Five
Remember what I told you—no matter what happens, I will always love you.
A
Penny sighed, blew her nose, and added the tissue to the little pile on the sofa beside her. Then she scrunched them all up into a little ball, placed the soggy mess on the end table, and lay down on the sofa, the last letter in her hand.
So, Emma and Alys had been much more than friends. They’d been lovers and deeply in love.
She felt a wild and wide range of emotions. Immense sadness that Emma should have lost the one she loved, and great compassion that she should have had to live out the rest of her life alone, carrying what must have been an enormous, intense emotional burden.
But most of all Penny felt hurt and confused. She had known Emma for more than twenty years and had never heard of this Alys Jones. Not once had Emma mentioned her. Not one time. You think you know someone, she thought, but you don’t. You can’t, not really, not completely, because you can never know what went before—who she was before you tumbled into her life, with all your own emotional baggage and youthful dreams. And what of Emma? What must it have been like for her living with that enormous sexual secret all those years, unable to share it. And having to live day by day, never knowing who had robbed her of the one person she loved.
Penny picked up the bunch of tissues, along with the cup of cold tea and took them to the kitchen. As she set the cup in the sink, she was grateful to Victoria for leaving everything so clean and tidy. The dishes had been washed and set out on the counter to dry. Her gaze wandered to the Welsh dresser, and she walked over and stood in front of it looking at the tea set. She picked up a cup and, holding it by the handle, admired the delicate pattern of violets. Violets. A violet ribbon holding the letters. A bank of violets in the paintings. The paperweight she’d noticed yesterday in Emma’s bedroom with its little purple flowers.
As she stood in the old-fashioned kitchen, she realized that she hadn’t inherited just Emma’s home. She’d also inherited all the secrets that went with it. And to live in the cottage, she’d have to peel away all the layers of pain that hid and protected the secrets until she uncovered the darkest one of all.
She replaced the cup on the shelf, sighed, and looked at her watch. Deciding it was not too late to ring him, she went in search of her mobile.
“It’s me,” she said to his voice mail a few minutes later. “I need your help with something. I wonder if you can get some information on a hit-and-run accident for me. Please call me.”
“Of course I’m staggered that she was a lesbian and I never realized that,” Penny said to Gareth the next afternoon. “You’d think I would have picked up on that, but I didn’t. She certainly never made a pass at me, or whatever you’d call it. Never so much as laid a finger on my knee.” She looked down at the untouched scone, with its sad little raisins, sitting on a small plate. Idly she picked off a corner, raised it to her lips, then set it down, and pushed the plate away. She looked around the tearoom, with its low, beamed ceiling and whitewashed walls covered with old pictures of the town, platters, small wooden agricultural tools, and brass plates. Normally, afternoon tea in the Ivy was a treat, the warm biscuits sinfully slathered with unsalted butter, a spoonful of strawberry jam, and large dollops of clotted cream, but today, she was starting to think, it might have been a mistake to come.
He covered her hand with his.
“Look,” he said. “You’re beating yourself up over something that doesn’t matter. None of this changes how you feel about her.”
He leaned over to her.
“I think the problem is that you’re bringing your perspective and your point of view to her life and times. She was much older than you. She came from a different time, when it wasn’t okay to be homosexual. And I use that word deliberately because nobody was gay back then. Think about it. She was a schoolteacher in a small Welsh town! She couldn’t have been open about her relationship. It had to be a secret.” He thought for a moment, and then added, “It had to be a very big, dark secret. Homosexuality wasn’t even legal in this country until the late sixties. Well, that was for men, I don’t know about women.”
Penny started and withdrew her hand.
“That’s right,” Gareth continued. “Nineteen sixty-seven or sixty-eight. And remember, her sensibilities would have been different. She might have been confused or even ashamed by her feelings. Who knows?”
“But the one thing that really comes across in those letters,” said Penny, “is how much they loved each other. Really, it’s to be envied, having that kind of love in your life. So sad the way it ended, and that’s why I want to know everything I can about how her partner died.”
He couldn’t resist smiling at her. “Partner! Emma’d probably be rolling over in her grave if she heard you call her that.”
“Well, what then?” said Penny. “Lover? I don’t think she’d be too comfortable with that, either. Girlfriend?”
Gareth took a sip of his tea, replaced the cup in its saucer, and glanced at his watch.
“Sorry, love, but I’ve got to get over to Conwy by seven to help out at a community policing meeting. Tell me how I can help. What would you like me to do?”
Penny leaned forward.
“It’s about this hit-and-run accident.” She reached into her bag, pulled out her new notebook, and flipped over a few pages.
“Let me see. Here, it is. Alys Jones, killed in a hit-and-run accident, December 1970.”
She looked at him expectantly.
“Well?”
“And the rest of it?” he asked.
“The rest of what?”
“Well, there are two big questions to be answered. First, where did it happen, and second, why do you want to know? I have a bad feeling you’re going down that road again.”
She gave him a flirty smile.
“The sleuth road.”
She laughed.
“Of course I am! What would you expect? This accident affected a woman who was a dear friend of mine for years and whose house I’m living in. Something bad happened in her life, and I need to know what it was.”
Gareth nodded.
“Well, let me give you a bit of advice. If you want to find out how she died, find out how she lived. Who her friends were, where she went, who she worked with. Start there, and everything else will follow.”
He gave her a meaningful look.
“Of course, she may have been hit by a stranger, so none of that will matter. And you do realize, of course, that all this would have been thoroughly investigated at the time. I expect the police put a lot of their resources into it. But if you insist . . .”
Penny nodded.
“Find out how she lived,” she repeated. She brightened. “Thanks, Gareth. That makes sense.”
She reached for her pen and added an item to her lengthy “to do” list. Then she, too, looked at her watch.
“Don’t think you’re the only one with places to go. We’ve got evening customers arriving soon, so I’d best be off as well.”
She wiped her hands on the napkin, set it down beside her plate, and reached for her purse.
“Put that away,” said Gareth. “My treat. You can buy me a drink later this week. How about Thursday?”
“Great,” said Penny. “You can call me later and let me know what time. The Leek and Lily is it?”
Gareth nodded, and together they left the ivy-covered tearoom beside the three-arched bridge. Gareth waved on his way to the car park, and Penny trotted off over the bridge headed for her manicure shop, where Victoria was waiting for her.
A few minutes later she pushed open the door to the tidy manicure shop she had opened some years ago and built up into a thriving business. Victoria emerged from the small preparation room at the back, carrying a small bowl and a pitcher of hot water.
“Oh, it’s you,” she said. “I thought you were Alwynne arriving early for her appointment. Well, it’s a good job you’re here now. I expect she’ll be in any minute.”
“Alwynne Gwilt’s got an appointment?” Penny asked.
“Yes,” replied Victoria. “You’d do well to stay on top of our business here, Penny! You’re coasting these days, and you have to be more plugged in!”
Penny accepted the reprimand with a nod.
“You’re right, I better had,” she agreed. “I think it’s all the upheaval of moving into the cottage.”
“Not to mention another distraction.” Victoria set down the bowl and pitcher. “Right, well, I’ve tidied everything up. You’re fully booked tonight. Three appointments. I’m not going to stay, but there is something I want to discuss with you, so we’ll have to talk soon.”
Victoria pulled on a light jacket and opened the door. As she was just about to step out, Alwynne Gwilt appeared on the threshold. They exchanged pleasantries and Alwynne entered.
“Oh, Penny,” she said. “I can’t tell you how convenient the evening hours are. I bet you’ll double your business!”
She took a seat at the table and held out her hands. Penny picked up her left hand and looked critically at her jagged nails.
“What on earth have you been doing to yourself, Alwynne? They look as if you’ve been breaking rocks with them!”
“I know.” Alwynne sighed. “We’re putting up a new display at the museum and I was picking away at staples.” She looked at Penny. “You’re right. I should have taken a few moments to get the right tools.”
“Well, you can cut yourself, too, doing things like that,” said Penny. “Probably not a good idea. What’s the new display about?”
Alwynne looked after the local museum, housed in the old almshouses. Over the years she had put together creative exhibits showing the homefront during World War II; local farmers and their animals, including horse-drawn drays; and one that had attracted a lot of attention—buildings no longer here, including the old town hall.
“Oh, it’s set to open in mid-September, so it’s about schoolchildren. And that reminds me. I wanted to ask you to be sure to donate anything you find in Emma’s cottage that we should have for our archives. Don’t throw anything out! Just put it in a pile and I’ll go through it. Even old receipts can be useful to us because they show what things used to cost. Personally, I’m very partial to anything written up in old money. I do miss those days of guineas and ten bob notes.”
She smiled at Penny and turned her head slightly sideways.
“You haven’t thrown out anything, have you?”
“Well, I did donate some old books and jigsaw puzzles to the charity shop, but I think I know what you’re after, and no, I won’t toss that kind of thing out.”
Penny reached for her scissors.
“Alwynne, you’ve made such a mess here I’m going to have to trim them all right down to try to get them even, and then you can grow them all out at the same time.”
Alwynne looked down at her hands and turned the right one over so she could see the nails.
“Well, I guess so,” she agreed. “Still, I’d like to have a bit of polish on them today.”
“Of course,” said Penny, “but I wouldn’t recommend anything too loud or obvious.”
A kind woman in her fifties with a cheerful bustle about her, Alwynne nodded.
“By the way, how are you getting on with clearing out Emma’s things? She lived in that cottage for donkey’s years and there has to be tons of stuff. She probably has lots of photos from her school-teaching days, and I’d love to see what’s there for my new exhibit. She might have photos of people we know when they were schoolchildren.”
“I haven’t come across any school photos yet,” said Penny, “but if I do, I’ll let you know.”
She put Alwynne’s hand back in the soaking bowl and reached for the other hand.
“There’s something I’d like to ask you,” she said. “Have you ever heard of Alys Jones? She was a local artist, sister of Jones the solicitor. Alys died in a hit-and-run accident in 1970.”
Penny met Alywnne’s eyes.
“Hmm. It’s a big family, that one, but fairly prominent. Of course, with a name like Jones in these parts, you’d expect most of them to be related. We might have some material in the archives, but I can’t say offhand”—and recognizing her little pun, Alwynne lifted her hand from the soaking bowl and gave a little laugh—“exactly what. But if you give me a few days, I’ll have a look and see what we’ve got.”
“That would be wonderful,” said Penny. “Tell you what, can you come round on Friday after dinner for a drink or a coffee, and tell us what you’ve found out? I’ll ask Victoria to join us.”
“Right,” said Alwynne. “I expect you’d like me to see if there are any photos of her. You know, at the time, while we’re living the moment, people don’t realize how significant their photos are, but to us at the museum, they’re treasures. Most of the photos we get are of people, of course, but I like looking beyond the people to see the material details and settings. Tells us all kinds of things about daily life. What their shoes looked like, the kind of food on the table, that sort of thing. There are even photos with a television in the background, and sometimes you can figure out what they were watching! You’d be surprised at the number of Christmas photos of Gran in a pointy paper hat with the queen on the telly in the background!”
The two women laughed.
“I never thought of that,” said Penny, thinking of the photo of Emma with the puppy in the garden. “But look, any Emma photos I come across I’ll certainly consider for the museum’s archives.”
She thought for a moment.
“What’s been your best exhibit or most memorable, do you think?”
“Well, a couple of years ago, we had an exhibit of rural life, and every photo had a horse in it. That went over really well and it was definitely one of my favourites. People seemed to really enjoy seeing all those images of life the way it used to be—a slower, friendlier time.”
She paused for a moment.
“And the great thing was that some of the people who came to the exhibit actually remembered the names of the horses but not the people. ‘That was old what’s-his-name who used to work for the dairy,’ they’d say, ‘Oh, and look, there’s Daisy. She was a lovely mare. So gentle with the children.’ That sort of thing.
“Of course,” she went on, “the pace was different then. Seemed there was more time to enjoy things. Nowadays, it’s all go.”
Penny nodded. “I know what you mean. We all seem to take on too much.”
She thought of the huge project the new spa would no doubt turn out to be—hoovering up enormous amounts of time and endless sums of money. She hoped it would be worth it.
“You know,” agreed Alwynne, “that’s one reason I enjoy the Stretch and Sketch club so much. I know I’m not that great an artist, but I really welcome the time spent outdoors just being quiet and having the opportunity to relax and do something I enjoy. I always try to make one good decision while I’m out there, even if it’s just what I’m going to wear the next day. Or have for dinner.”
Penny smiled. A few years ago she had started a friendly group of amateur artists who went out together once a month to ramble and paint. Earlier in the year, Alwynne had taken some photos that had proved helpful in identifying a killer.
“And sometimes,” Penny reminded her, “you do some real good on your expeditions!”
Alwynne laughed. A pleasant, down-to-earth, middle-aged woman with a strong streak of practicality and resourcefulness, she took life as she found it. “Anyway,” Penny reassured her, “I’ll look out for your photos.”
“Good. Now, what colour should I have? You choose, Penny.”