“Sadly, not. But in the past I’ve spoken with someone who knew the Tregear family well.” He smiled broadly, “That person being my grandmother, Edith Triggs.”
Lottie gasped. “Is your grandmother still alive? Please tell me she is.”
The young man shook his head. “Regrettably not and if she was she’d be one hundred years old now.”
“Oh, what a shame, but if you’ve something to tell us, why can’t you tell us now?” Hetty was eager to hear what the young man had to say.
“Because it’s a bit noisy in here and I’m going in a minute. My girlfriend is picking me up on her way home from work.” He handed Lottie a card. “Ring me when it’s convenient and I’ll come and see you. I’m self-employed and so my time is my own.”
His phone beeped. “Must go, Angie’s waiting. Nice to have met you and I look forward to seeing you again.”
“Well, what do you make of that?” Hetty asked, as the young man dashed out of the building.
“Sounds promising,” said Lottie, as she looked at the card. “According to this his name is Steve Martin and he’s a freelance journalist.”
“Hmm, probably just after a story then,” scoffed Grace, dismissively, “and he’s made up the grandmother business to get your attention.”
“Ow, I don’t think so,” said Lottie, “I thought him very sincere.”
“What did he say his grandmother’s name was?” Ginny asked.
“Edith Triggs,” Alex replied, “and when we get home I’ll have a look at the list of people who attended Peter Tregear’s funeral to see if she’s amongst them.”
“Excellent idea,” agreed Hetty, rubbing her hands together, “and if she is then we’ll definitely give Steve Martin a ring.”
As they were leaving the Crown and Anchor, Lottie spotted on the floor one of the small business cards which Bernie the Boatman handed out to potential customers telling of his fishing trips. She bent down to pick it up and when she turned it over saw a name written on the back. “Anne Smith.” She frowned, “Why does that name ring a bell?”
Grace peered over Lottie’s shoulder. “My mother was Anne Smith.”
“How peculiar,” blurted Hetty, “I wonder why her name’s written on Bernie’s card?”
Alex laughed. “Well, with all due respect to Grace, Hetty, I think it’s highly unlikely that Grace’s mother is the only person to have ever been given that name.”
“True,” laughed Grace, “it never ceases to amaze me when I’m looking for an old friend on Facebook and type in a name in the search box just how many people there are with the same name and I’m talking about names much less common than that of my dear old mum.”
Chapter Seventeen
The following morning, Alex called in on his way to the antique shop. He had checked the list of mourners at Peter Tregear’s funeral and Edith Triggs was amongst them.
“Brilliant,” shrieked Hetty, clapping her hands with glee, “we’re getting somewhere at last. We’ll ring Steve Martin straight away. It should be interesting to hear what he has to tell us even though he doesn’t appear to know what happened to David.”
“Absolutely and if by any chance he’s able to visit tomorrow then I’d love to hear what he has to say as well, if that’s alright with you.”
“Of course, Alex, you’d be most welcome. Without you and your research we’d probably have got no further than reading gravestones.”
Lottie rang Steve Martin as soon as Alex left and he agreed to visit them the following afternoon.
“So what shall we do today?” Hetty asked.
“How about going to the garden centre and buying some plants for the pond?” Lottie proposed, “I think the water’s had enough time to settle by now.”
“But isn’t it supposed to be left for several weeks?”
“That’s only if we’re putting fish in. We’ve not discussed it yet but shall we have fish eventually?”
“It would be nice as long as herons don’t pinch them.”
“Do you think they might?”
“Yes, definitely. I was talking to Chloe the other day and she knows someone who lost all their fish last winter and so they now have a large plastic heron by their pond. Chloe said they’re going to get one for their pond too before winter in case the same thing happens to them.”
Hetty and Lottie were unloading the car after the trip to the garden centre when Grace called. “Excellent, plants for the pond. Are you going to put them in now?”
“No time like the present,” Hetty lifted up a bag of aquatic compost and stood it on the ground, “Would you like to give us a hand?”
“You bet,” Grace eagerly stepped forward and took a pot containing a waterlily from the back of the car along with several aquatic baskets in varying sizes.
After they had carried everything round to the back garden they potted all the new plants up in the baskets and then steadily positioned them in the water. A yellow iris, water forget-me-nots, a marsh marigold and an umbrella plant were placed on the marginal shelf and oxygenating plants were dropped onto the surface with weights to pull them down. To enable them to get the water lily in the middle of the pond where the water was deepest, Hetty changed into her swimming costume and waded in.
“The water is actually quite warm. I’m surprised.”
“Hmm, but I don’t think I’ll join you,” Lottie turned to go indoors. “I’ll make tea instead.”
When Lottie came back out with the tea tray and a large towel draped over her arm, Hetty was out of the pond and sitting on the bench with Grace, both admiring their handiwork. Lottie threw Hetty the towel. “I thought you might want to dry your legs.”
“Thanks.” Hetty stood up and wrapped the towel around the lower part of her body.
“Grace and I were just saying we must have a pond-warming party now the pond is done. What do you think, Lottie?”
Lottie sat down. “I think it’s a lovely idea and we must have it before Zac goes home. It can be a pond-warming, farewell do.”
“Good, when we go in we’ll check the calendar and choose a date.”
“Have you told Grace about Steve Martin yet?” Lottie asked.
“Oh no, I’d completely forgotten,” Hetty turned to Grace. “Steve Martin, you know the chap we saw in the pub last night, well he’s coming here tomorrow to see us. I hope you can make it.”
“Oh dear but no I can’t which is a shame because I should really like to hear what he has to say. You see, I’ve already agreed to go out for the day with the Jacksons tomorrow. They’re going to the Eden Project and asked me if I’d like to join them as I’m interested in plants. And I don’t want to let them down as they’re going home on Monday.”
“Oh well, never mind,” sighed Lottie, “we can tell you all about it when you get back.”
“Meanwhile we must sit patiently and wait for a dragonfly,” laughed Hetty, “I see you’re wearing your lovely brooch, Grace so hopefully it might attract one and it’ll come and rest on your shoulder.”
“Oh, I don’t think I’d like the idea of one landing on me,” scowled Lottie, “I know they’re pretty but I like to keep all creepy-crawlies at arm’s length.”
Grace tutted. “My dear, Lottie, it’s reckoned that if a dragonfly lands on you it will bring you good luck.”
“Really,” Hetty was intrigued.
Grace nodded. “Yes, and apparently if you see a dragonfly in your dreams or if one suddenly appears in your life, then that’s a sign that you need to take care because something in your life is hidden and the truth is being kept from you.”
“Hetty threw back her head and laughed. “Well, the truth regarding David Tregear is certainly being kept from us regardless of whether or not we’ll see a dragonfly.”
Chapter Eighteen
Steve Martin arrived promptly at Primrose Cottage on Sunday afternoon. Lottie showed him into the sitting room and introduced him to Hetty, Zac and Emma, Kitty and Tommy, Alex and Ginny and herself, most of who
m he had seen on Friday evening. While Zac and Emma went into the kitchen to make tea for everyone, Simon and Sheila arrived.
“I hope we’re not too late,” Simon kissed Hetty and Lottie on the cheek in turn, “We got stuck behind a tractor for a mile or so.”
Lottie smiled. “No, we’ve not started talking yet.”
“Are you completely better?” Hetty asked, “I must admit you look fine.”
“And I feel it,” laughed Simon, “In fact I’ve never felt better.”
“Good,”
As Hetty introduced Simon and Sheila to Steve Martin, Emma and Zac carried in mugs of tea and slices of cake on trays.
“I’ve brought the photos with me,” Simon remarked, after shaking Steve’s hand, “I’ll show you them later when I’ve had a cup of tea because stupidly I’ve left them in the car.”
“Plenty of time,” insisted Lottie, taking a seat on the settee beside Hetty.
As Simon sat he cast his eyes around the room. When his eyes fell on Kitty a puzzled look crossed his face and then he gasped. “Kitty Kat,” he whispered. She smiled as he put his mug down on the table, sprang to his feet and crossed the room. She stood up and to her surprise he flung his arms around her and hugged her tightly. “Kitty Kat, my first real friend. I’ve often wondered about you.”
“And I you,” murmured Kitty, “although I’m surprised you recognised me after all this time.”
“It’s the eyes,” teased Simon, “I’d recognise those eyes anywhere. And of course I knew you still lived along here and were friends with our hostesses. What’s more, I hear you’re married now.”
“Yes, and this is my husband, Tommy.” She waved her hand to Tommy sitting by her empty chair.”
The two men shook hands and then Simon beckoned Sheila to his side and introduced her to Kitty and Tommy.
“We’d forgotten you’d not met again yet,” tutted Hetty, “how remiss of us.”
Simon laughed. “Well my last visit did come to rather an abrupt end.”
“Yes,” mumbled Sheila, “and let’s hope this time things are a little more run-of-the-mill.”
Once the chatter lessened they all took their seats again.
“Sorry about the interruption, Steve,” apologised Hetty, “When you’re ready we’re all longing to hear what you have to tell us and then afterwards I’ll go and fetch the suitcase so you can rootle through it.”
“Well, I hope you won’t be disappointed.” He finished off his slice of cake and put the empty plate down on the coffee table; he then opened up a brown envelope. “I have here some pictures of my grandmother, Edith Triggs, and also one of David Tregear.” He handed the pictures to Hetty to pass around. “You see, my grandmother was David Tregear’s girlfriend and they planned to marry after the war ended. Of course that never happened and to say Grandma was mystified by David’s disappearance would be an understatement.”
“Sorry to interrupt,” apologised Hetty, as she rose and crossed to the lining paper pinned to the wall, “but having seen that photo of your grandmother I realise she’s the young lady in the picture that Belinda found in David’s wallet who we assumed to be Polly.” She took down the small photograph from the wall and handed it to Steve.
“Yes, that’s Grandma. But who is Belinda?”
“Just someone staying in the guest house next door,” explained Lottie, “We showed the suitcase to her and her husband because they were interested.”
Steve nodded. “I see…I think.”
“And at least we know it’s not Polly now,” acknowledged Hetty.
“Aunt Polly, you thought it was Aunt Polly,” Simon stood and crossed the room to look at the small picture. He smiled. “No this young lady’s nothing like Aunt Polly because she has fair hair. Aunt Polly was a brunette. She also had a larger frame. I know I was only young when I knew her but she was quite a bit taller than my mother and stouter too, although she must have been slimmer during wartime when food was rationed.”
“I’m sorry, Steve,” apologised Hetty, worried he might be annoyed, “I’ve caused us all to go off at a tangent. Please continue.”
“Not a problem,” laughed Steve, who was amused by the deviation. “Anyway, as I said Grandma was mystified by David’s disappearance and for that reason she desperately tried to find out where he’d gone but sadly she just kept coming up at one brick wall after another.”
Lottie laughed. “The old brick wall again. The times we’ve used that analogy in the last few weeks is no-one’s business.”
Hetty tutted, raised her forefinger to her lips and shushed her sister.
“Sorry,” whispered Lottie.
“It’s alright,” said Steve, “It’s nice to know you’re listening. Now where was I?”
“Your grandmother kept coming up against brick walls,” prompted Zac.
“That’s right, she did, but she said she always felt that David’s stepsister, Polly Berryman, who I now realise is your aunt, Simon, knew more than she’d admit. And I don’t know whether you’re aware of this, Simon, and I hope you won’t be offended, but according to Grandma, Polly liked a drink. Gin was her tipple and she drank far more of it than was good for her and apparently got addicted to the stuff while running the hotel bar.”
Simon looked shocked. “Good heavens that’s news to me but then I only knew Aunt Polly for a few years and I was very young. It probably explains why Dad lost touch with her though because he was very much against drinking in excess.”
Ginny tilted her head to one side. “Please excuse my ignorance. But was alcohol rationed during the war?”
“No it wasn’t but the price increased dramatically as the war dragged on and in some places it was in short supply,” answered Alex.
Hetty looked thoughtful as she addressed Steve. “So reading between the lines, would I be right in thinking that your grandmother and Polly didn’t get on very well?”
Steve winkled his nose. “I must admit I did get that feeling when Grandma spoke of Polly and I don’t suppose it helped that Grandma was tee-total, had a sharp tongue and called a spade a spade.” Steve chuckled, “If the truth be known Grandma probably criticised poor Polly which would explain why one day Polly told Grandma that David had no doubt run away to get away from her nagging tongue.”
Emma giggled.
Simon sat up straight. “So do you think it’s possible he might have gone for that reason?”
“No, no, I don’t think so for one minute,” grinned Steve, “and I say that because Grandma told me so. Besides, he had too much to lose. He loved the railway, loved fishing and he was devoted to the lifeboat. What’s more, he was devastated by the death of his brother, Peter, and would never have left his mother to whom he was devoted, to grieve alone.”
“And if he went where would he go?” Sheila added, “With food rationed and so forth without an identity card and his ration book he would soon have starved to death.”
“I wonder what happened to his ration book,” said Alex, “I mean it wasn’t in the suitcase, was it?”
Hetty tutted. “No, it wasn’t. Strange. I wonder if someone found it and used it.”
“Interesting point,” agreed Steve, “Anyway, going back to Grandma and what Polly said, Grandma knew he would never have left her willingly simply because he loved her. Of that she had no doubt.” Steve put his hand inside the brown envelope and pulled out a small box and a piece of paper. “I found out all I’m telling you about ten years ago when I asked Grandma about the family. I was trying to piece together family history, you see, having been inspired by the television programme, Who Do You Think You Are, and as Grandma was the oldest family member still living, she was the obvious person to question first.” He held up the sheet of paper, “This is a poem David wrote for Grandma telling of his love for her and in this box is the engagement ring he gave to her on St. Valentine’s Day in 1941.” He handed the sheet of paper to Lottie; the ring he passed to Hetty.
Simon stood up. “Seeing your envelope has r
eminded me of my old photos. I’ll just pop out to the car and get them.”
“Did your grandmother ever mention a man who was a lodger here?” Sheila suddenly asked.
“What in this house?” Steve looked puzzled.
“Yes.”
“I don’t think she did. In fact I’m sure she didn’t. Who was he?”
“That’s what we’d all like to know,” laughed Lottie, as she unfolded the sheet of paper Steve had given to her, “All we know is that he lodged here with George, worked on a farm, was crew on the lifeboat and drove the hearse for the Berrymans but because we don’t know his name we’ve not been able to find out anything about him.”
“For a while we thought he might have been called Jimmy though,” laughed Hetty, “but now we know he wasn’t because Jimmy’s a boat. In fact Old Jimmy’s a lifeboat or at least he was. Or should I say she, because apparently boats are ladies even when they have chaps’ names.”
Steve looked nonplussed.
Lottie tutted. “Shush, Het, you’re just confusing matters.”
Steve chuckled. “Oh dear, how frustrating for you. I wish I could help but the farm working, hearse driving, lifeboat lodger is news to me.”
Hetty sighed as she opened the box and saw the ring. “Oh dear, it’s all very sad and we’re still none the wiser as to where David went but whatever happened it’s nice to know that he had a girlfriend who loved and missed him.”
Lottie nodded. “I agree, and one thing is for certain: that being, David did not run away.” She handed the poem to her sister. “These verses are beautiful, Het and are not the sentiments of a rogue.”
As Hetty read the poem, Simon returned with a plastic wallet. He tipped the old photographs out onto the coffee table. “Sadly these won’t be any help either. All are of the Berrymans and most are of my parents, George and Betty. There is one of my grandfather though and just one of Aunt Polly, but none are very good and they’re all far too small really to see any features.”
“If only photography back then was as it is today,” Lottie sighed. “I’d love to know what they all looked like. Not that that would help us much.”
The Suitcase In The Attic Page 14