by Ann Purser
“Sit down, boy,” she said, as she opened the fridge door and took out a frosted bottle of white Frascati. She poured him a generous glass, and taking another for herself, perched on the high stool next to him.
“Bottoms up!” she said, raising her glass.
Why not, thought Gus, and said he hoped she had had a pleasant afternoon.
That was all the opening Deirdre needed, and for the next half hour she gave Gus a highly entertaining account of the success of their plan. “Couldn’t have gone better,” she said, and looking sly, added that she meant from all points of view.
“Did he drag you off to bed, then?” Gus said. Ivy wouldn’t like that, he thought. “Call a spade a spade” was her motto, but she drew a definite line at vulgarity.
“Of course not!” Deirdre grinned, and said maybe next time.
“But to be serious for a moment,” Gus said. “Did you talk about the murder at all?”
“Hardly at all,” Deirdre replied. “It somehow did not seem necessary. As I’ve told you, we chewed over his affair with La Blake very thoroughly, and the revelation that she was his half sister was quite a shock, I can tell you. I mean, fancy tupping your half sister without knowing it!”
“Marginally better than if you had known it,” said Gus drily.
“Well, anyway, the murder plot certainly thickened with that revelation! Now we have three possible suspects: Miriam, who hated her mother; Theo, who also hated the old woman and had still regarded her as a loose cannon; and Beattie Beatty, who hates everybody but Theo, and loves either him or his money, or both.”
Gus laughed. “Very good summing up, Deirdre,” he said. “Full marks! So on Monday, we shall have plenty to talk about at our meeting. We must fill Ivy in with what has happened.”
“Oh goodness, she was the first person I told!” Deirdre said. “It’s more than my life’s worth to keep her in the dark for longer than necessary. She’ll have mulled it all over by Monday and come up with some good ideas. You’ll see. She didn’t rule Round Ringford with a rod of iron for all those years for nothing! Cousin Ivy coming to Springfields is the best thing that’s happened to me since Bert died, now I’ve got to know her.”
“Better than renewing your friendship with Theo Roussel?”
Deirdre laughed like a girl. “Now, Gus,” she said, “naughty, naughty! Ready for a fill-up?”
Twenty
SUNDAY BEGAN PLEASANTLY for Ivy. Katya had asked if she could accompany her to church, and although Ivy was pleased, she hoped there wouldn’t be too much bobbing and crossing. They were early. Ivy was a firm believer in arriving in good time, and she led Katya up the aisle to the front pew. In Ringford, the front pew had always been Ivy’s, and she was not intending to change her habit of a lifetime. “We can keep an eye on the vicar and all those brats in the choir,” she whispered to Katya.
The church was fuller than usual, and when the people were invited to the altar to take Communion, a snaking queue formed to receive the bread and wine. Katya went ahead of Ivy, and when they reached the organ, the girl became so absorbed in friendly Fanny Neston’s plump hands moving over the keyboard that Ivy had to nudge her to keep going.
After the service, a special benefice one, coffee and biscuits were served, and Ivy introduced Katya to the few people she knew. After a few minutes, Miss Neston had come down from the organ and asked for a glass of water.
“Thirsty work?” Ivy said, greeting her. “This is Katya, my Polish friend from Springfields. She also plays the organ, don’t you, dear?” After seeing that the two became instant friends, Ivy eased herself away and made for the vicar’s wife in order to give her a few suggestions, including how to avoid such long queues for communion. She glanced over at Katya from time to time, and saw that she and Fanny were still getting along famously. Then she saw the pair of them going back to the organ and soon there were floating runs of notes that certainly would be beyond the skill of Fanny Neston.
Ivy felt a glow of pride. Her good deed for today, then. Now, she thought, as she noticed that the vicar’s wife had melted away, I must go back to Sunday lunch to see whether Mrs Spurling has taken note of my complaint about last week’s leathery chicken.
She walked up to the organ and whispered to Katya, who was in full flow, that she would see her back at Springfields. Then she walked briskly out of the church and through the sunny churchyard into the street. To her surprise, she heard a voice calling her name. She turned around and was not delighted to see Miss Beatty hurrying to catch her up.
“Good morning!” said Beattie, now in quite a different mood from the grumpy woman who had boarded the bus and scarcely acknowledged Ivy.
“Morning,” said Ivy. “I must get back, I’m afraid . . .” she began, and then remembered that befriending Beattie Beatty was one of her Enquire Within tasks. There had been no opportunity at the WI, she told herself, not entirely accurately. Well, now here was another chance.
Gus Halfhide, strolling happily along to the pub with Whippy, saw the unlikely pair and grinned. Blimey, talk about body language! Not exactly bosom pals, he reckoned, seeing the distance between them. Now why are they stepping out together, if only reluctantly? He could take a good guess at Ivy’s motive. Pumping Theo’s housekeeper for information was her assignment. But Beattie’s reason for this unlikely duo?
Whippy whimpered, and Gus looked at the emptying church. There was Katya, deep in conversation with funny little Miss Neston. He could see that Fanny was doing most of the talking, but then he knew that Katya’s English was still minimal, though she seemed to understand more than she could speak.
Katya caught sight of Gus and Whippy and waved. She had met them several times around the village, and Gus had always been most kind. She said good-bye to Miss Neston and came over to make a fuss of Whippy.
“She’s so pleased to see you!” Gus said. “It’s a compliment, you know. Whippy chooses her friends carefully.”
“What is compliment?”
Gus pondered. What was a compliment? “It’s something nice that somebody says to you. Meant to make you feel good.” Well, that wasn’t quite it, but it would do.
“So I must thank Whippy!” Katya said, and smoothed the little dog’s head.
“May I walk you home?” Gus said, in his best gentlemanly manner.
“Of course,” Katya said. “You are a nice person to walk with. Is that compliment?”
MEANWHILE, IVY AND Beattie were walking slowly. Each had decided to spin out this opportunity for probing, and when they came to the seat outside the shop, Ivy suggested they rest in the sun for a few minutes.
“Dedicated to a Roussel, I see,” Ivy said, as they sat down.
Beattie nodded. “Mr. Theo’s father,” she said.
“Nice idea,” Ivy said, looking closely at her companion.
“I can think of more accurate ways of remembering him,” Beattie said, a touch of acid in her voice.
Ivy attempted an innocent expression. “Oh, really?” she said. “How would you remember him?”
“I’d rather not,” said Beattie. “He was a rotten husband and a rotten father. Responsible for a lot of trouble in the village and on the estate.” Then she clamped her lips together, making it quite clear that she had no more to say on that subject. But Ivy was not so easily foiled.
“His son is a lot different, so I’ve heard? A real gentleman, so they say up at Springfields.” This was a lie, as Ivy had never heard anything of the sort. Theo Roussel was hardly ever mentioned.
Beattie visibly relaxed. “Oh, yes,” she answered. “Mr. Theo is a lovely man. He is quite a private person though. Likes to sit in his study writing his memoirs and doing the Times crossword. Friendly, too,” she embroidered. “He always asks me to help if he’s stuck with a difficult clue.”
What a whopper! thought Ivy. This stupid woman couldn’t do the crossword in the Women’s Friend. “He must rely on you a lot, Miss Beatty,” she said.
“Oh, you can forget the ‘Mis
s,’ ” Beattie said, spotting the loaded question and sidestepping it. “It is so nice to talk to somebody who is fresh to the village,” she said. “What brought you here, Miss Beasley?”
Ivy did not return the invitation to use her Christian name, but said that her cousin Deirdre had organised it. “Most of my old friends are either in Heaven—or the other place—or in the local old folks home in Ringford. I wasn’t happy about moving, but now I’m here I intend to make the best of it.”
“Ah, yes. Your cousin Deirdre lives at Tawny Wings, doesn’t she? Such a nice person, though I don’t know her well. A widow, I believe?”
“And a merry one,” chuckled Ivy. She knew exactly where this was leading, and decided to give Beattie Beatty her money’s worth. “When our Deirdre was young, she was a real goer, as they say. I secretly envied her, but with my mother there was no chance I could have a good time with a different lad every night, like our Deirdre.”
“I am sure she settled down,” Beattie said sourly. “I believe her husband owned the big garage in town?”
“Bert? Oh, yes, he was one of many. Deirdre always aimed high, mind you. Money was her goal, and if possible a title to go with it!” She chuckled again, but this time at the look on Beattie’s face. “How come Mr. Theo never married?” she asked.
“It was his choice,” Miss Beatty said sniffily. “As you and I know, there is a lot to be said for the unmarried state.”
“Not so sure about that,” Ivy said. “I had the one chance, but nothing came of it.”
“Well, Mr. Theo was very popular with the girls, come to that,” Beattie said defensively. “He could have married any of the eligible girls around.”
“Ah, yes, of course!” Ivy said, as if she had just remembered something. “I knew I’d heard his name somewhere before. Must have been when we came over from Ringford to see Deirdre’s family, when she was unattached and fancy-free. It was Deirdre who mentioned him. Always off out somewhere, she was! Mind you, she was a very pretty girl. Still is, in her way, don’t you think?”
Miss Beatty stood up, her face thunderous. “Must be getting back,” she said, and strode off without attempting a pleasant farewell.
Ivy got more slowly to her feet. She saw that Gus and Katya were approaching, and waited until they reached her. Gus immediately offered her his arm, and she took it.
“Are you all right, Ivy?” he said, feeling her arm trembling as they set off.
“Fine,” she replied, and Gus realised that the old thing was shaking with laughter.
Twenty-one
DEIRDRE POTTERED ABOUT the garden, cutting roses for the drawing room and snipping off dead heads as she went. The sun was warm on her back, and she relived for the umpteenth time the couple of hours spent with Theo up at the Hall. How easy she had felt with him! That relaxed charm had not been erased by the years, and the warmth of his personality had made her feel as she had not felt since Bert died. No matter how much money she had—and she had a lot—nor how many luxuries she surrounded herself with, there was no substitute for another compatible person living alongside her, always there in good days and bad, worrying and rejoicing in turns at news from their daughters and grandchildren.
“I hate it!” she said violently, snipping off a perfectly formed rose without noticing. A blackbird sitting on the edge of the marble birdbath flew off, squawking in alarm. “I hate being alone! Why did you have to go and die, Bert? Just like you to be so selfish!”
She sat down on a beautifully carved bench, presented to them by a grateful county council when Bert retired. Tears came to her eyes, and she let them flow. The roses fell from her hands and she cried until her handkerchief was a sodden ball.
“Now then, our Deirdre!” It was Ivy, walking with her stick across the velvety lawn towards her. “Whatever makes you give way like that, it can’t be so bad that you’ve forgotten our meeting, surely?”
Deirdre hastily pulled herself together, and looked at her watch. “Not time yet, is it? I make it a quarter past. The meeting is not until half past, I’m sure.”
“Quite right,” Ivy said. “I just thought I’d walk up and collect you. Springfields can be airless on a day like this.”
“Oh, well, all right then. I’ll just change my shoes and be with you. Have a seat on the council bench.”
Ivy laughed. Deirdre improved on better acquaintance, she thought. Some of the old family bloody-mindedness had been handed down, Ivy was pleased to note.
They walked companionably back to Springfields, and saw Gus hurrying up the street towards them, Whippy trotting along beside him.
“Morning, ladies!” he said. “How are we?”
“I don’t know how we are,” Ivy said, “but I’m very well, thanks.”
“Glad to hear it,” said Gus blithely.
“And I’m very well, too,” Deirdre said, with a sharp look at Ivy to remind her not to say anything about earlier tears.
“Shall we convene, then?” Gus ploughed on.
“Yeah,” Ivy said. “An’ we can start our meeting, too.”
Gus gave up. “Come on then. Can we get a cup of coffee from Mrs. S., d’you think?”
Ivy said that with the money she was paying them, Springfields should be able to come up with champagne if required.
“We’ll settle for coffee,” Deirdre said, rescuing Gus. He risked a contribution. “And your nice little Katya might have been baking again, Ivy,” he said. “I suppose the cleaners will have finished in your room?”
Ivy said that she had given instructions that her room must be cleaned and ready for an important meeting well before eleven o’clock. “I think you’ll find all is in order,” she said, mounting the stairs like a woman half her age.
The others followed, and in due course coffee and cookies were produced. “Right,” said Gus, “perhaps we should start by each of us giving a report of how things stand, up to the present time. You first, maybe, Deirdre?”
He had smuggled Whippy up to Ivy’s room, as it had been made very clear to him that dogs were not allowed. Now he heard Mrs. Spurling’s dulcet tones along the landing, and eased Whippy under the bed. “Stay!” he said, and the little dog put back her ears, but did as she was told.
Deirdre had, of course, already told both of them about her successful visit to the Hall, but added a few details that she had remembered since. “I reckon that given time, Theo could live a perfectly active life without all that nannying he’s got used to from Beattie,” she said.
“She keeps him under her thumb, does she?” Gus said.
“Completely,” Deirdre said. “I nipped down to the kitchen to see if the phone there was connected to the one in Theo’s study. It was, of course. The kitchen one is the master phone, and Theo’s is an extension. So Beattie can listen in at any time. Theo and me practised to see if he could tell I’d lifted the kitchen phone. He said he didn’t hear any clicks, but the silence changed. Then I said “testing only,” and he heard that all right. We had a good laugh then! I honestly don’t know why he didn’t sack the woman years ago.”
Gus dutifully laughed, too, but Ivy said she couldn’t see anything to laugh about. Listening in to other people’s conversations was a serious matter, if not a criminal activity.
“Well, thank you, Deirdre,” Gus said. “Now I have little to report, except that in conversation with nice Rose Budd, I gathered that Beattie has total control of the Hall expenditure, and is as tight as a—”
“Quite enough of that, Augustus,” Ivy interrupted. She looked down at Whippy, and added, “Does that dog need to go somewhere? If you ask me, cats are the best house pets. They take themselves in and out, and know when they’re not wanted. I used to have one myself, until . . .” Her voice tailed off, and Deirdre was reminded that Ivy’s beloved puss had gone on its final journey before she moved to Springfields.
Gus ignored Ivy’s question, and said he’d left the best until last, and it was Ivy’s turn to report. “You obviously had an interesting conversat
ion with Miss Beatty yesterday after church,” he said.
Ivy settled in her chair, preparing to make a good story of it, when a knock at the door interrupted her. “Come in,” she said in a sharp voice.
It was Mrs. Spurling, and she apologised for disturbing them. “I have a message for you from young Mrs. Budd,” she said. “Her husband came in, and I told him you were at an important meeting, but I could give you a message.”
Ivy was well aware that this was revenge for her requiring her room to be ready in time. Mrs. Spurling would normally have ushered the man up to Ivy’s room at once. “How understanding of you,” Ivy said. “Well, go on, then. What is the message? I have no secrets from my friends here.”
Mrs. Spurling hesitated. “Well, apparently Miriam Blake is ill. She won’t have the doctor, and has asked that Miss Ivy Beasley should call on her as soon as possible. On no account should Mr. Halfhide try to accompany her. I think that was it,” Mrs. Spurling concluded.
“Me?” said Ivy. “I scarcely know the woman. She can’t just send for me like that. Don’t she realise I’m a disabled old woman? Please give me her phone number, Mrs. Spurling, and I shall put her straight. What nonsense! The woman’s unhinged after the death of her mother, I expect.”
Mrs. Spurling backed out of the room, saying she would find Miss Blake’s number and give it to Ivy at lunchtime.
“Now,” Ivy said, “where was I before I was so rudely interrupted?”
“Your friendly chat with Beattie,” Gus reminded her. He was puzzled. He doubted if Miriam was really ill, but her instruction that he should not go with Ivy denied the possibility that it was a ruse to get him into her clutches. Unless it was a double bluff? He would not put anything past devious Miriam.
Ivy then seemed to put the episode out of her mind, and told the other two about Beattie’s obvious fury at the suggestion that Deirdre was an attractive woman, still interested in Theo, and a very determined person once she had set her sights on something.