The Sleeping Salesman Enquiry

by Ann Purser

  “Oh, poor Gus!” said Deirdre. “So he wasn’t our unhappily married potential client, after all?”

  “Let the man carry on, Deirdre,” said Ivy. “You can have your say later.”

  “First of all,” continued Gus, “he took great exception to Whippy, who was nowhere near him. Then he said he knew nothing about Roy or me, and didn’t want to find out. In other words, get lost. I retreated with my tail between my legs, and watched him push his way into the bus.”

  “Oh dear, so sorry,” said Roy. “Must have been the wrong man. Unless I was totally deceived when I met him. But you said my description was good?”

  “Oh yes, it was him, all right. He had a very shifty look, and the minute I started to speak I could see his face close up. I think his denying everything was an automatic reaction. Goodness knows why. I don’t think I look particularly threatening; do I? And if Whippy had been a bull terrier, I might have understood. But a small grey whippet is never going to harm anyone.”

  “Some people are just afraid of dogs in general,” said Roy mildly. “But anyway, Gus, I do apologise for leading you into an unpleasant experience. I suppose we should think about whether it is worth trying again on Saturday?”

  “Of course it is,” said Ivy shortly. “Gus is thick-skinned enough, surely, to approach him again? He will probably have forgotten all about your first meeting by then, Augustus. Maybe just got out of bed the wrong side. Happens to us all now and then.”

  “Thanks, Ivy. But there is more. As I was standing disconsolately watching the bus disappear into the distance—”

  “Get to the point,” Deirdre said. “We can do without the literary stuff.”

  “As I was saying,” said Gus. “There is more. James called me into the shop, and said the old man was called Alfred Lowe and was known locally to be a bad-tempered old sod, if you’ll pardon my French. He lives in Cemetery Lane, next to the old blacksmith’s forge.”

  “So you and James went swiftly to the pub to regain your strength with a couple of pints and a game of shove ha’penny?” Deirdre said.

  Gus smiled fondly at her. “More or less,” he said. “Oh, and yes, there was something else rather important. James said Alf was a bachelor and lived on his own. He’d never heard talk of wives, neither present nor past. So this makes the whole thing a puzzle. I could swear Alf did remember something about meeting Roy, and was his man. I could see it in his face. And yet the story of a cheating wife could not apply, could it, if James was right?”

  “Unless,” said Ivy with emphasis, “he had been lying when Roy first met him. Sounds entirely possible that he was having a bit of sport to pass the time waiting for the bus. What do you think, Gus?”

  “I think I should have another go on Saturday. He can only threaten to send for the police. But I shall be politeness itself. Humble, even. I could offer to buy him a pint. James said he was an occasional drinker at the pub.”

  “Good. Now, what’s next?” Deirdre made a great show of looking at her watch.

  “Hairdresser’s appointment, might I ask?”

  “Well, yes, Ivy. But not for a while yet. Please carry on.”

  “So, we continue with pursuing the man at the bus stop. Anything else? Something to keep us going if this turns out to be a nonstarter? We haven’t come up here on a cold winter’s morning for you to send us home after ten minutes so’s you can go off to get beautified.”

  “Now, now, girls,” said Gus. “I was wondering, Ivy, how the wedding plans are going? Is there anything we can do to help?”

  “If you’re implying I’m suffering from prenuptial nerves, the answer’s no. Maybe no thank you,” she said, relenting. “I must admit there does seem an awful lot to think about, just for a couple of old codgers deciding to get spliced.”

  Roy reached out and took her hand. “My love,” he said. “Nobody could call you an old codger. And we are all here to tackle problems together. Including prenuptial nerves! Now, as it happens, there is one small thing I would like to ask you all to help with, if it is not too much trouble.”

  They all relaxed, and Gus reflected that Roy was a national treasure. “Fire away, then, Roy,” he said.

  “As you know,” Roy began, “my best man will be my nephew, Steven. He is, as far as I know, my only close relative.”

  “And your heir,” said Deirdre.

  “And, as you say, my heir. As I know little or nothing about him, I feel I should find out more, and at the same time do some research on the Goodman family over at Settlefield. All I know is that generations ago there was a link, but all connections were severed over a family squabble. It could be that there are still some of them over there, and it would be fitting, I think, if I could reestablish good feeling between the two branches of the family. I suppose I would like some family support, and it might be nice for my beloved here, should I go first. What do you think?”

  This was a long speech from Roy, and Gus knew immediately that his colleague had been giving some serious thought to all this. For all their disagreements, there was affection between the members of Enquire Within, and certainly when Gus’s wife had caused so much trouble, the others had stood by him.

  “Of course! We shall enjoy doing a bit of family research. And now I’ve got the van with windows, we can follow up any leads we might uncover.”

  Ivy surreptitiously dabbed her eyes with a lace-edged handkerchief, and said that if anyone asked her, she didn’t care if there were no other Goodmans in the entire world, so long as she could have Roy.

  “Phew!” said Deirdre. “That’s got that one dealt with, then. I love delving back into family history, so count me in, Roy. There are lots of sites on the computer that might help.”

  Roy smiled, and thanked everyone. “I shall expect to pay fees into the agency account,” he said, and his suggestion was immediately drowned out by noisy refusals.

  “So, Gus is going to the bus stop tomorrow morning, and as there’s still time for a last coffee and a Miriam fruit scone, shall we end the meeting there?” Deirdre stood up, and walked towards the door.

  “Looks like we already have,” said Ivy, a trifle acidly. “Now that Miriam is baking for the shop, there will be no need for any of us to turn on our cookers, will there, Deirdre?”

  Six

  GUS LOOKED AT his watch. He had overslept, and fumbling for his watch disturbed an offended Whippy, who was still snoozing at the end of his bed.

  “Blast!” It was Saturday already, and if the bus was on time, it would be across the Green and outside the shop in exactly one hour’s time. He leapt out of bed, stubbing his toe on a leg of the bed. Hopping painfully to the bathroom, he had a quick sluice down, wishing he had not stayed so long at Miriam’s last evening. She had, as usual, insisted he stay for coffee and chocs, and he had fallen asleep on her sofa. When he had surfaced at midnight, she was curled up with her head on his shoulder, leaving him in a dilemma. Should he wake her and return home, or should he leave her sleeping peacefully until morning?

  He had chosen the first option, and she had been resentful, saying all he wanted from her was her cooking. He tried to find a tactful way of saying she was right, and was more or less shown the door.

  Now he dressed quickly. One of these days, he said to himself, you will find yourself in Miriam Blake’s warm bed, having been tempted once too often by her homemade primrose wine, and unable to stop her having her wicked way with you. Well, he consoled himself as he pulled a warm jersey over his head, worse things could happen.

  He gave Whippy her breakfast, and looked at the clock. Ten minutes to go. “Better be off, little dog,” he said, and fixed her lead. “Let’s hope Roy’s ugly man appears this morning. And if he turns out to be Alfred Lowe, I shall not be put off. Oh God, there’s Miriam at the back door!” he added. “Come on, quickly, let’s creep out the front way. Good dog. No, no barking! Quickly!”

  Once out of the cottage and striding across the Green with Whippy trotting along beside him, Gus’s spirit
s rose. It seemed as if the wedding of the year was really going to happen this time, and he looked forward to a May weekend of jollity. He was fond of both Ivy and Roy, and could think of no reason at all why they should not be very happy in the time left to them. He would call on them after his stint at the bus stop, and see how they were getting along with preparations. His own marriage had been disastrous, but he was not against the institution entirely. Sometimes he even considered asking Deirdre how she felt about it. But her recent reaction when she had quite mistakenly thought he was about to propose had been enough for him to forget it for the moment.

  They reached the shop, and the usual crowd of shoppers stood waiting for the bus. It must be galling for James, Gus thought now. His own shop was well stocked with all that anyone could need, whilst not ten yards from his open door stood potential customers in a line ready to spend their all at Tesco in Thornwell.

  But hang on a minute! There was Alf again! Why would a miserly old bachelor want to go two days in one week? But then again, why not? The thing to do would be to ask him. Gus took a deep breath, attached Whippy’s lead to the shop’s dog hook, and returned to the queue with a big smile.

  “Good morning, Mr. Lowe,” he said. “My name is Halfhide, Gus Halfhide, and I believe we may have friends in common? I am so sorry if I alarmed you, but I really only wanted to say hello.”

  “Hello,” said Alf.

  Progress, thought Gus. Definitely a better start than before. “I am sure I remember my old father mentioning your name. He had a farm in the Cotswolds and was always going on about his brilliant stockman, one Donald Lowe? Does that ring bells?”

  Alf stared at him. “Supposing it does?” he said suspiciously. “Now, look here, the bus is just coming, so if you’re going into town, come and sit by me and we’ll see if there’s anything in your story. More likely a trumped-up reason to get me to talk. But we’ll see. On you go; you go first.”

  As the bus started on its way, Gus’s arm was touched by a kindly looking matron across the aisle. “Was that your dog?” she said. “Did you mean to leave her hooked up outside the shop?”

  Panic! Gus tried to stand up to stop the bus, but Alf pulled him down in his seat. “Dog’ll be all right,” he said. “Do you want to talk to me or not? I’m not bothered, so you’d better make up your mind. You could get off at the next stop and walk back.”

  Gus thought for half a minute, and then pulled out his mobile. “I’ll get James to take her in until I return,” he said.

  “Don’t know what we’d do without our village shop,” said Alf, with the trace of a smile. “So, I’m supposed to have met your friend at a bus stop a while back?”

  “Yes, that’s right. He said you were having wife trouble—do forgive me if I’m getting this wrong—and he offered the services of our enquiry agency, should you need it. We have just finished a case, and wondered if we could be of any use to you?”

  It would have taken a monster not to be softened by Gus’s anxiety to please.

  “Well, what did you say your name was? Mine’s Lowe. Alfred Lowe. Alf to my friends in the pub.”

  “Barrington pub? Haven’t seen you in there. Mind you, I only go in for the odd pint and a game of darts.”

  “You any good? At darts, I mean.”

  “Not bad. I fill in if one of the regulars can’t make a match in the league. How about yourself?”

  “County champ in my youth. Misspent youth, I should say. I’ll give you a game someday.”

  They were silent then until approaching the outskirts of Thornwell, and then Alf asked if Gus had much shopping to do.

  “None,” said Gus. “If you remember, you abducted me onto this bus.”

  Alf laughed uproariously. “Very good!” he said. “Now, would you like to be abducted to a café in the marketplace? Then I’ll tell you the whole story of my ill-fated marriage.”

  “So it was you who met Roy that day?”

  “Roy who?”

  “Roy Goodman. He lives at Springfields residential home in Barrington. You must know him, surely?”

  “Roy Goodman! Was that him that day? I thought the old bugger looked familiar! Well, I never. Roy Goodman, still in the land of the living! His family used to farm near us. A wealthy lot, they were. Several farms here and there. Goodmans everywhere a generation back, you know. What about Roy? Did he get wed, have children?”

  Gus shook his head. He thought he would keep quiet about the forthcoming marriage between Roy and Ivy. “No, he’s been a confirmed bachelor, I gather.”

  “Blimey. When the old man dies, then, there’ll be quite a carve-up, won’t there?” Gus did not answer, and Alf stirred in his seat. “Now, here we are,” he said. “Follow me, and I can guarantee a good cup of tea and the best rock cakes in the county.”

  Gus frowned. This family information did not quite accord with Roy’s oft-repeated denial of any close relations, except for one nephew, son of a now-deceased sister. It could just be true, if all the Goodmans and their offspring were now dead. Except one, and he was to be Roy’s best man. Odd, but possible.

  When they were settled in a scruffy café in a side street off the marketplace, Gus thought it was time to open the subject of Alf’s marriage. But the old man was too swift for him.

  “I’ve just remembered something else about old Roy,” he said, with a smirk. “I’m sure it was him who was once engaged to his cousin Ethel. Lovely girl, she was. Quite a bit younger than him. I never knew what happened, but my auntie told my mother that Ethel Goodman was jilted. Roy broke it off, they said. At the altar steps, if I remember rightly. He’d found some rich bloke’s daughter who was a better bet, so the rumours said. There was talk of him being sued for breach of contract, but I don’t know if that was even legal in them days. Are you sure he’s never been married? He must be getting on for eighty odd?”

  Gus was astonished. He was sure this had never been mentioned at Springfields, unless Ivy had been told by Roy and they had agreed to keep it quiet. Good heavens! If anyone had suggested that Roy was a dishonest old philanderer, Gus would have staked his life on them being wrong!

  “You’ve gone quiet, Gus. Something I said? Don’t you worry about old Roy. Whatever happened in the past is not going to make much difference to an old man in his eighties, is it?” Alf chuckled. “Let’s go mad an’ have another rock cake. What do you say, Gus? Then I’ll tell you the story of my life.”

  Seven

  “WHEN I WAS quite a young lad,” said Alf, fishing out of his pocket a grubby red handkerchief and blowing his nose noisily, “I fell deeply in love, as they say, with a gel who was at school with me. We were friends right from infants’ class. We used to do country dancing in them days, and Susan was always my partner. Her favourite was Gathering Peascods, where couples stood in a long line and then the bottom pair danced up to the top and so on. You in a hurry, Gus? I see you looking at your watch. There’s no bus for a couple of hours, and you said you’d got no shopping to do. Just you sit there and listen to me. You might learn something.”

  “No, no, I’m going nowhere. You carry on, Alf. Fascinating stuff.”

  “Then, later on,” Alf continued relentlessly, “during the war, we used to get what we called aeroplane glass—it was really some kind of perspex—and fashion it into rings and bracelets and stuff.”

  “How on earth did you do that?” Gus asked, fascinated by an aspect of World War Two totally new to him.

  “Not sure. Cut it, I think. My dad gave me one for Susan, and it had a blue stone glued into it. I told her it was a sapphire, and I made it myself, and she laughed at me. She was always laughing at me. Anyway we got married eventually.”

  “Good,” said Gus, with some relief. So Alf had been married. “And it ended badly, did it?”

  “You could say that. She died in childbirth. The baby died, too. It was a boy, a lovely bouncing boy. I suppose it wouldn’t happen now.”

  Gus looked at him and frowned. Alf had a dreamy look on his face, a
nd a half smile, which hardly seemed appropriate.

  “Alfred,” said Gus. “Are you telling me the truth, or making it up as you go along?”

  Alf tried to look affronted, but gave up and burst into a raucous laugh. “Got you going there, didn’t I! I always could tell a good story. Known for it.”

  “So how much of all that was the truth, you old fibber?”

  “Not a lot,” he replied comfortably. “Susan didn’t die, and she didn’t have any children. Didn’t want them. But she left me. Wanted a divorce, but I’m Roman Catholic, and marriage is for life. So there we are. Husband and wife, but not lived together for thirty years. She gets in touch when she finds it convenient to have a husband, and that’s about it.”

  “Ah, now, is that really the truth? Because if so, that sounds like what you told Roy at the bus stop that day. So, do you want help or not? Seems you’ve rubbed along reasonably well up to now?”

  “But things have changed. She’s got her whole family together, and now they’re talking again about persuading me to give her a divorce.”

  “Sounds like a straightforward case for a lawyer. I don’t think Enquire Within is well enough qualified to help you, Alf.”

  “How about another pot of tea? I haven’t finished telling you yet. The fact is, as far as I’m concerned, we was married in the sight of God, an’ there’s no way of undoing that. As long as ye both shall live, an’ all that.”

  “No more tea for me, thanks. But I’ll sit with you, if you want more. Actually, I wouldn’t say no to another rock cake. As to the divorce, aren’t you being a bit of a dog in the manger? You don’t want her, but you won’t let anyone else have her?”

  When they were served, Alf resumed. “The thing is, young Gus, I think she might have been shacked up with a bloke all these years, and now he wants to marry her. Make it legal, an’ that. Maybe put a gun to her head? Well, the more trouble I can make for her, the better I shall like it. She put me through it when we was living together, I can assure you of that. I didn’t go to church, an’ that, but we were both Catholics, and that goes deep. She knew I wouldn’t divorce her then, and I won’t now. When I go, I mean to go with my image of a nasty old man safely intact! What do you say to that? Can you keep her off my back? That’s all I want. Tell her there’s no chance, and she’ll just have to carry on like she’s been doing. All I want is a bit o’ peace, a game of darts, and a couple of pints in the pub. Not a load of legal stuff and notices in the local paper. No, you tell her, boy.”