Chapter Forty-One
The rest of the day passed in a blur. Incredibly, I sold everything.
Edmund Fairfax, the irked art dealer, had later returned. He’d bought several things, including Peter’s Mont Blanc fountain pen at one hundred pounds. He’d left with his humour fully restored thanks to securing some serious bargains.
A couple of people had even wanted to buy Cilla’s silk roses and evergreen plant. One had even wanted to know if the velvet ‘tablecloth’ was for sale.
Alice had accrued more commissions than she could shake a stick at.
Cilla, circulating like a member of royalty at a society garden party, was now individually congratulating all stallholders for their amazing efforts.
She was also collecting the cash takings.
By her side were two hired cash-in-transit security personnel.
‘I couldn’t risk taking chances,’ she confided to Alice and me. ‘It’s the safest option.’
‘You’re amazing at overseeing every detail,’ I said.
‘I’ve had a ball organising today,’ she beamed. ‘Roll on the next event. Meanwhile, come to the pub later. Have a glass of bubbles on me.’
‘See,’ said Alice, after Cilla had gone. ‘Now you have a legitimate reason to be at the Starlight Arms and rescue me from a potentially disastrous date.’
‘I know,’ I grinned. ‘It’s very kind of Cilla to crack open the bubbly, but you know what?’
‘Go on.’
‘It’s been a long day. Frankly, I’d like nothing more than to go home, have a soak in the bath, and then curl up in front of the telly with a cuppa.’
‘You can still do that’ – my friend pointed out – ‘but after you’ve been to the pub. Oh, hello, Hetty,’ she said.
The octogenarian was standing silently by our respective stalls. I wondered how much she’d overheard of our gossip.
‘Have you had a profitable day?’ Alice enquired politely.
‘Very, thank you,’ Hetty confirmed. She was still wearing her emerald-green turban and a cape straight out of Hogwarts. ‘Now then, ladies. I think all the stallholders have had a reading today. That is, all apart from you two.’
‘Oh, I don’t think-’ I began.
‘We’d love to,’ said Alice, cutting me off.
Help. This was my worst nightmare. I didn’t for one moment believe that Hetty – or Oracle Hetty as she had been today – was genuine.
Even so, her predictions and claims to speak with the dead had an unnerving habit of resonating with her clients.
The last thing I wanted was her gazing into her crystal ball and giving me the lowdown about Peter’s death.
‘You go first, Jen,’ said Alice. ‘After all, you’ve sold everything, whereas I still need to pack away my stuff. I don’t want anything going missing the moment my back’s turned.’
‘Very wise,’ Hetty agreed. ‘I spotted a couple of dubious characters earlier.’ She lowered her voice to confide. ‘You can spot them a mile off. Their auras are always a murky colour.’
‘Right,’ I said uncertainly.
What colour was my aura? And could Hetty truly see it?
‘I’ll catch up with you in a bit, Jen,’ said Alice cheerfully. ‘And then you can tell me everything. After all, there should never be secrets between friends.’
Hm, there was certainly a whopper hovering between us right now.
As I followed Hetty to the other side of the hall, a netful of butterflies took off in my stomach. Her stall was, in fact, a sort of tent. It had been put together using a multitude of colourful silk scarves. I immediately recognised Cilla’s creative input.
Ducking within, I blinked in surprise. A vibrant rug covered the floor. Upon it were two large cushions. Centrepiece was a vast dome. Ah, the crystal ball. On closer inspection it appeared to be a battery-operated portable nightlight. I had a sudden urge to giggle-snort. Nerves were getting to me.
‘Sit down, dear,’ said Hetty.
Gingerly, I lowered myself to one of the floor cushions. My spine emitted several pops and cracks. Hetty – decades older – lithely sank down. She then folded her legs like a meditating buddha.
‘It’s very kind of you to do a reading,’ I ventured.
‘Although, to be honest, I don’t go in for all this malarkey.
’ I gave a deprecating laugh. It came out as a nervous bray.
‘So why don’t I just pay your fee’ – I attempted a cosy tone – ‘and we’ll both keep mum about anything being said… or not said.’
‘It’s the things that haven’t been said that now need saying,’ said Hetty, giving me a beady look.
My stomach lurched as I met her gaze. Her eyes really were the most peculiar shade of blue. Even in the dimness of this makeshift camp, her irises seemed to glitter like two neon sapphires.
I took a deep breath.
‘Let’s not talk in riddles, Hetty,’ I said quietly, but there was steel in my voice. ‘What is it you want to tell me?’