Chapter 51
It was the last day of the cruise. Tomorrow she would be back in her own room, in her own bed, Celia thought with mixed emotions. Whilst deep down she was a bit of a home bird, this cruise had taught her one or two lessons in life she might otherwise not have learnt. The Murder and Mystery night had not been the dreary, monotonous evening she had fully expected. Instead, to her surprise, she had found herself quite enjoying the varied and intriguing costumes the cruisers had worn, inviting interesting conversation. For once, Beatrice had not been the centre of attention. Everyone had mingled together well, each with a story to tell about who they were impersonating and why. One older gentleman, dressed as Hercule Poirot, tentatively approached Celia. She immediately recognised his character and couldn’t help but smile; the first time she had done since boarding theJewel of the Ocean. This encouraged him to ask her, ‘It’s Miss Marple, isn’t it?’ Celia chortled and was thrilled someone had actually guessed before having to be told like everyone else.
‘It certainly is, Hercule Poirot.’ He beamed back and his false moustache almost fell off, making them both giggle like hyenas.
‘I notice you’ve been reading one of my favourite Agatha Christie novels.’ Had he really? She hadn’t noticed him.
‘Yes, it never fails to grip me.’
‘Absolutely. Although my all-time favourite is—’
‘The Seven Dials Mystery,’ they both said at the same time, causing more giggles. How did she know he’d have the same favourite as her?
‘Yes!’ he cheered.
‘Christie was a genius,’ agreed Celia.
‘By the way, my real name is Wilfrid.’ He held his hand out.
‘Celia,’ she replied with a firm shake.
Wilfrid had asked if Celia had ever been to the Agatha Christie Festival which was held in Christie’s home town of Torquay, but no, she’d never heard of it.
‘Oh, it’s wonderful, Celia! Last year a local historian led a dawn walk to Christie’s former holiday home, Greenway House and garden. It was magical.’ Celia pictured Wilfrid trailing through a splendid, colourful garden wearing a panama; she saw him brushing his fingers over a French-polished desk, overlooking peaceful water, where the lady herself scribbled out the criminal mastermind makings of her intellect. An overwhelming desire to be there with him came over her. It was a strange sensation, not one that she had ever encountered.
As if he could sense her longing he continued, ‘Celia, I would love to show you Greenway. You must experience it.’ Celia saw Beatrice out of the corner of her eye, laughing with the captain, who was dressed as Dick Barton in a trilby hat and overcoat. Occasionally she would place her hand on his arm as she spoke and he straightened her lopsided tiara affectionately with both hands. The brigadier was standing by, totally surplus to requirements, sipping sherry with a vacant expression. He wore what Celia assumed was his old army uniform, but was clueless as to who he was supposed to be.
‘Yes, Wilfrid, I do believe I must.’ Shewouldgo to Torquay. Shewouldenjoy wandering round Greenway House with Wilfrid. Why not?
‘That’s just marvellous!’ Wilfrid’s face lit up like a Christmas tree in a way that made Celia realise what she’d been missing.
The rest of the evening had gone in a blur. It transpired Wilfrid and Celia had quite a bit in common besides their choice of reading. They both loved classical music, cats and the great outdoors. ‘I was Scout Master for almost thirty years,’ Wilfrid looked wistfully into the distance, mentally reminiscing many camping ventures.
‘I prefer to ramble alone,’ Celia told him.
‘Don’t you just!’ chipped in Beatrice, who had suddenly appeared on the scene. Not waiting to be introduced, she plonked herself in front of Wilfrid.
‘I’m Lady Macbeth,’ she announced rather dramatically with a snort. She was tipsy, again, noted Celia.
Wilfrid looked rather uncomfortable. ‘Oh… that’s who you are…’ he said, not sounding at all interested. Celia’s mouth twitched. Beatrice moved on.
‘My sister, Beatrice. I’m afraid she’s a touch drunk,’ she explained.
‘How awful for you, Celia,’ he replied with concern.
So, all in all, Celia’s cruise had ended on a positive note. She and Wilfrid had exchanged contact details, along with the promise to write and arrange a trip to Torquay.
As she was just leaving her cabin, she heard him call her name. ‘Celia! Celia!’ His cheeks were red from exhaustion and he puffed, out of breath, in his effort to catch her before she left the ship. ‘Look, this is for you.’ He held out a book. It wasThe Seven Dials Mysterywith the original cover. ‘Please, it’s yours. I bought it years ago. It’s a first edition and I take it with me everywhere I go.’
‘Wilfrid, I can’t possibly…’
He shook his head vehemently. ‘I insist. Please. I want you to have it.’ She could see his mind was made up. There was no persuading him otherwise.
‘Well, thank you so much, Wilfrid. I shall treasure it.’ She took the book and held it lovingly to her bosom.
‘Write soon?’ he asked.
‘I will. Promise.’
