“It certainly does,” Bessie agreed. “That’s why MNH sometimes has trouble finding people to sit behind their table all day. There were quite a few years, back when MNH was a much smaller concern, that I helped out.”
“What’s in the blue tent?” Grace asked.
“More food vendors,” Bessie replied.
Hugh’s face lit up. “Really? We should check it out.”
Everyone laughed.
“We will,” Bessie promised. “And the third tent is full of Manx businesses. They’ll be passing out promotional materials like refrigerator magnets and pens with their names on them. It’s a good chance to find out what our local businesses are getting up to, as well. Sometimes it can be quite impressive to see what’s actually made on the island.”
“Like what?” John asked.
“Oh, cheese is the first thing that pops into mind,” Bessie told him. “There are a few farmers around the island who are making some wonderful cheeses. There will be samples to try and opportunities to purchase as well.”
“Cheese samples?” Hugh looked even happier. “I don’t know why I never come to Tynwald Day,” he said, shaking his head. “It’s wonderful.”
Everyone laughed again, and then the group made their way towards the first tent in the row, the one full of Manx companies. In the entrance, Bessie was stopped.
“There you are. I knew you’d be here somewhere,” a loud voice boomed.
Bessie held back a small sigh and forced herself to smile brightly. “George Quayle, how are you?” she asked the large man who now enveloped her in a hug.
“I’m fine, but how are you? I do hope you’re all recovered from the recent nastiness?”
“Oh, I’m very well, thanks,” Bessie told him. She quickly changed the subject. “I had lunch with Mary last week,” she said, referring to his wife. “She told me you’re expecting another grandchild, congratulations.”
“Oh, thank you,” the man replied. “That’s much more of her concern than mine, of course. She quite dotes on the little beasties. I find them so very loud.”
Bessie bit her tongue, thinking how ironic that was from the loudest man she’d ever met. George had spent his entire, very successful, career in sales and he still had the loud overconfidence that some good salesmen seem to possess.
“Anyway, I’m glad to see you here,” George continued. “I was hoping we might have you for dinner one day next week. I’ve a few things I’d like to discuss with you.”
Bessie nodded. “I’m sure we can work something out,” she answered as vaguely as she could. “Have Mary call me.”
“I will do,” George promised. He lumbered off, shouting a greeting to someone on the other side of the tent as he did so. Bessie just managed to hold back a sigh as she smiled at her friends.
“Sorry, I should have included all of you in that,” she said.
They all shook their heads. “I don’t mind not talking to him,” Doona muttered as they began to make their way through the tent. There were several neat rows of tables, and Bessie made a point of stopping at each to chat with whomever was behind it. Hugh enjoyed several cheese samples and ended up purchasing a packet of nearly everything he tried.
They were about halfway through when they caught up to another of Bessie’s friends. “Bahey Corlett, how nice to see you,” Bessie said, genuinely pleased to see the woman she’d known for many years.
Bahey, a somewhat plump and plain woman with grey hair cut in a short bob, flushed and gave Bessie a strange look. “Oh, aye, I didn’t get to Tynwald all those years I was working across for the Pierces,” she replied. “I try to get here every year now. It’s interesting to see how it’s changed, like.”
Bessie nodded. “It is very different, from when we were young,” she said.
“Oh, aye.” Bahey glanced around as if nervous.
“Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?” a tall man standing next to Bahey asked in a slightly amused voice.
Bahey turned an even brighter shade of red and then sighed. “Yeah, of course,” she muttered. She turned to Bessie. “This is my, um, friend, Howard Mayer,” she told Bessie.
Bessie performed the required introductions of her own group, while she studied the man. He was probably around Bahey’s age, somewhere past retirement. What little hair he had left was grey, and while he had probably been taller in his youth, he still had an advantage of several inches over Bahey and Bessie. He was trim and elegantly dressed and Bessie found herself approving of his old-fashioned manners as he shook hands with each of her friends in turn.
“Howard lives next door to me,” Bahey told Bessie. “In my building in Douglas.”
Bessie grinned. She knew that Bahey had just started dating for the first time in her life; clearly this was the man in the question. “Well, it’s very nice to meet you,” she told Howard.
The pair began to walk away and then Bahey rushed back over to Bessie. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you,” she told her. “There’s something strange going on and I want your opinion.”
“Give me a call,” Bessie told her. “We can get together later this week or early next,” she promised.
“It might have to wait a bit,” Bahey replied. “But I’ll call you.”
“What was that about?” Rockwell asked, always the policeman.
Bessie shook her head. “You know as much as I do,” she replied. “But when I find out, I’ll let you know.”
“I’d appreciate that,” he replied.
A few tables later, Bessie was surprised to run into Finlo Quayle, behind a table full of brochures advertising “Quayle Airways – the Isle of Man’s most exclusive and affordable charter air service – launching soon.”
“Won’t it be the island’s only charter air service?” Bessie asked the gorgeous young man.
He beamed at her. “Well, yeah,” he admitted. “But that didn’t sound as good on the signs.”
Bessie chuckled. “Your cousin William told me you wanted to start your own charter service,” she told him. “I didn’t realise you were this far along in getting it going.”
“Our first flights start in a month,” he told her confidently. “We’re still looking for a few silent investors, though, if you want to make a lot of money.”
Bessie laughed. “Thanks, but I think I’ll pass on this particular opportunity.”
“You’ll be sorry,” Finlo replied. “I’m going to be a huge success.”
Bessie didn’t doubt it. Bessie had known Finlo, and all the Quayle cousins, for many generations. The man was not only gorgeous, but he was smart, and when he was determined to do something, he could be ruthless. His only problem was staying motivated. Bessie worried that if a pretty girl came along at the wrong time, he’d forget all about his fledgling business and spend all of his time pursuing pleasure.
“I wish you the very best of luck,” she told him. “If I have to fly anywhere, I’m sure I’ll keep you in mind.”
Finlo pressed brochures on all of them. “Throw it in a drawer and the next time you decide to fly anywhere, call me. I can’t beat the commercial airlines on their prices for their everyday scheduled flights, but if you are wanting to fly somewhere that they don’t go or you’re looking for a much higher standard of service that’s significantly more convenient, I’m your man.”
Having visited every stall, the group made their way back out into the open air.
“It was stuffy in there,” Grace said, fanning herself with her hand.
“It’s warm out here as well,” Doona answered.
A Manx dance troupe had just finished setting up and the group watched as they began to dance to the music provided by their small band.
“I took a class in Manx dancing once,” Doona told everyone. “I thought I might meet a nice guy, but it was all couples and single women. I never did master even the simplest of patterns, either.”
“They’re a good deal harder than they appear,” Bessie said. “They’ll be looking
for people who want to give it a try in a bit.”
Grace looked at Hugh and then down at the ground. “Maybe we could try,” she said softly.
Hugh’s jaw dropped and then he gave Bessie an anxious look. “Oh, but, I mean, I’ve rather got my hands full.”
Bessie laughed. Hugh was telling the truth. He was now carrying several bags full of Manx cheeses, jams and honey that he’d purchased.
“I can hold all of that for you,” John told him. “You don’t want to disappoint Grace.”
The dancers finished a pattern and then spread out into the crowd, coaxing people to come and join them. Hugh handed his bags to John and then, with one last desperate look at Bessie, took Grace’s hand and followed her into the middle of the green.
Bessie and her friends watched as the dancers taught their newest recruits a very simple folk dance pattern. After a few minutes of instruction, the band began again. Several minutes later, Grace and Hugh rejoined their friends, both slightly out of breath from the unusual exercise.
“You did very well,” Bessie told them both. “Hugh, I was surprised at how quickly you caught on, and Grace, you certainly lived up to your name.”
They both flushed with pleasure at the compliments. Doona and John were quick to add their own praise, as well.
“Gee, thanks,” Hugh said. “It was almost kinda fun. But now I’ve worked up quite an appetite.”
As they laughed, the group headed for the second tent, full of food stands. They would get back to the outside food vendors later. Bessie wasn’t all that hungry, so she searched for a table while the others queued for their food.
“Ah, Bessie, come and sit with me,” a voice called across the crowded tent.
Bessie headed towards the voice, uncertain exactly where it had come from or who was calling her name.
“Over here, Bessie,” the voice called again.
Bessie looked around and smiled as she spotted Henry Costain, one of her favourite Manx National Heritage’s employees, who had also taken one of her Manx language classes with her. She quickly crossed over to him and sank down into a chair.
“Thanks,” she said. “It’s pretty busy in here.”
“You aren’t here on your own, are you?” Henry asked.
“No, Doona and the others are getting food. I said I’d get us a table,” she explained. “Are you working at the MNH table?”
“Nope, I got a day off today,” he told her. “Actually, I have a whole week off. I’m planning on taking my nephew’s kids to the wildlife park tomorrow and I’m hoping to do a lot of reading as well.”
“Good for you,” Bessie replied. “You’ve earned a holiday.”
“I have at that,” Henry said firmly. Henry had been caught up in many of the recent murder investigations that seemed to be plaguing Bessie. He was a kind and sensitive man and he deserved a chance to relax and forget about all of the bad things that can happen in life.
Doona and the others soon joined them. Doona brought Bessie a huge cup filled with sweet, milky tea and a sandwich.
“I said I wasn’t hungry,” Bessie argued as she unwrapped the sandwich.
“Hugh will eat it if you don’t want it,” Doona replied.
Bessie laughed. “Well, now that you’re all here, eating, I am a bit peckish,” she admitted. The sandwich disappeared almost as quickly as Hugh’s very full plate of food did.
The afternoon was rapidly turning into early evening as they made their way back outside. A group of martial artists was just getting started, demonstrating impressive-looking kicks and breaking wooden boards with flying fists and feet.
Bessie spotted another friend in the crowd. “Hello, Liz,” she said once she’d made her way through the audience.
“Ah, Bessie, so good to see you,” Liz Martin, another friend from a Manx language class said, giving Bessie a quick hug.
“You can’t be here on your own?” Bessie asked.
Liz laughed. “No way, hubby has the kids up as close as they could get. Jackson is desperate to have a go.”
“How old is he?” Bessie asked.
“Nearly three,” Liz sighed. “I’m just afraid he’s going to try kicking his way through everything in our house when we get him home. Our coffee table probably isn’t safe.”
Bessie and her friends watched the demonstration for a while.
“That was exciting,” Doona remarked as the group finished. “Did you see the man in charge? He was very impressive.”
“Maybe I should try some taekwondo,” John said in a thoughtful voice. “I wonder if we could add that to the fitness classes we’re already providing at the station.”
“If you can get that guy to teach them, I’d give it a try,” Doona laughed.
John frowned. “Maybe not,” he muttered.
After a stop at a couple more food vendors, the group made their way towards the third tent.
“So how many people are you going to know in here?” Doona teased Bessie.
“Probably a lot,” Bessie said with a grin. “Whoever’s working for MNH, plus a lot of other people from the various organisations in Laxey that will be here. There’s probably a dozen other groups around the island that I’ve been involved with at some point in my life as well, and most of them will probably have a table.”
“So we’ll be in here until the fireworks start,” Doona concluded.
Bessie laughed. “You’ll all have to pop out for food once in a while. I’d hate to see Hugh starve.”
“Actually, if no one minds, Grace and I thought we might go and see the next band,” Hugh told them. “The Screamin’ Manxmen are really good and Grace has been wanting to see them again.”
“You go,” Bessie told them. “We’ll catch up with you guys later.”
Noble’s Hospital had one of the first tables. Bessie smiled at her friend Helen, who was behind it.
“Helen, I didn’t realise they drafted nurses to work at these things,” she exclaimed.
“They normally don’t,” Helen explained. “But the woman who was going to do it managed to break her leg yesterday. Since I was planning on coming anyway, I offered to step in for some of the day.”
“That was kind of you,” Bessie replied.
A moment later, another familiar face came into view. Bessie held her tongue as the tall, forty-something man handed Helen a bag.
“Here you go,” he said to her. “I think I got exactly what you ordered.”
“I’m sure it will be fine,” Helen assured him.
“Inspector Corkill? I wasn’t expecting to see you here,” Bessie interrupted.
The man spun towards her and then turned back towards Helen. When she didn’t say anything, he looked back at Bessie. “Miss Cubbon, I didn’t see you there,” he said. “I was just, um, bringing some food to Hel, er, Ms. Baxter.”
“Hey, Pete, how are you?” John jumped in, slapping his Douglas counterpart on the back.
“Oh, I’m fine,” the man replied, clearly unsettled by something. “I was just, that is, I haven’t been to Tynwald in years, but I thought it might make a nice change.”
“You were lucky to get the day off,” John remarked. “But I guess St. John’s is out of your jurisdiction.”
“Yeah, although we help out with security and the like, but there isn’t usually much for CID to worry about.”
The two men chatted about police business for a moment while Bessie caught up with Helen.
“So, what’s going on with you and the inspector?” she couldn’t help but ask in a very low voice.
Helen shrugged. “We’re dating, I guess,” she replied. “But very slowly. He isn’t really totally over his ex-wife and I’m not rushing in. I think I’ve finally found a good guy, and I intend to take it at whatever pace he feels comfortable with. We were meant to spend the day together, before I got tapped to do this.”
“What a shame,” Bessie said.
“It’s okay,” Helen answered. “I’m done in another hour or so. We’ll get t
o watch the fireworks together.”
Bessie’s group moved on, and Bessie was correct; she knew people at several of the tables. Marjorie Stevens, the Manx Museum librarian and archivist, who also taught the Manx language courses that Bessie and Doona had taken, was behind the MNH table.
Bessie gave her a big hug. “Fastyr mie, kys t’ou?” she greeted her in Manx.
“Ta mee braew,” Marjorie answered with a grin. “And it’s good to hear that you’re still working on your Manx.”
“Well, a little bit, anyway,” Bessie laughed. “I thought you’d have your most junior staff member handle today,” she added.
“I wish,” Marjorie laughed. “Seriously, though, I volunteered. I love the atmosphere out here and I love what the day represents. The island might just be my adopted home, but I couldn’t love it more if I’d been born here.”
Two tables further along, Bessie found herself engulfed in a flurry of hugs. “The Raspberry Jam Ladies,” she laughed. “I didn’t know you were still meeting.”
“Every Tuesday afternoon, from one until three,” Agnes Faragher answered. “We’ve been doing it for fifty-odd years and we’ll be doing it for another fifty.” Agnes was a plump widow with grey hair and thick glasses.
Bessie laughed and then introduced the five ladies to her friends. “I think they’re Laxey’s longest-running women’s group,” she told the others. “They started meeting when they were young newlyweds and they’ve been meeting ever since.”
“Why the ‘Raspberry Jam Ladies?’” Doona asked.
Nancy King, a petite woman with reading glasses perched on the end of her nose, laughed.
“We started out rather informally,” she explained. “Just any of us getting together whenever we had a chance. One day we met at Elinor’s house and made a big batch of raspberry jam with wild raspberries. The war was on or not long over, so we pooled our sugar ration to make it and then we shared the results. My husband stopped complaining about me meeting up with my lady friends after that. He wasn’t going to complain if there was a possibility of jam coming home with me. The name sort of became a joke between us girls, but it stuck.”
“Bessie, you must buy something to help us out,” Elinor Lewis said firmly. Elinor still looked much the same as ever: tall, slender and no-nonsense.
Aunt Bessie Enjoys Page 2