by Jan Ellis
“Which is?”
“That the dust doesn’t get any worse after the first four years.”
Connie tutted. “You might be happy to live in squalor, but we can’t expect Bill and his party to sit around in a grubby shop.”
“Fine. If you want to whizz around the shop with the Pledge, be my guest. By the way, where’s your house guest?”
“Joyce has gone off to buy a frock for this evening,” said Connie. “She said she wanted to look her best for the party.”
“Does she still have her sights set on Dan’s father?”
“I couldn’t say, but if pursuing Malcolm keeps her away from Harold that’s fine by me.” And with that she went off to the office to find the cleaning kit.
Eleanor looked around the shop. The books had arrived from the publishers and Georgie had sent out the official invitations and been busy on social media advertising the event. “I’ve been running a competition to give away tickets and signed copies of the book to ten lucky people.”
Eleanor was rather alarmed by this, given the size of the shop, but Georgie told her not to worry. “It’s about raising the shop’s profile, that’s all.”
“As long as it’s only an extra ten bodies, we can probably fit them in.”
“Georgie has everything under control, Ma, don’t worry,” said Joe, looking adoringly at his girlfriend as she twisted her blonde hair up into a knot to keep it out of her face as she worked.
“What do you think of this then, Eleanor?” Georgie stepped back, indicating the display board she had set up. Behind the table where Bill was going to sign copies was a massive photograph of the man himself doing something violent to a double-neck guitar.
“It’s very striking,” said Eleanor, laughing. “I’m not sure we’ve had anything quite so terrifying here before.” The photograph had been taken when Bill was in his prime and showed him gurning at the camera, sweaty and bare-chested in tight leather trousers.
“Wait till you see the display board I’ve had made to go outside.” Georgie had also arranged for a gigantic cut-out of Bill to be placed on the pavement, in case anybody was in doubt about who that evening’s guest was going to be. Eleanor’s heavy metal window display had already caused a shudder of alarm among some of her more conservative customers, even though she had included books about Beethoven and Rachmaninoff for musical purists.
Eleanor clapped her hands together with glee. “I think it’s brilliant,” she said, immensely pleased to have Georgie there. When she had spoken to Bill about her, she had emphasised the young woman’s abilities and played down the fact that Georgie had been a key player in the protest to stop his silly theme park and marina being built. The London publicist was relieved not to have to trek down to Devon and only too happy to hand over the job to a perky Australian freelancer, especially one who knew the territory so well. “It’s really nice having you in charge.”
“No worries, Eleanor. It’s going to be a great event and what could be nicer than being paid to hang out with you guys?”
“It’s true – we don’t see you often enough.”
“Hopefully, we’ll see a bit more of each other from now on.”
Happy to see that the display side of things was under control, Eleanor dug out her list to make sure she hadn’t forgotten anything. Just then, Anton appeared in the shop in his overalls having come down from the attic space where he’d been working with Daniel.
Anton had recently taken to wearing his droopy hair in a “man bun” on the top of his head, a style Eleanor thought rather ridiculous. Unfortunately, Joe disagreed and sometimes tied up his dark curls too. According to Connie they looked like salt and pepper pots, but when the boys walked down the high street together all the local girls swooned.
“Will we see you at the launch, Anton?” asked Eleanor, partly to be polite and partly because she wasn’t sure what kind of social life the young man had. He seemed to spend most of his time with oldsters like Maureen and Graham. “Though I don’t suppose you’ve heard of Bill Widget and his band,” she added.
“Sure thing, Eleanor. Tryll Spigot are super huge in Latvia – my friends at home will be so jealous, you know?”
“Goodness, really? I had no idea Bill’s band had a Latvian following.”
“Why yes,” said Anton, scratching his dusty beard. “Super huge. This is why I was inspired to paint Bill’s portrait,” he added sheepishly.
“Oh yes, the portrait.” Eleanor thought back to the enormous painting she’d seen at the country fair. “That was great – such, er, lively colours.”
Anton smiled. “I must thank your mother for the paints. She let me use some of the colours from the house when I’d finished the decorating.”
Eleanor was amused to discover that the bright blue splashes exploding around Bill’s wrinkly features came from her mother’s boudoir. “It was a masterpiece!”
Anton shrugged a little sadly. “Is a shame no one bought it.”
“Plenty of artists don’t sell their early work,” said Eleanor, patting him gently on the arm. “Forget about it and come along to the party later.”
“Sure thing. And first I will go back to Graham’s house and take a shower, so there will be no dust on me.” He flashed another dazzling smile at Eleanor, who gave herself a severe telling-off for thinking how attractive he was.
Anton was almost at the shop door when something occurred to her and she stopped him. “Anton, could I ask you something. Do you know what this is?”
The young man saw what Eleanor had dug out of a pocket and now held in the palm of her hand. “Of course. I have the same.” Lifting his hand he touched his right earlobe where he wore a single gold earring. “It’s okay to wear this to the party?”
“Yes, of course. Sorry, it reminded me of something, that’s all.”
She had been right: it was an earring. Eleanor had intended to leave it with Joshua but when he’d chased her out of the house she’d put it back in her pocket.
Once the launch was over, she was determined to go back to Combemouth Manor to try to repair their friendship – and make sure he wasn’t dead.
* * *
The books were in place, the white wine was chilling and the canapés had been delivered. The last thing to sort out was what to wear, but Eleanor had that under control, too. She didn’t often wear dresses but she did have an authentic 1950s black dress bought many years before at a vintage fair and which she pulled out for smart occasions. With its crossover top, cinched waist and starched skirts, it suited her figure perfectly. The dress had smelt a bit musty when she’d exhumed it from the depths of her wardrobe, but it came back from the dry-cleaner’s looking and smelling as good as new.
It wasn’t until an hour before the party that she dashed back to the cottage to put it on.
“The dry-cleaning has done something funny to my dress.”
Daniel came over and ran an admiring hand over her curves. “It looks bloody marvellous to me,” he said, kissing her gently on the neck.
“I don’t know,” Eleanor examined herself in the mirror. “I’m sure it never used to be quite this tight around the chest.” Eleanor had never been slender like her sister, Jenna; instead she had inherited her mother’s softer, rounded build. And since marriage to Daniel she had definitely piled on the pounds – partly because she was happy and partly because she no longer skipped meals or made do with a packet soup and an apple of an evening. Dan was as thin and wiry as he’d been in his twenties, which was somewhat unfair given that he ate like a horse. “Do you honestly think I look all right? I can barely breathe.”
“You look beautiful, but if you’re not comfortable change.”
Eleanor smiled, thinking how good Dan was at saying the right thing. “I guess I’ll be okay so long as no one makes me laugh. Anyway,” she said, looking at her watch, “there’s no time to change. Everyone will be arriving any minute now.”
She ran a brush through her auburn locks and slicked on some lipstic
k, assessing the finished result in the mirror as her husband stood behind her.
“I look forward to helping you out of the dress later tonight, El.”
“Steady on, tiger. I need to stay inside it for a few hours yet.”
“Shame,” said Dan, kissing her.
“Don’t squeeze me or I might pop,” she said, laughingly moving Daniel’s hands from her waist.
He sighed. “Come on, then. Let’s go and see how the team’s getting on next door.”
Chapter 35: Let’s Party!
One of the first people to arrive was Jim Rowe, who had been sent by the Chronicle to interview Bill and take a few photographs of the event. His eyes lit up when he saw Eleanor. “Wow – you should wear dresses more often. You look, erm, very nice.”
“Thanks,” she said shyly, smoothing down the broad skirts that shot out over her hips. Across the room she could tell that Erika was deliberately turned away from them; she and Jim were on speaking terms again, but their friendship had never fully recovered from the breakdown of their affair. “So how are you, Jim? Is there anything exciting happening in Combemouth I should know about?”
He thought for a moment. “I guess the most exciting thing to happen recently was an accusation of match-fixing at the summer festival.”
Eleanor frowned. “I don’t remember there being any athletics. I must have missed it.”
“I’m talking about the ferret racing, actually. The owner of the front runner is suspected of giving it performance-enhancing drugs before the race.”
“Blimey, it’s all going on out there.”
“But never mind that,” Jim bent over to whisper in Eleanor’s ear, “my sources tell me you’ve been spending an awful lot of time over at Joshua Pinkham’s house recently.”
“Yes, we’re having a torrid affair,” she whispered back, pouring red wine into Jim’s glass. Seeing his horrified expression, she laughed. “That was a joke, by the way.”
“Thank goodness,” said Jim, looking at his feet. “It was a rather alarming thought.” He smiled his crooked smile and Eleanor remembered that she had once found Jim rather attractive and had even toyed with the idea of going out with him. But that was a long time ago.
“Apart from having the torrid affair, I’ve been cataloguing Joshua’s books. I told him he needed an antiquarian bookseller to value the collection, but he insisted he wanted me.”
“He wanted the best person for the job. I hope he’s paying for your time?”
“We have an arrangement.” Eleanor winked. “Anyway, I’ve finished now. It was slow work, but it was fascinating to be in the manor house.” She made sure there was no one around listening to their conversation before speaking. “We discovered a hidden cupboard at the back of one of the bookcases. That’s top secret information, by the way.”
“Of course,” said Jim, nodding and pulling a serious face.
Eleanor reached up for the glass she’d left on one of the poetry shelves at the beginning of the event and took a sip of her wine. “It got me thinking: if the family has secret compartments concealed in bookcases, might it not also have a few skeletons stashed in cupboards?”
“Such as?”
“Oh, I have a theory that the John Able case – the one I asked for your help with – is somehow connected to the Pinkham family. I’ve found one or two clues but no concrete evidence. Anyway, the question keeps niggling away at me.”
Jim laughed. “This is where I recall you’re a big Agatha Christie fan.”
“Well remembered. But don’t you think it’s odd that Joshua is so unwilling to talk about things?”
“Not especially. Joshua is of a generation that doesn’t like to talk about the past. He’s a man used to keeping his affairs private.”
“That’s what Dan said.” Eleanor was quiet for a moment, thinking. “But I’d love to dig into Pinkham’s family history a little bit.”
“To learn what?”
“Oh, lots of things!”
“Such as?”
“Well, Joshua’s grandfather seems to have been a local benefactor, but kept his generosity a secret from everyone. Why would he do that?”
“Humility?”
“I suppose so, Jim.” Eleanor sighed. “In any case, it would be great to discover something positive to cheer up Joshua and prevent him thinking he’s going to die any day now.”
“Why does he think that?”
“The Santa Ana turning up has upset him, but it’s mostly my fault.”
“What on earth did you do to him?”
She laughed. “Nothing! All I did was ask him about connections between the Makepeace family and the Pinkhams. Oh, and about a locket. But what really tipped him over the edge was when I showed him a ring I’d discovered hidden in his Bible.” Eleanor took another tiny sip of wine, aware that she needed to stay focused tonight. “So there you have it.”
“Lots of detecting still to be done, by the sounds of it. And you’ll deserve a medal if you manage to cheer up the most miserable man in town.”
“Bless him. He’s not a bad old stick under that faded corduroy exterior.”
“I think you’re needed.” Jim nodded towards the back of the room where Erika was banging empty glasses down on the table and pretending not to look their way.
“Oops. Someone looks unhappy. See you later.”
* * *
Bill Widget was enjoying being the centre of attention, signing books and chatting to ardent fans. Much to Eleanor’s amazement, most of the “celebrity” guests from Bill’s original list had turned up, although there was no one there who was familiar to her.
Joe and Anton, meanwhile, were standing open-mouthed as one ancient rock musician after another came into the shop and slapped Bill warmly on the back. Eleanor went over to the boys to ask for information about who was who.
“Who’s the chap in the purple trousers with the piercings, Joe? The wizened-looking geezer who looks about ninety?”
“That is only Ivan Twang, one of the most influential bass players in the entire universe. Here in our shop.” A faraway look came over Joe’s face. “If I die now, I’ll be a happy man.”
Anton, who was standing beside him, was clutching an envelope. “I, too, will die a happy man.” He lifted the envelope to his mouth and kissed it. “Eleanor, that man is a saint.”
“Ivan Twang is a saint?”
“No,” said Anton, shaking his head. “Bill Widget is a saint.” Eleanor could see genuine tears of emotion forming in the young man’s eyes. “Tonight he tells me he wishes to buy my painting from the fair. The lady in charge of the art tent…”
“Beryl?”
“Yes, Mrs Beryl – she says no one buys cheap art. ‘Anton,’ she says to me, ‘think big – we will sell it for £250’, like a joke, you see?”
“Sort of,” said Eleanor.
Anton smiled across at Bill. “But tonight, Mr Widget came across and said £250 must be a mistake.” Anton opened the envelope for them to see. “I think, okay, so he’ll give me £25, which is fine. But no – he gave me £1,250 and says he wants to buy all of my work.”
Eleanor watched as two happy tears leaked out of Anton’s green eyes and disappeared into his beard as he pressed the damp envelope to his lips once again. “That’s great, but perhaps I should put the money in the safe for you.” She couldn’t bear the thought of the boy wandering drunkenly down the high street and losing the money at a kebab stall.
Anton nodded. “Thank you, Eleanor,” he said. “I am most grateful.”
“I’ll put it in the office. Can you keep an eye on things out here, Joe?”
“Sure, Mum,” said Joe, his attention still on Bill and his mates.
Smiling, Eleanor tucked the envelope into her cleavage and wriggled her way through the crowd to the drinks table to see how her colleagues were getting on.
“It’s going well,” said Georgie, “though I’d no idea we’d get through so much sparkling elderflower. This could be the first launc
h where I’ve actually had booze left at the end of the evening. Totally unheard of at a publishing event,” she said, shaking her head in disbelief.
“I think a lot of Bill’s mates have turned teetotal in their twilight years,” said Eleanor surveying the room. “Some of them do look as though they’ve been pickled in alcohol for forty years or so. Thank goodness there’s another box of the alcohol-free stuff in the back. We wouldn’t want them rioting and throwing their false teeth at us.”
Georgie giggled. “I’ll go and fetch some more cordial.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll go. I have something to put in the safe as it happens – Bill bought Anton’s painting and handed over the readies this evening.”
“What great news!”
“It is and I want to prevent the lad from going into town and losing the lot tonight. I won’t be long.” Eleanor trotted off to the office, where she put Anton’s cash in a locked drawer.
It wasn’t until she bent down to pick up the bottles of elderflower cordial that she heard the sound of metal parting from metal and realised the zip running down the side of her dress had burst at its lowest point and now revealed two inches of her black underwear. “Damn. There must be a safety pin somewhere.” Searching the office drawers she found nothing. She emptied out every pot on the desk, but all she found were paperclips, rubber bands, fluff and the tops of long-dead biros. When she had tipped out every possible container, she gave up and returned to the shop, which was now filled to the gunnels.
After handing over the cordial to Erika, who had taken over from Georgie, Eleanor squeezed her way over to her son who was now singing along to a Tryll Spigot track with Anton.
“Joe,” she hissed, “can you pop next door and find me a couple of safety pins?”
“Safety pins? What for?”
“Never mind what they’re for. Just do it will you, love. And hurry.”
“Er, where do you keep them?”
“Who has a place where they ‘keep’ safety pins? You’ll have to search around a bit – try the kitchen cupboards or my bedroom drawers.”
