Secrets on Saturday

by Ann Purser

  “Good afternoon, Mrs. Meade,” said a sharp voice. Lois turned, and saw Mrs. Tollervey-Jones standing in front of her.

  “What are you doing here?” Lois said, caught off balance. Not the politest thing to say to one of her snobbiest clients, but too late now.

  “I fail to see what business it is of yours!” snapped Mrs. T-J. “Unless I have upset your plans by returning without notice? I had trusted you to continue my routine, you know.”

  Lois answered immediately, “And so we have. No, I apologize if it sounded rude, but I was taken by surprise. I hope nothing serious has brought you back?”

  “Only here for a couple of days. I have an appointment to see that manager woman, or whatever she calls herself. Give my regards to Floss … Oh, there you are, dear,” she added in a softer voice. “Nice to see you. All going well at Farnden?” Not waiting for a reply, she stalked off towards the offices.

  “Put your foot in it there, Mrs. M,” said Floss. “Turning out to be quite an exciting afternoon. Is it tea-time yet?”

  “It’s after the usual time. Herself has probably forgotten. I’d give anything to be a fly on the wall when those two meet. A couple of Boadiceas there!”

  “I’ll go an’ drop a hint in the servants’ quarters,” suggested Floss, and Lois nodded. She was thirsty, after cleaning out the dust and ashes where a real log fire had been lit in the great fireplace. A neat mound of ash must be left to be a base for the next blaze, and it was Lois’s job to sculpt it once a week. She gazed at her handiwork, and Floss reappeared, saying, “Very architectural, Mrs. M—and the kitchen says she ordered there was to be no tea break for us this afternoon. They advise going on strike.”

  Lois stared at her. Then to Floss’s surprise, she shrugged. They’d soon be finished and could go home for a cuppa. “In fact,” said Lois, “I invite you to have tea with me and a piece of Gran’s renowned chocolate cake. Come on, Floss. Let’s get on with it and get out of here.”

  IN GRAN’S WARM KITCHEN, THE TWO SAT SIPPING HOT tea and eating cake. “That’s not fair, Lois,” said her mother. “You’ve got a right to a tea break. I should tell that woman what you think of her.”

  “She’s a valuable client, Mum. I know my place.”

  Gran sniffed. “It’ll be the first time, then,” she said. “Anyway, I’m off to the shop before it closes. Back shortly.”

  “She’s wonderful,” Floss said. “What would you do without her, Mrs. M?”

  “God knows,” said Lois. “But it doesn’t do to let her know how wonderful she is.”

  “Well, I must be getting home,” Floss said. “I’m meeting Ben early this evening. Big night! We’re going to the movies.” She finished her cake, and stood up to leave. “Oh, and by the way, I forgot to tell you what I overheard when I passed the office with those two battling away—I could hear every word.”

  “So what did you hear?” Lois said quickly.

  “Well, Mrs. T-J was yelling that she had had no idea what was going on, and it must stop. Our director was yelling back that if Mrs. T-J didn’t do as she was asked, she’d regret it.”

  “Was that it?”

  “Yep. I didn’t want to be caught lurking outside the door, so I moved on. A real shouting match it was, and I reckon our director was getting the best of it.”

  T

  HIRTY-F

  IVE

  “IT’S FOR YOU, LOIS!” DEREK WAS SHOUTING FROM the hall telelphone. “House agents, they say they are.” They had finished breakfast, and he was preparing for work.

  Lois appeared at the top of the stairs. “What agents?”

  “House,” said Derek, and then Lois remembered. William Cox’s house. She came down two steps at a time and took the telephone from Derek.

  “Hello? Mrs. Meade here. New Brooms—can I help you?” This was for Derek’s benefit. She wanted him to think it was a cleaning enquiry. It worked, and he walked away.

  “It’s the house you enquired about. I’ll put you through to our Mr. Smith.”

  A man’s voice, smooth and practised, said, “Ah, yes. How are you, Mrs. Meade?”

  “Never mind that,” said Lois. “What’s this about?”

  “The house you were interested in, Cox’s Farmhouse. We wondered if you would like to take a look sometime? It does, of course, need a little work done, but basically it is a strongly constructed stone house. About three hundred and fifty years old, we think, if not older. Difficult to tell with these old farm houses. It has great potential, and we have had a number of enquiries. As you were one of the first, we’d love you to have the opportunity of seeing it.”

  “I’ve seen it,” said Lois shortly. “Every day, more or less, as I go about my work.”

  “Ah, yes. Well, if you’d be interested in taking a look at the interior, we’d be only too pleased to show you round.”

  Lois considered rapidly. Would it be useful to take a look? Not just at the house, but at Mr. Smith, too? She made a quick decision. After all, she could always duck out of it. “I’m extremely busy,” she said, “but should be free about six o’clock today. We’re not considering it at all, really, but I’d like to take a quick look.”

  “Splendid,” said Mr. Smith. “I’ll meet you there. Six o’clock. Look forward to seeing you. Good morning, Mrs. Meade.”

  She went back upstairs, and Derek followed her. “Cleaning job?” he said.

  “Sort of,” Lois said. “They’re trying to sell old Cox’s house, and said it’d go quicker if we cleaned it up a bit. I’m going to have a look after work—sixish.”

  “Right-o. Better tell Gran you’ll be late for tea.”

  Lois nodded, and gave him a hug. “You’re my most treasured possession, Derek Meade,” she said.

  IN THE DARK, DUSTY OFFICE IN TRESHAM, MR. SMITH took his feet off his desk and looked through to the receptionist. “She’ll be there,” he said. “Six o’clock tonight. You know what to do.”

  The receptionist nodded. “Shall I tell the others now, or leave it ‘til this afternoon?”

  “Now,” Mr. Smith snapped. “Use your loaf, Peggy. Sooner the better, in case they’re off somewhere else. Then you-know-who will be at our throats. Get moving.”

  LOIS LOOKED AT HER DIARY. IT WAS GOING TO BE A long day. She’d planned to visit Ellen Biggs again, and also to catch Sheila’s husband, Sam. He should be home at lunchtime, and might remember a bit more about the two blokes in the pub. Then she had to take Ben Cullen to introduce him to a new client at Waltonby.

  First Ellen. She rang the hospital to make sure the old lady was still there, and they said yes, but she was coming on nicely and would soon be able to go home. Lois considered whether to wait until she was home, but decided to go today as planned. If there was any danger of a relapse, she wanted immediate medical help available. Not that she intended to upset Ellen. She would change the subject at any sign of reluctance to talk about her sister.

  She could see Ellen at the end of the ward, sitting in a chair and looking out of the window. The view was of the car park, and Lois reckoned they’d told her she was coming. “Morning, Ellen,” she said quietly. “How are you today?”

  The old lady looked round quickly. “Ah, there you are, dear,” she said. “I was expecting you. They’ll bring you a drink shortly. Now, what were we talking about when I had to go off and have an X-ray?” Nothing wrong with her short-term memory, then.

  “Not too sure,” lied Lois. “Was it about the old days? You know I love to hear about early days in Ringford.” This was not a lie. Lois loved to hear old people talk about their lives in the villages. She always turned first to the local paper’s column written by a different senior citizen each week, a short memoir of something that had stuck in their minds. The last one had been an elderly man’s memories of the High Street in Tresham in the Forties, and Lois had been fascinated.

  “Now then,” Ellen said. “It’s coming back to me. You were asking about that old rogue, William Cox. And my poor sister. Mind you, if she’d h
ad a bit more fight in ‘er, it wouldn’t’ve turned out so badly.”

  Lois watched her closely for any signs of tension, but Ellen was completely relaxed and smiling. Whatever had caused her stroke, it wasn’t talking about the Coxes. “Have you got a picture of her?” Lois said. “Did she look like you?” Ellen searched in her ancient black bag, and produced a scuffed leather wallet. She opened it, and handed it to Lois.

  “There she is,” she said. “Pretty girl. Not a bit like me!”

  Lois stared at the lovely face of a girl, about eighteen years old, fair hair shining in the sun, her smile showing even white teeth. “Was this taken at the seaside?”

  Ellen nodded. “We went to Brighton for an outing on a bus. Most of the day was on the bus! Them old things didn’t ‘ave much speed. Still, it was a nice day, and we ‘ad our photos took on the front as we walked along.”

  “Who’s that behind her?” Lois reckoned she knew, but waited.

  “Well, it’s ‘im, ain’t it? William Cox, o’course. They were walkin’ out at that time, and I was playin’ gooseberry.” Ellen cackled at the memory. “ ‘E tried to get rid of me, but I stuck like glue to the pair of ‘em.”

  “He was quite handsome,” Lois said. “ ‘Andsome is as ‘andsome does,” Ellen replied briskly. “He was never no good, and she was a fool to marry ‘im. He blamed her for not havin’ kids. I think I’ve told you that before. He ‘eld it against her.”

  “Still, I expect he was sorry when she died so young,” Lois said.

  “If he was, he didn’t show it,” Ellen replied. Her face fell for a moment. “Such a waste,” she said.

  “I suppose he grieved inside,” Lois persisted.

  Ellen shrugged. “ ‘E was quick enough to get her buried and forgotten,” she said, “and it was up to me to do the grievin’. Never any flowers on her grave, except what I put there. I never saw ‘im in the graveyard, not once. In fact,” she said portentously, “I did wonder …”

  At this point, a middle-aged woman appeared with a trolley stacked with books. “Morning, Mrs. Biggs,” she said brightly, “how are we today?”

  “Who’s we?” Ellen said.

  The woman ignored that, and said, “Are you having a new book this week? I’ve got two Barbara Cartlands you haven’t read.”

  “I haven’t read any of that silly woman’s rubbish,” retorted Ellen. “ ‘Er an’ ‘er royal jelly. Wouldn’t touch ‘em with a bargepole. Anyway,” she added, “I’m off home in a day or two, so shan’t want any more books.” She dismissed the woman by turning her back on her, and resumed her conversation with Lois. “Where was I, dear?” she said.

  “Um, let me think,” said Lois. “Was it something about Martha and William? Something you wondered about?” She held her breath.

  Ellen frowned. “Yep, that was it. Now, what was I going to say?” She thought for a moment, then shook her head. “Nope,” she said. “It’s gone. Still, it’ll come back to me. Next time you come to see me I’ll be home, and we can talk again.”

  So my time’s up, thought Lois, and stood up. “Well, I’ll be on my way. Lovely to see you lookin’ so well. Let me know which day you’re going home, and I’ll come over and check you’re OK.”

  “Our Doris’ll see to that. Don’t you worry yerself about that. You got enough to do, with that cleanin’ of yours. Thanks for comin’, dear. Safe journey home.”

  WHAT HAD ELLEN WONDERED ABOUT? LOIS WAS driving away from the hospital and thinking back on the conversation. Ellen had been telling her about Martha’s death, and being shocked at William’s lack of piety over his poor wife’s passing. In a village at that time, this would be a black mark for the widower. It was expected that every Sunday he would put fresh flowers on the grave, and maybe, if he was well off, donate a wooden seat in the churchyard in her memory. But William Cox had done none of this. Why? The way Ellen remembered it, he had wanted the whole thing forgotten as soon as possible. Why?

  Lois turned into Waltonby and stopped outside the Stratfords’ cottage. Sheila had seen her coming and was at the front door, smiling. “Something wrong, Mrs. M?” she said. “An emergency job for me?”

  “No, nothing wrong,” Lois said. “I just wanted to check with you next Thursday’s jobs. I’m not sure I got it right on Monday. You having your lunch?”

  Sheila shook her head. “We’ve finished,” she said. “Sam’s having a cup of coffee. You come on in, and have one with him.”

  Lois settled herself on a chair opposite Sam, and they talked farming for a few minutes. Lois was getting good at bluffing. She knew very little about farming, but had listened carefully enough over the years to talk reasonably intelligently. “It’s non-stop hard work, isn’t it, Sam,” she said. “Thinking about retiring? But then,” she added hastily, remembering that Sheila was anxious to keep him working, “what would you do with yourself? Old Ted Jones retired and just put on weight, with all his spare time spent in the pub!”

  “He spends plenty enough time already in the pub,” chipped in Sheila. “Mind you,” she continued, “it’s not the place it used to be. Full of strangers mostly. The old ones die off, and the houses change hands. We got commuters in Waltonby now! Back and forth to Birmingham every day.”

  “Strangers is right,” agreed Sam. “Did Sheila tell you about them two I heard talking the other day? Nasty pieces of work, if you ask me. Didn’t like the way they laughed.”

  “Yes, she did,” Lois said. “You heard Mr. Everitt’s name mentioned?”

  Sam nodded. “Poor old lad. Nobody seems to know where he is.”

  “Were they local, these two? Did they talk like the rest of us?”

  “No, no. They were from up London, I reckon. Real Cockney. What they were doing round here I don’t know. Selling something, you can bet. Anyway, I’ve never seen ‘em again. Probably didn’t have any luck in Waltonby. Maybe Mr. Everitt had bought from them before in Farnden, and they’d been to his house and couldn’t find him in. Summat like that, I reckon.”

  “Could be,” said Lois. “Well, perhaps I could just check your Thursday jobs, Sheila.” She confirmed that they were fine, and thanked her for the coffee. “Better be getting back,” she said.

  “Have you had anything to eat?” Sheila asked, frowning. “I can make you a sandwich.”

  “No thanks. Gran will have prepared something, so I must run. Bye, Sam. See you, Sheila.” Lois was on her way back to Farnden, and passed the woods. There was the For Sale sign outside the farmhouse. “Six o’clock, and I’ll be back,” she muttered, and felt a stab of apprehension.

  T

  HIRTY-S

  IX

  HERBERT EVERITT FELT PROPERLY AWAKE FOR THE first time for what seemed like months. He had had difficulty in finding a place to hide his daily pill safely. If he’d had a flush lavatory, it would have been easy. But he didn’t, and they’d be bound to notice it when they emptied his portaloo. He’d considered hiding them in his shoe, but after a while this had been too uncomfortable. Finally he hit upon the answer.

  “I’ve got plenty of time, if nothing else,” he muttered, and put the small white oval on a sheet of toilet paper. Then, with the heel of his shoe, he ground it into a fine powder. This he tipped into a couple of inches of the morning’s pee and swilled it round. It was absorbed in seconds. Great! He waited anxiously until they brought the bucket, emptied and clean the next day, but nothing was said. Next he wondered how William was getting rid of his pill. Now he had plenty of energy to tap and scrape out a message, instructing him what to do. Footsteps outside, in what he imagined was a clinical corridor, were perfectly audible, and gave him adequate warning of an approach. Quite soon the reply came: “GOOD … IDEA.” A broad smile crossed Herbert’s face. His neighbour must have understood and stopped taking the bloody things.

  Now Herbert looked at himself. There was no mirror, but it was enough to look down at his feet. He couldn’t see them. The excellent food and lack of exercise, plus hours of unnecessary sleep, had increas
ed his weight dramatically. To carry out the plan he was formulating in his mind, he would have to be fit. But how to get rid of the extra kilos? If he started leaving food on his plate, they would get suspicious. So it would have to be exercise. That would be difficult, in this confined space. Still, it was all there was, so he began to walk round and round, holding himself well and making sure all his muscles were in use. If only he had his dog! But they’d said they couldn’t risk an infection because of his illness, and so he would have to wait until he was better. Illness! He felt as fit as a flea—if a little heavy! Round and round he walked. The only thing to do was to imagine a route he was taking with his terrier.

  Now, out of his front door and down the path. Turn right at the bottom of the Gardens, into the footpath behind the houses. No, you can’t stop here, doggie. Wait until we get into the field. Through the gate and into the sunlit meadow. Cows grazing over on the other side, and not in the least worried. They’re used to seeing him, of course. The grass is cool and springy. Approaching the stile, and … there, over it safely, and walking quickly along by the sewage works. Not too bad today. Wind in the right direction. Ah, here’s that nice young son of the Cullens. Morning, Ben!

  Herbert’s stockinged feet made no noise on the floor, and the entire conversation with Ben was in his head. On and on he walked, until he heard an unmistakeable knocking on the wall. He stopped and listened carefully. “I … HAVE … A PLAN.”

  “SO … DO … I.”

  The rest of the evening was spent in laborious conversation, but at the end of it, both men felt considerably more cheerful. “SLEEP … WELL.” Herbert nodded and smiled. But he felt much too excited to sleep.