by Vera Morris
Stuart gave her a fish-eye. ‘She’s not much older than you, Mabel. Perhaps her cousin lined up a few likely lads for her to cast her eyes over.’
‘Her cousin’s seventy-five; the best she’ll be able to do will be to line up a few old dodderers for afternoon tea. I think we don’t need to worry about Dorothy upsetting the applecart. It’s Laurel; if she leaves, somehow I can’t see the agency lasting.’ She got up. ‘Let’s go in. I can start preparing supper while you do the dishes.’
He rose and put an arm round her shoulders and pulled her to him. ‘I’m looking forward to seeing John Coltman christened. It was a messy case but that should be a good day. A father and son reunited after over thirty years apart.’
‘They fixed the date?’
‘Sunday before the August Bank holiday. At least we’ll all be together for that. It’ll give us a boost.’
Mabel slipped an arm round his waist. ‘You old bumble bee,’ she said as they went back into the house.
Chapter 32
Sunday, August 29, 1971
Frank sat next to Stuart; it was a tight fit: all the members of The Anglian Detective Agency in one pew. It was cool in St Bartholomew’s church despite the heat of mid-day outside; the air in the huge, square space was redolent with the scent of lilies, beeswax polish and the dust of centuries. He moved uncomfortably against the hard, wooden pew and tried to loosen his collar; it was difficult -his tie had been efficiently knotted by Mabel before they left Greyfriars House. He hadn’t worn this, his only suit, since her wedding to Stuart, and he also hadn’t been in church since that day. Two church visits in a year, not bad. His mother would be proud of him. Or not.
Laurel was wearing the dress she’d worn at the wedding; in fact they’d all given their wedding outfits another airing. He looked around. The church was full. Pity the congregation hadn’t given Tommy Coltman more support in the past, when he needed it: all the years he’d spent isolated and unloved, unable to sleep at night, wandering the fields and shores picking up shells and stones. Lighten up, Frank, he told himself. He was in a bitter mood. This was a day to enjoy, to rejoice, to see Stephen Salter finally laid to rest and to welcome John Coltman into the world.
Nellie Minnikin was a few pews back. She smiled at him ruefully, shaking her head, as much as to say, ‘You had us all fooled.’ How must she feel? She’d known Sam
Salter since childhood. There were other members of the camp staff: Cindy and Sally from the office, Jim Lovell and his wife, sitting next to the landlady of the Jolly Sailor. He couldn’t see Charlie Frost. They must all be wondering what was going to happen to the camps. Would John decide to sell up? He didn’t think it was in his nature to desert these people, at least not until he knew their jobs were secure. He wondered what Tommy would think if John continued with the holiday-camp business. He was jumping the gun; they probably hadn’t come to any decision. He’d heard Nellie was in charge at the camp and enjoying the challenge. Revie was at the back of the church, with Johnny Cottam beside him. Good of them to turn up. He remembered Revie coming to Mabel’s and Stuart’s wedding, and chatting up a woman in a Carmen Miranda hat.
Chatter ceased as the vicar walked towards the font, followed by Tommy, John, Eve and two young children, both boys. About five and seven, he guessed, smart in school blazers and short grey pants. Tommy’s grandsons. How would they cope with their new name and a new granddad? Tommy looked twenty years younger than when he’d last seen him; his carriage was erect, and there was a strange elegance to him in his well-cut suit, showing off his tall figure and broad shoulders; his lean ascetic face seemed less lined, and a proud smile played on his lips as he looked at his new family. They sat down in the pew before the font; its medieval panel showed old man God, holding between his knees a cross, with his son impaled on it. Did that resonate with John, and his ordeal in the pit?
The vicar, a lean, bald-headed man faced the congregation.
‘Today we have gathered here to witness the christening of John Coltman. John has been previously baptised, and it is with the permission of the Bishop of Suffolk that he will be christened today. This is a unique service, there are no godparents and John will make the responses that would normally be spoken by them, or his parents.
‘Let us start by singing a hymn together.’ Prayers, readings, and psalms followed. Frank had always disliked the formality of the Church of England; however, it wasn’t quite as bad as the Catholic Church his mother adored. He was with his father on this one, although he was just as bad with his rants on the positive benefits of Communism and the Trade Unions. He wished his father hadn’t allowed his mother to give her children saint’s names. Francis Xavier. He’d better make sure Revie never found out about the Xavier.
The vicar lit a candle in a cast-iron stand and held out a hand to John. He stood up and moved towards him.
‘In baptism God calls us out of darkness into his marvellous light. To follow Christ means dying to sin and rising to new life with him. Therefore, I ask: Do you reject the devil and all rebellion against God?’
‘I reject them,’ John said, his voice quavering.
‘Do you renounce the deceit and corruption of evil?’
‘I renounce them.’
This was too close to the horrors they’d all witnessed. The evil of Gareth Hovell. The evil of the man who had murdered his mother, and become his father. John was pale, his voice trembling. Tommy Coltman stepped forward and stood by his son, taking his hand. The vicar nodded. John turned and looked at his true father.
‘Do you repent of the sins that separate us from God and neighbour?’ the priest resumed.
‘I repent of them, ‘John said, his voice stronger.
The questions and the replies followed in an orderly manner, but Tommy didn’t leave his son’s sid s e. The family joined them round the font.
Eve moved to John’s side and one of the boys took Eve’s hand, the other Tommy’s. The look on his face as the small hand slipped into his made Frank gulp. He felt his mood lifting and he leant forward so he could see Laurel. She smiled at him, a triumphant smile, as though proud to have played a part in helping to save John’s life and to reunite him with his father. He felt exactly the same. There was a splash as the minister dipped a vessel into the font, and John was christened.
The Coltman family stood with the minister in the vast porch, shaking hands and nodding as people expressed their congratulations and sympathy.
As they approached them, Frank leading the way, Tommy moved towards them, unable to wait. He shook hands with all of them, and was introduced to Dorothy, Stuart and Mabel.
‘We’re not having a christening party; none of us felt up to it and it didn’t seem appropriate, but this mustn’t be the last we see of each other. A celebratory meal is called for. Would the Oysterage suit everyone?’
Frank’s mood improved a notch more. ‘Excellent!’
There were positive noises from the rest of the team.
John shook Frank’s, then Laurel’s hands. ‘I can never repay you for saving my life at the risk of yours,’ he said to both of them. He kept hold of Laurel’s hand. ‘You saved my life a second time down in that damned pit.’
Laurel held him close. ‘It’s over. You’ve a new life, with a new father. God bless you, John. I hope all will go well.’
‘Thank you.’
They all strolled to the car park opposite the Jolly Sailor. Laurel and Dorothy were dragging their feet, whispering to each other. If it wasn’t Dorothy Laurel was plotting with, it was Mabel. His good mood was coming apart at the seams. What were they scheming? He found it difficult to talk to Laurel. What would she do? Would she marry Oliver? He was sure Oliver wasn’t the right man for her. Who was? He knew what would happen: Oliver would get her pregnant and she’d have to give up her partnership. Could the rest of them continue? Would they want to keep going? Of course they would. But would he? He’d miss her. The agency could work well with Stuart and himself as detectives. Perhaps they c
ould recruit someone else. He wondered if Johnny Cottam would be interested. He smiled. Perhaps he’d drop his name as a possible replacement to Laurel at their next meeting. See how she liked that.
Chapter 33
Monday, September 6, 1971
Frank reached out and switched off the alarm clock before it started ringing. Quarter to six. He might as well get up. He’d spent most of the night in a fitful sleep, images of the explosion replaying whenever he closed his eyes. He swung his legs out of bed and sat on the edge, his head slumped on his chest. Bloody hell, this wouldn’t do. He’d have to accept whatever today’s meeting brought.
He pulled back the curtains and looked out of his cottage’s open window over the cliffs and the North Sea. The sea and sky were one colour: grey. It suited his mood. He breathed in the salt-laden air, filling his lungs, trying to energise himself. It didn’t seem to be working. He groaned. There was only one thing that would get him going. A run along the beach. No. He decided on the heath. Today he couldn’t bear the thought of running on pebbles, not after that night on Orford Ness. He’d have some water and leave breakfast until he came back. The meeting was due to start at nine-thirty. He didn’t want to get there early; he wasn’t in the mood for chit-chat or badinage.
Wearing shorts and a t-shirt, he ran across the Minsmere Road onto the heath. Although early, bees were busy in the heather flowers. The sandy soil was kind to his feet and he picked up speed as he ran away from the beach and cliffs down a bridle path and then onto the road that led to Eastbridge. When he reached the turning that led to the bridge over Minsmere River, he turned back: he hadn’t time to run down The Cut and back along the beach near the bird reserve.
The Cut. At the end of it was the sluice where the body of Susan Nicholson had been found by Benjie Whittle. The beginning of it all. No, not quite the beginning. He’d first met Laurel in the mortuary in Ipswich when she came to identify her dead sister, in 1969. She was the catalyst: not only in playing a major part in bringing Susan’s murderer to justice, but in helping him to take that vital step to resign from the police force and to form the detective agency. What would life be like without her?
It was only a year since he’d been assigned to that case, but in the time the case was solved, he’d resigned and with Stuart, Dorothy and Mabel, they’d solved three major cases, all of them complex and dangerous. Only a year. They seemed to have known each other for much longer. He headed back, stretching out his legs, trying to loosen his shoulders, breathing steadily.
The row of cottages came into view. He hadn’t seen another soul. He’d half-hoped he might meet Laurel out for one of her runs; then he’d have invited her back for breakfast and she would have told him her plans. They were close friends as well as colleagues. He’d miss seeing her regularly, miss their matiness. It wasn’t often you met a woman you could be close friends with, so close you forgot she was a woman, with all that entailed. She was Laurel, brave, intelligent, strong and good company.
As the water from the shower pulsed over his body he made a decision. She was a good friend and he should want the best for her. If the best was to marry Oliver and perhaps, eventually, or indeed soon, leave the agency, he should be glad for her and not selfish, wishing she’d stay because it suited him. He rubbed his hair with a towel; he didn’t bother combing it, today he’d let nature take its course.
Laurel turned back off the Minsmere Road and ran through the woods towards Greyfriars House. She’d run along the beach as far as the sluice and on her way back glanced up towards the top of Minsmere cliffs, wondering if Frank was up. The sea air and her body’s movement had increased her feeling of euphoria. Everything was wonderful, she was full of excitement and anticipation: she was in love, no doubt about it. What would Frank think? She grinned. He’d say she was mad. She didn’t care.
Later, after a shower, she sat with Dorothy in the garden.
Dorothy put her cup and saucer on a nearby table and lit a cigarette. ‘First one of the day! ‘ she said proudly.
‘What are you down to?’ Laurel asked.
‘Fifteen.’
‘That’s still too many.’
‘Who says so? It’s better than forty.’ She looked at her watch. ‘I’m all right for ten minutes, then I’d better go and get the papers on the table for the meeting.’
‘Oh, Dorothy, I’m so happy. Thank you for saying yes.’
‘You did ask Mabel?’
Laurel pulled a face. ‘Of course, I did. She’s happy for me.’
‘Are you sure about telling Frank at the meeting? Don’t you think you’re being cruel?’
Laurel laughed. ‘I can’t help it if he’s been moody and won’t talk. Serve him right if he has a shock.’
Dorothy looked at her over the rim of her glasses. ‘No Miss Sugar and Spice, then?’ she sniggered.
Laurel laughed again. ‘No, I’m in a Miss Salt-and-Vinegar mood.’
‘Let’s hope you don’t get your chips!’
Smiling, they picked up their cups and went towards the house.
When Frank went into the meeting/dining room, Dorothy was busy laying out five settings of blotting paper, pencils, water glasses and the agendas for the meeting.
‘Do we need blotting paper and pencils? No one uses either, we don’t have a fountain pen between us,’ he said.
‘And good morning to you too,’ she said, giving him a stern look.
‘Sorry, I’ve been a bit of a bear with a sore head this morning. Didn’t sleep well.’
She didn’t answer, left the room and soon reappeared with a jug full of water. ‘I like to set up the meeting as I used to set up the governors’ meetings at the school. I didn’t get any complaints from them, in fact I received compliments.’
Oh, Lord, this meeting is going to be a disaster. ‘You’re right, Dorothy. It gives a professional touch.’
She sniffed and left the room.
He picked up an agenda:
1.Minutes of the last meeting.
2.Finance report
3.Building proj ects
4.Possible new cases
5.Miss Bowman to speak
6.AOB
Great balls of fire! Miss Bowman to speak! Had it come to this? What was the matter with everyone? What had he done to be treated like this? He thought they were his friends as well as colleagues.
He dropped the sheet onto the table, looked at his watch -another seven minutes before the meeting started. He should have stuck to his original idea and arrived at nine-thirty, not nine-fifteen. He walked out of the meeting room and headed for the garden; at least the birds, slugs and snails wouldn’t give him a hard time.
Mabel burst in from the kitchen. ‘Frank. The meeting’s starting soon. Where are you going?’
He stared at her. ‘Thought I’d have a breath of fresh air. Dorothy’s in a foul mood, so I decided to disappear.’ She grabbed his arm. ‘Come into the kitchen, I’ll make you a quick cup of coffee.’
He resisted and stood his ground. ‘I’ve had far too much coffee already today, Mabel, but thanks for the offer.’ He tried to move away, but she held on.
‘How about a nice piece of fruit cake?’
What was the matter with her? Was he irresistible? It must be his hair, it was alarmingly curly after his no-combing routine. He grinned at the thought of Mabel lusting after him.
‘That’s better, Frank. It’s the happiest you’ve looked for a good few weeks.’
‘Got the hots for me, Mabel? We better not tell Stuart.’ She roared with laughter. ‘I like my men placid, thank you. I told Stuart he was like a bumble bee the other day. Now you -I’d put you down as a wasp, or even better, a hornet. Fast and dangerous.’
‘Talking about me again?’ Stuart walked into the kitchen.
‘Frank thinks I fancy him.’
‘He’s deluded. He thinks every woman is madly in love with him and wants to take him up to her boudoir and turn him into the perfect husband.’
‘What? Like
you, dear?’ Mabel said ‘I think I detect a touch of sarcasm.’ Stuart looked at his watch. ‘Time for the meeting.’
Mabel heaved a sigh of relief.
Frank grinned ruefully. What on earth was that about? He put an arm around Mabel’s shoulders. ‘He got to you first, Mabel, if he hadn’t, who knows...’
She looked at him, a worried expression on her face. ‘You’ll be all right, Frank,’ she said and patted his hand.
He’d be all right? The gnawing doubts returned. Somehow, he didn’t think he would be.
Laurel couldn’t contain herself, she was almost bouncing up and down in her chair. They’d got to item four on the agenda.
‘There are two cases worth considering,’ Dorothy said, then passed a sheet of paper to each of them. ‘A landowner near Halesworth has had several farm machines stolen.’ ‘Why hasn’t he brought in the police?’ Stuart asked.
‘He suspects his son-in-law, and as he’s very fond of his daughter. He hopes if we investigate we can inform him if he is or is not involved. If he isn’t he’ll pass it over to the police.’
‘He sounds a considerate person,’ Mabel said.
‘The second is a case of the owners of a posh hotel in Ipswich who also want a discreet investigation, they said they don’t want “the plod” barging round and disturbing their guests.’
Stuart looked at Dorothy. ‘As a former plod, I take offence at that remark, don’t you, Frank?’
Laurel waited on his reaction. So far, he’d remained silent throughout the meeting.
He shrugged. ‘It’s a good job there are stupid people out there who underrate the discretion of the police: it gives us more work.’
He was in a bitter mood. Perhaps she should have told him before the meeting.
‘Do you miss being a policeman, Frank? I’ve often wondered if you regret leaving the force,’ she said, giving him a sweet, false smile.
He gave her a sour smile back.
Dorothy rapped her pencil on the table.
‘So, you’ve found a use for it after all, Dorothy,’ Frank said.