The Cold Light of Mourning (2 page)

The rector pointed at the sturdy brown teapot that sat warming on the counter. “And will there be biscuits with that?” he asked hopefully.

Sliding a few chocolate digestives onto a plate, his wife shook her head, sighed, and then turned around to face her husband.

“The Gruffydd wedding! Emyr could have had anyone—anyone!—but he takes up with her. Now, I know I’m not supposed to think or talk like that—being judgmental they call it these days—but I’m only saying what’s true and what everyone knows. That Meg Wynne Thompson’s a right little madam, and she’ll make his life a merry hell. In this day and age, I don’t know why he would think he has to marry her.” And then, after a moment’s reflection, she added, “That didn’t come out quite the way I meant it. I haven’t heard any talk of her being pregnant or anything like that, so I’m sure that’s not …”

Her voice trailed off as she gave the tea a brisk stir, slapped on the lid, placed the teapot and biscuits on the table with a bit more emphasis than usual, and then sat down opposite her husband. As a comfortable silence descended on them, the rector reached for a biscuit with one hand, then fumbled in his jacket pocket for his pen with the other. There was much to do, and he needed to make a few notes.

A few moments later Bronwyn took a delicate sip of her tea and looked at him. “Listen, Thomas,” she said. “I’ve had an idea. It’s about the funeral. See what you think about this.”

Like the rector, Penny was thinking about the Gruffydd wedding, because she, too, had a role to play. The bridal party had booked appointments for Friday afternoon weeks ago, but the bride had decided to have her nails done on the morning of her wedding, so Penny, carefully disguising her reluctance, had agreed to take Meg Wynne Thompson on the Saturday at nine.

Penny always advised members of the bridal party to come in for a pre-wedding manicure a couple of weeks before the big day to choose and coordinate their colours and then to get their nails done the day before the wedding. There were always too many things to do, and too little time to do them, on a wedding morning.

Fortunately, Meg Wynne hadn’t wanted a pedicure, as many brides did, so their feet would look their sexy best in strappy sandals, and because of the timing, Penny hadn’t dared suggest one.

Glancing at her watch, she decided there would be just enough time for one of those sandwiches from the Spar that she loved—prawn mayonnaise this time—and a cup of tea before her afternoon clients began to arrive.

First would be Evelyn Lloyd, coming in for her regular Thursday afternoon appointment. Like many of Penny’s regulars, Mrs. Lloyd regarded a professional manicure as a bit of pampering richly deserved after a lifetime of hard work and, since she had given up smoking, a little treat she could easily afford, although every now and then she would suggest to Penny that her over-sixty clients really ought to get a senior’s discount.

Penny laid out her work tray, turned the shop sign, closed the door, and headed upstairs for lunch.

Two

P
enny returned to the shop a few minutes before Mrs. Lloyd was due to find her waiting on the pavement peering in the window.

“Oh, Mrs. Lloyd, I am so sorry to have kept you. Do, please, come in. May I get you a cup of tea or coffee?”

Mrs. Lloyd entered the shop and, after the preliminaries were over, settled herself into the client’s chair. A robust, well-kept woman in her mid-sixties, with tightly permed grey hair and always conservatively turned out in a pleated skirt with a matching cardigan and a white blouse with a bit of detailing on the collar, Mrs. Lloyd had been the village postmistress for years. In her day, she believed, the job had been essential to the smooth running of the village. After all, it was she who made it possible for money to be transferred, bills to be paid, and anniversaries and birthdays to be remembered. Now, of course, with mobile telephones, e-mail and the Internet, all that had changed. But the one thing that hadn’t changed was her love of what she thought of as useful information but others might well have considered plain old gossip, and she liked to think she was almost as well informed of village doings in her retirement as she had been when she stood behind the counter with her weigh scales and currency conversion charts.

“I guess you heard about Emma Teasdale, did you, Penny? Of course you did. That was too bad, really it was. But still, at her age … she did have a good, long life. I wonder what will happen to the cottage. Be worth a bob or two what with the price of property these days. Bought that long before single women were buying houses, Emma did. I don’t know if she had any relatives left in England.”

Mrs. Lloyd paused for a moment to gather her breath and her thoughts.

“I think there was someone once, though, but nothing ever came of it. They certainly never married, did they?”

Penny, who had never even thought about Emma having any kind of romantic involvement, was astonished, but couldn’t bring herself to say anything. Because Emma had never volunteered any details on this part of her life, Penny felt it would be disrespectful to her memory to push Mrs. Lloyd for details.

After a few moments of silence, Mrs. Lloyd moved on to the other main topic of conversation in the village, the Gruffydd wedding. Like the rest of the villagers, Mrs. Lloyd was not impressed by Emyr Gruffydd’s choice of a wife.

The son of a wealthy landowning family, Emyr was well liked and respected in Llanelen. In his early thirties, he had been living in London for several years, but six months ago, with his father in failing health, he had returned home to oversee the family’s business interests, which included real estate, farming, haulage, and investments.

The Gruffydd family lived about ten kilometres outside the village in a large stone house with spectacular views over the valley to the Snowdonia mountain range, and it was to this house, formally called Ty Brith but often referred to as the Hall, that Emyr was planning to bring his bride.

“I don’t really know that much about her,” Mrs. Lloyd confided as she soaked her nails in a small basin filled with hot, herbal-scented water, “but I do know that people here haven’t taken to her. Folks in the shops say that she’s rude to them and comes across like Lady Muck. Much too grand for the likes of us! I’ve heard that the staff at the Hall, what’s left of them that is, aren’t looking forward to having her there, but of course, they have no choice in the matter, see. She’s from London, you know, and very posh with it. That’s where he met her. What she does there I don’t know. I think all the young people in London work in advertising or mass media—whatever that might mean—or some such.”

At a nod and gesture from Penny, Mrs. Lloyd pulled her right hand from the basin. Penny dried it carefully, as if it were a fragile porcelain heirloom, before beginning work on her nails.

“I haven’t met her yet,” Penny said, “this Meg Wynne Thompson, but Emyr’s mother used to come in regularly. She was a lovely woman.”

“Indeed she was,” agreed Mrs. Lloyd as she leaned in for a better look at her hand.

“There was something about her that always reminded me of a Hollywood film star you’d have seen back in the 1940s. Every now and then I see an actress in one of those late-night black-and-white pictures that reminds me of her. Beautiful wavy hair, she had, and huge blue eyes. She was always impeccably turned out and carried herself with such dignity. And yet, she came from a simple background, see.” Mrs. Lloyd nodded for emphasis. “Oh yes. Her father was the village blacksmith.” She gave a little snort, and then continued. “A blacksmith! That’s going back a ways. You’ll not find many blacksmiths around these days. Still, even ordinary folk had much better manners in those days and knew how to eat properly and speak respectfully to their betters.”

She thought for a moment, and then withdrew her hand, giving Penny the other one to work on.

“Some people, like Emyr’s mother, are just born with that kind of poise or grace you might call it,” she went on. “I honestly don’t know what she would make of this wedding, but I suspect she would have wanted Emyr to marry a local girl. Still, times have changed, and who from around and about these parts would have suited him? And besides, he’s been away so long, he doesn’t really know anyone from Llanelen anymore. Of course, there is my niece, Morwyn. She and he used to be sweethearts once, but then he left for London.

“Of course, it’s the same all over, now. The young people think they have to go to Cardiff or London or Manchester to get a decent job. What nonsense! There’s plenty of perfectly good jobs to be had in the towns, if only they would consider it.”

“Perhaps it’s more the nightlife they’re seeking,” suggested Penny. “Not everyone likes the quiet life, especially when they’re young. And you must admit, Mrs. Lloyd, there’s nothing to do here in the evenings, except go down the pub. Even the cinema has been closed for years.”

“That’ll be that clubbing you hear so much about,” agreed Mrs. Lloyd. “No one under forty stays home with the telly and a good book anymore. Not nearly exciting enough, I guess.

“Now, that Meg Wynne, I can’t see her settling down to a quiet life in the Hall. Even though Emyr’s mother made a great success of it, you really need to have been brought up to it, been to finishing school so you know how to arrange flowers and sort out a dinner party with the cook and all the rest of it. I don’t think she’s cut out for it, so it’ll be interesting to see what happens.” She gave it a few more moments thought, and then shook her head gravely. “Poor Emyr. No, she’s not the right girl for him. It’ll all end in tears, you’ll see. And as for his chum, that cheeky Williams lad, don’t get me started! Charm to spare, that one, but very short on substance, if you ask me. And I don’t think he’s a very good influence on Emyr. Used to lead him astray something awful when they were young. Emyr was never one to stand up for himself. Needs to grow a backbone, he does.”

She glanced over at the bottles of polish and then brought her attention back to Penny.

“Where was I? Oh yes, Emyr’s friend. Well, I can tell you that some of us—and that includes your Emma—were surprised he turned out as well as he did. He was a real troublemaker. Always up to something but with those good looks of his, he got away with it.”

She looked expectantly at Penny.

“Well, Mrs. Lloyd, to change the subject, what colour would you like today?” Penny asked.

“It’s my bridge night as usual, Penny, so I think a nice rose shade would be appreciated. How about that one?” she said pointing to a bottle in the front row.

“Oh, that would be good, Mrs. Lloyd. It’s just in. Very new. You’ll be the first to have it.”

Mrs. Lloyd leaned forward to watch as Penny carefully applied a base coat, and then followed it with two coats of the chosen lacquer, and finally, a finishing, protective topcoat.

“You know, Penny, I always like to get my nails done on a bridge night. I consider it a gift to the table so everyone can enjoy them!”

“That’s a nice way to look at it, Mrs. Lloyd.” Penny smiled. “The job should hold up for the wedding on Saturday. You are going, aren’t you?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t miss it. I don’t suppose that you …”

“No, I wasn’t invited, but I will be doing the bridal party’s nails if you want to consider that a gift to the congregation.”

Mrs. Lloyd laughed good naturedly, stood up, patted down her skirt, and gave her finished nails a final blow. She gathered up her few belongings and prepared to leave the shop.

As she reached the door, she turned around and passed on one more observation.

“Why do you suppose it is that young people aren’t taking up bridge? You never see young people playing bridge anymore, do you? Well, cheerio. See you next week!”

With that, she was gone. Penny made a few notes on Mrs. Lloyd’s client card and began to set up for her next customer.

Three

P
enny woke up early Friday morning to the sound of rolling thunder and heavy rain lashing against her bedroom window. Turning on her side and pulling the bedclothes up around her shoulders, she watched for a few moments as fat, lazy raindrops cascaded down the fogged windowpane. She sighed, stretched, pushed the covers off, swung her legs over the side of the bed, and reached around for her slippers. She sat on the edge of her bed, looking around the familiar room, with its sloping white ceiling, sketches and watercolours on the pale yellow walls, bookcases, and much-too-small closet. Still, it was home and it was hers.

As she made her morning cup of coffee she decided that before she threw herself into the day she’d have a decent breakfast so she put an egg on to boil and found a relatively fresh slice of whole wheat bread that would do for a piece of toast.

After finishing her breakfast with the morning paper for company, she opened the shop and did two rather impersonal manicures. When the second client had left, she flipped the shop sign to CLOSED, gathered up a few tools and bottles into a carrier bag, and fetched an umbrella from the small cupboard under the stairs. Closing the door behind her, she opened the umbrella and set off on the short walk to Wightman and Sons, where Philip would be waiting for her.

He greeted her on the step, and asked how she was holding up.

“Usually, I would take care of her nails as part of her hair and makeup, Penny, and if you want to change your mind, just give me the polish, and I’ll get on with it.”

“No, Philip, but thank you anyway,” Penny said as she shook the rain off her umbrella into the street. “This is something I can do for Emma, and I would like to.”

“That’s fine, then, Penny. She’s ready for you. Follow me.”

He led Penny through the premises, past the visitation room, to a small, white-tiled workroom at the rear of the building. Emma was lying on a stainless steel table, dressed in a tailored navy blue dress with white buttons. A crisp white sheet covered the lower half of her body, and her hands had been placed on top.

“In your own time, Penny,” Philip said.

Penny cautiously approached the table, looked carefully at Emma, and then turned to smile timidly at Philip.

“It’s a cliché, but it’s true … she really does look peaceful. You did a good job, if that’s the right thing to say.”

Philip brought a stool to the table and set it down beside a worktable covered with a green surgical-type cloth on which he had thoughtfully placed an empty glass, a bottle of water, and a box of tissues.

“You might find it easier to sit on this side,” he said, “do her left hand, and then take the chair and table around the other side of the table and do her right hand.”

Penny sat gingerly on the stool and looked expectantly at Philip. He nodded gently and said, “It’s up to you, Penny. I’ll stay with you while you work, or if you prefer, I’ll leave you alone with her.”

“I think I’ll do this on my own, Philip, thanks. Give me about half an hour.”

He nodded again and quietly left the room. Penny reached into her carrier bag and set out the contents on the worktable.

She reached for Emma’s hand, lifted it gently, and placed it on the small white towel she had brought with her. At the first touch of Emma’s cool, still hand, her eyes filled with tears. She knew those hands so well. She had seen them hand her an icy gin and tonic, make the most delicious biscuits, fit in the last piece of a jigsaw puzzle, eagerly open a Christmas gift, and gently brush the hair from her forehead on a hot day as she worked in her garden. Penny had held them in her own hands almost every week for more than two decades. And over the years, she had seen them change as time did its cruel work. Brown spots had developed on the thinning skin as its elasticity was lost. The knuckles had become more pronounced and dark blue ropey veins had surfaced. How Emma had hated the way her hands looked! But despite all the hand cream, manicures, and wearing of cotton gloves to protect them from the sun, her hands had aged along with the rest of her. And, thought Penny, they told the story of a long life lived with truth and dignity.

She pulled a tissue from the box that Philip had thoughtfully left for her, and began to work on Emma’s nails for the last time, telling herself she could have a good cry when this was over. Half an hour later, just as she was finishing, Philip returned.

“They look lovely, Penny. You were right, Miss Teasdale would have wanted you to do them for her. Well, just a few more things to tend to and she’ll be ready for this afternoon’s viewing. Will you be coming in?”

Penny shook her head.

“No, Philip. I’m doing the Gruffydd wedding girls this afternoon so I’m going to come this evening. Thank you for letting me do Emma one last time. It was sad, and felt strange, but at the same time it was, I don’t really know what the word is … helpful?”

“It may have helped you accept Emma’s passing. You were a lot alike, you two, and she thought the world of you.”

Penny felt the sharp sting of new tears pricking her eyes and turned away.

With the sensitivity acquired over many years in his line of work, Philip said simply, “You probably don’t feel like a coffee at the minute, so we’ll save that for another time and I’ll just show you out, shall I?”

Penny nodded, and they made their way in silence to the shop door.

He put a reassuring hand on her arm and smiled down at her.

“Good-bye, Penny. See you later, then.”

Putting up her umbrella, Penny bent her head against the rain and headed home to a sad and solitary lunch.

Her afternoon began with the sound of noisy giggling as the two bridesmaids, Jennifer Sayles and Anne Davidson, made their entrances. They were approaching their late twenties, and while each appeared to be expensively groomed, Jennifer, the taller of the two, looked as if she came by her toned, fit body naturally. Anne, on the other hand, would find herself betrayed within the next few years by the body she was working so hard now to maintain; with youth on her side she was winning the battle, but eventually, she would lose the gravity and collagen wars.

Both girls wore expensive designer jeans but not with trainers or sensible country walking shoes. They were wearing Jimmy Choo sandals with extremely high stiletto heels, and Penny could barely conceal a smile as she thought of the comments those silly and unforgiving shoes were sure to be inspiring around town.

Seating herself at Penny’s worktable, Jennifer said she would go first, so Anne took a seat in the small waiting area and pulled the latest
Tatler
from her bag.

“We picked our colours last week when we were in town,” Jennifer reminded Penny. “Anne and I have chosen Embrace, and I think Meg Wynne is having something else when she comes in tomorrow.”

“How is Miss Thompson doing?” Penny asked. “I expect she’s been awfully busy trying to organize a wedding here when she lives in London. Can’t be easy.”

“That’s true,” Jennifer agreed. “Ordinarily, I guess, they would have had the wedding in London, but with Emyr’s father not being well, it seemed like a good idea to hold the wedding here. I must say, it’s been great fun for us getting out of the city and coming to North Wales, of all places, for a few days.”

“What do you do in London?” Penny asked casually.

“We, that is Anne and I, work together at a PR agency. Meg Wynne works at a graphic design studio, her company did some work for us, and we all just got to know one another through our work, the way you do, really. And then Emyr and his friend David Williams were regulars in the wine bar in Covent Garden where we go after work, so we all just naturally formed a little group. And that’s how we all met up.”

She looked over at Anne, who was flipping through her magazine.

“Anne, how did it happen that Emyr and Meg Wynne started going out together?”

“Yeah, well,” drawled Anne, looking up. “I think he sent us over drinks one night, but you could tell it was really Meg Wynne he fancied. And she led him on for a bit and played it cool. For a while, we thought it was David she was after but I think one night she invited Emyr around for a meal or whatever and that was pretty much it. After that they were just together. They’ve been going out for about two years now, wouldn’t it be, Jenn?”

“Yeah, it would be about that,” Jennifer agreed.

“And will Miss Thompson’s family be coming to the wedding?” Penny asked.

The two girls exchanged glances, and then Jennifer, apparently by some unspoken understanding, was elected spokesperson.

“I think so,” she said carefully. “Meg Wynne doesn’t like to talk about her family. Her brother died about a year ago, and the family has been struggling ever since. Apparently he got in with some bad company, and drugs were involved. He used to come along for dinner with us sometimes when he came down to London to visit Meg. He was only about eighteen or nineteen, I think. Good-looking lad, he was. Meg Wynne said her mother took it really hard. Well, she would do, wouldn’t she? But I’m sure her parents will be here to see her get married.”

Penny murmured sympathetically as she reached for the topcoat polish.

“You’re almost done, Miss Sayles,” she said. “You obviously keep your nails well looked after in London, so there wasn’t too much for me to do today. Miss Davidson, just give me a moment to set up for you, and then it’s your turn!”

Anne handed off her magazine to Jennifer as the two girls changed places.

What are your dresses like?” Penny asked as she started work on Anne’s nails.

“Well, what they are definitely not is puffy and covered with bows,” replied Anne. “They’re just, well, like evening dresses, but not over the top, you know? Meg Wynne always wants everything to be in the best possible taste and I guess it’s the designer in her, but she likes everything to be sleek and sophisticated, if you know what I mean. Minimal. Modern.

“By the way, I was wondering, what part of America are you from?”

“I’m not from the States, actually, I’m from Canada. Most people make that mistake, because the accents can sound quite a bit alike. I’m from Nova Scotia. Nice little place called Truro.”

“Oh, I was just wondering, because Emyr and Meg Wynne are going to America for their honeymoon. New York. Have you ever been there?”

Penny said she had, many years ago, as part of a university trip. While her classmates had spent their days at the Museum of Modern Art, she had found it difficult to tear herself away from the old masters in the Frick Collection.

“I haven’t been yet, but one day!” Anne enthused. “I love everything about America and I can’t wait to go there. I was just green with envy when Meg Wynne told me about New York. I think I was even more jealous about that than I was that she’d landed such a great catch as Emyr!”

Penny smiled at Anne’s open and eager charm.

“I was wondering which of you is the maid of honour,” she said.

“That would be Jennifer,” said Anne. “There are just the two bridesmaids, and Emyr is having David as his best man, and there’s one usher, Robbie Llewellyn. They all grew up here, apparently. Went to school together and been friends almost all their lives. The wedding is quite small, only about fifty people, and most of them are Emyr’s people. But you’d expect that, wouldn’t you, when the wedding is being held in his village?”

“Yes, I guess you would,” Penny agreed. “It’s been quite the topic of conversation around here lately. Everyone certainly wishes Emyr and his bride every happiness.”

“They’ve sent the most wonderful presents, Meg Wynne says. They are all on display up at the Hall, and we’ll get to see them all tonight at the dinner.”

The two girls exchanged excited smiles.

The dinner to be held at the Hall on the evening before Emyr’s marriage had been the talk of the town for weeks. The award-winning chef-owner of an exclusive nearby country house hotel, with her culinary team, had been hired for the evening to cater it. Besides the wedding party, a few select guests—mostly longtime friends of the family—would attend. No expense had been spared for food or flowers, and preparations had been under way for days, with much coming and going of tradesmen’s delivery vans.

The groom and his supporters were staying at the Hall, while the bride and her party had rooms at the Red Dragon Hotel, with its easy access through a side door to the picturesque walkway along the River Conwy that led to the church. Penny had offered to nip along to the hotel in the morning to do Meg Wynne’s nails but had been told that Meg would prefer to come to her.

All arrangements for the bridal party’s nail care had been made over the telephone, and Penny had been instructed to submit her bill for the bridal party’s nail care to the Hall.

When the bridesmaids’ manicures were finished, Penny suggested they might want to sit quietly for a few minutes to make sure their polish was completely dry before setting off. Impatient to get on with their day, however, they said their good-byes, gingerly opened the door, and pranced off into the street.

Penny finished her work for the day and, leaving the shop clean and ready for the next morning, went upstairs for a light supper before setting off for Wightman and Sons. She didn’t expect too many people would be at the evening visitation for Emma, just a few old friends, and that was how it turned out. The rector and his wife, Bronwyn, were acting as unofficial family, greeting the few people who had dropped in. Penny quietly made the rounds, speaking briefly and politely with everyone, and then made her way home for a quiet cup of cocoa and an hour or so struggling to concentrate on a library book as her thoughts kept drifting back to Emma and the meaning of a life fulfilled. And, as waves of grief began to wash over her, she realized how dearly she would miss her friend because as of today, her own life had begun to move slowly forward, leaving Emma frozen in the past.

And then she smiled as she thought how Emma would have enjoyed hearing about the bridesmaids’ shoes.