by Ann Purser
The papers in front of her were confidential reports from her cleaning staff, and others from herself on potential clients who might need a follow-up. She began on the former, and was pleased with how smoothly everything seemed to be running. She loved especially the ones from Dot, which always had a humorous story or two to raise a smile.
Only one client was not yet signed up, and this was over at Fletching. Lois had been to call on the woman, who had grilled her thoroughly. After this, with no offers of cups of tea or general chat, Lois had left, convinced that this one was a no-go. But then yesterday there had been a message left for her, asking for another visit. Lois had begun to believe the woman was planning to set up a rival business, having learned all the details from New Brooms. It was a possibility.
She picked up the phone and dialled the Fletching number.
“Good morning, this is New Brooms. Lois Meade speaking. You left a message for me?”
The woman sounded much more friendly, and said she had decided to go ahead, and could Lois call in and they would discuss starting dates, et cetera.
Looking at the cleaning schedules, there seemed to be a spot for Floss to have time free. Mrs. Tolervey-Jones, unofficial assistant to Lois, and at present recovering from a serious illness, had insisted on retaining Floss as her New Brooms cleaner after she had moved from Farnden Hall to the Stone House in the village, but her hours had been cut. Mrs. T-J—as she was known by the cleaning girls—and Floss had always been a sympathetic pair, and Floss, keen on riding, regularly exercised the old mare that Mrs. T-J could not bear to sell. It lived a contented life in a small stable and coach house, disused for many years, that she had spruced up at the bottom of her garden.
Lois picked up her phone again, and dialled Floss. “Morning, all well?”
“Fine, thanks. About to go home. I’ve finished Mrs. T-J. Can I help?”
“Could you call in? I have another client for you. That is, if you can fit her in. I see you have Friday morning free at the moment. You can? Good. I’ll pick you up tomorrow, and we’ll go over to Fletching. I will introduce you, explain what’s to be done, and then you can start next week. Okay?”
* * *
As Lois worked through the last of the reports, Gran stuck her head round the door and said she was going down to the shop, and then on to see Joan. Back in time to get lunch. Lois watched from her window as her mother walked briskly down the drive and disappeared. She’s certainly got a spring in her step this morning, thought Lois. Ah well, Aurora had promised she would let her know what Gran and Joan were up to.
After she had tidied up her office, she set off upstairs to collect some washing and make sure Derek had not forgotten to change his vest. As she passed her mother’s bedroom, she saw the door was open and a strong wind had got up and was blowing the curtains about. She walked in, closed the window, and was about to leave when she saw the wardrobe door was not quite shut and a large bag had been stuffed inside.
“What the hell is that?” she said aloud, and pulled the bag out so that she could push it in more tidily and shut the door. It was a strong canvas bag with a logo of a chrysanthemum flower entwining through a capital letter B. With great strength of character, knowing how furious her mother would be if she opened it, she returned it to its place in the wardrobe and shut the door.
The logo haunted her until Gran returned, and then, as Derek asked over his pudding if Lois knew how Aurora was doing, she knew what it was. Brigham Luxury Jewellery. So Elsie and Joan had got as far as a starter pack! And that would have been bought and paid for.
“Oh, all right, I think,” she answered Derek. “Back in harness. With the bakery, anyway. I expect she has a lot of thinking to do before she can restart the jewellery business. What do you think, Mum?”
Gran went pink, cleared her throat and said there was more pudding if anyone wanted seconds.
TWENTY-SIX
Floss was already parked outside Briar House when Lois arrived next morning. Lois beckoned to her to come and sit with her for a few minutes, while she briefed her on what they knew so far on the new client.
“I don’t know her Christian name,” said Floss, “but I remember she donated to charity the proceeds of opening her garden one year.”
As they walked up the short drive to the house, Lois looked around and said it was certainly a lovely garden. “She must be loaded to hire a gardener to do all of this. Looks like it’s been trimmed with manicure scissors!”
“What’s her name, Mrs. M? I’d better know it, if I’m going to work here.”
“Um, hang on. I’m showing my age, Floss, when I can’t remember names! No, I’ve got it. Mrs. Diana Prentise. I knew I’d heard it somewhere before! She’s lived here some while now, but originates from Tresham. Very pleasant on the phone, the second time she rang. Ah, I think someone’s coming.”
They were given coffee, and invited to sit in a long, low-ceilinged room, where heavy black beams supported the ceiling like the backbones of a flatfish.
Lois opened the conversation, and then handed it over to Floss. Mrs. Prentise offered to show them over the house, and it was when they were ushered into a pink, overfrilled bedroom that Lois remembered where she had heard the name previously. Gloria Prentise, of course.
“Do you have a daughter?” she said. “This is such a lovely girl’s room.”
“It was my daughter’s, a long time ago now. But she occasionally spends the odd night or two here and likes me to keep the room as it was.”
Lois looked at her more closely. Her hair was a uniform grey, with no signs of having once been red. She was neat and expensively dressed, guessed Lois. That kind of muted elegance costs money. Perhaps she had been on the game until retirement, with her daughter following in her footsteps?
Her thoughts were interrupted by a sudden burst of laughter from Floss. She and Mrs. Prentise had gone on ahead, so Lois caught up and asked what had been so funny.
“That black furry monkey!” said Floss, pointing out of the window at a rose-covered brick wall in the garden. “It’s a toy, look, see how it is holding on to a stem with its hands and dangling its feet below.” She laughed again, and Mrs. Prentise smiled. “My daughter calls him Black Jack! Don’t ask me why. He stays out there, come rain or come shine, without deteriorating. Now, you go downstairs first, Floss. I am so old now that I often trip up.”
Lois followed behind the other two, and wondered at the warped sense of humour that could hang like a biblical criminal on a rosy crucifix, an innocent toy. Still, it had amused Floss, so she supposed it wasn’t all bad.
Lois answered a few more questions about cleaning schedules, and added details of New Brooms prices. Mrs. Prentise waved that aside, saying she was glad to be able to support her old age in the manner to which she had been accustomed.
Lucky you! Lois was beginning to dislike this smug old woman, and then unbidden a thought came into her head. Wouldn’t she be a likely candidate for one of Gran and Joan’s jewellery parties? Then she remembered she thoroughly disapproved of those, and somewhat abruptly ushered Floss out of the front door, saying that, if convenient, New Brooms would start in a week’s time.
“You didn’t like her, Mrs. M, did you?” said Floss, as they drove away.
“I don’t have to like the clients, and nor do you, Flossie dear,” said Lois. “We just go in and do a job as well as possible, and that’s it. I’ll say what I always say, as you know; be on your guard and report back to me anything untoward that is said or heard by you whilst you are working there.”
Floss frowned. “I don’t think I’ve heard you say it quite so seriously before. Do you know something about Mrs. Prentise that perhaps I should know, too?”
“We have a week before you start. Then you’ll either be fine there, or withdrawn.”
Then Lois changed the subject, and asked Floss how her parents were, and had she decide
d where to go on holiday this year?
* * *
“I shall be going round to Joan’s this afternoon,” said Gran, as she dished up shepherd’s pie for lunch. Derek had come home, as he was working nearby, and he was half listening to Gran when Lois suddenly blurted out that if Gran and Joan did not stop this nonsense she would have to do something about it.
“For heaven’s sake, Lois,” he said. “Your mother and Joan can do what they like with their own money, so long as nobody gets hurt in the process.”
“That’s exactly it,” said Lois, remembering the starter pack in Gran’s wardrobe. “I have this nagging feeling that not only them but other suckers might get hurt! Anyway, I am going to see Aurora this afternoon, so I shall ask her what exactly is happening with the jewellery scam.”
Gran stood up, crashing her chair backward. “Lois Weedon!” she said loudly. “It is not a scam! It is, as Derek says, my money. I like the idea of running a little business on the side, and you can trust me not to break the law, for God’s sake! And as for Aurora Black, you should remember that she is mourning a partner, and the last thing she needs is you going in there insulting her husband’s profession!”
“Profession? I don’t call it a profession running a dodgy business like he did.”
“It is not dodgy!” shouted Gran. “And I’ll thank you to mind your own business for once!”
Gran walked towards the door. “And you keep away from that inspector! I’ll not put up with it; so there!”
Derek rested his elbows on the table and put his head in his hands. “God save us,” he muttered.
“What did you say?” Lois was still steaming.
“I said, God preserve me from women. That’s all. Now, are you going to make us a cup of coffee before I get back to work to keep us all with a roof over our heads?”
TWENTY-SEVEN
Joan was waiting at her door, and knew from the look on Gran’s face that something was wrong.
“Come on in, Elsie,” she said. “And you can tell me what’s up. Has your Lois been getting at you again?”
Gran was immediately on the defensive. Nobody was allowed to criticize any member of her family but herself. “I suppose she thinks she’s doing the best for her silly old mother,” she said. “I have reservations; of course I have. Both of us were taken for a bit of a ride. But we shall be more careful now, and make a success of it. Then Lois will be proud of us.”
“That’s the spirit,” said Joan. “Now, sit down at the table, and I’ll show you what I’ve prepared.”
She spread out a large sheet of paper, with her name and Gran’s written at the top. Then, in the well-known pyramid shape, she had drawn tentacles reaching from two each down to a row of question marks.
“What’s them marks for?” Gran asked.
“Well, they mean we can stop whenever we like. We just close down the jewellery supply. Foolproof.”
“So they buy all the jewellery from us? Sending us orders and then we take a cut on all, then they take a cut, and so on and on?”
“And we are the only ones who actually supply the starter pack—which they pay for—and any forthcoming orders.”
Gran was silent for a moment. Then she said she could see one major fly in the ointment. “I bet you it dries up sooner than you think,” she added. “There just aren’t that many willing sellers around here. And anyway, after a couple of parties, people will have got all the jewellery they need.”
“That can happen,” agreed Joan. “But by the time we’ve got about eight people selling, we’ll encourage them to spread the net wider. Ask friends and relations from farther afield. It works with other schemes.”
Huh, thought Gran. The scheme sounded very like Lois’s warning of scams! “And another thing,” said Gran. “You and I now have our starter pack, which we’ve paid for, but we’ll need more money to buy our first lot to sell. If we sell our starter pack, we’ll have nothing to demonstrate with.”
“I’ve thought of that,” said Joan proudly. “We sell some of it, but have some photographs enlarged to demonstrate the rest. More than we could do with stuff actually on the table. Then, as we take orders, we’ll be able to be flexible.”
“It costs money to have professional photographs enlarged,” said Gran doubtfully.
“The jewellery suppliers can take care of that, I’m sure,” said Joan. She was beginning to wonder if Gran’s heart was still in it. That wretched daughter of hers has been putting the boot in; that was obvious.
“Is that all, then, Elsie?” she said. “Shall I make us a cuppa? Then we can do some party planning.” She disappeared into her kitchen, and Gran sat staring at the pyramid. Joan was her best friend, and always straight and clever with it. And it would be wonderful if they made it work. Joan still drove, and could take them to village halls and reading rooms to find the best locations for their parties, and they would meet nice new people. She was so dug into Farnden village life that she sometimes longed to be somewhere else, someone else.
She had lived with Lois for years now, and inevitably her personal life had been absorbed into the general family goings-on. She did her best, with membership in the Women’s Institute and the occasional day out with Joan. She went to church regularly, but on the whole found her fellow worshippers snooty and elitist, as if going to church made them superior.
No, this would be hers alone. Well, hers and Joan’s. If they made a mess of it, then too bad. At least they would have tried and got their brains working again!
“Do you want a hand, Joan?” she called, and went out into the kitchen.
“Let’s get another sheet of paper,” Joan said, “and we can make a list of people to ask and where to have it. I think our first party should be fairly local, but in a smaller venue, as Donald had already collared the market round here.”
Impressed by Joan’s mastery of the jargon, Gran said why not the Reading Room in Fletching? It had recently been restored and had kitchen facilities. Everything was clean and new, and just the job for a jewellery party.
“One thing you haven’t asked me,” Joan said, offering a plate of Jaffa Cakes to Gran. “Where do we get the jewellers who will agree to our terms, instead of the other way round?”
“Ah, now I might be able to help there,” said Gran, who was beginning to feel much the weaker partner in this enterprise. “When I lived in Tresham, my next-door neighbour had a jewellers shop in town. It wasn’t in the posh part, but very central, and when they’d got a reputation for good stuff sold at reasonable prices, the word got round, and they did very well. I was quite close to the wife at that time, and I could certainly get in touch and put a proposition to her.”
Joan clapped her hands in delight. “Wonderful, Elsie. So now we’re all set. You see your friend in town, and I’ll go to Fletching to book the Reading Room.”
“And I’ll make a list of all the friends I used to have in Tresham who might like a trip out to Fletching and take in a jewellery party. What time shall we have it? I suggest half past six in the evening. It’s light until late now, so it couldn’t be better for us.”
“And what about that starter pack?” said Joan. “Do we sell it?”
Gran shook her head. “Send it back. If I set up a deal with the jewellers in Tresham, they won’t want us selling someone else’s stuff. And that business we agreed to, about having however many parties a month it was, will be null and void.”
“Elsie! You’re a wonder!”
Gran nodded, and said she’d better be getting back home before Lois came after her with the handcuffs.
TWENTY-EIGHT
“Are you going into market at Tresham today, Lois? Saturday market is always the best.”
Gran had been thinking. She would get a lift into town with Lois, and then go off on her own to find the jewellers.
“I thought I’d look up some people I
used to know up on the Mounts. That district has definitely come up in the world, and I should think they do well. They always send me a Christmas card, and it would be nice to see them again. I’ll get the bus home. I’ll enjoy that, and I’ve got my old people’s bus pass.”
“Itchy feet, Mum?” said Lois. She had thought long and hard about her row with Gran, and decided she would try to understand her a little better. Perhaps they did take her too much for granted.
“No, of course not. I don’t have to account for my every move, do I?”
“Let’s have no more of that,” said Derek, from behind his sports pages. “Little birds in their nests agree. Never a truer saying than that.”
“And what about the cuckoo’s eggs laid in other birds’ nests? The little cuckoo hatches and shoves the rest out to die on the ground!”
Derek rose to his feet, scratching his head. “I give up,” he said. “See you at lunchtime, me duck, and you’d better ring us, Gran, if you miss the bus home. There’s only the one.”
“Okay, then, Mum. Can you be ready in half an hour or so? I want to go over to Brigham to see Aurora later. See how she is. I might be able to help.”
* * *
The morning market was busy and lively as always. A busker with a pennywhistle was playing at one corner, and his girlfriend sang along every now and then. They were good, and Lois stopped to listen and put money in the straw boater upturned on the ground in front of them.
“My lucky day,” said a familiar voice behind her, and she turned to see Hunter Cowgill. “Hello, Mrs. Meade,” he said. “Shall we dance?”
“Have you been drinking, Cowgill?” said Lois irritably.
“Certainly not. I need no extra stimulant when there’s a chance I might see my favourite sleuth around the market. You usually come here on Saturdays. But where’s your mother? Mrs. Weedon gets a lift in most weeks, doesn’t she?”