Page 80 of Old Girls Go Greek
Gwen came out from the kitchen where she had been rearranging the mugs on a tray, and Maureen, Janet, Polly and Irene all clustered around us as though we were celebrities.
‘How is your wall, Gwen?’ I asked.
Gwen looked very annoyed. ‘Don’t talk to me about walls! Do you know John Patterson hasn’t even started on the repointing yet. It was raining so much and he said the mortar wouldn’t dry properly. Then he claimed to have man flu and his wife said he was feverish and had got through a whole bottle of Night Nurse that week. Which is marvellous stuff, but my friend Kathy saw him in the bakers on Thursday morning buying doughnuts so he can’t have been all that bad, can he? He says he will start next week, so I could have come with you after all. I do feel cross about that.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that, but I was delighted to go in your place. I’ve brought you a little snow globe of Santorini and a tea towel,’ I said, handing it over.
Gwen flushed with pleasure. ‘How lovely. I shall keep it for the best.’
‘And where is Cassandra?’ Dennis said loudly, looking at his watch. ‘Honestly, why is she always late? Her sister wasn’t like that. Jillian was always very prompt.’
‘Calm down, it’s only two minutes past ten,’ Beryl said, ‘and I’ve just seen her car pulling into the car park.’
Cassandra came into the hall a few moments later, carrying with her a big canvas bag.
‘Ah, there you all are,’ she said with a pleased smile, ‘I have been hearing such good things about you from Jillian. She said it was one of the best groups she’s ever had?—’
‘That’s not what she said to me,’ I murmured.
‘Or me,’ Beryl agreed, ‘She said it was like herding kittens at a sheepdog trial.’
‘—and she’s hoping some of you will go back next year. I’m sure the people who went will agree it’s well worth going. And she’s coming over to visit me in November so you will get a chance to meet her and hear all about it.’
We all nodded and smiled and said positive things about Hotel Costas and then we were encouraged to show the pieces of work we had done while we were there.
While people were milling around looking at the landscapes and pictures of Costas, Cassandra sidled up to me.
‘I have a message for you,’ she said out of the corner of her mouth. For a moment it almost seemed like I was in a spy thriller, and she was going to say something about the goose flying backwards across the moon.
She handed me a pink Post-it note with a dog doodled in the corner.
‘Someone from your holiday group rang me. He had been researching art groups in the Begley area and eventually he found me on Facebook. He said to give you this.’
I unfolded the note and inside was a mobile phone number.
‘Who was it?’ I said, feeling quite faint for a moment.
Cassandra shrugged. ‘I’m not sure, I was busy unloading the shopping and the ice cream was melting. And my husband was shouting from upstairs. He was being quite rude actually. I keep telling him where the spare toilet rolls are but he never listens. This person said you’d know who it was. Something about wrenches. Which seemed very odd to me. Ah yes, I’ve just remembered. Mr Mole. That was it. And if this is an undesirable, then feel free to chuck it away. If he rings again I will say I was mistaken and I don’t know you.’
I looked at the number again. Mr Mole. It had to be Will. It couldn’t be anyone else. I felt a slow smile spreading across my face and I immediately put the number into my phone so I wouldn’t lose it.
Cassandra clapped her hands. ‘Now then, everyone, let’s settle and think about what we are going to do this morning. I have brought along a garden trug and some shears which might be fun to paint. Something rustic and simple.’
‘Just like me.’ Dennis chuckled. ‘I’m rustic and simple.’
* * *
I really couldn’t concentrate after that and I made as good an effort as I could with Cassandra’s trug, which ended up looking like a supermarket basket with some huge scissors balanced unconvincingly on the top.
Beryl came over to see what I had been doing and stared, unimpressed.
‘Something tells me you are not exactly in the groove this morning,’ she said, ‘and I saw our esteemed tutor passing you a note earlier on. Which took me back to my days in boarding school, when the class bully would pass on a note saying no one likes you and you have stupid hair. Well obviously neither of those things are true in this case so perhaps you’d like to share?’
‘Honestly, Beryl, you are so nosey,’ I said, laughing.
‘No, I’m incorrigible, and I have it on the best authority, from Henry Kissinger. And if anyone knew it would be him. So now, tell me what’s going on.’
Anita came sidling up with Effie hot on her heels.
