Barry was trying to talk to Caroline, but each time he approached her, either someone stole the seat he was heading for or she saw him, sensed his need to talk and moved away.
He played with little Joseph until Caroline declared it was time for him to go to bed, and was refused when he offered to read him a story.
“Not tonight, Barry, thanks. He’s had enough excitement for one day. He’ll never sleep!”
The sense of rejection was strong and he left soon after Megan.
* * *
At half past nine Edward was thinking of going to find something to eat. He still wasn’t hungry but he thought that if didn’t find some food then, he might be hungry later and then he’d be too late. He heard a car pull up, then drive off. Footsteps he thought he knew hurried towards the shop door and then there was the welcome sound of a key in the shop door.
“Edward, will you take me out and feed me?” Megan said as she walked in and sat down beside him.
“Of course, but what about the party?”
“I went, and everyone was there having the usual idiotic fun, but the thought of all that lovely food being prepared for our little ‘do’, well, it seemed traitorous to eat it. I kept thinking I should be here, being miserable with you. So, here I am.”
They sat for a long time, in a close embrace, with only a low light burning, staring down into the dark depths of the basement.
At ten o’clock, Edward said. “I was miserable here without you. I should have gone. Forgive me?”
“Only if you buy me fish and chips. I’m starving and so is The Lump.”
He turned to her, his eyes intent and serious as he touched her lips with his own. The kiss, gentle at first, deepened and left neither of them in any doubt of their feelings.
“Megan, I—”
Once again she stopped him saying the words she longed to hear. “We have to wait my darling. I want you to understand fully what life with me would mean.”
“I don’t care what happens, I want you and—”
“Soon, Edward. Very soon.” The kiss that stilled his words was so sweet that he argued no further.
As they were leaving to buy fish and chips to eat in the car, they both heard a noise. It came from the garden and with a terse, “Stay here,” to Megan, Edward crept slowly down the basement stairs. As he reached the bottom he became aware that as usual, Megan had ignored him and was following.
There were crackling sounds and the strong smell of wood burning and for an awful moment Edward thought someone had set fire to the place. He fumbled with the door, which was new and rather stiff, and by the time he had opened it, the garden was empty. Someone had started a fire, but not near the house. Sticks were burning brightly and beside the newly lit blaze an upturned bucket had been set up as a table, containing half opened newspaper-wrapped packages of food. “A tramp,” Edward said with a sigh of relief. “Well, he’s welcome to sit and eat his supper, as long as he keeps his bonfire under control. But I think we ought to get that gate fixed soon.”
“We’ll see Frank about it tomorrow,” Megan said. She went over and added sticks to the fire which was in danger of burning out. “Poor lonely man. It makes me realise how fortunate I am, Edward.”
“Me too.” He placed a half-crown coin on the makeshift table and, with their arms around each other, they went back through the shop to go and buy their supper.
* * *
Percy Flemming was standing in the overgrown shrubbery of the Waterside Restaurant. His innocent informant, the local milkman called Reggie Rogers, had casually mentioned that the owners would be away for a week, before returning to deal with their move.
Having parked the old van in the narrow lane beside the property, he began transfering cases of wines and spirits from the house. The stuff was easily sold but it was a time-consuming exercise and he didn’t take the complete consignment.
A quick look around and he picked up two Dresden figurines and some Victorian china before driving off with moderate speed to where he planned to hide the Victorian stuff until he could drive to Newport and deliver it. He hid the van in the garden of an old vicarage where it was well hidden by a high wall and a belt of tall trees. The drink was first delivered to a pub not far from town and at three in the morning he was sleeping soundly.
The police were criticised once more when news of the robbery came to light. They responded with the reasonable excuse that they were simply unable to watch every house in the town, and begged people to be vigilant and report anything suspicious.
* * *
Once the place had dried out and the decoration had been made good, Edward decided to move in. Transporting what he had chosen to keep from the furniture of his former home took most of the day, with Hwyel Griffiths providing the van and Frank and Ernie providing the muscles.
Annie and Leigh Grant had agreed to buy most of the surplus and Margaret was storing what she and Islwyn had selected for their restaurant and future home. The few pieces not wanted by any of them went to a second-hand shop in the town, which did brisk business. Everyone wanted a souvenir of the Jenkins’s former home. Vases and pictures of little value were snapped up. Oddments of china, plates, cups and even saucers found a new home. Incomplete sets of cutlery that needed regular sharpening and polishing were tossed in a couple of baskets and displayed to be sold individually as people scrambled for a memento of Montague Court.
Gladys and Arfon Weston bought a huge overmantel in gold trimmed mahogany. Ryan bought a picture of the Somerset town where he and Sally had spent their honeymoon and gave it to his wife, promising her that from then on their life would be as happy as those early days of their marriage.
Lewis saw an umbrella stand and bought it for Dora to put in the entrance of the café. He also bought a model of a Spitfire that had once stood on a desk in Edward’s bedroom, which he presented to a delighted Gwyn.
Through the town, people displayed items from Montague Court proudly as though the ownership of the trifles were prizes captured in battle from the demise of the once great family.
Saddened by the empty rooms and drab remnants of their former home, Edward and Margaret, in a brief moment of togetherness, decided not to go there again.
* * *
Spending the first night in his now furnished bedroom above the shop, Edward slept fitfully, the unfamiliar noises of his new property strange: wood expanding and shrinking with the changes of temperature; the wind finding spaces through which to whisper and sigh; traffic causing movement as it passed along the road; a curtain swaying in an undetected breeze.
Creaks and groans startled him on several occasions. Besides the unacustomed sounds of the building he heard people walking around on bare floors and decided in his half awake state, after calming down from believing they were in the house with him, that they were coming from next door.
The following morning Edward remembered to his alarm that the houses on both sides were vacant. So, what had he heard? Had it been the tramp using an empty house for a comfortable night’s sleep? For his own peace of mind he decided that that was what had happened, pushed the worries aside and began to search for breakfast.
Cooking breakfast showed him a serious lack of basic needs. A frying pan was no use without something to fry. A loaf of bread needed a sharper knife than the ones he had chosen to bring from Montague Court. How could he be so helpless?
He made a list and went out to buy what he needed. There was just time to deal with it before he opened the shop at nine-thirty. Megan would be there soon but he didn’t want to admit his absentmindedness to her. Not today, when he was opening his doors to business for the first time.
Time passed slowly and he was restless. Returning to the mysterious noises of the previous night he decided to go through the gardens and investigate.
As he had guessed, the house next door was not secure. Pushing open a broken door from which one hinge was missing he went inside. He’d brought a torch but he didn’t need it. The place showe
d clear evidence of someone using it, with clothes and bedding strewn around and in a corner, a cache of food. He left, satisfied that the noises he’d heard were explained.
There was a knock on the shop door and he went to answer it, nervously adjusting his tie. Someone was anxious to be the first customer – it wasn’t yet nine-fifteen. When he opened the door, Inspector Leonard stood there with Constable Gregory. They saw Edward smiling a welcome with a dirt-streaked face, and leaves and small branches in his hair from where he had pushed his way through the hedge. There were moss stains on the sleeve of his shirt.
“Mr Edward Jenkins? We’d like you to come to the station with us, if you please.”
“What, now? I’m just about to open my shop.”
“We’d like you to answer some questions regarding your whereabouts on the days and nights of these robberies.”
“I don’t understand.”
Inspector Leonard looked him up and down. “We might begin by your explaining where you’ve been to get in such a mess, sir.”
Chapter Seven
Edward was questioned thoroughly about the dates on which robberies took place in the town of Pendragon Island and the villages around. At first he was angry but as time went on, and the questions revealed more and more doubt as to his honesty, he began to worry. He was obviously concerned about money, having arranged to buy a property before the sale of Montague Court had been settled, so it was easy for them to make a case for his stealing to support his financial commitments.
“My sister can verify my movements if you ask her,” he said in exasperation after three hours had passed. “Can you talk to her and please get this nonsense cleared up? I have a shop to open and I’ve already missed most of my first morning.”
“Your sister, that would be Miss Margaret Jenkins?”
“Of course. You know that very well so why are you asking me?”
“We have to be quite clear, Mr Jenkins. Now, can you tell us where you were on these dates?” The inspector put a piece of paper in front of Edward, and in frustration Edward threw it onto the floor. “How on earth d’you expect me to remember anything past yesterday! I’m selling my home, refurbishing a shop and beginning a new business. My head’s all over the place.”
Slowly and in silence, the policeman picked up the list and replaced it on the table.
Edward calmed down. It was no use getting angry with them and they were completely indifferent to his worries about the shop. With a sigh, he went through the routine of a normal week, describing the hours he worked, the tasks he had undertaken towards the running of the hotel.
“But the hotel is closed, isn’t it? Aren’t you and your sister in the processs of selling to a Mr and Mrs Leigh Grant?”
“Most of the work still goes on, sale, move, whatever. It’s sold as a going concern so although we have refused accommodation while the changeover takes place, we have the restaurant to run. I still have to do certain shifts. Mealtimes come along with great monotony, Inspector. There was never much time between duties.”
“You’ve recently spent all your spare time working at number sixty-eight Highbourne Road.”
“That’s correct.”
“Sometimes with a Miss Megan Fowler-Weston?”
“What has Miss Weston got to do with this?”
“Probably nothing, but we—”
“I know, ‘have to be quite clear’! Now, please can I go? I’m starting a new business and it won’t look good if I completely fail to open on the first day, will it?”
“Can you tell us again why you were in such a dishevelled state when we called, sir?”
Edward explained about the noises during the night. “When I realised that the houses on either side were unoccupied I had to find out where the noises came from.”
“And you were satisfied that the rooms were used by tramps?”
“It seemed a likely explanation, yes.”
A constable appeared at the door and after a whispered conversation the inspector and Constable Gregory went out. Left alone in the silent room for a few minutes, Edward began to fume. He was beginning to comprehend who was responsible.
Constable Gregory returned and told him he could leave. No explanations, no apology, only a politely worded request not to leave town without informing them.
The whole morning, the first morning of the sports shop was over. He’d begun by letting prospective customers down. What a mess. What a bloody mess.
He didn’t have his car; the police had taken him from the shop in their vehicle so he ran through the streets and along Highbourne Road with a heart threatening to explode.
He’d missed the first morning completely and it was down to Margaret. It was unbelievable the lengths to which his sister would go to to ruin his efforts. It was now after two o’clock and any customers who had bothered to come would have given up and probably gone elsewhere. What a bloody mess.
The shop door was closed and he fumbled with his key, anger making his hands shake. Opening the door he smelled the tantalising smell of bacon cooking.
“Is that you, Edward?” Megan called. He went upstairs to the flat, breathless and dejected, and in the kitchen saw Megan standing near the cooker. It was a sight to revive the gloomiest of spirits. Heavily pregnant, dressed in a loose gown of green, a band of the same material over her dark, shiny hair, her face glowing in the heat from the cooker. His heart began to behave in a peculiar way that had nothing to do with his recent exertions.
She had just lifted a round of gammon and some mushrooms from the grill pan, and was attending the eggs and tomatoes sizzling in a frying pan. “I hope you’re hungry, I don’t suppose you had much breakfast.”
“None. I’m starving and furiously angry at having to stay closed and miss my first morning.”
“You didn’t miss it, Edward. I opened up just five minutes late. We took seventeen pounds nineteen shillings and sixpence by the way.”
“But how did you know?” he asked in surprise.
“Constable Gregory, whose daughter Mair Gregory used to work for Grandmother Gladys, told me you’d been taken in for questioning so I came as soon as I could.” She smiled. “He also telephoned me here to tell me when you were on your way home. I sent one of your customers out to buy this food, will it suit?”
He stared at her, his face showing relief and wonderment, a mixture of frowns and adoration. “Megan, you are amazing.”
“Yes, I believe I am,” she teased.
“How can I thank you! I—”
She interrupted him with an imperious hand. “Food first, then we can talk.”
The food was delicious but as soon as he had eaten enough to take the edge off his hunger, he said, “It was Margaret who did this I suppose.”
“You suppose right, I learned that from Constable Gregory too. But I don’t think you’ll have any more trouble. I gave them my diary you see. Remember our middle-of-the-night conversations? They’ll have a way of checking them, won’t they? Anyway, my diary corroborated much of your story, so I think they’ll be satisfied on two or three of the nights in question. Weakens their case quite a lot, I imagine.”
While he finished his meal, she went down the stairs, awkward in her movements now she was almost eight months pregnant, and unlocked the door. When Edward came down ten minutes later he had washed, shaved and appeared as calm and cool as the proprietor of a sports shop should.
When they finally closed the door at five-thirty, they had taken forty-seven pounds and had orders for twenty pounds more. Edward hardly took in what Megan was saying as she totalled the figures.
“Megan, my dear, you look exhausted. I’m going to take you home now, and I want you to go straight to bed.”
“Are you ordering me about, Edward?” She looked up, head on one side but she didn’t argue. “You’re right. I want to go home and collapse into Mummy’s arms and allow myself to be utterly spoilt.”
Locking the day’s takings into the safe the builders had fixed into th
e wall, Edward didn’t wait to do anything else; he helped Megan on with her coat and escorted her to the car. Driving home, he chatted quietly – not angrily – about the events of the day. He didn’t want her to be upset, and made a joke of it, saying how frustrating it must be for Margaret to know she had been outmanoeuvred so neatly by a superior person. There was no response and when he glanced at her, Megan was asleep.
He left her in the car while he knocked on Sally and Ryan’s door. Ryan answered his knock and Edward asked if he would assist him in getting Megan into the house. “She’s very tired you see,” he explained, but to his amazement, Ryan walked away down the hall.
Going back to the car he gently woke Megan and was helping her out as Sally ran down the path. She thanked Edward for taking good care of her, and supported her daughter along the path and into the house. At the doorway, Megan turned and blew him a kiss. In the window of the bedroom above, Ryan watched in a silence that, even from that distance, Edward sensed was hostile.
He rang later that evening and asked Sally to inform Megan she wasn’t to come into the shop the next day. “Tell her I’m grateful but I don’t want her to overtire herself.” Swallowing embarrassment he added, “Tell her she’s too precious for that.”
“She’s sleeping now and I’m sure she’s all right,” Sally assured him. “As for tomorrow, have you tried telling either of my darling daughters not to do something they want to do?” She laughed. “I’ll give her your message, Edward, and thank you for bringing her home.”
That night he didn’t sleep straight away but he knew that on this occasion he couldn’t disturb Megan from her much needed sleep to share his erratic thoughts. He sat for a long time writing out orders and checking the stock they had sold, trying to guess where their greatest attractions might lie. He didn’t hear any odd sounds and at two o’clock he extinguished the light and slept soundly until six-thirty.
He woke with a sense of well-being. Downstairs he had a business which, thanks to Megan Fowler-Weston, was up and running. There was nothing more Margaret could do to stop it being a success.
A Shop in the High Street Page 12