The Haunting of Mount Cod

by Nicky Stratton

  Jervis chewed and swallowed. He got up and paced about before sitting down at the swivel chair in front of his desk, the expression of acute agony beginning to fade. ‘What’s the name of the wedding company?’ he asked, fingering his computer mouse.

  ‘State of the Union.’

  ‘This is something we will be finding out for you. Jervis can be Facebooking shortly all our clients who have happily yoked. And talking of yolks Laura, I must show you my latest creation. We are having the anniversary of one year of ballroom dancing classes at Wellworth Lawns next week. Come upstairs and see the celebratory gown I have created.’

  Once Strudel had slipped off the pink silk and clambered into the yellow dress that was lying on her bed, Laura almost wished she had brought her sunglasses. The frothing mass of lace bubbled up around Strudel as if she had emerged from a vat of canary cappuccino froth.

  ‘I have only just completed the neckline,’ Strudel explained as she fingered the matching netting bows. ‘We must show it to Jervis.’

  Strudel squeezed down the staircase and back into the sitting room.

  ‘I say my love, a bombe surprise,’ Jervis said. ‘But isn’t it a little short? What will our delightful new manager, Mr. Parrott say if he sees you in it?’

  Strudel looked down at her exposed knees. ‘He can go to hell, the sanctimonious prig.’ As she sat down crossly on the sofa, Parker jumped up and nestled in the dandelion duvet of her lap.

  ‘Edward Parrott? What’s brought this on?’ Laura asked.

  ‘We’ve got serious concerns about him.’ Jervis wiped a lump of banana from his chin with a doily. ‘He seems to be taking a rather pious attitude.’

  ‘You are not believing what he is saying to Jervis.’ Strudel began fanning herself. ‘He is saying we are not setting a good example.’

  ‘Bounder told me to do the decent thing and tie the knot with Strudel. Said living in sin was not the sort of thing the residents of Wellworth Lawns expected. I couldn’t possibly tell him Strudel is already married to a gangster living on the Costa Brava.’

  ‘I have given up all hope of my Ronny,’ Strudel said. ‘But there is worse, Laura; Mr. Parrott is saying we are too noisy with our dancing in the Recreation Room and he is banning the rumba. He is saying it is the vertical expression of an horizontal desire.’

  ‘He said it could lead to an outbreak of sexually transmitted diseases. Can you credit it? For Christ sake the rumba is the nearest thing most of the old dears are going to get to sex at their time of life, so why not!’

  ‘Naughty boy!’ Strudel took a sip from her glass. ‘This drink is too thick, Jervis. It is of a vichyssoise soup consistency and I am needing a spoon.’

  ‘Easily remedied.’ Jervis reached for the drinks trolley at his side and poured more rum into the cocktail shaker.

  ‘Perhaps a little more ice?” Laura said. ‘I’ll have a word with my granddaughter about Edward Parrott. It turns out that Repton knows him from when he was a stage manager. I’m sure Vince never said anything about Edward Parrott being an ex-stage manager when he took him on. I’m sure he said he used to work at Claridges.’ Laura thought of her granddaughter Victoria’s husband Vince Outhwaite, the Leeds underwear magnate. It was the money from his company “Foundation Rocks” that had saved Chipping Wellworth Manor from the grips of the bank when the family finances had gone so disastrously wrong.

  ‘Curious.’ Jervis picked up the tongs and opened the ice bucket. ‘Either way, I’m absolutely positive Victoria and Vince would want the residents here to have as much fun as possible.’ He plopped some cubes into the cocktail shaker, rattled it around and filled up their glasses. ‘I got the distinct impression Vince was a bit of a party animal himself when we met him at the Horticultural Club Fete last year.’ Jervis gave an extravagant wink.

  ‘He was most impressed by the dancing display you put on. In fact he now has a private tutor who comes to his office in Leeds and gives him lessons in Scottish reeling. Victoria, of course knows all the dances from her youth.’

  ‘Strip the Willow and all that. Top hole. But we’re digressing. Dancing is not the reason why Laura came to see us.’

  ‘How silly we have become,’ Strudel said, looking suddenly embarrassed by her appearance in the middle of the afternoon. ‘Let me think seriously of what you have said.’ She rested her head on the back of the sofa and closed her eyes. ‘I am thinking that your Sir Repton may not be of a murdersome nature from what you are telling us,’ she said. ‘But this woman looking after him, we must return to her.’

  ‘Joking aside, I’d say she’s got good motive.’ Jervis eyed his glass. ‘About to be sent packing by Matilda; decides to get rid of the tiresome old bag and live the life of Riley at the expense of the old boy. I can feel crime in my bones.’

  ‘I’m pleased you think my theory’s got legs,’ Laura said.

  ‘It’s Strudel that’s got the legs.’ Jervis laughed. ‘Come here you saucy buttercup.’ He attempted to rise from his chair but fell back as his indigestion returned. ‘Christ that’s painful,’ he said, crossing his arms over his chest.

  Laura picked up her handbag ‘I’ll get onto the case of the housekeeper right away.’

  ‘And I’ll…’ Jervis gasped. ‘… check out our married couples and this wedding brigade of Sir Repton’s.’ He turned to Strudel. ‘Have we more bananas my love? I’m feeling a tad tipsy.’

  As Laura walked back over to the main house she recalled Cheryl’s comment about going over Matilda’s room with a fine toothcomb… Not fine enough to find the note in the lift, but had Laura be thorough enough?

  ‘Why didn’t I check in the drawers of the writing desk?’ she said to Parker, as he sniffed the leaves of a topiary box bush, obstinately refusing to budge. ‘I’ll have to go back but first I think a little background checking is in order.’ Something Cheryl had said during Laura’s stay had alerted her to a possible way of finding out about the housekeeper. She had been to the hairdressers in Woldham and there was only one hairdresser in Woldham. It was Laura’s old friend, Dudley of “Dudley’s Hair Designs” and she had her weekly appointment booked for the next morning.

  Chapter ten

  As Laura walked down Woldham High Street, it began to rain and she had to run the last few yards to the salon, pulling Parker behind her.

  ‘Lawks, Lady B,’ Dudley said. ‘It may be June, but this is England. Fancy coming out without a brolly.’ The tall gangly hairdresser picked up Parker, sat him on his lap and waved the hairdryer over the pug.

  ‘I’ve forgotten it somewhere,’ Laura said, remembering as her own hair dripped down the collar of her coat, that she had left it in the hall at Mount Cod.

  Dudley’s assistant, Kelsey got up from behind the reception desk. ‘Let me take that for you, Lady B. I’ll put it on a radiator.’ She took the coat and returned with a gown.

  Dudley finished drying Parker and put him in the basket he shared with Dudley’s aged rescue greyhound on the occasions Laura brought him with her. The greyhound stared complacently as Parker shoved and snuffled until he had manoeuvred the docile creature into the position he wanted, and then went to sleep.

  ‘Let’s get you shampooed,’ Dudley said. ‘I’ve got a new product for you to try. Organic oatmeal with sage.’

  ‘Chicken stuffing?’ Laura leaned back over the basin.

  ‘Don’t be cheeky now. Mind you it does say it gives great body.’ Dudley stroked his own mop of transplanted hair that he had told her proudly, many times, was from Scotland – the only place for really top quality blonde hues.

  She closed her eyes as he ran warm water over her head and then she heard a glugging sound as he squeezed the bottle.

  ‘Are you sure you’re not meant to thin it with a drop of milk?’ she asked.

  ‘Trust me.’ Dudley smeared the glutinous mass onto her head and began massaging.

  Once back in her chair in front of the mirror, Dudley unwrapped her head from the towel turban and combed it through. />
  There was only one other person in the salon and she was under an old-fashioned dryer, its ancient hum filling the salon, so Laura took the opportunity to quiz Dudley.

  ‘Have you come across someone called Cheryl Varley?’ she asked. ‘I think she may have damaged her hair.’

  ‘What a woman, I ask you. These people who think they can do it all themselves, then they go and make a cock up of it – excuse my French, – and expect us to step in and save the day. It’s not the first time either. I refused to touch it. Kelsey did her.’ Dudley shouted across the salon, ‘Kel, Lady B wants to know about that woman with the “Sun-in”.’

  ‘What a nutter,’ Kelsey shrieked from behind the reception desk.

  ‘I’m getting very hot here. Am I nearly ready?’ called the woman from under the dryer.

  Kelsey ran over and flicked the switch. ‘I’ve turned you down. Not long now,’ she shouted at the woman.

  Dudley beckoned Kelsey over. ‘So what’s with this Cheryl Varley?’ he said.

  Kelsey sat down beside Laura. ‘Between you and me, there’s something odd about her. She acts as if she’s got no money. Complains that her employer doesn’t pay her, hence the ‘Sun-in’.’

  ‘I’m getting very cold now,’ came the voice from under the dryer.

  ‘Turn the old moo up again Kel – actually you can turn her off.’ Dudley turned on his hand held dryer. ‘She won’t be able to hear from over there with this on.’

  Kelsey returned.

  ‘Let’s hear it Kel.’ Dudley curled Laura’s hair with the brush and waved the dryer over her head.

  ‘Well, when I was doing her hair, Billy came into the salon, he’s my boyfriend.’

  ‘We know that.’

  ‘Lady B might not.’

  ‘Go on.’ Laura was beginning to feel as if she was morphing into Mary Berry – Dudley always tried to make her hair look too neat for her liking.

  ‘Well, Billy’s a waiter at The Lamb. And that night he saw her again. She was there having dinner. Eighties night it was. They’re into themed evenings at The Lamb.’

  ‘Get on with it,’ Dudley said.

  ‘OK, OK. Well, according to Billy, she and the man she was with ordered the most expensive things on the menu. He told me ’cos the chef was furious ’cos Billy took the order late and then they wanted those flaming pancakes with that Grand Marnier liqueur. Billy’s told me about it before. So she can’t be short of money can she?

  ‘Perhaps the man was paying. Who was he anyhow?’ Dudley said.

  ‘Billy didn’t know him and it was her Billy remembered ’cos she paid with cash.’

  ‘What did the man look like?’ Laura asked.

  Kelsey said she hadn’t asked. ‘But they were all lovey- dovey Billy said and she was showing him her hand and she’d a diamond as big as a sugar lump on her finger. Billy said, “Who needs a ring that size?” But then I don’t suppose he wanted me getting any big ideas.’

  ‘Did Billy notice which finger?’

  ‘Sorry Lady B, that’s not the kind of thing my Billy would take much notice of.’

  ‘If it isn’t too much to ask…’ shouted the woman under the dryer. ‘Or shall I take the rollers out myself?’

  Kelsey jumped up. ‘Just coming.’

  ‘Got everything you wanted Lady B? We’ll do your cut and colour next time.’ Dudley reached for the hairspray.

  ‘Please not,’ Laura begged but Dudley was insistent.

  There was an “Out of Order” notice on the lift door when Laura returned to Wellworth Lawns. Underneath, it said “Exercise Improves Circulation”.

  She took the stairs to her room, Parker snuffling crossly behind her. Having damped down Dudley’s bouffant creation she went to find Venetia. Knocking on her door, she let herself in.

  Venetia put the paintbrush she was holding down onto some newspaper on her dressing table. ‘I thought you said you were going to the hairdressers?’

  ‘I did, now have you rung Repton?’ Laura asked.

  ‘I’ve been too busy.’ Venetia stood back to admire her handiwork. ‘It’s called shabby chic. Anyway why do I have to ring him?’

  ‘Shabby I can understand. That was a perfectly good ladder- back chair. Because you were the one who was so worried about him.’

  ‘But it was brown. Brown furniture is so last century. Kirsty Allsop says this is the very thing to brighten up one’s life. What time is it? I’m not missing Escape to the Country am I?’ As Venetia fumbled under the newspaper for the TV remote control, the paintbrush slipped to the floor.

  ‘Well I’ll ring him then. I’ve found out something about that housekeeper of his.’

  ‘I didn’t care for her. When I got lost that day, I came across her in Repton’s office. Sitting at his desk. She got up in an awful hurry.’

  ‘I knew it was a mistake Repton keeping the safe combination for all to see. Did Matilda have much jewellery?’

  ‘Lovely things; Laverack heirlooms mostly I should think. I wonder what Repton’s done with them? Mind you I can’t imagine Angel would have much time for diamonds. I suppose when the time comes she’ll check them out on Antiques Roadshow then sell the lot and put the money into more food for her donkeys.’

  Laura picked up the paintbrush and balanced it on top of the tin. ‘On second thoughts, I think I’ll take a drive over there and collect my umbrella. I don’t suppose I can interest you in joining me?’

  ‘Go back to Mount Cod? Not on your life and anyway I want to get another coat on.’

  ‘Don’t!’ Laura cried out, but it was too late. Venetia sat down on the chair and pointed the remote at the TV, jabbing at it impatiently. ‘Why ever not? It’s Robson Green.’

  ‘No I mean you’ve sat on the wet paint.’

  ‘What?’ Venetia jumped up and attempted to view her rear.

  ‘You’d better ask Mimi if she can wash your skirt. It is water based isn’t it?’

  ‘I think so.’ Venetia undid the skirt. It dropped to the floor leaving her standing in her thick brown tights. She bent down and picked up the paintbrush. ‘Anyhow, I’ll get about much easier without it.’

  ‘Well, just remember to put something on before you go down for lunch.’

  As Laura passed the Land Rover parked outside the lodge, the sky darkened and she heard a low rumble of thunder. She wasn’t sure how she was going to get upstairs to search Matilda’s writing desk. Neither could she realistically confront Cheryl on the state of her finances and demand to see her jewellery, if the housekeeper was even there, and after all Cheryl hadn’t actually done anything except appear insubordinate which was hardly a crime. But perhaps a chance encounter might throw up something more concrete, Laura could only hope.

  She drew up beside a dark blue Ford Mondeo parked outside the house. It didn’t look like something the wedding planners would drive. Relieved that there was obviously no wedding in progress, she got out and peered in the driver’s window as Parker dashed up the steps and began scratching at the front door. A copy of the Bible lay on the passenger seat, next to it, a packet of opened jelly babies. She felt a drop of rain land on her head and made a dash for the house.

  ‘Hello dear friend.’ Sir Repton stood at the open front door; Parker and Sybil Thorndike frolicking together at his feet like long lost friends. ‘How utterly charming to see you again, I saw your car arriving from the window. Come in before you get a soaking.’

  ‘Too stupid, I left my umbrella here and as I was just passing, I thought I’d collect it. It’s not inconvenient is it?’

  ‘Not at all, I have Canon Frank Holliday here with me.’ Sir Repton looked up as a flash of lightening split a pendulous black cloud. ‘Oh, when shall we three meet again?’

  ‘Meet again?’ Laura had to raise her voice as the rain splashed down onto the gravel. The quote must signify something, but it made no sense. She hurried up the steps. ‘I haven’t ever met him.’

  ‘I beg your pardon, just a small Scottish moment, often happens in a
storm.’

  She followed him into the hall. She must have been wrong about the quotes; they were meaningless.

  ‘But it’s strange that your paths have not crossed. Have you time to spare?’ he said, opening the sitting room door. ‘You see Canon Frank and I have been discussing the possibility of a séance, but with just the two of us it was looking unhopeful.’

  ‘A séance?’

  ‘There has been a delivery of Norfolk mead to the house. Tam and Pom say it’s nothing to do with them. The time has come to pin Rosalind down.’

  Chapter eleven

  Laura was somewhat taken aback by Canon Frank Holliday’s appearance as he held out his hand to her; he must have been at least six foot four. She smiled up at the startling blue eyes that fixed on her from below raven coloured crags of jutting eyebrow. Above these outcrops, thick white hair swept back from his forehead like a small avalanche reaching down his neck to where it met his dog collar.

  ‘Sir Repton has been telling me all about you,’ he said.

  ‘All good I hope?’ Her gaze travelled down. He wore a black serge suit. The jacket fitted perfectly across his shoulders and the trousers held an immaculate crease. Laura was thinking, these ecclesiastic tailors aren’t half bad, when Parker, breaking off from his game with Sybil Thorndike at the Canon’s feet, growled at the cleric’s shiny black-tasselled loafers. She did wonder if he hadn’t directed a small kick in the direction of the pug.

  Next to the Canon, Sir Repton appeared more enfeebled than ever. ‘My dear Laura,’ he said. ‘How could Frank think anything but the best when I have been extolling your virtues.’

  ‘How embarrassing,’ Laura said.

  ‘Not at all Lady Boxford, Sir Repton is ever the faithful purveyor of fact.’

  Laura was momentarily pondering this twofold gush of compliments when Sir Repton excused himself. ‘I’ll go and make us a fresh pot of tea,’ he said.