Lost Souls (James Quinn Book 2), page 26
A flustered-looking Mrs. Elliott followed the women into the breakfast room and shepherded them towards two adjoining tables in the back corner. One of the women asked for Buck’s Fizz all round, and Mrs. Elliott explained she didn’t have a licence to serve alcohol. Another of the geriatric dollybirds caught James in her crosshairs and gave him a seductive wink. He quickly averted his gaze and took a sudden interest in his fingernails.
It was nearly eight thirty when Molly finally made an appearance, waltzing into the room like a low-rent Jackie Onassis with her handbag on her arm and oversized sunglasses. She hoisted the glasses and surveyed the room with dismay before alighting on James. She frowned when she noticed his table was set for one, and before he could explain, she snatched the cutlery, place mat and coffee cup from another solo table and joined him.
‘She won’t like it …’ he warned.
‘Won’t like what?’
On cue, Mrs. Elliott swept into the room, coffee server in one hand, tea in the other. She motioned to the correct table with her elbow. ‘Please, Miss Tindall, I laid a place for you there.’
‘No, I’m going to be sitting here with my friend, thank you very much.’ Molly turned to James and laughed. ‘Reminds me of that supper at the Murdochs’ house. Remember? An evening with Hyacinth Bucket …’
‘How could I forget.’
Mrs. Elliott cleared her throat. ‘I am still here, you know.’
Molly twisted her neck, looked up at her and, after a brief hesitation, said, ‘You don’t look like you’re enjoying this. What’s the point of working in hospitality if you can’t be hospitable?’
Mrs. Elliott’s face twitched, then she quickly rearranged her expression into an inscrutable smile. ‘Tea or coffee, madam?’
‘Coffee, please. If it’s not too much trouble?’
‘Not at all, madam.’
‘There, that wasn’t too bad, was it?’
James cringed.
‘I’ll bring out your breakfast shortly. I’ve been keeping it warm under the hot lamp,’ Mrs. Elliott said pointedly. ‘But in the meantime, please help yourself to anything on the side table there.’
‘Actually, you can forget the cooked breakfast.’ Molly palmed her stomach and grimaced. ‘My belly’s doing somersaults after last night. I’ll stick with the continental.’
Mrs. Elliot looked on the verge of rage. ‘You might have forewarned me, Miss Tindall. To save me from wasting perfectly good food. I won't be offering a discount, you understand?’
‘Of course. Now, if you don’t mind …’
Mrs. Elliott retreated huffily from the room. James imagined a lioness licking her wounds.
The hen party rabble were getting raucous now, and James had to keep repeating himself to be heard. ‘Sleep well?’ he asked again.
‘Like a baby,’ Molly replied. ‘You?’
‘Same,’ he lied. Now was neither the time nor the place to explain the events from last night. ‘You going to keep those stupid glasses on?’
Molly sighed. ‘I’m in crisis mode. Panda eyes. And I only packed my essential make-up kit.’ She rubbed her temple. ‘I don’t know what was in that wine last night …’
‘So, it was all down to the quality, not quantity?’
Molly picked up a fork and harpooned the delicious sausage he’d been purposely saving. She took a large bite.
‘Hey! Thought you couldn’t face a fry-up?’
‘Changing her mind is a woman’s prerogative, don’t you know? So,’ she continued, ‘same routine for today, is it? How many caravan parks are on the itinerary?’
‘Three, four maybe?’ James shrugged, concealing his deceit.
‘Michael Palin must be quaking in his boots.’
‘Hilarious. And what about you? All set to visit your aunt? Not going to chicken out this time?’
‘Of course not, Jimbo. You know me. Ready for whatever life’s about to chuck at me.’
FORTY-FIVE
Rosa woke with a start to the smell of burning. Panicked, she looked about her.
In the other bed, Kayleigh lay fast asleep, snoring gently.
The smell was just the lingering effect of the fire, Rosa told herself, and she tried to get back to sleep. She was still tired, but she couldn’t settle; kept tossing and turning. Perhaps she should make herself a hot drink? That might help.
She crept out of the room, keen not to wake Kayleigh. She had no idea what the time was, only that it must be morning as bright sunshine flooded the house.
The burning smell lingered—stronger, if anything—as she padded down the stairs.
When she got to the hallway, Rosa saw smoke coming from a door at the back.
‘Nancy?’ she called out, rushing towards the smoke. ‘Miss Patterson? Are you okay?’
She covered her mouth and pushed open the door. Smoke billowed from the oven. Rosa found a cloth and opened the oven door. Smoke wafted out, making her cough. She flapped the cloth around to disperse the smoke and then turned off the heat. Inside the oven were two charred pieces of toast. She took hold of the oven tray using the cloth and transferred it to the sink, dropping it with a clatter when the heat seeped through the threadbare fabric.
‘Nancy?’ she called out. ‘Where are you?’
Rosa opened a window to help clear the haze. As she turned back, she nearly jumped out of her skin when she saw Nancy standing in the doorway.
Nancy was holding the unicorn toy from the arcade against her shoulder, gently patting its back. The old woman’s gaze shifted to the oven; to the sink; to the open window. ‘Daisy! What have you done?’
‘The bread … It was burning. There was smoke everywhere …’
‘Oh, Daisy, dear, you must take more care! Never mind, there’s no point crying over spilt milk, I suppose. Let me make you some breakfast. How does a nice boiled egg sound?’
‘It’s okay, I’m not hungry anymore.’ She wasn't even hungry in the first place, but there was no point in confusing Nancy. Besides, the thought of Nancy boiling water filled Rosa with dread.
‘Nonsense! You’ve had a big shock, Daisy, after the bomb. You need sustenance. Nothing better than an egg! I’ll do soldiers, too.’
‘Soldiers?’ Rosa queried, puzzled.
‘Oh, Daisy, you are in a tizzy!’ Nancy chuckled. ‘Go and get yourself dressed while I sort out breakfast. But first, I’ll need to get poor Lottie settled. She’s all out of sorts this morning. I hope her crying didn’t wake you in the night? She can make such an awful racket.’
‘No, she did not wake me.’ Rosa smiled. She knew it was for the best to go along with Nancy’s fantasy world. ‘I find Kayleigh now. See if she is hungry.’
‘Hayley?’
‘My friend, remember? You let her stay, too?’
‘Of course, dear. I’ll fetch three eggs from the pantry. Now, off you go.’
Rosa noticed the biscuit tin in the lounge as she passed by the door in the hallway. She went in to retrieve it, then returned to the bedroom, finding Kayleigh still in bed but stirring. ‘Time to get up, lazy bones. Nancy make us breakfast.’
Kayleigh let out an enormous yawn and shifted position, turning to face the wall. ‘Ten more minutes.’
Rosa smiled. Teenagers!
She opened the wardrobe and stashed the biscuit tin inside before looking for something to change into. She quickly opted for a khaki green pussybow swing dress, wrapped in protective plastic. The dress was perhaps sixty or seventy years old, yet it had been perfectly preserved.
She slipped out of the nightgown and folded it neatly on her bed, then unsheathed the dress and, holding her breath, squeezed herself into it. It was at least one size too small, pinched around the waist and particularly constricted about the chest, but Rosa didn’t care—the dress was beautiful. Although, she thought, her nose wrinkling in disgust, I absolutely stink.
She remembered there was a dresser in the largest of the bedrooms and made her way there to rummage through the drawers. It felt horribly intrusive, but she supposed Nancy wouldn’t mind.
She found a gorgeous vintage crystal perfume atomiser, which she shook gently, expecting its contents to have long since evaporated, but she was pleased to discover there was still scent within. She squeezed the nozzle into the air and inhaled the mist. Beautiful. Notes of rose; violet; iris.
After applying the perfume liberally to her neck and the insides of her wrists, Rosa returned the atomiser to the drawer. A beautiful little box embossed with “STRATTON OF LONDON” caught her eye. Teasing off the lid, she found that it contained a silver compact and lipstick set.
Rosa seated herself at the dresser and deferentially took out the lipstick. With the assistance of the compact mirror, she deftly painted her lips. The shade she’d selected was a stunning red-orange which instantly lifted her whole face—and her self-confidence, to boot.
There was a freestanding full-length mirror in the corner of the room, and she went over to stand in front of it, regarding her reflection for a few moments. She puckered her lips and raised her hair, imagining it styled as a gorgeous Sophia Lauren 1950s bouffant. Then, giggling, she lifted herself onto her toes and performed a pirouette; the skirt flared and swirled in reply.
A vivid memory of an old black-and-white movie struck her. On the stage, the band played with great fervour and, on the polished dance floor, a young couple danced the jitterbug. Rosa found herself tapping her foot and clicking her fingers to the imaginary beat.
A noise from the ground floor jerked her from the daydream, and flushed with sudden concern, she rushed to the stairs.
The noise was Nancy Patterson, rocking a huge, old-fashioned pram back and forth in the hallway. The old lady gave a backward glance as Rosa came down the stairs and broke into a warm smile. ‘Don’t you look a picture, dear,’ she said.
Nancy returned her attention to the pram and rocked it a few more times. She brought a gnarled finger to her lips and whispered to Rosa, ‘She’s finally dropped off. The poor mite’s exhausted. This damn war has a lot to answer for.’
Rosa didn’t really know what to say, so she just gave a smile, then followed Nancy as she led her to the kitchen, where a pan now rested on one of the cooker rings. Three eggs were floating in the water.
The old lady gestured to a chair at the table. ‘Sit yourself down, dear. I’ll make us a nice cup of tea.’
‘Let me do it,’ Rosa pleaded.
‘No, I won’t have it, Daisy. You must rest and gather your strength. You’ll need it in the days ahead.’
Reluctantly, Rosa sat down at the table and watched Nancy shuffle over to the kettle, which sat on a cluttered work surface. After flicking on the kettle, she set about locating some cups amongst the clutter, then fetched milk from the fridge. Every movement, every action, took an age.
‘Do you have anyone to help you, Miss Patterson?’ Rosa asked. ‘You know, with the house? It is very big.’
‘Help? Why on earth would I need help? I can manage perfectly well on my own, thank you very much. Now, dear, I’m putting three sugars in your tea. That will see you right.’
Loud footfalls sounded above, and Nancy raised her eyes to the ceiling and frowned.
‘Kayleigh,’ Rosa reminded her.
‘What is she doing upstairs? It’s much safer to be on the ground floor. She must know that?’
‘But, Nancy, you tell us—’ Rosa stopped herself, then continued, ‘It does not matter. It sounds like she is coming now.’
Kayleigh barrelled down the stairs and came into the kitchen. Her hair was a tangled mess, but she seemed bright and breezy, all things considered. ‘Morning!’ she said cheerfully.
‘Are you on duty, dear?’ Nancy asked. ‘I wish I could join you, but I have my hands full with Lottie.’
Rosa could now see, in the light of day, that the dungaree thing Kayleigh had put on last night was, in fact, some kind of uniform: a green overall, buttoned from collar to hem. Sewn onto the breast was a badge bearing the letters: “WVS”.
Kayleigh smiled sweetly at Nancy, then left the room without saying anything.
‘Where are you going?’ Rosa called after her. She got no response. The thought of Kayleigh roaming about in Nancy’s big house unnerved her.
‘You know, dear,’ Nancy said as she placed Rosa’s tea cup unsteadily on the table, ‘you can stay for as long as you like. Until they repair the damage or the council find you new accommodation. It will be nice to have some adult company.’
‘Aw, that is very kind, Miss Patterson, but I do not want to be burden—’
Rosa’s words were interrupted by the sound of loud music. ‘Kayleigh!’ she exclaimed as she got to her feet. She rushed to the living room and found the girl standing at the front window—the curtains slightly parted—next to the old record player.
A clicking sound and the smell of burning dust made Rosa snap her attention to a large radiator. Kayleigh must have turned it on, she guessed.
Rosa returned her gaze to Kayleigh. ‘Turn the music off!’ she shouted above the crackly voice of the male singer.
‘What?’ Kayleigh mouthed, cupping a hand to her ear and laughing, pretending not to hear.
‘Turn it off!’ Rosa repeated. ‘And close the curt—’
‘Oh, lovely.’ Nancy’s voice, behind her. ‘Would you like to dance, Daisy?’
‘Well, I, er …’
Nancy took Rosa’s hand in hers and rested the other on her shoulder. Instinctively, Rosa placed her other hand gingerly around Nancy’s waist. It was the closed dance hold position, which she remembered from the ballroom dance lessons she’d had many, many years ago in Lithuania, with Rūta. Mrs. Petreikis, a terrifyingly strict, upright old woman, had run the classes. Rosa—then Urtė, of course—had got into such terrible trouble for not paying attention to her instructions. She’d been carried off in the arms of a good-looking boy. Couldn’t think of his name, but she certainly remembered the boy’s hand slipping from her waist and taking a cheeky squeeze of her backside. And she also didn’t remember protesting.
She could picture Rūta, in the arms of her partner, looking over at her, rolling her eyes.
Innocent times.
O Dieve, why hadn’t they just stayed in Lithuania?
Rosa pulled Nancy closer to her, and they soon settled in to a slow foxtrot. Slow, slow, quick, quick …
Rosa took a deep intake of the distinctive scent of old people: a mild sweetness and mustiness; a very faint hint of lavender.
Nancy croaked along to the words. She was trying to throw back her head, but she couldn’t quite manage it.
The music stopped abruptly, and Kayleigh, standing at the window, shouted, ‘There’s a man in a car parked out front, pointing at us!’
‘What? Who is it?’ Rosa asked.
‘I don’t know.’
‘Is it a Jerry?’ Nancy asked.
‘Someone wants to hurt us, Nancy,’ Rosa said. ‘Kayleigh, move away from the window and close the curtains.’
Kayleigh obliged, and the room fell into semi-darkness.
They were frozen, each staring at the other in the low light, unsure of what to do.
Then there came the hammering at the front door, so loud that it made Rosa’s insides crumple. ‘What should we do?’
‘Quick,’ Nancy said, ‘follow me.’
Rosa and Kayleigh trailed Nancy into the hallway. A stolen glance at the front door caught the outline of a figure through the obscure glass.
Nancy pulled open a door under the stairs and stepped to one side. ‘The cellar,’ she said, calmly yet assertively. ‘You must stay down there while I sort out the situation.’
‘No, no, that is not fair …’ Rosa began to protest.
The person at the door hammered again, making her physically jump. She took hold of Kayleigh’s cold, bony hand.
‘Quickly now,’ Nancy said, opening her arm to encourage them through the cellar door. ‘Just do as I say and everything will be as right as rain.’
Rosa stepped hesitantly through the door. ‘But it is so dark. I cannot!’
‘There’s a light switch to your right.’
Rosa flicked the switch and an exposed bulb came on, illuminating a steep wooden staircase.
‘Quickly, girls!’
Rosa took Kayleigh’s hand and led her gingerly down the shallow treads, ducking under the light bulb that hung from the low, sloping ceiling.
At the bottom, the light from the weak bulb didn’t reach very far into the cellar, but it was enough for Rosa to see that the room was full of accumulated junk: old furniture; boxes; tins; piles of books; appliances; stacks of yellowed paper. Everything was caked in dust and spiderwebs. The smell was awful. She turned her head and cried out, ‘Miss Patterson! I can’t do this!’
Too late. The door slammed, and the key turned in the lock.
‘Nancy!’
Kayleigh squeezed Rosa’s hand. ‘It’s okay,’ she said soothingly. ‘We can do this.’
Rosa sniffed at the air. Was that gas she could smell?
Kayleigh encouraged her to advance into the cellar.
Crouching in the restricted space, Rosa swept an arm before her to clear spiderwebs as they inched forward, dodging obstacles about their feet.
Above them, the joists were stuffed with insulation, through which they could hear Nancy’s muted shuffle.
‘Look.’ Kayleigh pointed. ‘We can sit on those.’
Stacked against a large chest storage box were some foldable garden chairs. They took one each, unfolded them and positioned them against a wall.
They sat silently for several moments. Rosa trained her ear to the dull sound of muted chatter above them, desperately trying to discern what was happening, but it was a hopeless task.
She was mad with herself for allowing this situation to happen. Here she was, cowering in a cellar, while a frail old woman with a mental impairment put herself in harm’s way to protect two people she hardly knew. Rosa should never have imposed on Nancy like this. It wasn’t right or fair. If Nancy got hurt, she would never forgive herself.
A door slammed shut above them and Rosa’s hand flew to her mouth, stifling an involuntary squeal of fear. She kept her hand in place, listening for sounds from above. First, there was silence, then Nancy’s distinctive shuffle, followed by the unmistakable tap, tap, tap, tap of a second pair of feet.
