Bread, Dead and Wed

by Sherri Bryan

  “I think you’re probably right,” said Ava. “She does tend to grab the bull by the horns, as it were. She’s certainly not one to shy away from conflict.”

  “Although she didn’t taste a thing at the session, did she?” said Harriett. “And we all know how much she loves her food.”

  “Well, maybe she did do it,” said Betty, “but she only meant to put enough poison in the raisins to upset Roman’s stomach for a few days.”

  “‘Upset his stomach for a few days’?” repeated Ava. “Betty, dear, in case you’ve been asleep since Monday, those raisins caused Roman Haley to keel over and go kaput.”

  “Yes, I’m aware of that,” said Betty, “but even the best laid plans can backfire sometimes. When I was at school, Jimmy Sluman put itching powder in Richard Finegan’s plimsolls and poor Richard had to have a month off sick because he had the most terrible allergic reaction to it. His whole body swelled up like one of those Pufferfish and he had to have an emergency tracheotomy.”

  “That’s very interesting, Bet,” said Ava, “but what does some poor boy’s tracheotomy from decades ago have to do with Olivia?”

  “If you’ll let me get a word in, I’ll tell you,” said Betty, munching on her bruschetta. “Anyway, Jimmy wasn’t to know that Richard was going to have such a bad reaction - he was only larking around - but he kept his mouth shut when the headmaster went to every classroom, trying to find out who was responsible. It was only because Jimmy’s mum found the itching powder packet under his bed when she was tidying his room that she realised what had happened, and went straight down to the school to tell the headmaster.”

  “What happened to Jimmy?” asked Izzy. “Did he get three thwacks of the cane, or whatever it was they used to do in those days?”

  “Oh no, he got expelled,” said Betty. “If he’d owned up right away, he would have been punished, but he could have stayed at school. The point I’m making is that he didn’t mean to cause Richard any harm but when it all went wrong, he was too scared to own up. Maybe that’s what happened with Olivia—she didn’t mean to kill Roman but when he died, she panicked.”

  “You know, Betty, that’s an excellent theory,” said Ava. “I think you should tell Nathan.”

  “Nathan! That’s it!” Izzy banged her hand on the table. “We’ve been trying to remember his name. He’s the guy who interviewed us yesterday. And quite yummy, I thought. For an older man, anyway.”

  “Yes, he’s lovely,” said Harriett. “Such a shame Charlotte doesn’t get to see him much at the moment, especially in her condition. Mind you, she never does when he’s working on a case like this.”

  “Charlotte?” said Izzy. “What’s Charlotte got to do with him?”

  “He’s her husband,” said Ava. “Did I forget to tell you?”

  “Must be the only thing she’s forgotten to tell someone all year,” Betty stage-whispered to Harriett, with a wink.

  “Oh, be quiet,” said Ava. “Yes, dear, Charlotte and Nathan are married.”

  The smile almost slipped from Izzy’s face but she forced it back on. “Oh. Well, lucky Charlotte. One sprog, another on the way, both successful, he’s a respectable pillar of the community… I’m sure they must be very happy. Sounds like a perfect life to me.”

  Her sudden change in mood wasn’t lost on her dining companions.

  “Is something wrong, dear?” asked Ava, as Izzy jabbed the breadstick into the butter dish with rather more venom than suited the occasion.

  Izzy shook her head, the tension in her jaw disappearing as she slouched over the table. “Sorry. I get a little uptight sometimes when I hear about people who have fantastically happy marriages. I haven’t really got over my divorce yet, although I keep telling myself I have.”

  “Huh, I know how you feel,” said Roy, gloomily, snapping a breadstick in half.

  “Oh, I’m so sorry!” said Izzy, giving his hand a squeeze. “I wasn’t thinking. Take no notice of me, everyone. It makes me feel better to wallow in self-pity sometimes.” She smiled apologetically.

  Ava reached over and patted her on the shoulder. “It’s alright, dear, and there’s no need to explain to us. It can’t be easy when your dream of a perfect marriage crumbles to nothing before your very eyes—it must be terribly distressing. Marriage can be hard work but with the right man, it can last for many blissfully happy years.”

  She gave Izzy a sympathetic smile. “Still, there’s plenty more fish in the sea—it’s just a matter of reeling one in. Have you thought of dating sites? I hear there’s been a resurgence in their popularity recently. You don’t want to leave it too long, though; women start to sag after a certain age, but men seem to get better as they get older, so you’ll need to get out there before all the good ones are snapped up and you’re left with the dregs. You’re such a lovely girl, it would be a terrible waste if you ended up unloved and alone.”

  It was left to Harriett to break the awkward silence.

  “Good grief!” she said, shaking her head, briskly, and shooting Ava a withering glare. “First of all, I found the love of my life just a few years ago, Izzy, so I don’t think you need to worry just yet about being left on the shelf. And, second of all, promise me you’ll never become an agony aunt, will you, Ava? The poor girl needs comforting, not driving to suicide.”

  Betty nodded, wisely. “She’s right, Ava. I know you mean well, but you really need to work on your delivery.”

  “What have I said?” Ava’s eyes widened as a hand flew to her chest. “I was simply trying to empathise. I didn’t mean to upset you dear.” Her look of concern was so genuine, it made Izzy giggle.

  “Really, it’s okay—I’m fine. Like I said, I just get a bit tetchy about the divorce sometimes. Like now, when I’m tired and hungry, so thank goodness someone’s coming to take our food order.”

  The waiter arrived back at the table, his long eyelashes and dark Italian good looks not wasted on Izzy.

  Roy gave her a sly look. “Looks like you’ve found an antidote for your crush on Nathan the hunky detective.”

  Izzy stuck out her tongue. “It’s not a crush. And even if it was, and he wasn’t married, I’m going home soon, so there wouldn’t be much time to do anything about it, would there? Anyway, can we change the subject please?”

  “Did you get your refund for the course?” asked Harriett.

  Izzy nodded. “Larissa came to The St. Eves’ Tavern to let us know she’d arranged it. She looked awful.”

  “Hardly surprising,” said Roy, “seeing as her boss was poisoned right under her nose. She told us that the stock at the school had been given the all-clear, so that was a weight of her and Gavin’s minds, but she still looked really stressed.”

  “Well, Roman’s death must have come as a terrible shock,” said Ava. “You can’t blame the poor girl for not looking her best.” She turned to Izzy. “By the way, aren’t you going home soon? I thought you and Betty were supposed to be arranging to see each other.”

  Izzy nodded. “I’m leaving on Monday, so we’re getting together tomorrow, aren’t we, Betty? I’m going round to see her dad’s old teapot collection.”

  Ava lifted an eyebrow. “Don’t get too excited, will you?”

  Chapter 13

  “Oh my God! Just wait until Olivia sees this,” murmured Charlotte as she shook out The Sunday Herald and read the print emblazoned across the front page.

  Exclusive! We interview Gordon Buckingham, who suffered dreadful, and life-changing, injuries at the hands of the prime suspect in the murder of Roman Haley, Olivia Floyd-Martin. Full story on pages 2, 3, and 4.

  It’s a well-known fact that Olivia Floyd-Martin, the Executive Chef at St. Eves’ President Hotel, has a hot head on her burly shoulders, but not everyone knows that she has a streak so mean, it left restaurant critic, Gordon Buckingham, fighting to live a normal life.

  In fact, he still walks with a limp and suffers constant pain; the legacy of the injuries he sustained in a cowardly and unprovoked attack
by the now world-famous chef, during which she threw him through a plate-glass window.

  Our reporter, Michelle Durban, spoke to Gordon at his home recently.

  Gordon Buckingham is a quiet unpretentious man. He lives alone in a modest house, in an equally unassuming neighbourhood, on the outskirts of the village of Little Acorns. I ask him what life is like for him these days.

  “Well, some days are a bit of a struggle,” he says, “but my sister and my carers do a fantastic job of looking after me, and making sure I have everything I need. I couldn’t cope without them, that’s for sure.”

  I ask him about his wife, Melanie, who left him a few months after the accident.

  “She couldn’t cope with it—couldn’t cope with me, I suppose. She said she loved me so much, seeing me in pain was too hard for her to deal with. I was devastated when she left, but I didn’t blame her. She was quite a bit younger than me, you see, and I can’t imagine the pressure it must have put on her. Anyway, life must go on, so you just have to do your best to forgive, or it can become unbearable.”

  Over a cup of tea, and homemade lemon biscuits, Gordon shows me the diaries he kept before his accident, when he was enjoying life as a restaurant critic. The diaries contain reviews of every restaurant he’d ever critiqued; its chef; every course he’d eaten; a mark out of ten for each dish, and a total mark for the whole dining experience. “I loved keeping those records,” he says, “and looking back to see how restaurants had improved, or not, since my last visit.”

  One of the last entries in the diary Gordon was using at the time is a review for The Old Barn in the village of Shottingford - a village about ten miles from Gordon’s home - which is the restaurant at which he had his accident. The mostly empty pages which follow that critique are a constant reminder to Gordon of what happened. “I would have continued with the reviews, but it was a bit difficult to get to many restaurants with a fractured hip and a shattered kneecap,” he says, with a wry smile.

  It shows the true mettle of the man that despite his accident, and consequent injuries, he bears Olivia Floyd-Martin no ill will. As we settle down to chat, I ask him to share his thoughts on Ms. Floyd-Martin, and the accident that changed his life.

  “I don’t blame Olivia at all,” he says, completely without malice. “She was a genius then, and she still is now. Working in a top-class kitchen is extremely demanding and the pressure the staff work under is immense. That’s something that not many people outside the industry realise.”

  I remark that he surely isn’t excusing her behaviour. He smiles, and responds in his quiet voice. “. I don’t expect you to understand; everyone I know has wanted me to sue the backside off that woman, but that’s not me. You see, I loved my job as a restaurant critic, but what made it so enjoyable were the chefs who worked so hard to produce such wonderful food and ambience in their restaurants: Olivia was one of those chefs.

  After the accident, I just couldn’t bear to see her punished for what she did. She had too much to offer the culinary world for her talent to be snuffed out, and if I’d pressed charges, I feared she would have gone to prison, which would most likely have been the end of her career. I could never have forgiven myself if I’d been the one to deprive others of her talent.”

  I ask Gordon why the police hadn’t carried out their own investigation, and brought charges against Ms. Floyd-Martin. “Oh, they did carry out an investigation,” he replies, “but they couldn’t find enough evidence against her for a conviction. None of the people who witnessed the incident wanted to get involved and give a statement, you see, so they all claimed they’d been looking the other way when it happened which meant the police had very little on which to base their case.”

  In an unusual move, the police asked Gordon if he would like to suggest any form of retribution for Ms. Floyd-Martin. When I ask him about this he says, “Olivia needed help, not punishment, so I was delighted to be given the opportunity to suggest an alternative to the more conventional penalties which are handed out to offenders. She agreed to have the anger management therapy I’d suggested, which I believe helped her then, and has continued to help her since. In fact, I heard from friends in the industry that she calmed down considerably after the treatment began.”

  I suggest that his decision not to press charges against Ms. Floyd-Martin were magnanimous in the extreme. “Not really,” he says, with a smile. “Look, I’m no saint—I did what I did for my sake as much as hers. If I’d been the one responsible for cutting her career short, I would never have forgiven myself. The guilt would have eaten away at me, and holding onto resentment is never good for one’s health—it can be so terribly damaging. For that reason, I would implore any of your readers who may feel a desire to take retribution against Olivia on my behalf to cast all such thoughts from their minds. Anger and revenge will not help me, and it will not help them.

  “I have made my peace with Olivia in my heart, and the decision to do so was an easy one, really,” he tells me. “You see, as I’ve already said, forgiveness is the only way.”

  It is truly incredible that someone who has been through such hardship can have so much compassion in their heart.

  Charlotte wiped the tears from her eyes as she read the rest of the interview, which went into detail about the night of the accident, and Gordon’s subsequent injuries. The pages were peppered with old photographs of Gordon and Olivia, and more recent ones of him in what looked to be his living room, and Olivia on the steps outside The President Hotel, shoving an angry palm into a photographer’s face as he tried to take her photo.

  She put the paper on the coffee table and blew her nose before putting her feet up on the couch and sipping her mug of tea. Although she’d heard snippets about the attack over the years, she’d never realised quite how bad it had been. She wondered if Olivia really appreciated how fortunate she’d been that Gordon Buckingham had never brought charges against her.

  Her phone rang and Ava’s face flashed up on the screen. She blew her nose again and put on a cheery voice. “Morning, Ava. Everything alright?”

  “Fine, dear, just fine.”

  “Are you sure? You sound out of breath?”

  “Yes, I’m on my morning speed-walk. Sorry to call so early, but I wondered if you’d done your exercises yet? If you haven’t, I thought I could come and join you and pick up something for breakfast on the way? Does that fit in with your plans?”

  “Sounds good to me,” said Charlotte. “Nathan’s at work, and I don’t have any plans apart from meeting the bus at the school when Molly comes home from camp later. Then we’re going out for a pizza. Apart from that, though, I’m free all day.”

  “So you don’t mind if I pop round?”

  “Do you even need to ask? I’ll see you in a bit.”

  ____________

  “Are you absolutely sure you don’t mind me hanging around so much?” said Ava, as she puffed along with Charlotte’s early morning pre-natal exercises. “With Derek away at rehearsals, I’m at a bit of a loose end, you see. I caught up with Harriett and Betty for lunch yesterday; it was lovely to get together, but Betty’s got Izzy going round today, and Harriett, Leo and Harry have gone on one of those retirement home day trips. I think I told you about them, didn’t I?

  “They invited me along, of course, but I ask you, dear, why on earth anyone would volunteer to go on one of those deathly boring coach trips, I have no idea. They’ve gone to a shoelace factory today.” Her eyebrows quirked in opposite directions. “A shoelace factory! Honestly, I’d rather have a root canal without anaesthetic while I was watching paint dry. D’you know what I mean?”

  Charlotte giggled and flopped onto the couch. “Yes, I can’t say I’ve ever been a big fan of coach trips. Especially if I sit near a wheel—it gives me horrible travel sickness. By the way, have you seen The Sunday Herald this morning?”

  “No. I was out before the paperboy called round. Why? Anything worth reading in there?”

  Charlotte handed her the
folded newspaper. “Here, you take a look at that, and I’ll get us some tea and fruit juice and pop those chocolate croissants you bought in the oven for a couple of minutes.”

  Ava’s eyes widened as she read the headline. “Oh, good Lord! The scandal is never ending!” She slipped her glasses on and began to read.

  ____________

  “I’m surprised he’s never given an interview before,” said Ava, as she used the pad of her index finger to pick up croissant crumbs from her plate.

  Charlotte shrugged. “Maybe he just wanted to forget about what happened. You can hardly blame him, can you? If I’d been through what he’s been through, I know I wouldn’t want to dwell on it. In any case, the newspapers probably weren’t interested in him before now because it wouldn’t have been such a big news story. Olivia hasn’t always been so well known, but now she’s recognised wherever she goes and she’s a suspect in a TV megastar’s murder. The Herald must be thrilled that it got the scoop.”

  “Poor man, you have to feel sorry for him,” said Ava, looking over the paper again. “Fancy his wife leaving him after everything he’d been through—what an awful thing to do. He must have had a terribly miserable life.”

  “Well, thankfully, he doesn’t sound very miserable now,” said Charlotte. “He says he let go of any resentment he had towards Olivia for the sake of his health, doesn’t he? And you know what they say about forgiveness; it’s like a huge weight’s been lifted off you.”

  “Hmm, I suppose that’s true, and he does say his sister and his carers look after him well.” Ava took off her glasses and folded the paper. “That’s good. I’m glad he’s not on his own. Everyone needs someone to care about them, you know.”

  ____________

  “Yay! Mummy!” cried Molly, as she jumped off the coach steps, a toothy grin stretching from one ear to the other. “No baby yet, then?” she said, reaching her arms as far around Charlotte as they would go, and resting her head on her stomach.