by Ann Purser
Andrew Young looked uncomfortable. "The thing is, Mrs. Meade," he said, and stopped.
"Yes?"
"Well, since my parents died, I sold the family house and looked after myself in a modern flat in Fletching. At first I couldn't think positively at all, but after a while, when I got back from travelling, I began to get out and about, interested in furniture and fabrics and decorating the flat. I wasn't all that good at it, but several friends gave me jobs to do, painting and decorating, and I got better. I really like homemaking. I suppose that's it. And I hate scruffy homes. You'd be surprised at how some people live, Mrs. M."
Lois laughed. "I don't think so, Andrew. We've seen it all in New Brooms."
Gathering confidence, Andrew continued. "And so when I saw your advertisement, I thought it would be the ideal combination. I could do as much cleaning as you wanted me to, and then do the interior décor bit the rest of the time."
Lois said nothing for what seemed like minutes, and Hazel looked at her enquiringly.
"I've had an idea. Something to think about." Lois finally uncrossed her arms and sat up straight. Andrew was looking nervous again, his confidence evaporating in the silence.
"I'm going to ask you a really personal question, Andrew," she said. "How much money have you got? In the bank. Capital, I mean."
Hazel's eyes opened wide. "Um, I wonder if that's . . ." The book had been very firm about intrusive questioning.
"Ah, well, I'm not too sure," Andrew replied, frowning. "My travels made a bit of a hole in what Mum and Dad left me. But there was quite a lot left from the sale of the house, and Dad was good at investments."
He was beginning to feel irritated by this tactless woman. The girl was fine, but Mrs. Meade was decidedly blunt, bordering on rudeness. He decided that his honesty deserved a straight answer. "What is this idea, and why do you need to know what I'm worth financially? Doesn't seem to have too much to do with my ability to clean other people's houses." He reckoned she was going to turn him down, anyway. She probably thought with money behind him he would come and go as he liked. Well, to hell with her. He stood up.
"I'll not waste any more of your time," he said, but Lois interrupted him.
"Sit down, Andrew," she answered firmly. "Just listen to what I have to say. It'll need a lot more thought, but it might appeal to you."
Hazel thought she knew Mrs. M inside out, but listened with amazement. Lois outlined a plan for extending New Brooms. If Andrew was prepared to put money into it, and, of course, take his cut, they could add interior decorating to the list of services the business would offer. It would all have to be worked out properly, Lois stressed. She had no intention of taking a partner, but profits could be apportioned fairly with not too much difficulty. Her Josie, she said, was good at that sort of thing. They could all put their heads together and come up with a really workable arrangement. "If you're interested, that is," she said, smiling at Andrew's rapid changes of expression. "Think about it, and give me a ring," she added.
Hazel was stunned into silence, but Andrew stood up and extended his hand. "You're on, Mrs. Meade," he said. "My dad always said strike while the iron's hot. I'll be in touch very soon. And thanks," he said, turning to Hazel. "Carry on laughing."
He strode out of the office, and Lois stood next to Hazel at the window, watching him disappear up the street.
"He's walking fast," Lois said.
"And his head's in the air," said Hazel. "See what you've done, Mrs. M? Let's hope it's a good morning's work. Quite a charmer, in his funny way."
TWENTY-FIVE
AT BREAKFAST SUSIE SAID VERY LITTLE, HAVING SLEPT fitfully. She went to work as usual and was as conscientious as always, but her mind was not fully on the job. She had not yet taken it in. Granddad dead? It didn't seem real. He had always been there. She loved her parents, of course, but at an early age saw their faults. She'd had school friends whose houses were warm and spotless and smelt of polish and lavender, instead of the all-pervading frying sausages. Their folks never missed a parents' evening, and whole families came in force to school plays and concerts. Susie was lucky if either Mum or Dad came, never both. But Granddad was always there. Sometimes in his railway uniform, smart and proud.
The day passed slowly, and when it was finally time for her to leave, she put on her jacket and hurried away down Gordon Street. It was a dismal evening, damp and overcast, and the street was empty for once. Douglas had invited her for a meal at the pizza place in the town centre, but it was too early. Instead of going home, she decided to go along the footpath that led round the back of the terrace and have a quick look at Granddad's back yard. Her heart fluttered as she wondered whether the police had left Clem's tools and other familiar, forlorn things around.
She steeled herself and lifted the latch on his gate, but it was locked. She smiled, remembering the set of keys that Granddad had given her. Fishing them from her bag, she turned the big rusty one in the gate lock and pushed it open. It was like a punch in the stomach, seeing the old lavatory shed with its door firmly shut. Now there was no Satan to peck at the stale bread she used to bring from the supermarket. She walked past quickly, and saw that the back door of the house was also shut, and the windows blank. No smiling Granddad waiting for her at the door. She gulped. Granddad never shut his door except in severe weather, and his grubby curtains were always drawn back unevenly. Everything had soon become grubby after Granny died. But further back in time, when she had been really small, she remembered the warm, comfortable sitting room with a leaping fire that sent flickering reflections in the brass coal scuttle, and twinkled on the gleaming barley- sugar twist candlesticks on the windowsill that had been her grandmother's pride and joy.
The house had been emptied, of course, and for once Mum and Dad had been united. They had stripped the place indecently quickly, removing anything that might fetch a few pounds and consigning the rest to a skip dumped on the pavement outside the front door. It was removed quickly, once they had done with it, being a traffic hazard in such a narrow street. Susie had not been allowed to be part of the clearing operation, but she had been walking down Gordon Street when the lorry came to load up the skip. She caught sight of a biscuit tin, rusty at the edges and with a colourful picture of a coach and horses outside a ridiculously clean and freshly painted village inn. She remembered Granddad laughing at it, asking Granny where was the horse shit and where were the drunken farmers throwing up in the water trough? That's what it was really like, he had told a wide-eyed Susie.
She also remembered what was in it. After all the biscuits had been eaten, Granddad had taken it off to his toolbox and kept it in case it would come in useful. In due course, it had come in very useful. One long- ago day at Tresham station, there had been a VIP visit. Red carpet runners had been put down, and the local florist had arranged flowers at every turn. Granddad had taken a major part in the planning, and had proudly stood to attention as the special train drew in. The sparkling carriage door had opened, and a large, bald, and well-fed–looking man had stepped out, followed by his elegant, smiling wife. Granddad had a special place in his heart for this woman. After all, they shared a name— well, almost.
After a couple of hours, the VIP and his wife, still smiling, returned and prepared to board the train. The trademark cigar was now lit, and the curling blue smoke caused Granddad's eyes to water. At least, that's what he told Susie. Then one of the aides had presented Grandad with a narrow leather box. "Thank you so much for looking after us," the big man said, as he mounted the steps into his train.
Granddad did not open the box until he was back with Granny by the fire. They both looked speechlessly at a handsome commemoration coin, specially minted to mark the visit which celebrated the opening of the rebuilt town hall after its direct hit during the war. A signed message from the VIP was carefully folded into the box. It became one of Clem's proudest possessions, and he had hidden it, cushioned in screwed-up bits of newspaper, certain that his despised son-in-law would s
ell it when the time came. He had told only Susie about it.
"He was right, was Granddad," Susie had muttered to herself as she grabbed the tin out of the skip just as it began to rise. She fully expected the tin to be empty, but even so, it would remind her of Granddad's finest hour. But it was not empty. Inside, it looked like a tin full of old newspaper, but Susie had slowly emptied it and found the leather box carefully hidden away.
All this flitted through Susie's mind as she inserted a key into the back door and tentatively stepped inside. She hadn't meant to go in, but could not resist one last look in case there might be something else overlooked by Mum and Dad. She reminded herself that the house was hers now, though she still could not quite believe it. Granddad had left it to her in his will. Her parents had not even known he had bought it after years of paying rent! "Evil old sod," Dad had fumed, but Susie had said nothing.
The empty rooms smelled damp now, and there were light patches on the walls where Granny's precious pictures had hung. Susie realised how much work there was to do and knew she had to think about that. She would just check quickly upstairs and then go off to meet Douglas outside the new pizza place in the market square.
Front bedroom, fine. New paint and perhaps get rid of the old fireplace. Tiny box room. She remembered a cupboard in there, where Granny had kept linen. Better just check. She walked in and too late heard a soft step behind her.
Leaving his prey trussed up like a dangerous animal, the intruder crept away, down the narrow stairs and out through the back door, which he locked with Susie's key. He put it quickly in his pocket.
* * *
DOUGLAS LOOKED AT HIS WATCH. TEN MINUTES LATE. IT WAS unlike Susie, who was usually a punctual girl, arriving before time. He was getting cold, and stamped his feet. Perhaps he should go inside and find a table. It was early for the usual crowd, but at least he could wait in the warmth. But then, Susie was such a shy one she'd probably run off home without looking in the restaurant.
He looked at his watch again. Eleven minutes late. He would give her until a quarter past, and then go and meet her. He was fairly sure he knew which way she would come. It was possible she'd made a mistake and was waiting for him outside his house. She had seemed cheerful enough, but he knew a brave face concealed real grief at the death of her grandfather.
"Time's up, Susie," he said aloud, and set off in what he hoped would be the right direction.
TWENTY-SIX
LOIS WAS TIRED. ON DEREK'S INSTRUCTIONS SHE HAD TAKEN Jeems for a long walk along the riverbank, across the meadows and back through the woods. It was not a particularly nice day for a walk, but the air was refreshing and she had stepped out at a good pace. It had been a quiet time for thinking, and finally, when she had begun to feel weary, she'd leaned on a gate in time-honoured fashion and stared at the last field she had to cross before rejoining the road. Her boots were heavy with mud and Jeems's white coat would need serious attention. A couple of weeks ago, the little dog had disappeared down a rabbit hole in the woods and not reappeared until long after Lois had given up and gone home, trusting her to find her way back. The mud on her coat had dried to a hard clay, clamping her ears to her head and making a mockery of her fluffy white tail.
But this afternoon's walk had been a good idea. Lois's thoughts had cleared, and she set off again across the field. There were two people she needed to talk to urgently. The skinny recluse, obviously, but that was going to be difficult since he'd done a runner. And, as suggested by the Freemans, Susie Mills. That should be easy, and she would ring Douglas as soon as she was back home. Best to ask him first, and let him arrange to bring her over to tea. Yes, that would be it. Then she could approach the subject of poor old Clem and his neighbour naturally.
She had reached the stile into the road, and lifted up Jeems, who expected a helping hand. Just then, a car went by at speed. Lois caught only a glimpse of the driver, but had a sudden jolt. It couldn't be, could it? If not, it was his twin brother. She felt she would know that skinned rabbity man anywhere. She set off home at a smart jog.
"Don't bring that dog into my kitchen!" Gran said, on seeing the two of them arrive back in the yard. "Put the hosepipe over her. It's the only way when they get in that state! I haven't spent a good half hour on my hands and knees scrubbing this floor to have it covered with muddy dog prints!"
"Okay, okay, keep your hair on, Mother!" Lois refrained from saying that her mother had not been on her hands and knees for years, and instead she hosed down a shivering Jeems, rubbed her vigorously with an old towel, and then asked permission to come in.
"Don't be silly, Lois," Gran answered. "For goodness' sake take those boots off and put Jeems in her basket by the Rayburn to dry her out. You'll need a cup of tea to warm you up."
Lois, who was glowing with healthy warmth, knew it was no good arguing, and said that she would love a cup and she'd take it to her office to make one or two phone calls. She was about to dial Douglas when her phone rang.
"Hello, Mum?" It was Douglas, and she laughed. "We must be telepathic," she said. "I was just going to call you. Anyway, what did you want?" She realised now that his voice sounded strained.
"You haven't heard or seen anything of Susie Mills, have you?"
"No, not today. But I've been thinking about her. Why d'you want to know?"
"We were supposed to meet, outside that new pizza place in the market square. I gave her plenty of time, then thought she might have got it wrong and was waiting outside my house. So I'm here, and she isn't."
He sounded worried and she told him that girls were notoriously bad time-keepers. She was probably still in the bath. Couldn't he ring her mobile? He'd done that, of course. "She's not answering, Mum. Do you think something has happened to her?"
"P'raps she's stood you up, Dougie," she said gently. "You're lucky if it hasn't happened before."
"Thank you!" he said impatiently, and rang off.
So, not the right time to ask him to bring her round to tea on Sunday. She wondered idly where the girl had got to. There could be a hundred different reasons why she had not turned up to meet Douglas, and she was a little surprised at his obvious concern. After all, he was not your anxious teenager on a first date. It must be more serious than she had thought. Better consult Derek when he came in.
For the moment, she had forgotten her sighting of the recluse, but now recalled her shock. She should do something about it, she knew, but who would believe her? Cowgill, that's who. He believed everything she said, bless him. She called his number.
* * *
DOUGLAS WAITED FOR ANOTHER FIFTEEN MINUTES, THEN DECIDED he must ring Susie at home. She had asked him always to ring her on her mobile, as her mum and dad were so nosy, her dad especially, and he was quite likely to say she had to be home by half past nine, just to be difficult.
"Hello?" It was Tony, Susie's dad, and when Douglas asked if Susie was there, he asked who wanted to know. Douglas explained as nicely as he could, but Tony began to shout.
"She should be with you! What d'you mean, she hasn't turned up? My Susie is never late. Never bin known!"
Douglas heard Tony wrangling with his wife, and then she came to the phone. "That's Douglas, is it? Well, nice to talk to you. We've heard about you from Susie. But not much! She likes to keep her private life private, if you know what I mean."
More of Tony's loud voice in the background, then his wife was back, asking questions about what time and where they were supposed to have met, and finally suggesting Douglas try the supermarket. Maybe she'd had to work late.
Now Tony had grabbed the phone, and shouted that Douglas should ring them back in half an hour, and if he hadn't found her by then, the police would be told.
Douglas rang off and sighed. Now he could see why Susie wanted to keep her private life private! He checked with the supermarket, but she had left at the usual time. Well, he might as well go back to his house and see if she turned up. He passed the footpath entrance, and turned to go down behind
the terrace. He hadn't tried his back gate yet, and he might find her down there, desperately wanting to find him. He knew it was a ridiculous thought, but walked on.
Locked, of course. He remembered then leaving the key hanging on the board by his kitchen door. He looked along the path, and idly tried the latch on Clem's gate. To his surprise, it opened. He walked in, knowing there would probably be nobody there, but looked around just in case Susie had wandered in. There was no sign of her, and he went up to the house and tried the door. This was locked and he looked in the window and shouted, "Susie! Susie! Are you there?"
There was no answer, and he suddenly felt chilly. Shivering, he made his way across the yard to his own house.
SUSIE HAD HEARD HIM. SHE HAD BEEN FLOODED WITH RELIEF when she'd realised it was Douglas's voice. She dreaded her captor returning, fearful of what he might do next. She had tried to answer him, but there was a gag across her mouth and she could hardly breathe. Then she'd tried drumming her feet on the floor, but her ankles were tied tight together. She could make no noise at all. When she heard Douglas's footsteps retreating, she wept bitterly.