Aunt Bessie's Holiday

by Diana Xarissa

Bessie frowned. “I didn’t think about that,” she said. “Of course I do.”

  Again, John was silent as Bessie spoke. When she was finished, he sighed.

  “What a mess,” he told her. “I’m going to ask you a few questions, and I want you to be totally honest and not get offended on Doona’s behalf, okay?”

  “I’ll try,” Bessie said cautiously.

  “Is there any chance that she knew Charles was going to be there?” John asked.

  “Absolutely not,” Bessie said emphatically. “She wouldn’t have come if she’d known.”

  “You mentioned him in passing, but what do you know about Andrew Cheatham?” John asked next.

  “He’s our next-door neighbour on the street where we’re staying,” Bessie replied. “But that’s about all I know. Why?”

  “He has some very important connections,” John told her. “And he has a solid reputation as an excellent investigator. If Doona has anything she doesn’t want him to know, she’ll do well to stay away from him, but I would suggest he’ll be a powerful ally if you can get him on your side.”

  “He seems like a very nice man,” Bessie said. “We had dinner with him tonight and he told us he’d spoken to you.”

  “He did, and he asked very smart questions. So did Margaret Hopkins. I think the investigation is in good hands with her, at least so far.”

  “Doona will feel better when she hears that,” Bessie said.

  “Having said that,” John added, “if you have any reason to believe that Doona is in any danger of being arrested or even seriously considered as a suspect, you must ring me right away. I can be on a flight across within a couple of hours if I have to be.”

  “Surely it won’t come to that,” Bessie argued. “She didn’t have any reason to kill the man, after all.”

  “On the contrary, some would suggest she had several good reasons to kill him,” John disagreed. “Luckily, she isn’t the only one, and we both know for certain that she didn’t do it.”

  The pair talked for several more minutes, but fairly pointlessly. John was too far away to properly assess the situation.

  “Please ring me every night with an update,” John told her. “I don’t want to ask Doona to do so. She has enough to worry about.”

  “I’ll ring,” Bessie promised. “And I’ll be careful what I say to our friendly neighbour in the meantime.”

  After the call ended, Bessie switched off the bedside light and slid further under the covers. The night had a definitely autumnal chill and she was grateful for the thick duvet. Convinced that she’d never manage to get to sleep, she was surprised when her internal alarm woke her at six. She felt as if she hadn’t moved a muscle the entire night.

  A hot shower did a lot to relax the tightness in her back and neck after so many hours of lying still. Bessie patted on her dusting powder and got dressed for the woodland walk she’d missed the day before. When she emerged from her room, she found Doona in the kitchen, nursing a cup of coffee.

  “You look as if you didn’t sleep much,” Bessie said sympathetically.

  “I didn’t,” Doona replied. “The shower helped a little bit and the coffee is trying hard. I’m hoping a brisk walk in the woods will wake me up even more.”

  “It certainly can’t hurt,” Bessie said with determined cheerfulness. She poured herself a bowl of cereal with milk and her own cup of coffee while she told Doona about her conversation with John Rockwell.

  “At least he knows what’s going on,” was Doona’s only response when Bessie was finished.

  They put on their trainers and made their way into the village centre. A small sign outside the main doors of the Squirrel’s Drey told them to assemble next to the ice cream stand just past the French restaurant. It was too early for either to be open, although there were people wandering in and out of the Squirrel’s Drey. Bessie didn’t even glance inside, not wanting to be reminded of the events from twenty-four hours earlier.

  At the ice cream stand, a young man was on the ground doing press-ups.

  “Ah, there you are,” he said, leaping to his feet. “I’m Brett. Welcome to Lakeview Holiday Park and welcome to our woodland walk,” he said enthusiastically.

  “I’m Bessie and this is Doona,” Bessie replied.

  “It’s so nice to meet you both,” he responded. “Are you ready to learn about our woodland flora and fauna?”

  Bessie felt as if he was disappointed with her somewhat muted reply, but she couldn’t possibly imagine manufacturing his level of enthusiasm for any reason. Doona remained silent as Brett pulled a clipboard out of his backpack.

  “I thought I was right,” he said. “You two are the only ones that signed up for today’s walk. You were the only ones signed up for yesterday as well, so I was very sorry when you had cancel.”

  “So were we,” Bessie told him. “But we’re here now. It’s a shame it’s just us, though. I’d have thought such walks would be popular.”

  “I’m busier in the summer,” he told her. “But this time of year I suppose no one wants to get up this early when they’re on their holidays.”

  “That makes sense,” Doona muttered.

  “Well, let’s get started, shall we?” Brett asked, giving them both a dazzling smile.

  For the next two hours, Bessie learned far more about the plants and animals of the Lake District than she’d ever wanted to know. Brett told them all about which plants were safe to eat and which ones to avoid. He showed them the nearly invisible signs that the various animals in the area left behind. Finally, he showed them around the ranger station that was tucked away in a quiet corner of the park. There they nursed injured animals back to health, taught classes for groups of all sizes and ages, and monitored forest conditions.

  “Thank you,” Bessie said when Brett finished the tour. “It’s been very interesting.”

  “I’m glad you enjoyed it,” Brett replied. “I love what I do, working in the forest and looking after the animals. I have the coolest job in the world. We do a lot of other walks and experiences. If you’re interested, I’m sure they’ll be spaces left on most of them.”

  “We’ll check the brochure,” Bessie told him.

  “Would you like some tea before you walk back to your accommodation?” he offered. “I brew my own from some of the areas grasses and weeds.”

  “Gosh, that sounds interesting,” Bessie said, looking at Doona desperately. “But I think we’ll have to decline for today. Maybe another time.”

  Doona took Bessie’s arm. “Thank you so much,” she said, speaking for almost the first time since they’d started the walk. “But we need to get back. I’m sure Bessie would like a rest. I know I would.”

  Brett showed them out of the small station, still burbling on about his tea and how they should sign up for more walks as they walked away. Bessie turned back after several paces and waved.

  “Thank you again,” she called back to the man who was still standing in the doorway of the ranger station.

  “Any time,” he shouted back.

  “Walk faster,” Doona hissed. “Or he’ll be trying to force his weird tea on us again.”

  Bessie laughed. “I’m sure it’s not that bad.”

  “I’m sure it’s awful,” Doona countered. “Anyway, I don’t want to find out.”

  “So what did you think of the walk?” Bessie asked as they slowly made their way home. “You were very quiet the whole time,” she added.

  “I have a lot on my mind,” Doona replied. “Besides, Brett was so enthusiastic about everything, I didn’t feel like there was anything I could add.”

  “He certainly loves what he does,” Bessie agreed. “And his tea seems to be doing him a lot of good.”

  “If I were twenty years younger, I’d have been quite tempted,” Doona told her. “He’d be perfect for young Mai, maybe.”

  “She doesn’t seem like the grass and weed tea type,” Bessie said thoughtfully. “I think she’d be more interested in champagne.”


  “You could be right,” Doona said with a shrug. “As I’ve made such a huge mess of my own love life, I don’t think I want to comment on other people’s.”

  They’d reached a small sitting area that overlooked the smaller of the two lakes. “Let’s sit for a minute,” Bessie suggested. “The view is wonderful.”

  The picnic tables and benches were less spectacular than the view, but Bessie was happy to sit down for a short time, regardless.

  “We’ve our pencil sketching class this afternoon,” Doona reminded Bessie. “And we need to have some lunch before that. What sounds good?”

  “I’m already hungry and it’s only half ten,” Bessie said. “Maybe we could get Chinese or Indian?”

  “Indian sounds better to me,” Doona replied. “Let’s get take-away and eat in our cabin, though. I’m not sure I’m up to a public place right now.”

  “That sounds good. We can go back and decide what we want. I can walk over and collect it if you just want to stay at home.”

  “I think I can manage collecting some food,” Doona told her. “I don’t want anyone to think I’m hiding, anyway.”

  After several minutes, Bessie began to shift back and forth on the uncomfortable wooden seat.

  “Time to head for home?” Doona asked.

  “This bench is pretty hard,” Bessie said, apologetically.

  “That’s fine. I quite fancy sitting on our patio and reading for a while,” Doona told her. “The chairs there are much more comfortable than these and the view is just as nice.”

  In their cabin, both women took books from their book club pile and settled into seats on their patio. Bessie’s tummy was rumbling by half eleven.

  “Time to order some food,” she said to Doona.

  “Perfect,” Doona answered.

  When they gave their location to the man taking their order, he insisted that someone from the restaurant would deliver their lunch.

  “So, our VIP treatment continues, in spite of Charles’s death,” Bessie remarked when Doona told her.

  “So it seems,” Doona replied. “Again, I just hope we don’t get billed for it all.”

  “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it,” Bessie said. “For now, we should enjoy being pampered.”

  The food, when it arrived, was hot and delicious. Bessie ate far more than she’d intended, but her light breakfast had been many hours earlier.

  “That was much better than yesterday’s lunch,” Doona remarked as she and Bessie cleared away the dishes.

  “It certainly was,” Bessie agreed. “I wonder if L’Expérience Anglaise is even open today.”

  “We’ll have to check if we go to the Squirrel’s Drey later,” Doona said.

  “Where is our class?” Bessie asked.

  “In the arts and crafts building,” Doona told her. “It’s called the Rainbow Arts Centre and it’s on the opposite side of the lake from the Squirrel’s Drey.”

  “We walked past it this morning,” Bessie said, once she’d realised which building Doona was talking about. “I just didn’t know that it was the arts and crafts building.”

  They walked slowly around the lake, arriving at the Rainbow Arts Centre with a few minutes to spare. An older couple were already sitting in the small lobby area, presumably waiting for their instructor to arrive. Bessie and Doona joined them and quickly introduced themselves.

  “We’re Jack and Nancy Strong,” the woman told them. “Our children sent us here for a week as a wedding anniversary present. I can’t imagine what they were thinking. I’d have much rather gone on a cruise. Anyway, we’re making the best of it and trying out just about every activity on offer. So far we’ve been bored to bits, but I keep hoping.”

  “I’m sure they meant well,” Bessie said.

  “Of course they did,” Jack told them. “And we’re sure to find something we enjoy by the end of the week, even if it means we have to try everything.”

  “Oh, I do hope I’m not late,” a voice said from the doorway.

  Bessie looked up and then frowned. Andrew Cheatham was an unexpected addition to the class.

  Chapter Eight

  “Good afternoon, ladies and gentleman,” another voice chimed in from behind them all.

  Bessie turned around and smiled at the young woman who was standing in a doorway that led further into the building.

  “I’m Andrea. Welcome to pencil sketching,” she said.

  The girl, who looked not much older than twenty, was dressed all in black. Bessie took in the jet-black hair that was cut in a severe bob, the white foundation with black lipstick and the multiple piercings. Andrea didn’t look at all like a typical Lakeview employee.

  “Come on back to the classroom and let’s get started,” she suggested.

  Bessie glanced at Doona and shrugged before she got to her feet and, with the others, followed the girl into a large and brightly lit room. One entire wall was nothing but windows, which gave them an uninterrupted view of the lake outside. There were several easels set up in front of the windows, but Andrea led them to the back of the room where a small circle of easels surrounded an empty table.

  “The easels are at various heights, so choose one that suits you, whether you prefer to sit or stand,” Andrea told them. “They can be adjusted later if you start standing and then want to sit for a while, as well.”

  Bessie found an easel that seemed just about right for her height and Doona quickly claimed the one next to her, which was set just slightly higher. Andrew settled in at the one on Bessie’s other side, even though Bessie thought it seemed a bit low for him. Nancy and Jack Strong moved next to Doona to complete the circle.

  Andrea walked into the middle of the group and smiled at each of them in turn. “I’m glad you’re all here,” she said with a small smile. “I just need to go over a few things before we start. First of all, I can’t make you a professional artist in three hours, but I can help you to improve as an amateur artist. Please don’t feel like what you do isn’t good enough or isn’t right. Art is entirely subjective and it’s about what you feel and express, not what other people see, or think they see, in your work.”

  Everyone laughed nervously. Bessie didn’t have particularly high hopes for the next three hours. She’d never been any good at drawing, but she’d also never had any proper lessons. If nothing else, she was determined to enjoy the experience.

  “We’re going to start by drawing a circle,” Andrea told them now. “And that sounds quite easy, but actually, it is really difficult to draw a circle freehand. So I don’t want you to try to make it perfectly circular. Just draw something that is more or less round and we’ll go from there.”

  Bessie picked up a pencil from the tray below her easel and took a deep breath. When she noticed her hand was shaking, she scolded herself. This is only a holiday park activity, she reminded herself. Stop being such a big baby.

  After another deep breath, she drew a lopsided circle on her paper.

  “Excellent,” Andrea said as she walked around the group. “I promise you that was the hardest thing you’ll do today. The very first mark on the page is always the most difficult.”

  For the next hour, Andrea showed them how to shade and colour their circles until they began to take on depth. Then she had them add a square and helped them turn the square into a box.

  “Now I want you all to turn around,” Andrea told them. “Take three steps away from your picture and then turn around again. Tell me what you think of your piece from a few steps away.”

  Bessie turned and then smiled. While her picture wasn’t exactly great art, it looked much better than she’d ever imagined she could have done.

  “It isn’t bad, is it?” Bessie said.

  “Now I want you all to walk around and look at what your classmates have done,” Andrea instructed.

  “They are all very different, even though we started with the same basic shapes,” Bessie remarked. “And they’re all really good.”

&nbs
p; After everyone had admired all of the pictures, Andrea had them tear them off their easels. “Now we’re going to try something a little bit harder, using the same techniques we just learned,” she told them.

  She put a tennis ball, a golf ball and a large square box on the table in the middle of the group. “I want you to draw what you see,” she instructed them. “Take it slow, start with the shapes and see how you do. I’m here to help with whatever you need.”

  Bessie pulled up a chair and lowered her easel before she began. Standing still seemed to take more energy than walking, for some reason.

  “You can chat with one another if you like,” Andrea added with a smile. “This isn’t school.”

  “I’m concentrating too hard to chat,” Bessie told her. But after a few minutes, once the basic shapes had been drawn and she was working on shading, Bessie felt herself relaxing a little bit.

  “I wasn’t expecting to see you here,” she said to Andrew, glancing over to see him frowning at this paper.

  “My oldest grandchild, who is twenty-six and ought to know better, signed me up for about a dozen activities,” he replied. “I cancelled quite a few of them, but then his mother, my daughter, said that that hurt his feelings, so I agreed to try at least one or two of the less, um, well, let’s just say I agreed to try a few.”

  “And are you having fun?” Bessie had to ask.

  “It isn’t as bad as I thought it would be,” he said, grudgingly. “And the instruction is much better than I was expecting, as well.”

  Andrea had walked over during the conversation, and now she smiled at Andrew. “I’m not sure if I should take that as a compliment or not,” she said. “What were you expecting?”

  Andrew shrugged. “I think I thought there would be a bunch of flowers on a table and we’d be told to draw them. I didn’t expect to be given any instruction, really.”

  “Lakeview is trying hard to encourage adults to visit without children. We’ve added a number of activities specifically for them, like this class. I also teach finger painting, collage making and cartoon drawing to the under ten set, of course,” Andrea explained.

  “Do you have any idea what happened yesterday up at the main building?” Nancy Strong asked from behind her easel. “The police were everywhere.”