The Cold Light of Mourning - By Elizabeth J. Duncan Page 0,57
in women who have to work during the day.”
Penny looked at her thoughtfully.
“You’re probably right. I’ve been thinking about making some changes. But for now, let’s have lunch. And while we’re doing that, I think I know where we need to start. We need to find out who that woman was who took Meg Wynne’s manicure. She’s involved in this. She has to know something. Maybe a lot.”
Victoria thought this over for a moment.
“Unless, of course, somebody was using her and she didn’t know what she was part of. Maybe somebody told her it was a wedding prank. But you’re right. Let’s cherchez la femme.”
“Right,” said Penny, “That’s what we’ll do. But first, let’s cherchez my lunch. And after that, let’s get you sorted out.”
“Sorted out?” asked Victoria.
“Well, if you want to stay on a bit longer—and you’re welcome to—I thought it might be a good idea if we cleared out the box room and put you in there. We can even paint it and make it really nice. Decorate it up a bit. What do you think?”
Victoria smiled gratefully at her.
“That would be wonderful. My cousin has been very kind, but she does have three teenagers, and it gets a bit noisy. Also, my being there meant one of the kids had to give up her bed, and really I was just in the way. And I’m in no hurry to get back to London. In fact, I’ve been thinking I’d quite like to relocate here. In many ways, London’s for the young.” After a moment, she added, “In any event, it’s not for me anymore.”
“Well, that’s settled, then,” said Penny. “But while we’re having lunch, and before we get to the main mystery, why don’t you tell me what you’re really doing here?”
“Oh, that’s easy,” said Victoria. “I’m getting over a bad divorce. There’s a fair bit of money tied up in London real estate and I can’t move on with my life until it’s all settled.”
“A bad divorce,” mused Penny. “When you think about it, is there any other kind?”
Victoria shrugged.
“The scary thing is, it’s not easy starting over at my age.” Her eyes gave Penny a quick once-over and she smiled. “Our age.”
She thought for a moment, and then, making her decision, plunged in.
“I guess I’m a bit age sensitive because my husband left me for a younger woman, an American he met on a flight to New York. I can’t tell you how awful that made me feel.”
She covered her eyes with her hands for a moment and then continued.
“He had a good head for business and we did all right. More than all right, really. Beautiful home, wonderful vacations. It was all so perfect and then suddenly, it was over.”
“And you had no idea it was coming?” asked Penny gently.
“Looking back, of course there were signs but I suppose I was in denial. I didn’t really acknowledge that anything was wrong until it began to dawn on me that I couldn’t do anything right. Things that never bothered him before suddenly seemed to make him so upset and angry. Finally I realized that it wasn’t even about me, anymore.”
She sighed. “And then he left and well, here I am.”
“You’ve got your wonderful harp playing,” Penny said. “Tell me about that.”
The mention of music lifted Victoria’s mood instantly.
“I had a good business going there in London. Performed at upmarket events—embassy parties, fancy weddings, corporate do’s—that sort of thing. Even Clarence House a couple of times for the prince of Wales, I’ll have you know!
“But once I turned fifty most of the bookings dried up. I think they wanted someone younger to decorate the room, along with the music, if you see what I mean.”
“Well, we certainly don’t have any ageism here in Llanelen,” declared Penny. “If we did, we’d all be out of jobs. I’m sure once word gets around you’ll find yourself as busy as you want to be.”
Nineteen
On Saturday morning came the news that Rhys Gruffydd had died in his sleep. While the news was expected, his passing was met with sadness; he had been well liked and respected throughout the region, and people said he would be remembered as a fair employer who had done much over the years to help the poor. But as preparations began for his funeral, folks wondered how his son could possibly handle the deaths of the two persons dearest to him. It was nothing short of tragic for Emyr, they said, that his father and his