A
Pasty
In A
Pear Tree
Daphne Neville
Copyright © 2017 Daphne Neville
KINDLE Edition
All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof in any form. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored, in any form or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical without the express written permission of the author.
This is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.
PublishNation, London
www.publishnation.co.uk
Other Titles by This Author
TRENGILLION CORNISH MYSTERY SERIES
The Ringing Bells Inn
Polquillick
Sea, Sun, Cads and Scallywags
Grave Allegations
The Old Vicarage
A Celestial Affair
Trengillion’s Jubilee Jamboree
PENTRILLICK CORNISH MYSTERY SERIES
The Chocolate Box Holiday
The Old Tile House
Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter One
December 2016
On a dull but dry afternoon on the second day of December, a small yellow car drove along the winding main street of Pentrillick, a village on the south coast of West Cornwall. As it neared the Crown and Anchor it slowed down, turned right into Long Lane and wound its way up the steep and narrow road. At the very top it stopped outside Primrose Cottage, the second house in Blackberry Way, and the female passenger in the front seat eagerly sprang from the vehicle. The double wooden gates creaked as she pushed them open and dried leaves which had gathered during the autumn months, scattered across the tarmacked front garden.
On the back seat, a Jack Russell terrier, sensing the cheery mood of the lady behind the steering wheel, leapt to his feet, looked from the window and excitedly barked as the car drove between the gateposts and parked in front of the up-and-over door of a garage. As the engine faded, the driver stepped from the car and glanced up at the word SOLD on the estate agent’s board. With a broad smile on her face, she gleefully clapped her hands. “We did it, Lottie. I can’t believe it. We really are here at last.”
Hetty reached back inside the car where the keys to the cottage lay on the dashboard. “Let’s have a quick look round before the removal men get here.”
She closed the car door.
“But what about Albert?” Lottie asked, “Can’t he come too?”
Inside the car, Albert’s head was tilted to one side and as Hetty opened the door his tail wagged nineteen to the dozen. “Of course he can. Come on then, my love, I expect you’re as keen to explore our new home as we are.”
Hetty and Lottie were sisters and also twins. Lottie was recently widowed and Hetty who had never married, retired at the age of sixty two after a long career as a midwife. The sisters were now sixty four years old and each having sold their respective homes were moving to Pentrillick to begin a new chapter in their lives. They had chosen Cornwall and Pentrillick in particular because they had stayed there for a holiday earlier in the year.
The interior of Primrose Cottage was unfamiliar to them but they knew the house’s location and so decided to rely on the pictures and details on the estate agent’s website rather than make a special journey to view the property in person. Happy with what they had read and seen, they had then made an offer which was promptly accepted because although the house had raised much interest due to a murder having recently taken place there, no-one it seemed, other than the twins had any desire to make it their home.
The sisters were drinking tea having had the foresight to bring the kettle, mugs, milk and teabags in the car, when they heard the rumble of the removal lorry approaching. Eager to get their belongings indoors before darkness fell, they went outside to greet the removal men.
In less than two hours the lorry was unloaded and on its way back to Northamptonshire.
“Let’s just make up our beds tonight and do the rest tomorrow,” said Lottie, eying the bags and boxes stacked up on the living room furniture, “after all I daresay you’re feeling pretty weary after the long drive.”
Hetty shook her head. “No, I’m not really tired at all because I’m far too excited to even think about sleeping. A bit like a child really, I suppose. You’re right about the beds though. Let’s make them up now and then celebrate.”
The cottage had three bedrooms; two large doubles on the front with views overlooking the village and out towards the sea, and a smaller one at the back on the opposite side of the stairwell to a large bathroom which had been converted from a bedroom in the nineteen fifties. As the doubles were almost identical in size, the sisters had no reason to squabble who had which as they might have done fifty years earlier.
When the beds were made they sat in the kitchen with an electric fire to keep them warm and then opened a bottle of wine and popped a pizza into the oven, already installed and part of the house purchase price.
“Will Albert be alright in here tonight?” Lottie asked, glancing down at the dog who had already made himself at home and was curled up asleep in his basket, after having explored every room several times over.
“Well, I suppose so. I can’t see any reason why not. I mean, he has his own bed so should be fine. But if you’re worried I’ll leave my bedroom door open so that he can find me if he’s disorientated.”
Lottie smiled. “And I’ll leave mine open too because I want him to get used to me.”
“I think he already has, bless him. He’s a very sociable dog. I can’t believe someone was heartless enough to abandon him.”
Albert opened one eye and looked at the two sisters instinctively knowing they were talking about him, and then after a quick wag of his tail he resumed his sleep.
“We must pop down to the charity shop tomorrow,” said Hetty, reaching for the bottle of wine standing on the work surface to refill their glasses, “and ask Maisie or Daisy who they’d recommend for fuel. Having been empty for a while the cottage feels quite damp so we need to get the central heating going as soon as possible.”
“Yes, but we ought to have it checked over first though,” said Lottie, who was very safety conscious. “It won’t have been used since last winter and so might be dangerous.”
“Very true, we’ll see if they can recommend someone to do that as well.”
Lottie took a sip of wine and then stood the glass down on a box marked pots and pans. “It’s nice to think we already know a few people. It must be strange moving to a new place when you do
n’t know a soul. I mean, there is so much we need to find out as at present we don’t even know which day the dustmen come.”
“Well that shouldn’t be a problem as I can look that up on the council’s website. You’ve reminded me though that’s something else we need to do. Get the internet, I mean. It’s not good for my eyes to try and do everything on my phone.”
Lottie leaned forwards, removed her shoes and rested her feet on the fluffy white top of a stool destined to go into her bedroom. “Ah, that’s better. I think we ought to make a list of jobs that need doing. The important ones anyway.”
“Good idea,” Hetty reached for her handbag and pulled out a notebook and pen. “Well there’s one thing for sure, we certainly won’t be bored for the rest of the year, will we? Because on top of everything else we have Christmas to look forward to. I can’t wait to see in the New Year here as I’m sure the atmosphere in the Crown and Anchor will be fantastic.” She opened up the notebook.
Lottie agreed, “Yes and I’m also looking forward to visiting the Christmas Wonderland thing at Pentrillick House, if for no other reason than just to see the old house again.”
The following morning dawned with grey skies and light raindrops trickling down the window panes of Primrose Cottage, but despite the weather neither sister was enticed to stay in bed and so both were downstairs eating breakfast before the day was even fully light.
By mid-morning the drizzle had stopped and so Hetty keen to get a little fresh air went outside to clean the front room window and while out there, Tommy Thomas who lived a few doors away at Fuchsia Cottage, called over the front boundary wall.
“Good morning, gorgeous,” he said, with a cheeky grin, “I heard on the grapevine that it was you and your lovely sister were buying this place. I’m glad about that as we don’t want any old riff-raff up here.”
Hetty stepped down from the chair and went over to Tommy and held out her hand. “Lovely to see you again. It’s great to be back and we can’t wait to see everyone. Is everything in the village okay?”
“Oh, yes. It’s been very quiet since you and your family went home.” He laughed. “No-one’s been murdered, thank goodness, and I don’t even think there have been any punch-ups.”
“I’m pleased to hear it. And how’s your mother?”
The smile disappeared from Tommy’s face. “Sadly she died in October. She took a tumble and ended up in hospital with a few broken bones. Poor thing. After that she came down with bronchitis from which she never recovered.”
“Oh, I am sorry,” said Hetty, “so you’re all alone now.”
Tommy nodded. “Yep, just me and the dog,” he patted the head of the dog sitting at his feet, “and this time of the year folks don’t have their windows cleaned as much so I’m often at a bit of a loose end.”
Hetty felt guilty that she was cleaning her own windows and had not called in Tommy, so quickly changed the subject.
“Who lives next door at whatever the house is called?” she asked, nodding towards a house surrounded by scaffolding with only half of the roof slated.
“It’s called Hillside and Alex and Ginny live there. They own and run the antique shop in the village. They’re a nice couple. You’ll like them.”
“Any children?” Hetty asked.
“Yes, but they’re grown up and have flown the nest. I daresay Alex and Ginny must be in their mid-fifties.”
“Lovely, I look forward to meeting them.”
“Anyway,” said Tommy, turning to continue his walk, “if there’s anything I can do to help you, please give me a shout.”
Hetty’s eyebrows rose. “Well, actually there are one or two things you might be able to help us with. The central heating for one. The stove is multi-fuel and neither of us have ever had anything like that before as we both had oil. So, do you know anyone who services fires, flues and stuff like that?”
Tommy took a bow. “Yours truly,” he said. “I worked as a heating engineer for a while before Mother and me moved to Pentrillick but I gave it up then and decided to clean windows instead because I was reaching retirement age anyway and I like to be outdoors.”
“Really, that’s music to my ears. We’d love to get it going before the weather turns colder, so if you’d have a look when you have the time we’d really appreciate it.”
“No time like the present,” said Tommy, as he made his way towards the gates. “As long as you don’t mind Fagan coming with me.”
Hetty looked down at the Yorkshire terrier close to Tommy’s feet. “What! You’ve named him after the pickpocket in Oliver.”
“No, he were Fagin not Fagan. Fagan is an Irish name and it means little fierce one. Isn’t that right, boy?”
Fagan wagged his tail and looked anything but fierce.
Hetty opened the gate. “Fagan is most welcome, but I am mystified why a Cornishman would give his dog an Irish name.”
Tommy chuckled. “My maternal grandmother was Irish and so you see I’m an Irish Cornishman.”
“Really, what an interesting combination. Anyway, I also have a dog now and he’s called Albert so Fagan will have company. Albert is named after my father, Albert Tonkins.”
“And mine too,” said Lottie, standing on the doorstep having come out to see to whom Hetty was talking. She held out her hand. “Lovely to see you again, Tommy.”
By mid-afternoon a fire was burning in the multi-fuel stove and the radiators were steadily warming. Hetty and Lottie wanted to pay Tommy for his work but he insisted that he was only too happy to have helped.
“In which case,” said Lottie, “we must take you out for a meal. To the pub perhaps.”
“Now that sounds very nice and I should like it if we were to do that.” He chuckled. “Should impress the other chaps to see me out with a couple of lovely ladies.”
Hetty tutted. “Less of your cheek, Tommy Thomas. Lovely ladies indeed. We’re more than aware of the fact that we’re both on the wrong side of sixty.”
Tommy looked offended. “But I meant it. You are lovely ladies and I’m the wrong side of sixty too.”
Because Hetty and Lottie were eager to go to the pub, it was agreed they would all go out for a meal that evening. For being a Saturday, it should be quite busy and so they’d be able to see some of the villagers with whom they were already acquainted.
The Crown and Anchor, a seventeenth century, detached, granite built construction, lay on the southern side of Pentrillick’s main street just before a bend and near to the village junior school. Hence, the back windows of the building had sea views and its sun terrace accessed by French doors in the bar, partly stood on the beach. Alison and Ashley Rowe were the licensees and to the delight of Hetty and Lottie, both remembered the sisters’ names and welcomed them effusively to their new home.
Rather than eat in the dining room where they would be tucked away from people out for a drink, they decided to eat in the bar and chose a table near to a roaring fire. But before they ate they decided to have a few drinks first.
“It’s just as I imagined it would be,” said Hetty, with enthusiasm. “The pub I mean on a winter’s night. I think I like it so much more than in the summer.”
“Hmm, I’m inclined to agree,” said Lottie, “on the other hand I rather like the notion of popping out on a summer’s evening while it’s light and the sun is still shining.”
“Like when we were on holiday,” said Hetty, “Yes, I know what you mean but an open fire takes a bit of beating and with the Christmas decorations up it’s quite breath-taking.”
On one of the stools at the bar alongside a man who was a stranger to the sisters, sat Bernie the Boatman, a man in his fifties who took visitors out on fishing trips during the summer months. When he caught Lottie’s eye he waved and gave the thumbs up sign. Lottie waved back.
“Bernie’s beard seems bigger and bushier than ever,” she said, “or perhaps it’s my imagination.”
“No, you’re right,” said Tommy, “he’s grown it for the Chri
stmas Wonderland. He’s one of the Father Christmases, you see. He looks really good, but of course his beard has to be sprayed white to look authentic.”
“Now, that I must see,” said Hetty, “When is the Wonderland thing on?”
“It started last weekend,” said Tommy, pausing to take a sip of his beer, “and goes on until twelfth night. It’s open six days a week, Wednesday to Monday, and starts at eleven in the morning and closes at six in the evening on weekdays but stays open until seven at the weekends.”
“Obviously closed on Tuesday then,” reasoned Lottie, “and is the House open to the public at all?”
“Yes, but only twice a day.”
“We must go as soon as possible,” said Hetty. “It’ll help get us in the Christmas spirit. Although seeing the lovely decorations in here is already having that affect on me.”
When the person to whom Bernie the Boatman was talking got up and left the pub, Bernie picked up his pint and joined the sisters and Tommy sitting by the fire.
“I heard you were back,” said Bernie, shaking hands with each sister in turn. “How’s Bill?” He sat down.
“Fine thanks,” said Lottie, “He rang this morning to see how we were settling in and said to tell you all he sends his regards. I got a feeling he half wished he was able to come down with us. Still, perhaps he can when he retires but that won’t be for a few years yet as he’s only forty two.”
“I take it Bill’s the son who you came down with in the summer,” said Tommy.
Lottie nodded. “That’s right. We were with Bill and his wife, Sandra and their three children. Quite a houseful.”
Tommy turned to Bernie. “Simeon left early tonight. Is he okay?”
Bernie nodded. “Yeah, he’s fine but he needs to be up early to get baking. The last few days have been really busy and so stocks are getting low.”
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