by Ann Purser
“She’s quite safe with us. Come back as soon as you like. We shall be taking very good care of her,” the doctor said.
Cowgill and Derek went down the stairs side by side, and found their way through the tortuous corridors of the hospital to A & E. “There he is,” said Cowgill, “and that’s his Mum.”
Darren’s scratched face brightened when he saw Derek. “Good afternoon, Mr. Meade,” he said, with his well-learned politeness.
Derek sat down beside him. “Hallo, lad,” he said. “I can see you’ve been in a fight!”
“No! Not fight,” said Darren, looking anxious. Then he saw the joke, and laughed. “White van tipped over,” he said. “Mrs. Meade asleep. Fire in the van. Darren got out. White van no good now. Mrs. Meade awake?”
“Yes,” Derek said gently, and wondered how he would have coped if he’d had to tell Darren that Mrs. Meade would not wake up ever again. “Thanks to you, Darren,” he added. “You saved her life.”
Darren smiled tentatively, not sure what this meant, nor whether it was a good thing.
Derek tried again. “The fire would have taken Mrs. Meade away from us. But you got her out of that van, and now we still have her. Thank you very much.”
Now Darren understood. “Fire nearly killed her,” he said, and nodded.
Cowgill, who had been standing behind Derek, came forward and said, “I’m afraid it means more questions, Mrs. Smith, but we’ll see when the doctor thinks Darren will be ready to talk to us.”
A nurse came for Darren, and Derek made his way back upstairs. Cowgill walked out of the hospital and saw his driver waiting patiently. He got into the car and said nothing. After five minutes or so, as they headed for the police station, Cowgill said, “Sorry I was out of order. You’ll be glad to know Mrs. Meade is going to be all right, the doctor is pretty sure.” Then he added with a deep sigh, “God, what a day!”
THIRTY-EIGHT
NEXT MORNING, FLOWERS ARRIVED AT THE MEADES’ house, and Gran pulled herself together sufficiently to put them all in water. Derek had said there was no point in her going in to see Lois, as she would be home the next day. Also, he said, the doctor had prescribed bed rest for two days, and she must be kept quiet.
“I am her mother,” Gran had said, but seeing the state Derek was in, she agreed to wait until Lois came home. Meanwhile, she cleaned the house from top to bottom, until it smelt strongly of polish and disinfectant, as if Lois would be so fragile that all her immunity to marauding bacteria would have been destroyed. Anyway, it gave her something to do.
Hazel in New Brooms’ office had been told, and she had instantly become super-efficient, informing all the others and taking on the running of the business. “Just give me a bell if you need anything,” she had said. “We must do everything we can to set Mrs. M’s mind at rest.”
Josie had set off for the hospital the moment she was told, without consulting Derek, and sat with her mother, holding her hand and saying nothing. There was no need. Lois drifted in and out of sleep, and when she saw Josie there, she smiled. When a nurse suggested it was time for Lois to be examined again, Josie left, blowing tearful kisses as she went.
The first the village knew of the accident was when Josie put up a notice on the shop door, saying “Closed due to family crisis.” This sent the Farnden network of gossips into a frenzy, and one hour later they all knew the details of the smash, of the van being destroyed, of Lois hanging between life and death. This last detail had become magnified as it was passed from mouth to mouth.
After a troubled night’s sleep, Josie had telephoned the police station and asked to speak to Matthew Vickers. “What is it in connection with, please?” said the receptionist.
“Just put me through,” Josie said fiercely, and Rob, standing by her side, reflected that she was definitely her mother’s daughter.
“Good morning, can I help?” Matthew’s voice was warm and friendly. Rob could hear every word he said. Josie breathed deeply, and felt reassured. She explained what had happened, and said she would like to be sure that the police were pulling out all the stops to catch the villains.
“So sorry about all this, Josie,” he said, in an even warmer voice. “We shall be on to them very soon. All of us, especially the Chief Inspector, will work hard to find the people involved. Don’t worry,” he added. “I’ll pop in and see you later. I enquired about your mother, and, as you will know, it seems she is making good progress. Chin up, me duck, as they say around here . . . Bye, Josie.”
“Why did you ask to speak to him and not Cowgill?” Rob asked suspiciously.
“Because Cowgill gives nothing away. Ever,” she said firmly. “Matthew has called in at the shop once or twice, and seems very approachable.”
Rob said nothing, but thought a lot. First-name terms, and calling in at the shop once or twice. Or three or four times? He put his arm round Josie, claiming her. “Let’s go and open the shop, shall we?” he said. “Best to keep busy.” He hugged her close, and his eyes were watchful.
* * *
EVELYN NIMMO HAD HEARD THE NEWS FROM HAZEL, and, after saying all the right things, had rung off and sat quite still, thinking. She was due to go for the first time to the Horsleys, and Mrs. M had intended to meet her there to introduce her. Hazel had said would she be willing to go on her own. If not, she would shut up shop for an hour and be with her.
“Good gracious, no!” Evelyn had answered. “I shall be perfectly fine. You can’t be married to a Nimmo for thirty years without being ready for anything! P’raps you could ring and explain to them. It’ll make no difference to me. Give Mrs. M my best, won’t you.”
Later, when Evelyn drove into Horsleys’ farmyard, she saw that the kitchen door was open and a woman stood there. “Mrs. Nimmo?” Margaret smiled and came forward. “I had a call from your office. So sorry to hear about Mrs. Meade. Sounds as if she is lucky to be alive.”
Joe Horsley appeared behind Margaret. “Morning,” he said gruffly. “Is she expected to live?”
Evelyn flinched at the blunt question, but said, “Oh, yes, she’s tough, is the boss. Now,” she added, turning to Margaret, “do you mind showing me what you want me to do? Where to start, and all that? Thanks very much.”
Joe disappeared behind a barn, and Margaret led the way into the kitchen. Evelyn looked around at the pine units and greeny-grey slate surfaces, gadgets galore, and a ginger cat sitting on the sunny windowsill, looking out of the window. A place for everything, and everything in its place, thought Evelyn.
“Oh, I love cats,” she said, and put out a hand to stroke it. Margaret laughed. “Not very fluffy, is he?” she said, and Evelyn realized it was a perfect pottery cat, with expressionless green glass eyes. Where were the real farm cats? Outside, no doubt, in their proper place. They moved into a luxuriously furnished room, with cream leather chairs and heavy drapes drawn back with silk rope ties. “This is the drawing room,” Margaret said.
“It’s lovely.” Evelyn was impressed. “It’ll be a pleasure to work in here,” she said, silently wondering if muddy Joe would ever be allowed to sit down.
The rest of the house gave the same impression of money lavishly spent. As far as Evelyn could see, there was no dirt, no dust, the furniture shone and the silver sparkled. Never mind, she could stretch out the time along with the best. She set to work.
By lunchtime, the Horsley house was even more immaculate than before. Margaret thanked Evelyn profusely, and said she would look forward to seeing her next week.
“By the way,” she said, “how is your sister? Has she regained consciousness yet?”
Evelyn shook her head. “No, she’s much the same. We are all very worried about her. Strange, isn’t it,” she added, “that Dot and Mrs. M were both in car accidents? Makes you wonder if it was more than a coincidence.” She had no idea why she said this, except that the thought had just come into her head.
“There’s car accidents every day, thousands of them,” Margaret said. “Just an unlucky c
oincidence, I’m sure.”
“What is?” said Joe, coming into the kitchen and leaving black footprints all over the tiles Evelyn had just cleaned.
“Never mind, dear. Not important,” said Margaret. “Now please go outside and take off those muddy boots! Poor Evelyn has just got the tiles looking like new.”
“Bugger that,” said Joe, not moving. “I asked you what is an unlucky coincidence.”
Evelyn was beginning to wish she had not said it. Joe looked furious, and Margaret backed away from him. Better put it right as soon as possible.
“It was me, Mr. Horsley,” she said. “I just said it was strange that both my sister and my boss were involved in car accidents. Nothing more than that. I am sure it’s nothing sinister,” she added, attempting to make light of it.
“Sinister! Of course it’s not bloody sinister! Typical Nimmo . . . Quite a reputation, you lot.” He turned on his heel, and slipped on the still wet floor, going down with a crash. “Get her out of here!” he yelled at Margaret. “Look what you’ve done now!”
Evelyn left, angry and determined never to darken the Horsley door again. But Margaret followed her out to her car, and said, “Please don’t be cross. He doesn’t mean it. He knows he’s in the wrong, and that’s when he loses his temper. I am sure he’ll apologize when you come next week. You will come, won’t you?”
Evelyn glared at her. How did Dot put up with these people? She sighed. This was her first job with New Brooms, and Mrs. M might think she’d messed it up. “Oh, all right, then,” she said. “But better keep him out of my way.”
She drove off, and saw Margaret standing disconsolately, watching her go.
* * *
“IT WAS THE SISTER, BLOODY WOMAN,” JOE WAS SAYING into the telephone. He rubbed his backside and Margaret laughed.
“Plenty to cushion the fall,” she said, and began making sandwiches for lunch. “Who was that?” she asked when Joe had hung up.
“Mind your own business,” he said, still in a foul mood.
“Horace Battersby, I suppose. What are the pair of you cooking up now?”
Joe ignored her. “Don’t fix up anything for tomorrow,” he said. “I’m going to Beecham Cross point-to-point. And no, you can’t come. Find yourself a chum to go shopping—spending my money is your favourite therapy.”
“You’re welcome to a field full of chinless wonders, tramping up and down in ankle-deep mud. And as for money, you’d better watch it. The Colonel was always a serious gambler. But still, you know that, don’t you? And as for your encouraging conversation with Evelyn Nimmo, you really put your great big foot in it. Who was it that wanted Dot Nimmo to come in the first place? And who was it agreed that Evelyn would be just as useful?”
He glared at her, but said nothing. She continued, “Never again, Evelyn said, but thanks to me and some tactful buttering-up, she’s agreed to forget it.” That wasn’t quite true, but his face brightened.
“Thanks,” he said grudgingly, and stamped out into the yard, where it had begun to rain heavily.
THIRTY-NINE
EARLY NEXT MORNING, EVELYN RECEIVED A CALL. SHE couldn’t believe her ears.
“Evelyn? How did you get on at the Horsleys?” It was Mrs. M’s voice, clear as a bell.
It couldn’t be. It must be her daughter, Josie.
“Who is that, please?” she said.
“Who d’you think it is?” the voice said sharply, and Evelyn knew for sure that it was Mrs. M.
“Where are you, Mrs. M, and shouldn’t you be resting?”
“Never mind about resting. Answer me quickly, before that bossy nurse comes round and tucks me up again. Were they all right with you?”
Evelyn hesitated, then said, “She was. Very nice. Almost creepy. But he was foul, rude and unpleasant. I nearly said I’d not be back, not for all the tea in China. But then I thought of you, and agreed to go next week if he apologizes. He was going to the point-to-point at Beecham Cross, so let’s hope he won some money to cheer him up.”
“Tomorrow? Oh, today. Bugger it. I should be going. Still, I hope to be let out today. You did right, Evelyn, thanks. Uh oh! Here she comes. See you later.”
Evelyn hung up, and sat down, feeling quite shocked. She was sure Mrs. M shouldn’t be back in business so soon. Perhaps she should ring Mr. Meade? Or Mrs. Weedon? No, probably not. If Mrs. M was coming home today, they would make her take care.
* * *
LOIS SAT ON THE EDGE OF HER BED, SIPPING A CUP OF weak tea, and thinking. She remembered nothing about the accident, but was assured that her memory of that would return. But she did recall that she had been intending to get Derek to take her to Beecham Cross. It was coming back to her, something that Mrs. Smith had said about the Battersbys taking Darren to a point-to-point a couple of times.
So what was their ulterior motive? Horace always had an ulterior motive. One of the last things she remembered before the accident was her intention to ask Darren if he liked point-to-point racing, and to suggest that he might like to go to one with her and Derek. She looked at her watch. After the doctor’s round, she would ring Derek to fetch her at once. They might just have time, but even she realized they could not, under the circumstances, take Darren. No, she would talk to Derek right now.
“What!” he said. “Are you mad?”
She spent the next five minutes persuading him, and then the doctor came into the ward, and she said she’d ring him back as soon as possible.
“We are very pleased with your progress, Mrs. Meade,” the doctor said kindly. “You will be able to go home this morning, if your husband can fetch you? I expect you’re anxious to get back and see what kind of a mess he’s made of the house!”
Lois shook her head and tried to smile. “No, my mother lives with us, and she keeps everything tickety-boo. They’ll have the red carpet out!”
The doctor nodded. “Jolly good,” he said. “And just take it easy for a week or two. Sometimes problems arise, small ones, and you have to be sensible.”
“Oh, I’ll be sensible,” said Lois. “And thanks very much for all you and the nurses have done for me.” She stood up, and began to collect her things together.
“Hey, slow down!” said the bossy nurse, and the doctor laughed.
“She’s right, you know. Just watch it, Mrs. Meade!”
* * *
DEREK WAS IN THE WARD ABOUT AN HOUR LATER. “What kept you?” Lois asked.
“You’ll see,” Derek said, and took her bag from her. “Take my arm, and we’ll walk slowly. And just do what you’re told,” he added as she set off at a good pace. “Do you need to thank anybody?”
“All done,” said Lois. “And what do you mean by saying I’ll see why you took so long?”
“You’ll see,” he repeated firmly.
When they emerged from the hospital and began to walk to the car park, Lois felt as if her legs had turned to jelly. “Can we stop for a minute?” she said. Derek looked anxiously at her, then he shouldered her bag and picked her up as if she was a sickly child.
“Blimey!” said Lois, snuffling into his ear. “Talk about a knight in shining armour!”
He got her safely to the van, a temporary replacement since the crash, and set her down. First he opened the rear doors, and she said she hoped he didn’t think she was travelling in the back, however comfy he had made it.
“Come and look,” he said, pointing. She peered in, and saw it. A wheelchair!
“Where the hell did you get that?”
“Borrowed it from Ivy Beasley,” he said. “She still had it from when she broke her leg. She sent you a couple of caustic messages I won’t repeat. Anyway, I’m not taking you to Beecham Cross unless you go in that.”
“What, all the way? I’ll not make the last race.”
“Ha ha. No, I’ll push you around, and you can do whatever it is that makes it so important to disobey everything that’s been said.”
“I do love you, Derek,” Lois said. “In spite of what mig
ht seem to the contrary.”
He laughed, and helped her into the passenger seat. “Gran put some stuff together for a picnic, so we can go straight there,” he said. “I might say she nearly went on strike at the thought, but I said that you’d probably get there somehow, so it might as well be with me. So relax, me duck, and enjoy the show.”
* * *
THE SUN HAD COME OUT FROM BEHIND DARK CLOUDS, and Lois took several deep breaths. She had been told she was lucky to be alive, and looked with new eyes at the green and pleasant landscape as they drove along at a circumspect speed. If only she could remember what happened. But she had been told not to worry about it. She settled back in the seat, and tried to recall the last time she had been to a point-to-point. That was easy. Her father had taken her, when she was about fifteen. She had been reluctant to go, but he’d said it would be fun. She’d be surprised. And there’d be plenty of young farmers about, whooping it up.
Dad had been right. It had been fun, and the horses and hounds had been wonderful, exciting, dangerous creatures. They didn’t see many horses on the Churchill Estate in Tresham. Plenty of dogs there, but not all matching, and some that were quite difficult to love. They were not ones that obeyed a man on a horse.
Beecham Cross was in the heart of Buckinghamshire, and enclosed in a great curving stretch of wooded hills. In the other direction, the fertile Aylesbury Vale stretched out to the horizon, quintessentially English, with its small fields and hedges, dignified beech trees and farms nestling among modern farm buildings. The Meades could see rows of parked cars in a field on the right, and the race course with a clutch of marquees and other cars on the left. Through Derek’s open window they could hear the public address system making blurred announcements, impossible to understand as always.
They were there in good time, and looked at the parking charges. “Twenty pounds to be near the course, twelve pounds for the field,” read Derek out loud. He turned into the left gateway.
“Hey, that’s the wrong turning,” Lois said. “Twelve pounds is over there.”