The wether is so hot that my corns have got blisters on them and my blisters have got blisters. My hands have all swole up and I cant manage the stairs with the vacuum cleaner. I have told you time and again that that thing is too old and too heavy so I want a new one when you get home. I wont take no for an answer anymore. If you want a clean vicarage you can either buy me a new vacuum or do it yourself.

  I will close now as Ive got something boiling on the stove and Lucy is at the back door. She looks like shes been crying again. I suppose I will have to make her some tea like I did yesterday and the day before and the day before that. I know the doc is a handsome so-and-so but she should down her feather duster and walk out on him. I would if I was in her shoes. No rest for the wicked don’t they say in the Bible? I was never this busy when you was here. I hope you wont want another holiday soon.

  Yours faithfully

  Nancy Harper

  September 1957: Blackpool

  Celia returned to Sunnyside shortly after eight o’clock. Lennie had blacked out, but a brandy had soon revived him. They had walked slowly back together, and even though he had told her he was probably a double murderer, she hadn’t felt in the least afraid of him. He was an old war hero, after all. Lennie Conway was more sinned against than sinning, in her opinion.

  As they neared the Sunnyside, Lennie stopped. “Can you just go ahead and see if Ivy’s on the desk?”

  Celia nodded. “All right,” she said. “I bet she won’t be. I haven’t seen her at all for the last two days. Nor has anyone else, apparently.”

  Lennie smirked. “Keeping out of everyone’s way, is she? Just because I’m back. Doesn’t want to answer any awkward questions, I suppose.”

  “Do any of the other staff know you’re here?”

  “Of course they do,” said Lennie. “That slut June, for a start. They all know. Ivy brings me my meals, but don’t she realise the kitchen staff must guess she’s secretly feeding someone? She’s daft, she is. I just play along. Come and go as I please, and she’s none the wiser.”

  Celia was beginning to feel sorry for Ivy now. She didn’t like her much, mainly because she saw the look of envy and hatred in her eyes when she first arrived. It was hardly her fault that she had that scar, but she seemed to resent Celia’s beauty all the same. Her husband wasn’t a very nice person either, even if he had fought in the war. They probably deserved each other.

  Lennie waited while she entered the reception. June was alone on the desk. “It’s all right,” she whispered to him, “there’s only June here.”

  Lennie walked in and round behind the desk, disappearing into the inner sanctum of the small office, behind which were the Conways’ living quarters.

  June glanced up as he forced his way past her. “Look where you’re going, can’t you?” she grumbled, raising her eyebrows at Celia.

  Celia smiled and waited for the door to the office to be closed firmly before speaking. “I think the charm school was closed the day he was supposed to join,” she grinned.

  June laughed. “Oh, he’s all right, really,” she said. “I think Ivy’s led him a bit of a dance one way and another. I mean, fancy keeping your husband secret all these years, then keeping him locked away when he does turn up? Do you suppose he’s dangerous?”

  “Not exactly dangerous, no,” said Celia. “I think it’s his headaches. He told me he started suffering with them after he returned from the war. He gets blackouts. He had one in the pub just now.”

  “Poor man,” said June.

  Celia thought for a moment, then leaned across the reception desk. “He told me something that made me wonder, though,” she almost whispered. There was no one in reception, but she didn’t want to risk being overheard.

  “What was that?”

  “He’s supposed to have killed two women and that’s why Ivy sent him away.”

  June gasped. “What?”

  “There were two women who disappeared from this place a long time ago. Did you know about them?”

  June shook her head. “No – no, I didn’t,” she said. “Although, I’ve heard rumours that a couple of the guest rooms are supposed to be haunted. Ivy told me that rooms eight and twelve were never to be let out. Then she changed her policy only this year.”

  “Oh, I see. I’m in room eight, did you know?”

  June shook her head. “No I didn’t. I thought you were supposed to be booked into room twenty. I remember booking you in myself.”

  “I was, was I?” Celia guessed that Ivy had put her in room eight on purpose. She certainly wouldn’t put it past her.

  “It’s haunted, June. Room eight should never have been let out. It’s horrible.”

  “I’d move you if there was another room free,” said June, studying the register.

  “Don’t worry,” said Celia. “I slept there last night and it was all right.” If the ghost appeared tonight, she was determined to ask Bernard to let her have his bed. It was a way to get to know him a bit more quickly too. She felt certain he was chivalrous enough to shelter a lady from danger.

  “I’m sorry you were put in the wrong room,” said June. “This place is beginning to give me the creeps these days. What with Ivy doing a disappearing trick and all this talk of haunted rooms. And now Mr Conway turning up saying he’s a killer. Aren’t you scared of him at all?”

  “Funnily enough, no, not really,” said Celia. “He’s rude, unpleasant and he smells. He speaks his mind, that’s for sure. But I’m convinced he’s no murderer.”

  “Okay, Miss Marple, why do you think that?”

  Celia shrugged. “Female intuition – just like Miss Marple.”

  June looked nervous. “I wish you hadn’t told me about him being a murderer. I mean, I haven’t seen Ivy for two days.”

  They looked at each other. The absence of Ivy hadn’t really registered before, but now that they thought about it, it seemed rather a coincidence that Ivy had disappeared just after her husband had returned.

  Back in her room, Celia was really worried now. She had thought Lennie Conway perfectly harmless, just a bit of a crank, done up by his horrific war experiences: someone to be pitied, not condemned. But the whereabouts of Ivy was a mystery. Did he have something to do with her absence? Was he, in fact, as he had told her, the killer of two women, and now possibly a third?

  As she was thinking these thoughts, there came a gentle tap on her door. “Oh dear,” she said to herself. She hoped it wasn’t Lennie. She was prepared to be frightened of him now.

  “Who is it?” she called out.

  “It’s Bernard,” came a rather nervous response.

  Celia’s heart leapt. She opened the door at once. As she did so, she assumed a stern expression. She wasn’t going to make it easy for him, certainly not easier than he had made it for her during the last couple of days.

  “Hello,” he said, as she stood in the doorway, looking at him with the coldest stare she could muster. But he did look so cute, with those Bambi eyes, and tousled curly hair.

  “Hello, Bernard,” she said formally.

  “Er, may I come in?” He looked adorably sheepish.

  She stood to one side as he squeezed past her. “Th-thank you,” he said.

  “What do you want, Bernard?”

  “Just w-wondered if you would care to dine with me this evening.”

  Celia felt elated, but she kept the smile she was experiencing inside from reaching her lips. “Oh?”

  “Yes – well, would you?”

  “Where? Here?”

  Bernard shrugged. “As good a place as any.”

  Celia, who wanted to go to some quiet, cosy, romantic little place with check cloths on the tables and candles in empty carafes, like she’d seen in the ‘Lady and the Tramp’ cartoon, complete with a fat moustachioed Spaniard singing ‘Buona Notte’, said, “All right.”

  September 1957: Blackpool

  While Bernard was making his tryst with Celia, John Tapperstall was dining with the colonel. They had decided to take the early evening sitting at Sunnyside, which was seven o’clock.

  “Well, colonel,” said John, when the first course was in front of them, “what do you plan to do now that Anbolin has gone? She was a bit of a let-down, wasn’t she? We’re no further forward than we were before she came.”

  Colonel Forwood’s moustache seemed to be droopier than ever this evening. He stroked it and sighed, leaving his soup untouched. “I don’t suppose I’ll ever know what happened to my darling,” he said with a deep sigh. John didn’t really remember much about Meriel Forwood, it had been such a long time ago. He wished he could feel more sympathy for the old man over his loss, but deep down he thought he was being very foolish. He had wasted his whole life over her. His own concern was Mary Elphinstone, but she wasn’t exactly dear to him either. He was there purely for the sake of Elmer. He couldn’t feel the same degree of sadness these two men felt. He finished his tomato soup, and wiped his mouth with his napkin.

  “I think I may as well return to New York,” he said, removing his napkin from under his chin, as a young waitress removed his plate.

  “Have you finished, sir?” she asked Matthew.

  “Yes, yes, take it away,” he said, impatiently.

  “No need to snap at her, old chap,” said John, looking up at the girl apologetically.

  “No, no, I’m sorry,” said the old colonel. “Don’t mind me, dear, I’m an old curmudgeon.”

  The little waitress, who had only started working at Sunnyside that week, had no idea what a ‘curmudgeon’ was, but smiled nervously and removed his plate.

  “So you think it’s pointless staying any longer, then?” said the ‘old curmudgeon’.

  John was reluctant to leave without clearing Elmer’s name, because that, in effect, was what his real mission was. “I guess so,” said John.

  The colonel stood up. “I wish I could just walk away,” he said pointedly. “I wish I could forget all about her. But I feel if I don’t find out what happened to her, I will have wasted my life.”

  John sighed. “Well, colonel, you must do what you must do.”

  Matthew felt choked with emotion. He liked the kind American but he couldn’t bear his sympathy. “Forgive me, Tapperstall,” he said. “I’m no fit company this evening. I think I’ll have an early night. Goodnight.”

  John stood up and watched the old man leave the dining room. As he did so, Bernard and Celia entered.

  They nodded politely to the departing colonel and then noticed John sitting on his own. Celia’s heart sank. It didn’t look as if she and Bernard were to be alone this evening, after all.

  John smiled as they approached, and stood up. “Hello,” he greeted them. “I hope you won’t mind if I leave you, as I’ve got some paperwork to catch up on.” This was a lie, but he didn’t want to be a gooseberry. He was very intuitive, and he could see that Celia was keen on the vicar. He wished her well, but his intuition also told him that she would have her work cut out motivating Bernard. Celia gave him a grateful smile as he left the room. She only hoped that Robbie wasn’t due to turn up later.

  They spent a few minutes studying the menu in companionable silence. It was if they had been sharing meals together all their lives, to her mind, anyway. When they had ordered their food, she gave Bernard one of her most devastating smiles.

  He smiled back. It was a much less devastating one, but it showed him to advantage in her eyes. He had very white and even teeth, she noticed. She couldn’t say he was devastatingly handsome, but there was something appealing in that smile. He reminded her of Montgomery Clift, a film star she much admired.

  “You know who you remind me of?” she said.

  “No. Who?”

  “Montgomery Clift.”

  “Montgomery who? Wasn’t he at the battle of El Alamein?”

  “No, silly,” laughed Celia. “That was General Montgomery. Don’t you know who Montgomery Clift is?”

  Bernard laughed. Should he know him, he wondered.

  When they were well into the main course, Celia remembered what Anbolin had told her just before she left. “Oh, by the way, Anbolin said you would know this – ”

  “Hmm?” said Bernard. He was enjoying his juicy steak and was finding it hard to concentrate on anything else.

  “Do you know any fat vicars at all?”

  Bernard stopped mid chew. “Fat vicars?”

  “Yes, it seems that Anbolin thinks you know a fat vicar who can communicate with the dead.”

  He didn’t have to think very long. He knew exactly who she meant, even though ‘fat’ hardly described the enormous bulk that was Nigel Soames.

  “Of course I do. One very fat one. You know him, too, Celia,” he said.

  “I do? But I don’t know any vicars – well, apart from you, of course.”

  “Nigel? Nigel Soames? You met him with me and Robbie, and his curate, Oliver.”

  “Oh, him,” laughed Celia. “Fat’s a bit of an understatement, though.”

  Bernard joined in her laughter, then looked serious again. “I don’t think he’ll be willing to be involved in this, though,” he said, resuming his meal.

  “Oh, but he must,” urged Celia. “He may hold the answer to these mysteries. Maybe he’s the only one who does.”

  “Well, I suppose I can ask him. But if he won’t budge – well, I don’t see what else I can do.”

  “Maybe little me can persuade him,” she said, wheedlingly.

  Bernard bristled slightly. He didn’t like the way some women used their feminine wiles on men. In fact, he wasn’t sure he liked Celia Pargeter very much at all. She was only too well aware of the effect she had on men, and he didn’t like the way she seemed to assume that he found her irresistible.

  “No, you leave it to me,” he said firmly. “I’ll talk him round. You’ll see.”

  “That’s good, then,” said Celia, slightly put out.

  “Anyway, I think it’s about time I told you the reason why I asked you to dinner this evening.”

  Celia was even more put out now. It was obvious that he wasn’t in a romantic mood. He had led her to believe he was interested in her, but it now it seemed there was an ulterior motive to this meal.

  “The reason? There has to be a reason for two friends to have a meal together?” she said, her voice slightly raised. She stabbed her fork into an innocent pea and chased it round her plate. That pea had been asking for it all night.

  “No, no, of course not,” he said, “but I sort of promised that I would have a chat with you.”

  “Promised? Promised who?”

  Bernard looked down at his plate, afraid to meet her eyes. “Er – R-Robbie.”

  “Robbie?” she almost screamed at him.

  Bernard could see, out of the corner of his eye, most of the other diners were looking at them.

  “What’s he got to do with anything?” she screamed again. Her appetite was gone now.

  “It – it’s just that he asked me to ask you if – if you liked him. If you would go out with him. I know you didn’t want to go with him to see Max Bygraves because you don’t like him, er Max Bygraves not Robbie. But he said he’d like to take you to dinner or – something, er – that’s Robbie, not Max Bygraves.” Bernard wished he hadn’t agreed to do Robbie’s dirty work for him. The man was big and ugly enough to sort out his own love life.

  Celia breathed deeply before she spoke again. “It’s true, I don’t like Max Bygraves. Always singing about pink and blue toothbrushes. He’s all right for kids. But I didn’t refuse to go to see him because of that. That’s not the reason I refused.”

  “Well, he – he really likes you, you know,” said Bernard, still not meeting her eye. “Er Robbie, that is. Not Max Bygraves as he doesn’t even know you. I’m sure he would like you though – ” Bernard knew he was waffling, but couldn’t seem to stop himself.

  Celia stood up, ready to leave. “How dare you!”

  “Look, please sit down, Celia. I’m sorry. You see, Robbie’s my friend and he asked me this evening if I would just ask you. He – he didn’t get a chance to ask you himself today.”

  She slumped back down in her seat, and looked around the room. Everyone was looking at her now. “What are you all staring at?” she shouted.

  Bernard grabbed her by the arm. “Please, Celia. Don’t make a scene. Look, I’m sorry I asked. Please forget it. I’ll tell Robbie to ask you himself. I’m not Cyrano de Bergerac, I haven’t got the nose for it.”

  She suddenly realised what a complete fool she was being. “Oh God,” she said. “I – I’m sorry, Bernie. Talk about over-reacting.”

  “It – it’s all right,” he said gently. “Look, I’ve asked you now. I’ve done my duty by my friend. You don’t want to go out with him – full stop. I’ll pass the message on. It’s done with.”

  They continued with their meal in silence for a while.

  “Tell me,” said Bernard, when he felt able to open up the conversation again. “Have you seen Ivy lately?”

  “No, I haven’t,” she replied. She then proceeded to tell Bernard all about her experience with Ivy’s long-lost husband, and how he was the possible killer of two women. Bernard, when he heard all the facts, agreed it was a distinct possibility, and he also felt more than just a little convinced that something had happened to Ivy not unconnected with the return of Lennie Conway.

  Bernard escorted Celia to her room after their meal. There was an uneasy truce between them.

  “Thank you for a love-, er – interesting evening,” she corrected herself, taking his hand. She wasn’t going to say it was a ‘lovely’ evening because, for her at least, it hadn’t been.

  “No, thank you,” said Bernard gallantly. He bent to kiss the back of her hand.

  Celia removed it quickly. How old-fashioned could you get, she thought.

  Bernard turned to go, flushing to the roots of his hair. He had no idea why he did that. It was something he had never done in all his life. Kiss a woman’s hand, for goodness sake. That went out with bustles and poke bonnets, surely.

 

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