Elizabeth Duncan - A Killer's Christmas in Wales

Mrs. Lloyd cleared her throat.

“Well, I don’t know. Huw Bowen at the bank manages my investments for me. I don’t know very much about that kind of thing.”

She hesitated.

“And while we’re speaking of money, Harry, I hate to bring this up, but there is one thing,” she began tentatively. “That night we had dinner at the Red Dragon Hotel, you remember, the night you lost your wallet, you did say you would reimburse me and I am so sorry to mention it but…”

“Oh, my goodness!” exclaimed Harry. “Did I not… well, here, let’s sort that out right now.” He shifted forward on the sofa and withdrew a sleek, black leather wallet from his back pocket. He held it in front of him for a moment revealing a glimpse of the two intertwined Gs for Gucci, then opened the billfold section allowing Mrs. Lloyd to see at least an inch of folded bills. He withdrew several and gave them to her.

“There you are, my dear, that should cover it. And please accept my apologies for being so tardy in repaying you. Forgot all about it! Won’t happen again, I promise!”

Mrs. Lloyd settled deeper in the sofa and leaned her head on Saunders’s shoulder. He moved his arm to accommodate her, and then turned it ever so slightly so he could check his watch.

“How did you sleep?” Mrs. Lloyd asked Florence the next morning. “What time did you go to bed? I didn’t hear you come up.”

“I wanted to leave the kitchen shipshape,” Florence replied. “I can’t abide coming downstairs in the morning to a sink full of dirty dishes. No matter how late, I like to have everything tidied away before I head off to my bed.”

She held a steaming pot of freshly brewed coffee in her right hand and reached for Mrs. Lloyd’s cup with her left. At that moment, the post dropped through the letterbox and Florence set down the coffeepot. She trotted down the hall, picked up the cards and letters, and returned a few minutes later.

“Your letter opener wasn’t on your desk,” she said to Mrs. Lloyd as she handed her a few colourful envelopes. “I looked in the most likely places but didn’t see it.”

A small frown creased Mrs. Lloyd’s forehead as she picked up an envelope and tugged it open with her fingers.

“Well, it must be somewhere,” she said. “You probably put it in a drawer or something when you were dusting or tidying up. We’ll have a good look for it after breakfast.” She shrugged and turned her attention to the Christmas card in her hand. “Oh, look, it’s from Huw and Glynnis. How nice of them to send the card through the post when I saw them only yesterday.” She stood the card on end and admired the image of a plump robin sitting on a little branch lightly dusted with glitter.

She picked up the next envelope in the little stack and, after a quick glance, offered it to Florence.

“I think this is your invitation to the opening of the Llanelen Spa.”

Florence smiled as she tucked the envelope in the pocket of her blue-and-white-striped apron.

“Well, good,” said Mrs. Lloyd. “I take it you’re pleased and I expect that means you’ll be going.”

“Oh, yes,” said Florence, giving her pocket a pat. “I can’t wait.”

Mrs. Lloyd’s eyes narrowed slightly as she shifted in her chair.

“Harry will be joining us for dinner this evening. He likes chicken and has a good appetite, I’ve noticed. Do you think you could make that casserole with the dumplings? It was very good last time and I’m sure he’ll enjoy it. Oh, and as we’ll be discussing pressing business matters, it would really be best if it were just the two of us. You wouldn’t mind having your dinner in the kitchen, would you?”

“Of course not, Evelyn,” Florence replied. “I understand completely. I could even have a tray in my room, if that would suit you better.” She slid into her chair and placed her napkin on her lap.

“Evelyn?”

“Hmm.” Mrs. Lloyd looked up from her plate. “Yes, Florence, what is it?”

Florence hesitated. “Well, it’s about that Harry Saunders. You will be careful, won’t you?”

“Careful? Whatever do you mean?”

“Well, it’s just that I wouldn’t want to see you get hurt, that’s all, and-”

Mrs. Lloyd interrupted her. “Oh, and I’m a big girl, Florence, and I can take care of myself. Careful! Whatever do you mean?”

“Well, there’s something about him that I don’t think is completely trustworthy. In fact, I-”

Mrs. Lloyd held up her hand. “That’s enough now, Florence. I won’t hear anything said against him.”

Florence nodded. “What time would you like me to serve dinner?”

Penny finished applying her lipstick and stepped back to examine her reflection in the mirror. When she thought about it, she found it difficult to believe that she was in her fifties, and she was always mildly astonished that the woman in the mirror who looked back at her was not in her mid-twenties. Where did those years go, she asked herself with a resigned sigh as she replaced the cap on her lipstick and set it down in a little pewter dish on the vanity table.

With a small, satisfied smile, she took in the tranquility of her new bathroom with its gleaming shower, soft lighting, fluffy white towels, and pale grey walls. After taking possession of the cottage, Penny had lived in it for a few weeks to get a feel for the place before tackling the renovation, and now that the work was complete, she was very pleased with the results.

The downstairs had been opened up, so the formerly small sitting room, dining room, and kitchen were now one generous living space with what real estate agents liked to call open flow. A thoroughly modern kitchen with custom cabinetry clad in wenge paneling and stylish lighting fixtures had been installed, but Penny had insisted on keeping the original slate flooring and the now highly prized Rayburn cooker. Above the cooker, attached to the ceiling, was a laundry drying system, with a complicated set of ropes and pulleys to lower the rack for loading and then hoist it back to the ceiling where towels and sheets could dry in the warmth from the range. Emma had told her once that the airer, as the British called it, was also sometimes known as a Sheila Maid.

In the living area, the outdated, brown soft furnishings were gone, replaced by a cream-colored sofa highlighted with plump floral pillows and a pair of elegant wing chairs. Small side tables had been repositioned, and with Emma’s clutter and collectibles gone, the space was airy and inviting.

Gareth Davies sat now in one of the wing chairs and looked around him. In the early fall he had sat in the same place, knowing that once Penny had completed her renovation the cottage would resemble something right out of the pages of an interior design magazine. And he had been right.

He stood up when he heard her footsteps on the stairs and his eyes lit up when he saw her.

“You look lovely tonight,” he said, as she stepped off the bottom stair and into his arms. A moment later he held her at arm’s length. “Let me look at you.”

Penny was wearing a long-sleeved woolen dress in a soft red. A narrow red ribbon encircling her waist and tied in a neat bow at the front provided detail and interest.

Gareth reached into his pocket and pulled out a small red leather box.

“I got you a little something to mark the opening of your new business,” he said as he handed the gift to her. “I hope you like it.”

Penny smiled at him as she opened the box and then gave a little gasp.

Nestled on a bed of midnight blue silk was a brooch in the form of a delicate, sparkling snowflake.

“It’s beautiful,” she said as she pinned it to the shoulder of her dress. “I love it. Thank you.” She gave it a little pat and then smiled up at him.