Free The Cold Light of Mourning by Elizabeth J. Duncan

jockey—all that. The girls will know what to do, and they’ll help you. Ring them.”
    David gave his friend a sympathetic look and put his hand on his arm.
    “I’m really sorry it’s come to this, Emyr. But maybe she just decided at the last minute marrying you wasn’t right for her. Maybe this is for the best.”
    “For the best! What the hell are you saying? How could not turning up for her own wedding possibly be ‘for the best’? Best for who?” He shot a look of pure anger at his best man and then exhaled softly. “Look, I don’t think anything would have prevented her from marrying me. As awful as it is, I’m starting to think that the only reason she’s not here is because she can’t be. I think something’s happened to her.”
    He ran his fingers through his hair and turned to look out the window.
    “If she’d just been delayed, held up somewhere, see, she would have called by now. This is serious.”
    He gestured to David’s phone.
    “Now, please, make the calls, there’s a good lad.”
    Emyr turned to go as David reached for his mobile.
    In her flat above the shop, Penny reached for her jacket. She’d planned to spend the afternoon painting, an escape she normally looked forward to, but this afternoon she felt unsettled and out of sorts. At first, she thought her sense of unease and anxiety had to do with Emma’s passing but as she picked up her field painting case, her thoughts returned to that odd incident in the shop just before closing when the bridesmaid had rushed in, panting slightly, asking after Meg Wynne Thompson.
    There’s something not right there, she thought. Still, it’s probably all been sorted by now.
    She shrugged off the feeling as she let herself out of the flat, locking the door as she balanced her portable easel, folding stool, and painting case filled with brushes, papers, and paints.
    To supplement her income, she sold watercolour landscapes in the small art gallery above the village tea shop. Views of Llanelen, nearby Gwyther Castle, Bodnant Gardens, and neighbouring towns were always popular with tourists and, in the summer, she had trouble keeping up with the demand.
    She had lived on her own for a long time. There had been boyfriends along the way, a serious involvement even, but no permanent man in her life. She sometimes felt a deep sadness about that, thinking about all she had missed and how much easier her life might have been if she had not had to rely so much on herself. But she had had a difficult, complicated childhood in Nova Scotia, in and out of foster homes, and found affection hard to give and harder to receive, although she certainly tried to be kind and considerate in a genuine, sincere way. Several of her boyfriends had wondered vaguely why she always seemed to sell herself short, and why she had apparently settled for so little. But her life was what she had made it, and by not asking for or expecting very much from anyone, she hadn’t been given very much. Still, at some point she had recognized that when she was on her own, she was in pretty decent company.
    Everything she had, she had earned herself. With no encouragement or support from anyone, she had determined early on that what she needed above all else was an education and she had put herself through Mount Allison University, earning a bachelor’s degree in fine arts. The summer after she graduated she worked endless hours in a downtown bar, earned enough money for a plane ticket to Paris, and set off to see the magnificent collections in the great art houses and museums of Europe. It was a life-changing experience and she knew by the end of that summer that she would not be returning to Canada.
    She felt she belonged in Britain, telling herself that she would recognize her home when she found it, and it had almost happened that way. The reality was that Llanelen had seduced her. The true beauty of the valley, Penny had come to realize over the years, lay in its ever-changing