Elizabeth Duncan - A Killer's Christmas in Wales

“Oh, we’re not anticipating any problems, are we, Harry?” Mrs. Lloyd replied.

A minute later they were standing in the town square outside the bank. The sky had turned a pewter colour and dark clouds rested sullenly on the hilltops.

“I’m so excited, Harry,” Mrs. Lloyd said. “I just know our investments are going to do really well.”

“Of course they will, Evelyn.”

“There’s just one thing that’s bothering me, though. I’m having second thoughts about that joint signing business. It might have been a good idea, just to keep everything…”

“Now, Evelyn,” Saunders said with a smooth smile, inclining his head toward her, “either you trust me or you don’t. You do trust me, don’t you?”

“Yes, of course I do, Harry.”

He gave her a broad, boyish grin, and then as it faded, he consulted his watch. “Now then, will you let me take you to lunch to celebrate our new partnership? I thought perhaps the hotel. Some nice cream of leek soup to warm us up. I know you like that. What do you say?”

Mrs. Lloyd touched his sleeve, then tucked her arm through his, as they began walking in the direction of the Red Dragon Hotel.

“I have a better idea, Harry. Florence is going to Liverpool this afternoon, so why don’t you come round for dinner this evening. She’ll have left something nice.” Mrs. Lloyd gave his arm a friendly little squeeze. “And she’ll be stopping in Liverpool for the weekend, so you won’t have to rush off.”

“That sounds delightful, Evelyn,” Harry replied. “What time would you like me?”

“Well, let’s say about seven. We’ll have a lovely evening. Oh, I have so been looking forward to this!”

“Oh, me too, Evelyn, me too.” He gave her a little peck on the cheek and then stood back. “Well, only another hour or so and the markets will be open in New York, so I’d best be off. Let’s hope there are some good mutual funds available at fire sale prices!”

Mrs. Lloyd laughed and set off for the short walk home. Saunders watched her until she turned the corner, and then he started walking slowly in the other direction.

“Only me!” Mrs. Lloyd called out as she pushed open her front door. Noticing Florence’s battered, old-fashioned suitcase in the hall, she smiled to herself as she pulled off her gloves, stuffed them in the pocket of her coat, and draped the coat over a chair. After a moment she picked up the coat and hung it in the hall closet her late husband Arthur had had put in a few years before he died.

Mrs. Lloyd walked through to the kitchen where Florence was finishing her lunch. “I wasn’t sure what time you’d be back,” she said, “and I thought you might even have your lunch out, so I didn’t make anything for you. But I can make you a sandwich, if you like. Tea’s just brewed,” she added, pointing at the pot. “Would you like me to pour you a cup?”

“Well, actually, Florence, that would be perfect,” Mrs. Lloyd replied. “No, I didn’t have lunch. Came straight home after the appointment at the… well, never mind that. I am hungry, though, so a cheese sandwich would really hit the spot. I’ll just go and change my shoes. I really shouldn’t be walking all over the place in these. I wonder what I did with my slippers.”

Florence buttered two pieces of bread, scraped the cheese slicer across a hefty slab of mature cheddar, added some thin slices of red onion, and cut the sandwich in two. She set it down on the table and sat down to wait for Mrs. Lloyd.

“Cheese and onion,” said Florence, “just the way you like it.”

“Oh, I don’t think I’ll have the onion today, thank you.” Mrs. Lloyd smiled as she opened the sandwich, picked out a few onion slices, and set them down on the edge of her plate. “Harry’s coming for dinner.”

“I thought he might be, so I’ve left a nice fisherman’s pie in the fridge for you,” Florence said. “All you’ve got to do is heat it up. And there’s a treacle tart for pudding. I was going to make some custard to go with it, but there’s some pouring cream, so you can have that with it, instead.” She paused for a moment and then added as an afterthought, “Custard doesn’t really keep all that well, does it? Gets that nasty skin on it if you don’t put the cling film right down on top of it.”

Mrs. Lloyd nodded and took another bite. The onion slices were piling up on her plate.

“Have you ever been to his place, Evelyn?” Florence asked, breaking the silence. “Have you seen where he lives?”

Mrs. Lloyd stopped chewing and looked at her.

“It’s just that I was wondering if maybe he might be, well, you know, married. Or otherwise spoken for.”

“Hah!” said Mrs. Lloyd. “And here’s me thinking that you’ve been thinking it’s my money he’s after.”

“Well, I did wonder.”

“Now, let’s just consider that for a moment, Florence, shall we? What is it about me that makes you think that he couldn’t like me just for myself? Am I so unlikable, so unattractive that a man wouldn’t want me just for me? To enjoy my company? To go dancing? To have as a bridge partner?”

“I’m sorry, Evelyn, I didn’t mean to imply any of that. It’s just that I’ve been worried about you, that’s all.”

“Well, I don’t need you to worry about me, Florence. You and I have only known each other five minutes and, forgive me if I speak frankly, but it’s really not your place to meddle in my affairs. I’ve given you a lovely home here, at practically no rent in exchange for doing a few simple things about the place and now you’re worried about me having a friendship with a nice man?

“I think it’s you that you’re really worried about, Florence. I think you’re worried that Harry’s going to be moving in here and where will that leave you? Back in a shabby-” Mrs. Lloyd, looking somewhat aghast at where her thoughts were taking her, stopped abruptly. “I’m sorry,” she apologized. “That came across as much harsher than I meant it to. I’ll say no more. Least said, soonest mended.”

Florence gathered herself up with as much dignity as she could muster.

“Good-bye, Evelyn. I hope you have a lovely weekend. If it’s all right with you, I’ll be back on Sunday afternoon, by teatime, I should think.”

“Of course, Florence. You get off now and enjoy yourself. You don’t want to miss the bus. Oh, and it’s suddenly got quite cold when I was out. There could be some bad weather coming in.”

Mrs. Lloyd remained at the kitchen table, and a few minutes later she heard the front door closing quietly. She got up from the table and peered down the hallway. As she expected, the little suitcase was gone.

Now then, Mrs. Lloyd thought, as she ran a bath later that afternoon, I wonder if I should wait until Harry gets here to put the fish pie in the oven, or would it be more welcoming if he were to be greeted by the aroma when he walks in the door? But maybe he won’t want to eat right away and we’ll have a drink first. The timing is always tricky on something like this.

Oh dear me.

Never mind the fish pie. What should I wear? I don’t want to seem too eager. But not too casual and not overdressed, either. Still, I don’t want something for every day, like a skirt and blouse. Or do I?

She added some fragrant lavender bath salts to the warm water and then settled in for a nice, long soak. She lay back, resting her head on a towel, and thought about those scenes she had seen on television in which a young beautiful woman, eyes closed, relaxed in a soothing bath with candles all around the tub. Mrs. Lloyd closed her eyes and thought about scented candles. When she opened her eyes, the water had turned a tepid grey and her fingertips looked like prunes.