Here we are, then! Back on track with 'Clive and Min.' Now, I've changed a bit of the last cliff-hanger, so I've included that to get us started again. Don't be having any moments of deja vu, will you? And please can I ask you to be aware that everything up until now has been subject to three wranglings at least with my editor (that'll be me then....) and everything hereon in has been subjected to, well, two. So the writing might not be as crisp as it was. But I am aware you are keen for another run of chapters, so I'd rather get it out there, as it were, rather than sitting on it for another six months. Heaven forbid!
Here we go then...'Clive and Min' continues....
On the doorstep stood a middle aged woman of average height and stature. Her hair was sliced into a chic bob and large sunglasses obscured the top half of her face. Red lipstick, expertly applied, animated the bottom half, and a cotton scarf of navy and white stripes was sitting crisply around her throat, finished in a sharp, no-nonsense bow.
‘Good afternoon,’ said the woman, stepping into the hallway at Connie’s invitation, her smart leather court shoes clicking against the tiles. ‘Miss Minerva Thing, I presume?’
‘I’m afraid not,’ said Connie, detecting a hint of French accent from the visitor’s introduction. ‘I am Connie Franks, her friend and lodger. Miss Thing apologises but she had to keep a previous appointment. She’s left me in charge of conducting the interview and showing you the room.’
The woman’s shoulders dropped slightly, as though the tension they were holding had bene gratefully released. Halliwell was still grumbling away from his station on the hall table, and Connie was finding his attitude unnerving, because he was normally such an agreeable chap.
‘Excuse the cat,’ she laughed. ‘He’s not great with new people, but as soon as he gets to know you, he’ll be fine. Perhaps it’s the sunglasses he doesn’t like.’
The woman leaned back almost imperceptibly, and flared her nostrils. ‘I’m not really a fan of les animaux,’ she said. ‘It won’t be allowed access to the room I am to hire, will it?’
‘Gosh no,’ said Connie. ‘The room will be an animal-free zone. I’m sure it will be the perfect space for your requirements. I understand you run some sort of performance group…’
‘Yes well, we shall see about that,’ said the woman, abruptly cutting across Connie’s niceties. Connie was becoming increasingly edgy at the woman’s growing brusqueness.
She cleared her throat and regrouped herself. ‘Would you like to come this way, er…Mrs….’
‘Chemin,’ said Sylvia Path. ‘Madame Chemin.’
* * *
After sorting out the incompetent printers – ‘What is it that is so difficult for you to understand about the Hallowe’en pun of Boo Meringue?’ - Amazing Hibiscus Park had stopped off at her favourite department store for the therapeutic purchasing of a new dress. ‘I need to present myself for the opening of my new tea rooms, and a new dress is needed,’ she said, selecting, after much indecision, a dress that was neither autumnal or Halloweenish. ‘But I shall wear it first to the séance! As a test drive, of course.’
The dress definitely exuded vibes of a spiritual nature. In shades of violet, indigo and soft grey, it was made from a floaty silk fabric with a chiffon overlay. In the changing room at the department store, Amazing had swung her hips from side to side, enjoying the movement of the fabric, and admiring the way the cut was forgiving of her fuller figure, which could not be said for the unforgiving overhead lights which were most critical of her occupation as a Baker and Eater of Very Fine Cakes.
‘It is perfect,’ said Amazing, out loud. ‘And I can add some cobwebs and a cloak to make my Halloween costume. Or maybe buy another dress,’ for she had designs on something more Morticia Adams than Miss Haversham. Something tight in red and black satin, with a corset maybe. Or not.
And so it was that Amazing Hibiscus Park, believer in the unbelievable, defender of the faith, greeted the following day fully prepared for the most exciting return visit to Florence Bell arranged for that evening, straight after Eastenders.
She found Min in the kitchen of Satis House quizzing Connie about the first customer of the community room.
‘Did she seem suitable?’ said Min. ‘More importantly, did she sign the contract and pay the deposit?’
‘She did,’ said Connie, handing Min an envelope. ‘In cash.’
‘Oooh,’ said Min, who, despite it going against her better nature, immediately thought how useful a bit of cash-in-hand payment might be for the meagre coffers of her embryonic business. She took the envelope and tipped the contents onto the kitchen table. Opening the neatly folded contract she squinted at the scribbled signature on the bottom. ‘What does that say?’ she said. ‘Why can’t people write neatly? That could say anything. Looks like Madame Cholet. Wasn’t she a Womble?’
‘It says ‘Madame Chemin,’ said Connie. ‘I think she is French. She looked and sounded French, if that’s not being overtly stereotypical of me. Rather chic, although somewhat abrupt. Nothing Womblish about her.’
‘Hmmmmm,’ sniffed Min, non-committally. She wished she had been able to meet with the woman herself and make up her own mind, but no – she must learn to trust her friends and if Connie was happy, then she would be happy, too.
‘Anyway,’ said Connie, ‘she seemed content with the room. She would like to start the lease next week, on 14th, and has paid in advance for thirteen weeks. Apparently, Christmas and New Year are the busiest times for these murder mystery whodunnit parties. And August.’
Min nodded. ‘And did she say how many there are in her group?’
‘Yes,’ said Amazing, enthusiastically, ‘And did she order anything from my excellent refreshments menu? I need to plan for ingredients…’
‘Sorry, Amazing,’ said Connie. ‘She said tea and coffee making facilities would be fine and that she’d bring biscuits if they needed them. Said she couldn’t understand the English obsession with eating cake all the time. There will be five of them altogether,’ she added, addressing Min.
‘Was she skinny?’ said Amazing, slightly put out at the loss of a potential customer. ‘Like the cane for stringy beans?’
‘Not especially,’ said Connie, thinking that, despite the chic dressing, there was definitely the hint of a love handle or two beneath the neat pencil skirt.
‘Then she is the secret eater of cakes!’ said Amazing, triumphantly. ‘Only truly skinny people never eat cake. And that makes them bad tempered, too.’
‘Oh, she was certainly that,’ said Connie. ‘She seemed half put out and half relieved that she didn’t see you personally, Min.’
‘Well, that couldn’t be helped,’ said Min. ‘I had an important appointment to keep. I have been to see Mr Burroughs.’
‘The solicitor?’ said Connie. ‘About Clive’s Will? Surely C.O.P.S aren’t forcing the matter of probate?’
‘Goodness, no,’ said Min. ‘This was about MY Will. Although I can’t do anything about the half of the estate that should have been mine…’ and she paused for effect, just in case Clive was hanging around, listening on the periphery, ‘…I can certainly do something about the half that is still well and truly mine. Mr Burroughs advised a while ago that I needed to rewrite my Will as soon as possible given my ungrateful benefactor has pre-deceased me. So, having given it serious thought, I have.’
She looked around the table. ‘Well gone on,’ she said. ‘Aren’t you going to ask me what I’ve done?’
Connie and Amazing glanced at each other uncertainly. Both of them were thinking it seemed rude to pry into so private an action.
Min sighed. ‘For goodness’ sake,’ she said. ‘I shall tell you anyway. I have appointed a new sole benefactor for all my worldly goods. When I pop my clogs…’
‘…which will not be for a very long time,’ said Amazing, crossing herself and kissing the beads she wore permanently around her neck.
‘….quite,’ agreed Min. ‘But when I do, then my entire estate will go to Halliwell!’
On cue, the huge tuxedo cat jumped onto the kitchen table and arranged himself at its centre. He flicked a paw and embarked on a careful programme of personal grooming.
Connie looked at Amazing. Amazing looked at Connie. Then both women threw back their heads and roared with laughter! Such was the infectiousness of their response, that Min soon joined in, and Halliwell left the table because one cannot perform the intricacies of fur maintenance when sitting amidst a coven of cackling witches.
‘Oh, Min!’ said Connie, when breath could at last be drawn for speaking. ‘That is inspired!’
‘Yes,’ said Min, ‘I’ve set him up with a trust fund. A very detailed trust fund quite above the manner of keeping with which he is yet to become accustomed.’ She scratched Halliwell behind his left ear and he leaned into her hand and purred. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Let’s see how C.O.P.S deal with that one.’
‘What if, heaven forbid, Halliwell should, you know…cross the rainbow bridge?’ whispered Amazing.
Halliwell, now ensconced on a chair, fixed Amazing with an unnerving stare. I could swear that cat understands every word we say, thought Amazing.
I do, thought Halliwell back at her.
‘Then I shall get another tuxedo cat and call him Halliwell,’ said Min. ‘The fate of Satis House will always be in thrall to a black and white cat named Halliwell.’
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