And Thereby Hangs a Tale

“Well, you’ll find it tucked away in the Lady Chapel. I’m sure you won’t be disappointed.”

As she took another sip of tea, I wondered how many out of ten I’d got so far. Clearly interested in art, probably lives in London, and certainly hasn’t come to St. Ives to sit on the beach and sunbathe.

“So, are you a visitor to these parts?” I ventured, searching for further clues.

“Yes. But my aunt is from St. Mawes, and she’s hoping to join me for the morning service.”

I felt a right chump. She must have already seen the Madonna and Child, and probably knew more about Barbara Hepworth than I did, but was too polite to embarrass me. Did she also realize I was blind? If so, those same good manners didn’t even hint at it.

I heard her drain her cup. I can even tell that. When Charlie returned, she asked him for the bill. He tore off a slip from his pad and handed it to her. She passed him a banknote, and he gave her back some coins.

“Thank you, madam,” said Charlie effusively. It must have been a generous tip.

“Good-bye,” she said, her voice directed toward me. “It was nice to talk to you.”

I rose from my place, gave her a slight bow, and said, “I do hope you enjoy the service.”

“Thank you,” she replied. As she walked away I heard her say to Charlie, “What a charming man.” But then, she had no way of knowing how acute my hearing is.

And then she was gone.

I sat waiting impatiently for Charlie to return. I had so many questions for him. How many of my guesses would turn out to be correct this time? From the buzz of cheerful chatter in the café, I guessed there were a lot of customers in that morning, so it was some time before Charlie was once again standing by my side.

“Will there be anything else, Mr. Trevathan?” he teased.

“There most certainly will be, Charlie,” I replied. “For a start, I want to know all about the woman who was sitting next to me. Was she tall or short? Fair or dark? Was she slim? Good-looking? Was she—”

Charlie burst out laughing.

“What’s so funny?” I demanded.

“She asked me exactly the same questions about you.”

WHERE THERE’S A WILL*

5

Now, you’ve all heard the story about the beautiful young nurse who takes care of a bedridden old man, convinces him to change his will in her favor, and ends up with a fortune, having deprived his children of their rightful inheritance. I confess that I thought I’d heard every variation on this theme; at least that was until I came across Miss Evelyn Beattie Moore, and even that wasn’t her real name.

Miss Evelyn Mertzberger hailed from Milwaukee. She was born on the day Marilyn Monroe died, and that wasn’t the only thing they had in common: Evelyn was blonde, she had the kind of figure that makes men turn and take a second look, and she had legs you rarely come across other than in an ad campaign for stockings.

So many of her friends from Milwaukee commented on how like Marilyn Monroe she looked that it wasn’t surprising when as soon as Evelyn left school she bought a one-way ticket to Hollywood. On arrival in the City of Angels, she changed her name to Evelyn Beattie Moore (half Mary Tyler Moore and half Warren Beatty), but quickly discovered that, unlike Marilyn, she didn’t have any talent as an actress, and no number of directors’ couches was going to remedy that.

Once Evelyn had accepted this—not an easy thing for any aspiring young actress to come to terms with—she began to look for alternative employment—which was difficult in the city of a thousand blondes.

She had spent almost all of her savings renting a small apartment in Glendale and buying a suitable wardrobe for auditions, agency photographs, and the endless parties young hopefuls had to be seen at.

It was after she’d checked her latest bank statement that Evelyn realized a decision had to be made if she was to avoid returning to Milwaukee and admitting she wasn’t quite as like Marilyn as her friends had thought. But what else could she do?

The idea never would have occurred to Evelyn if she hadn’t come across the entry while she was flicking through the Yellow Pages looking for an electrician. It was some time before she was willing to make the necessary phone call, and then only after a final demand for the last three months’ rent dropped through her mailbox.

The Happy Hunting agency assured Evelyn that their escorts were under no obligation to do anything other than have dinner with the client. They were a professional agency that supplied charming young ladies as companions for discreet gentlemen. However, it was none of their business if those young ladies chose to come to a private arrangement with the client. As the agency took 50 percent of the booking fee, Evelyn got the message.

She decided at first that she would only sleep with a client if she felt there was a chance of their developing a long-term relationship. However, she quickly discovered that most men’s idea of a long-term relationship was about an hour, and in some cases half an hour. But at least her new job made it possible for her to pay off the landlord, and even to open a savings account.

When Evelyn celebrated—or, to be more accurate, remained silent about—her thirtieth birthday, she decided the time had come to take revenge on the male species.

While not quite as many men were turning to give her a second look, Evelyn had accumulated enough money to enjoy a comfortable lifestyle. But not enough to ensure that that lifestyle would continue once she reached her fortieth birthday, and could no longer be sure of a first look.