
“Indeed, it is.” Harry laughed. “But there’s much too much of it, I’m afraid.” He patted his stomach which showed no signs of excess. “You have to be careful not to overdo it. Most passengers gain at least five pounds a week.”
Mrs. Lloyd leaned toward him.
“What was it you wanted to ask me?”
“Do you know, sitting here with you, it’s gone right out of my mind.”
“Well, I’m sure you’ll think of it. It’ll probably come to you later.”
By now the card players were beginning to set their empty tea-cups down on the table and head off to the cloak room to collect their coats. The volunteers who looked after the refreshments, led by Glynnis Bowen, talked quietly as they stacked and rinsed used cups and saucers and packed leftover sandwiches and biscuits into plastic containers. At the other end of the room, the community centre caretaker emerged from a small office under the stairs and began folding up card tables, snapping their folding legs into place with a metallic click, and carrying them off to a storage cupboard.
“Well,” said Mrs. Lloyd with a sigh, “that’s it for another evening. We’d best hand in our cups and be on our way.”
“May I see you home?” Harry asked. “Or perhaps Mr. Lloyd will be coming to pick you up?”
“Oh dear me, no,” Mrs. Lloyd said. “Sadly, I lost my Arthur several years ago. He wasn’t much of a bridge player, but he was wonderful on the dance floor. I do miss those days.” They set their cups down on the table, thanked the volunteers for a lovely evening, and jostled along with the others reaching for their coats in the cloakroom.
“It’s funny you should say that because I’ve just remembered what I wanted to ask you,” Harry said as he held Mrs. Lloyd’s coat for her. “Besides giving bridge lessons, I’m also a certified dance instructor and I wondered what you would think of the idea of my offering dancing lessons here in the community centre. Do you think there’d be any interest in that?”
Mrs. Lloyd’s eyes lit up.
“Oh, Harry, I think that would be a brilliant idea! Get us out on the long winter nights, and it would be such fun! Perhaps
Huw or Glynnis would even help you organize it. You’d need to book the hall, arrange for the music and all that, but I think it would be very popular.”
“Well, then!” said Harry. “I’ll look into it.”
They left the building together and stepped out into the bracing cold of the November night. Under a canopy of a thousand bright stars glittering above them, Harry offered her a friendly, protective arm, and together they set off on the short walk to Mrs. Lloyd’s charming two-storey stone home.
While the caretaker stood by to switch off the lights in the community centre, Huw Bowen helped his wife into her coat.
“What did you think of the American chap, then?” he asked her.
“I thought he was very nice.”
“Hmm. Wasn’t giving much away, though, was he? ‘Where do you come from?’ ‘Here and there.’ ‘What do you do?’ ‘This and that.’ I don’t trust the fellow. What’s he got to hide?”
Glynnis turned around and faced her husband. “Huw, I’m tired. Let’s just go home, shall we?” She picked up her bags and started toward the stairs, with her husband following.
The caretaker switched off the lights behind them and locked the door.
Four
“Dancing lessons?”
Mrs. Lloyd laughed as she cracked the top of her soft-boiled egg.
“Florence, you sounded just like that old Dame Edith what’s-her-name playing Lady Bracknell!” Mrs. Lloyd did her best imitation of the famous “A handbag?” from The Importance of Being Earnest and then did it again, this time changing the words to “dancing lessons?”
Even Florence had to smile at that.
“I thought it was very enterprising of him to suggest it,” Mrs. Lloyd said. “Getting out once a week for some dancing will liven us all up and we’ll get some exercise into the bargain. I’m certainly going to sign up.” She thought for a moment. “You know, I haven’t been dancing since Arthur and I used to go to the Grand Hotel in Llandudno on Saturday nights.”
A Killer's Christmas in Wales Page 2