Aunt Bessie's Holiday

by Diana Xarissa

  Bessie reached over and squeezed Doona’s hand. “I can’t imagine how awful that must have been,” she said.

  “It hit me really hard,” Doona admitted. “According to the letter, Charles was involved with Jessica Howe, the blonde we saw earlier. The letter said that her husband, Herbert, was starting to get suspicious, so Charles had quickly married me to try to hide the affair.”

  “And there were photos and things that proved that?”

  “There were photos of them together, including some where he was wearing his wedding ring,” Doona told her. “But I didn’t believe the letter, or rather, I didn’t want to believe the letter. I didn’t tell Charles I was coming, but I took a few days off work and flew across to Leeds, where he was working at the time. I checked into a room at the hotel where he was and then I went into the bar to wait for him.”

  Bessie quickly poured some more wine into Doona’s glass. “You don’t have to tell me all the horrible details,” she said.

  “I can’t believe I never told you them before,” Doona countered. “All those weeks and months I spent crying on your shoulder and I never told you the whole story.”

  “In the early days you weren’t always all that coherent,” Bessie teased. “And once you started to recover, I wasn’t going to drag it all up.”

  Doona laughed and took a drink. “It all feels rather long ago now,” she said. “Even with seeing Charles again tonight. Or maybe I’m just comfortably numb from too much champagne and wine.”

  “You’ll have a headache in the morning,” Bessie predicted.

  “It’s worth it,” Doona told her. “Anyway, I sat in the bar and then this blonde woman walked in. I knew who she was from the photos, but she didn’t seem to have any idea who I was. As we were the only two people in the place, she sat down next to me and we started talking.”

  “Jessica Howe?”

  “Indeed. We started out chatting about life in general, but after a few drinks she told me all about her husband, who is much older than she is and very wealthy. She was his trophy wife. His first wife had given him three children, and he didn’t want any more as he was still paying a fortune in child support. At least that’s how she saw it. Anyway, she was bored with him and their life together but she didn’t want to divorce him and lose out on all the wonderful things his money could buy.”

  “Yikes, what a lovely woman,” Bessie muttered sarcastically.

  “After another round of drinks, she told me all about her lover,” Doona said tartly.

  “Charles?”

  “Exactly. It seems the pair had met at a party about a year earlier. Now she spent her time travelling around the world, staying wherever Charles was currently working. She knew her husband was suspicious, but she was sure they were discreet enough that he couldn’t prove anything.”

  “And all the while, you’d seen the proof,” Bessie said.

  “Yeah, I might not have mentioned that to the lovely Jessica, though,” Doona said dryly. “Anyway, she even told me how incredibly clever her lover was. He’d recently married some stupid woman who had no idea what her husband was up to behind her back.”

  “Oh dear,” Bessie gasped.

  “A few minutes later Charles himself came in. He didn’t recognise me from behind in the dark bar. He simply called to Jessica and she rushed over to him. I watched the whole thing in the mirror behind the bar. They hugged and then hurried out of the room together, clearly heading to bed. I told the bartender that my drinks were meant to be on Jessica’s tab and then went up to my room and cried until morning.”

  “I wish I’d known all of this earlier,” Bessie said. “I wouldn’t have been nearly as polite to that man.”

  “Thanks, Bessie,” Doona said with a sad smile. “Anyway, I flew home the next day and made an appointment with my advocate. Charles rang repeatedly until I changed my number. I don’t know what his game is now, but I don’t trust him, not even a little bit.”

  “I don’t blame you,” Bessie replied. “I think we should just ignore him and enjoy our holiday.”

  “I’m going to go and see him tomorrow morning,” Doona told her. “Our woodland walk starts at eight, so we were going to have an early breakfast anyway. It won’t take me five minutes to explain to him exactly how I feel now that the shock of seeing him has worn off. Once I’m done with him, he’ll leave us alone for the rest of the week.”

  Bessie could only hope that her friend was right. But Charles had gone to a lot of trouble to get Doona to Lakeview. He must have some reason for having done so, and he might not be as easily deterred as Doona seemed to think.

  “We never opened our books,” Doona said, gesturing towards the two boxes on the small dining table, just inside the door.

  Bessie grinned. “I was just thinking that I need something to curl up with tonight,” she told her friend.

  “I’ll go get the boxes,” Doona said. She was in and out of the cabin in a moment, returning to the table with the two small boxes. “They’ve taped them shut,” she told Bessie. “I wonder if there are scissors in the kitchen?”

  “There’s just about everything else,” Bessie told her.

  Doona disappeared into the kitchen while Bessie tugged uselessly on one of the box lids. Whoever had sealed them had done a good job. Doona was back only a moment later.

  “Did you find scissors?”

  “Nope, but I found a knife,” Doona replied, holding up a kitchen knife with a long blade.

  “Do be careful,” Bessie said as her friend waved the knife in the air. “It looks really sharp.”

  “It isn’t, actually,” Doona replied with a laugh. “Although it’s very fancy, with our address engraved on the handle.” She’d tried slicing at the packaging tape with the blade, but it didn’t seem to cut through it.

  “Let me try,” Bessie suggested.

  Doona turned the blade sideways and slipped it under the lid. Now she could slide it along the seal, slicing through the tape as she went. It only took her a few seconds to open both boxes.

  “So, what do we have?” Bessie asked.

  They opened their boxes together and Bessie read out the titles.

  “Jane Austen’s Emma, Helen Fielding’s Bridget Jones’s Diary, Bill Bryon’s Notes from a Small Island, and Agatha Christie’s The Murder of Roger Ackroyd. It’s an interesting collection,” she said.

  “I know I read Emma when I was at school,” Doona replied. “But I’ve not read the others.”

  “I’ve read Emma and absolutely everything by Agatha Christie, but the other two are new to me,” Bessie told her. “I think I’ll try one of them tonight and see how it goes.”

  Doona yawned. “I’m too tired to read tonight,” she said. “I was thinking about trying out that fabulous bathtub, but I think I’m just going to go to bed. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Bessie gave her friend a hug and then they went into their bedrooms, each carrying their own box of books. Bessie got ready for bed and then read a chapter of the Helen Fielding book. When she found herself dropping off to sleep over the pages, she gave up and switched off the light.

  It seemed a long night for Bessie in the strange place. The sound of doors opening and closing woke her repeatedly as their neighbours made their way in and out. By five, Bessie was ready to give up on sleep and start her day, even though she felt more tired than she had when she’d gone to bed.

  Chapter Four

  Bessie took a shower and then got dressed. As she patted on her rose-scented dusting powder, she took a moment to think about Matthew Saunders, the man she’d once loved. He never would have cheated on me, she told herself firmly. Her reflection looked uncertain, so Bessie turned her back on it. In the kitchen, she filled the kettle and found the jar of instant coffee. She needed the caffeine this morning after her restless night.

  A short time later, Doona joined her. “Ah, coffee,” she muttered, stumbling into the kitchen. “I could smell it from my room.”

  Bessie hande
d her the mug she’d just filled and then fixed a second cup for herself. She didn’t try to speak to her friend, who was still in her robe and slippers. Doona sank down in a chair and sighed deeply.

  “I shouldn’t have finished that last bottle of wine,” she said, resting her head in her hands.

  “Do you need headache tablets?” Bessie asked sympathetically.

  “Yes, please,” Doona replied “I thought I had some, but I can’t find them in my bag.”

  Bessie passed her the bottle of tablets. Doona was quick to shake two into her hand, then wash them down with a sip of coffee.

  “We don’t have to be at breakfast for at least an hour, right?” Doona asked.

  “That should be about right,” Bessie answered.

  “I’m going to take a long, hot shower,” Doona told her. “I’ll be out when my headache is gone.”

  Bessie nodded. Doona shuffled off slowly, leaving Bessie to wash the two mugs and then tidy up the small kitchen. With nothing else to do, Bessie took her book out onto the small patio. There were walls on either side of the patio that were tall enough to give them privacy. A shorter wall, maybe three or four feet high, across the front of the patio was presumably meant to keep guests from walking across the grass to get to the path below them. It also made the small patio feel cosy and Bessie settled in happily.

  She made it through the second chapter and then gave up. Bridget Jones’s life just wasn’t something Bessie could relate to and she set the book to one side. Bessie sat back and watched the wildlife moving around behind their cabin. She saw a few rabbits and an abundance of squirrels dashing about. As time moved forward, they began to be replaced by people.

  People watching was one of Bessie’s favourite activities. She often sat on the rock behind her cottage and watched the families and individuals on Laxey beach. Those people were nearly always holiday-makers, no different from the groups that now surrounded her here. Several large groups went by on their bikes, weaving in and out around one another. Small children pedaled hard, their stabilisers keeping them from crashing to the ground.

  A very large group stopped on the road right behind Bessie and began to wave. Bessie wondered if she should wave back, but luckily stopped herself just before one of the men shouted.

  “Granddad, come down and join us.”

  A voice came from the patio next to Bessie’s. “I’ll be down when I’m ready,” it called. “I’m having a quiet cuppa by myself. We said we’d meet for breakfast at seven. I’ll see you then.”

  The adult members of the group exchanged glances and then they all moved away, heading towards the centre of the village.

  “Ten minutes’ peace and quiet,” the voice on the next patio muttered. “Is that too much to ask?”

  Bessie smiled to herself. The man was only just out of sight from where she was sitting. He sounded quite fed up with the large group, who were presumably his family. While she sometimes wondered what her life might have been like if she’d married Matthew and had children, she never really felt as if she’d missed out by not having a family of her own. Now, as she sat back in her seat, she was content with the knowledge that she could have as much peace and quiet as she liked on her holiday. A few minutes later, Doona joined her.

  “You’re looking much better,” Bessie told her.

  Doona had obviously taken some time over her appearance. Her highlighted brown hair had been washed and brushed until it shone. She was wearing more makeup than Bessie was used to seeing on her, and her green eyes seemed to sparkle. There was no hint now of the hangover that Bessie knew Doona was suffering from.

  “I feel better,” Doona replied. “The tablets have kicked in, and the shower helped as well. I’m feeling weirdly confident, so let’s get over to the centre before I lose my nerve.”

  Bessie nodded and rose to her feet. She quickly picked up her handbag from where she’d left it by the door and followed Doona out the front door. A man of maybe seventy was just emerging from the cabin next to theirs. Bessie smiled at the man, whose bearing was almost military in spite of his age. He was completely bald and his brown eyes gave both women a quick once-over that left Bessie feeling as if she’d been thoroughly inspected.

  “Good morning,” she said brightly. The man had no way of knowing that she’d overheard his early morning conversation with his family.

  “Good morning,” he replied curtly.

  The trio all turned and began to walk silently towards the village. After a moment, Doona spoke to the man.

  “I’m Doona Moore,” she said. “And this my friend Bessie Cubbon. It seems as if we’re neighbours, so it seems silly not to at least introduce ourselves.”

  The man smiled and then paused and gave them a small bow. “I’m Andrew Cheatham,” he replied. “It’s a great pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

  Before the conversation could continue, a huge crowd of people suddenly hastened towards them.

  “Granddad, I fell off my bike,” a small boy shouted.

  “Granddad, are you going to sit with me at breakfast?” a little girl asked.

  “Gwandda,” a tiny toddler shouted from her mother’s arms.

  Bessie smiled at Andrew. “You seem to be very much in demand,” she remarked.

  “It was nice to meet you,” Doona said.

  Andrew smiled vaguely in their direction as he was swallowed up in the crowd. Bessie and Doona continued on their way without him.

  “Have you worked out what you’re going to say to Charles?” Bessie asked as they reached the door to the main building, called the Squirrel’s Drey. It contained a large food court with a spacious area with seating in the middle. It also housed the swimming complex and the ten-pin bowling centre.

  “Nope, but I’m sure it will be interesting,” Doona said grimly.

  Charles had told Doona that the executive offices were next to the food court, so Bessie got herself a full English breakfast and sat down at one of the tables.

  “I’ll be back in ten minutes or less,” Doona told her.

  “If you aren’t, I’ll come in after you,” Bessie replied.

  Doona nodded and then marched resolutely towards the door marked “Staff.” She knocked once and then pushed it open. Bessie glanced at her watch and then started to eat. She was startled less than a minute later when her mobile phone buzzed.

  It seemed to take her forever to find the phone, which had, as ever, found its way to the very bottom of her bag. She frowned when she pulled it out and saw that it was Doona who was ringing her.

  “Hello?”

  “Bessie? Could you come back here, please?” Doona’s voice sounded odd.

  Bessie was on her feet at once. “I’m on my way,” she told her friend. Her breakfast forgotten, Bessie knocked once on the door and then pushed it open exactly as Doona had done. She found herself in a long corridor. Doona was waving to her from the end of it. She hurried towards her friend, feeling dread in every step. When she reached Doona, she hugged her tightly.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked, looking at Doona’s pale face and frightened eyes.

  “Charles has been murdered,” Doona whispered.

  Later Bessie would wonder why she wasn’t shocked by Doona’s announcement, but at the time it never occurred to her.

  “Did you ring the police?” she asked her friend.

  “I did,” Doona replied. “They’re on their way.”

  “Ladies, I really don’t think you’re meant to be back here,” a friendly voice called down the hall to them.

  Bessie smiled at Harold Butler as he joined them. “Good morning. How are you this morning?” she asked.

  “I’m fine. Thank you so much for asking,” he replied. “But really, this area is for staff only. If you need to talk to Charles, I can let him know that when I next see him. There’s no point in standing around here waiting for him. He could be anywhere.”

  “He’s in his office,” Doona told the man.

  “Oh? Did he tell you to
wait out here?” Harold asked.

  “No, he’s, well,” Doona sighed and then shook her head. “He’s dead,” she said flatly. “I’m just waiting here for the police.”

  “Dead? The police? But what on earth?” he took a deep breath. “Sorry, I’m rather flummoxed. I’d better ring Lawrence.”

  Harold walked back down the corridor and disappeared into one of the offices along it. Bessie and Doona exchanged glances.

  “Are you okay?” Bessie asked her friend as Doona leaned back against the wall.

  “No, really I’m not,” Doona replied. “I’m upset and angry and frustrated and I’m still hung over and I feel like hel, er, miserable.”

  Before Bessie could reply, the door at the end of the hall swung open and Lawrence Jenkins came rushing towards them.

  “What’s this nonsense about Charles, then?” he demanded harshly.

  “He’s dead,” Doona said.

  “I didn’t realise you were a doctor,” Lawrence said in an aggressive tone.

  “Now, Lawrence,” Harold muttered from where he had just arrived behind the other man.

  “I think I’d better check on Charles,” Lawrence said. He tried to push past Doona, but she stood firmly in front of the office door.

  “We don’t want to disturb the crime scene,” she said sharply.

  “Crime scene?” Lawrence shouted. “Look, lady, I don’t know what’s going on in there or what your game is, but you need to get out of my way. It sounds as if Charles needs some help.”

  Doona shook her head. “He’s well beyond that,” she told him. “And I’ve assured the police that I’ve secured the crime scene.”

  “Except it isn’t a crime scene. If Charles did suddenly pass, well, that’s sad, but it isn’t a crime. Now move out of the way,” he said.