Mrs. Lloyd shuddered.
“When all this is over, if they were to return that letter opener to me, I could never, ever use it again to open my letters.” She took a crunchy bite of toast and brushed a few rather large bits of crust off her bosom.
“And in all this, Florence, I can’t help thinking how I’ve let my poor Arthur down. I know he would have wanted me to be happy, and if I had found someone nice to marry, I don’t think Arthur would have minded too much. But when I think about the money and how Arthur scrimped and saved every year of our married life so I would be provided for. Do you know, he never had a holiday abroad? ‘What do I want with all that foreign muck?’ he used to say. I tried to talk him into going to Spain, telling him it would be good for him to experience the oranges firsthand, so to speak, but he wouldn’t have it.” She punctuated the last few sentences with a little series of sighs.
She wiped her lips and then folded her napkin and tossed it beside her plate.
“Oh! I can’t bear to think of it.”
“Well, I’ve made my opinion very clear, Evelyn, and I’ll not say it again. But I will say this. I’m going to see Penny this morning and I’d like it very much if you would come with me.”
Before Mrs. Lloyd could reply, the soft, shuffling sound of the morning post landing on the hall carpet caught their attention. As their eyes met, Florence tilted her head in the direction of the front door.
“I’ll go,” she said, standing up and leaning on the table with her hands in front of her. “And here’s a thought. I know you hate opening your mail with your fingers, so while we’re in town, why don’t we stop in at the charity shop and see if they’ve got a letter opener? There’s all kinds of nice things in there and you never know what you’ll find.” She took a step away from the table and folded her arms. “Makes you wonder at the things people give away or throw out, it really does.”
She took a few steps toward the hall and turned back to remark to Mrs. Lloyd, “I’m so glad to see you haven’t lost your appetite over all this, Evelyn.”
At the rectory, Reverend Thomas Evans and his wife were finishing their coffee. They liked to read their morning post over breakfast, and the rector often read aloud interesting bits from the various magazines he subscribed to.
This morning, however, he was reading the account of the death of Harry Saunders in the morning newspaper.
“Oh, my,” said Bronwyn. “How dreadful. But I wonder what will happen to the dancing lessons. I believe people were really enjoying his classes. Do you think someone else will take it on?”
“I doubt it,” replied the rector as he turned the pages to the national news section. “I don’t think we have anyone else around here who could give dancing lessons or he’d have been doing so by now.”
He paused as an item caught his attention. He read a few lines and then looked at his wife, who was scraping crumbs from one plate onto another.
“The bishop isn’t going to like this,” the rector said, clearing his throat.
“What’s that, dear?”
“The headline says, ‘Gay vicar, 65, to “marry” Nigerian male model half his age.’”
Today was the last day Eirlys would be doing manicures in the old salon, and Penny was filled with mixed emotions. She had loved the little shop she had started all those years ago and was grateful for the modest income it had provided her. But she recognized she had outgrown it and was eager and excited to move on to the new challenges that awaited her. She trusted Victoria’s business acumen and was confident the new enterprise would thrive, just as her old one had. She also trusted her own ability to handle whatever obstacles or setbacks the new venture might bring, and she knew there would be plenty of those.
This evening a couple of local lads would move all the stock out of the old shop, and among her other tasks for the morning, Penny wanted to dust shelves at the spa in preparation for the arrival of the best of the old stock. The rest would be donated to a local women’s shelter.
She had taken her time over her coffee this morning, sipping it while she got dressed and mulling over what she thought the day would bring, making a rather lengthy list of all the things she needed to do. One of the items on this list was to take the snowflake brooch Gareth had given her on the night of the spa party to the jeweler’s for an insurance appraisal. So after breakfast she unpinned the brooch from the red dress she had worn to the spa launch party and, before replacing it in its little red leather box, had taken a few moments to admire it. She loved the way the brooch felt in her palm, cool and glittering with its intricate six-point pattern. She thought about each snowflake being unique and wondered if that’s how Gareth saw her.
She had been surprised when Victoria had asked if she had had it appraised for insurance purposes. That seems like trying to find out how much he paid for it, Penny had said. Victoria shrugged. If it’s valuable, you need to insure it. Seeing the logic in that, Penny planned to take the brooch to the jeweler’s later that morning, after she dropped into the salon to see how Eirlys was getting on.
Although the spa would not be providing services until tomorrow, Rhian, the newly hired receptionist, was in place at the front desk, busily answering the phone, responding to e-mails, and taking bookings. The door was open and several women had come in just for a look round. It’s that irresistible fresh paint smell, Victoria had suggested. Just had to see what’s happening, and once they were inside, several young women who had peered in “just looking” had booked a manicure or a facial.
Arriving just before ten, Penny set a small stack of file folders down on the front desk, along with her handbag, and flipped through the appointments book. Although Rhian had wanted to manage the bookings electronically, Victoria, who preferred paper, had insisted that she do it two ways, on her computer but with backup in an appointments book with a smart cover splashed with pale pink peonies.
Penny smiled when she saw who was down for the first manicure of the day tomorrow. Well, it was Thursday, after all. She decided that as a special gesture, which she knew would be appreciated, the manicure would be complimentary. She turned around as the door opened.
“Hello, Mrs. Lloyd,” she said with a welcoming smile. “I was just thinking about you. I’m really happy to see that you’re going to be our very first customer tomorrow.” Mrs. Lloyd shifted from one foot to the other and, unusual for her, said nothing. Penny turned to her other visitor. “Hello, Florence. How are you?”
The two women exchanged a charged glance, and then Florence turned to Penny.
“We were wondering if you had a few minutes to talk to us. You must be very busy, getting ready for tomorrow, we know that, and we wouldn’t bother you now if it wasn’t important.”
She took a small step closer and lowered her voice.
“It’s about that nasty business at Conwy Castle. Evelyn wants a word with you.”
Penny glanced down the hall. “Right. Let me just see where Rhian has got to.” She walked down the hall and stuck her head into a room adjacent to the reception area.
“Rhian, I’ll just be in the quiet room for a few minutes if you need me.” Penny then returned to the reception area and gathered up the two visitors.
“We’ll just step in here.” She led them to the small sitting area, where she and Florence had spent a few minutes on the night of the spa launch party discussing her concern over Mrs. Lloyd’s increasing fondness for Harry Saunders.