Page 34 of A Curious Ending

‘But how could this be linked to Lady Porter’s death?’ Lara wanted to know.

‘It is too early to say. However, I think we should ask Mrs M about the service when we visit Gillmore House and we should explore Meissen tea services on the googley machine.’

Lara managed to turn her laugh into a cough.

Abby then tied her apron strings more securely around her. ‘But for now,’ she said in her high-handed way, ‘I really think it is time we did some work. These flowers won’t arrange themselves you know.’

Lara opened the door and ushered Abby in with a mock bow. Which did nothing to improve Mrs Sutton’s opinion of her, as it was at this moment she happened to emerge from the shop.

Abby thoroughly enjoyed her afternoon among the flowers. It appeared that wearing the shop apron had gone to her head. As Lara served customers, Abby butted in with her own suggestions and ideas. At one point, Lara could not stop herself from exclaiming: ‘Will you sit down!’ which took Becky somewhat by surprise. Lara only just managed to get away with it as there was a customer’s Jack Russell in the shop at the time. Neither the customer nor the Jack Russell looked particularly impressed with her explanation. When closing time came, Lara realised she was actually looking forward to seeing Sarah as she knew it would involve a glass of wine and it would at least get Abby out of her shop.

Chapter 18

Sarah’s delicatessen, The Pepper Tree, was on St Jude’s Hill, a cobbled street that ran down into the Market Square. The street was edged on both sides by narrow gulleys that were now flowing with fast running water from the recent rain. The thoroughfare was quiet and all the shops were shut. Making their way up the street, Lara spotted the figure of Jason Honeybourne hurrying across the road at the top of the hill that ran at right angles to it. A few seconds later the figure of Richard Porter passed the same way. His head was down and for once his bouffant hair was plastered to his head, pressed flat by the wind. It struck Lara that he might be trying to catch up with Jason.

Abby followed her gaze. ‘Now I wonder where they are off to in such a hurry.’ Conversationally she continued, ‘Have you ever noticed that there are some men who are short but it is the very last thing you notice about them? My grandfather was one such man,’ Abby reflected, ‘and indeed Thomas the gardener is too.’

Lara interrupted, momentarily distracted, ‘Is he? Somehow I imagined a tall, gangly man.’

‘Oh no, very short and very bent,’ Abby informed her. ‘On the other hand, there are some short men who take their lack of stature as a personal affront and try to fill the physical gap between themselves and their peers with bluster and loud words. Unfortunately for them, their height is often one of the first things one notices about them. In this respect I suspect Richard Porter to be an extremely short man.’

By now, they had reached the entrance to Sarah’s shop, so Lara only grunted her agreement.

There was a broad slate stepping-stone over the gulley just in front of the deli’s wooden and glass door. The door was painted the deep red of cooked peppers, and this is how the shop had got its name. Sarah had changed almost everything else about the shop after she bought it, but had kept the door colour and now, ten years on, considered it her lucky colour. The checked tea towel she wore to tie her hair back was in the same colour red.

On each side of the door was a large window into the shop. On one side the window gave a view of a long counter packed with cheeses, hams, savoury tarts and large bowls filled with freshly made pesto, hummus and guacamole. On the other side were a number of small wooden tables. The chairs around the tables were painted in a mixture of Mediterranean colours, from deep orange to purple to azure blue. A low unit of shelves at the end of the shop was stacked with terracotta pottery edged with a shiny white glaze. This glaze was decorated with red chillis and peppers. Wine goblets in blue and green glass were lined up alongside the piles of plates and bowls. On top of the low shelf unit was an old-fashioned display cabinet made of wood and glass. On the glass shelves were arranged several cakes. There was a large coffee cake, a pile of blush pink meringues and a chocolate cake so dark it was the colour of blackberries. There was also a small silver tray filled with glossy Florentines. The shop was empty and the lights had been turned down low, but a candle was burning on one of the tables. Beside it were three wine glasses.

Lara looked at Abby questioningly. ‘Maybe Mrs M is joining us?’ she guessed.

‘Or maybe Sarah is going to offer me a glass of wine,’ Abby said with more hope than expectation.

Lara knocked gently on the window and immediately a door at the back of the deli opened and Sarah came hurrying forward. She still had a tea towel tied in her hair, and she was still smiling. Exactly how Abby remembered her from her visit to the flower shop. Lara, however, was no longer smiling. She had just seen another figure emerge into the shop behind Sarah. It was the woman she had seen going into the coffee shop with Sarah on the day of the rainstorm – Kate, the local hairdresser. Abby caught sight of Lara’s expression of ludicrous dismay and tutted, ‘Lara will you please pull yourself together. You are not a child going to visit the dentist. You are a grown woman. Remember Lady Porter. And remember your mother’s advice.’

‘Yes, I know, do the right, bloody thing,’ Lara said under her breath. But she did manage to turn and smile at Sarah as she opened the door. Why was it that she felt outnumbered? Then she remembered she had her own Kindred Spirit and she suddenly felt braver.

‘Come in,’ Sarah said, ushering Lara across the threshold and locking the door behind them. ‘Do you know Kate?’ she asked, introducing her friend. Kate looked about the same age as Sarah – early thirties – but there the similarities ended. While Sarah’s colouring was strawberry blond with fair skin and freckles, everything about Kate was dark. She had black hair that fell in waves down her back, deep olive skin and dark brown eyes under beautifully shaped black brows. She wore her clothes with an off-hand, stylish grace and looked like something between a festival-goer and a Russian princess. Abby thought it an unusual but attractive combination. Kate reminded her of someone, but she could not, for the moment, place who it was.

Lara nodded. ‘You’re a hairdresser, aren’t you? I’ve heard lots of great things about your…’ At this point Lara got tongue-tied, ‘about your… hair,’ she finished lamely.

Abby rolled her eyes.

Kate looked nonplussed. ‘Thanks,’ she muttered.

‘Right let’s get a drink,’ said Sarah with forced gusto.

Lara began to wonder why she had come. She wished she had followed her own instincts – rather than a ghost’s. She threw Abby a reproachful look, but she was currently occupied studying the display of cakes. She glanced at Kate and was surprised to see a look of mulish resignation on her face. It occurred to her that Kate was feeling and thinking exactly the same thing she was. At that moment Kate caught her eye and despite herself Lara smiled with genuine warmth.

Kate grinned back. ‘So, who do you know whose hair I do?’ Kate asked with a slight trace of an Irish accent.

‘Didn’t you used to visit Lady Porter?’ Lara said.

Kate shut her mouth like a trap. All the camaraderie of the last few seconds dissipated. Sarah, who had just finished pouring three glasses of wine, looked searchingly at Lara and then at Kate. It appeared she had come to a decision. ‘Right you two, come and sit down. The three of us need to talk.’

Abby sat herself down at a neighbouring table, wishing there had been space for a fourth chair at Lara’s table. Still, she contented herself with tucking her apron comfortingly around her and got ready to listen.

‘I called in to see Mrs M,’ Sarah began, taking a sip of her wine. ‘She said you’d been round to talk about Lady Porter and that you’d been asking about her death.’

She got no further. Kate was behaving in the most peculiar manner. She was leaning forward in her chair, holding both knees with her hands. She started to rock back and forward on the seat.