A Pasty In A Pear Tree

by Daphne Neville

  Hetty was mesmerised. “Sorry, for staring,” she said, “but your earrings…where did you get them? They’re brilliant.”

  The lady was clearly pleased and pointed to a box on the end of the counter. “We sell them, my ‘ansum. It was our Vince’s idea. He’s a sucker for Christmas gadgets and has been since he were a child.”

  “Are you and Vince related?” Lottie asked, “I ask because when you smiled then you looked just like him.”

  “A lot of people say that and you’re right. I’m his mum. I help out in here from time to time as it makes a nice change.”

  Hetty shuffled through the box of earrings. As well as trees there were snowmen, reindeer and Father Christmases. “I must have a pair. How about you, Lottie?”

  Lottie frowned. “They’re not really me.”

  “Well, I shall buy two pairs and then if you change your mind you can borrow mine.” She selected the snowmen and the Christmas trees.

  Afterwards they drove through the village and parked along the main street. They then walked down an alleyway beside the fish and chip shop which led onto the beach.

  “Weird, don’t you think?” said Hetty, “the beach I mean, being cold and deserted. So different from when we were here in the summer.”

  “I like it,” said Lottie, walking down to the water’s edge, “it seems more natural. No, that’s not the right word. It seems more welcoming. You know, like it’s pleased to see us.”

  “Hmm, can’t quite follow your drift but I think I sort of know what you mean. It’s difficult to put into words but when we were on holiday it was as though we had to share the sea but now we can lay claim to it just a teeny weeny bit.”

  “That’s right, the sea is part of our lives now and I love it.” Lottie picked up a piece of driftwood. “We must come down here beachcombing one day after there’s been a storm. I can imagine now that I’ve seen it in the winter what it will be like and all sorts of things must get washed up on the shore.”

  “Yes, but sadly much of it will be junk. Still, it’ll be worth doing if for no other reason than to bin some of the rubbish.”

  “Fancy fish and chips?” Lottie asked, looking towards the backs of the buildings which lined the street, “the smell is making me feel hungry.”

  “I was just about to ask you the same question and so the answer is yes. We must make a move anyway as there is all that frozen stuff amongst the shopping.”

  The sisters bought takeaway fish and chips and then drove home. In the garden of Hillside the two roofers were eating the contents of their lunch boxes.

  “Would you two young men like a coffee?” Lottie called over the garden wall.

  “Yes, please,” said one. The other agreed.

  “Milk and sugar?”

  “Yes, please. One sugar in each.”

  “Coming up.”

  “While Hetty quickly warmed two plates on top of the stove and then put the frozen items away in the freezer, Lottie made coffee for the lads which she took out to them on a tray.

  “Put the mugs on the wall when you’re finished,” she said, “and I’ll collect them later. I must say you’re doing a splendid job, but rather you than me. I’ve no head for heights.”

  “You’re very quiet, Lottie,” said Hetty, seeing her sister stare blankly into space as they sat by the fire in the evening, “are you alright?”

  “What? Oh, yes, I’m fine. I was just thinking about poor Faith. I mean, she was murdered in this room, wasn’t she? Please don’t think me daft but I was just wondering if her spirit is ever in here, you know, watching us.”

  Hetty shuddered. “Oh, my goodness, I do hope not.”

  Lottie turned to face her sister. “But why not? I mean if she was here she wouldn’t hurt us, would she? In fact I’m sure that if she was she’d be really pleased to see that her cottage is loved again.”

  “Yes, I suppose so but all the same it’s not something I like to think about. Anyway, if she was here I’m sure Albert would have noticed. I mean dogs are supposed to be susceptible to spirits and stuff like that, aren’t they?”

  “True.” Lottie glanced at Albert who was fast asleep in his basket.

  “Anyway,” said Hetty, “Faith’s murder case was successfully resolved and so there is no reason for her spirit to be here. The case is closed and best forgotten.”

  “Yes, maybe, but there are times, Het when I wish I was clairvoyant. I mean it must be fascinating to see beyond the grave especially knowing that most people are unable to do so.”

  Hetty laughed. “Well, perhaps you ought to invite Psychic Sid over to have a poke around. He should be able to tell you whether Faith is here or not.”

  “You’re mocking me,” said Lottie, fully aware of the ridicule in her sister’s voice. “Anyway, Sid’s a psychic not a medium so he wouldn’t be much help.”

  “I think my dear, Lottie, that Psychic Sid is a phony.”

  “Oh no, Het, I’m sure he’s not.”

  “Want to make a bet on that?”

  Lottie paused before she answered. “I’m not sure. I mean, I’m not really one for gambling.”

  “It’s only gambling if it’s for money,” said Hetty, pretty confident that she was on safe ground with her suggestion of a wager, “so I declare that if any of Sid’s predictions come to fruition then I shall make losing one whole stone a New Year’s resolution and what’s more, I shall stick to it.”

  Lottie’s eyes twinkled. “Really? In that case you’re on and I look forward to seeing you of a similar size to myself.”

  After a day at the Wonderland playing Father Christmas, Bernie was glad to get home, have a shower and wash the white snow paint out of his beard. After his dinner, he bade his wife who was watching television farewell and said he was just popping down to the pub for a couple of pints and to take part in the quiz with his mates.

  A thick mist veiled the village as he walked the short distance from his home near the church to the Crown and Anchor and every sound seemed amplified as he walked along the quiet street. As he approached the pub he heard raised voices coming from the car park situated alongside the building, and in the shadows two people were just visible standing beside a dark coloured truck. Both were speaking in French and so he assumed one to be Simeon Dupont. Curious to know who the other might be, he paused to listen but to his dismay realised it could have been anyone and as his French was poor to non-existent he was unable to understand the nature of the heated conversation. Rebuking himself for being nosy, he went into the pub, bought himself a pint of beer and then agreed to play a game of darts with Vince from the garage before the weekly quiz began.

  On Thursday evening many of the villagers made their way to Pentrillick House for the junior school’s nativity play and amongst them were Hetty and Lottie.

  It was a beautiful evening with a clear, dark moonlit sky unevenly scattered with a mass of twinkling stars. And in the light of the moon, the sheets of clear plastic covering the fake snow on the rooves of the closed chalets, sparkled, giving the illusion that the synthetic snow was authentic. While down in the valley, the quiet lake shimmered in the moonlight tricking the eye into believing that it was covered in a thin layer of ice.

  Rows of seating were rapidly filling up and at the end of the avenue of trees, Santa’s Grotto had been converted into a stable. There was no sign of any children and Hetty wondered how the teachers were managing to keep them so quiet. The reason soon became apparent for the children were assembled inside Pentrillick House.

  At seven o’clock the children processed through the avenue of trees singing ‘Little Donkey,’ each holding a lantern and dressed as shepherds, wise men and angels. And at the back of the procession, Mary sat on a real donkey, led by Joseph.

  Hetty and Lottie were able to recognise a few faces amongst the considerable crowd but most were unfamiliar to them and no doubt they conceded, were parents and relations of the school children. However, when the performance was over they saw coming towards them a yo
ung woman waving who they recognised as Emma who worked in Chloe’s Café during the summer holidays when she was not at college.

  “Hello,” she said, “I thought it was you I saw earlier. I heard you’d bought Primrose Cottage but didn’t realise you were here yet.”

  “Tomorrow we’ll have been here for a whole week,” said Hetty, “and it seems to have flown by.”

  “And do you like it here in the winter?”

  “We love it, don’t we, Lottie?”

  “Without question. I think it’s the best thing I’ve ever done in my life. After getting married, having the children and becoming a grandmother, that is.”

  “That’s nice to hear,” said Emma, “”And how are Zac and his sisters?”

  “Very well, last time I saw them,” said Lottie. “Hopefully they’ll be able to visit us some time in the summer. I know Zac in particular is keen to come and stay. He was over the moon when he heard we intended to move here.”

  “And we shall be glad to see him,” said Emma, “Many a time we’ve said how we wished he was here to play on the pool team because he really was surprisingly good by the end of your holiday.”

  Lottie sighed. “Yes, and that seems a very long time ago.”

  As she spoke the little girl who had played Mary ran up to Emma’s side and hugged her.

  “This is my little sister, Claire,” said Emma, taking the child’s hand.

  “Really,” said Hetty, “I bet you had fun riding on the donkey and I’m pleased to see he didn’t try and throw you off.”

  Claire giggled but didn’t speak.

  “He’s Claire’s donkey,” said Emma, “so they are quite good friends.”

  As she spoke a voice called out, “Co-ee, is that you, Emma?”

  Emma turned as a figure stepped into the light from the darkness. “Patricia, I heard you were here again and have been meaning to come and see you. How are you?”

  “I’m fine, thank you, love.”

  Hetty and Lottie looked at the woman who had addressed Emma but quickly realised she was not someone with whom they were acquainted.

  “How is Patrick? Is he here?” Emma gave a quick glance over the people milling around.

  “He’s fine but no he’s not here. He’s already gone to the pub with Steve.”

  “Steve?” Emma queried.

  “He’s one of the newcomers at the fair this year and runs a test your strength thing quite close to our set-up. He and Patrick have become great mates and needless to say Nativity plays aren’t really their sort of thing.” She wagged her finger at Emma. “We could have done with you last night, young lady because the three of us were in the pub for the quiz and we didn’t do very well without you youngsters to help us. In fact we were rubbish and I daresay we came last.”

  Hetty tutted. “Of course, yesterday was Wednesday so it would have been Quiz night. Damn, I wish we’d remembered.”

  “I would have been there last night,” said Emma, “but I had some college work to catch up with. Perhaps we can all get together next week and make up a team because the winners are usually the teams with the most members.”

  “Hmm, maybe.” Patricia scowled and gave the impression that she wasn’t keen to associate with Hetty and Lottie.

  “So how come you all know each other?” Hetty was determined to find out all she could.

  “Patricia and Patrick have an attraction at the fair and were here for Wonderland last year,” said Emma, brightly, “Whenever possible I like to go to quiz night with my friends, but on a Wednesday just before Christmas last year, Kyle and I were the only ones in our circle of friends who didn’t have a cold and so we joined up with Patricia and her husband who were on the next table to give us all a better chance. We didn’t win but if I remember correctly we came a respectable third and just four points behind the winners.”

  Hetty nodded. “I guessed it must be something like that.”

  Patricia patted Emma’s arm. “Hmm, well I best be off to the pub before Patrick has spent all of today’s takings. Nice to see you again, Emma. Do pop along for a chat when you’re next up here.”

  She gave a cursory glance in the direction of Hetty and Lottie but said nothing and walked away, head held high.

  Chapter Six

  On Friday morning, the sun was shining and there was very little wind. Keen to get outdoors, the sisters made a third journey to the Christmas Wonderland. Back in the summer when they had first visited the estate they had taken a tour of Pentrillick House but because they were preoccupied on that occasion, both agreed there was undoubtedly much they had missed and so in order to have another look around they booked a tour for four o’clock. To while away the half hour they had to spare, they strolled around the fairground amusements.

  “Makes me feel quite nostalgic,” said Lottie, sniffing in the sugary smell of candy floss. “In fact for old time’s sake I’m going to hook a duck.”

  As Lottie approached the circular enclosure with Pat’s Hook a Duck garishly painted three times around the top, she saw that the woman who ran the stall was in fact Patricia with whom Emma had spoken the previous evening. Without letting on she recognised Patricia, Lottie paid her fee and was handed a short rod with a hook on its end.

  “Which one shall I go for, Het?”

  “I don’t expect it’ll make much difference as none of the prizes look very exciting. Not for someone of your age anyway.” Hetty was more interested in Patricia than she was in which duck Lottie should attempt to hook.

  “Killjoy.” Lottie watched the yellow plastic ducks bobbing along on the shallow water which ran around a central pillar where prizes were displayed on a peg-board. She had to confess that the ducks all looked the same until one came round with the orange paint partly worn off its beak. Convinced that he was the one to go for Lottie successfully plucked him from the water by the hook on its head with her rod.

  Without a smile, Patricia looked at the number on the bottom of the duck. “Twenty two,” she said, stifling a yawn, and handed Lottie a gaudy plastic gnome measuring less than six inches.

  “Yuck,” said Hetty, “still should suit you because apparently you like gnomes.”

  Lottie didn’t reply and hurriedly dropped the gnome into her handbag. When she looked up, a man had appeared and he was clutching a paper bag. She watched as he opened up a small door into the Hook a Duck circle and joined Patricia.

  “He still doesn’t have any doughnuts, petal, even though I suggested he makes some, so I’ve bought you a couple of these.”

  “Still no doughnuts. That’s ridiculous.” She looked inside the bag. “What are they?”

  “Chouquettes.”

  “What! Oh well, I suppose they’ll have to do but I think it’s daft having a French bloke here with all his fancy stuff.”

  “Philistine,” muttered Hetty beneath her breath as they walked away.

  “Come on, ladies. Test your strength,” beckoned a heavily sun tanned man with bare arms and a mop of golden hair tied back with a thick black band.

  “Aren’t you cold?” Hetty asked, astounded that someone could be outdoors without warm clothing in December.

  “No, I don’t feel the cold, darlin’. Are you gonna have a go? I think you’re probably stronger than you think you are.” He winked at Hetty. “In fact, I saw you in the pub the other night so if you can make the bell ring I’ll buy both you ladies a drink when I’m next in there.”

  “Okay, you’re on” she said, always up for a challenge, “Hold my bag please, Lottie. She paid her fee and was handed a mallet which she grasped firmly with both hands. To her utter amazement and that of the blond-haired man too, as she crashed the mallet down on the solid base, the bell rang out loud and clear.

  “Wow, blimey, I know a lot of blokes who can’t do as well as that.”

  Hetty smiled sweetly. “That’ll be two glasses of merlot, please, when you’re next in the Crown and Anchor.”

  “Okay, yeah, it’s a deal,” said the blond man, “You
have my word. Scouts honour and all that.”

  Lottie tutted. “Come on, Hetty, it’s nearly four o’ clock and we don’t want to be late for the tour.”

  “No of course not.” She nodded to the Test Your Strength man. “And I look forward to seeing you in the pub.”

  “Me too,” said Lottie, as she waved goodbye.

  They made their way back to the house where they were to meet their guide in the vestibule. To their delight they were greeted by a huge Christmas tree, perfect in shape, which stood at the foot of the grand staircase, its branches swathed in thick strands of tinsel, traditional decorations and colourful baubles. Beneath it, parcels wrapped in gold and red paper hid the tree’s container from view while close by, a large cat slept in a chair with one eye open as though to keep guard.

  The guided tour took the same route as before but this time their guide was a woman whose name was Cynthia. As they climbed the grand staircase where the reflection of brass wall lights shone onto the glossy leaves of holly branches tucked over pictures hanging from the wood panelling, Hetty half-wished the Christmas music playing quietly in the background were a little louder so that it might drown out the annoying voice of their guide. For although Hetty was certain that Cynthia was very knowledgeable when it came to spouting historical facts regarding the house and the Liddicott-Treen family, her voice grated and it made the headache she’d woken up with that morning seem considerably worse.

  After the tour Lottie said she was keen to have her fortune told by Psychic Sid, but Hetty, who didn’t want to let on she had a headache, said she’d prefer to stay outside in the fresh air. Lottie then joined the considerably long queue and Hetty knowing she had plenty of time to spare while waiting for her sister, browsed goods for sale in the wooden huts and bought a few items.

  As Hetty wandered down to the lake she saw that the nativity stable had already reverted back to Santa’s Grotto and Bernie the Boatman was inside along with a sack of mysterious items wrapped in Christmas paper, eagerly eyed by excited toddlers and young children.