On reaching the lake, Hetty sat down on a bench beside a clump of pampas grass swaying and rustling in the freshening wind. All was peaceful as she leaned her head back and watched swans and ducks gracefully gliding over the rippling water.
When it was Lottie’s turn to enter Sid’s caravan she was very surprised to find the psychic dressed as an elf. She bit her bottom lip to suppress the desire to laugh, for Sid was quite a large man and his light brown droopy moustache looked a little incongruous on the face of a supposed elf.
“I know, I know,” said Sid, with a shake of his head which caused the bell on his hat to tinkle, “you think I look ridiculous. But there’s a reason for my get-up. I like to fit in with the surroundings, you see. Soak up the ambience, so to speak and I couldn’t be Father Christmas, could I? So I decided to be an elf.”
“Oh, I see,” said Lottie, “that’s very good-spirited of you.”
“Anyway, sit down, my lovely, and let’s see what the future has in store for you.”
Lottie sat down opposite Sid and rested her hands on her lap. “I shall be very interested to hear what you have to say for, since my sister and I moved here we’ve no idea how things might pan out.”
“Well, you soon will,” said Sid, with a hearty laugh, “you soon will.”
After the fortune telling, Lottie walked down to the lake where she found Hetty still sitting on a bench. Hetty looked round as she heard someone approaching. “Ah, it’s you Lottie. So how did it go?”
Lottie sat down beside her sister. “Fine, he’s a really nice bloke and very likable.” She saw Hetty had a carrier bag beside her, “Have you bought something nice?”
“Yes, a dress,” said Hetty, taking it from the bag, “I thought it’d be ideal to wear for Christmas. What do you think?”
“Very pretty, lovely colour but it wouldn’t suit me. Perfect for you though. Where did you get it?”
“From that bloke who sells designer clothes,” said Hetty, “he’s called Nick and is a real chatterbox. You, know, the sort as could sell ice to an Eskimo.”
Lottie stretched out her arm and felt the dress fabric, “How much?” she asked.
“Enough,” Hetty replied, “It’s a Mimi Monfils apparently. I must admit I’ve actually never heard of that brand but Nick assures me it’s very well thought of on the continent.”
Lottie tutted disapprovingly.
“Anyway, that’s enough about Nick and my dress because I don’t know about you but I rather fancy a coffee and one of Simeon’s delicious looking mille feuille.”
“Oh definitely although I might go for a macaron.”
“Hmm tempting, but first please tell me what Sid had to say?” Hetty folded the dress and returned it to its bag.
Lottie’s face brightened up. “He didn’t say a lot but then I think he was pulling my leg anyway. Well, I know he was. You see, he said there would be another murder in Pentrillick before the festive season was over and that you and I would be involved.”
Hetty frowned. “You’re joking.”
“No, I’m not, he really did say that but I know he was kidding because he was having difficulty keeping a straight face.”
“Looks like I’ll be spared dieting in the New Year then,” said Hetty, with a chuckle. “I must admit that’s a relief. So, did he say anything else?”
“Yes, he said that I’d find happiness here in Cornwall and perhaps even after many years of being a spinster, meet a dashingly handsome man who’d sweep me off my feet.”
Hetty threw back her head and laughed. “Bernie obviously told him a bit about us then and he’s got us muddled up.”
Lottie nodded. “Precisely. Silly Sid. Had I not been wearing gloves he would have seen my wedding ring and realised that I was the widow and you the umm…”
“…old maid,” Hetty finished.
When they arrived back at Primrose Cottage, Hetty took a couple of aspirins to relieve her headache because she and Lottie planned to go out in the evening. She then hung up her new dress in her wardrobe and hid the blouse she’d secretly bought for Lottie as part of her Christmas present underneath her bed. Meanwhile, Lottie went into the living room, put a hook through the hat of her plastic gnome and hung him on the Christmas tree towards the back where he was less conspicuous.
It was drizzling with rain in the evening as the sisters stepped out from their cottage and so Lottie went back indoors to fetch two umbrellas. By the time they reached the pub the rain was quite heavy and so their lower garments were somewhat wet. For that reason they made a bee-line for a table near to the fire hoping to dry out long before it was time to return home.
Once coats were removed and umbrellas placed in a large pot by the door with several others, Hetty went to the bar. While waiting to be served she saw that she was standing next to one of the girls she’d earlier seen selling cosmetics and jewellery at Wonderland.
“Would I be right in thinking that you and your friends are staying at Sea View Cottage?” Hetty asked.
“Yeah, that’s right. It’s lovely, I wish we could live there forever.”
“I know, we stayed there for a holiday in the summer and loved it too.”
The younger woman looked surprised. “Oh, for some reason I thought you lived in Pentrillick.”
“We do now,” said Hetty, “we being my sister and I. We’ve only been here for a week though. My name’s Hetty, by the way. Hetty Tonkins.”
“And I’m Shelley. Shelley Blackmoor.”
“Pleased to meet you, Shelley.”
“Likewise.”
“Who’s next?” Landlady Alison asked, as she approached the two women.
“Shelley,” said Hetty, waving her hand.
“Thank you. Two gin and tonics, please. One with no ice, both with lemon.”
“I take it you’re here for the Wonderland,” said Hetty, as from the corner of her eye she saw Alison pick up two glasses, “I must admit it’s quite an impressive set-up.”
“Yes, and we came last year too,” said Shelley, “but we stayed in a caravan then on a site further along the coast. It was nice but not a patch on the cottage. It was really windy one night when we were there and Ginger was scared the caravan would blow away.”
Hetty frowned. “Why is your friend called Ginger when her hair is blonde?”
“Well, apparently it’s because when she was a child she loved ginger biscuits. Her brother named her that.” She smiled, “I’m not actually sure what her real name is but it might be Jackie or perhaps it’s Jenny. It definitely begins with a J anyway.”
“I see,” said Hetty, casting a glance around the bar. “And are your boyfriends not here tonight?”
Shelley giggled. “They’re not our boyfriends. We met them at a fayre in Devon and discovered they were coming down here for Christmas too, so we invited them along to share the expenses, which is working out really well. I think they’ve gone into Penzance tonight.”
Alison placed two gin and tonics on the bar and Shelley handed her a twenty pound note.
It was Hetty’s turn next and as Alison was pouring two glasses of wine, Hetty heard a voice from behind say, “I’ll pay for those drinks, love.”
Hetty turned round to see the Test Your Strength man from the fair.
“Really, you don’t have to,” she said, “it was all a bit of a laugh.”
“No, I always keep my word.” He handed Alison a ten pound note.
Hetty tutted. “In that case, thank you very much.”
With drinks in hand, Hetty returned to the table where her sister was waiting. “These are with the compliments of the man at the fair.” Hetty sat down.
“Oh no, he shouldn’t have. He’ll never make a living if he goes around challenging people like that.” Lottie tutted.
“I agree and for that reason I shall put in for a pint of whatever he’s drinking next time I’m at the bar.”
“Good idea. Anyway, I thought you might like to know that I’ve just been chatting to Simeon,” Lo
ttie picked up her glass of wine, “and I told him how simply delicious his pastries are. Apparently he has a shop up-country somewhere in the South East, in fact it might even have been a district in London. Anyway, whatever, he likes to visit fayres and so forth to get himself out and about.”
“I can’t blame him for that,” said Hetty, “it must get a bit tedious working in the same place every day doing the same thing.” She took a sip of her wine. “That was one of the many nice things about midwifery…the getting out and about.”
“Yes, and Simeon told me that with the shop he has to be up and baking at four in the morning to have everything ready for opening at nine whereas here the Wonderland doesn’t open until eleven so he gets a lie-in.”
“So, who’s doing the baking in his absence?”
“He has a couple of very reliable chaps who are holding the fort for him.”
As they spoke a tall, stockily built, bald headed man wearing a Manchester United T-shirt walked by carrying two pints of beer. He winked at Hetty. “Evening ma’am, not wearing your new dress, I see.”
“Saving it for Christmas,” she replied.
He raised his eyebrows. “Looking forward to seeing you in it.”
“Who on earth was that?” Lottie asked, somewhat surprised.
“Nick,” she replied, “the chap who sold me the dress.”
“Of course, I should have guessed. The T-shirt put me off a bit though. I mean, designer clothes and football don’t seem compatible. But then I don’t like football. Never have and never shall.”
“Lottie Burton, I distinctly remember you following Manchester United avidly and watching all their matches on television. Admittedly it was many moons ago but you were obsessed and even knitted a red and white scarf.”
Lottie chuckled. “You’re right, so I did. How could I have forgotten? But then it was only because of George Best. He was my hero and it was a very long time ago.”
On a nearby table sat Patrick and Patricia who ran Pat’s Hook a Duck stall at the fair and both were drinking pints of lager. As Hetty was about to point out their presence to Lottie, a waitress arrived with plates of food for the middle-aged couple.
“That’s more like it,” said Patricia in a very loud, shrill voice, “Pasty and chips. Better than that fancy stuff old poncey Simon sells.”
“Simeon,” corrected Patrick, “his name is Simeon.”
“Simeon, Simon, it’s all the same to me.” She turned to the waitress. “Got any ketchup, love?”
“Just coming,” said the waitress as another waitress arrived with a tray of cutlery and an assortment of condiments.
“The philistine nearly smiled then,” Hetty hissed.
“Shush, Het, she might hear you.” Lottie deliberately moved her chair so that she obstructed her sister’s view of the fair people. However, it was Bernie the Boatman who, oblivious of Hetty’s remark, successfully changed the subject as he passed their table on his way back from the pool table. “Had your fortunes told yet, ladies?” he chuckled.
“I have,” said Lottie, “but Hetty is a non-believer.”
“Oh, that’s a shame.” He stood aside to let someone pass by. “So did he say anything interesting?”
Lottie smiled. “He did and he didn’t, but from what he said I’m pretty convinced that you or someone else primed him up a little about Hetty and myself.”
“Oh, well maybe I did drop him a hint or two,” said Bernie, attempting to look innocent and failing miserably.
“Hmm, the reason I say that is because he mentioned a turn in my love-life which was a little inappropriate.” She smiled, “He also said that there would be another murder in the village before the festive season was over and that Hetty and I would be involved.”
Bernie laughed. “Oh no, what a Charlie.”
“That’s what I thought, but the best thing is that if his predictions do come to fruition, then Hetty will make going on a diet her New Year’s resolution, but I think she’s on safe ground as that’s hardly likely to happen. In fact I hope it doesn’t because we don’t want anyone dead, especially this time of the year.”
“Yes, I agree with you there.” He drained his glass. “Time for another, I think. How about you two ladies. Can I buy you a drink?”
“No, no,” said Hetty, “let us get you one. I need to go to the bar anyway as I want to put one in for the strength chappie.”
“Strength chappie?” Bernie was puzzled.
“Hetty’s referring to the Test Your Strength man from Wonderland.”
“Oh, Steve. I didn’t know you knew him.”
“We didn’t until today,” said Hetty, taking her purse from her handbag. She glanced around to see if she could spot him. “I can’t see him anywhere. Is he still here?”
Bernie nodded. “Yes, he’s playing pool with Nick.”
“Nick, you mean the chap I bought a dress from?”
“Most likely as that’s what he sells.” Bernie handed Hetty his empty glass. “The two of them have just come to an agreement about accommodation, you see. Nick’s currently staying in bed and breakfast but he’s finding it a bit pricey so Steve who lives alone has offered him a bed in his caravan which of course is up at Pentrillick House so will be much more convenient. Nick’s moving in tomorrow before Wonderland opens up for the day.”
By half past ten, the sisters, feeling weary after having been in the fresh air at Pentrillick House, decided to head for home. When they left the pub, they found the rain had stopped, the pavement was dry and the sky was clear. As they stood by the kerb to cross the road into Long Lane, Simeon emerged from the pub car park on his bicycle. He waved as he passed by and then cycled off through the village whistling Petit Papa Noel.
Inside his caravan in the grounds of Pentrillick House, Sid Moore made himself a mug of hot chocolate and drank it in bed. He’d been feeling a bit under the weather since tea time and put it down to the meat pie he’d eaten for lunch which had been in his fridge for a few days longer than it ought. Still, he reckoned a good night’s sleep should do the trick and that he’d be as right as rain in the morning. Which was just as well because Saturday would be a busy day at Wonderland and he’d no doubt have a queue of ladies desperate to hear words of wisdom from his lips. Sid chuckled as he contemplated the success of his new found career as a psychic. Until the previous year he’d been a tradesman, a plumber and he’d made a decent living. The trouble was, being a bachelor he’d not looked after himself properly; he ate too many takeaways and drank too much beer thus causing him to put on a considerable amount of weight. The excess weight made bending and contorting, often in unsociable conditions, difficult to say the least and so he’d decided after a particularly arduous job, to turn his life around. He sold his modest house and bought a caravan and then set forth to travel the country as Psychic Sid even though he was fully aware that he had not the slightest ability to see into the future.
When his mug was empty, Sid stood it on the floor beside his bed and snuggled down beneath the duvet. He sighed and felt a little cheated for Friday night in the Crown and Anchor usually had a good atmosphere and he’d had to give it a miss. Still, there was always the next week and he intended to stay in Pentrillick until Wonderland wound up in the New Year.
Chapter Seven
On Saturday morning, Tess Dobson left her husband standing on the upper rung of a ladder hanging icicle shaped Christmas lights from the facia board on the front of their bungalow near to the church. She then drove to Pentrillick House to work in the café. Simeon was usually in the kitchen putting the final touches to his latest batch of fancies when she arrived but to her surprise, he was not in the kitchen or the café. Confused she knocked on the door of the adjacent room where he slept and called his name. There was no answer and so she peeped inside. He was not there and his bed had not been slept in. Hoping that someone might know of his whereabouts, she walked up to the marquee and asked if anyone there had seen him. No-one had. She then walked to the wooden huts and
asked the stall holders the same question but again the response was negative. She decided not to bother Psychic Sid for the curtains of his caravan were still drawn, and as a last resort she walked up to the fairground but no-one there had seen him since the previous day. Unsure what to do, Tess returned to the café. He definitely was not there nor had he been for the ovens were stone cold and the kitchen was tidy just as Simeon had left it when they had closed up on Friday evening. Wondering if his bicycle was around she looked behind the building and saw it leaning on the wall where he always left it. Tess was concerned. There were very few pastries left from the previous day and so it would not be possible to open up the café especially as, being a Saturday, trade was likely to be brisk. Feeling she needed to speak to someone she walked up to the house hoping to see Tristan Liddicott-Treen. She was in luck. Tristan was just leaving the house when she arrived.
“Is something wrong, Tess? You look perplexed.”
She nodded. “Yes, I am. It’s Simeon. He’s not in the café, his bed has not been slept in, the ovens are stone cold and no-one has seen him today. Yet his bicycle is where he always leaves it.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive.”
“Come on, let’s go back down and have another look. He can’t be far away.”
Tristan’s search was as unproductive as Tess’s although he did establish from Shelley that Simeon had been in the Crown and Anchor the previous evening, and Nick, who sold designer clothes and had just dropped off a few of his belongings at Steve the Test Your Strength man’s caravan, said that he had seen Simeon cycling along the road the previous evening when he was on his way back from the pub to the guest house where he was staying for the last time.
As Tristan and Tess stood outside the café, puzzling what to do, one of the groundsman walked by with finely chopped green vegetables to feed to the swans.
A Pasty In A Pear Tree Page 5
