“Am I?” Edward frowned. “Right about what?”
“Right in thinking I’m pretending. I do want to find a girl and marry her but I don’t think I ever will, so I tell myself I don’t want to. Sad, eh?” he said with a wry grin.
“It seems perfectly normal to me. I suspect we aren’t the only ones, Frank. There must be many people who do just that.”
Frank stopped shovelling and stared at Edward, who in spite of the physical work he was involved in, still managed to look smartly dressed and elegant, wearing overshoes to protect his footwear and gloves to protect his hands. “You know, you aren’t half bad for one of the gentry, mate.”
“One of the gentry? The Jenkinses? Not any more I’m not, but thank you.”
When he left Frank finishing the clearing, and got ready to go back to Montague Court, Edward’s thoughts were on Megan. Something about his strange conversation with Frank had brought his feelings for Megan into focus. Not one of the world’s great thinkers, but Frank had certainly highlighted one of his own worst fears. Like Frank, he didn’t want to face the rest of his life alone.
* * *
Similar thoughts were keeping Lewis’s mind from his work. At two-thirty he rang up his last two customers and cancelled his appointments, then he headed back to Sophie Street. He knew Dora would still be at the café, but Rhiannon should be at home finishing off the decorating. Opening the door he called and was rewarded with seeing Rhiannon coming out of the kitchen followed by the enthusiastic dog.
“Dad. This is a surprise. Don’t tell me you’re mitching again?”
“I know you want to get the room finished today, so I thought, while you did that, I’d make a start on Gwyn’s room. I’d like to do something for the boy.”
Pausing only for a sandwich, Lewis set about cleaning the walls and washing the ceiling in the boy’s room, hoping that, besides helping Rhiannon, it would please his stepgrandson. He was impressed with the paper the boy had chosen. Cheerful but not overpowering. He must remember to congratulate him on his choice. The walls had already been scraped clear of wallpaper, and Lewis sized the walls and painted the ceiling before stopping to eat.
When Dora came at seven, he asked her to go with him to the pictures instead of working on the next stage of the decorating. Prepared for arguments and reasons for saying no, he could do nothing but stare when she agreed.
At once Gwyn asked whether he could go with them and Lewis glared at him and said; no. The boy’s face crumpled and Lewis felt ashamed. Unintentionally he’d upset the boy again. “Any other time I’d love you to come, son,” he said. “But tonight, I want to talk to your Gran.”
“Let him come, Lewis,” Dora said. So it was the three of them who set off an hour later, to a film none would enjoy, each aware of the disappointment of the others.
One day, Lewis thought, one day I’ll do something right!
* * *
Three times Margaret and Islwyn thought they had found the perfect position for their restaurant. Each time they were refused permission to change the use from residential to business. All the time as they searched and were thwarted, she blamed her brother for their trouble.
“It’s all right for him,” she complained to Islwyn as they closed the door on another disastrous property. “He chose when to leave. He had something all ready and waiting. No thought for how difficult it would be for us.”
“There are a dozen properties that would do for what Edward has planned, dear. We need something a bit more select.”
They were walking back to the car along the road over looking the docks and the railway sidings when he stopped to examine the details of the final house for that day.
“Not far,” he said, “we might as well walk.”
It was situated in a quiet street which was lined on either side with tall trees. The properties were large and had once been imposing, but most were neglected and run down. The area was not one to appeal to the clientele they hoped to attract. Sadly they retraced their footsteps and headed back to the car.
They drove around, remarking on the possibilities of certain streets and the hopelessness of others. On reaching the beach they stopped and decided to walk a while. That was when they saw a ‘For Sale’ notice they hadn’t seen before. It was beside a path which led down to a small bay not far from the pleasure beach and with a garden that overlooked the sea.
The house itself was detached and with a wide drive shaped like an upside down Y, with two gateways marked ‘in’ and ‘out’. Thrown into the shrubbery they spotted a dilapidated sign stating the place had once been called Waterside Restaurant.
“At least there won’t be difficulties about change of use,” Margaret whispered excitedly.
The man who showed them around the three reception rooms and five bedrooms was vague. His wife was shopping he told them and he kept looking around as if expecting her to suddenly appear, like a genie from a lamp.
The rooms were clean and elegantly decorated and furnished, and at once they knew it had possibilities. A week later they had arranged to buy it. A survey had been carried out and an architect consulted to deal with the enlargement of three rooms into one with a series of arches.
For a while, Margaret forgot her aching need to revenge herself on Edward.
* * *
In the garden of the old shop, Frank was scraping rubbish together with two large pieces of wood, using them like paddles to draw the assorted oddments togeti1er before picking them up and putting them into a sack. Something stuck against the wood stopping its movement and irritably he pulled at the rubble and dead branches and long, dead grass and found a wrapped candlestick. It looked rather fancy and for a moment he thought of taking it to sell, but conscience prevailed and he put it aside to show Edward.
They went together to the police station and showed them the candlestick and it was quickly recognised as being a part of the haul when Sally and Ryan’s house was robbed.
Megan came to tell him and she was still there when the police came to interview Edward about how it had been discovered.
“All I can tell you is that it was found among the rubbish when Frank Griffiths was scraping up the last of the rubble from the building work,” Edward told them. “If you speak to Frank he’ll be able to give more details. I can’t tell you how pleased I am that at least one item has been found. Perhaps there’ll be a clue as to where the rest is hidden?”
“We’d like permission to search your property, sir. Here and Montague Court.”
“My property? But of course, although as it was found out here, there doesn’t seem much point.”
The stony-faced policeman then asked, “Can you give me your movements on the afternoon of the robbery, sir?”
Alarmed, Edward thought a moment then shook his head.
“My movements are no longer regular I’m afraid. I spend a lot of time at Montague Court with my sister, and a lot of time here, with Frank Griffiths. It’s impossible for me to remember exactly where I was at a given time.”
Quirking an eyebrow, the policeman asked, “You wouldn’t be thinking of using Frank Griffiths as an alibi would you?”
“Why not? He found it and handed it in, didn’t he? I’ve found Frank to be hard-working and honest, so I can’t allow you to make me say otherwise.”
“This property, sir,” he waved his arms expressively, “it’s an expensive undertaking?”
“I can cope, constable.”
“I’m sure you can, sir. Thank you for your help. We’ll be in touch.”
“He thinks I did it!” Edward gasped.
“How exciting,” Megan laughed.
* * *
When the shop basement was finally cleared, Frank and his father found a sink with a tap, previously hidden in a corner, and also what looked like a junction for a gas appliance on an opposite wall. Both had been boarded up but the sink drained satisfactorily, and water gurgled, spluttered and eventually flowed, brown and rusty, from its solitary brass tap. They s
howed it to Edward with great pride, as though they were responsible for it being there and were offering it to him as a prize.
“Someone must have lived down here at one time,” Edward said when he showed Megan. “Perhaps I could rent it out and earn a few pounds to help things along. Frank said his brother Basil might be able to find a bed and table and the rest, although I might get what I need from Montague Court. We will want it decorated though.”
“Another job for Frank Griffiths,” Megan smiled. “D’you think he’ll cope with such regular work?”
“If he does, I gather it will be the longest gap between court appearances since he was nine!”
Chapter Five
The police had called on Sally and Ryan and begun their investigation of the robbery.
“There have been a series of break-ins to houses where good quality items are likely to be found and, surprisingly, this thief seems to be a rather well-dressed, well-spoken man himself,” Inspector Leonard told them. “Perhaps someone who knows these houses, has been a guest at some time. He seems to get in and out fast, suggesting he knows what he’s looking for and where to find it.”
He looked at Sally, standing beside the couch on which Megan was sitting, then at Ryan, on the opposite end of the elegant room, leaning on the windowsill and looking down at his highly polished, expensive leather shoes.
“If you think of someone in your circle, sir and madam, or you Miss Fowler-Weston, someone who might be desperate for cash, someone who might need money badly enough to commit these crimes, you would tell me?”
“Of course,” Megan said sharply, “but there’s no one we know who’d be capable of this.”
“Tell me about your brother-in-law,” the policeman glanced at his notebook and went on, “Islwyn Heath-Weston is it? He’s now living with – er – at Montague Court, I believe?”
Sally was staring at Ryan and didn’t respond to the question. Ryan continued to look down at his shoes, so it was again Megan who answered him.
“He is, Inspector, and if you require details of his movements you’d better ask him; we don’t see him and have no idea what he gets up to.”
“He’s a fool, we all know that, but he wouldn’t be involved with this.” Ryan spoke for the first time.
Sally looked at him, her eyes staring intensely. “Who knows what another person is capable of. We don’t really know anyone, do we?”
* * *
The police searched Edward’s shop and his room at Montague Court, but found nothing. Edward was anxious, Margaret angry at the impression their investigation gave to the Grants, and Megan was amused.
“Imagine them seeing you in the role of burglar, Edward. With your injured leg and the ancient car you drive, you’d hardly be ready for the quick getaway, would you?”
He smiled ruefully. “I wonder how they can think me capable of doing anything fast. I’m the slowest thinker on record. I’d be caught standing outside the house wondering whether to turn left or right.”
“Don’t put yourself down, Edward, you’re smarter than your sister believes for a start, and you’re going to be one of Pendragon Island’s most successful businessmen. I insist on it.”
Besides searching the newly cleared shop, the police went through the other empty properties on the row and found that one had been used as a shelter.
“Probably a tramp,” Constable Gregory told them. “There were some boxes and a stub of a candle and a few old clothes. I think someone must have slept there, perhaps during the winter. Nothing more recent than an April newspaper anyway.”
“Will you need me for anything else?” Edward asked.
“It’s possible, I can’t say, sir,” was the disconcerting reply. “It depends what comes up during our enquiries. Just as long as we know where to find you if we do, you needn’t worry any further.”
“They do suspect me!” Edward whispered as the last of the constables propped up the fallen gate and left.
* * *
Sally had managed to cover up the real reason for the bruise on her face and although movement was painful, no one except Ryan knew of the larger bruises on her body. After the first time he had been careful not to hit her where it was likely to show. The blow to her face on that second attack had been caused by the side of the dressing table when she had fallen over.
She wasn’t sure why he hit her sometimes and on other occasions was kind and gentle, praising her, even offering to help with the work she did in keeping the house running and the meals coming for her boarders. After the first occasion when she had asked him to make the cup of tea he wanted, she had been careful not to ask him to do anything. Yet on three separate occasions he had suddenly lost control. She tried to puzzle out what had caused it. But there didn’t seem to be a pattern. The saddest part was her inability to talk about it to anyone.
Her mother would be very distressed and even Sian, her twin, to whom she would normally have run, couldn’t be told. She wouldn’t have been able to hold back from interfering. Whatever had caused it, she was the one at fault. She must have done something to make a placid man suddenly turn into a monster. She must have changed; in some way she had caused him such irritation that he had become a different person. So, she reasoned, it was up to her to change him back.
She took on an extra assistant, intending to make sure she had more time to spend with Ryan. The girl, Judith Parry, was employed to help clean the house and deal with the laundry during the morning and prepare the vegetables for the evening meal. The idea was for Sally to sit in the lounge with Ryan and talk about their day, share the activities of the house that had been their family home.
For the first three mornings he went out as she entered the room. On the fourth, she had followed him upstairs to ask whether he would like to go into town and help choose some new curtains for the room that would be the nursery when their grandchild was born.
“We won’t have to spend much, dear,” she assured him, reaching for her coat. “The window isn’t large, but it will please Megan that we have bothered. Perhaps a rug as well. What d’you think?”
She hardly felt the first blow, as her coat was bunched up around her shoulders, but the second, a punch to her stomach had her bending over and trying not to be sick.
Then she was against the wall, trying not to make a sound, curling her head under her arms and staying there for long after he had gone.
“I shouldn’t have mentioned the baby,” she chided herself between sobs. “It was my fault. He told me how much it distressed him. How could I have been so stupid?”
After that incident she hardly spoke to him at all. She rose early and went to bed late and locked herself in. She presumed he slept in the loft room and also guessed he had been careful not to be seen leaving it, as Megan said nothing about the arrangement.
* * *
Constable Gregory went to Montague Court and asked to talk to Islwyn.
“Sorry to bother you, sir, but I wondered whether you’d seen anyone hanging about, you know, someone who shouldn’t have been where you saw him? It’s a long shot, but sometimes the small piece of the jigsaw is the one that leads to success.”
As the policeman was leaving, Margaret followed him and said, almost apologetically, “I don’t suppose it will help, but my brother Edward’s movements are rather erratic these days.”
“How d’you mean, Miss Jenkins?”
“Well, until a few weeks ago I always knew where to find him, but now, he’s often absent during the day. I’ve had to do his work on several occasions, you can ask Islwyn. And at night. He’s often very late.”
“What are you suggesting, miss?”
“Oh, good heavens, I wasn’t suggesting – oh dear!” She put an embarrassed hand to her mouth. “No, I didn’t mean – I just thought that he’s a more likely person to have noticed someone ‘hanging about’ as you put it. That’s all.” She was smiling as she returned to the kitchen.
* * *
The local papers were filled wi
th reports of the spate of robberies. In Dora and Sian’s café they heard the gossip and the rumours and the exaggerations, both thankful they had no valuables for anyone to covet.
“I’ve never had any, and you disposed of yours when you sold your big posh house, didn’t you?” Dora said to Sian.
They were also among the first to hear that Gwennie Woodlas, who owned the gown shop in the town, had disturbed the thief as he was gathering together the items he’d chosen.
She came into the café after the police had examined her home, “Too distressed I am to go and open the shop today.” She answered their questions cheerfully though, proud of the fact she had prevented the burglar from getting away with her cherished ornaments and silver.
“Smartly dressed he was,” Gwennie told them. “I remember how shiny his shoes were, top quality leather too. And such fine worsted trousers and blazer. I can recognise quality when I see it. I didn’t see his face, he wore something over it; frightening it was mind.” She frowned at the memory then added, “He spoke, you know. Called me a stupid woman would you believe! Me with a business and a grand house and him having to steal what isn’t his, and he calls me stupid!” She lowered her voice. “The thing is, I’m sure I’d recognise his voice again. He wasn’t the usual kind of man to steal from houses.”
“What’s the usual type?” Dora asked, thinking she was about to hear a criticism of Charlie, and preparing to retort.
“He was more the Raffles sort of criminal. You know, a gentleman thief. His voice was very upper class.”
* * *
The police visited Charlie and, after several visits and blatant checking of his story, were apparently reassured that he had nothing to do with the thefts. Dora was upset, worried about the effect on her daughter’s marriage, of the constant threat of police suspicions. She was there one day when PC Gregory called to tell Charlie they probably wouldn’t want to see him again.
A Shop in the High Street Page 8