A Fete Worse Than Death

by Liz Hedgecock

  Over lunch, Pippa wondered why she was planning to ask Norm about Beryl Harbottle, rather than asking Beryl directly or reporting Livvy’s observations to PC Horsley. I want to check things out first, she told herself. There’s no point in rushing in before I’ve got all the facts. Then she corrected herself. You’re scared, Pippa Parker. You don’t want to face the wrath of Beryl Harbottle.

  And she had to admit that the second voice had got it spot on. She remembered the confrontation on the lawn at Higginbotham Hall, where Beryl had pointed at her and blamed her in front of everyone, and shivered.

  ‘Fish fingers all right?’ asked Simon.

  ‘Yes, fine,’ said Pippa, putting down her fork. It was as if Beryl’s icy stare had frozen her food back up. If she wasn’t the culprit, then who…?

  CHAPTER 24

  Norm oscillated gently in his swivel chair as he gazed at Pippa. ‘I can assure you that you’re barking up the wrong tree.’

  ‘You’re sure?’ Pippa asked.

  ‘Positive.’

  ‘Even though she had both the opportunity and a motive, and someone with no reason to lie came forward independently to say they’d seen her touching the cakes?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Pippa sighed. She had had such high hopes for this solution. For one thing, it would mean she wasn’t wrong to trust Sam; secondly, she didn’t like Beryl Harbottle, and it would have been a pleasure to see PC Horsley slapping the cuffs on. ‘All right, Norm. But tell me how you can say that with such confidence.’ She glanced at the children’s corner, where Simon was reading a book aloud. Freddie was sitting nicely beside him, looking at the book, while Ruby was leaning forward and trying to grab it.

  ‘Simple.’ Norm slid his large, square hands along the desk. ‘I’ve known Beryl Harbottle many many years, and I’ve never seen her do an underhand thing. She’s one of those people who takes pride in calling a spade a spade, to quite an extreme degree. When you came to the first meeting at the hall, and she turned her nose up at you, that was pretty typical. When she marched out and had a go at you, after Dev was sick, that was typical too. She’d drop you in it, yes, if she thought it was justified, but always with you there. Never behind your back.’

  ‘I suppose.’ Pippa thought it over. She had to admit that from what she’d seen of Beryl Harbottle, Norm’s character analysis made sense. ‘So if I went and asked her about touching the cakes…?’

  ‘She’d refuse to tell you, because you two don’t get on. But if I asked her, she’d tell me. Or PC Horsley.’ Norm smiled. ‘Why don’t you pass the information on to him, and let him deal with it?’

  ‘I think I shall.’ Pippa felt both guilty for passing the buck, and relieved that she wouldn’t have to confront Beryl.

  ‘There.’ Norm sat back. ‘Are you borrowing any books today? I think young Freddie wants some.’ Pippa’s eyes followed his to where Freddie was happily making a tower of books.

  ‘I don’t have time to read right now,’ she said. ‘A troublesome ex-copper just torpedoed my best lead, and I have an event to put on.’

  ‘Oh yes, so you do. How’s that going?’

  ‘I’ll tell you when I get started,’ said Pippa. ‘The vicar called at stupid o’clock this morning, so I guess I’m on a mission from God.’

  ‘I won’t get in your way then,’ said Norm, holding his hands up as if to ward off excessive zeal.

  ‘I might ask you to do security patrol,’ said Pippa. ‘Especially after last time. We may need to frisk people on entry.’

  ‘I do hope not,’ said Norm.

  Pippa began to walk towards the children, then stopped. What am I doing? They were settled, why disturb them? It wasn’t as if she didn’t have anything else to do. She pulled out her phone and did what she had meant to do ever since the vicar had left that morning; text Serendipity.

  Hi, fancy doing a craft event, maybe on the village green? Would be great to raise the final few hundred for the church spire. Let me know what you think and we can set a date. P x

  There. Progress. She shoved the phone in her bag.

  ‘Mummy!’ Freddie waved frantically. ‘You’ve been talking ages. Daddy’s read us three whole books.’

  ‘Wow,’ said Pippa. ‘Although they are quite short books.’

  ‘Three!’ said Freddie.

  ‘Does that mean you want to do something else?’ Pippa asked.

  ‘Park! Swings! Ice-cream!’

  ‘That sounds good —’ Pippa’s phone vibrated. ‘Hang on a minute.’ Serendipity must be keen.

  But then she read the message. Sorry not sure I can do that S x

  Another flashed up: I do want to help but not open venue.

  And another: Not being awkward but wouldn’t feel comfortable.

  Stupid event saboteurs, thought Pippa.

  Maybe we can talk? S x

  Pippa sighed, and replied. Yes that would be good. Don’t want to put you under pressure. P x

  ‘What is it, Mummy?’ asked Freddie. ‘Is it more bad things?’

  ‘No, sweetheart.’ Pippa leaned down and ruffled his hair. ‘It isn’t bad things, just trying to arrange something.’

  ‘Oh.’ He sounded a bit disappointed.

  The phone buzzed again. Come over for coffee?

  Pippa looked up and her eyes met Simon’s. ‘Who is it?’ he mouthed, pointing at the phone.

  ‘Serendipity,’ said Pippa. ‘I texted her about the event thing and she asked me for coffee to discuss. She doesn’t seem happy.’

  ‘And you want to persuade her.’ It was Simon’s turn to sigh. ‘Come on. Let’s head over, and maybe we can take Monty for a walk in the park.’ He heaved himself up from the beanbag with some difficulty.

  Pippa flung her arms round him. ‘Thank you!’

  ‘S’OK,’ he muttered, flushing a little. ‘Come on, stop throwing yourself at me. You’ve got work to do.’

  ***

  ‘I have a confession to make,’ said Serendipity, spooning coffee beans into the grinder with her back to Pippa. ‘And I want to get it over with.’

  Pippa’s eyes nearly popped out of her head. ‘What sort of confession?’

  Serendipity’s head drooped. ‘I made up the previous engagement in the Lake District to get out of doing the fete stall.’

  Pippa frowned. ‘But why? You could just have said no.’

  ‘It isn’t that I didn’t want to,’ said Serendipity. Her eyes met Pippa’s, and she seemed to be psyching herself up. ‘I — didn’t feel I could. I’m OK with classes, and small groups who’ve booked me, things like that, but I can’t do big public events, or the ones where people wander by and you have to reel them in.’

  ‘Oh.’ Pippa put a hand on Serendipity’s arm. ‘I’m sorry.’ How many times would she find herself doing this today?

  ‘It’s all right. You weren’t to know. It’s one of the reasons I moved here.’ She switched the grinder on as if to drown herself out.

  ‘Were you in London before?’ Pippa asked, when the whirring had stopped.

  ‘Yes,’ said Serendipity. ‘I’ll get the coffee on, and explain.’

  When they were settled on the sofa, drinking from two large earthenware mugs, she resumed. ‘I did a fine art degree, you see. I did well. I sold everything from my degree show, and got written up in a couple of magazines.’

  ‘Wow,’ said Pippa. Somehow, she wasn’t surprised.

  ‘Yeah, wow,’ said Serendipity. Not bitterly, but in a way that suggested it was a lifetime ago. ‘So then I got a couple of portrait commissions, and there was a mural and — all sorts. To be honest, it was too much too soon. I got stressed. I had an art dealer, and he pushed me to do another show. He’d got a gallery interested, quite a big one, and they wanted thirty new paintings. Every day I tried to paint, and I did less and less. I couldn’t eat, I was so anxious. When my friends made me eat, I felt so sick and guilty that I threw up. I had — issues with food.’ She smiled a sad little smile. ‘In the end I gave up. I packed up and ran
away. The paintings I’d completed, I left behind. I don’t know what happened to them, and I don’t care. Maybe my dealer sold them.’

  ‘And then you came here?’ Pippa was shocked. She couldn’t imagine Serendipity ever having been so — not calm.

  ‘Not at that point,’ said Serendipity. ‘That happened a couple of years ago. I lay low for a bit, in digs, trying to figure out what to do with my life. My parents were incredibly cross with me for “wasting my talent”, and I just wanted to get away for a bit. I was still painting — little watercolours, mostly. That was all I could manage. But I took them to an artisan market, and one of the stallholders agreed to give them a go. That’s how I paid the rent. I was much happier doing the little watercolours, and other crafty things, than when I had big commissions stressing me out. So I stuck with it, and eventually I got asked to do craft demos, and someone said I should try YouTube. I don’t mind that, because I control it. If I don’t like the video, I can reshoot it. And the money from it meant I could move down here.’

  ‘What about your parents?’ asked Pippa. ‘Are they happy for you now?’

  ‘Nope.’ Serendipity drank, reflectively. ‘They were so embarrassed their artist daughter was flogging herself on the internet that I changed my name. I don’t think they have any idea what I’m doing now. They barely watch TV, never mind social media.’ She caught sight of Pippa’s expression. ‘You’re wondering what it is, aren’t you?’

  ‘Well, yes,’ admitted Pippa. Her brain was flipping through the possibilities. Susan? Maybe. Sarah? Serendipity didn’t look like a Sarah. Sara, perhaps? Stephanie? Whatever it was, it would be hard to get used to.

  ‘Skeffington Jones.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Serendipity Skeffington-Jones. That’s my full name.’

  ‘Oh, OK.’ It made Pippa think of showjumping and boarding schools. ‘I can see why you’d lose some of that.’

  ‘It doesn’t trip off the tongue, does it,’ said Serendipity. ‘But I’m happy, most of the time, and that’s what counts. It’s one of the reasons I asked if you’d like to do a bit of booking work for me. I get stressed with fielding all that, and if I had someone to fill my diary with things I can do, and politely decline the rest, it would save me a lot of guilt.’

  ‘I wish you’d told me that at the time,’ said Pippa. ‘Of course I’d have done it.’

  ‘You still can, if you want.’ Serendipity looked at Pippa from under her lashes.

  ‘I’d love to.’ Pippa put down her mug and got her notepad out. ‘Let’s start with a craft event you’d be comfortable with doing.’

  ***

  When Simon and the children returned with Monty, they were thrashing out the detail. ‘So.’ Pippa consulted her notes. ‘In an enclosed space — church hall would work — ticket only, masterclass format, materials included in ticket price, refreshments available.’

  ‘That should do it,’ said Serendipity. ‘I’ll have other stuff available to buy, and maybe we could do a raffle, proceeds to go to the church. What about a cake sale?’

  Pippa looked up from her notepad. ‘Please tell me you’re kidding.’

  A slow grin spread over Serendipity’s face. ‘Maybe I was.’ But Pippa didn’t mind. She was just glad to see Serendipity smiling again.

  ‘All going well?’ Simon asked.

  ‘Yes,’ Serendipity said, decisively. ‘I’ve given you dates, Pippa, so it’s only sorting a venue, and making sure there’s time to get word around.’

  ‘A good afternoon’s work, then,’ said Simon, rubbing his hands.

  ‘Thank you for taking Monty for a walk.’ Serendipity held out her hand to the dog, who came over and nuzzled at it. ‘Did he behave?’

  ‘Mostly,’ said Simon, his eyes moving to Monty’s legs, which were wet and muddy. ‘He spent a bit of time in the river.’

  ‘Oh, that’s all right,’ said Serendipity, continuing to stroke his head. ‘He can be a bit of a naughty boy. Can’t you?’

  Monty put his head on Serendipity’s knee, gazing into her eyes. ‘See? He’s not as daft as he looks.’

  Out of nowhere, an image flashed into Pippa’s brain. ‘I’ve been an idiot,’ she said.

  ‘No, you haven’t,’ said Serendipity. ‘You’ve helped me a lot today.’

  ‘I don’t mean that.’ Pippa’s mind was moving so fast that it was nearly falling over itself. ‘About the fete.’

  Serendipity looked blank. ‘But you didn’t do anything silly, Pippa, the things that happened were outside your control —’

  ‘Not that either!’ Pippa had to bite her lip to keep from laughing.

  Ruby, tired of being ignored, thrust her chubby hands into the air. ‘Oo!’ she said.

  Simon unbuckled her and lifted her to his shoulder, where she gummed his T-shirt. ‘Oo, indeed,’ he said, his nose wrinkling. ‘Does this mean you’ve got a lead, Pip?’

  ‘Very funny,’ said Pippa, looking at Monty. ‘But yes. A bit more digging, and I might find that buried bone.’

  CHAPTER 25

  Pippa woke on Monday to a text from Dahlia. Dev wants you to come in to the hospital today. Please reply to confirm. The message had been sent at 6.55 am. Seriously, what time did they start work over there?

  She considered the message. On one hand she didn’t want to give the impression that she was a pushover, but she was curious to see what Dev had in store for her.

  If I can get someone to mind the baby, I’ll come at 11ish, she replied. It wasn’t quite what she’d planned on doing that day, but it would certainly be interesting.

  Sheila, who had got back from Tenerife the previous evening, was more than happy to take Ruby. ‘Of course I will!’ she half-shouted down the phone. ‘I always like seeing Ruby-poos, don’t I darling?’

  ‘Erm, Ruby’s in her own room,’ said Pippa. ‘She can’t hear you.’

  ‘Never mind,’ said Sheila, in slightly more normal tones. ‘I’ll expect you at ten.’

  Pippa clicked End Call, and flicked the kettle on. If she was going to get everyone ready and herself to Cavendish Hospital for eleven o’clock, getting a wiggle on was required.

  In the end Pippa arrived slightly early, nudging the Mini into a parking space between an Audi A8 and a Tesla. Even though she had visited before, the hospital seemed as grand and daunting as ever.

  Millie was on reception today. ‘Hello again,’ she said, smiling brightly. ‘No baby today?’

  ‘No, I’m here on business,’ said Pippa, conscious that while she was wearing her least shabby pair of black trousers and had ironed her blouse, it wasn’t exactly power-dressing.

  ‘And your name is?’ Millie’s pen hovered over a list.

  ‘Pippa Parker. I’m seeing Dev Hardman.’

  A slight cloud crossed Millie’s face. ‘I, um, can’t say if we have anyone of that name staying with us —’

  ‘But I got a text from his PR person this morning, asking me to come in.’ Pippa got her phone out and showed Millie.

  Millie’s confusion was pitiful. ‘I’ll ring through,’ she said, eventually, and picked up the phone. ‘Hello, the Annexe? It’s Millie. I have a lady here who says she has an appointment with Dev Hardman. A —’ she looked at Pippa doubtfully, ‘Pippa Parker.’ She pronounced it as if it were the strangest name she had ever encountered. I hope she never meets Serendipity, thought Pippa, shifting from foot to foot. ‘All right,’ said Millie. ‘I’ll buzz her in.’ The bright smile returned. ‘Sorry, but you understand I do have to check.’

  ‘That’s quite all right,’ said Pippa, moving towards the inner door.

  ‘Do you need someone to show you the way?’ Millie asked.

  ‘I’ll follow the signs,’ said Pippa.

  It was quicker to reach the Annexe this time; even the glass corridor seemed shorter. Probably because she knew the way; and also perhaps because she was half-curious, half-concerned at what might happen when she encountered Dahlia Dean again.

  The same nurse came to the door o
f the Annexe. ‘Good morning,’ she said. ‘Ms Dean isn’t here at present, but I understand it’s Mr Hardman you’ve come to see.’

  ‘That’s right,’ said Pippa. ‘I have some work to do with him.’ The nurse opened the door wider.

  Today Dev was sitting in a chair, his feet propped up, and wearing red satin pyjamas and a paisley dressing gown to match. He still looked washed-out, however. He was tapping away at a laptop, which he closed when he saw Pippa. ‘Oh, ’ello,’ he said, putting the laptop on the bed next to him. ‘Wasn’t sure if you were coming or not. Dahlia said you’d only come if you could find someone to watch the kid.’

  ‘Well, here I am,’ said Pippa, mimicking Millie’s brightness. ‘What would you like me to do?’

  ‘You know I mentioned bookshop events?’ said Dev, swinging his feet down. Pippa noticed his slippers; black velvet, monogrammed in gold. ‘Dahlia still hasn’t done anything, and time’s getting on. I wondered if you’d do a ring-round. Make a list of the local bookshops, ring ’em up, have a chat, get a date, make sure they’ve ordered my books in. That sort of thing.’

  ‘I can do that,’ said Pippa. ‘What’s Dahlia so busy with?’

  ‘This deal of hers,’ said Dev. ‘She’s off meeting Stefan whatsisface about it.’

  ‘Oh,’ said Pippa. ‘What’s it a deal for?’

  ‘Never you mind,’ said Dev. He grinned, but the smile had left his eyes.

  ‘Well, if you want me to help, you should let me know what’s going on.’ Pippa eyed the laptop. ‘What were you doing on there?’

  ‘What is this, twenty questions?’ Dev’s grin had completely vanished. ‘I was playing Minesweeper, if you must know.’

  ‘Minesweeper?’ scoffed Pippa. ‘Come on Dev, you can get a hundred better games on your phone.’

  ‘I find it relaxing,’ he said, with dignity.

  ‘All right, here’s another question. What’s Dev short for?’

  Dev glared at her. ‘It isn’t short for anything.’

  ‘I know,’ said Pippa, and even to herself she sounded incredibly smug. ‘You see, I decided that if I would be working for you then I ought to find out a bit about you. That proved harder than I thought. Your Wikipedia entry’s pretty short, with nothing before six years ago. Nothing about your background, only your Cockney wide-boy persona and a list of your TV appearances. It took me a lot of digging — oh, and a phone call to my friend Suze — to learn more.’