by Ann Purser
“Hello? Ivy, is that you? No, I’m not busy. Of course I’m alone! What’s up?”
After a minute or so, Deirdre pulled up a stool and sat down heavily. “Oh my God! How on earth did that happen? What did you say? The signal’s not too good.”
“I said, it is a clear case of ‘did he fall or was he pushed?’ Anyway, the reason I’m ringing you, is that we have dismissed our taxi and shall need a lift back home when the police have finished with us. Can you come? Oh, good, thanks Deirdre. I’ll let you know when we’re ready. Oh, here they come. Bye.”
Deirdre was trembling. That poor man, with his bad leg. He had been so polite, and she had not been very nice to him. And now he was dead. It was hard to believe, and yet there had been something doomed about him. She told herself she was being ridiculous. But the memory of his pale face and dark eyes returned as she poured a large whisky and began to drink.
When she was calmer, she decided to ring Gus. His phone rang for a long time, and eventually the mechanical voice clicked in. She left no message. The best thing she could do was have a shower and walk down to Hangman’s Row. He should be back by then, and if not, a walk would do her good.
But then what about fetching Ivy and Roy? And how was she going to get Roy’s trundle in her car? Perhaps Ivy had been too shocked to have thought of this. She rang her on her mobile, and Ivy agreed that they would order the special taxi instead. Apparently a sympathetic policeman had told them he wouldn’t keep them any longer than was necessary.
It was midafternoon when Deirdre finally set off for Gus’s cottage. The sun was still high, and the warmth was comforting as she walked at a steady pace through the village. When she turned into the lane, she could see Miriam Blake in her front garden, chatting to Rose Budd over the low wall dividing the cottages. They turned to watch her approach, and before she got to Gus’s, they hailed her with a cheery wave.
“‘Mad dogs and Englishmen go out in the midday sun!’” quoted Miriam with a smile. “We were just saying that we should soon be seeing signs of autumn. How are you, Mrs. Bloxham?”
“Very well, thank you, and not mad, I hope,” Deirdre replied. “I’m on my way to see Mr. Halfhide.”
“Not there, I’m afraid,” said Rose. “I saw him go off quite early this morning, and he hasn’t come back yet, so far as I know.”
“True,” said Miriam, not to be outdone. “I heard Whippy whining and went round to let her out into the garden. Gave her fresh water, too, poor little thing. Funny, that. Gus usually asks me to keep an eye on her if he’s going to be gone long. “
“Ah, well. I’ll give him a ring later. Thanks, anyway.” Deirdre turned to go back home, and saw a tall figure approaching. “Oh, look!” she said, relieved. “There he is, just coming down the lane.” She waved, and walked to meet him.
“Hello, Deirdre,” he said, frowning. “What brings you down here?”
“You, you silly chump!” she replied. “I came to call but found you were nowhere to be seen. Miriam and Rose said you’d gone out, so I was going home. But now you can give me a cup of tea. I’ve got news for you, but not nice news, I’m afraid.”
GUS’S RECEPTION OF the news was oddly calm. He said that as his cottage was so dreary and depressing, he would walk back with her to Tawny Wings and would stay while they talked over the distressing news.
“I expect Ivy and Roy will be back by now,” Deirdre said as they walked past Springfields. “We won’t disturb them. They must have had quite a shock, and even though Ivy sometimes seems bombproof, they are probably both feeling a bit shaken up.”
Gus agreed, and they walked on, waving to Theo Roussel as he drove past them in his Land Rover.
“I was going to see him today,” Deirdre said. “But I think I’ll leave it until we find out more about Ulph. Things have changed a lot since we last talked. And, by the way, were you out investigating today? Miriam said you hadn’t left a note for her to mind Whippy, so she was doing it anyway.”
Gus scowled. “That woman is altogether too nosey!” he said. “I try to creep out without her seeing, but it’s impossible. No, I didn’t tell her I would be out, and Whippy was perfectly happy for an hour or two. Now, here we are, Deirdre. One of your ice-cold pink gins would be just the ticket, don’t you think?”
In the shade of the spreading mulberry tree in Deirdre’s garden, they drank in silence for a while. Then Gus said he had a lot to consider, but had she had any thoughts about who might have wanted to get Ulph permanently out of the way? When she talked to her friend Sid, had he told her any personal details about his best saxophone player?
“Not really. Sid was sad to see him go. But I didn’t speak to him for long. I did get the impression, though, that Ulph had been very private and hadn’t made close friends with any of the band. They all liked him, but he kept his distance.”
Gus was quiet again, and Deirdre got up to refill their glasses. “Would you like to stay for supper?” she said. “I don’t fancy being on my own this evening.”
“That would be nice, Deirdre. But I think I should perhaps go back to the cottage, in case Whippy has had enough of Miriam.”
“She’ll be fine,” Deirdre said. “Dogs don’t mind nosey women, just so long as they stroke their ears and give them bones. I’ll go and look in the freezer and see if there’s something delicious for us. I don’t know about you, but I’m not really hungry yet.”
She went off, carrying their glasses, and Gus watched her go. What a lovely girl! But now things had changed, and maybe for the worse. He was haunted by Kath’s phone call yesterday. What had she said? Not to acknowledge her if he met her around locally? She didn’t say when she was coming, but it had sounded like soon.
Forty
“DON’T YOU THINK you should ring her?” Deirdre said. She and Gus were sitting on the terrace at Tawny Wings, digesting their supper and sipping iced coffee. She had been asking questions about Katherine, trying to find out tactfully the nature of their relationship now, and he had told her about the latest call.
“I’ve tried,” he said. “I tried her mobile when you were cooking. No answer, so I left a message for her to ring me. I am afraid it’s what I expected. She seldom answers, unless it’s someone she wants to talk to.”
“Won’t she want to talk to you?”
“No.”
Deirdre shrugged. “More coffee?” she offered.
Gus shook his head, and leaned back in his chair. He closed his eyes. Deirdre wondered if he had gone to sleep, poor chap. But he began to talk, almost as if to himself.
“I don’t know how I was so blind about Kath. After all, my former job was information gathering. Once or twice in the past I had to confront danger face on, but more often I lurked in the shadows.”
“Lurking in the shadows is dangerous, isn’t it?” Deirdre spoke softly, and his eyes remained closed.
“Sometimes, yes. Depends on the enemy. If he is clever and ruthless, it can be very dangerous.”
“Or she?” Deirdre said. “Is Katherine clever and ruthless?”
“Yes,” said Gus. He opened his eyes and smiled at Deirdre. “Shall we have a swim?” he suggested. “No need for cozzies. We’re not overlooked. Then I must go home.”
“Let’s skip the swim, shall we? If you’ve got another hour or so…” All unpleasantness forgotten, they went hand in hand upstairs.
IVY AND ROY were very tired by the time they arrived back at Springfields. Miss Pinkney was waiting for them and ushered them into the now empty lounge.
“All the other residents have retired to their rooms, so we can have a peaceful hot drink. Come along, my dears, it is all ready for you. I really don’t think the police should have kept you so long without food.”
“It wasn’t them,” Roy explained. “We were ready much earlier, and Mrs. Feather made us a sandwich. But our special taxi was out on another job, and we had to wait until he could come for us.”
“Never mind, you’re home now. Katya insisted on stayi
ng late and baking these cookies for you. She’s a good girl. I do hope she stays with us, though her boyfriend seems very attentive!”
“He’s still a student, so they won’t be thinking about marriage yet,” said Roy.
Ivy had said very little, and he wondered if she was feeling all right. Just tired, maybe. She drank her Horlicks and ate a couple of cookies and then said she was ready for bed. “I’ll see you both in the morning,” she said, and bent to kiss Roy’s cheek. “Night night, my love. You were a good ole boy. Night, Pinkers.”
She walked slowly away and up the stairs. Roy and Miss Pinkney watched her in silence. Then, when she was safely in her room, Miss Pinkney began to gather the crocks on a tray.
“Just a minute, Miss Pinkney,” Roy said. “Have you time for a little talk?”
She sat down. “Of course, Mr. Goodman. How can I help?”
“I am a little worried about Ivy. She looked so tired, didn’t she? The afternoon’s events must have been a great strain for her. She had to go over the whole story with the police, finding Ulph’s body and coping with Mrs. Feather. Mind you, that one was very tough. Seemed mostly concerned with the bad publicity for her lodging house.”
“And I suppose suspicion could have fallen on her? The landlady, I mean?”
Roy stared at her. “Oh, I don’t think so!” he said. It was then that he realised that if Ulph had not fallen as a result of weakness and too much alcohol, then a number of people could be suspected of pushing him over the edge of the roof. Yes, the landlady for a start. Then there was Sid or any one of his band harbouring grudges. Or Deirdre, fed up with him and his bad leg.
“You’re smiling, Mr. Goodman,” Miss Pinkney said gently. “Not too worried about Ivy, then? I am sure that after a good night’s sleep, she will be her old feisty self. I don’t know what we’d do without her at Springfields!”
“Let’s hope we won’t have to, not for many years to come. And once I am her husband, I shall be very firm.”
At this, Miss Pinkney chuckled heartily. “That will be the day!” she said, and offered to help Roy up to his room. “You must be very tired, too,” she said, and patted him affectionately on his shoulder.
IN DEIRDRE’S BEDROOM at Tawny Wings, she stretched out and composed herself for sleep. What a day! And poor old Gus, now whiffling quietly by her side—what secrets was he hiding from her now? Sleep would not come, and she reviewed in her mind the day’s events. Fancy Ivy and Roy being caught up in what could easily be a murder enquiry! And not as investigators but as witnesses to the result of the crime. So who could have killed Ulph? First of all, person or persons unknown. They really knew nothing about the man, and the snippets he had told her by the pool could easily have been a pack of lies.
Oh my God! Suppose they think I could have done it!
Deirdre felt an overpowering need to wake Gus and tell him she hadn’t done it. But then she calmed herself, and thought back over times during the day when she had been alone long enough to have been able to get to Oakbridge and do the deed. And then home again in time to receive Ivy’s call for help with transport. No, not possible, thank God.
She propped herself up on one elbow and looked at Gus. He was nice-looking when asleep. That hunted look had gone, and his fine features were very attractive in repose. She smiled. Funny old thing, he was. Where had he gone to all day?
Oh! She caught her breath and collapsed back on the pillow. Where had he been all day? He’d gone out early, Rose Budd said, and it must have been four o’clock by the time she met him coming home down the lane. Plenty of time to get to Oakbridge and… Oh, Deirdre Bloxham, don’t be so ridiculous! She turned her back on him and, after quite a long time, drifted off into a troubled sleep.
Forty-one
MRS. FEATHER HAD locked up her house and gone to spend the night with her neighbour. She had no other lodgers at the moment, and now that Mr. Ulph was gone, there was no reason for her to stay overnight by herself. The thought of a man possibly murdered in her second-floor back bedroom had temporarily unhinged her, and she had shouted at the police, telling them to go and park somewhere else. “You can take your sirens and winking lights and zebra stripes somewhere else!” she had yelled. “And if that’s the ambulance, get poor Mr. Ulph out of the yard and away to wherever you take dead people as soon as possible!”
And then she had muttered to herself that all kinds of harm had already been done to her bed-and-breakfast business. There were nosey parkers everywhere, out in the street and behind lace curtains. Who would want to come and stay in number seven now? At last the police had gone, and eventually that nice old couple had been collected and taken home, and now, after little sleep, she was sitting in her neighbour’s back kitchen, drinking strong tea and trying to get yesterday’s horrible events into some sort of order.
“I tell you, this will be the finish of me. I shall have to sell up and go into the workhouse. You will come and visit me, won’t you.”
“Don’t be so daft!” her neighbour said, laughing. “It’ll all blow over in a couple of days. Hey, do you think the wind could have blown him over the edge? There were some strong gusts now and then, and you said he’d been poorly.”
“Now who’s being daft? Of course he wasn’t blown over. Anyway, the police will find out all the details. They’re brilliant these days, with genes an’ that. He probably did fall, now I think about it. He hadn’t eaten for ages, and he lifted the elbow more than most. It seems a hard thing to say, but I reckon I’m well rid of him.”
“And you needn’t worry about the newspapers. There’s been a big fire over at the shoe factory. Still burning, apparently. That’ll fill the front pages, you can bet your life. No, it’ll all be forgotten in a few days. Perhaps a few more questions to answer, and then it will be finished. He had a funny name, didn’t he? What kind of a name is Ulph? Perhaps he was foreign, and all his relatives are dead. You should go to the funeral, out of respect, and then put the whole thing behind you. I’ll come with you, if you like.”
Mrs. Feather knew very well that this was not the act of kindness it appeared to be. Her neighbour was extremely fond of funerals, and here was an excuse to attend another one.
“We’ll see,” she said. “I might just close up for a couple of weeks and go to my sister’s in Brighton. Then I can come back and make a new start.”
“Always supposing the police will give you permission to leave town,” was the worrying reply.
IN BARRINGTON, THE centre of the village was very quiet, as though the death of Sebastian Ulph had spread gloom countywide. Even Hangman’s Row was quiet, where usually neighbours gossiped over the wall most mornings. All doors were shut and gardens empty. Only Miriam Blake was to be seen, hurrying from her backyard to Gus’s with an important question.
“Any luck?” she said as she popped in to offer Gus a home-cooked fish-and-chip lunch.
“Any luck with what, Miriam?” Gus had been miles away. He had come home early from Tawny Wings, and was thinking about the time when Sebastian Ulph had been a regular visitor to the house where he and Kath lived in relative harmony. She had a good explanation, as always, for the periodic attentions of young men, whom she described as her “swains,” as if referring to them in Olde English made the whole thing innocent. Which, of course, it was not. He knew that now, and it still hurt him. She had been so beautiful in those days, and he was well aware at the time that he was considered lucky to have married her. Luck, however, did not feature in Katherine’s plans.
So why did she marry him? Because he was good-looking, confident, and mysterious. He had the glamorous aura of being an undercover agent. Life with him promised the excitement of danger. Katherine loved danger, particularly when it involved someone else, and all her instincts were tuned to making sure she survived.
“Hi, Gus, I’m still here!” said Miriam, perching herself on the edge of his rickety sofa. “What I meant was, have you had any luck getting hold of Kath? I remember you saying she had been a f
riend of that man who was found dead in an Oakbridge backyard. It was on the local radio. Terrible thing, that. Do you think he was pushed?”
Gus stiffened. “How should I know, Miriam? And I don’t remember telling you anything about Katherine. She must have told you herself, that night she stayed in your house. And no, I have not had any luck telephoning her, and what is more, I do not intend to try again.”
“Okay, okay! Keep your hair on, Gussy!”
“And for God’s sake don’t call me Gussy!” he shouted at her.
Miriam was surprised, but not squashed. She had had parents who shouted at each other all the time and was inured to it. “Forget it, my dear,” she said soothingly. “I just came in to see if you fancied fish-and-chips for lunch? I suppose it should be a roast for Sunday, but I’ve got two nice pieces of plaice. It’s very fresh, and there’s plenty for two.”
She never gives up, thought Gus, and then he smiled. There was something steadfast about Miriam, and he accepted gratefully.
“About twelve then? We can have a glass of primrose wine before lunch. And yes, of course you can bring Whippy. She loves me, don’t you, doggie?”
Whippy, ears down and teeth bared, crept behind Gus’s legs, and he said, “Typical woman! Fickle little creature. When you’ve been looking after her, she gives me the brush-off! Thanks. See you later.” He turned back to his desk, and she left quietly.
“NOW WE SHALL never know if it was Ulph that night,” said Miriam, as they sat at lunch. She placed a new jar of tartar sauce in front of Gus. “You know that time I heard footsteps going up the lane late at night. Didn’t one of your agency say it could’ve been him?”
“I must confess I have forgotten, Miriam. My goodness, this fish looks good and still smells of the sea! You’re a dab hand with cooking!”
“Do you know,” confided Miriam, forgetting about the night prowler, “that reminds of a holiday we took once at the seaside. There was a small fishing boat that came in and set up a stall by the slipway. They had these small flat fish called dabs, and Mum would buy three and cook them for our supper. We were renting a cottage, and it was the only holiday I can remember as a child.”