One of the first people to arrive was Jim Rowe, who had been sent by the Chronicle to interview Bill and take a few photographs of the event. His eyes lit up when he saw Eleanor. “Wow – you should wear dresses more often. You look, erm, very nice.”
“Thanks,” she said shyly, smoothing down the broad skirts that shot out over her hips. Across the room she could tell that Erika was deliberately turned away from them; she and Jim were on speaking terms again, but their friendship had never fully recovered from the breakdown of their affair. “So how are you, Jim? Is there anything exciting happening in Combemouth I should know about?”
He thought for a moment. “I guess the most exciting thing to happen recently was an accusation of match-fixing at the summer festival.”
Eleanor frowned. “I don’t remember there being any athletics. I must have missed it.”
“I’m talking about the ferret racing, actually. The owner of the front runner is suspected of giving it performance-enhancing drugs before the race.”
“Blimey, it’s all going on out there.”
“But never mind that,” Jim bent over to whisper in Eleanor’s ear, “my sources tell me you’ve been spending an awful lot of time over at Joshua Pinkham’s house recently.”
“Yes, we’re having a torrid affair,” she whispered back, pouring red wine into Jim’s glass. Seeing his horrified expression, she laughed. “That was a joke, by the way.”
“Thank goodness,” said Jim, looking at his feet. “It was a rather alarming thought.” He smiled his crooked smile and Eleanor remembered that she had once found Jim rather attractive and had even toyed with the idea of going out with him. But that was a long time ago.
“Apart from having the torrid affair, I’ve been cataloguing Joshua’s books. I told him he needed an antiquarian bookseller to value the collection, but he insisted he wanted me.”
“He wanted the best person for the job. I hope he’s paying for your time?”
“We have an arrangement.” Eleanor winked. “Anyway, I’ve finished now. It was slow work, but it was fascinating to be in the manor house.” She made sure there was no one around listening to their conversation before speaking. “We discovered a hidden cupboard at the back of one of the bookcases. That’s top secret information, by the way.”
“Of course,” said Jim, nodding and pulling a serious face.
Eleanor reached up for the glass she’d left on one of the poetry shelves at the beginning of the event and took a sip of her wine. “It got me thinking: if the family has secret compartments concealed in bookcases, might it not also have a few skeletons stashed in cupboards?”
“Such as?”
“Oh, I have a theory that the John Able case – the one I asked for your help with – is somehow connected to the Pinkham family. I’ve found one or two clues but no concrete evidence. Anyway, the question keeps niggling away at me.”
Jim laughed. “This is where I recall you’re a big Agatha Christie fan.”
“Well remembered. But don’t you think it’s odd that Joshua is so unwilling to talk about things?”
“Not especially. Joshua is of a generation that doesn’t like to talk about the past. He’s a man used to keeping his affairs private.”
“That’s what Dan said.” Eleanor was quiet for a moment, thinking. “But I’d love to dig into Pinkham’s family history a little bit.”
“To learn what?”
“Oh, lots of things!”
“Such as?”
“Well, Joshua’s grandfather seems to have been a local benefactor, but kept his generosity a secret from everyone. Why would he do that?”
“Humility?”
“I suppose so, Jim.” Eleanor sighed. “In any case, it would be great to discover something positive to cheer up Joshua and prevent him thinking he’s going to die any day now.”
“Why does he think that?”
“The Santa Ana turning up has upset him, but it’s mostly my fault.”
“What on earth did you do to him?”
She laughed. “Nothing! All I did was ask him about connections between the Makepeace family and the Pinkhams. Oh, and about a locket. But what really tipped him over the edge was when I showed him a ring I’d discovered hidden in his Bible.” Eleanor took another tiny sip of wine, aware that she needed to stay focused tonight. “So there you have it.”
“Lots of detecting still to be done, by the sounds of it. And you’ll deserve a medal if you manage to cheer up the most miserable man in town.”
“Bless him. He’s not a bad old stick under that faded corduroy exterior.”
“I think you’re needed.” Jim nodded towards the back of the room where Erika was banging empty glasses down on the table and pretending not to look their way.
“Oops. Someone looks unhappy. See you later.”
* * *
Bill Widget was enjoying being the centre of attention, signing books and chatting to ardent fans. Much to Eleanor’s amazement, most of the “celebrity” guests from Bill’s original list had turned up, although there was no one there who was familiar to her.
Joe and Anton, meanwhile, were standing open-mouthed as one ancient rock musician after another came into the shop and slapped Bill warmly on the back. Eleanor went over to the boys to ask for information about who was who.
“Who’s the chap in the purple trousers with the piercings, Joe? The wizened-looking geezer who looks about ninety?”
“That is only Ivan Twang, one of the most influential bass players in the entire universe. Here in our shop.” A faraway look came over Joe’s face. “If I die now, I’ll be a happy man.”
Anton, who was standing beside him, was clutching an envelope. “I, too, will die a happy man.” He lifted the envelope to his mouth and kissed it. “Eleanor, that man is a saint.”
“Ivan Twang is a saint?”
“No,” said Anton, shaking his head. “Bill Widget is a saint.” Eleanor could see genuine tears of emotion forming in the young man’s eyes. “Tonight he tells me he wishes to buy my painting from the fair. The lady in charge of the art tent…”
“Beryl?”
“Yes, Mrs Beryl – she says no one buys cheap art. ‘Anton,’ she says to me, ‘think big – we will sell it for £250’, like a joke, you see?”
“Sort of,” said Eleanor.
Anton smiled across at Bill. “But tonight, Mr Widget came across and said £250 must be a mistake.” Anton opened the envelope for them to see. “I think, okay, so he’ll give me £25, which is fine. But no – he gave me £1,250 and says he wants to buy all of my work.”
Eleanor watched as two happy tears leaked out of Anton’s green eyes and disappeared into his beard as he pressed the damp envelope to his lips once again. “That’s great, but perhaps I should put the money in the safe for you.” She couldn’t bear the thought of the boy wandering drunkenly down the high street and losing the money at a kebab stall.
Anton nodded. “Thank you, Eleanor,” he said. “I am most grateful.”
“I’ll put it in the office. Can you keep an eye on things out here, Joe?”
“Sure, Mum,” said Joe, his attention still on Bill and his mates.
Smiling, Eleanor tucked the envelope into her cleavage and wriggled her way through the crowd to the drinks table to see how her colleagues were getting on.
“It’s going well,” said Georgie, “though I’d no idea we’d get through so much sparkling elderflower. This could be the first launch where I’ve actually had booze left at the end of the evening. Totally unheard of at a publishing event,” she said, shaking her head in disbelief.
“I think a lot of Bill’s mates have turned teetotal in their twilight years,” said Eleanor surveying the room. “Some of them do look as though they’ve been pickled in alcohol for forty years or so. Thank goodness there’s another box of the alcohol-free stuff in the back. We wouldn’t want them rioting and throwing their false teeth at us.”
Georgie giggled. “I’ll go and fetch some more cordial.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll go. I have something to put in the safe as it happens – Bill bought Anton’s painting and handed over the readies this evening.”
“What great news!”
“It is and I want to prevent the lad from going into town and losing the lot tonight. I won’t be long.” Eleanor trotted off to the office, where she put Anton’s cash in a locked drawer.
It wasn’t until she bent down to pick up the bottles of elderflower cordial that she heard the sound of metal parting from metal and realised the zip running down the side of her dress had burst at its lowest point and now revealed two inches of her black underwear. “Damn. There must be a safety pin somewhere.” Searching the office drawers she found nothing. She emptied out every pot on the desk, but all she found were paperclips, rubber bands, fluff and the tops of long-dead biros. When she had tipped out every possible container, she gave up and returned to the shop, which was now filled to the gunnels.
After handing over the cordial to Erika, who had taken over from Georgie, Eleanor squeezed her way over to her son who was now singing along to a Tryll Spigot track with Anton.
“Joe,” she hissed, “can you pop next door and find me a couple of safety pins?”
“Safety pins? What for?”
“Never mind what they’re for. Just do it will you, love. And hurry.”
“Er, where do you keep them?”
“Who has a place where they ‘keep’ safety pins? You’ll have to search around a bit – try the kitchen cupboards or my bedroom drawers.”
“Okay.”
Eleanor turned around and smiled at the packed room, her hand clamped to her hip in a jaunty pose. With any luck no one would even notice the teeny gap in her dress. She stood watching Bill sign books and chat to fans for what seemed like an age before Joe returned.
“Got them.”
“Well done, love,” said Eleanor. “Hand them over.”
Joe dropped two tiny safety pins into his mother’s hand and shrugged. “That’s the best I could do.”
They were minute, but beggars can’t be choosers so Eleanor smiled grimly and ducked back into the office where she placed one pin at the bottom of the zip and the other midway up for good measure. “It’s not going to hold,” she muttered to herself. “Damn it.” Looking desperately around, she spied the stapler on the desk. “That’s it!” She knew it was fairly dark in the shop and the dress could always be mended later. Grasping the fabric seam between her thumb and finger she stapled over the zip, effectively sealing herself into the dress. She had to laugh at the idea of it and was pleased with herself for thinking so creatively. She tried a tentative wiggle: the zip held. “I’m a genius,” she whispered to herself as she left the office and returned to the serious business of schmoozing rock stars and selling books.
Over the heads of their guests, Daniel noticed Eleanor re-enter the shop and went over to see her. “Is everything okay, darling. You’re walking a little oddly.”
“No, no. Everything’s fine. Oh, or it was,” she said, as Joyce waltzed into the shop in what could only be described as a kaftan. “Tell Malcolm he’s welcome to hide in the office if he wants to make himself scarce.”
Daniel shook his head. “I’m not putting myself between Joyce and any man she has set her heart on, even if it is my father. That woman is scary.”
“Coward. Meanwhile, where’s my mother got to?”
“Last seen in Crime Fiction with Ivan Twang.”
“I’d better go and rescue the poor man.”
“It looked as though he was having fun, so I wouldn’t worry. And here they come.”
Eleanor turned to see Connie arm in arm with Ivan. As they approached, Ivan gave Connie a peck on the cheek and went off to speak to some other old rockers.
“Are you making new friends, Mum? It’s a good job Harold isn’t here to see you flirting with older men.” Harold had graciously declined Eleanor’s invitation to the launch saying his musical tastes tended more towards the classical.
“What an interesting man Mr Twang is,” said Connie, her cheeks slightly flushed. “He’s been telling me about his three wives and his years on the road. Now he’s given up the high life and farms in a lovely Somerset village. He says it’s wonderfully quiet and calm except in June when there’s a big music festival in the fields next to his. He has a herd of Dexter cattle and they don’t like the racket one bit, apparently.”
“You must have had him trapped for ages, Mum, he’s given you his entire life story.”
“Not all of it, just the last dozen years or so. Anyway, I said I would recommend his autobiography to my bookclub. The girls enjoy something spicy every once in a while.”
“When you’ve finished mingling with the stars, could you check what Aunty Joyce is up to? Daniel hasn’t seen his father for a while and I’m afraid she might have him in a headlock somewhere.”
“Oh, Malcolm’s made his escape,” said Connie. “Joyce is chatting to Vince now. It turns out they bump into each other regularly in their local Gigante supermarket. She didn’t recognise him at the festival the other day because she’s used to seeing Bill’s minder in shorts and a Hawaiian shirt, not dressed as a hit man.”
“It’s nice she’s found somebody to talk to.” Eleanor gazed tipsily at the throng of people. Apart from the minor hiccup with the dress, everything was going swimmingly.
Bill Widget was enjoying himself chatting to customers who remembered his glory days and to younger fans who had recently discovered Tryll Spigot’s music. Eleanor was feeling relaxed and happy because books were being sold and the end of the party was in sight. She had found her glass and was enjoying another sip of wine when Ivan Twang sidled up to her.
“Very nice do,” he said, raising his glass of mineral water to her in greeting. “If I ever write volume two of my life story, I’ll follow Bill’s lead and insist we have the launch here.”
“Thanks, Ivan. It’s kind of you to say so.” Eleanor smiled. “We do make an effort.”
“I can tell,” said Ivan, looking her up and down. “And I’m impressed you dressed for the occasion. Very nice – definitely my era.”
“Oh, I like vintage style.” Eleanor was pleased – if a little surprised – by the reaction her 1950s dress was getting. She had received a couple of winks from the old guys during the evening and even an approving nod from the town’s two young Goths who’d left their usual hanging-out spot in the shopping precinct to see their guitar heroes.
“Bold,” said Ivan, thoughtfully, as he walked away. “Very bold.”
Bold? Whatever did he mean? It seemed to Eleanor that a little black dress was about as uncontroversial as you could get and she was relieved it had grown more comfortable over the evening.
Which was a bit odd… That’s when she glanced down and saw a row of silver sparkles on either side of the black fabric where the staples had come adrift. Worse still, the zip had split and peeled open to reveal several inches of pale flesh. As if that wasn’t enough, the safety pins were still in place.
At that moment, Bill came over to say goodbye. “It’s been a grand night, duck. Thank you for organising everything.”
In horror, Eleanor clasped a hand to her waist and hoped against hope that Bill wouldn’t notice her wardrobe malfunction. “You’re welcome – it’s been fun,” she said, between gritted teeth.
“Wearing Versace tonight, I see,” he said, cheerily. “It looks a lot better on you than it did on Liz Hurley. Where did you leave Hugh Grant?” At this Bill laughed, clearly pleased with his joke.
“If you’ll excuse me one moment,” said Eleanor, turning on her heels and fleeing from the shop and to the cottage.
* * *
“Stupid dress,” she said, throwing herself on the bed. She was crying with frustration now. “I looked bloody ridiculous.” She pulled at the safety pins and stray staples, one of which caught her finger, releasing a pinprick of blood. “Ow!”
Daniel, who had followed her to the cottage, strode over to where she sat on the bed and took her hand gently in his. She gazed up at him through eyes streaming with tears. “I made such a fool of myself.”
“No one would ever think you were foolish.” Daniel kissed his wife’s injured finger then smoothed her hair back from her damp cheek. “The evening was a huge success. Bill was delighted with it, the guests had fun,” he kissed her again, “and you looked gorgeous and sexy and I love you.”
Eleanor wailed. “I don’t believe you.”
Daniel kissed her gently on the lips. “Let’s extract you from this dangerous garment and I’ll do my best to convince you.”