Elizabeth Duncan: A Killer's Christmas in Wales

Still, she was glad to be able to get out to the shops after a day or two of being cooped up indoors. She paused for a moment to glance up at the pale, watery sun that hung low in the midafternoon sky and then, just as she was about to take her next step, she heard her front door opening behind her. She turned around.

“Don’t forget to pick up one or two navel oranges,” Florence Semble called out to her. “I need the zest for that new shortbread recipe I want to try.” Florence had recently moved in with Mrs. Lloyd as something of a cross between a companion and a lodger and had happily taken on the responsibility for cooking their meals. Mrs. Lloyd considered the fact that Florence loved baking a delicious bonus.

Mrs. Lloyd raised a gloved hand to acknowledge she had heard and then, reaching the safety of the stone wall that separated her house on Rosemary Lane from the street, she clung to the wall to steady herself while she unlatched the wrought-iron gate. Stepping onto the pavement, she closed the gate carefully behind her, and after hearing the satisfying click of the latch settling into place, she turned toward the High Street and set off eagerly, not knowing she was headed for a date with destiny.

An active, robust woman in her mid-sixties, Mrs. Lloyd favoured the old-fashioned look of a crisp white blouse paired with a pleated skirt, and on chilly days like this one, a buttoned-up cardigan underneath her winter coat. Now retired from her life’s work as postmistress of the North Wales town of Llanelen, Mrs. Lloyd liked to think she took good care of herself mentally and physically: her permed grey hair was washed and set every Monday at 9 A.M. and she treated herself to a weekly manicure at the Happy Hands manicure salon every Thursday afternoon so her hands would look their best on her bridge night. Today was that day.

She soon arrived at the salon and, pushing open the door, stepped gratefully into its warmth.

“Hello, Eirlys,” she called out as the young manicurist working at the treatment table looked up and gave her a warm smile. “Hard at it, I see. Makes me wonder how Penny got along without you.” Penny emerged from the small preparation room, wiping her hands on a fluffy white towel, and smiled at her customer. “Hello, Mrs. Lloyd. On time as always.”

Mrs. Lloyd took off her coat and draped it on the coatrack. “So glad you took my advice, Penny, and took Eirlys on as a junior staff person.”

Eirlys smiled to herself and exchanged a quick glance with Penny. She doubted very much her recent employment had anything to do with a suggestion or recommendation from Mrs. Lloyd. It probably had to do with the fact that her employers, Penny and Victoria, were about to open a new spa, and while their attention was focused on the new venture, they needed to entrust their existing business to someone pleasant and reliable.

But Eirlys, and Penny, too, for that matter, like most of the Llanelen townsfolk, wouldn’t dream of contradicting Mrs. Lloyd.

“If you’d like to have a seat, Mrs. Lloyd, Eirlys will be with you in about ten minutes.” Eirlys glanced at the hands of the client she was working on and then at Penny. “Actually, better make it fifteen. We don’t want to rush Mrs. Owen, do we?”

Mrs. Lloyd sighed, then reached for her coat.

“No, of course we don’t. I am a little early, and as I’ve a few errands to run, I think I’ll just nip out to the shops.”

“Well, mind how you go, Mrs. Lloyd,” said Penny. “It’s slippery out there.”

“I am well aware of that, thank you, Penny, having just walked over from Rosemary Lane.” Mrs. Lloyd gathered up her handbag and hooked it over her arm. “I’ll be back in about ten minutes.” She glanced at Eirlys, who gave Mrs. Lloyd a brief smile and then returned to the task of applying the first coat of varnish to her client’s nails. Little wisps of black hair escaped from behind her ears as she bent forward in concentration. Penny closed the door behind Mrs. Lloyd and returned to the preparation room.

Mrs. Lloyd walked down Station Road and then ventured onto the rough, uneven cobbles of the town square. Although the weather forecasters were predicting the coldest, snowiest winter in Britain in more than twenty years, she, like most townsfolk, was not well prepared. In her mind, practical, rubber-soled galoshes folks used to wear belonged in the past; like everyone else she had gotten through the recent mild winters in ordinary walking shoes.

After paying for a few groceries, she emerged from the small supermarket, toting her shopping in the reusable carrier bag from a major department store chain she had brought with her. Having lived through the days when British housewives carried all their shopping home in string bags, she was delighted to see the end of the era of disposable plastic bags and the return to sensible shopping bags.

As she shifted her handbag higher up on her arm, her foot caught on a shard of ice that had formed between the cobbles and went out from under her. She instinctively dropped the shopping bag and stretched out her arm to try to balance herself. As her other arm came up as a counterbalance, she felt a strong pair of hands under it, steadying her. A moment later, her centre of gravity restored, she felt in control again and looked to see who had come to her rescue.

A handsome man whom she judged to be in his late fifties smiled at her, his hand still resting lightly under her forearm.

“Steady on, my dear,” he said. “Are you all right now?”

Mrs. Lloyd nodded and clutched at her collar with her other hand.

“I don’t know what happened; I think I must have slipped,” she said. “It all happened so fast, but I think I would have gone right down if you hadn’t been there. Thank you.”

His eyes crinkled at her.

“Not at all. I’m so glad I was here to help.”

He looked at her carrier bag lying on the cobbles, its contents spilling out. Two oranges had managed to escape and roll a little distance away.

“If you’re okay to stand there for a minute, I’ll get your bag,” he said, releasing her arm. Mrs. Lloyd stood motionless as he bent over and picked up the bag, then scooped the wayward oranges into it.

“There we go,” he said. “No harm done, I hope?”

“No, I’m just fine, thank you,” she said, gesturing vaguely at her shopping bag. “I must go or I’ll be late for my appointment.”

“Perhaps you would allow me to escort you.” The man smiled, offering her his arm.

“Oh, really, that won’t be necessary,” Mrs. Lloyd protested. “I’m just going a little way up Station Road to the manicure salon. I’ll be fine.”

“It’s no trouble. Let’s get you there safely,” he replied and, tucking her arm in his, led her the few metres across the square and then along Station Road to the door of the salon. Just as they arrived, Eirlys opened the door.

“Oh, Mrs. Lloyd there you are,” she said. “We were beginning to wonder.”

“Well, you had nothing to worry about,” Mrs. Lloyd replied. “Penny was right, it is a bit slippery out and I very nearly took a tumble. But this gentleman has very kindly seen to me and I’m perfectly all right.” She smiled at her companion as she took her shopping bag from him. “Well, thank you again,” she said as she handed the bag to Eirlys and started to enter the salon.

“Good-bye,” he said, with a broad smile that revealed well-cared for teeth. “I do hope we’ll meet again. Mrs. Lloyd, is it? Harry Saunders. It’s been a pleasure.” He offered his hand, which she shook. She stood in the doorway of the shop and watched as he turned away and strode off confidently.

Mrs. Lloyd gave a wistful sigh and a few minutes later, after Eirlys had shaped her nails, was dipping her fingers into a bowl of lavender-fragranced soaking solution.