Aunt Bessie Joins

by Diana Xarissa

  “Bessie, why don’t I put that bag in my boot for you?” a voice at Bessie’s elbow asked.

  “Dave, what are you doing here?” Bessie asked, surprised to see her taxi driver standing beside her.

  “I came in to get some things for my lunch,” he explained. “I have about half an hour now before I’m meant to pick you up, so I thought it would be a good time to eat.”

  Bessie insisted on carrying the bag out to the taxi herself, even while Dave tutted at her.

  “I’ll see you in half an hour,” she told him. “If I can get through the crowds by then.”

  “There’s no rush,” he assured her. “I don’t mind a long lunch break.”

  Bessie rushed around the store as much as she could, trying to focus on what she needed for meals for the rest of the week, excluding Christmas. She’d do another shop on Thursday morning for Christmas itself, she decided. For some reason the shops were usually nearly deserted on Christmas Eve, at least the ones that bothered to open, and the turkeys would be discounted as well. It was closer to a full hour when she finally paid for her shopping and headed out to find Dave.

  “It’s the time of year,” he said over her apologies. “I sometimes think the island population doubles or something. Where are all these people the rest of the year?”

  Bessie laughed, but Dave was right in a way. She could understand the crowds in the retail stores, but surely the grocery stores shouldn’t be that much busier. People had to eat all year around, didn’t they?

  Dave helped Bessie take all of her shopping into the cottage when they arrived back.

  “And this is for you and your lovely wife,” she told him as she handed him the wrapped box.

  “I told you you shouldn’t,” he protested.

  “I’ll take it back if you take yours back,” she offered.

  Dave chuckled. “Oh, no. The wife is quite pleased with herself for finding that. You’d better keep it.”

  “Then you’ll have to keep yours,” Bessie said with a grin.

  “Fair enough,” the man said. He gave Bessie a quick hug. “Happy Christmas, if I don’t see you again before Friday,” he said.

  “Happy Christmas,” Bessie echoed.

  Bessie fixed a light lunch, promising herself something more substantial in the evening. She’d spent so much time in Castletown lately that she felt as if she hadn’t taken a proper walk in months. With lunch tidied away, she headed out to walk until she was too tired to continue.

  It didn’t seem to take any time at all to get to Thie yn Traie, and from there Bessie pushed onwards, determined to give her legs a proper workout. An hour later she’d walked much further than she usually did and her legs were starting to complain. Turning back towards home, she slowed her steps and focussed on breathing deeply. She was convinced that sea air had a great deal to do with her continued good health and she was determined to take in as much as possible.

  As she approached Thie yn Traie, she spotted someone standing near the bottom of the steps that went up the steep cliff.

  “Bessie, there you are,” Mary exclaimed as Bessie drew closer. “I was just thinking about sending a search party.”

  “I didn’t realise I was missing,” Bessie told her.

  “I saw you walk past the other way,” Mary explained. “We were working in the room the Pierce family called the ‘great room,’ the one with all the windows that look over the beach. Anyway, I saw you walk by and I thought I’d just pop down and catch you on your way back. But you didn’t come back for ages. I’m just about frozen.”

  “I’m so sorry,” Bessie told her. “Obviously, I had no idea, or I would have turned around sooner. I was just enjoying my first proper walk in a long time.”

  Mary flushed. “I don’t mean to suggest that you should do anything to accommodate me,” she said quickly. “And please don’t think that I’m going to be spying on you every time you walk by, either. I just happened to notice you and I thought you might like to come up for a cuppa, that’s all.”

  “I’d love one,” Bessie said. Now that she was standing still, the cold air seemed to be going right through her.

  “Come on up, then,” Mary invited. “Natasha’s here. We can show you our plans for the house.”

  Bessie followed Mary up the steps, holding on tightly. At the top she was reminded again of the vast size of the mansion that had been built as a summer home. From the beach, only the great room with its entire wall of windows could really be seen, but up close, the mansion seemed to spread out in every direction with several separate wings, a garage block and a small security booth.

  “It is rather ugly, isn’t it?” Mary asked brightly.

  Bessie laughed. “And you still want to buy it?”

  “We are buying it,” Mary told her. “The Pierces are willing to take such a low price for it that George can’t pass it up, even if he doesn’t want to live here. Once the sale is complete and the renovations are done, then I can start trying to persuade George to actually sell the Douglas house and move out here.”

  “I hope you can persuade him quickly,” Bessie told her. “I’d love to see the house occupied.”

  “Oh, Elizabeth, our daughter, will be moving in soon, even if George and I don’t,” Mary told her as she led Bessie to the side door. “She can’t wait to get a little further away from us. Her wing is the first thing we’re redecorating, in fact.”

  Bessie knew that Mary had been spending a lot of time at the house, but it still felt cold and empty when they went inside. She followed her friend down a long corridor, past the huge great room and into a large and modern kitchen. The cabinets were dark wood; the countertops were white, as were the tile floors. Stainless steel appliances shone all around the space, which Bessie thought was probably the same size as her entire cottage.

  “Sit down, I’ll put the kettle on,” Mary told her.

  Bessie perched on a stool that was in front of the long island that almost dominated the room. “Marble?” she asked as she touched the cold white surface in front of her.

  “Yes, it wouldn’t be my first choice, but George won’t hear of replacing it. He thinks it’s gorgeous.”

  “It is lovely,” Bessie said. “But very cold.”

  “The entire house is cold,” Mary replied “I’m hoping we can warm things up a little bit, but it isn’t going to be easy or inexpensive. George doesn’t care about kitchens, as he expects that we’ll have staff to work in them, but I’d love to get rid of most of the staff and do at least some of the cooking myself. That means I really want to redo this kitchen to make it warm and inviting.”

  Bessie glanced around. “I’m not sure where you’d even start,” she confessed.

  “I think I’d start by cutting it in half,” Mary told her. “It’s far too large to feel cosy, but I suppose it works well if you have half a dozen people working in it.”

  “We don’t want to add any walls,” a voice said sternly from one of the doorways. “We can make the room feel much warmer with small changes,” Natasha added as she walked in.

  “Natasha and I haven’t quite reached an agreement on what we want to do with this room,” Mary told Bessie, smiling.

  “Walls disrupt flow,” Natasha said. “We need to change the floors; that will make a huge difference. And if we cover the windows with curtains in place of the cold metal blinds, that will help, as well.”

  She stopped and shook her head. “You didn’t come to listen to us argue,” she said to Bessie. “It’s so nice to see you somewhere other than Castle Rushen.”

  Bessie laughed. “I only live a short distance down the beach from here. It’s funny that we only ever see each other when we’re both in the south of the island.”

  “We should see more of each other after the holidays,” Natasha told her. “Assuming that Mary and George approve my plans, I’ll be moving in to oversee the remodel. No doubt we’ll see each other on the beach. I like to jog a few miles every morning.”

  “You kno
w I love your plans,” Mary said. “Except the ones for the kitchen, but we can talk about those after Elizabeth’s wing and the master bedroom are finished. It’s George you have to convince.”

  “And he isn’t even going to listen to me until after the first of January,” Natasha said with a sigh.

  “George is quite excited about Christmas this year,” Mary explained to Bessie. “He’s decided to make up for all the years when he was too busy with work to pay any attention to the holiday. He has the entire house in Douglas covered in a thin layer of decorations, and he’s bought presents for everyone from the children and grandchildren to the entire staff and dozens of people he’s only met once or twice.” She shook her head. “When the children were small, I used to ask him every year to get involved, but he was always busy. Now I’m sorry, because he’s taken over every job and left me with nothing to do but work on the remodelling here.”

  “You’ve been busy with ‘Christmas at the Castle,’” Bessie pointed out.

  “Yes, and I am grateful that he’s done as much as he has, really. But it’s hard to feel in the Christmas spirit when you’ve not done any shopping or decorating,” Mary said.

  “I finally did my shopping today,” Bessie told her. “And it has put me more in the spirit of things, although I do find ‘Christmas at the Castle’ makes me feel quite festive.”

  “It’s lovely,” Mary agreed.

  “I’ve enjoyed being a part of it,” Natasha told them both. “And it should look good on my CV as well.”

  “I was just talking to some friends about the television programme that Christopher Hart was meant to be making,” Bessie said, hoping she wasn’t changing the subject too obviously. “We were wondering what the people in charge will do now that he’s no longer available.”

  “I’ve heard a rumour that they’ve asked Jason King to take over,” Natasha told her. “It’s only a rumour, but my source is pretty reliable.”

  “Should I know who Jason King is?” Bessie asked.

  Mary laughed. “You don’t watch television, do you? He was on a home improvement show for a few years, but then he had a fight with the producer about something or other and he left. Every time a new show like this is mentioned, his name comes up, but I don’t know if he’s ever been seriously considered for anything. He behaved quite badly, if the stories are to be believed.”

  “Oh, they should be,” Natasha said. “I was a production assistant on that show, and the man was terrible to work with. He was late nearly every day and he always tried to blame other people when he didn’t turn up on time. He was never happy with his dressing room, the food, the rooms he had to decorate, the quality of the materials he had to work with.” She waved a hand. “I could go on, but I won’t. I just hope he’s learned something in his years away from the spotlight.”

  “I couldn’t possibly ever be on telly. But you seem like you’d be a natural,” Bessie told Natasha. “Is that a goal of yours?”

  Natasha shrugged. “I just want to keep working,” she said. “I’m passionate about designing. If someone offered me a show like the one Christopher was going to do, I’d do it, but for the publicity, not just to be on telly. What I really want is to be in demand so much that I can set my own prices and work only when I want to work. I want a flat in London and one in Paris and I want…” she trailed off. After a moment, she laughed. “Listen to me, babbling the dreams of my overactive imagination at you. Now you must share your crazy dreams with me, so I don’t feel so bad.”

  Bessie smiled. “You mustn’t feel bad,” she said firmly. “You’re still young, and it’s only natural that you’re ambitious. You’re also very talented, so I hope you manage to achieve something like the success you’re hoping for.”

  “I’ll tell you what I dream of,” Mary said. “I dream of owning a little cottage on the beach where I can live all by myself. The children can visit, of course, and George, too. I love him dearly, but sometimes living with him is hard work.”

  “I dream of living inside an enormous library,” Bessie joined in. “I could have a little bed in one corner and I suppose I’d have to have someone bring me food three times a day, but all I would have to do is read all day long.”

  “You could have a spa tub in one corner, with some sort of shelf above the water level to hold your book while you soaked,” Natasha suggested.

  She opened the sketchpad she was carrying and began to draw. Before Bessie’s eyes, her dream library began to take shape.

  “This would be the sleeping corner,” Natasha said. “We could put a small bed, maybe with a canopy and curtains so you could shut out the world if you wanted to.” Natasha sketched a bed, piled high with enormous pillows.

  “That looks wonderful,” Bessie gasped.

  “Then, in the opposite corner, a sumptuous bathtub.” The woman drew the huge tub and then added water and bubbles to it. Bessie could almost feel herself sinking into it.

  “Of course, we’d curtain off the tub area and probably add a small water closet in its own room as well,” Natasha said, almost to herself. “A sink in with the water closet would be good. In another corner, you’d want a refrigerator and some cupboards for snacks and drinks in between those meals that will be magically delivered.”

  Bessie laughed. “You’re far too good at this,” she said as she looked at the sketch. “I’ll just take this drawing to the planning board and see what they think of it as an extension to my cottage.”

  Natasha carefully pulled the sheet out of the book. “I know you’re only teasing,” she said. “But you may as well keep this. Maybe you will find a use for it some day.”

  “I should think you’d want to keep it,” Bessie protested. “Surely you might be able to use it for someone?”

  Natasha shook her head. “I don’t think many of my clients want to live in libraries,” she laughed.

  “Now you must design my cottage,” Mary said.

  The trio talked about various floor plans for the imaginary cottage while Mary poured the tea and passed around biscuits and mince pies. Natasha sketched several different ideas while they debated.

  “I think having everything on one level would be perfect,” Mary said.

  “But I’d worry about security,” Natasha argued. “Maybe it’s the Londoner in me, but I like to be at least one flight of stairs away from intruders.”

  “I don’t think you’d have to worry about that on the island,” Bessie said. “It’s very safe here.”

  “I’m not sure about that,” Natasha muttered.

  Bessie flushed. “I know Mr. Hart was murdered here, but I suspect his killer was someone from across who came over specifically to kill him. And we don’t know what happened to Michael.”

  “I think Michael killed himself,” Natasha said sadly.

  “Why?” Bessie asked.

  “He was very, well, depressed, just before he died,” she replied. “He wouldn’t really talk to me about anything. I thought we were becoming friends, but then he started drinking so much and hanging all over Carolyn Teare.” She shook her head. “I don’t know what happened, but he certainly changed just in the short time I knew him.”

  “You don’t think he killed Mr. Hart, do you?” Bessie asked.

  “I can’t imagine why he would have,” Natasha answered. “Unless Christopher was serious about the blackmail.”

  “What blackmail?” Mary asked, looking confused.

  “Michael told me that Christopher threatened to press assault charges against him unless Michael paid him some money,” Natasha explained. “Michael was worried that if Christopher did press charges he’d lose his job and find it impossible to find another one.”

  “I didn’t know that,” Mary exclaimed. “Poor Michael.”

  “Murdering the man seems a bit extreme, though,” Bessie said.

  “Maybe it was an accident?” Natasha asked. “The police haven’t said anything about what they found in Christopher’s hotel room. Maybe Michael and Christopher ha
d another fight and Michael hit him too hard or something like that. I can’t see Michael killing Christopher in cold blood, but I really didn’t know him all that well, either.”

  “I barely knew him at all,” Mary said. “I thought he seemed like a nice young man, and if he had lost his job because of the altercation with Mr. Hart, I’d have found him a position somewhere else.”

  “Too bad he didn’t know that,” Natasha said sadly.

  “He did,” Mary replied. “We had a little chat right after the fight. I told him to come to me if he found himself in any trouble and I’d make sure it all worked out.”

  Natasha frowned. “He never told me that,” she said. She stood up abruptly. “I really should get back to work. I’m drawing up the final plans for Elizabeth’s bedroom.”

  “Can you leave the plans for the rest of the house with us so I can show them to Bessie?” Mary asked.

  “As long as she promises not to talk about them with anyone. I’ve worked too hard on them to have them stolen at this point,” Natasha answered.

  “I won’t say a word,” Bessie promised.

  Natasha nodded and then strode out of the room, leaving her sketchpad behind. For another half hour, Bessie admired the beautiful drawings that Natasha had made of the various spaces within Thie yn Traie.

  “It all looks wonderful,” Bessie said. “Before today, the only room I’d been in previously was the great room. Did I miss the sketch for that one?”

  “There isn’t a sketch for that one yet,” Mary said. “It’s just such a huge, cold and unwelcoming space, even Natasha hasn’t been able to come with any ideas for fixing it.”

  “Maybe you should divide it up,” Bessie suggested.

  “George doesn’t want to do that, and I understand his point. It’s a wonderful room with fabulous sea views and adding walls anywhere would make it feel chopped up somehow. We’re leaving it as it is for now, but I have high hopes that inspiration will strike at least one of us before the rest of the house is completed.”