Elizabeth Duncan: A Killer's Christmas in Wales

Salmon, she thought. We’ll have some nice salmon fillets with a parsley sauce and rice. Up until a few weeks ago she had been barely scraping by on a meager pension in Liverpool, and she still had difficulty believing that, thanks to Mrs. Lloyd’s kindhearted generosity, she could have almost anything she wanted for dinner.

Penny Brannigan stood in the centre of the reception area of the about-to-open Llanelen Spa and turned slowly around. Although the space was still littered with leftover construction debris, the walls had been painted a soft, sophisticated shade of green, the recessed lighting was subdued and restful, and the space gave off a feeling of calm serenity. She smiled at her business partner and friend, Victoria Hopkirk, who was pointing at a closed tool box set squarely in the corner.

“They’ll make sure their tools are neat and tidy, right enough,” Victoria grumbled, and then, gesturing at a paper coffee cup lying on its side beside an empty paint can and a few scrap ends of hardwood flooring, “but they leave all this rubbish lying around.”

“We’ll soon have it all cleared away,” Penny said soothingly. “The furniture will be delivered in a few days and we’re in really good shape for our grand opening.”

She held her arms out to the room.

“You’ve done a brilliant job, Victoria. Just a couple of months ago this place was a filthy, run-down, abandoned old building that nobody wanted, and everyone was thinking we were mad to take it on. It’s just amazing what you’ve done.”

Beautifully situated on the bank of the River Conwy, a stone’s throw from the town’s historic three-arched bridge, the charcoal grey, three-storey stone building that had been converted into the new Llanelen Spa had seen many incarnations over the past hundred and fifty or so years. It had begun life as a rather fine coaching inn and then, as horses gave way to the automobile, had gradually lost its way until the Second World War when it had seen service as a billet for the Allied soldiers who trained in the nearby hills. When the war ended and once again it no longer had a defined purpose, the building descended into a long period of decline, decaying by the decade. Penny had always admired its façade and loved its location and so, a few months ago, she and Victoria had bought it and poured hundreds of thousands of pounds into its renovation and refurbishment. The structure had been stripped down to its stone walls and rebuilt. Now, modernized and restored beyond its former elegance, the building had never looked better, and municipal officials were excited about the positive economic impact the new business was sure to have on the town.

“And the lighting seems perfect any time of day,” Penny continued. She turned to her friend. “Have you ever noticed that a room might seem cold and grey first thing in the morning but in the late afternoon, when the sun pours in, it seems to come alive, all warm and cozy? I noticed that in Emma’s cottage when I first moved in. The mood shift in the sitting room was very noticeable. Dramatic, even.”

Victoria smiled. “I think that’s the artist in you talking, Penny. I doubt most people notice things like that. Rooms seem pretty much the same to us-the lights are either on or off.” She paused. “But I’m glad you approve, and the great thing, O business partner of mine, is that we’ve all those bookings lined up well into March.”

“And soon you’ll be moving in here, yourself.”

“Oh, I’m so looking forward to that! Not that there’s anything wrong with your old flat, I hasten to add, but my rooms here have a wonderful view of the river. It changes all the time. It never looks the same, depending on the weather or time of day.” Her voice trailed off. “I think I see what you mean.” She laughed. “You should see it by moonlight! It’s magical.”

She sighed and looked at her watch.

“Well, I guess you should be heading back to the salon to close up for the day. I’m going upstairs to the new flat to measure up for curtains. Or should I say window treatments. I’m not sure exactly what I’m going to do yet, but I did see some beautiful fabric with Latin words on it.” She smiled and shrugged. “On second thought, perhaps more suited for a posh library.”

Penny nodded and, after one last look around the room, gathered up her handbag.

“By the way, as if we weren’t busy enough already, Mrs. Lloyd has volunteered us to judge the commercial window displays this year. But the good news is that Eirlys is doing really well at the salon. I think she really enjoys taking on the extra responsibility when I leave her in charge.” She turned to go, and then stopped.

“The smell of this place,” she said. “The new paint and all the new materials… When I was in grade seven, I was moved to a new school and I seem to remember that we started our classes before the construction was even finished. I think the paint and plaster on the ceilings were still damp. Anyway, this project just reminded me of that time. Funny how the smell of something can instantly take you back.”

Mrs. Lloyd studied the cards fanned out in her newly manicured hands and then smiled across the bridge table.

“Three no trump.”

The bidding continued and a few minutes later her partner laid down his cards on the table, in descending order and by suit, so she could play the dummy’s hand in the last round of the evening.

A few minutes later, with the scores tallied, Harry Saunders leaned across the table to take her hand.

“Well played, partner! And your hands look lovely, by the way.”

Mrs. Lloyd smiled broadly.

“Oh, I can’t tell you how much I enjoy having you as a partner,” she exclaimed. “You’re such a clever player. On every hand you just seemed to know what my next move was going to be!”

Saunders smiled at her, then glanced toward the back of the multipurpose room where the other players were starting to gather.

He shot Mrs. Lloyd a quizzical look.

“Oh! Yes, one of the ladies always organizes a little snack for us afterward,” she explained as she pushed her chair back. “Sandwiches with pickles and a cup of tea. Come along now, or the best ones will be snapped up. Oh, I do hope Glynnis made those egg and cress ones I like!”

“Glynnis?”

“Yes, Glynnis Bowen. She’s married to Huw Bowen, who organizes our card evenings here in the community centre.” She lowered her voice. “He’s quite controlling. Insists on everything being just so, but I guess you have to be that way, sometimes, if you want things to run smoothly.” She gave Harry a conspiratorial smile. “Bit of a stuffed shirt, really, but I suppose you’d expect that from a bank manager.”

Mrs. Lloyd prattled on as the two made their way to the white-clothed table where she eagerly helped herself to several sandwiches. With a nice little selection carefully arranged on her plate, she stood by Harry’s side as the other card players approached him, welcoming him to the group, hoping he’d be able to come again and asking polite questions about what had brought him to Llanelen. Did he have family here? Distant ancestors and tracing his roots, perhaps? After a few words with each of them, he disentangled himself and turned to Mrs. Lloyd.

“Would you mind if we sat down over there for a moment? There’s something I’d like to ask you,” he said, pointing to one of the empty card tables.

“Oh!” breathed Mrs. Lloyd. When they were seated, he leaned forward.

“I thought you played the hands you were dealt very well tonight, Mrs. Lloyd,” he said. “I enjoy playing cards with a partner who knows what she’s doing. Those preemptive bids of yours really had our opponents on the run.”