Sighing at her foolishness for staying up so late, Bessie quickly got into her nightgown and washed her face. Feeling a bit out of sorts after spending so many hours in a scary fictional world, she grabbed another book from her pile and settled into bed with it. This one was the fifth in a familiar series and Bessie quickly felt as if she were revisiting old friends, which helped settle her overstimulated brain. Two chapters in, she was ready to sleep. Her sleep was restless, though, full of dreams of her school days, a time she hadn’t thought about in many years.
Chapter 11
Sunday morning was rainy yet again. Bessie walked as far as Thie yn Traie and then headed for home. She could see a few people, mostly children, staring out the windows of the holiday cottages, looking miserable. As she reached her cottage, a car pulled into the parking area. Bessie was surprised when Maggie Shimmin climbed out of it.
“Ah, good morning, Bessie,” Maggie called, wrestling an umbrella open. “How are you today?”
“I’m fine, thanks,” Bessie called back.
Maggie crossed the parking area to Bessie’s side. “I hope you don’t mind my parking here. It just seemed easier than dealing with the car park behind the cottages.”
“Not at all,” Bessie assured her. “You know I don’t use the space and I rarely have more than a single visitor at a time.” The parking area had room for five or six cars.
Maggie nodded. “Our car park has room for one car per cottage plus a few extra spaces, but it seems as if the current lot of guests brought two or three cars each. It doesn’t help that no one has parked at all sensibly. I’m sure more cars would fit if people would park properly.”
“The weather’s been pretty miserable for them this weekend,” Bessie said.
“Yes, that’s why I’m here,” Maggie told her, scowling. “Everyone wants to complain about the weather and I’m going to have to listen to it as if there was something I could do to fix it.”
“I thought Thomas usually handled complaints.”
“He does, but he’s down with a miserable cold. He can’t even get out of bed at the moment, so I’ve had to come down. Just about every cottage has rung to complain about something, but I know that what they’re really cross about is the rain.”
“What can you do?”
“I’ll go along and listen to them moan and maybe offer them a discount if they want to come back later in the season,” Maggie said. “I can’t promise them better weather if they come back, though. If they really want better weather, they’ll need to go to Spain.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t suggest that,” Bessie said with a chuckle.
“If they give me too much grief, I might. There are always a few guests that I’d love to tell not to come back. For them, I might just recommend a holiday somewhere far away from here.”
Maggie sighed and then turned and began to walk away. “Wish me luck,” she called over her shoulder. “If it’s as bad as I think it will be, I might come by for a cuppa in an hour.”
Bessie forced herself to smile and nod at the woman before she made her way to her cottage. She really didn’t want to have tea with Maggie, but she was far too polite to tell the other woman that. In the end, Bessie got busy with some research, and when she looked out a few hours later, Maggie’s car was gone. Feeling as if she’d escaped something unpleasant, Bessie made herself a batch of biscuits to celebrate.
In the afternoon, the weather cleared and the sun began to peek through. Bessie was astonished to see just how many people were actually staying in the holiday cottages as the beach suddenly filled with eager children and their parents. From her kitchen window, Bessie watched as sandcastles were built, the sea was splashed in, and a group of teenaged girls sunned themselves in tiny bikinis in spite of the coolness of the day. The noise levels increased throughout the afternoon, leaving Bessie glad that she’d given up on working on her research before the sun had come out.
As she made herself some dinner, some of the crowd began to trickle away, and Bessie was relieved to see that the beach was nearly empty as the sun began to set. Later in the year, as it stayed lighter for far longer, she knew she wouldn’t be able to have an quiet evening at home. Tonight she settled in with the book she’d started the previous evening and read until she felt too tired to continue. She tried Laura again several times, but the phone simply rang and rang. Another night filled with dreams of her teenaged years left her feeling unsettled the next morning.
The sun was shining brightly on Monday morning as Bessie began her walk. She was surprised to notice that many of the holiday cottages were empty, but of course most of the holidaymakers had probably left the previous afternoon so that they could be back at work today. It would be another week or two before Bessie felt back into the routine of seeing guests coming and going. Thomas Shimmin was hard at work cleaning one of the cottages as Bessie walked past. There was no sign of Maggie anywhere.
Back at home, Bessie pottered around doing nothing much with her morning. She had a light lunch and then changed into another black dress, ready for the afternoon’s reception. Doona arrived shortly after one.
“I wasn’t sure what to wear for this either,” Doona said as Bessie let her into Treoghe Bwaane.
“You look lovely,” Bessie told her. Doona was wearing a dark grey skirt with a lighter grey jumper on top.
“Thanks. I don’t own very much black or grey, really, and I do seem to have been attending a lot of memorial services lately,” Doona said.
“I wonder if Humphrey will be there today. He didn’t mention it when we had lunch, but it seems as if he should be there.”
“He might have to work,” Doona suggested.
“Surely he’ll still be on some sort of leave,” Bessie argued. “The man’s wife was murdered.”
“I suppose we’ll just have to wait and see.”
They chatted for a short while longer before going to collect Grace. She was standing and watching for them in her doorway. As soon as Doona’s car appeared, she locked up the door and crossed to the road to wait for them.
“Good afternoon,” she said.
“You didn’t have to watch for us,” Doona laughed. “We would have waited a minute or two for you to lock up.”
“Hugh’s home,” Grace told her. “He’s working nights for the next few days because someone is off sick. He really doesn’t want me to go, so I thought it would be best to simply dash away before he could complain any more.”
“What is he worried about?” Doona asked. “You’re just going to the bank.”
“I know, but he worries,” Grace replied. “It’s sweet, really, but a little frustrating.”
The drive into Douglas didn’t take long, but when they arrived at the bank, the car park was full. Doona drove around for a minute, hoping that a space would open up, but when that didn’t happen, she drove a short distance down the road and parked at the kerb.
“I’ve never seen the bank so busy,” Grace murmured as the trio walked back down the road towards the building.
“Perhaps Julie had more than a few customers who liked her,” Bessie suggested.
“Or maybe they’re all just after the free food,” Doona said as they walked through the glass doors.
Bessie swallowed a smile as she saw the large cluster of people standing in front of the table that was covered in biscuits and pastries. A small sign with a photograph of Julie was leaning against the wall at the back of the table. Humphrey Randall was standing in the opposite corner by himself, seemingly watching the crowd.
“Hello, thank you for joining us today,” the girl behind the customer service desk called. “Please help yourself to some refreshments as we honour the memory of one of our customer service representatives, Julie Randall. Mrs. Randall’s husband is over there, if you’d like to pay your respects.”
Bessie made a face at Doona. The girl had spoken in a dull monotone, as if she’d said the same thing a dozen times already. Feeling sorry for both Julie and Humphrey, Bes
sie crossed the room to the man.
“Good afternoon,” she said softly. “How are you?”
“Miss Cubbon,” he replied. “I didn’t know you were going to be here today.”
“I came with Grace,” Bessie explained.
Humphrey smiled. “She’s turned into such a lovely young lady,” he said. “I just wish I’d persuaded her to teach maths.”
Bessie grinned. “I think she’s quite happy where she is.”
“No doubt. But it was kind of you to accompany her. And especially kind of you to come over and talk to me. I was feeling rather alone over here. I don’t think any of the customers actually knew Julie.”
“It does seem as if the biscuits are the main attraction,” Bessie said wryly. “Before I forget, thank you for lunch the other day.”
“You’re welcome. I enjoyed speaking with you.”
“And I, you,” Bessie replied.
As she finished speaking, an elderly woman in a black dress turned away from the table full of food and crossed the room.
“Mr. Randall? Your Julie was a very kind young woman,” she said. “She never made a fuss when I took a little bit longer than some of the other customers. Not like some, that’s all I’ll say about that.” The woman looked over at the staff who were busy with customers and frowned. “I don’t know who I’ll try to go to now,” she sighed. “Your wife was the best.”
“Thank you,” Humphrey said.
The woman nodded and then walked away, back to the table, where she gathered up at least half a dozen biscuits before making her way out of the building.
“It’s going to be a long afternoon,” Humphrey muttered.
A few minutes later, the door opened and several men in business suits walked in. Bessie recognised Grace’s father and Sidney Harris in the crowd.
“Ah, good, Sidney is here,” Humphrey said. “He’ll keep me company for a while.”
Sure enough, Sidney looked around the room and then headed straight for Humphrey. “How are you holding up?” he asked when he reached them.
“I’m okay, but this is awful,” Humphrey replied. “I feel as if I need to stay, but I don’t want to.”
“You don’t have to stay,” Sidney told him. “We’ll all understand if you want to leave. It’s been a long week for you already, hasn’t it?”
“Yes, but if I leave I’ll just go home and sit around feeling sorry for myself,” Humphrey told him. “At least here I can talk about Julie.”
“You can talk about Julie with me any time, you know that,” Sidney told him.
“Have you met Bessie Cubbon?” Humphrey asked, glancing at Bessie.
“I believe we met at the memorial service,” the man said.
“We did, yes,” Bessie replied. “I’m a friend of Grace Christian.”
Sidney nodded but didn’t look as if he cared in the slightest. “They should have used two or three tables and spread the food out,” he said. “It would have spread out the crowd as well.”
“Most of them aren’t staying for long anyway,” Humphrey said. “They come in, grab a few biscuits or a cake and then do their banking and leave.”
“Without speaking to you?” Sidney asked.
“So far, only one woman has spoken to me,” Humphrey told him.
Sidney frowned. “The whole point of having this reception was so that our customers could share their memories of Julie. Perhaps I need to remind our staff to encourage the customers to do so.”
“Don’t bother on my account,” Humphrey said quickly. “I don’t know what to say to them, anyway.”
Sidney frowned, but didn’t argue. Doona and Grace were standing next to Grace’s father, talking together, which left Bessie trying to work out a way to get away from Humphrey and Sidney. She was relieved when the door opened again and Stephanie Harris walked in.
The woman looked more in control of herself today. Her hair was neatly combed and pulled into a tight bun and her makeup was impeccable. She was wearing black trousers with an oversized black jumper over the top. Pausing in the doorway, she looked around the room and then walked quickly towards her husband.
“I think I need a cup of tea,” she announced as she arrived.
“I’ll get you one,” Sidney said.
Stephanie nodded and then turned to Humphrey. “How are you?” she asked.
“I have good days and bad days,” he told her. “Today isn’t too bad, at least not yet. The nights are the worst, really.”
Bessie saw tears forming in the woman’s eyes as she leaned in to give Humphrey a hug.
“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “I can’t imagine what you’re going through.”
When she pulled back, she glanced over and seemed to notice Bessie for the first time.
“This is Elizabeth Cubbon,” Humphrey told her. “Bessie, this is Stephanie Harris, Sidney’s wife. She was Julie’s closest friend.”
“I wasn’t, though,” Stephanie said flatly. She blinked several times. “I mean, I’m sure you were her closest friend, Humphrey, darling,” she added.
“Tea,” Sidney said brightly, handing a cup to his wife and a second cup to Humphrey. “I wish I’d thought to bring something to add to it,” he told Humphrey. “I’m sure a little splash of whiskey would make this less interminable.”
“I’m trying not to drink at the moment,” Humphrey said. “It just dulls my senses and I don’t want that. I want to feel the pain of losing Julie. Otherwise it doesn’t seem real.”
Stephanie shuddered. “I could do with that whiskey,” she muttered, looking hard at her husband.
Sidney shook his head. “Later,” he told her.
“I think I should go and chat with Grace and her father,” Bessie said, anxious to get away from the tension that she could feel between the husband and wife. “I’ll see you later,” she told Humphrey.
As she walked away, another older woman was crossing the floor towards Humphrey. Bessie could just hear the beginning of her remarks as she began to tell the man how kind his wife had been.
“It seems like a good turnout,” Bessie remarked to Doona as she joined her friends.
“They’re all just here for the biscuits,” Doona replied. “I’ve watched about a dozen people come in, grab biscuits, and go. They didn’t even stop to do any banking. No one has bothered to say anything to Humphrey, either. How is he?”
“He’s doing better than I think I would be under the circumstances,” Bessie said. “Sidney and Stephanie Harris don’t seem to be getting along very well, though.”
“Those two have been having problems for years,” Grace’s father said in a soft voice. “She’s had a lot of medical problems, and he’s stood by her, but I’ve always thought that as soon as she’s fully recovered from everything he’ll leave her.”
“I suppose it’s kind of him to stay with her while she’s ill,” Grace said thoughtfully as she nibbled on a biscuit.
“I’m not sure kind is the right word,” Bessie said.
“And here’s Alan,” Doona muttered. “Doesn’t he look thrilled?”
Bessie turned and looked at the man who’d walked out from the back of the building. He was standing behind the row of customer service representatives who were dealing with customers, frowning at the crowd in the lobby.
“Alan, come and have a cuppa,” one of the men in suits called.
A tense smile flashed across Alan’s face, and then he made his way out from behind the desks to the tea table. He made himself a drink and then turned around and took a few tentative steps towards Humphrey before stopping in his tracks.
“Hello,” Bessie said as Alan sipped his tea. Bessie could almost feel him trying to make himself invisible in the crowd.
“Oh, hello,” he replied.
“This must be dreadfully inconvenient for you,” Bessie added. “All these people cluttering up the lobby.”
“It is, rather,” he agreed. “I’m meant to keep track of the number of customers who are queuing and adjus
t our staffing levels appropriately. It’s very difficult to work out who is queuing and who is simply eating biscuits.”
“And no doubt the staff all wanted the afternoon off to attend the reception,” Bessie suggested.
“Actually, they all wanted to work so that they could attend on the clock,” Alan told her. “I had to be very strict with them and tell them that they could only come out from behind their stations on their breaks, even if they don’t have customers to attend to.”
“It could so easily turn chaotic otherwise,” Bessie murmured sympathetically. “And with all these senior managers here, you need to be sure the customers are happy, don’t you.”
“I do indeed,” the man said. “Although I don’t think many of my staff appreciate that.”
“It’s so difficult, managing people,” Bessie said. “As I understand it, it’s getting increasingly difficult, too. One of the girls I was talking to at the memorial service was saying she couldn’t understand why it matters so much if she’s a few minutes late every day.” Bessie shook her head. “That certainly wasn’t the way I was brought up.”
“You wouldn’t believe how many of the people who work for me come in late regularly,” the man said. “And then they ask if they can leave early for all manner of reasons.” He shook his head. “I’m starting to think that I need to ask human resources to tack on an extra fifteen minutes at the start and end of everyone’s shift, just so that they’ll turn up close to on time.”
“But then they’d all expect to get paid for the extra time,” Bessie suggested.
“Of course they would,” the man said. “They always complain when I insist that they only get paid for the time they’re actually here, if they come in late. And they complain when I report them for being late. If they get reported enough, they’re supposed to face disciplinary action, but that never happens.”
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