Page 11 of Be More Octopus

'I don't get on with her,' Mary said.

'Oh, why's that?' Em was curious. She could tell Mary wanted to talk. The cafe wasn't busy, presumably because the weather had scared the tourists away.

Mary sat down opposite Em and pulled a vape from her apron pocket. She looked like she was settling in for the rest of the morning. Through a cloud of lavender-scented smoke, she proceeded to supply Em with the details.

'I used to clean for Mrs F years ago when her husband was still alive. Let's say it was a fraught and short-lived relationship. Turns out, if you accidentally drop an irreplaceable heirloom soup tureen, your services are no longer wanted.'

'Oh, dear.' Em didn't know what else to say. She made a mental note to keep away from the dinner service.

'Though running over the dog didn't help,' Mary added.

Em didn't like the way this was going. 'I didn't know Nancy had dogs.'

'She used to. Basil was a big dopey golden retriever. Stupid bugger walked behind my car while I was reversing. We rushed him to the vets. He survived, but he lost a leg, poor thing. I swear Mrs F used to deliberately walk him in front of here afterwards to make me feel guilty.'

Em didn't want to dwell on the dog situation. She hated anything that involved animals in distress. Time to change the subject. 'What was Nancy's husband like?' There was a wedding photo on the grand piano but Nancy hadn't mentioned him at all.

'Xander? He was a handsome man. Something big in banking in London. She only ever saw him at weekends and holidays. I did feel sorry for her.' Mary leaned in closer, looking around to check no one else was in hearing range. 'When he didn't come home one weekend, Mrs F went to London and found him dead in their flat, handcuffed to the bed and stark bollock naked, if you'll forgive my language. That part didn't make it into his Times obituary. Massive heart attack, according to the coroner. He was only 62.’ She leaned back in her seat and took a long drag on the vape. ‘At least he died doing something he loved.'

Em was relieved she hadn't asked Nancy about the late Mr Farnham.

'Mrs F has been alone in that big house for the last 15 years. Seems happy enough, though.' Mary put the vape back in her pocket. 'Anything you want to know, just ask. I've lived in Dashford all my life. I know pretty much everything that goes on. So what brings you here?'

Em decided not to explain fully. She suspected anything she said would soon be all around the village.

'I needed a change of scenery.'

'Lover trouble then?'

'What makes you say that?'

'You've got a Midlands accent. No one moves a couple of hundred miles just because they fancy a change of scenery. At your age, it's got to be love. Either you're following someone or getting away from someone. I'm guessing, judging by the way you automatically asked for two hot chocolates and then changed your order to one, it's getting away from someone. Am I right?'

Em laughed. She could see how Mary knew everything that went on. 'You're wasted here. You should be in MI5.'

'How do you know I'm not?' Mary grinned. 'So, was he a bastard then?'

'Yep.' Not much point in lying about that. Mary probably kept thumbscrews behind the counter for use on customers who refused to give away their secrets.

Part Two

Summer 2018

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

It was a gorgeous June day. Em was in the garden, checking whether the sheets on the washing line were dry. Nancy walked out of the kitchen door, clutching yet another mug of tea. She seemed to be fuelled purely by Earl Grey with lemon. Em hadn't seen her eat or drink anything else in the four weeks since she'd arrived. Nancy sat down at the table on the terrace and started flicking through the sketchbook Em had left there.

'Did you do all of these? Sorry, I shouldn't be so nosey, but they're excellent.' She laughed at the sketch of Mary, holding court on the bench outside the cafe, a mug in one hand and a vape in the other. 'You've captured Mary's character perfectly and in just a few lines - very impressive. How long have you been drawing?'

'Since I could hold a pencil. Drawing was my favourite hobby as a child.'

'I remember you saying you went to art college at the interview.' Nancy carried on turning the pages. There were lots of drawings and sketches to look through. Em had almost filled an entire book in the short time she'd been here.

'I specialised in portraits at university, but I'm concentrating on seascapes and landscapes now. I've started turning some of those sketches into fully-fledged paintings. I thought the gallery in the village might be interested in selling them. But people are my favourite subjects.'

Nancy looked at Em thoughtfully. 'What do you think about painting me? It seems incredibly vain, but my great-grandparents, grandparents, and parents all have their portraits on our staircase. I don't see why Nigel shouldn't have my eyes following him around the room when I've passed over. If you could flatter me with fewer laughter lines than I've got in real life, that would be a bonus.'

Em wasn't sure what to say. On the one hand, someone as full of character as Nancy would be incredible to paint. But how awkward would it be if she didn't like it?