The Cold Light of Mourning - By Elizabeth J. Duncan Page 0,13
have to get my face ready for bed now, but before you run along, let’s just go over the arrangements again for the morning. I’m getting my nails done at nine, so I should be back here by about ten, and the hairdresser is coming at eleven, so why don’t we all meet here at, say, ten-thirty to start getting ready? But we’ll change later.
“I’m having an early breakfast in my room because I want to go running. Be sure to bring the checklist and all the planning details, Jennifer, so we can make sure everything is buttoned down.
“Right, off you go. Emyr’s going to ring any minute now to say good night, so I’ll see you in the morning.”
She started to turn away, but remembering the burgundy leather case, held it out to them.
“You’re still dressed … would you mind awfully walking this downstairs and asking them to put it in the safe? And here,” she added, handing them another small box, “might as well keep everything together and give them this one, too. It’s the hair clip.”
Jennifer and Anne closed the door quietly behind them, just as Meg Wynne’s mobile rang. They smiled at each other and started to make their way down the hushed corridor. But as Meg Wynne’s voice from behind the closed door got louder, they stopped and looked at each other.
“No, I don’t want to do that,” they heard her say in a raised voice.
As she broke off, apparently to listen to her caller, Anne and Jennifer, uncomfortable with overhearing what was obviously a private conversation heading into confrontational territory, set off again on their errand, each holding a small box of Meg Wynne’s jewellery like magi in a Christmas pageant.
Five
Meg Wynne woke early and stretched luxuriously under the light warmth of a summer duvet. She had slept soundly, and was enjoying the sense of well being that a good night’s rest often brings until the real world intrudes. This morning, however, felt different and after a moment, she smiled as she remembered it was her wedding day.
Dressing quickly in her running gear, she let herself out of her room and quietly made her way downstairs. The night porter was sitting sleepily behind his desk with a cup of tea and a morning paper as she dropped off her key and made her way out into the cool freshness of a June morning.
After stopping briefly to do a few limbering stretches, she struck off at a fast walk across the square in the direction of the old three-arched bridge that spanned the River Conwy. Forty minutes later, damp with exertion and her face flushed from the intensity of her exercise, she passed by the desk, picked up her key, and returned to her room.
As she stepped out of the shower, a light tap at the door announced the arrival of her breakfast: vanilla yogurt, tea with lemon, a slice of unbuttered whole wheat toast, and half a grapefruit.
Bundled in a soft white towelling robe, her long legs tucked under her and a towel wrapped turban-style over her wet hair, she sipped her tea while looking over her list of things still to be done. She and Emyr had assigned tasks to every member of the wedding party, and the morning would be busy for all of them. She crossed off a few items, added a few more, and then sat quietly for a moment. As the expression on her face changed from one of contemplation to troubled determination, she walked over to the desk, picked up a yellow notepad, and returned to her chair. She began to write, confidently and quickly.
When she had finished, she re-read what she had written and gazed thoughtfully in the direction of the window. Then, with a small, resolute sigh, she folded the paper in half and tore it into small pieces as she walked over to the wastepaper basket. Opening her hand above it, she released a short shower of jagged pieces of yellow paper that fluttered gracefully into the bin. After a quick glance at her watch she began to get dressed and at twenty minutes to nine she set off to keep her appointment.
Promptly at nine the door to the Happy Hands manicure salon opened and Penny looked up as a beautifully groomed young woman entered. Penny smiled, stepped forward to greet her customer, and ushered her into the shop.
“You must be Miss Thompson. Please, have a seat. I’ve been looking forward to meeting you.”