The Cold Light of Mourning - By Elizabeth J. Duncan Page 0,65

would the next step be?”

“I suggest two songs, the first as the guests are arriving, and the second toward the end of the service. I can pick the songs for you, if you wish. I can easily find something appropriate or we can discuss it. Did your father have a favourite song, or is there something that reminds you of him?”

When he didn’t answer right away, she added, “Maybe you’d like to think about it and I could call back tomorrow.”

“That would be fine, thank you. If I’m not here, I’ll leave a note or a message with Gwennie.” As he turned to go, Gwennie put her hand on his arm.

“You’ve had a couple of calls, Mr. Emyr. David Williams called from London to say he’d be arriving tonight and that he isn’t sure yet if Anne and Jennifer will be coming but he thinks they will.”

“Thanks, Gwennie.”

“May I get you a cup of tea?” she asked him. “Are you hungry? Would you like anything?”

He shook his head.

“No, thank you, Gwennie. I think I’ll just get on with things. I’ll be in the office if anybody needs me.” He nodded at the two women. “Right then,” he said, and after thanking Victoria again, was gone.

Gwennie looked at Victoria, and smiled.

“How about you, then? Another cuppa?”

“Yes, please,” said Victoria. “And just to be sure, Gwennie, when is the funeral, exactly?

“Wednesday at two. And Mr. Rhys’s favourite song, by the way, was ‘The Way You Look Tonight.’ His wife, that’s Mr. Emyr’s mother, was a great beauty, and I think that’s why he admired Miss Thompson. That, and he must have seen something in her that apparently no one else did.”

They continued to chat and Victoria finally got what she came for: a natural break in the conversation when she could ask her question seamlessly and logically.

“It must have been very busy here the morning of the wedding. How on earth did you keep track of where everybody was?”

Gwennie settled back in her chair, crossed her legs, and picked up her teacup.

“I couldn’t,” she said. “There was just that much going on. They were having all kinds of fun, the boys were. Someone even tied a red handkerchief on Trixxi and very fetching she looked.”

At the sound of her name Trixxi turned toward Gwennie, and two pairs of dark brown eyes filled with adoration.

Twenty-two

Tell me again,” said Penny as she arranged a new duvet on the small wrought-iron bed in the box room while Victoria set up a lamp on the bedside table.

They had decided to do up the small, windowless room in white and now, with a few strategic splashes of accent colour, it looked just like something you might see in an American style magazine, they were telling themselves. It could easily pass for a guest bedroom in a Cape Cod summer house. All it lacked was an ocean view.

“The first thing that happened was Emyr came in with the dog and we talked about the funeral arrangements. He seemed very unsure but Gwennie kind of talked him into it. And then she said something like, ‘David Williams called from London to say he’d be arriving tonight and that he didn’t know if Anne and Jennifer will be coming but thought they would.’ I wasn’t sure what it meant, but figured you’d know. And, really, that’s about the only thing that happened, apart from the dog bolting in and getting a biscuit. She so loves that dog.

“Oh, and Mr. Gruffydd’s funeral’s on Wednesday at two, but you would have got that from the paper.”

Penny glanced at her, nodded, and went into the kitchen. She returned a few minutes later with a neat beige file folder and sat down on the bed while Victoria pulled up a chair they had brought up from the salon and faced her.

Opening the file, Penny sifted through a small pile of newspaper cuttings and held one up.

“Here he is. David Williams. From London and best man for Emyr Gruffydd. He acted as the family’s spokesman when Meg Wynne went missing. Anne and Jennifer were the bridesmaids.”

She put the cutting back in the file and looked at Victoria thoughtfully.

“David Williams. Emyr Gruffydd. And what’s the other one’s name?”

“Robbie Llewellyn.”

“Right. I wish Emma were here. She would have known all three of them as children, and she’d have some good insight into the men they are now. ‘Give me the boy and I’ll show you the man,’ she used to say. She used to be able to