“Well, I must get these bags home,” Mrs. Lloyd said. “Florence is doing a nice chicken casserole for our tea tonight. Now, girls, I do hope you’ll sign up for the dancing lessons as we want a very good turnout for Harry. If we don’t get enough people, the classes won’t be able to go ahead and that will certainly be a disappointment to some of us. And don’t forget they begin in just a few days.”
“We’re definitely leaning toward going, Mrs. Lloyd,” Penny told her.
“Yes, we are,” Victoria echoed. A couple of people standing nearby murmured their assent, and as the group began to disperse to get on with the busy morning that lay ahead, Penny raised a hand to brush her hair back from her eyes and gave Victoria an almost apologetic smile.
“We must be starved for excitement because I’m starting to think I wouldn’t miss this for anything,” she said. “And who’s this Harry when he’s at home?”
“No idea,” replied Victoria as they turned to go, “but we won’t have to wait very long to find out.” They walked on for a few metres behind Mrs. Lloyd. Just as she was about to turn down the road that led to her house, she stopped and, noticing Penny and Victoria, raised a hand and headed back toward them.
“Something I meant to ask you. If you wouldn’t think it terribly rude, I wondered if I might bring two guests to the grand opening of your new spa. Florence, of course, having only just moved to Llanelen doesn’t know anyone so it would do her good to get out and meet some new people. If she’ll agree to come, that is. And well, Harry and I have started seeing each other, I think you might say, so naturally he would want to be my escort. I’m sure your opening will only benefit from having an extra person or two, to help fill the room. People always say they’re coming and then don’t turn up.” She looked from one to the other.
Victoria’s eyes widened slightly and Penny nodded.
“Of course, Mrs. Lloyd, we’d be delighted if you brought your guests,” Victoria said. “In fact, we’re meeting with Gwennie later this afternoon to sort out the catering, so we appreciate your letting us know so we can figure out the numbers.”
“Oh, Gwennie’s doing the catering, is she? Well, that’ll be lovely, then. Do you think she’ll make those little petit fours I like so much?”
“We’ll ask her to make them just for you, Mrs. Lloyd,” Penny replied.
Mrs. Lloyd let out a little squeak of disappointment.
“On second thought, better not. I’ve just started a bit of a slimming regimen and her petit fours would be so tempting.”
“Right,” Penny said. “No petit fours, then. We’ll have a nice veggie tray for you.”
Mrs. Lloyd groaned. “Do you know, I’ve never been particularly fond of vegetables, even though I was married to a greengrocer all those years.” She gave a little shudder. “And especially not raw! Still, I appreciate the thought.” She shifted her bags. “Well, must get these things home. Florence will be waiting for them. See you at the dance lessons, if not before.”
Penny and Victoria headed off to the salon where their morning’s work awaited them. On the way, they discussed how they should go about judging the Christmas displays in the merchants’ shop windows and the kinds of categories they should create. “Most creative?” suggested Victoria.
“Like it,” agreed Penny, adding, “Most beautiful?” And then they both agreed there would have to be a best in show.
In Llandudno, about fifteen miles away, Harry Saunders inserted a key into the front door of a bed-and- breakfast inn near the railway station. He opened the door quietly, hoping he would not attract the attention of the owner, a robust, bossy woman in her early sixties.
As he entered the small hallway, with its faded brown floral-patterned carpet, he was greeted by a hovering smell that put him in mind of decades of boiled vegetables and wet dog. To his dismay, he heard his landlady clumping up the stairs from the breakfast room in the basement.
“Is that you, Mr. Sanderson?” she called. “I need a word if you don’t mind.”
Harry sighed.
“Ah, there you are,” she wheezed as she closed the basement door behind her. “I’ve been meaning to speak to you. Are you planning to stay on?”
“If that would be all right with you,” Harry replied with a weak smile.
“Perfectly all right,” she replied, “only we’ll need to square up the money. You’ve paid until today, so if you’re going to stay for another week, I’ll need to have your money by this afternoon. Same rate as last week, and you know what I charge.”
Harry nodded.
“Yes, I’ll just slip out this afternoon and cash a few travellers’ cheques. No problem.”
“Right, then.”
Harry climbed the stairs to a small room on the second floor, overlooking the street. He closed the curtains, lay down on the single bed and, tucking his hands under his head, stared up the ceiling.
Where could he get sixty pounds by this afternoon, he wondered. He had a few pounds left over from the money Mrs. Lloyd had given him. He thought about a woman he’d met recently in Chester and decided to give her a call. He didn’t have any time to lose and this affair with Mrs. Lloyd was taking longer than he liked to get going. But he had high hopes there. She just needed a little more cultivation, but if his experience was anything to go by, she’d be well worth it in the end. Oh yes, he had high hopes with that one. And then the dancing classes would bring in a bit of money, but it would have to be cash. He’d have to make sure Huw Bowen didn’t try to take advantage of him.
The bedsprings creaked under his shifting weight as he got up.
He kept his one suitcase in the small closet and made sure it was locked each time he went out. He’d had problems before with prying landladies, but so far, this one seemed to be minding her own business.
He reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a small key, unlocked the case, and pulled out a brown envelope. He sat back down on the bed and opened it. In it were two black-and-white photographs. He took out one and examined it.
It showed a young woman holding the hand of a small boy dressed in shorts and a Fair Isle vest and wearing sturdy boots. He smiled awkwardly at the camera, as if the photographer had told him to. The woman gazed down benignly at the boy, her face lit up from within as if by love.
Behind them was a closed wooden door, set into a sturdy stone frame with rosebushes growing up each side. On the door was a knocker, in the shape of a dolphin.
Saunders’s fingers brushed lightly over the image. Oh Mum, he thought for the millionth time. Why did you leave me? What happened to you? Where are you? He ran his fingers lightly over the photo and then, with a small sigh, replaced it in the envelope, tucked the envelope into a corner of the suitcase under a larger envelope, locked the case, and then pocketed the key. He wanted to find out what happened to her, but if he started asking too many questions, that could spell trouble.
He reached into an inside pocket of his coat and pulled out a small black book held closed with an elastic band. What was that Chester woman’s name again? He pulled off the elastic band and riffled the pages. Oh, yes, here she is. Widow, married daughter. Have to be careful when grown-up daughters are in the frame. They don’t approve of mum taking up with a man at her age. Worried about their inheritance, more like. Women without interfering children, like Mrs. Lloyd, were much better bets.
Still, Chester it would have to be. He thought about the woman and wondered which he despised more about her: her foolish gullibility or her little moustache.
He reached for his mobile.
“Supper? I’d love to, sweetie,” he was saying a few moments later. “I’ll catch the next train to Chester and be with you by late afternoon. I’m counting the minutes, too. Good-bye, my dear.”
He ran his hand over his face and decided there was just enough time for a quick shave. In his line of work, you had to look your best.
