Framed in Cornwall - Janie Bolitho Page 0,13

on preparing a tray of canapés. ‘I won’t be long,’ she said, ‘but you can use the bathroom first.’

Bradley went upstairs anticipating an excellent meal.

As he shaved for the second time that day and got ready to receive their guests he mentally listed the deals he had made during his visit to the West Country and calculated how much money they would make. The Cornish, he thought, are a strange lot. But strangest of all had been the time he had spent in the company of Dorothy Pengelly.

3

Rose intended making a start on the wild flower sketches after she had seen Dorothy. She drove out of Penzance and joined the dual carriageway, taking a left at the roundabout.

The rain had eased off but the road was still wet and drops of moisture clung to the long grass in the verges, glittering in the sunshine. Behind her was St Michael’s Mount, Rose caught a glimpse of it in her rear mirror, and around her was countryside. It would be a nice day after all. But something was wrong, Rose knew it. David had once said she was more superstitious than the Cornish and that her sixth sense was developed enough for her to be classed as one of them. Please let him be wrong, she prayed as she neared Dorothy’s house.

There was no ferocious barking from George as she swung into the drive nor did Dorothy come to the door at the sound of the Mini’s engine. A car passed on the main road, but other than that there was silence. Not even a bird sang. Anxiety gripped her as she approached the front door. On the grass to one side of her a crow, busy shredding something with its beak, paused to glance at her then hopped a few paces away before flying off. The front door was slightly ajar. Rose stopped, her heart beating faster. She could hear something now, some faint sound coming from within the house. It might have been someone in pain. At least she would be able to do something about it if Dorothy had fallen over. She knocked and called out but there was no response. Pushing open the door she called again. ‘Dorothy? It’s me. Rose.’

The sounds were coming from the kitchen. Rose hurried towards them then stood in the doorway trying to make sense of the scene before her. Dorothy lay on the floor, her head cradled in Martin’s lap. It was Martin she had heard. He was gently rocking his mother and making crooning noises as tears ran down his face. Star was asleep in her basket and George, normally so volatile, whimpered quietly, curled up in Dorothy’s armchair.

‘What’s happened? What’s happened to her?’ Martin asked Rose, seeming unsurprised to see her there.

‘I don’t know, Martin. Have you called an ambulance?’

He shook his head. Rose quickly took over. She bent over Dorothy and touched her. She was stone cold and her eyes were slits, the half-moons of her irises dull. Dorothy Pengelly was dead. Rose knew that at once. It was too late for an ambulance but she was not qualified to presume that. She rang for one anyway. Mike Phillips, she thought, Mike who had cared for David, he would tell her what she ought to do. No wonder Dorothy had been pale the other day, she had obviously been ill. Too late, Rose wished she had taken Jack’s advice and sent a doctor anyway.

One of the hospital switchboard operators bleeped Mike and he came to the phone quickly, knowing that Rose would not disturb him unless it was necessary.

‘Mike. My friend … Dorothy … oh, Mike, she’s dead.’

‘Stay calm, Rose. Have you rung for an ambulance?’

‘Yes.’

‘Who’s her GP?’

‘She doesn’t have one.’

‘Look, I think you ought to call the police as well. The paramedics’ll probably do it anyway. If she’s always been fit the police surgeon will want to take a look at her.’

‘Thanks, Mike.’ Rose replaced the receiver feeling stupid to have telephoned but it had been reassuring just speaking to him.

Martin had not moved, he was still rocking Dorothy. She wondered whether she ought to make him some strong sweet tea but felt a sense of repugnance at the idea of moving around Dorothy’s kitchen and using her things whilst she lay there on the floor.

It seemed a long time until she heard a vehicle turn into the driveway although it could not have been more than a few minutes. The police arrived first. She had contacted Camborne