Outside were a jaunty chocolate Labrador with a bunch of yellow roses in his mouth, and a very pretty teenager with a round pink face, blonde hair drawn back in a ponytail, large suspicious pale turquoise eyes fringed by thick blonde lashes, a tiny nose and a full, sweet but determined mouth. She was wearing a dark blue man’s sweater, which hung to the knees of her ripped jeans. Not as tall but older than Trixie, Etta thought, putting her at fifteen.
Her manner was formal, her voice piercing, as she announced: ‘Welcome to Willowwood, Mrs Bancroft. My name is Dora Belvedon. This is Cadbury who has brought you some flowers.’
But as the beaming Labrador proffered a fat paw, he reminded Etta so much of Bartlett’s last moment that she burst into tears.
‘I’m so sorry,’ cried Dora, ‘you poor thing. After death and divorce they say moving house is the most stressful experience and you’ve had both.’
Ushering Etta back into the bungalow, Dora handed her a piece of kitchen roll and made her a cup of coffee into which she tipped a large slug of Alan’s brandy, as Etta explained about Bartlett.
‘I miss her so much, she gave a paw like Cadbury. I wanted to get a puppy. There must be such lovely walks round here, but my grandson Drummond is allergic to dogs.’
Forbearing to say that most of Willowwood was allergic to Drummond, Dora said Etta could walk Cadbury whenever she wanted.
‘Why don’t you come for a walk with us now to cheer you up? I’ll tell you who everyone is.’ Then, looking at the clock: ‘It’s at least an hour and a half before you pick up your grandchildren from school. You don’t really need a coat,’ Dora helped a submissive Etta into a Barbour and wrapped a blue and white striped scarf round her neck, ‘but people feel the cold at times of stress.’
‘You are kind. Where d’you live?’ asked Etta.
‘I’m staying with Joyce Painswick,’ said Dora. ‘She was school secretary at Bagley Hall, where Trixie your granddaughter and I go, but she’s recently retired to Ivy Cottage, just up the road. Perhaps you could go to the cinema together. She seems a dragon but she’s got a heart of gold. I can’t live at home at the moment. My mother’s very high maintenance and is on the hunt for a new backer.’
Rather like Blanche, thought Etta with a shiver.
Crossing the wooden bridge over the rushing stream, on reaching the road Dora turned right towards the village. Parked all along the verge were vehicles whose owners were working on Badger’s Court. Two lorries had stopped outside the gates for a gossip, blocking the road to the fury of a stout bald man with a bristling moustache who was driving a very clean Rover.
When hysterical tooting failed, he leapt out and started shouting, only pausing to shake his fist at Cadbury, who was lifting his leg on a sign saying ‘Valent Edwards apologizes for any inconvenience caused during construction’.
Dora giggled and ushered Etta past the furore. ‘That’s Major Cunliffe who lives in the village. A recently retired bank manager who’s got himself on every committee. He’s known as Nosy Parking because he’s always making a fuss about cars parking in front of his gates or sticking out two inches into the high street.
‘Now Badger’s Court,’ Dora tucked her arm through Etta’s, ‘has been bought by Valent Edwards, Mr Attractive and Affordable. That stands for the cheap but nice-looking houses he sells in their millions to first-time buyers. He keeps inventing things. He’s working on a new fuel to replace gas and electricity and something else to abolish waste. He’s got a company called Small Print, which explains contracts and things far quicker and cheaper than any lawyer, and another one setting up care homes with people “of one’s own class”, as my mother would say. His wife died in the Cotchester train crash three years ago, but he’s just shacked up with Bonny Richards who’s half his age so all the men are drooling.
‘You’ll notice not a blade of grass on the verge, because of locals climbing up to gawp over the wall. Valent’s arrival has caused intense excitement in Willowwood.’
As Dora and Etta peered in through the vast heraldic gates, the big house seemed to gaze out over the rubble with an air of expectancy, awaiting her new owners.
‘Cadbury adores the workmen.’ Dora let the dog off his lead so he went