Permanent Wave

It was Joe Whittle, son of Sir Henry Swain’s housekeeper, who summed up the views of the villagers of Little Matchem when they first heard of Sir Henry’s remarriage. “Randy old goat,” Joe had opined. Few people disagreed.
It was definitely a May to December match. Sir Henry was sixty-two years old and his bride, a Miss Candice Lewis, a youthful nineteen. Rumours of how the two had met buzzed around the village like flies on a dungheap. I heard that she’d been a lap dancer, an actress, and a secretary. She appeared to have led a busy life for one so young.
Sir Henry brought his bride home to Matchem Manor some six weeks after their wedding, and the new Lady Swain made her first public appearance at the village fete. Virtually the whole of the village turned out to get a good look and form an opinion. Sir Henry looked as happy as a pig in muck as he waddled past the stalls with his new bride clinging to his arm.
I suppose she was pretty enough in a common sort of way, with her big blue eyes and long blonde hair. Like a dainty little doll, she tottered along at his side oohing and ahhing at everything she saw. All wide-eyed and innocent-looking like a kid’s cuddly bunny, she was very conscious of her new status and keen to impress.
The old cats of the village got plenty of gossiping material out of her outfit and, more precisely, its short skirt. It was a good thing they’d sat her behind a table to judge the bonny babies contest, or Constable McGoff could have arrested her for indecent exposure.
I didn’t really get to know Candice till a few weeks after the fete. By then the old tabbies had written her off as being no better than she should be and most of the village men had managed to pop their eyeballs back in. Life settled back into its usual humdrum routine and the new Lady Swain was old news.
Joe’s mum, Mrs Whittle, had given Candice my number and told her I was good with hair and nails. I think she was glad to meet me as her regular hairdresser was in London and Sir Henry was holding a big party to introduce her to the county set. She wanted to look her best.
“I don’t want to let my Henry baby down,” she’d said, showing me the new dress she’d bought for the party.
After that it got to be a regular thing, her calling me to do her hair and nails. I think she liked a bit of a natter as it was probably lonely for her up at the manor. Sir Henry’s chums were a pretty dull bunch, all as old as him and into hunting, shooting and fishing. Not much fun for a young girl. She didn’t have many friends at all – just me, Mrs Whittle and Joe.
She’d had a sad life. Her mum had died when she was a kid and she’d never known her dad. Ever since she’d left school she’d stumbled from one bad love affair to another. She seemed to have been let down a lot. I knew how that felt. She loved Sir Henry, though. She thought he was the best, most wonderful man on the whole of God’s good earth.
It’s difficult to pinpoint the time when I first thought something was wrong. I suppose it was about two weeks before she disappeared. She wasn’t herself, wasn’t so full of ‘Darling Henry’. Candice wasn’t good at hiding her feelings. She’d been so happy just a month before, babbling away about how she’d like a baby and even planning the nursery. I wish I’d said something to her then, but I hadn’t the heart. She was such a sweet trusting soul.
It was Sir Henry who reported her missing. Everyone thought she’d left him and run off with Joe, who had also vanished. But Mrs Whittle said she hadn’t taken any of her things, no clothes, no money, none of her jewellery – nothing. Then Joe rang up and said he was visiting some friends on the Isle of Wight; he hadn’t gone off with Candice at all, and he didn’t even know she was missing.
You’d have thought Sir Henry would have been more upset but he held on to his stiff upper lip and was ‘consoled’ by Mrs Prior, a petite divorcee who shared the magistrates bench with him. Mrs Whittle wasn’t best pleased. I think she’d fancied doing the consoling herself, if you catch my drift.
They found poor Candice two weeks later, lying in the bracken in Great Matchem wood. Throttled on the spot, they said, and her body covered with flowers. Of course there was a lot of speculation about what she’d been doing in the woods in the first place. Candice wasn’t exactly your ‘great outdoors’ kind of girl. The police questioned young Joe but he was soon exonerated.
I always knew he’d had nothing to do with it. Candice was besotted with Sir Henry and would not have strayed. She was as naïve and trusting as they come. It had broken my heart listening to her talking about babies and planning a family. The old ratbag had never told her about the vasectomy he’d had when he’d been married to the first Lady Swain, even though the entire village knew about that.
Me and Mrs Whittle felt it our duty to tell the police about Sir Henry’s waning affections for Candice. She hadn’t fitted in with the horsey set and his fishing and shooting pals, yet he couldn’t have managed another divorce. The first Lady Swain had taken him to the cleaners.
I hadn’t any personal axes to grind. I’ve never cared for Sir Henry, but I think Mrs Whittle had designs on becoming the next Lady Swain. She fancied having a title and she fancied his Lordship. There’s no accounting for taste, that’s all I can say. Still, it transpired that Sir Henry had a watertight alibi – provided by the ever obliging Mrs Prior – so that was that.
It’s been a year now since Candice died. I miss her and our little chats. I’ve been and put some more flowers on her grave. I go every week, there isn’t anyone else to go, and Sir Henry never does. She liked fresh flowers, did Candice, she always said they made her feel happy.
Sir Henry is still seeing Mrs Prior, Mrs Whittle still has hopes that she might nab that title, and Joe has settled on the Isle of Wight. It turns out he had a girl there, that was the friend he went to see. He didn’t tell his mother about her in case she wouldn’t approve. Poor Candice. She never found out that there wouldn’t be any babies. She’d had such a sad life already that it was good that she went while she was happy.
Like a child she was. Trusting. That’s why she trusted me, why she met me at the woods that day, why she let me kill her. It was really what she wanted. It would have been cruel to let her be disappointed again.
I’d better get a move on. Mrs Whittle needs a permanent doing. We often talk about Candice and what happened. I think she might be getting a bit suspicious as she’s asking some very tiresome questions. Perhaps I’ll make today’s perm a bit more permanent, if you know what I mean. She’s no chance of snaring Sir Henry, not while Mrs Prior is so obliging. I can tell Candice’s death has been bothering her too and she’s so lonely now Joe’s moved.
It would be for the best, don’t you think?

(C) Nell Dixon Jan 09