The Penze-Weedells went for the full Christmas menus – with extra roast potatoes for Mrs P-W – while Jason and Emily ordered tuna salads and asked the waitress to bring them at the same time as the Penze-Weedells’ soup. Claudette pointedly ordered a bottle of prosecco, repeating the word several times in the process to ensure their new neighbours were in no doubt of her good taste. She also asked for four glasses, but Jason – who had now gone off the idea of the hair of the dog – and Emily politely declined, saying they had a working afternoon ahead.
The service was slow, taking almost half an hour for their food to arrive. It was mostly one-sided conversation, in which the Danes had to endure the biographies of all the relatives who would be coming to spend Christmas Day at 36 Lakeview Drive. These were accompanied by detailed family trees, with every relative, according to the boasts of Claudette, being immensely successful. Especially their two sons – one with a firm of City accountants and the other doing frightfully well in IT – and their daughter, who had now produced for them three adorable grandchildren.
‘We’ll go and pay at the bar, so we don’t disturb the rest of your meal,’ Jason said as soon as they had finished.
‘Sooooo lovely to see you again,’ Claudette said.
‘Jolly neighbourly of you to allow us to share your table,’ her husband added.
Both Penze-Weedells were in an increasingly exuberant mood, having demolished the bottle of prosecco and now well into a bottle of red wine – which seemed, to Jason and Emily, unlikely to be the only one they would be getting through during their lunch.
‘You must come and have drinks with us on Christmas morning!’ Claudette said.
‘A bit difficult, but thank you,’ Jason said. ‘We have relatives with us.’
‘Bring them too!’ her husband slurred.
‘We’ll catch up soon after,’ Jason promised.
‘Boxing Day!’ she said. ‘We insist. Drinks on Boxing Day. Midday, chez nous!’
‘That would be lovely,’ Emily replied, ignoring the gentle kick under the table from her husband.
‘Oh, there is one thing that might be of interest,’ Claudette said. ‘To you both. A little precaution.’
‘Precaution?’ Jason queried.
‘Yes, yes indeed.’ She looked at her husband then went on. ‘Maurice and I were under the impression – or should I say, were led to believe – that we were the very first residents of Cold Hill Park.’ She looked hard at Jason then Emily. ‘But we weren’t.’
‘No?’ Emily said.
‘No,’ she said. For the first time, she looked solemn. ‘Apparently, there were three couples who had moved in before us – a few of months earlier. Two just around the corner from us in Copse Walk, and one, with a young family, in 34 Lakeview Drive, that rather ugly little house next to us – right opposite you.’
Jason turned to Emily. ‘See, I told you I’d seen people in that house.’
‘I don’t think so, Jason – you don’t mind me calling you Jason?’
‘Of course not, Claudette.’ He smiled. ‘What do you mean you don’t think so?’
‘I don’t think you could have seen people in that house,’ she went on and looked to her husband for confirmation. He nodded, distantly.
‘I’ve seen them a couple of times; I waved to them, they waved back.’
She shook her head, vigorously. ‘It’s quite horrible – just one of those terrible coincidences that happen in life sometimes. Over the space of two months, all three couples were killed in accidents while on holiday.’
‘What?’ Emily said.
‘We only found out after we moved in. We’re not planning any holiday soon, I can tell you.’