Chapter Sixteen #2
Exchanging a wave with Bill Destry, who was enjoying the sun as he buzzed round and round the huge lawn on his riding mower, Eleanor parked the Incorruptible in a shady, inconspicuous corner under an evergreen.
With Teazle following strictly to heel, she went around the house to the kitchen entrance at the side.
The door stood open, and delicious smells wafted from something Mrs Destry was stirring on the Aga. Teazle’s nostrils twitched. Muzzle raised, she sniffed in ecstasy, her tail wagging nineteen to the dozen.
“Oh, Mrs Trewynn, how nice to see you.” Anyone anticipating a housekeeper on the lines of the villainess in Rebecca would have been disappointed by the plump, rosy-cheeked, cheerful Mrs Destry in her pink-and-yellow-flowered apron.
“I’m afraid I’ve arrived at an awkward moment.”
“Not at all. This can simmer on its own for a few minutes. I’m afraid I haven’t time just now to sit down for a cuppa and a natter, though.
I’ve got a few things collected for LonStar in the scullery, and I’ll put down a bowl of water in there for the dog.
Come along, Teazle.” She led the way into an old-fashioned scullery with a stone sink, wooden draining boards, and shelves holding earthenware crocks labelled flour, sugar, oats, and other staples.
In one corner, incongruously, loomed a huge deep freeze.
“That’s kind of you,” said Eleanor. “We’ve been for a long walk and she’s thirsty.”
“Your Teazle’s got such good manners. Here’s a box for the shop, my lover, and now I come to think of it—I’ll be forgetting my own name next—Mrs Wendell was saying she’s got one or two bits and pieces for you. I’ll just pop through and ask her.”
Eleanor carried the box round to the car and returned to the kitchen.
There she found a tall, slim woman in a tweed skirt, its hem barely skimming the top of her knees, with sheer nylons and high-heels, a lovat-green twinset, pearls, and slightly too much make-up.
She looked like what she was, a Londoner playing the country lady.
Since this involved furnishing the London maisonette with the latest fad, transferring slightly dated lamps, curtains, cushions, tablecloths, and other linens (Mrs Wendell wouldn’t be caught dead sleeping between last year’s candy-striped sheets) to the country house, and donating the lightly used objects they replaced to LonStar, Eleanor could only be grateful.
—Even though she now recalled that the hideous, hazardous, and eventually deadly dolphin table had emanated from this bountiful source.
“My dear Mrs Trewynn,” cried Mrs Wendell, “I’m so happy to see you. Do say you’ll lunch with us today.”
Looking down at her tracksuit and trainers, Eleanor was in no doubt as to the reason for this sudden affability. “I’m afraid I’m not dressed for company,” she pointed out.
“Oh, it’s just my husband and I, and a couple of guests,” said her would-be hostess airily. “We would so love you to join us.”
“I have several more calls to make today.”
“You won’t need to do that. I’ve got lots of stuff for LonStar. We’ll fill your car easily, and Lionel can bring the rest over to Port Mabyn in the Range Rover later.”
Of course, Eleanor thought, the big vehicle explained how the table had reached the shop. “Nothing too large,” she said cautiously. “We haven’t got a lot of room.”
“I promise, nothing too large. You will stay, won’t you?”
Eleanor glanced at Teazle, who was sitting by the Aga gazing upward, her nose twitching hopefully. “I don’t think—”
“The little dog will be quite happy out here with Mrs Destry. You’ll find it some tidbits, won’t you, Mrs Destry?
Then that’s settled.” Mrs Wendell looked Eleanor up and down and blinked, as if, in her eagerness to grab a celebrity, however temporary, she hadn’t really taken in before just what her guest was wearing. “Let me show you the cloakroom.”
“I’ll just get my handbag from the car.” Though Eleanor didn’t really care if she was a bit windblown, it would be only polite to comb her hair at least, especially as she had no intention of providing any information about the murder in exchange for lunch.
She hoped she had a comb in her bag. She was fairly certain she hadn’t brought a lipstick.
Though the front door stood invitingly open, she went back into the house through the kitchen. “Who are the other guests?” she asked Mrs Destry, hoping they might be local people she knew.
“Smart people from London. A Sir and a Lady. I think he works for the government. They’re customers of Mr Wendell’s, or clients, or whatever he likes to call ’em.
He’s some fancy kind of banker. They were invited to stop by for a couple of days on their way to the Scillies.
It hasn’t been going too smooth. Mrs Wendell tries too hard—well, I ask you, Russian caviar when I can get mackerel that come ashore this very morning!
Never mind, they’re leaving this afternoon. ”
“I bet they’re enjoying your cooking at least! It smells wonderful.”
“Dob, she calls it. I call it stew.”
Eleanor found the cloakroom, went to the loo, and tugged the comb through her curls. Coming out, she followed the sound of voices to a long drawing room looking out over the gardens and the Camel estuary to the south of the house. As she appeared on the threshold, Mrs Wendell jumped up.
“Here’s our unexpected guest. Lady Bellowe, Sir Edward, this is Mrs Trewynn. As I was telling you, Mrs Trewynn runs the charity shop where the body was found.”
Georgina Bellowe, a massive lady with iron grey hair, dimples, and a double chin which could no longer be called incipient, alas, surged to her feet and advanced on Eleanor with arms held wide.
“My dear Eleanor, too marvellous to see you again. It’s been far too long.
” She clasped Eleanor to her well-fortified bosom.
“Gina, what a lovely surprise!”
“Oh,” said Mrs Wendell weakly, “you know each other?”
Sir Edward, as spare as his wife was abundant, and looking much in need of a holiday from his duties in the Commonwealth Relations Office, came to clasp Eleanor’s hand in both his and shake it heartily. “Mrs Trewynn, this is a lucky chance. You may be just the—”
“Later, Edward,” his wife commanded.
“Yes, of course, dear.” Sir Edward stepped back, leaving Eleanor wondering just what imbroglio he hoped to drag her into.