‘Not to worry, where better to do it?’ interrupted Bunty again with a big beam.
There was a slight pause.
‘You mean… me cook here?’ Jasmine asked.
‘Yes, darling, why not?’ replied Bunty, hands spread out. Then, turning to Robin, added, ‘And Robin, you must stay overnight. No good throwing a dinner party if you can’t relax with a good glass of champagne,’ she said sweetly with an innocent smile.
Robin coughed into his drink. He wasn’t taken in for one moment with Bunty’s butter-wouldn’t-melt manner. The old bird was up to her tricks and playing cupid again. But, to his surprise, Jasmine intervened before he had a chance to reply.
‘Bunty’s right. You can’t drink and drive, Robin,’ she whispered.
A deadly silence followed. The enormity of the words left a chill in the air. Robin and Bunty exchanged a pained look.
‘Of course Bunty’s right. I’ll stop over,’ he agreed.
Chapter 20
Trish gasped as she saw the stack of newspapers delivered that morning. There, waiting to be displayed on the shelves, spread the shocking front-page news of theLancashire Evening Standard:Killers Caught!She hastily pulled the top copy out from the pile to read.
Two men have been arrested and charged with the death of Thomas Boyd,who was killed instantly in a hit-and-run accident in Carston lastOctober. Ian Dixon and Adrian Hall admitted colliding into Mr Boydwhilst being under the influence of alcohol. It has yet to beestablished who was driving the vehicle. Adrian Hall, from Samphire Bay,employed Ian Dixon, a manual worker, during the time the accident tookplace. Both men remain in custody, whilst further investigations aremade.
Two profile pictures of each man appeared beneath the article.
‘Oh my God!’ wheezed Trish, hand over her mouth in astonishment. All this time, the killers of poor Jasmine Boyd’s husband had been right here, in Samphire Bay. Or at least one of them had, she thought, knowing who Adrian Hall was. He had come into her shop many a time. Trish held the newspaper right up to her eyes to examine the photograph of Ian Dixon. She couldn’t in all honesty recall ever seeing his face – and it was one she’d certainly remember; a cruel, gruff-looking man he looked, too. The shot didn’t do him any favours with his unshaven face, steely hard glare and thin straight mouth. As for Adrian, well he was looking pretty shifty too, but more in a pathetic, weak way. His eyes seemed to hold an element of sorrow, or shame, in Trish’s opinion.
Her first instincts were to ring Bunty. This was hot news, absolute premier gossip! Trish scurried into the back and grabbed the phone. Shaking with anticipation, she punched out Bunty’s telephone number. She could hardly contain herself, wait till she told Bunty all the scandal!
In the meantime, Bunty was putting the finishing touches on Jasmine’s breakfast tray. Deciding she would treat the girl to breakfast in bed, it being her first morning there, she had prepared her speciality, eggs Benedict. A fresh pot of tea had been made and Bunty was just slicing the toast to put in the rack before adding it to the tray. She was so absorbed in the kitchen that she hadn’t heard the phone ringing out in the hall, nor the upstairs phone reverberating noisily round the landing.
Jasmine woke to hear the loud, insistent trill. Whoever it was ringing, they weren’t giving up, she thought, rolling her eyes. Was it notobviousthat Bunty wasn’t available? After a few more relentless rings, Jasmine got up and stomped out onto the landing, where the phone was loudly buzzing on a console table by a chaise lounge. She picked it up with purpose and was just about to speak when a high-pitched woman’s voice blasted down the receiver.
‘Oh Bunty, you’ll never guess, it’s in the papers this morning, that two men have been charged with the killing of that poor Jasmine’s husband, you know, Thomas Boyd, and you’ll never guess, but one of them was from Samphire Bay. Samphire Bay! I can’t believe it, Adrian Hall, he’s come into my shop many a time and to think!’
Jasmine froze, unable to move or speak as Trish’s tone of excited scandal filled her ears.
‘Bunty, Bunty are you there dear? What a do, I couldn’t believe the papers this morning when they were delivered, I—’
Jasmine slammed the phone down. Her chest started to tighten and she forced herself to take steady, deep breaths. She heard Bunty call from the bottom of the stairs.
‘Oh, you’re up, darling! I was just about to bring you breakfast in bed.’
Jasmine turned around ashen faced.
‘I just answered the phone, Bunty,’ she croaked in a hoarse voice. ‘It was some woman, talking non-stop, I couldn’t get a word in edgeways.’
‘Oh that’ll be Trish,’ said Bunty dismissively.
‘She was going on about the newspapers, how it’s all over the news they’ve caught Tom’s killers…’ Jasmine’s chin wobbled and tears threatened to fall.
‘Now just you get back into bed and eat this breakfast,’ Bunty gently cajoled. Typical Trish, she thought, blabbering away like that. ‘Come on, never mind her, she’s just a tittle-tattle. Not worth worrying about.’
Jasmine inhaled deeply again and allowed herself to be herded back into bed. Once nicely tucked in, with the tray on her lap, she delved into the eggs Benedict, while Bunty sat beside her in the velvet shell chair, sipping tea.
‘We can’t stop what the newspapers print, darling, but we can make sure you’re left in peace. Whilst you are here, nobody can get anywhere near you, remember that, Jasmine.’ Bunty was looking steadfast, determined to reassure her.
Jasmine carried on munching on her breakfast and bobbed her head in acknowledgment. Now that the initial shock had worn off, she did concede it was fully predictable the story would be covered, after all, that’s why she was here. And, like it had last October, would soon be yesterday’s news. At least this time there was no room for speculation so the whole episode wouldn’t be dragged through the media again. Give it a few days and it would finally be over, she told herself, as her dad had done last night when she’d rung her parents to tell them the news.
They too were thankful the killer of their son-in-law had finally been caught and detained. Her dad had also called Tom’s parents, even though he knew Jasmine would be speaking to them at some point, he wanted to share her burden. More than anything they prayed it would aid Jasmine to heal and move forward with her life. They were liking the sound of this next-door neighbour of hers, who, by all accounts, couldn’t do enough to help Jasmine. Now it seemed Robin had whisked their daughter away from the dreaded limelight of the media to a safe haven.
