Threats at Three (13 page)

Greatly cheered, he started the engine and drove back to his office. Never mind about old tramps in the canal, he thought. I’ll put my mind to fostering certain nuptials, and if it works I’ll retire with good grace.

 

 

PAULA HICKSON WAS BACK AT FARNDEN HALL, ON THE LAST stretch of mopping the large expanse of tiled floor at the entrance. She glanced nervously from time to time through the long windows and down the drive. She had seen the news, of course, and had been so shocked that it wasn’t until at least an hour later that common sense had returned, and she considered the likelihood of the drowned man being her missing husband. Tresham was a big town, almost a city, she told herself. There must be dozens of such poor souls tramping the streets. She had seen them herself, but mostly the cleaned-up ones who shivered on corners offering the
Big Issue
for sale. Although she had no money to spare and the newspaper was now more than a pound, she always slipped them fifty pence. There, but for the grace of God and Social Services, go I, she thought.

“Ready for coffee, Mrs. Hickson?” Mrs. Tollervey-Jones did not believe in familiarity with servants, and for two pins would leave out the “Mrs.” But her grandchildren had told her that this would be unforgivable.

Paula put her mop temporarily into the bucket and headed for the empty kitchen. There were never matey chats with this client! In any case, she had been told by Lois that her cleaners were allowed a ten minute break but were not to be seduced into a gossip. Unless, of course, the talk concerned a matter that Lois had in passing suggested might be of interest to her. . . .

It was quiet in the kitchen, and the old dog snoozed in her basket. Paula wondered if she should open the door into the yard. With the Aga ticking over all winter and summer, it was too hot now, with the sun streaming in through the windows. She finished her coffee quickly, and went down the corridor, through the swinging green baize door and returned to finish the last one or two tiles.

“All well?” said Mrs. Tollervey-Jones, standing at the top of the curving staircase. “I thought you looked a bit peaky last time. Must be difficult for you, coping without a husband and with those boys of yours.” Paula was surprised. The old woman had seemed remote, uninterested in her, but here she was, knowing all about Paula and with a sharp eye, missing nothing.

“I’m fine, thank you,” Paula said. “I do have a husband, by the way. He’s just not with us at the moment.”

“Upside down in the canal, possibly,” said Mrs. Tollervey-Jones bluntly, and swept down the stairs and into the drawing room, from whence came sounds of a piano being played with what Paula reckoned was a pretty nifty pair of hands.

Why did she say that? Surely she wouldn’t be so cruel deliberately? Paula wondered whether she could ask Mrs. M to transfer her to another client, but immediately rejected the thought. Difficult as it might prove to be, the hall was a magic place to work. Then, for the first time it occurred to Paula that if the dead body
was
Jack, then she need never look anxiously down the drive again. She stood stock-still, leaning on the mop, overcome with the desire to weep.

“Why don’t you pack up, now, Mrs. Hickson. Get along home.” Mrs. Tollervey-Jones had not meant her tactless remark to be taken to heart, and hearing muffled sounds, had returned and tried to make amends. She was careful not to look at Paula, but asked her if next time she came, would she like to have a try at flower arranging? “Heaps of them in the kitchen garden, just for picking,” she said. “Whenever I do them, they end up looking like a bunch of carrots.”

Paula finished everything she had been told to do, and asked if there was anything else. Reassured that her work had been excellently done, she went out to her car and chugged off down the drive. Her mobile rang and she stopped to answer it.

“Paula? Mrs. M here. Could you spare me a few minutes before you go home? Good. See you then.”

S
IT DOWN, PAULA,” LOIS SAID. “YOU ALL RIGHT?” Paula nodded. She wasn’t all right at all, but was desperate to keep in control in front of her new boss. “Yes, thanks,” she said. “I had a good morning at the hall. Mrs. Tollervey-Jones has asked me to do the flowers next time I go. Is it allowed?”

“Sure. If you can make a good job of them. Thank goodness she’s never asked me!”

“I went to classes several years ago. Before I was married.”

“Ah,” said Lois. “Now, that’s why I asked you to drop in. I expect you saw the news? About the man in the canal?”

Paula nodded. “It’s not him, o’ course. Not my Jack.” She felt her heart begin to race and couldn’t catch her breath. “You’ve not heard nothing?”

“No, not much more than you already know,” Lois said. “But if you could tell me about your Jack, I can probably do some checking.”

“What d’you want to know?”

“Everything,” Lois said. “Where you met, married, lived. But first, what does he look like? Tall, short, dark, fair, bald . . . ?” She was careful to put him in the present tense, to consider him alive rather than dead. Paula’s “my Jack” was a giveaway that she still felt something for him, surely.

“He’s a good-looking bloke, or was, before he went on the drink and began to neglect himself. Tall, big built, dark hair cut short. Or should be. It was his eyes that I first noticed. Not often you see such black eyes. Well, I know they can’t be really black, but they’re quite scary sometimes.”

“What was his work?”

“He was a gardener, worked for the borough in the parks an’ that. Loved it. But they started laying men off, last in first out, and he’d not been there long. We came from Bedford, where he’d had the same kind of job.”

“Why did you move to Tresham?”

“His old mum. She was very poorly, an’ he wanted to be near to help. Only child, was—is—Jack. She died soon after we’d moved here, so it was a bad decision as it turned out. He tried to get back to the Bedford job, but they’d filled his position, so we just stayed on in Tresham.”

“Bad luck,” said Lois. “Had he ever had any trouble at work? You know, quarrels with workmates, an’ so on?”

Paula shook her head. “He was popular. Good at making friends. He really liked the job after being there a good while. Then he was made redundant, and his friends tried to get him taken back but no luck. Then he began to change. You know the rest.”

“Last question, then we’ll have a coffee. Has he got any marks on him, you know, birthmarks or scars or moles? Sorry, Paula, but it’s important.”

Paula looked at her suspiciously. “Why d’you need to know that? Who are you goin’ to talk to?”

Lois sighed. “A friend in the police,” she said, and Paula’s face took on a stubborn look.

“Oh, no. Not the police, Mrs. M. I don’t want no truck with them.”

“You might have to,” Lois said. “You’d rather tell me than some young cop, wouldn’t you?”

Paula was silent for a few minutes, and Lois walked over to the window, deliberately looking away.

“He’s got an appendix scar.” Paula’s voice was very quiet. “Had it out when he was a kid. Scar’s still there, though.”

Lois turned around. “Thanks,” she said. “Come on, let’s go and find Gran. She’ll fill you in on the excitements of the WI tonight.”

 

 

“WE STILL SING ‘JERUSALEM,’” SAID GRAN, MAKING AN EFFORT. She was still convinced that Lois was making a big mistake employing this woman, but was not able to be rude to her face. “Not very well, o’ course. And the piano in the village hall is terrible. Sometimes only about half the notes work. Mostly we sing without.”

“I like singing,” Paula said.

“Yes, well, then we have the business of the meeting. That takes some time, with Mrs. T-J liking the sound of her own voice. Then we have a speaker or someone demonstrating cookery or needlework, or some such.”

“What is it tonight, Mum?” Lois said.

“We got a police dog handler coming. It was Sheila Stratford’s idea. Says they got good stories to tell, about dogs catching villains an’ holding on to ’em with their teeth. I reckon it sounds a bit bloodthirsty, but still . . .”

Paula gulped down hot coffee and said she really must be going. She had shopping to do, and then it would be time to fetch Frankie.

Lois saw her out, and then returned to the kitchen. “Well done, Mum,” she said. “That sent her packing.”

Gran sniffed and said, “I don’t know what you mean, Lois. But then,” she added, “I seldom do.”

 

 

KATE ADSTONE SHUT THE FRONT DOOR AND LOCKED IT, THEN maneuvered the pushchair down the narrow path and set out for the shop. Cecilia was fast asleep, and Kate, seeing that the shop door was wedged open, parked the pushchair outside and went in.

“Hi, Kate,” Josie said cheerfully.

“Is it all right to leave Cecilia out there? You hear such terrible stories of babies being stolen.”

“Bring her in if you’re worried,” Josie said. “I very much doubt if there’s any baby snatchers in Farnden this afternoon, but most mums bring the babies in.”

Kate returned to Cecilia and met Paula Hickson coming across to the shop.

“Can I give you a hand?” Paula said, and together they lifted the pushchair into safety.

“Just being silly,” Kate said apologetically.

“Better safe than sorry,” Paula said. “You first, Mrs. Adstone. You were here first.”

Kate looked at her closely. “Haven’t we met somewhere before?” she said. “Excuse me if I’m being cheeky, but I’m sure we’ve met.”

“Probably seen me around the village,” Paula said. “I’m working for New Brooms now.”

Kate frowned. “No, it wasn’t in the village. Did you work in Tresham at all?” She paused, then said quickly, “Ah, I’ve got it. Do you remember fishing a small child out of the lily pond in the park? I went to pull him out. You were talking to one of the gardeners and then you dashed to help me. Surely you remember?”

Paula smiled broadly. “Yep, I remember. It wasn’t that deep, was it? But the child and its mum had a nasty fright. ’Course I remember now. Nice to see you again, Mrs. Adstone. Sorry I didn’t recognize you. And this is your little girl?”

Kate nodded. “So you’re living in the village? Children?”

Paula said yes, four boys, and they chatted on.

Looking round the two mums, Josie saw a strange man get out of a car and stare up at the shop. She interrupted the conversation and said could she help anybody? Had Kate seen these new children’s biscuits? “No additives,” she said encouragingly. Early on in her shopkeeping career, she had discovered that nothing was more off-putting to new customers than having to fight their way through gossiping villagers.

He was a bulky, formally dressed man, and he marched straight up to the counter. “Do you have a local paper?” he said.

Josie handed him the
Tresham Advertiser
and put the money in the till. “Are you new around here?” she said with her best welcoming smile.

“No,” the man said. “Thank you,” he added, and walked out of the shop, got back into his car and drove off.

“Talkative chap,” said Kate, handing the biscuits to Josie. “Sounded foreign, didn’t he?”

“Dutch,” said Paula, and then asked if Josie had any more of those eggs from the farm up the road.

T
HE EVENING WAS COOL AS GRAN WALKED SLOWLY DOWN TO the village hall for the WI meeting, and she was glad of her woolly cardigan.

“Elsie! Wait for me!”

Gran turned around and saw her friend Joan Pickering, hurrying along to catch up with her. “Lovely evening, Joan,” she said with a smile. “Them stocks in your old garden are wonderful. Can you smell ’em?”

“I miss them,” Joan said. “Still, that new woman was out there earlier, weeding and watering. She seems a nice sort. The children were playing happily and the baby crawled about the lawn.”

“What about the biggest boy?” said Gran. “I bet he wasn’t playing happily, or even there at all.”