“Well, I wasn’t there watching.”
“Just as well. But I bet you saw it all published in the Mirror.” Ruby looked away. Sylvia returned to watching the pink woman. She had stopped playing the fruit machines entirely, and now looked so lost that Sylvia turned to Ruby again. “I think that woman’s chucked her last penny down the drain. But she hasn’t even walked out. Time she went home, but she hasn’t.”
“Probably forgotten where her home is.” Ruby wasn’t really interested. “Or now she’s broke and doesn’t dare face her husband.”
With a sudden scrape of chair legs over the floorboards, Sylvia stood and wandered down the three steps to the dismal floor of chance. The pink coated woman still trotting from one corner to another, her hands clasped before her, the handle of her small handbag clutched between her fingers. Sylvia walked over, stood at her side, and bent down to the small woman’s worried little face. “I don’t want to interrupt whatever you’re doing,” she said softly, “but I’m here with my friend, just having a drink. Would you care to join us?”
A puzzled fear overtook the small woman’s face. Sylvia waited. Eventually and with a quiver in her voice, the woman whispered, “I’m sorry. I can’t.”
“I’d love to buy you a drink, or a snack,” Sylvia persisted. “Would you allow that? We’re of about the same age, as I’m sure you can see. It would be lovely just to chat to a new friend.”
A slow smile oozed into the woman’s eyes. “Really? I should be – so very – happy. Yes. Yes please.”
With a gentle hand, Sylvia led her to the table where Ruby looked positively shocked and was muttering under her breath. “This is my lovely friend Ruby,” Sylvia said. “And I’m Sylvia. Can we know your name?”
Sitting, smiling wider and wider as though transfixed by joy and compliments, the woman said, “I’m Iris. Iris Little. Hello Sylvia and hello Ruby. How absolutely lovely to meet you. I don’t meet people very often, so I’m not very good at chatting, I’m afraid.”
Having now come closer, Sylvia could see that the pale pink coat was thin nylon, stained in several places, and both the hem and the lining were fraying and slightly torn. Although having come from a bitter winter’s sleet outside, the woman wore neither hat nor gloves, although she had a thin knitted scarf wrapped several times around her neck. A few less visible matters became immediately obvious. “It’s the perfect time for a snack, I think, and a good hot drink. I’m horribly hungry. I’ll call for the menu.”
Ruby gave a suspicious frown. “Menu? Food? Here?”
“Well, we could go somewhere else. There’s a small restaurant down the road. But it’s still raining so we’d have to hurry. Please come, Iris. It’s such a pleasure to make new friends.”
“Freezing and soaking, and far too early for dinner, far too late for lunch, and surely Harry will be looking for you?”
“We’ll get a taxi home from the café,” Sylvia agreed, and turned again to Iris. “Where do you live, my dear Iris? Will your husband be waiting?”
The woman seemed unable to answer, not yet having made up her mind regarding disclosure. Eventually she stared down at the table. “I don’t have a husband. He left me.” Pausing, then embarrassed by the short silence, Iris twisted her fingers together. Finally she admitted, “And I don’t have a house. The landlord took it away. It was my fault. I stopped paying the rent. I mean, it was all my fault. I accept that.”
“Where do you sleep?” Even Ruby was shocked.
“In the station,” Iris said, half whisper. “It’s covered and sheltered. I wait until all the trains have stopped.” Her voice sank lower. “I wait in the toilets until they lock up. Then I come into the waiting room. I sleep on the chairs.”
“Well, that makes it easy,” said Sylvia. “Forget that. Please come home with us and have dinner. There’s one empty room upstairs, and I’ll talk to Lavender about it. I’m sure we can arrange something. In the meantime, dinner is always excellent. Wine. Coffee. Central heating in some parts, and a roaring fire in others. How does that sound?”
She stuttered. “I don’t want to be –”
“You’re not a nuisance,” Sylvia insisted. “It was me who approached you. You didn’t ask for a thing. But I live in a very nice place, and there’s room for more.”
Ruby clicked her tongue. “Lavender won’t like it.”
“Lavender,” said Sylvia, “can lump it.”
46
“I pretend I have an address,” Iris said, huddled gratefully by the fire, a cup of coffee like a hot water bottle between her small wrinkled hands. “That makes me eligible, so I have a pension book. Every fortnight I get a little money. I can pay my rent.”
“They don’t charge rent here,” said Stella. “It’s a long story, but no need to explain. But with the pension, couldn’t you have rented something already?”
Iris had a small bundle of soft grey hair which appeared to sit as it wished, and ignore combs and hair brushes. She stared through whitening wisps. “I spend it all – in the machines.”
“Those disgusting fruit machines?” That was Ruby,
Iris nodded, blushing. “I’m so ashamed. But I can’t help it. I just have to try. One day I know I’ll win something big enough for a house and meals on wheels, and then a decent funeral. I don’t know anyone anymore so no one will come, but I won’t care. I shall sleep peacefully in my coffin.”
“Oh bloody hell,” said Ruby.
Harry had joined them an hour previously as dinner was served. “I’ve arranged everything with Lavender,” he said. “There’s a bedroom with ensuite, used to be where our maid Pam slept. Comfortable, I think, and only one flight of stairs. And breakfast gets served down here tomorrow morning around eight, the smell of fried bacon wakes us all. Breakfast and a good hot cup of tea, and that’s the best start to any day.”
Iris coloured. “My pension comes on every second Thursday, but that’s nearly a fortnight away. If I could just – ”
“I’ll show you up there,” said Stella, leaning over the back of the large flowered couch. “I know the room well. I was a friend of Pam’s.”
“She left?”
“Yes, in a way.” No one was willing to explain. Iris was too frail and vulnerable to talk of wanton murder. She trotted off behind Stella.
Ruby shook her head. “She’s addicted to gambling, that silly old thing. I bet she was thrown out of her home because she gambled her money away instead of paying rent. Yet now homeless, we met her back in the casino. And at that age too. I’ve no time for people like that.”
“I knew someone else with a gambling addiction a long time ago,” Sylvia said. “Though that was betting on the horses. It’s not as easy to break that habit as you might suppose. But it doesn't matter, my dear Bluebell. Bluebells and Irises have never mixed.”
It was later and in bed that Harry snuggled up, slipped both warm arms around Sylvia’s waist, and murmured into her ear, “Lavender was easier than I expected. But this woman can’t just stay here free forever without doing anything in return. And she’s surely too old to work. And every pension day she’ll disappear back to the casino.”
“We all need help sometimes,” Sylvia sniffed. “But I suppose we’ll have to cart her off for therapy or something else equally useless.”
“How cynical of you, my love.”
“But someone that age can’t sleep on the street.”
“Lavender said she can stay a week,” Harry added. “So we can think about it in the morning.”
The bakery and cake shop opened bright and early on a dull and overcast Monday. The winds had swept down from the hills, carrying ice in their hearts. With a huge navy cashmere scarf up to her nose, and the little navy cap drawn down, the only part of Sylvia visible was a pair of brightly attentive eyes.
The shop was well heated, and Sylvia relaxed. “I thought I’d buy some lovely fresh bread,” she said, “and a multitude of small cakes. Harry and I will have one each, and Ruby will probably eat three
. Then there’s Stella and Arnold, and perhaps Percival and Amy, and we have a new guest who needs feeding up. So three for Iris. Perhaps David. Maybe Arthur. Oh, others will crowd around so I might as well buy everything.”
Kate laughed. “Two hundred?”
“Fifty. And we can fight over them.” She fished for money, gloved fingers fumbling. “And how’s Maurice? And what about your brother-in-law? Has he gone back to Dubai yet?”
Kate seemed to consider as if deciding how much to divulge. “No, he’s still here,” she said finally. “But he might not like people knowing that. Likes to keep his business to himself. “
She wondered why Kate had bothered to tell her. “You must all come to dinner, and bring Mia. And whatshisname, if he’ll come.”
Wrapping several large blue boxes of mixed cakes, Kate smiled. “Mark wouldn’t ever come. But you’d know him if you saw him. He’s coming to visit Maurice on Wednesday. Fishing perhaps. They both like the cold weather. I suppose living in Dubai really puts you off the heat forever.”
“I expect everything’s air-conditioned.” Sylvia accepted the boxes piled into two large carrier bags. “But I wouldn’t mind a week in Dubai. Frankly, I’m sick of freezing.”
“I think it’s going to snow,” Kate decided
The snow floated in delicate white petals, never reaching the ground but dissolving into the wind before discovering the ice below. It was a short walk back to Rochester Manor, but Sylvia was already crested in soft white crystals, and a wet silver sheen coated the tip of her nose.
Having bustled indoors, she handed the boxes of cakes to Lavender and asked how Iris Little was doing.” Make sure she gets at least one of these cakes, Lavender dear. And do help yourself too. So where is she? Keeping warm, I hope.”
“Oh, well,” Lavender scrummaged in the large dresser for a platter huge enough for spreading fifty cakes. “Actually, Mrs Joyce, I’m afraid she’s left. She walked out an hour past.”
Since Lavender only called the residents by their surnames and titles when she knew they were about to complain, Sylvia guessed what would be said next. “She left an explanation of where she’s going? And why did she leave so abruptly, anyway? She should at least have stayed to thank me and say goodbye.”
“She said goodbye to Mr Joyce, and asked him to thank you on her behalf.” Lavender nodded vigorously, trying to look innocent.
“Did you throw her out? It was sweet of you to take her for one free night,” Sylvia said, “but I thought you said she could stay a week. But it’s up to you, my dear. Unless someone puts the old dear up in their own rooms, the decision is yours.”
She sat down. “The cakes look wonderful.”
“What an avoidance,” Sylvia sighed. “What did she do? Did you catch her stealing or something?”
Staring at Sylvia, Lavender eventually said, “She wet the bed.”
Sylvia smiled. “Don’t old people do that occasionally? She’d had a glass of wine and three cups of tea. Don’t we all pee ourselves when we cough?”
Looking a little ashamed of herself, Lavender said, “I knocked on her door, taking her a morning coffee, to tell her breakfast was available downstairs. She didn’t answer, so I was worried and opened the door. She was wearing that horrid old coat as a dressing gown, but she was naked underneath. Gosh, that was a dreadful sight. The wet sheet was in a pile on the floor, and the mattress smelled vile. I couldn’t help it, I just put the coffee on the table and said she should leave within the hour. She was gone in ten minutes.”
“Oh dear, no breakfast?”
Lavender shook her head. Sylvia didn’t argue. Harry was waiting for her at the breakfast table. “I presume you know?” he asked.
“About Iris? Yes, I do. Such a shame. Any idea where she went?”
“No.” Harry stood, ready to bring back scalding tea. “But we can search the station tonight.”
“The wretched woman will freeze to death.” Harry brought the tea, poured from the buffet bar into their own personal mugs. They both sipped the tea and breathed in the steam. “But you know the reason I went to see Kate, apart from spending a ridiculous fortune on cakes for mid-morning – and I now think you’re right.”
Harry was interested, leaning forwards over the table. “What did she say?”
“Big Brother Mark’s still here, but won’t be showing up here for a dinner invitation. Most importantly, this Wednesday, he’s going to her house to pick up Maurice and go off together. Now, why did she go into that sort of detail? I didn’t even ask.”
“And the vague but fascinating C-U.”
“Oh – more,” remembered Sylvia. “Telling us about his other house and even the original facts about his arrival.” Sylvia finished her tea, and smiled hopefully at Harry for a refill, pushing her empty mug across the table towards him. “And it’s just so obvious now. Kate is busy giving clues, even though she can’t risk telling us outright. Clearly, she doesn’t approve of Mark. Perhaps she thinks he’s a bad example for Maurice and Mia. Or perhaps she just doesn’t like him.”
Harry dutifully rose, two mugs ready for more tea. “Well, she knows full well that we’re friends with Morrison. Clearly we tell him everything.”
“Which is what we’re going to do this afternoon.”
“Well,” Harry smiled, “he’ll tell us, as usual, that chasing Mark Howard isn’t his responsibility. He’s after the Chimney Killer, and that’s that. But he’ll be secretly delighted and rush off to tell everything to the other lot who are after money launderers.”
Sylvia waited for Harry and the rest of breakfast. She wondered if Kate knew about the money laundering and disapproved, or whether she was simply naïve. No, she knew exactly what she was doing. The clues were clearly intentional. “Thanks, love.” Tea, piping hot, scrambled eggs and toast, and a small tub of garlicky mushrooms as an extra.
“Of course, we’ve never met the man. I like Maurice, but he often seems secretive. “
They shared the mushrooms. Sylvia said, mouth full, “Mark must be mixing with worldwide drug dealers, gun smugglers and top class crooks. That’s the basis for money laundering, isn’t it? So I dislike him without having to meet him. Yes, I’m more interested in finding Eve Daish, but this is important too.”
“Of course it is.” Harry ate everything and then buttered more toast. “In a way, this crime is worse. Eve’s one person. I hope she’s fine, but she might be dead. What this Mark Howard’s doing is encouraging some of the biggest criminals in the world. They could cause the death of thousands.”
“A man like that has to be ruthless. He won’t care about the end result, only his own profits.”
Sylvia finished her tea but couldn’t face the rest of the food. “He might have killed people too – in his line of work. Perhaps Kate knows and wants him caught. But she has to be careful. If Maurice finds out, he’d be angry. Twins must love each other however different their characters.”
“So we inform Morrison. But we don’t implicate anyone else. That’s all we can do.” The crunch of the toast made Sylvia shiver.
“Much obliged,” Morrison told them later that afternoon. “This is exceedingly helpful.” His delight seemed genuine. Wearing a thick grey ribbed jumper with the collar of a brilliant yellow shirt sticking out at the neck, over deep brown trousers and sturdy black boots, the senior detective looked as though he had dressed that morning exclusively from the rubbish pile. Yet above the mismatched clothes, his smile was infectious. “This is going to please the entire station.”
“Talking of stations,” said Sylvia abruptly, “I don’t suppose you ever have anything to do with down and outs? I mean, we met a really miserable old soul called Iris Little, who has a terrible gambling addiction, sleeps wherever she can, and in this weather too, and seems to survive without food. Her pension goes in the fruit machines.”
Surprised, Morrison paused, half a dozen papers still in his hands. “An abrupt change of subject, Sylvia,” he noted. “No, the name means nothin
g to me, and it’s certainly not my jurisdiction. If anything like that comes too close to ignore, I refer it to the Salvation Army, the local home for the elderly and mentally unstable, or the nearest psychiatrist.”
“We brought her home with us for a good feed and a warm bed,” said Sylvia. “But something upset her, and she disappeared. I’m worried. She was so sad and so lost.”
“Most kind.” Morrison narrowed his eyes. “There but for the grace of God go I?” But he smiled. “The old people’s home has a good reputation, but if someone insists on wandering off to the nearest gambling den, then they can’t forbid it. Nor will the casino agree to forbid entry. Counselling might help.”
“We thought of that.”
“Find her, and bring her to my place,” Morrison said. “Peggy will gladly feed her. She can sleep on the sofa. Then I can sort out a few other options.” They thanked him, and he smiled again. “You’re proving as helpful as last time,” he added. “The least I can do is pretend to be helpful in return.”
It was still snowing as Sylvia and Harry waited in the entrance for the police car which Darcey had arranged to take them home. It had begun to settle, a thin coat of white veneered the pavement. It floated so slowly, so tentative and so pretty that looking up into its pearlized birth seemed like watching a white tulle party.
The car tyres splashed through the first melt. “Well, at least life’s getting eccentrically busy,” Sylvia said, brushing the splashes from her long navy trench coat.
“Which reminds me,” said Harry, climbing into the back of the car, “I’d love to know what Lionel Sullivan’s up to now.”
47
It was a flash BMW and still managed to look clean and gleaming beneath the snowfall. She was glad when it stopped. A rich victim was just what she needed. The driver looked old and ugly, so easy game for bartering the usual in exchange for a good meal, a few quid, and perhaps even move into a posh house for a few days. Then she’d nick whatever she could, and get back to her mother’s B & B. In the meantime, she was just hoping for a lift to Oxford.
The Games People Play Box Set Page 42