Elizabeth Duncan: A Killer's Christmas in Wales

She thought about watching a DVD, My Fair Lady, perhaps, but the television system was complicated and she wasn’t sure how to switch over to the DVD setting. She felt a sharp pang of longing for a simpler time when a television set was either on or off and there were four channels to choose from. And if there was nothing on that you wanted to watch, you simply went to bed with a good book. With a small, disappointed sigh, she switched off the television. But perhaps it was just as well there was nothing on the television she wanted to watch, she told herself.

Mrs. Lloyd had told her not to wait up and Florence knew what that meant: if Mrs. Lloyd returned with that man, they would want the downstairs to themselves. Florence shuddered at the very thought of it.

She switched off all the lamps in the sitting room except one, which cast a small pool of light over one end of the sofa. Normally, she wouldn’t dream of leaving a light on in an empty room, but she didn’t want Mrs. Lloyd tripping over anything in the dark.

After a backward glance at the living room, she rinsed out her cup in the kitchen, and then climbed the stairs and headed down the hall to her bedroom. Passing Mrs. Lloyd’s room, she saw a light seeping under the partially opened door. Such an unthinkable waste that was, a light burning in an unoccupied room.

She pushed the bedroom door open so she could go in and turn the light off. As she reached the bedside table to switch off the lamp, a pile of tissue paper, bags, and packaging on the bed caught her eye, and unable to resist, she began to sift through it. She noted the posh carrier bag from the most exclusive ladies’ dress shop in Llandudno and beside it a tag that Mrs. Lloyd had apparently cut off her new dress.

She picked up the tag and looked at the price. Almost one hundred and fifty pounds! For Florence, who had not bought anything in decades that she didn’t absolutely need, and even that had to be on sale or from a charity shop, one hundred and fifty pounds seemed like a small fortune. She dropped the price tag, pinched her lips together, and picked up a plastic bag with a cardboard insert. As she started reading the package insert, a knowing smile spread slowly across her face.

A shapelier, slimmer, lovelier you!

… The revolutionary new BodySlimline is a firm, natural-looking way to help control, shape, and smooth. Three-ply tummy panel helps eliminate bulging… guaranteed to improve your posture while it makes you look younger and slimmer. Lose a dress size instantly! Guaranteed!

So that’s why Evelyn Lloyd had walked so stiffly into the sitting room, with her back ramrod straight and shoulders back, Florence thought. She’d been compressed into this torturous device, whatever it was. Florence turned the package over and looked at the photograph of the full-length body shaper. Anyone over a certain age who had ever had any experience with a girdle would have recognized the power of this foundation garment, which reached from just above the knee practically to the neck, compressing and squeezing everything in between. It was a 1950’s girdle on steroids.

Florence was tempted to gather up all the packaging, tissue paper, and tags and cram it all in the large, heavy paper shopping bag from the dress shop, and maybe even turn down Mrs. Lloyd’s bed, but decided she should leave everything as it was. She switched off the light that had beckoned her into the room and, closing the door behind her, walked along the patterned carpet runner to her own bedroom.

“That was absolutely delicious,” said Mrs. Lloyd, licking the sweet stickiness of cherry brandy off her lips. She set down the small glass and smiled at her dinner companion.

“Very nice indeed, but the best part, of course, was the company,” Saunders replied as the waiter approached their table with a coffeepot. Catching Mrs. Lloyd’s eye, he raised the pot and she shook her head.

“That’ll be all, I guess,” Saunders told the man. “Just the bill, please.”

A few minutes later their server returned, bearing the bill on a small plate, which he set down at Saunders’s place. Saunders reached for the bill with his left hand and patted the inside breast pocket of his jacket with the other. A small look of alarm flashed across his face as he reached inside the jacket. A moment later he replaced the bill on the plate and, with an apologetic look at Mrs. Lloyd, shoved his hands in his jacket pockets.

“That’s funny,” he said. “I must have left my wallet in my coat pocket. But I always keep it right here,” he said, tapping his breast pocket, “so I know where it is.” He stood up. “Just give me a moment, Evelyn, I’ll be right back.”

Mrs. Lloyd’s shining eyes followed him as he headed off to the coatrack and then gazed contentedly around the room, taking in the few remaining diners. She was disappointed that no one from her immediate circle of friends had seen her dining with Harry. It would have been nice, she thought, if Reverend Thomas Evans and his wife, Bronwyn, for example, had come into the hotel tonight.

Saunders returned and from the worried look on his face, she knew that the news would not be good.

He shook his head as he sat down. “I’m terribly sorry, Evelyn,” he began, “but I seem to have lost my wallet. So embarrassing.”

“Nonsense,” Mrs. Lloyd replied cheerfully. “You’ll have left it in the taxi, that’s all. After all, you paid the fare, so you had it then, didn’t you?”

She smiled at the look of relief that crossed Saunders’s face.

“Of course,” he said, “that’ll be it. I’m sure someone will hand it in. Perhaps if you tell me what firm you used we could call them and see if anyone found it.”

“Well, I’m not just sure which taxi firm Florence rang,” Mrs. Lloyd said in a slightly evasive manner. “But why don’t you come back to mine for a nightcap and we’ll soon find the number and sort this out.”

Saunders nodded and Mrs. Lloyd reached for the bill.

“Now, why don’t I take care of this and you can…” “reimburse me later” hung unspoken in the air between them.

Mrs. Lloyd opened her purse and set a credit card down on the small plate beside the bill. As the waiter took the plate away, she reached into another section of her purse and withdrew two twenty-pound notes.

“Now you’re not to argue with me, Harry, but I want you to take these,” she said, holding the banknotes out to him. “Go on, take them. I insist.” She thrust the notes closer to him. “You’ll need a bit of walking-around money until you get your wallet back. Go on now.”

“Well, I feel terrible,” said Harry, taking the money. “Of course, I’ll…”

“Reimburse you later” again hung unspoken in the air between them.

“Yes, of course, you will,” Mrs. Lloyd said.

The waiter returned to present the credit card receipt for signature and Mrs. Lloyd did a double take when she saw it. That much? she thought. Of course, Harry had ordered the best wine on the menu, and his menu choices were at the top of the price list, too.

Well, she reassured herself, you don’t mind paying when you’ve really enjoyed yourself, and anyway, he’ll be reimbursing me. She added a generous tip, smiled at Saunders as she gathered up her handbag, and the two of them prepared to leave the dining room.

“Don’t forget your credit card, Evelyn,” Saunders said as he handed it to her.

He helped Mrs. Lloyd on with her coat. A moment later, as they approached the front desk to ask the hotel clerk to ring for a taxi, the young woman smiled and nodded toward the door.

“Already here,” she said. “Just dropped someone off. I asked him to wait as I thought one of our customers would likely need him.”