by Holly Bell
‘Of course. Maybe, not both of us as it’s a Saturday and the salon might be busy. But yes, of course, we’ll try.’
‘Do your best,’ commanded Cynthia.
‘We will.’ She turned to Amanda. ‘Are you … er … Cadabra Restoration and Repairs?’
‘It’s the overalls, isn’t it?’ replied Amanda, with good-natured humour. ‘A dead give-away.’
Donna laughed. ‘Well, Mrs Sharma did point me in your direction. We have some wooden-framed antique mirrors that were damaged in transit, and the insurance people referred me to you as the local repairer.’
‘Oh yes, I do quite a lot of insurance work,’ Amanda assured her.
‘Would you mind popping over some time to give us a quote? Any time is good.’
‘Of course. In the meantime …’ Amanda reached into her breast pocket, ‘… here’s my card.’
‘That’s fantastic,’ said Donna, taking it.
‘Not at all.’
‘Thank you to both you and your brother for your generous discount offer,’ the rector repeated.
‘Our pleasure. I must be getting back now,’ Donna excused herself.
‘Of course,’ said Cynthia.
They bid her farewell politely and regarded her retreat, manifestly reserving judgement on their new neighbour.
Chapter 10
Flamgoyne and Cardiubarn
‘Rector, how much will the dance classes be?’ asked Amanda practically, distracting the ensemble from their speculations about the new hairdresser in Sunken Madley.
‘Just £5 each,’ Jane answered.
‘Oo, that’s good,’ approved Joan. ‘They charge more than that in most places.’
‘And I’ll be suggesting a £5 donation toward the new hall.’
‘I expect we can stretch to that.’
‘Thank you, Joan. And it’ll be a chance for the two at the salon to meet the village, and for the village to meet them.’
‘Has anyone here other than the rector seen the brother yet?’ asked Sylvia.
‘No, ’ answered Miss de Havillande, ‘but Nalini says he seems gentlemanly.’
‘Oh, I’d say he was a decent sort,’ opined Dennis. ‘It can’t be easy for them settling into a new community.’
‘We must do our best to make them welcome,’ urged the rector.
They indicated acquiescence.
‘Just think, Amanda,’ said Sylvia, brightly, ‘the brother might be a possible, and other people wanting to learn might come from far and wide; a chance for you to meet some nice men. Might put your young man’s nose out o’ joint, but it’d give ‘im some competition since he’s not making ‘is move.’
‘What young man?’ asked Amanda wearily.
‘You know! That Ryan Ford up at Madley Towers.’
‘He’s not my young ma —.’
‘— No, no, ‘er other one,’ Joan corrected her friend.
‘Oh no, there’s no chance there, I don’t think,’ responded Sylvia with certainty. ‘After all, he’s gone ba—’
‘— Yes, that was a shame,’ commented Jane, ‘we all liked him.’
‘Yes, we did indeed,’ concurred Dennis.
‘He’s not my… he wasn’t my young ma —’ began Amanda.
‘— And that other one, he wasn’t ’alf ’andsome, wasn’t ’e?’ said Sylvia.
‘He was,’ agreed Jane.
‘But he was too flighty,’ remarked Joan.
‘No,’ insisted the lollipop lady. ‘I mean the one that’s got his eye on ’er now. I like the look of him.’
‘Who are you talking about?’ Amanda asked mystified.
‘Your nice policemen. The inspector!’
‘He’s not my young man, I do most sincerely assure you.’
‘Oo, come now,’ said Sylvia, looking at her waggishly.
‘And look at the time, ladies!’ Amanda urged them, getting up and edging away. ‘I really must get back to work. And why don’t you go and share the news about the classes with Mrs Sharma? I’m sure she and Mr Sharma would come along.’
‘Oh, she already knows,’ said Joan.
‘She told us,’ added Sylvia.
‘Well, see you Saturday week then, if not before.’ Amanda hurried off knowing that it would undoubtedly be ‘before’. What was she thinking, taking her lunch to the village green?
***
It had been late when the plane landed at Barcelona airport. Later still when the cab Hogarth had arranged delivered Trelawney to Vera and Harry’s villa, some miles south along the coast.
The couple made Thomas welcome, but Vera perceived he was anxious to hold a colloquy with her brother. She made him comfortable, showed him his room and told him where things were in the kitchen. Then, together with Harry, she tactfully left Thomas and Mike alone on the moonlit deck with tea, Hobnobs and shortcake.
Hogarth gave Trelawney a few moments then prompted,
‘Come on, lad, out with it. What’s troubling you? It’s not like you to snap up an invitation that takes you away from your beloved station desk.’
Thomas acknowledged the truth of his friend’s remark with a grin. Then, relapsing into seriousness, related, as factually as he could, the conversation and strange experience he had at his mother’s house. At the end of it, he picked up his tea, as though he now needed it.
Hogarth heard him out and nodded. ‘You want to know how come you could do that?’ he said coming to the point.
‘Well, yes. That isn’t normal, is it?’
‘Hm, probably more little children can do things that are regarded as “not normal” than we give credit for. Only they can’t tell us, and we all too soon start telling them what’s normal, and what they should be doing and seeing and hearing, and they soon learn to keep their mouths shut, and, soon after, to forget what they once could do. But no. It’s not normal. Except, in your case, given your antecedents, it is.’
‘Flamgoynes?’
‘There’s a gift, you might say, that runs in your father’s maternal family.’
Thomas looked at him enquiringly. Hogarth explained,
‘You might call it insight, intuition, divination. Seeing things in liquid, tea leaves is one way of mediating or amplifying that insight. Now, not every Flamgoyne would have it, and not everyone who has it is a Flamgoyne, but —’
‘Wait, Mike. The old woman and the men in my dream, they kept asking my father about me! I would be in the house — yes, at Flamgoyne! — I was a child, and I’d be standing or sitting apart from the adults, but I could hear her, my grandmother, I suppose, asking my father … asking … “Can he …?” And my father shaking his head. There were asking if I had … I could do …’
‘What, in fact, you could do,’ said Mike.
‘Do you think my father knew?’ asked Thomas.
‘I’d say yes. You see, he’d know what to look for. Your mother wouldn’t, being a Normal. I think he kept the Flamgoyne gift from her.’
‘Yes, she hated all of that stuff,’ corroborated Thomas. He fell silent, processing what was, to him, an awful truth. Finally, he said, ’So I had it.’
‘So it would seem,’ Hogarth responded gently.
Trelawney’s detective mind switched back on.
‘So where did it go? Why did it stop? And why didn’t I remember I had it until Sunday night?’
‘I don’t think it went entirely,’ said Hogarth. ‘Your intuition has always been exceptionally strong. Oh, you can call it “hunches” or “going with your gut”, but I saw it early on, Thomas, and I’ve always trusted it, even over my own judgement.’
Something fell into place in Trelawney’s mind.
‘That’s why you sent me to the Cadabras, why you passed that cold case to me.’
‘Yes,’ admitted Hogarth.
‘Everything seems to come back to them … to her. To Amanda Cadabra,’ Trelawney mused. A thought presented itself. ‘If the Flamgoynes and the Cardiubarns were such enemies, why did they intermarry? Miss Cadabra rememb
ered two sets of ancestral portraits that her great-grandmother Cardiubarn showed her when she was tiny. Every one of whose subjects came to a grisly end at the hands of a relative, as far as I can tell. But I distinctly remember two Flamgoyne-Cardiubarn marriages.’
Hogarth remained silent, letting Trelawney follow his mental lead.
‘What is the Cardiubarn gift?’ Thomas asked. ‘Do they have one?’
‘Oh, they have one all right,’ Hogarth answered, leaning forward to add hot water to the teapot.
‘What is it?’ urged Thomas.
‘By rights, I should make you seek out this information yourself, but I’m not entirely sure Senara and Perran would have told Amanda.’ He gave the pot a stir and said,
‘Spell-weavers.’
Thomas nodded and said, ‘I have a theory.’
‘Yes, I have the same one,’ responded Hogarth.
Trelawney’s bloodhound spirit was up. ‘I have to get back to Sunken Madley. I need Miss Cadabra to remember the rest of the portraits at Cardiubarn Hall!’
‘Yes, but not tonight,’ Hogarth replied firmly. ‘I’m not driving you to the airport in the small hours of the morning. Have your tea, go to bed and sleep on it all.’
Thomas smiled and relaxed back in his chair.
‘Here. Have some shortcake,’ Mike recommended.
‘You’re right, of course,’ agreed Thomas, accepting one of his favourite biscuits, and dunking it in his tea..
‘And I haven’t got round to work. Which is why I asked you here,’ added Hogarth.
‘Oh, yes,’ said his young friend with interest.
‘Tomorrow, Thomas, tomorrow.’
‘Very well,’ he conceded. ‘But tell me this — and I’m still not at all comfortable with the thought of having … powers of … of … as a child — but, hypothetically, how could a child like that lose its powers and its memory of those powers?’
Hogarth poured himself another cup of tea, then said, ‘Why don’t you ask Miss Cadabra?’
Comprehending that this was as much as he was going to get, Thomas assented, ‘All right.’
‘But if you do follow this line of enquiry, and I think you should, be prepared for answers which you may not like. You may not like at all,’ Hogarth warned him.
At that, Thomas fell silent for a moment, then said slowly,
‘Yes, I may not like it. But I’d rather know the truth.’
‘And there’s another thing: if you want useful answers from Miss Cadabra you must make her feel comfortable giving them.’
‘What do you mean? How am I to do that? How am I to know what makes her comfortable or otherwise? I’m not psych—’
‘Not psychic?’ replied Hogarth with amusement. ‘It seems you once were, Thomas, and I think you’ve got enough left for the purpose. Use your intuition!’
Chapter 11
Salon
Meanwhile, back at number 12 Priory Lane, Amanda was enjoying a fortunate circumstance. The sink that had been delivered for the basement had been discovered to have a crack in it, and Mr Branscombe had gone out to collect a replacement some distance away. Hence, Amanda was free to use the magical assistance so necessary to save her from the overexertion that so often brought on her asthma attacks.
Nevertheless, as the day wore on, the stress of being alert to his possible reappearance at the scene of the spellcrafting began to tell. In addition, Mrs Reiser was at work, but who was to say she would not return unexpectedly?
By 3.30 Amanda was exhausted from the vigilance and had made sufficient progress to clock off for the day. She packed up and left a progress report note for Esta Reiser.
Tempest, who had been inspecting the back garden, engaged in an exchange of insults with a squirrel and warned the frogs in the pond several times about splashing his fur, was more than ready to leave. They drove to the top of Orchard Way and parked.
‘Let’s get this quote over with,’ said Amanda.
Tempest had already toured the premises of the salon. He knew the layout intimately from funeral parlour days. Mr Blackaby used to keep a bowl of nuts and raisins for the sustenance of the bereaved. Tempest didn’t want them often, but, when he did, he knew where to find them where he wouldn’t be challenged.
Amanda had worn her work-wear straight from home, not having expected to go elsewhere. As soon as she opened the salon’s glass-paned door, she felt like a bull in a china shop. Her mustard suede, polish-stained, steel-toe-capped boots echoed on the waxed wood floor. Her untidy mouse-brown plait contrasted radically with that of the customer in the white leather chair receiving the finishes touches to her luscious waves of soft ash blonde hair.
Tempest stood at Amanda’s side sniffing the air redolent of coconut, vanilla and ylang-ylang but there was the sharp edge of hairspray. Her lungs reacted slightly against the chemicals. She controlled her breathing, but could not prevent a cough or two.
There was a small tray of gold and silver-wrapped chocolate hearts on the shelf before the client. Tempest’s interest was aroused. He was only an occasional partaker of chocolate and was extremely particular as to quality.
Amanda looked around for Donna. The hairdresser conducting the finale to the appointment in the chair was male. The brother, no doubt. He was of medium height, lithe, and some years younger than his sister. Amanda was struck by the ready smile in his blue eyes and the sweetness in his expression that he turned towards the newcomer.
‘Hello. Miss Cadabra, is it? My sister told me to expect you. Sorry, she had to pop out. Please do take a seat, I’ll be right with you.’
He gave a last spray of fixer, a final primp, and reached for the mirror to show the lady the back of her head. She responded with satisfaction, untied the gown protecting her clothing, and stood up, revealing the familiar face of the proprietress of the Snout and Trough. It was known as ‘The Other Pub’ but with acknowledged gastro excellence, and situated at the southern entrance to the village.
‘Sandra?’
‘Amanda!’ replied the lady with pleasure. ‘Yes, it is I, of the straight, flat hair and sensible bun! My dear, this man is a genius! You must give him a try.’
Amanda, who preferred to do her own hair, made a noncommittal noise, and asked,
‘Special occasion?’
‘Yes, my sister and I are having a rare night off and going into town to see Harespray, the new musical by Poppea Watership and Barry O’Down.’
‘I’m glad you're taking some time out. You work so hard, Sandra.’
‘But I love it. Still, it is also nice to get glammed up and take the publican’s hat off for a while.’
Sandra paid, tipped and was helped into her jacket.
‘Must get back. Do pop by, Amanda, always pleased to see you. Pudding on the house for you, and, of course, the kitchen will be pleased to provide sustenance for the prince there.’
Tempest looked at her with approbation. Sandra was another one on the list of those who showed him due deference. Her kitchen consequently went unraided, and nary a rodent was permitted to pass any of her doors. Sandra made him a flourishing bow, and, with a farewell and a wave, quit the premises.
‘Now, Miss Cadabra,’ said the hairdresser, ‘proper introductions. I’m Leo, Leonardo. I know. Product of an Italian mother, I’m afraid.’
‘It’s a distinguished name. How do you do, Leo. Welcome to Sunken Madley,’ Amanda said warmly.
‘Many thanks. Would you like a drink? Coffee, tea, before we begin?’
‘Perhaps afterwards,’ she answered with a cough and a hand to her chest.
‘Are the products annoying you?’ he asked with concern, going to the door and opening it. ‘I’ll do the back door too. Just to change the air.’
‘That’s most kind. I have asthma. Just a little oversensitive to certain chemicals. Sorry.’
‘Not at all.’ He returned shortly. ‘So, refreshments afterwards. OK, here is the damage.’ He led her to a mirror towards the back of the premises.
The sa
lon was a strange mixture of rustic and feminine, almost frou-frou. Oak floors and exposed brickwork played against ornate gold-framed antique mirrors, swagged voile curtains in the window, white leather chairs and a chandelier. There were touches of gold in the wall lights.
Amanda inspected the frame Leo was showing her. One corner was smashed, presumably where it had been dropped, but the glass was intact. On the opposite edge was a gouge, where likely another piece of unprotected furniture had collided with it.
‘I might be able to build up this corner with filler then stain or paint it,’ said Amanda, ‘and this deep scrape here I can probably fill with hard wax and paint. It’s not a huge job. I’ll email you an estimate this evening.’
‘Thank you. Tea now?’
‘Please,’ Amanda accepted politely. ‘How are you and your sister — Donna, isn’t it? — settling in?’
‘Pretty well. I entirely understand and respect the reservations of our new neighbours regarding strangers. After all, this is a tightly knit community in some ways, and it will take time for them to get to know us and us them.’
‘That’s generous of you. It’s not as tight as it seems. Most of the villagers work outside of Sunken Madley. It’s just the notables really who are more visible.’
‘Ah, I see. Excuse me while I just go into the back room to make the tea. English breakfast?’
‘Builder’s tea, yes, please. I am in the industry after all,’ said Amanda cheerily.
‘I would say you’re more of an artisan, aren’t you? A craftsperson.’
‘So is any brickie, joiner or plasterer worth their salt. I’m sure I’ve seen some of the best in houses I’ve worked in.’
‘I meant no disrespect to the trades,’ he protested lightly. ‘Don’t call the union!’
‘I won’t, at least, not this time,’ she jested.
There was a conversational silence, broken by the reassuring sounds of cups chinking, lids unscrewing, a fridge door opening and shutting. And then the warm bubbling of the kettle, the burble of pouring hot water, the ting of a spoon stirring. As if drawn by the sound of tea in progress, Senara and Perran appeared. They looked carefully at the interior of the premises.
