by Cathy Ace
Annie had always been extremely quick on the uptake, so it had only taken one disastrously misplaced step at the top of the escalator down to the platform in the Sloane Square tube station to convince her it was more sensible to travel in squidgy sports shoes than wear any sort of heels for her commute. She squirmed on her ergonomically-designed chair – she was a martyr to her back, as she liked to mention whenever the opportunity arose – and seemed, to Carol, to be no more than a mass of gangly arms and legs wrestling with uncooperative footwear for several moments.
Carol smiled at Annie’s efforts. As usual, she found it difficult to be cross for very long with a person who frequently described herself as being ‘as curvaceous as a stick insect, with a big St Lucian bum’ and had a generous soul, if a sharp tongue. She chose to ignore Annie’s frequent, loudly-whispered cursing. Instead, Carol Hill checked emails at her desk. She tutted as she did so.
Carol was worried. The company wasn’t making enough profit to keep it going for much longer and, with the lease on their office space due to be renegotiated very soon, they’d have to do some fancy financial footwork to make the bank happy about allowing them to make a commitment to anything bigger than a shoebox – in the Outer Hebrides. If they didn’t get some cases with big fees soon, all four of them would have to have a Very Serious Conversation about how they would progress their business endeavors. If at all.
Before Carol could mention her concerns to Annie, Mavis MacDonald bustled into the office. At sixty-two years of age and a shade over five feet tall, she was as trim, spare and energetic as many people twenty years her junior. Hooking her short, neatly bobbed, gray hair behind her ears as she entered, both Annie and Carol knew what she’d say before she even removed her coat.
‘Och, I need a cuppa,’ were, as ever, Mavis’s first words. Her accent was as gentle as the rolling hills of the southwest of Scotland where she’d been born and raised. A long career as an army nurse, traveling the world, meant she’d polished it for clarity but could always sharpen it when needed.
‘There’s one in the pot, doll,’ said Annie looking up. She glowed with perspiration. Despite the deepness of her skin tone, she still managed to look a little pink in the face.
‘Fresh?’ asked Mavis, carefully removing her coat.
‘No, stewed, just the way you like it,’ grinned Annie, wiping away the sweat her exertions with her shoes had produced.
Mavis didn’t look amused. ‘Ach, away with your sauce,’ she chided in her version of a comedic Scottish accent. ‘All I ask is for a decent cup of tea to be ready when I get here. It’s no’ that much to expect.’ She carefully placed her sensible all-purpose outer garment on a hanger, then hung the hanger on a hook on the wall. Happy that she’d done a good job, Mavis made her way to the little area where the tea and coffee-making supplies resided. ‘I expect I’ll have to do it myself. As per usual.’
‘You know I’m fibbing,’ said Annie Parker, finally slipping her feet into a pair of leather ballet flats. ‘I made it five minutes ago. It’ll be just right. Go on, pour yourself one, and you can do one for me and one for Car – I mean Carol – too. Ta, doll.’
Mavis MacDonald gave Annie Parker a mock-withering glance, as she replaced a carton of milk in the small refrigerator. ‘Doll, indeed! Any sign of our Honorable Miss yet?’
Annie grinned wickedly as she accepted a steaming mug from Mavis. ‘Oh, come off it, Mave. You know our bit of posh won’t be here on time. I bet the Bentley wouldn’t start, or the chauffeur never showed. Summat like that, I ’spect.’
Mavis shook her head as she sipped her steaming tea. ‘Och, now, that’s unfair, Annie, and you know it. While I get to Sloane Square thanks to the number nineteen bus from Finsbury Park, you take the bus and the tube from Wandsworth and Carol nips around the Circle Line from Paddington, that poor wee girl Christine has to drive herself all the way over the bridge from Battersea to get here, then fight for a parking place when she arrives.’ She winked over her tea at Annie. ‘That said, I swear the number of cars with residents’ permits in this mews is growing every day. I don’t know where they all live, given how wee those mews houses are.’
‘She could get the number nineteen bus like you do, Mave,’ sulked Annie. ‘It’s not too far for her to walk to get it at Battersea Bridge Road. She chooses to drive and you know it.’
‘Aye, and we have the use of her car because of that, when we need it,’ replied Mavis tartly. ‘When do you start your driving lessons, by the way?’
Annie wriggled uncomfortably in her seat. All three of her colleagues were pressing her to learn to drive. She was the only one who couldn’t. She’d never needed to when she’d worked in the City. The trouble was, she knew they had a point. You couldn’t always get public transport if you wanted to get from A to B to C quickly to follow up on a lead. Especially outside her comfort zone of her beloved London.
‘Sorry I’m late,’ called Christine Wilson-Smythe as she lurched into the office. ‘I couldn’t find anywhere to park. Any chance of a cuppa, or has Mavis drunk it all? Could somebody pour me one while I pop to the loo? Can’t wait …’ She pushed open the swing door in the corner of the room. ‘Poo – you been in here smoking, Annie?’ Christine called before the door swung closed.
‘Told you,’ said Carol from behind her screen. She didn’t notice Annie poking out her tongue as she poured the dregs from the teapot into a mug and plopped it onto a coaster beside the one small sofa in the room, ready for Christine’s reappearance.
Settling herself back at her desk, as Mavis did the same at hers, Annie Parker said, ‘Anything new come in, Carol? Like the payment of the reward for me finding all that money from the off license robbery?’
Carol Hill shook her head. ‘Not yet. And Mrs Monkton is refusing to pay the fee we charged for finding her cat, too. She said she couldn’t possibly owe us anything because all you did was find the cat downstairs in her own home.’
Annie gave her full attention to Carol. ‘The Case of Mrs Monkton’s Missing Moggie? I told you she’d never cough up, didn’t I? When I turned up at her front door the first thing she said was that she hadn’t expected me to be black. I gave her my usual big grin, and told her not to worry because I’m cockney through and through, even though me mum and dad are a lovely, exotic blend of Caribe and African from St Lucia, but she looked at me like I had the plague. Bitter old … so and so. Deaf as a post, she was, too. No wonder she couldn’t hear her poor cat screaming its head off inside her tumble dryer. It took me two minutes to find the creature. Scratched me something rotten it did, when I tried to pull it out. ’Course, I have to admit it was a bit of luck that thieving lot had chosen her tumble dryer to hide the cash. The cat hadn’t made too much of a mess of most of it. Gawd knows where her nephew is now, but I bet they find him. She had shedloads of photos of him all over the place. Kept telling the coppers what a good boy he was. They knew different, of course. Imagine that; hiding all that money in his old auntie’s house, and her being none the wiser.’
‘Serendipity,’ said Christine as she emerged from the loo and grabbed her mug of milky tea.
‘Serendipity my backside,’ said Annie. ‘I’ve got a nose for finding things, and you know it. An instinct. I’ve read every private eye book they’ve ever printed. I know how to follow a lead, and how to put two and two together. Besides, I’ve got me Security Industry Authority License like the rest of you.’
‘Girls, stop bickering. Nattering over a cuppa is all well and good, but I think we should have a Serious Chat,’ announced Mavis, drawing eyebrows raised in apprehension from her three colleagues. They all knew that when Mavis MacDonald said they need a ‘Serious Chat’ most of the time she was going to tell them off about something.
‘What have I done now?’ whined Annie. She knew from experience that she was usually the one to blame for something. Quite often, for everything.
Mavis smiled warmly at Annie. ‘Och, it’s not you, this time, my dear. It’s all of us, myself incl
uded.’
Bottoms wriggled uncomfortably on office chairs and a sofa as their owners wondered what was about to be said.
Mavis hooked her hair back behind her ears as she began, ‘I don’t know what the books are telling you, Carol, but I suspect it’s nothing good. Am I right?’
Carol nodded. ‘Cash flow’s almost stagnant and we’re paying ourselves out of a rapidly diminishing pool of money. In fact, we haven’t had a really substantial amount in since we rescued your cousin Harry Wraysbury from his kidnappers, Christine. We all need to take some money each month, just to keep our heads above water, but, pretty soon, there won’t be any left to take. With the lease needing to be renewed on this place, or the prospect of finding ourselves something much cheaper somewhere else in London, or even outside London, we need to do something that brings in some cash, and soon.’
Despite the fact that Carol’s delightfully lilting Welsh accent usually made most of the things she said sound like an enjoyable song, they all knew how bleak the picture was that she was painting.
‘My redundancy money from my last job’s almost gone,’ said Annie Parker heavily. ‘I know I haven’t been pulling my weight since I was injured, but I do my best. Really I do, Mave.’
Mavis nodded. ‘I know you do, my dear, and we all wanted to make sure you had recuperated fully before you came back to work.’
‘Injured in the line of duty,’ added Carol. ‘Not like me. I’m stuck behind this desk for the foreseeable because I managed to get pregnant.’ Carol’s miserable expression brought a chorus from all three women. Mavis won the right to speak.
‘Carol, we were all very well aware of your deep desire to become a mother. That’s why you left that stressful job in the City and joined us, after all. So let’s not beat about the bush, let’s admit that you’re our anchor when it comes to gathering information, and that, somehow, we’ll manage to work out some way to allow you to continue to be a valued member of our team. If we decide that we’re going to keep on being the women of the WISE Enquiries Agency, that is.’
Christine Wilson-Smythe held up her hand, requesting that she be allowed to speak. Mavis nodded to give her consent. Being the oldest of the group she’d become their organizer by default.
‘I think I have a case for us,’ said Christine bluntly. Three surprised faces turned toward her. Expressions melted into anticipation.
‘Tell us,’ said Mavis. ‘And no flourishes.’
Christine nodded. ‘I got a phone call from someone I sort of know last night—’
‘Oh Gawd,’ interrupted Annie, ‘and what sort of posh are they then, eh? Not another one like your cousin’s lot?’
Christine looked wounded. ‘Henry Twyst is the Duke of Chellingworth. I’ve known him since childhood. He’s quite a bit older than me, so I can’t recall why I know him. I remember being at Chellingworth Hall when I was young, when I was quite small in fact, that’s all. In any case, he telephoned me last night and asked for my help, then swore me to secrecy. He said he’d heard about what I was doing – what we are doing – through Lord Wraysbury, you know, my uncle, and he needs someone like me – some people like us – to help him.’
Annie, Mavis and Carol looked at each other, puzzled.
‘Come along now, Christine, dear,’ said Mavis, ‘you’re a very intelligent girl. Surely you can work out a way to tell us more than that without breaking a confidence?’
Christine sipped from her mug, made a face that showed she wasn’t going to drink any more tea, carefully placed her mug on a coaster, and stood. Smoothing down the fine periwinkle cashmere sweater that elegantly showed off her young, slim, yet curvaceous, figure to perfection, she smiled. ‘I can’t. He made me promise. But what I can tell you is that it involves his mother, who I recall as ancient even when I was very young.’
Mavis’s still-even features crinkled wisely as she replied, ‘You’re still very young, girl, not having reached thirty yet, but I know what you mean. So how do we find out more? And, possibly more importantly, will we be well-paid for our efforts?’ Mavis was always quite happy to cut to the chase when it came to matters concerning money. She half-believed that the issue would never occur to the young, beautiful, bright and gifted heiress; she knew that Carol would always be too polite to ask, and she didn’t feel it wise to leave such matters to Annie, who had been known to suffer from acute foot-in-mouth-itis on many an occasion.
Christine nodded. ‘Father says he’s land-rich, but possibly cash-poor. Henry’s had to open up Chellingworth Hall to the public for the last few years. He’s not at all happy about it, of course, which, obviously, one understands.’
Annie sighed deeply as she shook her head. ‘I can’t imagine anyone wanting to come near my two-bedroomed ex-council flat in Wandsworth, and it amazes me that you don’t understand that.’
Mavis shot a warning glance toward Annie, who tried to skulk in her seat. Unfortunately, her specially-designed chair wouldn’t allow for that, so she remained bolt upright, looking like an uncomfortable meerkat. Scratching its nose.
Carol raised her hand and got the all-clear. ‘Does this mean a field trip?’ she asked hesitantly. ‘You see, I have a meeting this evening at the clinic that I can’t miss. You know, a get-together for all the first-timers. David’s meeting me there. We have to bond before the birth.’
‘Managed to bond all right before it without classes, didn’t you?’ responded Annie wickedly, making Carol blush.
‘Annie,’ said Mavis sharply.
Annie took her first verbal warning like a trooper. ‘Well,’ she said, trying to toss her hair, which, being not much more than a half an inch of curls covering her head, was too short to allow for any effect at all.
Mavis straightened her shoulders. ‘Are we expected to visit this Chellingworth Hall, Christine? And if so, when, for how long, and where is it?’
Christine nodded. ‘That was the gist of it. He’s invited me – us – to stay for a few days and look into something for him.’
Annie tutted. Loudly. Christine glared at her and continued. ‘Chellingworth is in Powys. Just over the border in Wales. Nice place. Not too far off the beaten track, so pretty easy to get to, really. Near Anwen-by-Wye. Pretty village, I hear. On his land, of course.’
‘Of course,’ said Annie recklessly.
Mavis stood. Annie cowered, as much as she was able.
‘When?’ said Mavis bluntly
Christine lowered her voice. ‘Well, he sounded rather desperate, so I said I could be there tomorrow.’
‘But today’s Friday,’ said Annie, too cross to care what Mavis might think. ‘Some of us might have plans for the weekend, you know.’
Christine replied sharply, ‘Oh, come off it, Annie, you never have plans for the weekend. All you do is turn on the TV and drink wine.’
Annie folded her arms grumpily over her baggy navy sweater. ‘Do not,’ she sulked. ‘Besides, how do you know what I do at the weekend?’
‘Because it’s the same story every Monday morning,’ replied Christine blackly. ‘Met your mum at Marks and Sparks, had coffee, did the shopping, went home, watched TV, opened a bottle of wine, fell asleep on the sofa. Sunday? Repeat, sans shopping trip. Same thing every week.’
Annie nibbled the inside of her cheek and said nothing. Her chin puckered.
‘Now girls, no squabbling, thank you,’ said Mavis. She turned to Christine and said, ‘I’ll come back to the money then. Did you discuss our fees with this Henry Twyst?’
Christine nodded. ‘I told him what we would charge for all four of us to work for him for three days, and he agreed. Full fee. And, of course, expenses. Not that there’ll be much more than the petrol, because he’ll put us up for the weekend as guests.’
Annie brightened a little. She spoke just before her hand shot upwards. ‘I’m in,’ she said with a grin. ‘I’ll go home tonight, find the poshest clothes I’ve got and get here as quick as I can in the morning.’
Christine began to pick the sk
in beside her nails, something all of them knew to be a sign that she was nervous, or worried about something.
‘You’re not telling us everything, are you, dear?’ Mavis said.
Christine took a sip from the mug filled with what she clearly thought was a disgusting brew, then nodded. ‘There’s some question about the possible involvement of people from the village in the … incident. So I agreed with Henry that it would be good if we could use a two- or even three-pronged attack. I rather thought that Carol could be point, here in the office, or at her home on Saturday and Sunday if she’d prefer, because she just needs computer access to be able to help. I thought that I would stay at the hall with Henry, and see what’s what there. My cover can be that I’m a girl from his past he’s invited to stay, so that’s easy, because I am, and he has. Mavis, you’re so wonderful with the elderly. All those years when you were the matron at the Battersea Barracks mean you’re the ideal person to stay at the Dower House, with Henry’s mother. She’s almost eighty, and he fears she might be … um, failing a little. You could be some sort of nurse-type person from her past, how about that?’
Mavis nodded. ‘I think I’d need to work on that cover story just a little for it to work,’ she smiled. ‘I suppose we don’t want anyone other than the duke and the dowager to know we’re there to investigate … something?’
Christine nodded. ‘Yes, Henry and his mother, Althea, will both be in on it, but just them. We have to keep it to ourselves. There’s always the possibility that someone on the staff is … involved. The trouble is, everyone in the village will know we are both guests of the Twysts, even if they don’t know we’re carrying out enquiries, so that means that no one from the area would talk to either of us about anything useful. Which is why I thought it would be a good idea if Annie were to stay in the village itself. They have rooms at a pub there, Henry said. He’d pay, of course. If Annie were to work the case from that angle, it might help.’
All eyes turned to Annie, and everyone waited for her to explode, which she did.