by Ian Edwards
‘So what have you found out?’ Alan asked.
‘I met with Puddiphat this morning,’ James looked at Rosie. ‘He sends his regards by the way.’ He took a mouthful of beer and continued. ‘Anyway he said that he had traced Amy to Victoria Coach Station on Saturday morning.’
‘How did she get there?’ Rosie asked.
‘The mini cab office round the corner from us remembers taking her.’
‘Does he know why she was there?’ Rosie asked.
‘Kind of,’ James said awkwardly.
Rosie and Alan exchanged looks. ’What’s going on, James?’ Rosie asked.
‘Apparently, Puddiphat believes that Amy has gone off to meet her lesbian lover.’
Alan laughed, trying hard not to spit his beer out, while Rosie stared open mouthed.
‘That’s rubbish,’ Rosie said at last. ‘Amy’s not gay, how on earth did he reach that conclusion?’
‘He has a witness who heard her on the phone arranging to meet her lover,’ James explained.
‘Oh mate, congratulations. You’ve actually started turning girls gay.’ Alan grinned.
‘Grow up Alan,’ Rosie snapped. ‘James, what exactly did this witness say he heard?’
‘She was saying something like needing fanny or wanting fanny. That kind of thing.’
Rosie turned to Alan, who had turned a shade of pink while trying to contain himself. ‘If you can’t act like a grown up, go to the bar and get me another orange juice.’
Alan stood up, tears cascading down his face as he tried to stifle his laughter and moved off to the bar. James stood and began to follow him. ‘Where are you going?’ Rosie said grabbing hold of James’s arm.
‘To the bar, to help Alan,’ James explained.
‘For crying out loud, let him go on his own, sit here and talk to me.’
James reluctantly sat down with a huff. ‘Well? What do you think?’
‘It could mean anything,’ Rosie said. ’Maybe she was calling a friend?’
James shook his head. ’I know all her friends, and she doesn’t know anyone called Fanny. I mean you’d remember a name like that. Fanny.’ James paused, ‘it’s like a man being called Dick.’
‘Well I think you can rule out Amy being gay. There’s bound to be a perfectly reasonable explanation,’ Rosie told him.
‘There is …?’ James paused, drained his bottle of beer and stared into space.
Alan appeared at the table and distributed the drinks. ‘What’s up with him?’
‘I’m not sure,’ Rosie said.
‘I’ve just had a thought,’ James said, a smile gradually appearing on his previously miserable face.
‘And?’ Rosie asked.
‘When we were at university, Amy had a lecturer for Political History called Frances Shilling, we used to call her Fanny Sixpence, for a laugh. Maybe that’s who she was calling.’
‘Amy studied politics?’ Rosie said, surprised.
‘Yeah, she trained to be a special needs teacher after she left university.’ James explained.
‘I don’t suppose there’s much difference between politicians and primary school kids,’ Alan said.
Rosie glared at him. ‘Go on, James.’
‘They were really close. Amy was her star pupil. Fanny…’ James paused and corrected himself, ‘Frances, was pushing to get her into politics. She even took her to conferences and stuff like that.’
‘Why didn’t she move into politics, if that’s what she studied?’ Rosie asked.
‘Frances was very intense. It put Amy off, and then she met me. For some reason Frances hated me.’
‘Why did she hate you?’ Alan asked.
‘She said I was immature and childish.’ James explained.
‘Not a bad judge of character, then,’ Rosie said. ‘And they didn’t stay in contact?’
‘Not as far as I’m aware,’ James said. ‘But she wouldn’t necessarily tell me if they were.’
‘Where is she now?’ Alan asked. ’Still at the university?’
‘I don’t think so. I remember Amy telling me that she got married a few years after we left, I think she moved on.’ James took a long pull on his beer. ‘Do you think that’s where she’s gone, to meet up with Fanny, erm, Frances?’
Alan sniggered again, then caught himself as Rosie flashed him a warning glare as she said, ‘Come on, let’s get out of here before we catch something. Go back to mine and see what we can find out about this Frances Shilling.’
‘One thing before we go,’ Alan said, getting James and Rosie’s full attention. ‘Fanny’s husband, was he called Dick?’
*
Alan exchanged the money for three pizzas and closed the front door before realising he hadn’t given the delivery boy a tip.
Returning to the living room, he deposited the pizzas onto Rosie’s expensive dining table and helped himself to a couple of slices. Rosie sat on the sofa, laptop open on her lap. James sat beside her, his neck at an awkward angle as he tried to get a good view of the screen.
‘There’s a lot of entries for Frances Shilling,’ Rosie pointed out. ’Do you know her married name?’
James shook his head. ‘Try searching for Frances Shilling, politics and social affairs,’ he suggested.
Rosie changed the search criteria and watched as the number of options on the screen reduced. ‘That’s better,’ she said.
‘Try that one,’ James leaned across her and pointed at one of the entries. Rosie clicked on the link and watched the page refresh.
‘That’s her,’ James pointed at an image on the screen. ‘I remember she always looked like she was on her way to make a coat out of 101 Dalmatians.’
Alan laughed. ‘Mate, that’s good. Can I nick that?’
‘No problem.’
‘It says here,’ Rosie interrupted, ‘that she retired from lecturing in 2005 and is now the manager of the ‘Sanctuary for the Bee Health Farm and Spa…’ She stopped as James left the sofa and helped himself to several slices of pizza.
‘Hungry work this spouse hunting,’ he explained wedging a slice of pizza in his mouth before returning to the sofa with a plate laden with several more slices. Rosie cast a disapproving look at him, and not for the first time wondered if Amy would be happier if they didn’t find her.
Eventually she continued, ‘It says here that Sanctuary for the Bee opened in 2006, utilising the original village manor house. There have been several additions to the original house and the sanctuary now boasts a gym, a beauty salon, steam room and a state of the art basket weaving workshop.’ Rosie paused, took a sip of water and continued. ‘The owner, Norman Chevis, died suddenly in 2008 leaving his wife Frances…’
‘Fanny,’ Alan interrupted.
‘Yes, Fanny,’ Rosie said sharply, ‘as the owner and manager of the sanctuary and its grounds.’
‘So do you think Amy’s there?’ Alan asked.
‘It would make sense,’ Rosie said. ’She’s not been herself. She’s been drinking too much and has obviously been under a lot of stress. She contacts an old friend who runs a health spa and books herself in for a few days.’
‘Why didn’t she tell me?’ James wined.
‘You said yourself that Frances…’
‘Fanny,’ Alan interrupted.
‘Are you going to keep interrupting me?’ Rosie snapped at Alan.
‘I just like hearing you say Fanny,’ Alan grinned, making James giggle.
Rosie turned to face James. ‘You said yourself that Frances doesn’t like you and to be quite honest James, you may be contributing a little to the stress that she’s under.’
‘What do you mean?’ James said through a mouthful of pizza.
‘The bagpipes,’ Alan offered.
‘The llama,’ Rosie said.
‘The guitar,’ Alan contributed.
‘The songs you write for her,’ Rosie added.
‘And your bizarre taste in documentaries,’ Alan added.
Seeing that James w
as looking increasingly fed up, Alan said, ‘Where is this place anyway?’
Looking at the screen Rosie said, ‘a village called Maiden’s Dribble.’
‘Where’s that?’ Alan asked trying to keep a straight face.
‘According to the map on their web site the nearest town is called Limpend.’
Alan laughed, causing Rosie to glare at him. ‘Will you please grow up. It’s probably pronounced with a silent P.’
‘Limend?’ Alan said.
‘Probably.’
‘No it’s Limpend. Puddiphat told me that’s where Amy got off the coach.’ James said.
‘That settles it then. Amy is definitely at this Sanctuary place,’ Alan said. ‘What are you going to do?’ He turned to James, ‘now that you know where she is.’
Reaching across for another slice of pizza he said, ’I think I’ve got to go and see her.’
‘The Sanctuary looks very nice,’ Rosie admitted, looking again at the website. ‘I fancy a few days there myself.’
‘You know,’ Alan said looking over Rosie’s shoulder at the picture on the laptop, ‘It looks a bit sinister, like something out of The Hammer House of Horror. I wouldn’t feel relaxed there. I’d be too busy expecting to be chased round corridors by a wolf man.’
‘And that’s why you’re not invited. I’m going on my own,’ Rosie said.
‘It looks like the sort of place where cults hide out. You know, whilst they wait for The Rapture.’
‘What are you talking about?’ Rosie asked as she went over to the table.
‘Alan’s right,’ James said, having taken Rosie’s place on the sofa. ‘That is exactly the type of place where you’d find a cult. A sleepy village somewhere off the beaten track, easy to lose contact with the outside world. They could get away with anything there I saw a documentary about them; Britain’s Got Cults, and they’re all in places like that.’
Rosie surveyed the remains of the three pizzas she had ordered. One slice remained, and that was the one with egg on it.
‘I saved you a slice,’ Alan called over.
‘Oh thanks. You’re too kind,’ she said and scraped the egg from her pizza slice. ‘So you’re now saying that Amy’s been kidnapped by a cult?’
James stared at the screen again. ‘The more I think about it, the more it makes sense. Fanny’s exactly the type to run a cult. She’s a bit of a control freak, and tries to force her opinions on you, whether you like them or not.’
‘For heaven’s sake you two, this morning you thought she was gay. Now you think she’s been kidnapped by a cult. What’s it going to be tomorrow – she’s joined the Black and White Minstrels?’
‘If she does, do you think Sarah will book her for a show?’ James asked Alan.
‘Absolutely, she can open with a quick verse of Camptown Races. She’ll probably go down better than Giles Monroe.’
Rosie slammed her hand down on table silencing Alan and James before they could break into their rendition of ‘Mammy’. ‘James what are you going to do?’
‘Now I know she’s been kidnapped by a cult, I’ve got to go in and get her back. I told you, I’ve seen documentaries about these groups and how they treat women.’
‘How’s that then?’ Alan asked.
‘Breeding purposes. She’ll be breeding for the cult before she can say, “let me get my tights off.” James explained.
Alan nodded, ‘I’m with you mate, we’ll go in hard and fast get her back, don’t worry.’
Rosie groaned. ‘What are you talking about?’
Alan shrugged. ‘I don’t know, I heard it on the A-Team and it seemed appropriate.’
‘Thanks mate, I appreciate it. They’ll regret the day they tried to kidnap my wife.’
‘And when are you going to do this rescue mission?’ Rosie asked in a tone totally devoid of sincerity.
James looked at his watch. ‘Dawn tomorrow. No point in hanging around.’
‘Oh, hang on,’ Alan said. ‘It’s the Champions League tomorrow night. Can we leave it until Thursday?’
‘Anyway, we’ve got Harry coming for dinner tomorrow evening.’ Rosie pointed out.
‘Dawn Thursday then,’ James confirmed.
‘Might be a few beers drunk tomorrow if Harry’s coming over. Can we say 10ish?’
‘OK, 10ish Thursday.’ James said, ‘actually that helps as I’ll have to find a llama sitter.’
Alan nodded. ‘I can spend all day at work tomorrow telling everyone that I think I’m coming down with flu.’
Rosie sighed and looked to the sky.
Chapter 29 – Wednesday.
Amy took two lengths of willow and pushed them through the frame that she had constructed. She carefully studied the diagram on the desk in front of her and pulled both strips of willow through the loop. The lengths fell back on themselves and her attempts at weaving a basket unfolded in front of her.
‘Having problems Amy?’
She looked up, Jed the basket weaving instructor was standing alongside her.
‘It won’t stay together,’ Amy moaned, poking the pile of willow strips on the desk.
Jed leaned over Amy and picked up a handful of strips. ‘Remember, slip A over B, slide both ends between the clasps, fold back and tuck B over A.’
Amy smiled sweetly. ’Thank you Jed, I’m not sure I’ll ever get the hang of it.’
‘Of course you will. Practice, that’s all it takes,’ Jed patted her on the shoulder and walked off.
Amy picked up the remaining willow strips and began to weave them together.
*
Amy left the workshop with her attempts at weaving a basket safely stowed in a basket woven by another of the guests.
She accepted that her spell at the sanctuary was actually doing her some good. She felt refreshed, less tired, and was now sleeping without nightmares. Had Jed patronised her efforts a week ago, she would have made him wear the basket as a hat.
She wondered if she should make contact with James and let him know that she was OK. Walking across reception, she diverted to Frances’s office and knocked lightly. Hearing a muffled cry of enter she opened the door.
Frances looked up from her desk, smiled and beckoned Amy in.
‘Do you have five minutes?’ Amy asked.
‘Of course I do. Anything for you, Amy.’ Frances gestured at the empty seat in front of her desk. ‘I see you’ve been busy,’ she said as Amy placed a wicker basket on the desk.
‘Actually, this is mine,’ Amy admitted, shaking the contents of the basket onto the desk.
Frances looked at the pile of willow strips. ‘Ah. Well, keep on practising. I’m sure you’ll get the hang of it.’
Amy picked up one of the strips and wound it round her fingers. ‘I’m feeling so much better than I did a few days ago. You were right. The rest here has done me the world of good.’ She wound another strip round her fingers and continued. ‘In fact I was thinking I’d contact James and let him know that I’m OK.’
Frances frowned. ‘Well, I’m not …’
‘I wouldn’t contact him directly,’ Amy interrupted. ‘The police could have tapped his phone. I’d call a friend and get her to speak to him.’
Frances leaned forward, elbows on the desk. ’I know you think you’re feeling better, but I do think it’s too soon. It wouldn’t take much to have another attack of bemusement, and you’d undo all the good you’ve done this week.’
Amy nodded disappointedly. ‘If you think it’s the best thing to do.’
‘Oh, I do,’ Frances said softly. ‘But don’t worry about James, I’m sure he’s getting on fine without you. You left him a note telling him you’re OK, after all.’
‘I suppose so.’ Amy agreed.
‘Anyway, what do you have planned for this afternoon?’
‘I was going to spend some time in the floatation tank. I read about it in your brochure. It looks very relaxing.’
‘It is,’ Frances confirmed. ‘Our most bemused guests swear by i
t.’
‘What about you?’ Amy asked, trying to unwind the strips from her fingers. ‘Interesting afternoon planned?’
Frances laughed. ‘I have a very boring meeting this afternoon with the Village Elders. We’re going through the preparations for the Halloween Fair and Parade.’
‘Sounds fun.’
‘The parade is fun, it’s the highlight of the village year.’ Frances paused before adding, ’the sanctuary funds the event so I have to approve the plans.’
‘Oh I see, when is it?’
‘Halloween…Sunday.’
‘Of course it is, sorry I’ve lost track of time since I’ve been here.’
‘I think that’s a sign that you’re relaxing. That’s good.’
Amy stood up. ‘Well I’m off to the floatation tank, see you later.’
Frances watched as Amy left the room. She was concerned Amy had mentioned contacting James. The last thing that she needed was that great buffoon of a husband of hers back on the scene messing up her plans and filling her head with nonsense. She needed to keep Amy busy so she wasn’t tempted to contact him.
‘Amy,’ she called out.
Amy poked her head back into the room.
‘Do you fancy coming with me? To the meeting, I mean? You can keep me company. These things can be so tiresome.’
‘Err, OK, if you don’t mind.’
‘Not at all. Go and get yourself some lunch. We can meet back here in an hour.’
Amy smiled. ‘That’s great, I’ll see you later.’
‘One more thing,’ Frances said. ’Do you have any other clothes? The Village Elders are very traditional. I’m not sure they would approve of a sports kit.’
Amy looked down at her sanctuary issued track suit. ’Only the jeans I came down in.’ Amy paused for a moment before adding, ‘I was on the run. I didn’t think to pack a full wardrobe.’
Frances smiled. ’That’ll be fine. I’ll see you after lunch.’
*
‘So, who are the Village Elders?’ Amy asked as Frances drove along the country lane towards the village.
‘Well,’ Frances began, as she carefully steered the Range Rover around a slow moving tractor. ‘I suppose you’d describe them as the Parish Council. They make decisions and organise events for the village.’
