The Keeper of Lost Things(28)

The pub was filling up, and just as the waitress brought her posh fish fingers and chips, the booth next to Laura’s was occupied with a great deal of huffing and puffing and shedding of coats and shopping bags. As her new neighbors began reading aloud from the menu, Laura recognized the imperious alto of Marjory Wadscallop accompanied by the dithering descant of Winnie Cripp. Having decided upon and ordered two “poussin and portobello potages,” the pair chinked their glasses of gin and tonic and began discussing the production of Blithe Spirit currently in rehearsal by their amateur dramatics group.

“Of course, technically, I’m far too young to play Madame Arcati,” asserted Marjory, “but then the part does require an actor of extraordinary range and subtlety, so I suppose, considering the dramatis personae at Everard’s disposal, I was the only real choice.”

“Yes, of course you were, dear,” agreed Winnie, “and Gillian’s an absolute pro at costumes and makeup, so she’ll have you looking old in no time.”

Marjory was unsure whether to be pleased about this or not.

“Well, she absolutely looks like a ‘pro’ with the amount of slap she normally wears,” she replied tetchily.

“Naughty!” Winnie giggled and then fell guiltily silent as the waitress arrived with their chicken and mushroom soups accompanied by “an assortment of artisan bread rolls.” There was a brief hiatus while they salted their soups and buttered their bread.

“I’m a bit nervous about playing Edith,” Winnie then confessed. “It’s the biggest part I’ve had so far and there’s an awful lot of lines to remember, as well as all that carrying of drinks and walking on and off.”

“You mean ‘stage business’ and ‘blocking,’ Winnie. It’s so important to use the correct terminology.” Marjory took a large bite from her granary roll and chewed on it thoughtfully before adding,

“I shouldn’t worry too much, dear. After all, Edith is only a housemaid, so you won’t be required to do very much real acting.”

Laura had finished her lunch and asked for the bill. Just as she was gathering her things to leave, the mention of a familiar name caught her attention.

“I’m sure Geoffrey will be a perfectly serviceable Charles Condomine, but in his younger days Anthony Peardew would have been ideal for the role; tall, dark, handsome, and so very charming.” Marjory’s voice had taken on an almost wistful tone.

“And he was a writer in real life too,” added Winnie.

Marjory’s tongue sought to dislodge a grain from her roll which had become caught under her dental plate. Having succeeded, she continued:

“It does seem rather odd that he left everything to that rather prickly housekeeper of his, Laura.”

“Mmm. It’s a funny business, all right.” Winnie loved a side order of scurrilous gossip with her lunch. “I shouldn’t wonder if there wasn’t a bit of ‘funny business’ going on there,” she added knowingly, delighted at her double entendre.

Marjory drained the last of her gin and tonic and signaled to the waitress to bring her another one.

“Well, I expect she did a little more for him than just the dusting and hoovering.”

Laura had intended to try to sneak past them without being seen, but now she turned and faced them with a brazen smile.

“Fellatio,” she announced. “Every Friday.”

And without another word, she swept out.

Winnie turned to Marjory with a puzzled expression.

“What’s that when it’s at home?”

“Italian,” said Marjory, dabbing at her mouth with a napkin. “I had it in a restaurant once.”





CHAPTER 20


Sunshine set the needle onto the spinning licorice disk and was rewarded with the mellifluous tones of Etta James; hot and rich like smoked paprika.

In the kitchen, Freddy was sitting at the table, and Laura was making sandwiches for lunch.

“She’s got great taste.”

Freddy tipped his head in the direction of the music.

Laura smiled.

“She’s choosing the music for when we scatter Anthony’s ashes. She says it’s like the film where the dog gets a bone and the clocks stop because St. Anthony’s dead but he’ll be together forever with Therese. But she calls her ‘The Lady of the Flowers.’ And your guess is as good as mine.”

She sliced cucumber into translucent slices and drained a tin of salmon.

“She wants to make a speech as well, although I’m not sure we’ll make head or tail of it.”

“I’m sure we’ll make it out just fine.”

Freddy spun a teaspoon that was idling on the table.

“She just has her own way of saying stuff, that’s all. She knows the words that we all use, but I suppose she just likes hers better.”

Laura licked a smudge of butter from her finger. She wasn’t used to having actual conversations with Freddy. His way of saying stuff was usually a combination of nods, shrugs, and grunts. But Sunshine wasn’t having any of that. With her solemn eyes and soft, fluty voice, she coaxed the words from him like a snake charmer.

“But isn’t she just making life harder; setting herself further apart . . .”

Laura’s voice trailed off along with her train of thought, stymied by political correctness. Freddy weighed her words carefully and without judgment.