The Cold Light of Mourning - By Elizabeth J. Duncan Page 0,17
Anne hurried into the lounge as Jennifer, with a hopeful wave, set off on the short walk to the Happy Hands manicure shop.
The lounge was empty and Anne chose a table just inside the entrance. A few minutes later she got up, went through to the dining room, and asked if three coffees could be delivered in about ten minutes. Sinking slowly back into her seat, she held her hands out in front of her and studied her nails. A moment later she jumped up, walked over to the window, and looked up and down the street.
As she was about to return to her seat, Mrs. Thompson, looking as drab as the baggy, camel-coloured trousers and loose beige top she was wearing, entered the lounge looking about her like a timid child who has crept fearfully downstairs after dark to see what the grown-ups are doing. Clearly very upset, she placed a hand on Anne’s arm, and looked up at her.
“What on earth could be holding her up?” she asked softly, her eyes wide with alarm. “Do you think something has happened to her?”
“Course not, Mrs. Thompson,” said Anne in what she hoped was a reassuringly light tone. “She’ll just have gone out for a pair of tights or something like that. You’ll see. She’ll be back any minute.”
Meg Wynne’s mother, who seemed diminished in the bright light from the tall windows, nodded and then, seeming to take comfort from Anne’s words, pulled herself together.
“I think I’ll just walk around the town for a bit and see if I can spot her,” she said. “After all, it’s not a very big place, is it, and she can’t have gone far.”
“That’s a good idea,” said Anne heartily. “And we’ll let you know just as soon we hear anything.”
Mrs. Thompson hesitated.
“I just feel I’d rather be doing something. I’m feeling so anxious just waiting around. And I don’t want to be alone in that room.”
More like she doesn’t want to be alone in the room when that drunken brute of a husband gets back, thought Anne. God, what a way to live.
Mrs. Thompson slipped out of the room as invisibly as she had entered it.
A few minutes later, Emyr arrived, looking mildly flustered, but in control. Anne stood up to hug him and before they could speak, a waiter arrived with a pot of coffee. As they sat down and prepared to pour it, Jennifer bounded into the room.
“You don’t need to tell me, Jennifer; I can tell from the look on your face,” Anne said.
Jennifer shook her head and swallowed. “I spoke to the manicurist. Meg Wynne arrived on time, had the manicure, left, and that’s all there was to it,” she said. “Good job I got there when I did, though. She was just closing for the afternoon.” Turning to Emyr, she continued, “We’re worried, Emyr. It’s simply not like her to disappear like this, without saying anything to anyone. You must see that.”
Emyr took a sip of coffee and gently placed the cup back on the saucer.
“Honestly, Jennifer, I think you’re overreacting. She could be anywhere, doing just about anything. It hasn’t been that long, has it?”
The two girls looked at each other, and then Anne put into words what each had been thinking.
“Emyr, was everything all right between the two of you last night? You didn’t have a row or anything, did you? I know it’s an awful thing to think, let alone ask, but do you think she could have changed her mind, and just, well, bolted? Done a runner?”
Emyr looked so startled and then, a look of such dismay flashed across his face, that Anne was almost sorry she had suggested it.
“No, honestly, everything was fine,” he said. “She wasn’t getting cold feet or anything like that. I’m as puzzled as you are by all this, but I think she’s just been delayed somewhere and she’ll be back any minute.
“So I think you two should carry on, get your hair done, and get dressed, or do whatever it is girls are supposed to do before a wedding, and we’ll all just go ahead with everything and stick to the plan. What else can we do?”
He looked from one to the other.
“David’s gone to sort out a problem with the buttonholes—they were supposed to have a Gruffydd ribbon on them and they didn’t so he’s over the road at the florist’s waiting while they put that right. Shouldn’t take too long.”