by Holly Bell
‘I can ask Dale to cover up the flowers, if they’re ones that set it off.’
‘In that case, get something pungent, if you wouldn’t mind.’
‘Freesias?’
‘Splendid. Thank you, dear. I didn’t like to ask.’
Amanda smiled and shook her head. ‘Not at all, Miss de Havillande.’
The lady strode off toward The Corner Shop and Amanda went the few yards in the opposite direction to Youfloric. She anticipated a brief, amiable exchange with the co-owner, who had spotted her approach.
‘Miss Cadabra! What a pleasure.’
Amanda grinned. ‘Hello Dale.’
‘Are you all better now?’ he asked solicitously.
‘Erm …?’
‘You had a nasty asthma attack, I heard.’
‘Oh …’ Of course that was the cover story, Amanda quickly recalled. ‘Yes, I’m much better. Thank you for asking, Dale. And how are you?’
‘Fine. Yes. This is a charming village, everyone has been most kind and supportive, word is getting out and orders are coming in.’
‘I’m glad. How is your mother?’ she enquired politely.
Dale sighed. ‘As well as can be expected, given her Trouble.’
‘Trouble?’
‘With her nerves, you know.’
In Amanda’s experience, people who claimed to suffer from their nerves were possessed of an iron constitution and adamantine will. When Mrs Crankleigh-Vigger, just such a self-proclaimed victim, mercifully departed for Pittenweem, it was rumoured that her neighbours and daughter broke out the champagne. However, Amanda replied civilly,
‘Oh yes, you said, I remember.’
‘I think the countryside air helps though, and being surrounded by beautiful things here in the sh—‘
‘Dale!’ came a robust voice from within.
‘I’m with a customer, Mother!’ he called back calmly.
A lady of ample proportions with an imposing bosom bustled out from inside the shop. She put Amanda forcibly in mind of a seaside cartoon postcard. Aggressively dyed, short dark brown curls bobbed emphatically as she walked out into view.
She inclined her head in Amanda’s direction and pronounced,
‘Ah! There you are. Miss Cadabra isn’t it?’
‘Nice to meet you, Mrs Hilland.’
‘Gillian.’
‘Amanda,’ she responded.
‘What can we do for you this morning, Amanda?’
‘I was just about to ask Dale for some freesias.’
‘Oh yes.’ The lady put her head on one side and gave her knowing look. ‘I expect you’ll want them covered. With your asthma.’
‘Er … yes … you heard?’
‘Naturally, one keeps one’s ear to the ground for any special requirements of one’s customers,’ the lady uttered with overwhelming graciousness.
‘That’s very conscientious,’ Amanda replied courteously.
‘Dale will fetch them for you, won’t you Dale?’
‘I was just about to, Mother,’ he replied patiently, and disappeared into the shop. Mrs Hilland put her head on one side again and enquired,
‘You have your own business, I understand?’
‘That’s right. It was my grandfather’s.’
‘He and your grandmother left you the house and workshop?’
‘Yes.’
‘No other family?’ Mrs Hilland asked pityingly.
‘No.’
‘That must be difficult. A girl alone in the world.’
‘Oh, I’m really not —’
‘No … mother figure.’
‘I really … I —’ Amanda began to protest.
‘I am a Mother. I understand these things.’
She took Amanda’s hand and patted it. Mrs Hilland’s were soft to the point of seeming boneless. She dropped her voice confidentially.
‘I know that we have only just met. But a woman knows instinctively the needs of a girl. You must feel you can always come to me, you know. I feel we are going to be … great friends.’
There was something vaguely disturbing about this speech, and Amanda reclaimed her hand.
‘Thank you, Mrs Hilland, but I assure you I am very far from being or feeling alone. I have an excellent support network of dear, close friends.’
The lady drew herself up and pulled her own hands, pawlike, drooping from the wrists, close her mountainous chest.
‘I see!’ she pronounced, affronted.
‘However,’ soothed Amanda, ‘I do appreciate the luxury of having a flower shop here in the village, and that it has such kind and attentive owners.’
Mrs Hilland appeared to be mollified by this rider.
‘Well … do visit. Any time. Not just for flowers. For tea and a chat. You will always be welcome. Dale!’ He came out with the wrapped flowers and Amanda paid him. Mrs Hilland watched them with the air of an overseer. ‘Take those to Amanda’s car for her so she doesn’t have to get too close to them.’ She smiled, showing an impressive number of teeth.
‘There’s no need,’ Amanda insisted.
‘Dale!’
‘Of course, Mother.’ Mrs Hilland disappeared back into the shop, leaving her son to conduct Amanda the short distance to the Vauxhall. Dale was apologetic.
‘She’s new to customer service. I don’t think she understands the finer points,’ he explained with masterly understatement.
‘That’s all right,’ Amanda responded politely.
‘She can be a bit overwhelming at times, but Mother means well.’
‘Ah,’ she replied noncommittally.
‘Last time we talked, you said you were interested in hearing about some of my adventures over tea sometime. I hope Mother hasn’t put you off?’ he asked anxiously.
Amanda smiled reassuringly. ‘Yes, Dale, I would still like that.’
‘Let me know when you’d care for a break from work. We could meet in the café.’
‘All right. Well thank you, Dale. Is it OK if I text you when I’m free?’
‘Of course.’
They had reached the car. From the bonnet, Tempest regarded Dale narrowly with his citrine eyes, and then yawned.
‘See you, Amanda.’
‘Yes, bye Dale.’
Witch and familiar got in and drove towards The Grange, Amanda occasionally shaking her head in perplexity.
***
‘You’re looking puzzled, Amanda dear. What is it that is baffling you?’ asked Miss Armstrong-Witworth solicitously, drawing her into the small salon.
‘Something I can’t understand.’
‘Tell me,’ Gwendolen invited her kindly.
‘Dale Hilland.’
‘Yes?
‘How does a man like him end up in a flower shop, with his unbearable mother, in an obscure village like Sunken Madley? He’s led a life of excitement and adventure, organising and leading adventure holidays all over the world. Crossing the Sahara, climbing the Himalayas, canoeing down the rapids of the Zambezi. I’m sorry I’m rambling, but it makes no sense!’
‘Oh, I don’t know. We government agents in the field did lead quite exciting lives and made quite startling redirections later on. Dear Jimmy Pond, he grows cabbages in Margate. Prudence Blayes, she went into designer knitting in Knockando. And look at me, helping to look after this lovely old house and the estate tenants. Not what you’d have expected of any of us.’
‘Hm … I suppose not … but you’re not with a horrid relative who bosses you around all day.’
‘Well, that’s true. Yes … that is an anomaly. But perhaps it’s just temporary for him. While he decides what he’d like to do next in his life.’
‘Yes, and I suppose he could be genuinely attached to his mother and concerned for her welfare. Perhaps he’s just helping to establish the florist’s before he goes off again.’
‘Would you like him to go off again?’
Amanda th
ought. ‘No, actually no. I like him. I’d like his mother to go off again!’
‘Met “Jill Hill” did you?’ asked Miss de Havillande, coming to join them for tea, shortly to be served.
‘Yes,’ replied Amanda with feeling.
‘Don’t let her bother you, dear. She’s just the sort of woman that needs proper handling. Like dogs. A firm manner is all that is required.’
‘Dale seems to struggle with that,’ Amanda observed.
‘That’s because he’s a man who is used to being listened to without question. He’s been a leader, an expert. He’s been the captain, at the helm, the guru, the guide. Ask Hillers: she’s done it. Hillers!’
Jaunty steps sounded in the hall.
‘Present and correct,’ cried Hillers, entering through the open door. A stout woman of middle years, above medium height, dressed in plus fours and tweeds, Hillary was marked by her fresh complexion and bracingly — some might have said overwhelmingly — cheerful demeanour.
‘Tell Amanda about people management when you’re the chap in charge,’ Cynthia bade her. ‘Remember when you were a guide?’
‘Oh yes, taking people over the Pennines.’
‘When you were a girl?’ Amanda asked with interest.
‘Yes, and I got back into it for a bit of lark last summer. There was some library or other Humpy was nutty for, so he went and burrowed in while I took a turn, taking trips on the hills. Jolly good fun it was.’
‘People management, dear,’ Miss de Havillande reminded her.
‘Oh, oh yes, well you have to be firm, you see, Amanda, and clear. You have to be commanding, in a confident rather than an oppressive manner, take charge, establish yourself as the leader. People tend to be ready to fall in line, especially when you make the dangers of the expedition very clear. Oh yes, it’s a knack, but once you’ve got it, they all behave.’
‘Ah I see. And Dale Hilland —’
‘Flower chappy, yes?’
‘Yes. In his job as an organiser of high-risk tours, he would have been used to that and expected it?’
‘Oh quite.’
‘I daresay it’s harder for him to apply to his mother,’ Amanda concluded, looking at the ladies for confirmation.
Miss de Havillande nodded firmly.
‘Yes,’ replied Hillers, ‘that’s all.’
Chapter 9
Pasco Flamgoyne
‘I would like you to tell my son what you told me,’ said Kytto Trelawney. He took a seat at the kitchen table of Flamgoyne, the ancestral home of the witch-clan after which it was named. He gestured for Thomas and Pasco to join him.
They sat down, and the estate manager looked at the inspector. He gave a brief nod of acquiescence, then, in a deep-voiced Cornish accent, spoke:
‘There was a day when the Mistress called for Kevern … the driver,’ he added in explanation. ‘Mistress di’n’t leave the estate much. Drove around in ’er jeep. But there was a day; she ordered the Rolls out. She come back. Mistress ‘ad bought gloves from Harber’s Bazaar, her maid said.’
‘You remember that?’
‘Bezzie was all proud. Posh shop in Parhayle. Mistress told her to hold ‘er tongue. Mistress ‘ad been there, in the town. That’s all I know.’ Trelawney gathered that Bezzie had been pretty, perky and memorable. Pasco reached into his pocket and threw a small notebook onto the table. ‘Master’s diary.’
It was maroon, leather-bound and embossed with the letters H B F: Hedrok Bolster Flamgoyne. Thomas left the book where it lay, knowing that the man would resent anyone else touching his master’s possession. He waited for Pasco to show him the relevant pages. The retainer was mollified by the respectful gesture. He grunted and picked up the little book. Turning to the relevant page, he rotated it to show the inspector.
‘Here see? Noon. Parhayle.’
Thomas nodded. ‘Thank you. And you, Pasco, did you go anywhere, around that time?’
‘Me? I had enough to do here without galavantin’ all over town.’
‘That day, when the Master went into Parhayle, was he driven by, er ... Kevern?’
‘No, Master drove himself.’
‘Do you remember which car it was?’
‘Bentley.’
‘Do you recall the colour?’ Thomas prompted.
‘It were dark. Black or blue.’
‘I know it was some time ago and the garage was looked after by Kevern, but would you have any idea of which model Bentley it was?’
‘Le’ me think.’ Pasco blew out a breath in the effort of recollection. ‘Sounded like that Swiss town … Lausanne.’
‘Mulsanne?’ asked Thomas, who’d had to track a few cars in his time as a policeman.
‘That’s the one.’ This seemed to thaw Pasco slightly. But then he ended with, ‘That’s all I can tell you, young Master.’ Whether it was all he knew, Trelawney could judge, by the man’s tone, it was all he was going to say.
‘Thank you, Pasco.’
The retainer gave a concessionary grunt.
Trelawney turned to a different subject. This was more delicate. He was developing cautious respect for Pasco, and hoped that he could eliminate the man from the suspect list. Unfortunately, Pasco had implicated himself by declaring that he knew the location of the enchanted ink. Together with the parchment, it had been used to release the toxin in the Cardiubarn van that day, but did Pasco know that? Nevertheless, Pasco himself had stated that only he and young Hedrok Flamgoyne knew where it was stashed. As a Flamgoyne, it was reasonable to suppose that Pasco was capable of a certain amount of magical crafting. The question was, what did the retainer know of the paper that was used?
‘The parchment that my fa— the Master here and I found that day ….’ That was the day the Trelawney men had searched Flamgoyne, and Pasco had come upon them. It had been an awkward moment, to say the least. ‘Did you know where the parchment was kept?’
‘I knew where the paper was kept, right enough, and the ink too, but I didn’t have the knowing of the spell to bind the two.’ The retainer added firmly, ‘I will not go to the Dark.’
Kytto Trelawney spoke. ‘That does you credit, Pasco.’
A few minutes later, Thomas and his father left the oppressive halls of Flamgoyne with relief.
‘I believe him,’ he said to Kyt. ‘And he spoke up without hesitation about knowing the location of the parchment.’
‘I believe him too. And I want to believe in his innocence as much as you do.’
‘Yes, but I can’t afford to let my preferences bias my judgement,’ Thomas took care to mention. He was mindful of, and if he was honest with himself rather sensitive about, his father’s words on that subject. ‘Of course, he’s still on the suspect list, but at least he’s moved towards the bottom of it.’
They reached Trelawney’s silver Ford Mondeo and got in. Thomas sat for a moment, tapping thoughtfully on the steering wheel.
‘Someone somewhere saw the Rolls; someone somewhere saw the Bentley. You can’t go from car to shop or café or office or house in Parhayle without crossing some pavement. You can’t go from here to Parhayle without someone seeing your car.’
‘It was 30 years ago,’ remarked Kyt, putting on his seatbelt.
‘There has to someone over 30, old enough to remember, who was living in or visiting Parhayle. ‘Someone who would notice a Rolls and a Bentley …. Someone ….’
Chapter 10
Pamela Spills the Beans
‘It’s actually not a great college,’ admitted Pamela, leaning against the sideboard in the small dining-room and watching a pile of clean rags. It was mysteriously moving, as Tempest, burrowed underneath, rearranged himself in his sleep.
Pamela had tapped on the locked door, to which Miss Armstrong-Witworth had helpfully located the key. Amanda, with a sigh, had bade the chisel, ‘Hlingor’ which then had laid down, and opened up the room to her visitor. Pamela had ‘come to help’ and was dressed in dungare
es. However, Amanda soon realised that Pamela’s need to unburden herself superseded any altruistic intention.
‘But Samantha’s dad is lecturing there on a short business studies course,’ Pamela continued, while Amanda went on with filling cracks and crevices in a stretch of rodent-nibbled skirting-board she’d removed. ‘That’s what I’m doing my degree on, and so is Samantha, so that’s why we’re there. And that’s how she … we met … Simon … I mean, Mr Lawley.’
‘He’s a faculty member, I gather?’
‘He teaches business languages. He’s actually a very talented linguist,’ Pamela added with wistful admiration.
‘Ah,’ offered Amanda, in case some response was called for.
‘And he’s so kind. He treats me just the same as Sam. You know? Not like some kid sister tagging along with his girlfriend, not that she is … and not that I’m a kid or anything. We’re the same age. In fact, I might be slightly older than Sam, only I know I come across as younger, but that’s only because I don’t have her confidence. It shows, doesn’t it? I mean, I’m talking too much, aren’t I?’
Amanda stopped, looked up at her and smiled. ‘It’s OK. I know what it’s like to feel awkward about yourself and being around other people. I’m not really much of a people person. I like being by myself,’ she added, trying to avoid undue emphasis.
‘Oh, me too!’ agreed Pamela, failing to take the hint.
‘Well … you’ll find your niche, your style,’ Amanda said encouragingly, walking back to the ballroom. Pamela followed, little-lamb-like.
‘You’re kind. Like Simon. That’s what he says, and there’s something about his eyes, so kind that when he looks at you … you just feel better, you know?’
Reading people wasn’t Amanda’s strong point, but Pamela’s blush, far off gaze and soft voice did suggest a crush. No one had ever confided such an emotional state to Amanda before. She said,
‘Well, I haven’t met him, so I really couldn’t say, but I’m glad he’s helpful to you.’
‘Oh, not just me. Simon’s helpful to us both. Sam’s concentrating on her studies, and that’s why she invited him along, to tutor her.’