“Right, Sergeant, that’s great, thank you.” Bellamy wrote the car number in his pocket book.
“It might be prudent, Bellamy, as the evening is drawing to a close, to position yourself outside the hotel to deter any drunken drivers and other trouble, even at a dance of this stature.”
“Right, Sergeant.”
Having had Bellamy’s identity revealed to us, Blaketon then outlined our duties for the night. While I was attending this meeting, Mary was with the wives of other policemen where they would enjoy a reunion and chat in the bar; she’d not miss me for the short time I was doing my part for the success of the evening.
My job was to position the place settings at the dining tables — we had the names of everyone who had bought a ticket. It was that kind of event. Even the winner of the two tickets in last year’s raffle was named — it was a Miss Esme Primton and because she had won two tickets, she had intimated she was bringing a male guest. Thus that ticket did not have a personal name — it merely said ‘Miss Primton’s guest’. As was customary, these guests were placed on the extensive top table, along with the chief constable, Blaketon and some twenty other VIPs.
After our briefing, I spent some time laying out the place names and checking them against the seating plan, after which I was able to rejoin Mary and the others. Much of our work had been done prior to the event, of course, and once we had performed our tasks for that evening, we were free to enjoy the occasion. Before joining Mary in the bar, I peeped outside — the deluge was continuing and the streets were running with water, but at least the main entrance to the hotel was covered. People could stop their cars outside, hurry across the footpath, then fold their brollies before entering the hotel with some decorum, and it was under that canopy that Bellamy would await the arrival of our most important visitor. We had been told to expect him at 7.30 p.m. prompt.
Moments before that vital time, however, I noticed that Mr James Bullen was attending; he had arrived in the guests’ reception suite with his wife, and I could not remember positioning a place setting for them at table. I rushed into the dining room and scanned the tables, prepared to check every one of the 120 placings but happily soon found the names of Dr Adrian and Mrs Elizabeth Calder.
Dr Calder was coroner for the Ashfordly district — his name was on the official guest list, but Bullen had not been invited. It seemed, however, that he had arrived in place of his boss, for Bullen was the deputy coroner. I could not see Calder anywhere in the hotel but decided to have a quick word with Bullen, just to clarify the situation. I managed to approach him very quickly and said, “It’s nice to see you and Mrs Bullen here. Is this your first time?”
“Hello, Mr Rhea,” he referred to me very formally. “Yes, our first time and we are looking forward to it. Dr Calder couldn’t make it, he’s got an unexpected family commitment in Kent, the death of an aunt I believe, and he asked if I could represent him and to convey his apologies. He did speak to the superintendent who said it would not be a problem.”
“Not at all! We’re pleased you could make it,” and I tried to sound delighted by his presence, but I knew I had to amend the place settings. The superintendent had blithely agreed to the exchange without telling the organisers and so I sought Blaketon. I found him in a huddle with some guests, took him discreetly to one side, and explained what had happened.
“There’s no real problem, is there, Rhea? It doesn’t change numbers, does it?”
“No, no problem. It’s just that his name is not shown on the place settings,” I said. “I think we should amend that, as an act of courtesy. All I need is a couple of blank place settings, then I can write out the Bullens’ names. It’ll take only a couple of minutes.”
“They’re in my briefcase, in the hotel office . . . it’s locked, my case I mean, so I’ll come with you to get them. Good thing you spotted that . . . come on, hurry, the chief’s due any minute now. I can’t hang about. I’ve got to be there to receive him and his lady.”
While Blaketon and I were thus engaged, I was to learn what had transpired outside during those very moments, so this is an account of what Bellamy eventually told me. As the starting time for the dinner approached, a succession of cars pulled up outside the hotel in the deluge, discharged their ladies under umbrellas and then were moved on by Bellamy to park behind the hotel. Due to the downpour, everything and everyone was rushed, and it was almost dark outside. The heavy rain and dark clouds added to the gloom, with the lights of the town reflecting from the footpaths and streets. After parking their cars behind the hotel, the menfolk galloped through the rain into the rear entrance, sometimes with brollies and sometimes without, there to spruce themselves in the gents’ washrooms before joining the ladies. Out front, however, Bellamy was only interested in keeping a clear space for the chief constable’s arrival. He was expected at 7.30 p.m. but Bellamy’s work was not easy because cars tended to arrive in bunches and people tended to leap out of the line of parked cars in threes or sixes or nines or even more as they galloped beneath large umbrellas through the rain for refuge in the hotel. Spotting an unknown chief constable in such conditions and among such a crowd of running, umbrella-covered folk was difficult.
However, through the glistening lights and persistent downpour, there appeared a smart green Rover 2000. It arrived a few minutes before 7.30 p.m. with headlights blazing and windscreen wipers wiping and a quick glance at the front registration plate revealed the letters HAJ before it eased to a halt right outside the main entrance. Inside were the figures of a grey-haired man in evening dress, and a woman dressed in her finery. Surprisingly, in Bellamy’s opinion, the woman was in the driving seat and the man was in the front passenger seat but this did not disconcert the gallant Bellamy as he leapt into instant action. Rushing out with a large umbrella at the ready, he opened the driver’s door and said, “I’ll park the car, sir — er madam! You hurry inside out of the rain.”
The man replied, “That’s mighty kind of you, Constable. See, Esme, I said we’d get looked after!”
The woman just giggled.
With Bellamy hovering with his brolly, undecided whether or not to shield the chief first or his wife, the couple left their car, leaving the engine running as Bellamy covered the woman and escorted her to dry land. Then he went back to do likewise for the gentleman who struggled from his seat and then hurried, head down, into the hotel beneath the brolly, profusely thanking Bellamy for a quality of service he’d never experienced before. As Bellamy gave the thumbs-up sign to register the arrival of these major guests, the hotel door was opened wide by PC Gardner to admit them as Bellamy said, “I’ll park the car behind the hotel and will leave your car keys at reception, sir, er, madam . . . and what about your luggage?”
“Luggage?” smiled the lady. “Oh, no, we’ve decided not to stay, we’ll go home afterwards. It’s not far, fortunately, and I don’t drink.”
“Oh, right, fine,” and Bellamy watched as his charges made their fine entry to mingle with the glittering throng of people.
“Thank you, my man,” said the fellow as he entered the lobby to be greeted by PC Letts, the next of the team of fully briefed constables. “This is wonderful, isn’t it, Esme? I told you it would be worth coming, didn’t I? Aren’t English policemen wonderful?”
Within seconds, after popping respectfully into the gents’ and the ladies, to tidy their hair, check their clothing and preen themselves in readiness for their pre-dinner drinks, the pair were then escorted into the private reception suite. Blaketon, unfortunately, was not there to greet them. He’d missed their entry because he was finding the blank place settings for me but the waitress would ensure they were given a sherry or other drink. As I wrote out the names in the peace of the hotel’s office, Blaketon said, “I must get back, Rhea. Well done for thinking of that. It’s that kind of attention to detail that makes a success of any venture.”
When he returned, he found PC Letts standing guard on the door of the private reception suite and s
aid, “Ah, PC Letts. All correct?”
“Yes, Sergeant. The chief constable and his lady have arrived, and I have shown them into this suite.”
“They’re here?” Blaketon gulped. “My God, they’re early and I was not here to greet them . . . how long ago?”
“Two or three minutes, Sergeant. That’s all.”
“Right, thanks . . . which is him then? I need to approach him and introduce him to the other guests, but I’ve never met him. Can you indicate him without making it obvious you are doing so? There’s a good crowd in there, so just you open this door and point him out to me.”
Letts scanned the closely packed crowd and then indicated a fairly tall woman who was facing towards them.
“You see that blonde woman, Sergeant, quite a large lady, in her late forties, early fifties, with the round face and bright red dress, well, you can just see the top of a dress, dangling silver earrings, she’s standing to the left of that second window . . . well, that’s his lady.”
“Ah, yes. So the grey-haired man with his back to us will be the chief?”
“Yes, sir, they came together. I recognise the back of his head.”
“I think I do,” muttered Blaketon, “I’m sure I’ve seen the back of that head before but can’t be sure where I can have seen the chief constable from that angle . . .”
And then he entered the suite, pushing his way through the crowd and apologising for making some spill their drinks as he headed for his target. He found himself facing the woman, smiled and announced his arrival by saying, “Sir, madam, welcome to Ashfordly Section dinner-dance, I’m Sergeant Blaketon . . .”
“By Jove, Blaketon, you put on a good show for your guests,” said Claude Jeremiah Greengrass. “I’ve never had such a welcome in my life. I know I’m one of your best customers but this is going a bit over the top. Lackies to park your car, brollies to keep your hair dry, sherry with the nobs . . . by gum, Blaketon, you must be after promotion or summat.”
“Greengrass! How did you get in here?”
“I was brought in here, that’s how. I was welcomed by a constable on the door and escorted all the way into this room, to join all these lovely people . . .”
“But how did you get a ticket?”
“I won the ticket last year, Sergeant,” said the lady. Esme Primton. “And I decided to bring my old friend Claude along with me, as my guest. And I must say you have started the evening in a splendid way. Wonderful, isn’t it Claude?”
“I’ve a feeling it’s going to end pretty soon,” muttered Claude. “I might be turned into a pumpkin.”
“Nonsense!” said a plush voice nearby. “I’m sure the sergeant will welcome you, Mr Greengrass. After all, you are one of my best customers too. Perhaps you don’t recognise me out of court. Anthony Bridgeman, chairman of the bench.”
“Hear, hear,” said another voice.
“Oh, right,” said Claude. “I see who it is now, we all look the same in these penguin suits. Well, I am a guest, I suppose, Esme’s guest . . .”
“Be my guest!” Blaketon made a rapid decision to be gracious and accept his old adversary as an official guest, but followed it with, “So where is the chief constable? And, more to the point, where is Bellamy?”
He looked at his watch. It was exactly 7.30 p.m. As he turned to walk out and find either Bellamy or the chief constable, a tall, smart figure appeared in the foyer, with a lovely woman at his side. Both were immaculately dressed with no sign of having dashed through stormy weather or of braving the elements or running in from the car park.
“Sergeant Blaketon?” the man asked.
“Yes?”
“Andrew Lindsey, Chief Constable,” explained the newcomer. “And my wife, Linda. Nice to meet you. I do hope you haven’t been waiting too long — we decided to arrive early, you see, because of the weather. I do like to enjoy a nice drive across the moors and we felt it would be nice to have an hour or so to relax in our room because it was such an awful night.”
“Oh, you’ve been here all the time? Well, sir, what a good idea . . . do, do come in. I have my guests in the reception suite, so if you would like to follow me . . .”
And so, after a rather damp and shaky start, the evening got underway and the new chief constable charmed everyone, making them all relax and smile and feel happy. He even shook hands with Greengrass and had a long chat with him about second-hand oak furniture, something which it appeared he knew a lot about.
But we all thought that the presence of the chief constable was the reason for Blaketon’s edginess that evening. It wasn’t until his speech at the dinner that we knew why he wanted this particular dinner/dance to be such a happy, successful occasion. He began his speech by welcoming everyone, especially his guests and particularly the new chief constable and his wife, but then he stunned everyone, by saying,
“And finally, ladies and gentlemen, I have a personal announcement to make and felt that this was the right time. As you know, I have spent many happy years as the sergeant in charge of Ashfordly Section. I think the area has some of the finest countryside in England and I think we are blessed with some of the finest and most dedicated police officers in the country. It has been my pleasure to be associated with them over the years, and particularly as their leader. They have never let me down. And, I might add, we are blessed with some of the best members of the public I have ever met during my police service.”
“Hear, hear.” The voice of Claude Jeremiah Greengrass rose from somewhere among the gathered diners.
“However,” and there was a tremor in Blaketon’s voice at this stage, “there comes a time when every one of us has to move on. Now it is my turn. This is both a proud and sad function because it will be my last dinner/dance as the officer in charge of Ashfordly Section. You see, I have decided to retire.”
There was a deathly hush at his announcement.
Those of us in the Force could not believe what we were hearing, and when we did realise what he had said, we did not know how to respond. And then Claude Jeremiah Greengrass stood up, rapped the table for attention, raised his glass and said, “Three cheers for Sergeant Oscar Blaketon — the finest and fairest man I know.”
And as the dining hall resounded with those cheers with the band striking up ‘For He’s a Jolly Good Fellow’, Sergeant Blaketon sat down with tears glistening on his face.
THE END
ALSO BY NICHOLAS RHEA
CONSTABLE NICK MYSTERIES
Book 1: CONSTABLE ON THE HILL
Book 2: CONSTABLE ON THE PROWL
Book 3: CONSTABLE AROUND THE VILLAGE
Book 4: CONSTABLE ACROSS THE MOORS
Book 5: CONSTABLE IN THE DALE
Book 6: CONSTABLE BY THE SEA
Book 7: CONSTABLE ALONG THE LANE
Book 8: CONSTABLE THROUGH THE MEADOW
Book 9: CONSTABLE IN DISGUISE
Book 10: CONSTABLE AMONG THE HEATHER
Book 11: CONSTABLE BY THE STREAM
Book 12: CONSTABLE AROUND THE GREEN
Book 13: CONSTABLE BENEATH THE TREES
Book 14: CONSTABLE IN CONTROL
Book 15: CONSTABLE IN THE SHRUBBERY
Book 16: CONSTABLE VERSUS GREENGRASS
Book 17: CONSTABLE ABOUT THE PARISH
Book 18: CONSTABLE AT THE GATE
Book 19: CONSTABLE AT THE DAM
Book 20: CONSTABLE OVER THE STILE
Book 21: CONSTABLE UNDER THE GOOSEBERRY BUSH
Book 22: CONSTABLE IN THE FARMYARD
Book 23: CONSTABLE AROUND THE HOUSES
Book 24: CONSTABLE ALONG THE HIGHWAY
Book 25: CONSTABLE OVER THE BRIDGE
Book 26: CONSTABLE GOES TO MARKET
Book 27: CONSTABLE ALONG THE RIVERBANK
Book 28: CONSTABLE IN THE WILDERNESS
Book 29: CONSTABLE AROUND THE PARK
Book 30: CONSTABLE ALONG THE TRAIL
Book 31: CONSTABLE IN THE COUNTRY
Book 32: CONSTABLE ON THE COAST
&n
bsp; Book 33: CONSTABLE ON VIEW
Book 34: CONSTABLE BEATS THE BOUNDS
Book 35: CONSTABLE AT THE FAIR
Book 36: CONSTABLE OVER THE HILL
Book 37: CONSTABLE ON TRIAL
MORE COMING SOON
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CONSTABLE IN THE FARMYARD a perfect feel-good read from one of Britain’s best-loved authors Page 21