by Jean Hill
They sipped good Indian tea, a brand Felicity approved, and ate elegant chocolate thins which she was amazed Marianne could afford. Marianne told Felicity that she had as an evacuee been billeted with the local butcher, a shop long since gone, forced out by the arrival of the supermarkets in Everton. After her parents were killed in the Blitz she had stayed on in Enderly as nobody else in her family had wanted her. She worked for a while in the shop before marrying a local farm labourer, Bert Fright, in her teens.
‘He was a rough old farm chap, really, but kind hearted and I needed someone to take care of me. I didn’t love him, at least not at first but I missed him when he died.’
Felicity proved to be a good listener and Marianne enjoyed telling her about her past in her high pitched and slightly cracked old voice.
And what a ‘fright’ she looks now, Felicity thought spitefully and smiled to herself at the pun.
They agreed on their bridge conventions and Felicity realized she had quite enjoyed herself talking to Marianne. She had liked even more finding out something about Tom Hands. It was a starting point anyway.
‘Tom Hands, oh yes I remember now,’ Marianne had said just before Felicity returned to Primrose House to partake of a second cup of tea and the usual sandwiches with Janet.
‘He lived with your aunt’s mother and then briefly with your aunt and her first husband James but James Anderson did not want him. He was quite nasty to the boy by all accounts. Tom left suddenly and I heard he was adopted by a couple in Brinton but I’m not sure what happened to him after that. I believe Janet Lacey did try and find him some years later, or so a friend who worked for her in the house at that time told me. She did not have any luck.’
This was a good snippet of information and Felicity rubbed her hands together with glee, bade her new friend ‘Goodbye, see you next Tuesday,’ and returned to Primrose House with a distinct spring in her step. Things were looking up. It would not be long now before she found Tom Hands, if he was still alive, and then she would see.
The next Tuesday found an enthusiastic group of bridge players in the small back room of the Green Man. Enderly Club had been launched and Robbie thought the outlook was promising. He hoped that Felicity would not be too much of a thorn in his side and that he would be luckier than the hapless Jack Headley. Time alone would tell.
Chapter 17
New Friends and a Search
Felicity was delighted to discover that Tom Hands had been adopted. She decided to approach the local authorities first in order to try and trace him, but she didn’t think they would be helpful because they would need Tom Hands’ permission before they were able to tell anyone his whereabouts. She felt an increasing and urgent desire to trace this usurper and possible heir to some of her aunt’s fortune, albeit a small part. If necessary she would hire a private detective to help her, that might be the best way. She could use Aunt Janet’s credit card. There had been no queries so far about her illicit expenditure. A direct debit arrangement to pay the monthly bills was in hand and Janet’s current account balance had so far proved to be adequate. Felicity kept a close eye on the bank statements. She laughed out loud and an almost demonic screech issued from her mouth as she considered the situation. That little piece of plastic and its easy-to-remember pin number, following the introduction of chip and pin, had certainly changed her life. The post was easy to divert to her hands when it arrived; ‘We must not worry poor Auntie,’ she had said to Joyce, and dear Auntie had willingly signed any cheques: she assumed they were for food and household bills. It was difficult now for her to check the figures; she became confused and so long as there were not any serious problems she was happy for her niece to help her pay the bills. So far so good Felicity told herself. She hoped that nosy financial adviser would not interfere. He was making a fortune out of Auntie’s investments anyway so she thought he wouldn’t want to lose such a lucrative account by rocking the boat and complaining about the now too helpful niece. At least she hoped not.
Felicity had noticed a small detective agency in Brinton and the next time that Robbie took her to do her aunt’s shopping she planned to visit them in order to make some enquiries about their fees and perhaps make an appointment. She was sure that there must be some records somewhere and the sooner she got her hands on those the happier she would be. If Tom Hands was alive she could track him down. She would be glad to devise a plan to get rid of him and her skewed mind whirled with anticipation and pleasure. The pursuit to increase her share of Janet’s will had turned into an enjoyable pastime. She may not be able to get rid of some of the contenders but she would do her best to ensure her share of the money was substantial.
In the meantime she was enjoying playing bridge with Marianne. Patsy Croft and John Elk only had eyes for each other and Felicity hoped that there would soon be a wedding to which she would be invited, along with some of the other bridge club members. She appreciated the sense of companionship that the bridge club afforded her, something that had not interested her in the past. A wedding would be another welcome diversion to enliven her dreary existence in Primrose House. There would more likely than not be a good spread of food as well as interesting company. Her mouth watered as usual when she thought about good food. She could use her aunt’s credit card to buy something nice for them. She would enjoy that. New friends and a bridge club, hmmm, things were improving and she was feeling happier than she had for many years. Making friends and being accepted into a group without antagonism was a new experience for her. She had mellowed and was a less aggressive individual than she had been when she played in the bridge club in Canada and that was, she had begun to understand, the key to her current success.
Patsy and John continued to grow closer; Robbie and John were enjoying a good partnership and Patsy was happy to play with Margaret Jones, a pleasant woman in her early fifties. She liked her but unfortunately Margaret did remind her of the teacher who had accompanied the Brinton Comprehensive School Band party to Germany when she was a teenager. Her experience on that holiday of a liaison with one of the young German band members had left her scarred mentally and physically and she was only just, after so many years and thanks to John Elk, recovering from the trauma that had been inflicted upon her by the young German boy who had raped her. It had been her own silly fault. In her innocence she had been willing to participate in a sexual experience, But with a swift and brutal act he had forced her out of her girlish romantic dreams into the harsh reality of a liaison with a violent insensitive boy. He had delighted in her degradation, enjoyed her humiliation, laughed about her with his friends, and almost destroyed her capacity to love or enjoy sex with any man. Time was mellowing her perception of the incident but there was still some way to go before she could put the whole scenario into a reasonable perspective. She was developing feelings for John of which she had not realised that she was now capable. She had tried for too long to bury any attraction that she might have developed for any members of the opposite sex. They were all, in her opinion, disgusting. It was the easiest way to forget the shame and dismay that had been foisted on her. There was still a slight barrier to overcome but perhaps she would manage that soon. She was experiencing an exhilarating longing for John’s gangly arms to hold her close to his thin and angular frame that was so very like her own.
Robbie kept a close eye on Felicity. He was interested to hear her chat to Marianne one evening about someone she was trying to trace. It was impossible to make sense of all of the conversation but he was suspicious that she was searching for him. He heard the name Tom and something about a detective agency in Brinton. Why she would want to trace him after all this time he could not imagine. He wondered if his name was mentioned in Janet’s will and Felicity had found a copy. That could be the only feasible explanation. He was not interested in inheriting any of Janet’s money; he was comfortable and had more than enough to live on through his investments, but greedy Felicity might be anxious to remove him from the frame. Emitting
a deep sigh he thought about money, something that was without doubt the root of so much evil, and Felicity was evil incarnate. The lust for money could rip families apart and provide a motive for murder. Janet would not leave him more than a very small legacy, if anything, but if his name had been mentioned in her will he would need to watch his back.
Felicity approached the local authority in order to trace Tom Hands. As anticipated her efforts fell on stony ground.
‘I cannot possibly give you any information without tracing and asking the permission of the gentleman in question,’ she was told firmly and sharply by a woman at Everton Town Hall where the records were kept. ‘After all this time it could be difficult to find him, he could be dead,’ she continued unhelpfully. The woman, Mrs Crabb, looked at Felicity suspiciously over the top of pale pink half moon spectacles. What she saw she did not like. ‘Why are you anxious to trace this man anyway?’ she asked in an antagonistic tone.
‘Well’, Felicity lied, ‘I have reason to believe he is a long-lost relative and I am anxious to discover if he is still alive.’
Pull the other one, Mrs Crabb’s sceptical expression indicated. ‘Sorry, can’t help,’ she said shortly, which was quite uncharacteristic of her, and she dismissed the irate Felicity with a swift wave of a chubby arm.
Pompous old bag, Felicity thought. She would be within her rights to insist that the woman was more helpful, or at least pleasant, when dealing with the public, but it was not worth making a fuss. Instead she made her way diffidently to Richard West’s Private Detective Agency in a small back street in Brinton. It would cost her money, or rather it would cost Aunt Janet some money, but she may get a swifter result than messing about with the local authority staff if that Mrs Crabb was typical of the type of person they employed.
Richard West’s office was small and dingy. A thin young girl with a strong Russetshire accent sat behind a scratched and battered old desk filing the tips of long bright red painted fingernails. Her ragged short hair was coloured a pale beige blonde and her clothes were not the kind Felicity associated with a secretary. A bare midriff bulged over scruffy jeans, exposing a small silver ring which pierced her navel, and her skimpy lace blouse’s once fashionable ragged edges were crinkled and discoloured with brown spots of tea or coffee.
‘Yeah, what do you want?’ she said in an apparent attempt to be pleasant. A cup of weak cold coffee with blobs of congealed milk on the surface stood on the desk in front of her together with a half-eaten unsavoury-looking cheese sandwich, and a part knitted jumper rested on top of some files. It was not an inspiring scene.
‘I am here to see Mr West,’ Felicity answered in a firm tone. ‘I have an appointment at 2.30 pm.’
‘Oh, yeah,’ the girl said in an insolent voice. She looked out of the corner of green slanted eyes at a desk diary she retrieved from under a pile of letters, pulled it towards her with a languid hand and opened it with a studied reluctance. ‘Ms Felicity Brown is it?’ she drawled. Felicity nodded. ‘I will ring through and tell him you are here.’
Not an auspicious start Felicity thought. Richard West, a burly ex-policeman, broad shouldered and well over six feet in height, appeared at the door of his office.
‘Come in,’ he gushed. Work was short and he was pleased to have this client. She had not, so far, suggested that his fees were too high and tried to negotiate a cheaper rate which made a change from the stance taken by most of his clients. She was well dressed and he anticipated that he could probably charge her his top rate without her quibbling. He smoothed his fine greying hair back from a broad forehead. His eyes were round, deep boot brown, and his wide mouth appeared firm but generous. He smiled warmly at Felicity.
A strong man, tough and dependable, trustworthy too Felicity thought, or at least hoped he was but she realized that looks could be deceiving. She liked him although could not imagine why. The feeling was not reciprocated but he managed to present a friendly and dependable front to all his clients. His living depended on that. He indicated that she could sit in a comfortable looking armchair at the side of his desk and once she was seated he turned towards her and gave her his full attention.
Felicity relaxed, as he had intended she should, and against her better judgement found herself anxious to confide in this charming man and enlist his help. The grotty office and rude secretary were forgotten.
Felicity told him about her desire to trace Tom Hands. She said that his family had lived in London, where she too had lived with her parents until her mother was killed in a car crash. That much was true. She told him she had moved to Canada later but on returning to England a few months ago she remembered that she had a relative who had been evacuated to Russetshire during the war and she was anxious to find out whether he was still alive.
‘Tom Hands, a little older than me, lovely chap, er ... distant cousin on my mother’s side I think,’ she lied. ‘I do hope he is well.’
Easy enough case Richard thought. She is not telling the truth but I will work around that.
‘Please tell me everything you know about the person you are trying to trace,’ he pontificated and produced a notebook and pen with a confident businesslike flourish. He cast a quick glance at Felicity who appeared to be impressed by his manner. He had made a good start.
Felicity produced the photographs she had obtained from Marianne.
‘I believe he was placed with foster parents in Enderly then later adopted,’ she said, concern mounting in her voice and crocodile tears forming in the corner of her cold sly eyes.
‘He may not want to meet you,’ Richard warned. ‘I will, however, do my best to help.’ He estimated that he could charge double the fee that he had in mind earlier. ‘There could be a lot of paperwork involved in this case, which may push up the fees,’ he lied and when he told her, with some hesitation, how much it might cost she was not, to his intense surprise, in the least concerned.
‘Please get on with your searches,’ she said. ‘I will look forward to the results.’
‘I will contact you as soon as I have found out anything concrete,’ he said.
Felicity’s legs felt wobbly as she stood up and he took her hand in his. He moved closer than was necessary. Nice easy job he thought as he showed her out of his office and watched with interest the flush that had crept up her scraggy neck and face as she departed. Amusing really, he thought. Ah well, all in a day’s work.
Felicity felt happier than she had for a long time. She hoped that Auntie’s credit card would take care of Richard West’s fees but she would have to check the bank balance with care. Tom Hands could be the last thorn in her side. She did not know how true that thought might prove to be. She was making progress – she had not yet decided what she would do should they meet but she did know she would enjoy getting rid of him and the sooner the better. Of course, he could be anywhere in the country, if indeed he was still alive, but a short holiday in order to meet him would not be amiss, depending, of course, if Richard West was able to track him down. She had faith in the man. Not bad looking, she thought ... I wonder if he is married and if he has any money.
Richard West had left the police force under a cloud. It had been suggested that he had been involved in a local fencing racket. Nothing had been proved but his name had been blackened and he had resigned. To obtain an income he had opened the detective agency in Brinton. He had made a fair living over the past few years, following and reporting on cheating spouses and tracking a few people who had attempted to disappear. He was good at his job and to find Tom Hands, alive or dead, would not be much of a challenge. He rubbed his hands together with pleasure. Easypeasy case this one; it would be money for old rope.
It did not take him long to discover that Tom Hands the evacuee who had lived with the Merryweathers had later been adopted by a respectable middle-class family. He had his contacts and a little bribery as usual produced some good results. Greed and avarice was the human failing he could play on with an expertise acqu
ired over many years. He soon discovered that Tom Hands had changed his name and had been a successful academic in Oxford. He wondered if he might be worth more to him financially than the spiteful looking Felicity. He would bide his time and keep Felicity Brown waiting for answers.
He found out that Robert Thomas Barker had been living in Enderly for approximately ten years after a successful career as a history professor and since his retirement had been working as a gardener for Felicity Brown’s aunt. The situation was interesting. Robert Barker was without doubt a man who was not short of a penny or two. He followed Robbie from what he thought was a safe distance for a few days, which was a mistake. Robbie became suspicious that someone was following him in Brinton and a strange man with thick-rimmed glasses and an odd pointed beard had observed him too closely for comfort on several occasions when he had been dining in the Green Man.
Robbie recalled Felicity’s conversation with Marianne. Felicity was the cause of this problem. He decided to approach DI Peter Holmes and ask his opinion about the stalker. He didn’t want to waste police time but there was something unsavoury about the whole business, though he knew he needed concrete evidence. He told DI Holmes about his childhood as an evacuee and his suspicions about Felicity Brown’s motives for tracing Tom Hands. It could only be money and possible legacies in which Felicity was interested. She was already spending her aunt’s money like water.
DI Holmes respected Robbie, he thought he was an intelligent man; he also had doubts about the unpleasant Felicity and the strange accidents that had befallen the Mace family who may also have been beneficiaries in Janet Lacey’s will. He would make a few further enquiries. If, as he suspected, Felicity was using Richard West’s detective agency it might not be long before she found out that Robbie was Tom Hands.