by Ann Purser
GUS, BUSY WITH organising his trip, was growing more hopeful about finding his ex-wife, certain that until she was found, he would be suspect number one in whatever had happened to her. He had bought his ticket to Aberdeen and packed Whippy’s bed, blanket and supply of dog food, ready to take her to the shop. He had also put in a moth-eaten soft toy to which she was devoted. With that beside her in her bed, she would not miss him too much, he hoped.
To occupy the hours he had left before tomorrow morning, he planned to engineer an invitation from Miriam to supper—not a difficult assignment! He knew she would open her heart to him, and all he had to do was saunter into his garden and sniff the air. He opened his back door and stepped out into the tiny backyard.
“Morning, Gus! Nice to see you out in the sunshine,” chirruped Miriam. “You men are much too inclined to slump in front of the telly!”
“Good morning, Miriam,” said Gus, his voice much more friendly than of late. “Are you off to church as usual? I do admire your devotion, you know. Only wish I could share it,” he added humbly.
“But you could, Gus! All you have to do is go and get your jacket and walk alongside me. You know I’d be really pleased.”
He shook his head. “Can’t teach an old dog new tricks,” he said. “Confirmed heathen, that’s me.”
“Never too late, as they say. Still, if I can’t persuade you to come to church, how about supper this evening? We haven’t had a nice long chat for ages, and I’ve a juicy piece of sirloin that is far too big for me. Shall I expect you about half past six?”
Not wishing to appear too eager and rouse her suspicions, he hesitated. “Oh, well, if you’re sure,” he began, “I would be very grateful. I’m off up north tomorrow and have no time to cook myself more than a boiled egg this evening!” Oops, he thought. Now she’ll ask me about Whippy.
“Taking Whippy, are you?”
He shook his head. “No, it was fortunate that James asked me if he could borrow her for a few days. Overrun with mice in his storerooms apparently. Too many for one cat, he said. I expect you know that, anyway, from working there!” he added jovially.
Miriam’s face fell. “Um, well, I do see his point. But I love having her, so any other time, don’t forget me.” The church bells had stopped, all but one, which was ringing a final reminder. “Must dash,” she said, “but I’ll see you this evening. Bye for now.”
Gus returned to the cottage and sat down with pen and paper, intending to make a list of questions he would ask Miriam. Kath had, after all, stayed with her overnight, and they must have talked for at least an hour or two. Miriam was an expert at worming trivial facts out of people, and Kath, being new to the village, might well have let slip some clue to the reason for her visit. He had thought long and hard about this and was convinced it was not an accident that her arrival had coincided with the annual hunt ball up at Roussel’s place.
Deirdre had mentioned in passing that Theo Roussel was now on his way to Scotland, staying with friends in a draughty old castle and pursuing little birds over the moors in order to shoot them. It was entirely possible that Kath had departed in the same direction. She had friends on a grand estate near Aberdeen, and a reason to go there.
Questions for Miriam, then. What had the two of them talked about? Had Kath mentioned their marriage? And if so, what had she told Miriam about their friends and acquaintances? Had any of them figured in any explanation of why she was in Barrington, or did she stick to an unlikely wish to see her ex-husband? Had she talked about what she was planning to do next? Did they talk about dogs?
This last was not an idle question. Kath, usually an urban person to her painted fingertips, was passionate about hunting and hounds and especially fond of an old hunt terrier that had been retired after being stepped on by a horse. She had left old Jack with her Scottish friends and might well have told Miriam she was returning to collect him.
With a deep sigh, Gus put down his pen. No doubt other questions would occur to him during supper. Right now, he was sleepy, and leaving the back door open for the warm sun to fill his damp cottage, he stretched out on the sagging sofa and began to tackle the newspaper.
“WE COULD GO to evensong if you like, Roy,” Ivy said. They had arisen too late to go to the morning service and were sitting in an empty dining room lingering over last cups of coffee, to the annoyance of Mrs. Spurling. It was Miss Pinkney’s turn for weekend duty, but she had gone down with a severe cold and so her chief had reluctantly taken over.
“Now then,” she said, marching up to the lingering pair, “are we all finished? Good, then let me help you up, Mr. Goodman.”
“Leave him be!” said Ivy sharply. “We’re not finished yet. Another five minutes, and we’ll be out of here under our own steam. I’m sure you have better things to do than chivvy residents from room to room.”
I shall murder her one of these days, thought Mrs. Spurling, forcing back an angry reply. I shall put my hands round her skinny old neck and squeeze. But she nodded and stalked off. She would go out into the garden and cool off. Her ex-husband, when being particularly unpleasant to her, used to tell her to go out into the garden and eat worms. One of these days she would do exactly that and then return indoors with them half-eaten and dangling from her mouth. That would fix Miss Beasley!
As Roy watched her leave, he put out his hand and touched Ivy on her arm. “Don’t be too unkind, dearest. The poor woman has a difficult job to do, and we should try to help her out on bad days like today.”
“Bad days? Today is another beautiful day! Just look out of that window. A perfect sky, blue with puffy white clouds, birds singing in leafy trees and a gentle breeze to keep us cool.”
“And Gus Halfhide coming up the path with an anxious look on his face,” answered Roy, smiling broadly. “Let’s go and see just how bad he can make our day.”
“They are still in the dining room,” said Mrs. Spurling huffily as she met Gus coming in. “Go straight through. If you can unseat them and take them into the lounge, you will earn my undying gratitude.”
“Good gracious, is it that bad?” said Gus, twinkling at her. “Right. Here goes.” He went through to the lounge and met Roy and Ivy on their way. “Ah! There you are,” he said. “I was warned.”
“Warned of what?” said Ivy, frowning. “I assume you have spoken to Mrs. Spurling?”
Gus nodded and suggested they all repair to Ivy’s room, as he had some confidential details to tell them about his trip north. He had more or less recovered from his furious reaction to what seemed to him like accusations and decided it would be more sensible to tell them when and where he was going. Why was another matter. If they guessed, fair enough, but he had no wish to tell them of suspicions that were still vague and unsubstantiated. When he came back, he would hopefully be able to be more precise.
“To Scotland?” Ivy raised her eyebrows and looked at Roy.
“Needing a break, are you, Gus old chap?”
“Exactly. I shall take a train very early tomorrow morning and be away for probably a week or so. You can always ring me if there’s anything urgent.”
“Well done,” said Roy. “You deserve a break. Vanishing ex-wives are not in the normal run of things, and we’ve seen that you are a bit shaken up. Go right away and forget about all of us. That’s my advice.”
“And mine,” said Ivy, “is to keep your eyes and ears open at all times. Now,” she added, “if you two would excuse me, I have to go out for ten minutes or so. Have a good break, Gus, and a productive one, if you can.”
“No flies on Ivy,” said Roy, after she had left the room. He looked at Gus’s glum face and smiled. “Take no notice, lad, and just have a good time. Shooting?”
“Possibly,” said Gus. “It’s not really in my line, but the friends I shall look up are very much the huntin’, shootin’ and fishin’ gang. So, when in Rome, and all that.”
“Bring me back a plump pheasant, then. Haven’t had a decent roast pheasant since I’ve been h
ere. And dear Ivy likes them, too. Smooth the way, Gus, smooth the way.”
After this, they discussed shooting prospects, and Roy remembered days when he and his friends had bagged a good number of birds and duly celebrated at the farm afterwards. Gus confessed that he was against blood sports, but a nice little partridge on toast was very difficult to refuse.
Finally, feeling much restored, Gus got up to go, and as he did so, the door opened and Ivy returned. “My goodness!” she said. “You two still gossiping? Do you know that old song about Gossip Joan? Should’ve been Gossip Jack! On your way, are you, Augustus? Off you go, then. Take care of yourself and be nice to your ex-wife.”
Gus fled.
Twenty-six
ULPH WAS FEELING claustrophobic, confined as he was to one room, with only a small roof terrace for a breath of air. The room was very hot, his gammy leg ached, and he was longing for a cool dip in a pool somewhere. Perhaps he could find the town leisure centre and go for a swim. He sighed. There were two reasons why he could not: first, he had no swimming trunks, and second, he had no money for a ticket. Then he remembered the last time he had seen a tempting, shimmering pool, with a water nymph climbing out of it. Oh God, he was feeling light-headed with the heat. Why shouldn’t he drop in on Mrs. Bloxham? He had said he would be back to see her about the town band.
Before he could allow himself to remember all the reasons he had for choosing to stay hidden, he left his room, went downstairs and asked Mrs. Feather if she had trunks to lend him. She disappeared upstairs and returned with a pair of red and white striped trunks smelling strongly of mothballs. “He loved swimming, my hubby,” she said, and Ulph accepted them gratefully.
HIS LUCK WAS definitely in, he told himself, as a truck driver stopped for him not more than ten minutes after he had set out along the road. “Barrington, mate? We’ll be there in twenty minutes. Visiting a friend, are you?”
Ulph chatted away, speaking about nothing much and answering none of the driver’s questions, which could have identified him. They agreed that it was a boiling hot day, and the best solution would be a refreshing dip in an outdoor pool.
“Thanks a lot,” Ulph said, as he waved to the truck driver, who continued on his air-conditioned way, not noticing until he was ten miles away that there was a plastic carrier bag on the floor where his passenger’s feet had been. He drew into a lay-by, and had a look in it, pulling out a pair of very large swimming trunks. “He’d have had a job keeping these up!” he said, laughing loudly, and decided there would be no need to make an effort to return them.
“MR. ULPH!” SAID Deirdre. “You’re soon back! I’m afraid I have not yet had time to talk to my musician friend. In any case, I was told you had gone to France?”
Ulph shook his head. “Had to postpone the trip,” he said. “My reason for coming is not to do with playing the saxophone. I was wondering whether you could possibly allow me to swim in your pool. I have this trouble with my knee and am supposed to swim daily. I confess I cannot afford to use the public pool at the present, and thought I might as well ask. You can set the bull terrier on me if you like, but all you need to do is say no and I shall go quietly.” He smiled his most winning smile and saw her soften.
“But where are your things?” she asked.
He looked down at his empty hands and swore. “Must have left them in the truck cab,” he said. “I hitched a lift to get here.”
Deirdre hesitated. Careful! said Bert’s voice in her ear. But surely she could lend him a pair of Bert’s trunks and allow him a short swim? After all, she would not let him into the house.
They were standing in the front drive, yards away from the house door, and she said, “Wait here. Don’t move. I’ll fetch a pair of my late husband’s trunks. Then you can go round to the pool and have a swim. After that, please leave. And this is a one-off. No more swims after this.”
She disappeared into the house, and Ulph stood as instructed without moving. His thoughts were on how he was going to replace the late Mr. Feather’s trunks, and he began to regret his foolish expedition. He could easily have had a cold shower and rested instead on the terrace in the shade of the chimney stack. Ah well, too late to go back now. He would have his swim and then scarper.
Twenty-seven
ULPH’S DECISION TO swim and flee was scuppered by Deirdre, who halfway up the stairs had remembered that for at least a week she would have neither Gus nor Theo to amuse her, now reappeared with black swimming trunks and a small tray bearing two twinkling, ice-filled glasses.
“Here,” she said, “you’d be better cooling off a bit before swimming. I find a gin and tonic is just the thing. Sit down and try this.” She pointed to a chair by the pool and handed him a glass. Then she sat beside him and smiled. She had changed into a swimsuit and presumably intended to plunge in with him. He took a deep swig of the gin and said to himself that since he clearly could not escape in the way he had planned, he might as well enjoy himself.
“Here’s to autumn,” said Deirdre. “‘Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness.’”
“‘And beaded bubbles winking at the brim’?” he suggested.
“Quite right. Keats. But isn’t there something about ‘close-bosomed something or other’ in there somewhere?”
Blimey, she was a quick worker. Ulph could not help his eyes lingering on her decidedly close bosoms as she leaned towards him, offering him a small plate. “Have a nibble,” she said. Not at all what he had expected and quite a change of heart from what she had said at first. He hadn’t had much experience of middle-aged widows, but this one was decidedly frisky, and he began to feel a whole lot more cheerful.
The drinks went quickly, and Deirdre said they might as well have fill-ups, since the evening was so fine. “Best part of the day,” she said happily.
They chatted easily, Deirdre telling him all about her life with Bert and motorcars, and Ulph saying nothing very much about himself. By the time they thought of taking a dip, dusk was beginning to fall. “I know what we’ll do, now the light’s going,” said Deirdre. “You needn’t put on these things of Bert’s. Just go over there in the summerhouse and strip off. I’ll do the same, and we can jump into the pool quite discreetly. Nothing like swimming in the nip!” she added, and laughed uproariously.
Ulph had lost count of the gins but realised he was more than a little squiffy as he stumbled up the summerhouse steps. Not a good idea to swim when drunk, he told himself. But not drunk, just a bit tiddly. He took off his hot, confining clothes, and feeling ready for anything, he ran to the pool and dived in.
He knew he had misjudged his dive the minute his head came into contact with soft flesh. He surfaced and saw Deirdre shrieking with laughter. “Oops!” she shouted. “Mind me close bosoms!”
At this point, struck dumb by what confronted him, Gus Halfhide walked around the corner of the house.
Ulph sank beneath the water, but Deirdre waved a hand. “Hi, Gus!” she yelled. “Come on in. The water’s fine!”
“I THOUGHT YOU were having supper with Miriam?” Deirdre said meekly. She had managed to persuade Gus to stay, asking him to wait in the house. Then she ordered Ulph out of the pool to dress and get going as soon as possible. She had grabbed a bathrobe and made strong coffee in the kitchen before joining Gus and taking a seat opposite him in what was always Bert’s chair. Perhaps his spirit would stand by her in her hour of need.
Gus looked across at her. He had felt a bit of a heel, ringing Miriam to duck out of her beef sirloin, especially when she was pleasant and understanding. And now here was wicked Deirdre, reminding him of a small girl who has been found stealing sweets. He had a strong urge to laugh at her antics but didn’t, deciding that she should be punished for such wantonness. “I don’t understand, Deirdre,” he said. “Who was that man, and why were you…” His voice tailed off as a sudden vision of the pair of them splashing about like a couple of porpoises was too much for him. He spluttered and then burst into roars of uncontrolled mirth.
“Oh, Deirdre,” he said finally, “if you could have seen yourselves!”
Deirdre frowned. She expected disapproval but was not prepared for mockery.
“It was just a bit of fun,” she said defensively. “That man had a bad leg, and…”
At this, Gus became helpless with laughter once more. “Oh, don’t explain,” he gasped. “No need to explain.”
Deirdre sniffed. “Here, drink your coffee,” she said. “Personally, I don’t see what’s so funny. Surely what I do in my own back garden is entirely a private affair. Anyway, what do you want?”
“A four-course meal was what was on offer from my neighbour,” said Gus. “But a couple of eggs and bacon will do. I nipped up here just to check one or two things before tomorrow. But if you’re up to it now, we could discuss Sebastian Ulph. It was him, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, it was, and I don’t intend to have anything more to do with him. If he turns up here again, I shall threaten him with the police.”
“Don’t do that. You can always set the bull terrier on him. Anyway, we need to keep him in our sights, and I have certainly not finished with him yet.”
EARLY NEXT MORNING, as planned, Gus took the train to Scotland, and it was much more pleasant than he had been expecting. The train was swift and comfortable, and he had a snack lunch in the restaurant car. He read the Times from cover to cover, and after changing trains in Edinburgh he settled down for a light snooze.
He was woken by the train slowing almost to a stop, and then crawling along at a snail’s pace. He looked out of the window but could see nothing but a landscape of fertile fields and the occasional farmhouse. Then, with a whooshing roar, a train passed going south, and in that instant he thought he saw the familiar face of his ex-wife, Katherine.