by Ann Purser
As she peeled newly picked cooking apples to make a crumble, she set her mind to find a way to turn the coffee party to her own advantage. After a few minutes, her face brightened. Ah yes, that would be the answer. She began to hum, and then burst into a cheerful if tuneless version of “ ‘All You Need is Love.’ la de-da de-da.” John Lennon would turn in his grave, she thought. When Theo passed by the kitchen door and heard an odd noise, he realised with surprise that it was Beattie giggling.
Forty-three
IN SPITE OF Ivy’s protestations that it was a bad idea, she and Roy were comfortably tucked up on the backseat of Deirdre’s luxury car, rugs around their knees, and a large thermos flask of hot coffee with beakers, sugar and chocolate biscuits in a basket between them.
When Deirdre had suggested it to Gus yesterday, he had not been keen, and said frankly that they’d be much freer to investigate whatever came up if they were on their own. “After all,” he said, “we could find a lead in Oakbridge that could keep us there for hours.”
Deirdre had agreed, but said they had to be very careful with Ivy. She could easily decide to give up the whole thing, especially with the back pain.
“She said it was quite gone when we turned up this morning,” Gus had said sulkily.
“Yes, well, that’s good. But she and Roy are very useful in this whole affair, and we don’t want them to feel left out,” Deirdre insisted. “Ivy has a talent for seeing straight through to the heart of things, and Roy in his best moments produces nuggets of vital local information. For instance,” she had added, “there’s that story of his about the recluse lady who’d lived in Springfields before it became an old folks’ home. Who was she? And what about the woman who looked after her? I’ve never heard anyone speak of them before, and I’ve lived in Barrington quite a while now.”
Gus had given in, and now they purred their way through country lanes and tunnels of overhanging trees. Gus had turned off his sat nav and asked Roy to guide them through a pretty route to Oakbridge. “Haven’t been along here for years,” the old man said now. “Look, Ivy, that’s where my old Aunt Eliza lived. Dead now, of course, and the farm sold. Still, the old apple tree’s still there—look at those Cox’s!”
Deirdre saw a sign outside the entry to the farm, advertising apples for sale. She slowed down and pulled off into the farmyard. “Go on, Gus,” she said, “go and buy us apples to munch.”
He got out and muttered to himself that this was turning into an outing for the Darby and Joan Club. But he came back with a bagful of crisp apples and an old knife the farmer’s wife had insisted on giving him. “She said some elderly people couldn’t eat apple skin,” he reported, handing the bag into the backseat. “We can return the knife anytime.”
It was a much longer route than the main road, but even Gus began to enjoy the absence of traffic and the gentle landscape. Finally they turned into the car park in Oakbridge, and both Ivy and Roy said they needed the toilet. “Leave me the key, Deirdre,” Ivy said. “We shall be fine. You might meet us in town, but ignore us. Me and Roy are determined to make the most of our parole.”
As Deirdre and Gus walked off in the direction of the post office, Deirdre said, “So you see, Augustus Halfhide. And we still have plenty of time.”
A YOUNG WOMAN behind the busy post office counter wished them good morning and smiled, obeying recent PO instructions to be polite to every customer, no matter how tiresome. She had a nice smile, and Deirdre was encouraged to ask her if there were Jessops living in Oakbridge.
“Are you a relation?” said the girl.
Gus took over and said no, but they knew someone who was, and were anxious to pass on a message.
“We have telephone directories for public scrutiny over there,” the girl said, twinkling at him. “I’m sure they will give you the information you want.” She pressed her button and the mechanical voice said, “Window number eight please.”
“Dismissed,” said Gus, as he, with Deirdre, headed for the telephone directories.
“Probably ex-directory, if they’ve followed their forbears into the underworld of crime and violence,” she said.
“Pure melodrama! Come off it, Deirdre,” Gus said, and found the right page. “Oh, my God, dozens of ’em! Where on earth shall we start?”
“Can I help you?” said a man’s voice at their elbow.
“We’re looking for somebody called Jessop,” Deirdre said, smiling gratefully at him. “There’s so many of them here.”
“Is it the old man you want? Interested in his house? I saw it was up for sale.”
“How old is he?” said Gus.
“Ooh, must be in his seventies now. We used to live next door to them until we couldn’t stand them any longer and moved away!” He laughed, and Deirdre said she was sure that would be the Jessop they wanted. “We might be interested in the house,” she said.
The helpful man nodded, pointed at the address in the directory, and wished them luck. “Better take y’ body-guard,” he said, and chuckled as he walked away.
Meanwhile, Ivy and Gus sat in a chintzy café not far from the car park, happily drinking coffee and eating doughnuts. “Ivy, can I ask you something?” Roy said hesitantly.
“Depends what it is,” said Ivy. Her heart began to thud. Surely not, not at their age?
“I’ve often wondered, since we met, why you’re living in Springfields? After all, you’re not infirm, and you’ve certainly still got all your marbles!”
Ivy sighed with relief, and thought for a moment. She was not accustomed to confiding her private feelings to anybody, but there was something gentle and reassuring about Roy.
“To tell the truth,” she said, looking down at her plate, “I was lonely. One or two of my old friends had passed on, and another gone into a home in Tresham, and I could be in the house for a whole day without speaking to a soul. I was never one for relying on other people, but I began to feel—well—a bit lonely.”
Roy had a good idea what this was costing Ivy, and reached out and patted her hand. “Just the same for me,” he said. “Only I ain’t got a lovely cousin Deirdre to rescue me!”
“I suppose she’s all right,” said Ivy, straightening up. “Better than I expected, really. Now Roy,” she continued, “you’ve done very well, but I reckon we should finish up and get back to the car and settled down. We can watch people coming and going, and have a listen to Desert Island Discs. It’s that nice whatsisname this week.” With the immediate future organised, they relaxed and took their time.
“Excuse me,” said a middle-aged woman, looking at the empty chair at their table. “Is this seat taken?”
“We’re just going,” Ivy said. “You’re welcome to sit there.”
Roy, who had spent years in the company of lonely old people in Springfields, looked at the newcomer and saw the same hungry look in her eyes. Hungry for company, poor thing, he thought.
“Why don’t we have another coffee, Ivy, before we go?” he said. “I am sure this lady won’t mind.”
Ivy looked at him in surprise, but the neat little woman said that would be so nice. Were they new to Oakbridge?
Roy said Ivy was, but he wasn’t, and this was Miss Beasley and he was Roy Goodman. “And your name?” he said politely.
“Bentall,” she said. “Renata Bentall.”
Forty-four
DEIRDRE LOOKED INTO the front garden wilderness and up at the pebble-dashed semidetached house. “Looks neglected,” she said, moving closer to Gus. “Is it empty already, do you think?”
Gus shook his head. “I saw a face at the window,” he said. “Just a flash, then it went away.”
“Man or woman?”
“Man, I think. Shall we go and knock?”
Deirdre took a deep breath and walked up the path to the peeling front door. She pressed a bell button, but could hear no sound.
Gus reached out and knocked firmly. “That should bring him,” he said. “Or we could always yell through the letter box that we
are police and he must open up?”
“Don’t be daft,” Deirdre said. “And anyway, there’s someone coming.”
Shuffling footsteps approached, and then the door opened a crack. “Woja want?” a gruff voice said.
“Mr. Jessop?” Gus said. The old man grunted, “Yes,” and “So what?”
“We wondered if we could take a look at your house,” Deirdre said, in her most persuasive tone. “It is for sale, isn’t it?” They had noticed that there was no signboard outside.
“Why ain’t you with the estate agent, then?” the old man said.
“Oh, we haven’t got long in town,” Deirdre improvised. “Just called on the off chance that you might be at home. It is Mr. Jessop, isn’t it?”
The old man nodded, and said suspiciously that he never opened the door to strangers. How was he to know they wouldn’t beat him up and ransack the house? “Not that there’s anything worth having,” he said quickly.
“We could leave the door open, so you’d feel safe?” Gus said. “But if you’d rather not . . . You’ve probably had an offer already?” This was cunning, as the old man had had no offers, and was canny enough to want a quick sale at this time of economic downturn. The estate agent had told him the housing market was dead.
“You’d better come in, then,” he said, and opened the door wider. A suffocating smell of decay and damp assailed Deirdre’s nostrils, and she gulped.
“In you go, then,” Gus said, giving her a push from behind.
The old man shut the door, in spite of Gus’s suggestion they leave it open, and motioned them towards the back of the house. “Better start at the worst bit,” he said, and led the way into what might once have been a reasonably smart kitchen, but now resembled a rubbish dump.
“Have you lived here long?” Deirdre croaked, trying not to breathe.
“All me life,” he said. “There’s bin Jessops in Oakbridge for generations. Well known, we are. We’re a big family, an’ before you ask, we ain’t got nothing to do with that scandal about a Mayor’s daughter what married a Jessop. Different lot altogether. So if you’ve come asking about that, you can scram. There’s bin enough asking about that!” His raucous cackle alarmed Deirdre and she backed out of the kitchen. Gus stood his ground, and asked if the old man lived alone.
“Yep,” he said. “But me son an’ daughter-in-law live just down the road. I’m goin’ to move in with them when this place is sold.”
Poor things, thought Deirdre. But then it occurred to her that the money from the house sale would probably be useful to Jessop’s son, if he could prise it out of the old man.
They continued on their stifling way round the house, with Gus and Deirdre asking innocent questions as they went. “Was your wife an Oakbridge girl?” Deirdre had admired the surprisingly high-quality dressing table set. Loot, probably. “None of your business,” he replied, and then added reluctantly that when his wife was alive, the house had been a showplace. “Clean as a new pin,” he said.“You could eat off the floor.”
Gus asked if he’d been an only child, or were there others in the family.
“Bit nosy, ain’t you? You’re not plainclothes, are you? If y’are, you can get goin’ right away. Nothin’ for you here.”
“No, no,” said Gus. “We live over the other side of the county, and are thinking of moving, that’s all. Oakbridge seems a very nice town.”
Mollified, Mr. Jessop agreed, saying that he had a sister who lived in the posher part. “Up Nob Hill.” He cackled. “She’s a widder woman now. Married later in life than the rest of us, and above her station. Rich family. Husband was a Bentall, distant connection to that Mayor Bentall an’ all that rubbish. I don’t see much of her now.”
“Don’t blame her,” muttered Deirdre into Gus’s ear as they came down the narrow stairs. There were holes in the stair carpet, and she stepped carefully, holding on tight to the sticky banister.
Finally, they were out into the fresh air, and Deirdre took long, deep breaths, as they walked back towards the centre of the town. “Phew! I think I would’ve passed out if we’d been in there much longer. Was it worth it, Gus? Did we learn anything? I could hardly think in that dreadful atmosphere.”
“Oh, yes,” Gus said smugly. “We learned something. I tell you what, when we get back to the car I’ll explain it all in words of one syllable to you and Ivy and Roy.”
As they approached the car park, Deirdre was relieved to see Ivy and Roy safely in the back of the car. “Well, at least they can’t have strayed far,” she said. She opened the door and was thankful for the scent of lavender water and subtle aftershave. “All well?” she said. They looked at each other and nodded. “Yes, thank you,” said Ivy. “We managed very well. How about you two?”
Gus said they should all relax and have the picnic lunch, and then he would tell them about their interesting morning.
Deirdre poured out the coffee, and handed round the sandwiches on small disposable plates. She had remembered paper napkins, and Ivy used hers to dab the corners of her mouth in the genteel fashion taught to her by her mother long ago.
“We shall be swimming in coffee!” she said to Roy.
“Did you find a nice café?” Deirdre said.
They nodded. “Warm and pleasant,” said Ivy. “And we had doughnuts.” “Two each,” Roy added. “So,” continued Ivy, brushing the crumbs off her lap, “tell all.”
Gus then recounted their morning’s work, from discovering Jessop in the telephone directory to meeting the man himself in his sordid surroundings, and finally gleaning a useful piece of information.
“So,” he said, “all we have to do is find his sister, the former Miss Jessop who married a Bentall.”
“If she exists,” said Deirdre doubtfully.
“Oh, she does exist,” Ivy said, producing her surprise rabbit from the hat. “We’ve met her.”
AS THE BIG car rolled along the main road back to Barrington, Gus spelled it all out for them. “Buster’s daughter Caroline had twins by a man as yet unknown. They were adopted and she returned home. Later, she married one of the Jessops, but a different branch from our old man. Caroline’s Jessop was unsuitable and violent. They had a girl baby, and Caroline was cut off by her parents. She retrieved her girl twin from foster parents and left the boy with them. No trace of him yet. Are you with me, everyone?”
Ivy nodded firmly, and Roy dare not say he was lost already. Deirdre said that Gus was explaining well, and to carry on.
“So,” he said patiently, “we have Caroline and husband Jessop, with illegitimate girl twin and legitimate girl baby. From what we already know, Beattie was almost certainly the girl twin, and we don’t know what happened to the legit girl. Clear as mud,” said Roy, but added that he’d get the hang of it later. Ivy would help him.
“By the way,” Ivy said casually. “We got her address and phone number. Lonely sort of woman, and we got on famously. She wants us to go and visit.”
“Brilliant!” said Deirdre, pulling up outside Springfields. “Can we come, too?”
“Of course not,” Ivy said severely. “She’s not that lonely.”
“HELLO, IS THAT Beattie? Miriam here.”
“Good morning!” said Beattie, forcing enthusiasm into her voice. “How are you?”
“I’m fine, thanks,” she said. “I was just ringing to see if you would like to have a cup of tea with me tomorrow afternoon?”
There was a pause, as Beattie thought rapidly how this would fall in with her plans.
“Well,” she said, “I usually go to market on Saturday afternoons. . . .”
“Of course!” Miriam said. “I’d forgotten that. How about Sunday afternoon? That must be your day off!”
“Day off? What’s that?” said Beattie. “But no, I would love to come tomorrow, thanks. Market day in town is not what it used to be, and I’ve been thinking of dropping it for some time now.”
“Oh, good. Shall we say half three?”
“I’ll look
forward to it,” said Beattie. After she put down the telephone, she sat for a while thinking out just exactly what she would do. First decision: say nothing about tea with Miriam to Theo. Let him think she would be off to market at her usual time, and tell him at the last minute about the change of plan.
IVY SANK GRATEFULLY into her comfortable bed and lay awake reviewing the day’s events. She and Roy had returned safely with Deirdre, and Miss Pinkney had welcomed them back, saying Mrs. Spurling had gone home with a bad headache. She had said cheerfully that Miss Beasley and Mr. Goodman looked much refreshed after their outing, and arranged a tray of tea for them all in Ivy’s room. They tried to map out what they would do next, but Ivy and Roy were tired, so the others had gone home, promising to think it all out ready for the meeting on Monday. Meanwhile, arrangements would be as usual for Deirdre to go to the Hall tomorrow afternoon to see Theo. And yes, she promised, this time she would be able to ask him all the necessary questions.
“I shall be prepared with some new ones, too, after today,” she said happily.
Forty-five
THE KITCHEN AT the Hall was always warm, sometimes too warm in summer, when Beattie had the Aga turned up high for cooking. This morning, the weather had changed and a sharp wind blew around the stable yard.
“Lunch at the usual time?” said Theo, back to the Aga, warming himself. The Hall was a draughty old place, and he remembered his father doing exactly the same thing when his mother took over the cooking on staff days off. Perhaps Beattie should have a day off? He had never thought of this before. She was always so much in charge that he had just assumed she organised her free time to suit herself.
“Beattie,” he said now. “Why don’t you have a day off tomorrow? I can manage perfectly well. You can take the car. Maybe you could look up old friends in Oakbridge. Or explore the National Trust place nearby? I believe they’ve done a lot of work there. It would do you good,” he continued, “you’ve been looking a little peaky lately.”