The Lavender Lady

by Faith Martin

  She had just crossed the street when, right in front of her, an old lady suddenly appeared beside her garden gate, rather in the manner of Judy popping up in her booth in a Punch and Judy show,.

  ‘Sorry, didn’t mean to make you jump,’ she said cheerfully as Effie muffled a squeak and put a hand to her throat in surprise.

  She was about four foot, with hair so white it almost dazzled, and a face that had the deeply wrinkled crevices of someone well into their ninth decade. She also spoke rather loudly, as those who had a slight hearing problem were wont to do, and she was sucking fiercely on a mint or some other boiled sweet, which made her dentures clack in a rather alarming way.

  ‘Couldn’t help noticing you and them others over at old Claudia’s house,’ this wonderful old lady said. ‘Tell me, is it true that you’re trying to catch her ghost?’

  ‘Not exactly,’ Effie said warily. ‘We’ve just been called in to record and make a note of anything . . . er . . . untoward that might be happening. Or might not,’ she felt compelled to add.

  The old woman nodded sagely. ‘I thought it was something like that. When my niece told me what was going on, I wasn’t at all surprised.’

  ‘You weren’t?’ Effie said, somewhat taken aback.

  From her own experiences of village life, she had always known that Isabel wouldn’t be able to keep the C-Fits a secret for any length of time. As anyone who lived in the countryside knew, in a village everyone seemed to know your business before you did. She hadn’t expected quite such open and ferocious curiosity from the neighbours, however. But then, she thought, this lovely old bird wasn’t exactly your average neighbour, was she?

  ‘No, I told Jenny, I did, that Claudia was just the kind to make trouble even after she was dead and gone.’ This remarkable denizen nodded again, her head bobbing up and down emphatically as she sucked savagely on her sweet.

  Effie smiled. ‘Oh. I see. How clever of you,’ she said faintly. Then, ‘I take it you knew Claudia well?’

  The old lady gave a bark of laughter, so loud and so sudden that it set Toad off barking as well.

  ‘Course I did. Lived opposite her for near on seventy years, didn’t I?’ she said bluntly, then glanced down. ‘Hello, little fella. He’s a lively little thing, isn’t he?’

  Effie watched as her pet fawned in front of his latest admirer, but suspected that his newest conquest would be too stiff with arthritis or other like ailments to bother to try and bend down to stroke him.

  ‘Claudia always was a contrary old cuss. So, have you seen her then?’ she demanded.

  Effie blinked. ‘Sorry?’

  ‘Her ghost. Walking the halls, is she?’

  ‘Oh! Oh, no, nothing like that.’ Effie was amused to hear herself sounding so shocked.

  The old lady sniffed, obviously disappointed by this answer, then grinned at herself. ‘Sorry, forgetting me manners.’ She popped a hand, riddled with age spots and covered with distended blue veins, over the gate, and Effie took it gently, being careful not to squeeze too hard.

  ‘Mary Coles.’

  ‘Effie James.’

  Mary nodded. ‘Don’t mind me, duck, I’m a nosy old so-and-so. My husband always said that he couldn’t take me anywhere. Which is probably why he seldom did.’ And again she burst into laughter.

  ‘So, is there much talk in the village?’ Effie asked, not quite sure how to handle this ancient little dynamo. ‘I do hope Isabel won’t feel too embarrassed by it,’ she stressed meaningfully.

  But if she hoped that a little gentle censure would help stem the tide of speculation — at least from this quarter — she was doomed to disappointment.

  ‘Oh, she needn’t worry,’ Mary said casually, the gentle hint that maybe she should consider Isabel’s feelings going totally over her head. ‘To be honest, nowadays folk are too busy working all the hours God sends to care about what their neighbours are up to. Not like it would have been in the old days. A real nine-day wonder it would have been back then. No, it’s only the old brigade, like me, who are all agog and chatting about it amongst ourselves.’

  Effie nodded and sighed, wondering how best to extricate herself without causing offence. Because, genuine British eccentric though she may be, Effie had no intention of indulging Mary Coles’s curiosity at Isabel’s expense. Unfortunately, no escape plan came readily to mind.

  ‘So, who do you think bumped her off then?’ this remarkable woman said next, tilting her head to one side, rather like a curious robin, as she regarded Effie with bright, sparkling brown eyes.

  ‘What?’ Effie squeaked in alarm.

  And it was only when Mary laughed again that it began to occur to her that the old bird was having far too much fun for Effie’s liking. She was clearly quite happy to lead her on, and was being highly entertained in the process.

  ‘Well, I reckon if ghosts are going to walk, they must have a good reason for doing it,’ Mary averred now firmly. ‘Mind you, with Claudia, she might have come back just so that she could go on arguing with her family. I never knew such a contentious woman as that one.’

  Effie smiled weakly. ‘Oh dear. Was she really as bad as all that?’ she asked helplessly, whilst wondering what the old woman was going to come out with next.

  ‘You don’t believe me?’ Mary asked. ‘Then let me tell you, just a week or so before she passed, I heard her having a humdinger of a row with some man or other. I’m always out in the garden, see, and since we’ve been having such fine weather recently, I’m getting a head start on me weeding. And what with the village being so quiet like, during the day, sound tends to carry, so it does. And old Claudia was really giving someone a tongue-lashing, I can tell you.’ She nodded her white head vigorously and took the opportunity to pop another sweet into her mouth.

  ‘Really? Who was it, do you know?’ Effie, in spite of her misgivings, found herself asking eagerly.

  ‘Couldn’t see him,’ Mary said with such frank and open disgust that Effie almost laughed herself. ‘They was in the back garden, see,’ the old lady continued morosely. ‘And although the sound carried across the road, I couldn’t see ’em. But Claudia was in fine fettle. At one point, she even warned the fella that she was going to get the police on to him.’

  Effie blinked. Now really this was too much. Just how gullible did this old lady think she was?

  ‘The police? Really?’ she echoed sceptically.

  Mary grinned at her unashamedly. ‘You think I’m lying. I swear, so swipe me Bob, she was threatening all sorts,’ she promised. ‘Started telling him that she had friends in high places who would soon “fix his hash.” That’s her exact words. She had a real turn of phrase when it suited her, did our Claudia. Mind you, she probably did. Have friends in high places, I mean,’ she clarified, when Effie looked at her blankly. ‘When old Claudia said she was going to do something, you could always bet your last penny that she meant it. And she had the clout and the backbone to follow through as well. She never was one for issuing idle threats, you had to give her that.’

  Effie eyed her doubtfully. Although Mary sounded coherent enough, she supposed it was possible that the old woman was suffering from some form of dementia.

  ‘Course, I hung around to try and see who he was,’ Mary swept on, mercifully unaware of Effie’s thoughts, ‘but I had to go in and use the damned loo. Nowadays I have to go more and more often. Damn doctors. And wouldn’t you know it, when I got back out again it was all quiet — the fella must have taken himself off. But I reckon it was that solicitor she had. Never did like him. Or maybe that grandson-in-law of hers — Claudia couldn’t stick him, either. She never did like her Ros’s choice, but in the last year or so she was really getting a downer on him. Not sure what he did to deserve it, but I’m with Claudia on that one. That fella’s a little too good-looking and a little too sharp for his own good. Know what I mean?’

  Effie decided it was probably best simply to indulge her, so she nodded, doing her best to look sage and wise.

&nb
sp; ‘Maybe it was her gardener that she was arguing with,’ Effie offered. ‘I know she had some sort of fixed idea that he should retire, didn’t she?’

  ‘Oh no, it weren’t Geoff,’ Mary denied confidently. ‘I know his voice. Besides, he’s got an old man’s voice. The other fella, the one Claudia was giving what for, he had a younger voice.’

  Effie nodded. Then, giving Toad’s lead a little tug, she said shamelessly, ‘Well, I must be getting back. My dog is going to want his dinner.’

  And Toad, bless him, reacting to that magic word — dinner — began barking excitedly and straining on the lead to get going.

  But as Effie began to move away, Mary Coles shot her a last, knowing look. ‘Well, if you ever do spot Claudia’s ghost, come over and fetch me, will you? I can’t move as fast as I used to, but for something like that I’ll go like a rocket. Yes, I will.’

  Effie, promising to do just that, hurried quickly away, but by the time she’d got back to her car, she was beginning to laugh out loud. Sometimes, just when life seemed set on getting you down, some unexpected little bonus like Mary Coles came your way to give you some perspective and cheer you up.

  Driving home, Effie defiantly tuned the radio to a channel that only played sixties music, and sang along with The Kinks, who were deploring the taxman and lazing about on a sunny afternoon.

  No doubt Michael would have preferred that she listen to Classic FM.

  Leaning forward, Effie turned the radio up a little louder.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Duncan called around to pick Effie up at just gone eleven, on a gloriously bright and sunny Saturday morning. One of his many indulgences — along with fine cognac, first editions and leggy blondes — were classic cars, and had he inherited millions, he’d no doubt have accumulated a fleet of beautiful automobiles by now. Since he had to live on an Oxford don’s salary, however (amply supplemented by his book sales though it was), he confined himself to one new purchase every decade or so, and was currently in possession of a breathtaking Bentley, circa 1952, in racing green.

  As she slipped into the original cream leathered interior, complete with its mahogany dashboard and retrofitted art-deco clock, she wished she wasn’t still feeling so nervous about the upcoming party.

  Her morning hadn’t started out well, and it had taken her nearly an hour and a half to choose her outfit. Had Michael been there, he’d have been pacing the floor with impatience. What’s more, he would have easily been able to help her pick out something that would be just right for the occasion without having to think about it.

  But Effie had stood in front of her wardrobe for what seemed like ages with her mind a dithering blank — if such a thing was possible.

  In the end she’d opted for a safe trouser suit with silver-grey sandals — albeit she’d likely only be holding the jacket on such a warm day — along with some discreet jewellery and her usual light make-up. And, still feeling unsure of herself, when she’d walked out of her house to get into the newly arrived Bentley, Duncan had received a totally unearned black look when he greeted her with, ‘Hello, gorgeous, you look as refined as ever.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ she demanded edgily, once she’d slipped into the passenger seat and was fastening her seatbelt.

  Duncan slipped the stately old car into gear and shot her an amused look. ‘Got up out of the wrong side of the bed, did we?’

  Effie had the grace to look a little shamefaced. ‘Sorry. I’m just feeling a bit out of sorts, that’s all,’ she mumbled, by way of apology.

  ‘You always did get the jitters when having to deal with a whole bunch of strangers en masse.’

  ‘I don’t!’

  ‘Yes, you do. I remember when Michael first introduced you to us at that party at the Cadwalladers’ — you clung on to him like a frightened limpet.’

  ‘Sod off, Duncan,’ she said sweetly.

  He laughed. ‘That’s the spirit,’ he said. ‘It’s better to be mad than scared.’

  ‘You can be really aggravating at times, did you know that?’

  ‘So I’ve been told,’ he acknowledged cheerfully. ‘I do hope they’re going to serve booze at this party. It’d be ghastly if it turns out to be one of those affairs where they serve only fancy mineral water or elderflower cordial or something equally awful.’

  ‘It’ll serve you right if they do. Besides, you’re driving,’ Effie reminded him primly.

  Duncan sighed elaborately. ‘So I am.’

  Aynho was a pretty village perched on a hill overlooking water meadows, and boasted a very fine, Palladian-looking mansion that they drove past three times before eventually managing to find Rosamund’s place. Tucked behind a very steep and narrow back lane, it was a large, unassuming house that had probably been built some time in the 1950s. Two recent and well-executed extensions tripled the floor space and blended in seamlessly with the original structure — luckily the garden had been sufficiently large to accommodate them without looking silly. As Duncan nabbed a prime parking space on a nearby grass verge, Effie checked her image in the side mirror.

  She could see Corwin’s Jag parked further down the road, and as she slung her silver chain-mail effect handbag over one shoulder, she took a deep breath.

  ‘Once more into the lion’s den, eh?’ Duncan drawled blandly beside her.

  ‘Sod off, Duncan,’ she repeated affably, but when he offered her an elbow, she quickly slipped her hand through it. After all, having a presentable man on your arm when walking into any social arena still had some benefits. And today, her old friend was wearing cream slacks and some sort of polo shirt in powder blue, with a jaunty panama hat on his head that somehow succeeded in making him look more debonair than daft.

  Michael had also possessed that same sort of effortless, careless panache, and Effie found herself hoping that she didn’t let the side down, and that her make-up held up during what was clearly going to be a hot day.

  The sounds of light classical music guided them through a small front garden and around to a side entrance, where an arched trellis, trailing some lovely morning glory, let them out into a large, formal area. Here, the traditional square lawn was very much a centre point, and was surrounded by mixed borders on three sides, with open French doors leading into the house itself on the fourth. About twenty or so people stood around chatting, holding various sorts of drinks — which most definitely included wine. Several men were also grouped on the paved patio area in front of the house, from which smoke and the appetising scent of roasting meat emanated.

  ‘Behave.’ Effie just had time to admonish Duncan before Rosamund, spotting them from across the expanse of lawn, suddenly said something to the woman she’d been talking to, and began to head over.

  ‘Hello, Effie, isn’t it?’ Rosamund greeted them with a smile. She was wearing, Effie was glad to note, a similar outfit to hers, although her slacks were deep maroon in colour, and her top was more of a man’s-style shirt in pale pink. A gold chain glittered around her throat, and several gold bangles chimed delicately on her wrist as she impatiently shooed a fly away from her face.

  ‘Yes, hello again,’ Effie said. ‘Rosamund, this is Professor Fergusson.’

  ‘Call me Duncan, please,’ he said instantly, shamelessly bringing out his most melodious Highlands accent and deliberately lowering the timbre of his voice an octave. He reached out and shook her hand heartily. And held on to it for a good five seconds longer than he needed to. ‘I’ve been looking forward to meeting you ever since Effie relayed your invitation. It was so kind of you to invite me. You have a charming garden and lovely home.’

  As poor Margot had once confided to Effie, her husband had a way of making any woman he spoke to instantly believe that she was the centre of his attention, and was genuinely interested in every word that she said. Which was probably a good thing in a psychologist, who needed to encourage people to talk. Unfortunately, it was also flattering in a way that mere flirting could never match.

  An
d Effie watched as Rosamund now inevitably blushed with the pleasure of meeting this charming and attractive man. No doubt she’d been expecting an Oxford don to be some dried-up, pedantic old stick, instead of this silver fox of a man.

  ‘Oh, well, thank you. I’m so glad you could make it,’ she all but gushed.

  ‘I hope you don’t mind, but I haven’t brought any flowers,’ Duncan swept on. ‘I simply refuse to turn up with a generic bunch of blooms that might or might not please my hostess. So please tell me now, so that next time we meet I don’t have to arrive so shockingly empty-handed — what are your favourites?’

  Rosamund blushed again. ‘If I said carnations, would you think me hopelessly plebeian? I just love their rich, dense scent.’

  ‘Not at all. Carnations show taste and tell me that you’re a lady who knows her own mind, and has no silly qualms about trusting her own judgement,’ Duncan said grandly. ‘You’d be amazed how many women, when asked that question, feel obliged to say roses. Or orchids.’

  Effie managed to keep from rolling her eyes. Really, she knew Duncan was determined to get Isabel’s family on side, but wasn’t he laying it on a bit thick? What if Rosamund saw through him?

  But one quick look at Rosamund’s shining face told her that wasn’t likely to happen any time soon.

  ‘You must come and meet my husband,’ she said, and then, very much as an afterthought, included Effie in this invitation by smiling at her. ‘He’s been really keen to meet you, ever since we heard you were involved with this thing with Grandmother. Though I should warn you in advance, he thinks Mum’s rather lost her head over all this . . . er . . . paranormal ghost business,’ she added, waving a hand helplessly in the air.

  As Duncan fulsomely predicted that all would be well, and she had no need to worry, Effie silently wandered after the two of them towards the patio. There, a tall, well-barbered man with thick dark hair and brown eyes was standing sipping at a glass of pale lager, whilst desultorily watching an older man turn some sausages on the grill.