by Ann Purser
Sitting at her desk, Lois looked at her diary. Tomorrow would be market day in Tresham, and usually she and Gran went together. It was a routine outing, and Gran loved it, trawling the market stalls for bargains and meeting old friends. Lois chewed the end of her pen. Could she take Gran into the pub? And then what would she do with her if Joe Horsley was there? Come to that, how could she introduce herself to a perfect stranger without sounding like a middle-aged whore?
She doodled on her pad, then realized she had drawn the face of a heavily made-up, raddled old woman. Exactly, she said to herself, screwing up the paper and throwing it in the bin. But wait a minute. If she and Gran decided on a snack lunch at the pub, a special treat, she could keep her ears open for mention of Joe Horsley—maybe at a game of darts, or standing his round. Lunch was more respectable than just a drink, and then she could do some serious eavesdropping, somehow concealing it from Gran. Yep, that was worth a try. If he wasn’t there, nothing would be lost.
The telephone rang. She picked it up, and heard the familiar voice of Cowgill. “Hello, Lois. How are you?”
“If you’ve nothing better to do than enquire after my health, then don’t waste my time,” she answered sharply.
“Only keeping up standards of politeness in the Force,” he said. “You sound fierce. Any reason why I’ve irritated you more than usual?”
“Yes. You have gone too far, Cowgill. You had already asked me to talk to Derek, see if he’d remembered anything extra. Then you go and approach him direct! If you don’t trust me, then we’d better end all this malarkey right now.”
“Slow down, Lois!” he said firmly. “I asked you to talk to Derek about the van crash. My suggestion that he might come in and tell us what he knows about stable thefts is another matter entirely. Fair’s fair, Lois. You must admit that.”
Lois said nothing for a few seconds, and then conceded that he was right. “But I’m working on the thefts, and at the moment it’d be best if you left Derek to me. By the way, have you got any useful info?”
“Nothing beyond speculation at the moment, Lois. But you’ll be first to know if we get something concrete.”
“Like a block of it through the police station window?” she answered. “I should know better than to ask.”
Cowgill chuckled. “I love you, Lois,” he said, but his voice was carefully light. “And have you anything to tell me?”
“Nothing beyond speculation at the moment,” she said, and ignored his declaration of love.
ELEVEN
DOT NIMMO, NEAT AND CLEAN AND SMELLING OF CHEAP scent, left her house by the front door, carefully locking up behind her. She walked past New Brooms with her head down, and turned into the next street. There she waited for a bus to take her into one of the wealthier areas of Tresham, where there were big old houses and tasteful new housing developments. Dot had been there before, but not for a long time.
The bus was full. It was market day, and many people went into town early to catch the bargains and fresh food, and were now on their way home. Women with bulky plastic shopping bags, and young mothers with pre-school children clogged up the aisle when Dot wanted to alight. “Make way!” she said sharply. “Some of us ’ave a livin’ to earn.”
A woman of her own age turned round, and said equally sharply, “Wait yer turn, missus. We’re all gettin’ off here.”
Dot glared at her, but noticed she had an old tapestry bag and work-worn hands. When they were both off the bus, Dot said, “D’you live round ’ere, then?”
“What if I do?”
“Just wondered. I’m lookin’ for work. Cleanin’ work.”
“That’s what I do,” the woman said, warming up slightly. “There’s plenty of work round here. More money than sense, some of these housewives. Still, it’s good fer the likes of us. Now,” she said, looking thoughtful, “I ’eard of somebody needing help. Yes, I got it. That road over there, there’s a new estate of luxury dwellings, as they call ’em. Number three, I think it was. Try there. Can’t remember the name. I’d do it meself, except my week is full up. Good luck, missus.”
Dot reflected that luck seemed to be with her already. The woman wasn’t such a bad old cow, after all. It had begun to rain, and she hurried down the road until she saw what must be the “luxury dwellings.” Number three was off the road, in a large crescent, with a series of big gardens leading to mock-everything houses. Tudor, Georgian, Queen Anne, all cheek by jowl, with coach lamps and statues of nymphs and expensive-looking cars in the driveways.
Dot pressed the bell. It was a while before the door opened slowly. “Yes?” said an elderly woman, leaning on a stick.
Dot stood firmly on the doorstep, and said, “I bin told you’re lookin’ for a cleaner. I’ve come about the job.”
The woman nervously half-closed the door. Dot said, without having planned to do so, “I work for that cleanin’ business in the town. They sent me. A friend of yours got in touch. I’m very respectable and ’ave lots of experience. Would you like me to come in for a minute?” She was quite pleased with this, and wondered if she should have mentioned New Brooms by name. But no, that was too easy to check up on.
With a doubtful look, the woman moved back painfully, and motioned Dot in. “Just for a minute, then,” she said.
Dot moved swiftly, and went ahead into the sitting room. “You just come and sit down, dear,” she said. “Then we can talk comfortably.” Her late husband had once told her she had the tongue of a serpent, and she had taken it as a compliment. “Not many say no to Dot,” he had been fond of saying. Except for that stuck-up Mrs. Meade, of course. Well, she would show her.
After ten minutes or so, Dot and the infirm woman were like old friends. Dot said she could start tomorrow.
“What’s yer name, dear?” Dot asked.
“Mrs. Parker-Knowle,” the smiling woman said. “Just like the chairs.”
Dot laughed heartily. “I do like a lady with a good sense of humour,” she said. They arranged days and times and rates of pay, and then Dot left. “Don’t get up, dear,” she called from the front door. “And don’t forget, ’ave a key ready for me when I come tomorrow. Oh, and I forgot to say, we get paid direct by the client. So if you need any help gettin’ money from the Post Office ’n that, just let me know.”
Then she was gone. As she walked back to the bus stop, she considered calling at other houses on the way. But perhaps it was best to start with one nice old lady, who would recommend Dot to her friends. And one of her friends might be the one Dot was looking for.
* * *
THE MARKET IN TRESHAM WAS A PRETTY SIGHT WHEN the sun was out, with blue and white striped awnings over the stalls flapping gently in the breeze. Lois and Gran went across to the flower stall, to buy chrysanthemums for Josie. “Yellow ones, don’t forget,” said Gran. Lois said nothing. They had been buying yellow chrysanths for Josie for years. “I need some new tea towels,” Gran added. “We’ll go to old Bill’s stall by the hamburgers. Are we going to have ours yet?”
“No, I thought we’d treat ourselves today,” Lois said. “I fancied a steak and kidney pie at the pub. How about you?”
Gran’s eyes brightened. “Good idea!” she said. “I might even have a half of Guinness.”
“Well, let’s get the towels first, then it’s pie and chips for two.”
They settled themselves at a table by the window and looked out on to the market square. “We should do this every week,” Gran said, beaming. “Now, are you having a Guinness with me?”
“Better not. I’m driving,” Lois said. “But you have one. Here, let’s look at the menu board, and I’ll order at the bar.”
They were happily shaking brown sauce on to their pies when a knot of farmers drinking at the bar turned round to look at the door. A big man with a ruddy face and thick grey hair came in and approached them. “Morning, Joe,” said two or three of the farmers, and Lois pricked up her ears. Joe was a common enough name, but still . . .
“How’
s Margaret?” another said, and Joe replied that she was very well, and just as talkative as ever. “That’s why I come in here,” he said, “to get a bit o’ peace!” They laughed, and the circle closed up, all talking at once.
So it was him, thought Lois. Derek had said his wife’s name was Margaret. She wished she could hear their conversation, but Gran was saying something about puddings. Were they having ice cream or tiramisu? Lois took the opportunity to go back to the bar to order ice creams, and positioned herself next to the men.
One of them turned and looked at her. “Morning, gel,” he said, winking at the others. “Excuse me asking, but ain’t you the one who’s won the lottery? Saw your picture in the paper.” He smiled invitingly.
“If you saw my bank account, you wouldn’t ask me that.” It wasn’t a lie. They hadn’t had a penny of their winnings yet.
“Oh, sorry, me duck. Mistook you for somebody else. Can I buy you a drink?”
Lois shook her head. “I’m driving,” she repeated. “But no offence taken. Are you lot regulars here?” she asked. “That’s my mum over there. She likes to come and shop the old way. Some of the stallholders know her well.”
“Yeah,” said the one called Joe, looking her up and down. “We’re a fixture in this pub on market days. You won’t know Derek Meade, then? He’s the one who won the lottery, and he came and did some electrics for me. I suppose he’ll not be doing that kind of work now?”
Lois shook her head, and began to walk back to her table. She could see Gran staring at her. She must have heard, but she said nothing. Lois had answers ready, but there were no questions.
When they had finished and paid for their meal, they headed for the door. Lois let Gran go first, and hung back for a second or two. “See you next week?” called Joe Horsley. “Is it a date?” Lois smiled faintly, and followed Gran into the market square.
Half an hour passed before they were in the car and heading back to Farnden. Then Gran said, “What are you up to, Lois?”
“What d’you mean?”
“In the pub. Flirting, at your age! I was ashamed of you. I hope it don’t get back to Derek. I shan’t say anything, but you know how bad news travels.”
“What on earth are you talking about?” Lois tried hard to sound annoyed. “Of course I wasn’t flirting. Just being polite. No harm in a friendly word, you know. And anyway, there were five of ’em. Safety in numbers.”
Gran snorted. “Well, don’t ask me to go there again if you intend to behave like that. We Weedons still have a good name in Tresham. We had enough trouble keeping it when you were young, and I don’t expect to go through all that again.”
Lois was firm. She told her mother she was being ridiculous. She would tell Derek herself. And, even if it was a white lie she had told about the lottery, Derek would agree with what she’d done. They didn’t want to talk about it with every nosey Tom, Dick and Harry. So that was an end to it.
Gran said no more. She bided her time.
TWELVE
“JUST A MOMENT, SIR,” SAID THE YOUNG POLICEMAN BEHIND the desk. “I’ll tell the chief you’re here.” He smiled. Blimey, thought Derek, there must be a new policy of being kind to visitors to the station. He sat down and glanced around at the two others looking anxiously at the reception desk. An elderly woman, respectable and neat, twisted her purse over and over in her veined hands. A young man—how young it was difficult to say—slumped in his chair, his face defiantly hidden by his grey hood.
If it hadn’t been for Lois, I wouldn’t be here, Derek thought. I could be getting on with my job, enjoying it and dreaming of what we could do with our windfall. Instead, I’m sitting here feeling like a criminal, even though I’ve done nowt wrong. Why couldn’t she be like other blokes’ wives? Housework, children, keeping herself lovely for me . . . ? In spite of himself and where he was, Derek laughed out loud. His Lois was special, and though he sometimes wished for a quiet life, he loved her just as she was. When they’d first met, she was trouble. Shoplifting, truanting, in with the worst gang in Tresham—and more fanciable than all the other girls put together.
“Mr. Meade? Will you come this way, please?”
“Morning, Derek,” said Cowgill pleasantly. “Have a seat. This shouldn’t take long.”
Their conversation was indeed brief and to the point. Derek described in detail all he could remember of the episode in Horsley’s yard. Cowgill wrote steadily on his pad.
“And so you told the farmer—Mr. Horsley—what you saw?”
“Yep, when he and his wife came home. I told him all what I’ve told you.”
“And what did he say?”
“Not a lot, really. I expect he was a bit shocked. I finished the job, and I left after that. Told Lois about it. The rest you know.”
“And what about Mrs. Horsley? How did she react?”
“Didn’t really notice.” Derek shrugged. “She was busy unloading shopping, I think.” He stood up. “That’s all then. I’ve told you all I can remember. I suppose I should have been quicker off the mark, but didn’t think much of it at the time.”
Cowgill got to his feet. “Just a minute, Derek,” he said. “Thank you very much for coming in and giving us your help. Invaluable. And please reassure Lois that you have been treated with courtesy and consideration. Good morning.”
Derek left the station and walked across the car park. So that was all right, then. Credit where credit’s due, old Cowgill had stuck to the point, except for his message to Lois. Derek grinned. His Lois could put the fear of God into most people.
He was just about to get into the van when a loud “Good morning, Derek!” stopped him. He looked around and saw to his dismay the upright figure of Colonel Battersby. The last person he wanted to see right now. And what gave him the right to call him Derek? Maybe he should try calling him Horace.
“Morning, Horace,” Derek said.
The Colonel swallowed hard. “What luck meeting you,” he said bravely. “Is there a chance we could go and have a coffee and a short chat? I’ve just been to the police station, and as far as I can gather from a senior officer, they’ve got nowhere with the wretched stable thefts.”
Derek hesitated. He could do with a coffee, and he supposed the stiff-necked idiot wouldn’t rest until he’d heard Derek’s story. “All right,” he said. “I can’t be too long. Let’s go to that coffee shop in the market square. The service is quick there.” He looked at his watch, and was surprised to see it was nearly lunchtime. A beer would be more acceptable, but he supposed the Colonel wouldn’t stoop to drinking with an electrician.
“Yes, dear,” said the waitress when they went in, “what can I get you?”
“Two coffees,” said the Colonel, and before she could reply, he added, “and none of those frothy things. Just two cups—and I mean cups with saucers—of good coffee. And hot milk.”
“I’d like a latte, please, me duck,” Derek said. “And a biscotti, please.” He smiled sweetly at her.
“So that’s two cups of coffee and one latte?” she said tentatively.
“Of course not!” said the irritated Colonel. “One proper cup for me, and whatever it was that, um, Derek ordered. And we haven’t much time.”
“Mistake there, Horace,” said Derek. “Never say you’re in a hurry. They put you to the bottom of the list.”
“Not in my club,” said Colonel Battersby pompously. “Respect is the byword there. Bit of a shock to come to places like this.”
Derek laughed. “You’ll get over it,” he said. “Now, what do you want to know?”
“Exactly what happened when you witnessed a stable theft at Horsley’s farm? Your wife did not—or would not—give me any details, but the more I know about all these stable thefts, the better chance I stand of catching the culprits.”
“I can tell you very little,” Derek said firmly. “First sight I got was through the frosted bathroom window. The sort with wobbly glass. Just vague shapes, so I didn’t take much notice. Then I thought
maybe I should take a look, but the vehicle was halfway down the track, trailing exhaust fumes, by the time I got down into the yard.”
“Did you tell the police all this?” the Colonel said in a court-martial voice.
“O’ course. What d’you think I was doin’ at the station? I’m not a regular there, y’know.”
The Colonel said nothing, and Derek considered what his inquisitor had said. Something not quite right there, he thought, trying to remember the Colonel’s exact words. Oh, yes, that was it. He’d referred to Horsley’s farm. Lois wouldn’t have told him which farm it was, and he certainly hadn’t mentioned the name. So how did the Colonel know?
A young girl with nothing much covering her midriff appeared with their coffee, and Derek forgot all about farms and saddles. “Thanks a lot, ducky,” he said with a fatherly smile, and the Colonel looked suspiciously at Derek’s foaming mug.
“Is that any good?” he said.
“Want a try?” Derek held out a spoonful of creamy coffee, and to his surprise Horace took it. “Mmm, not bad at all,” he grunted, and licked the spoon.
* * *
IN A QUIETER, MORE DIGNIFIED PART OF TRESHAM, DOT Nimmo was changing from slippers into shoes, and taking off her wraparound overall. “There we are then, dear,” she said to Mrs. Parker-Knowle. “All tickety-boo. I must say your last char was taking you for a bit of a ride. Lots of dirty corners! My old mum used to say if you take care of the corners, the middles’ll take care of themselves. And she was right. Still, I think you’ll find I take care of all of it.”
Alice Parker-Knowle smiled. Even if it wasn’t true, she was cheered up already by this perky woman from Sebastopol Street. She reached for an envelope tucked behind her radio. “This is for you,” she said. “You’ll find it is correct.”
Dot hesitated. Every brain cell told her to check it, but she was about to take a risk. For the sake of establishing trust, she put the unopened envelope in her pocket. “Well, I must get the bus. See you soon, dear.”