Aunt Bessie's Holiday (17 page)

Bessie looked over at Doona.
 
“I’m ready to go, but I can walk back by
myself if you want to stay a little bit longer.”

“I think I’ll stay for a short while,” Doona
told her.
 
“I’ve just about done and
I’d like to finish.”

Bessie looked at her friend’s picture.
 
It was much better than Bessie’s, and
she could see why Doona wanted to stay.
 
“If mine looked like that, I’d stay, too,” she told Doona.
 
“I’ll see you back at the cabin.”

“I’ll walk back with you,” Andrew
offered.
 
“I gave up on mine about
twenty minutes ago anyway.”

Bessie looked over at Andrew’s board.
 
His vase looked like a shoebox and his
flowers didn’t look very healthy at all.

“I had fun,” he told Bessie with a wink.
 
“And that’s all that matters.”

“I can’t argue with that,” Bessie told
him.
 
She tore her last picture off
her easel and then carefully put all three of her sketches into her handbag.
 

“Thank you so much for coming,” Andrea told
them both.
 
“I hope you enjoyed
yourselves.
 
You’re more than
welcome to take the class again.
 
If
you do, we can work on more advanced techniques.”

“Once is enough for me,” Andrew
replied.
 
“Although I think Bessie
shows promise.”

“I think Doona’s the one with the talent,” Bessie
replied.
 
“Anyway, we’re trying
watercolours next.
 
Do you teach
that as well?”

“Oh, no, sorry,” Andrea said.
 
“That’s Mai’s class now.”

Something in her tone made Bessie
curious.
 
“Mai Stratton?” she
asked.
 
“I thought she was guest
services manager.”

“Oh, she is,”
Andrea
replied.
 
“But she wanted to teach
the watercolour class too and, well, whatever Mai wants, she gets.”

“Why?” Bessie had to ask.

Andrea shook her head.
 
“Let’s just say she was very close to
the general manager, shall we?” she replied.
 

“She had an affair with Charles?” Doona
asked.

Andrea shook her head.
 
“It wasn’t that,” she said.
 
“I always thought Mai knew something
about him that he didn’t want anyone else to know.
 
But I mustn’t speak ill of the dead.”

Doona pressed her lips together and went
back to her drawing.
 
Bessie thought
about staying.

“I can wait for you,” she said tentatively
to her friend.

“No, you go,”
Doona
said.
 
“I’m fine.”

“Let’s go, then,” Andrew suggested, offering
Bessie his arm.

“You haven’t taken your last sketch,” Andrea
reminded him.

Andrew looked at his easel and shook his
head.
 
“I don’t really think I need
it.”

“You should take it and give it to your
grandson,” Bessie suggested.
 
“You
could tell him how hard you worked on it and how you’d love it if he’d frame it
and hang it in his house.”

“What a splendid idea,” Andrew said,
laughing.
 
He carefully tore the
drawing off the easel and rolled it up.

“I have cardboard tubes if you would like
one,” Andrea offered.

“Oh, yes, definitely,” Andrew said.
 
“I might even wrap it up and give it to
him as a special present.”

With his sketch safely inside the cardboard
tube, Andrew offered his arm to Bessie again.
 
“Shall we?”

Bessie grinned.
 
“Let’s.”

Nancy and Jack were still busily putting the
finishing touches on their drawings, so Bessie and Andrew walked out by
themselves.

“All kidding aside, that was much more
enjoyable than I expected,” he told Bessie as they walked slowly around the
lake.

“Andrea is a very talented instructor,”
Bessie said.
 
“I felt like I learned
an awful lot in a very short time.”

“She seemed quite sad about Charles’s death
as well,” Andrew commented.
 

Bessie could feel his eyes on her, but she
kept hers turned towards the lake.
 
“I’m sure everyone is sad about that,” she replied.

“I understand Doona was his wife,” he said.

“Ex-wife,” Bessie amended.
 
“But she didn’t know he was here and she
wouldn’t have come if she had known.”

“Are you quite sure about all of that?”
Andrew asked.

Bessie looked at him in surprise.
 
“I’m very sure,” she said firmly, trying
to read the look on the man’s face.
 

“Perhaps you should have a long talk with
your friend,” he said after an awkward pause.

Bessie was going to argue, but another
thought crossed her mind.
 
“Who’s
been telling you about Doona, then?” she asked.

“I have various connections,” he answered
vaguely.
  
They were nearly at
the village centre, having just reached the ice cream stand where their early
morning walk had begun.
 
Now,
however, the stand was open and a short queue of families with small children
was waiting patiently for frozen treats.

“Let’s get ice cream,” Andrew suggested.

“It’s nearly dinner time,” Bessie pointed
out.

“So?”

“I don’t want to spoil my dinner,” Bessie
replied.

“Why ever not?” Andrew demanded.
 
“You’re on holiday.
 
You can have something light for dinner
if you aren’t properly hungry after the ice cream, or, more likely, you’ll
discover that you can still manage a proper meal after a small treat.”

“I never have pudding first,” Bessie said,
feeling slightly ridiculous.

“Well, once in a while, you should,” Andrew
said firmly.
 
He took her arm and
led her to the end of the queue.
 
Bessie spent the waiting time dithering back and forth as to whether she
was actually going to get anything or not, but once it was their turn, she
found she couldn’t resist.

“Just a very small cone,” she told the man
behind the counter.
 
“Vanilla, no,
strawberry, no, vanilla.”
 
She
sighed and looked at Andrew.
 
“I
love both flavours,” she said apologetically.

“She’ll have two scoops,” he told the
man.
 
“One each of vanilla and
strawberry.
 
I’ll have the same, but
with vanilla and chocolate.”

Bessie thought about arguing, but changed
her mind.
 
Andrew’s solution was a
sensible one and the ice cream looked really delicious when the man passed it
over the counter to her.
 
Andrew
insisted on paying, and again Bessie didn’t argue.

Bessie tried first one and then the other of
her scoops and sighed happily.
 
“They’re both really good,” she exclaimed.
 

“I thought they would be,” Andrew
replied.
 
“We visited the stand
after lunch this afternoon and I thought the ice cream was exceptionally good.”

“You already had ice cream today?” Bessie
asked.

“I did,” Andrew told her, his eyes
twinkling.
 
“Am I in trouble for
having too much fun on my holiday?”

Bessie flushed.
 
“I’m sorry.
 
Of course it isn’t my place to tell you
what to do.
 
I was just surprised,
that’s all.”

“I don’t usually eat ice cream twice a day,”
he said.
 
“But I do think holidays
are for indulging oneself, don’t you?”

“I suppose so,” Bessie said.
 
She lived on the beach, in what many
considered the perfect holiday spot, and she’d never held a paying job.
 
Therefore, Bessie rarely actually took
holidays, feeling as if she had nothing that she needed to take a break
from.
 
The idea of indulging herself
the way Andrew meant felt somewhat foreign to her.

“I’ve never really grown up properly,”
Andrew whispered to her.
 
“In spite
of serving in the armed forces and working my way up in the police, I still
feel like a small child inside.
 
If
I can get away with ice cream twice a day, I’m going to take advantage.”

“Good for you,” Bessie said, feeling as if
she could learn a lot from the man’s attitude.
 

They’d reached the bridge when they’d played
Poohsticks the previous day.
 

“Let’s sit for a while,” Andrew suggested,
gesturing towards a bench that faced out towards the sea.

“I sat on one of these benches earlier today
and it wasn’t very comfortable,” Bessie told him.

“Just a few minutes, then,” he replied.

Bessie sat down and stretched her feet
out.
 
She hadn’t realised how tired
she was.
 
She’d alternated between
sitting
and standing in the class, but she’d been on her
feet more than she was used to.
 
In
spite of the uncomfortable bench, it felt really good to sit down.

The pair sat in silence for a short time,
watching a few men and women in kayaks chasing one another around the small
lake.
 
Bessie finished her ice cream
and crunched her way through the cone.
 
Beside her, Andrew was doing the same.
 

“I love being around water,” Andrew told
her.

“I live on the sea,” Bessie replied.
 
“This lake doesn’t feel quite right.”

“I’ve always wanted to live on the sea,”
Andrew said wistfully.
 
“We were in London,
or rather the suburbs of London, for many years.
 
I sold the house when my wife passed
away and I bought a tiny flat in the city.
 
I have a distant view of the Thames, which isn’t exactly the same as a
sea view.”

“You should come and visit the Isle of Man,”
Bessie told him.
 
“As the island is
only thirteen miles across, you’re never far from the sea.”

“I was there many years ago,” he said.
 
“During the war, actually.
 
I don’t remember much about it.
 
It was just another place I was briefly
stationed.
 
Perhaps I will visit one
day.”

“There are holiday cottages a short distance
down the beach from my cottage,” Bessie told him.
 
“You could hire as many as you need and
your whole family could come.
 
You’d
be right on the water.”

“I’d like that,” Andrew said, staring out at
the lake.
 
“Bessie, you seem like a
good person.
 
I’ve talked at length
with John Rockwell and he can’t say enough good things about you.
 
Please, if you feel like you need any
help, let me know.”

“I assume you mean with the murder
investigation,” Bessie said.

“With that and with anything else that might
happen while you’re here,” he said.
 
“The investigation is a worry, as Doona could be a suspect, but a bigger
worry, as far as I’m concerned anyway, is the murderer.”

“You think he or she might target Doona
next?” Bessie asked, suddenly afraid for her friend.

“I don’t know why Charles was killed,”
Andrew said.
 
“It could have nothing
whatsoever to do with Doona.
 
Or she
could be right in the middle of the whole mess.
 
I just know I’ll feel better when
Inspector Hopkins has someone behind bars.”

“As long as she gets the right person,”
Bessie said tartly.

“She struck me as a smart lady,” he told
her.
 
“And this is a high profile
case.
 
She’ll be under pressure to
solve it quickly, but she’ll be very careful as well.”

“I hope you’re right about that.”

Andrew reached into a pocket and pulled out
a scrap of paper.
 
“My mobile
number,” he told Bessie as he handed her the sheet.
 
“I meant what I said.
 
Ring me if you need help.”

Bessie nodded and stuck the slip of paper in
her pocket.
 
“I should give you my
number as well,” she said.
 
She dug
around in her handbag for a pen and a scrap of paper.
 

“Here,” she said when she’d finished writing
out a slip for him.
 
“There’s my
mobile number as well as my address and phone number at home in case you want
to get in touch about a holiday on the island.”