Weeping on Wednesday lm-3 Page 7

  “Well, I dunno, I suppose it’d be all right.” Lois hadn’t the energy to argue this morning, and she did want to see him urgently.

  “Right, then. Twelve o’clock suit you?”

  “Sooner,” said Lois. “When I get back, the old lady likes to chat, so make it ten, and I’ll be there.”

  ♦

  Cowgill was waiting for her. She peered into the dusty window of the barn, and he immediately opened the door. She slipped inside, dragging the dog, whose every instinct told him not to enter an unknown, dark interior. Cowgill locked the door behind her.

  “For goodness sake!” Lois felt irritation rising. This cloak and dagger stuff could not possibly be necessary. Sometimes she thought Cowgill enjoyed it, playing the great detective.

  “Security,” he said now, “in your interest, Lois. Trust me.”

  “Just as well I do,” she replied tartly. “Shut up in a mouldy old barn with a strange man, with only this flea-bitten old dog for protection.”

  Cowgill smiled his chilly smile, and said mildly, “Hardly a strange man, Lois.”

  “Well, anyway, get on with it,” she said. “What’s new with the Abrahams?”

  “It’s the brother. We need to find him. Something’s come up…One of his creditors over the other side of Tresham has taken his own life. Wife says he was very depressed about money, and desperately needed what Abraham owed him. Seems our Edward turned up last week and threatened him to keep quiet, or else. She has no idea where he came from, or where he’s holed up. But it’s very serious now, Lois, and we need to find him.”

  “Oh, my God,” said Lois. “Poor Enid. I suppose you’ll be searching the mill?”

  “We did that last week,” said Cowgill. “We found nothing, except Enid, her father, and a reclusive old mother who shouted at us to clear out. Nothing in the barns or anywhere else.”

  Time to tell him about last night, thought Lois, and gave him as lucid account as she could manage whilst the dog tried desperately to escape.

  “Are you sure it was a body?” said Cowgill. He was all attention, willing her to remember. “Not a hundred per cent,” said Lois, shaking her head. “It was so dark, and there were shadows and noises everywhere. But I could swear that I saw a face. So yes, I suppose I am sure. And it certainly wasn’t there when old Abraham and I went back, and Bill couldn’t see it either. Mind you, the rate the water was flowing, it could easily have been swept on downstream.”

  Cowgill asked her a few more questions, and then Lois said she was leaving. “Got to get this dog back,” she said. “Old Polly will worry. Let me know if you find anything.”

  Cowgill nodded and put out his hand to touch her shoulder. “Thanks, Lois,” he said. “Take care. I shan’t be happy until we’ve got that Abraham. Nastier customer than I thought.”

  Huh, thought Lois, as she trudged back up the playing field, the dog pulling at the lead and straining her arm, much he cares about my safety. And then she knew she was being unfair. He had a job to do, and because she had always refused payment, saying she was no snout, she was perfectly free to get out of her involvement any time she liked.

  “So on we go,” she said to the dog. “You’ll get your biscuit, and I’ll get a rocket from your mistress.”

  ♦

  There was a message waiting for Lois when she returned home. Enid Abraham had left her glasses at Farnden Manor, where she had been cleaning this morning. Should they drop them in to Lois in the village? It would be no trouble, and they didn’t like to think of Enid having problems without them. She was such a good soul, such a reliable help. They had found them in an upstairs bedroom, on the windowsill, and were quite sure they were Enid’s.

  Farnden Manor was a ancient house, and historic for two reasons. One was its age. It had been built halfway up a hill outside Long Farnden, overlooking the village, in a peaceful, bosky position, and had stood there for four hundred years, until twentieth-century demands had caused a motorway to be built uncomfortably close. The other was that its owner, a man of extraordinary imagination and engineering skill, had some years ago arranged for the house to be moved, in its entirety, uphill, with a better view of the village. This had been an epic feat, and for a while had achieved international status in the media. All this was now largely forgotten, and Long Farnden had spread itself to meet the manor, with its new community hall, the playing fields and discreet housing delopment.

  Lois said if the client was coming in to the village anyway, that would be very kind, and put down the phone. She quickly settled in to a morning round of telephone calls and adjustment of schedules. Sheila Stratford was off sick – only a nasty cough, she said – and Lois was juggling with Sheila’s jobs, giving Hazel extra hours and doing some herself.

  Light snow was falling outside the window, reminding Lois that it would be Christmas in a couple of weeks. She’d left much of the shopping to Gran this year, but planned this afternoon to go into Tresham to buy Derek a present, and clinch the decision on what to get for Josie. She had given them a list of unsuitable clothes, and Douglas’s consisted entirely of obscene rap discs. “Don’t see any harm in them meself,” said Derek, when Lois exploded. “The lad’s goin’ to listen to his friends’ if he don’t have his own, so we might as well give him what he wants. At least it’s not a piano!” he added darkly. He had not taken Jamie’s request at all well. No son of his was goin’ to have piano lessons…bloody Fairy Snowflakes and Off We Go To Bloody Market…He couldn’t stand it!

  Derek seldom swore, and Lois could see it was going to be a battle. Still, this was only round one, and Derek was such a softie at heart that he almost always gave way in the end. “Best thing,” said Lois, when he had calmed down, “is to see how much they want for the piano, and then think again. Enid’s offer to teach him for nothing is quite a bonus, Derek,” she added, but he said nothing and slammed out of the kitchen.

  When Enid called in at lunchtime for her glasses, Lois asked her about the piano. “Did you have a chance to mention it? I forgot when I talked to them.”

  Enid nodded. “They said if you could arrange to move it, you could have it for nothing.” She smiled proudly. “It’s a good piano, Mrs Meade,” she said, “better than mine.”

  “Right,” said Lois, “then you can tell them I’ll be in touch. Derek and his mates can handle the move. Just got to get the OK from him, and then we’re in business.”

  “Oh, I don’t want anything!” said Enid, looking alarmed.

  “No, no,” said Lois, wondering where Enid had been for the last thirty years. “Just a thing people say.” Then she remembered the Abrahams had no television and weren’t allowed to listen to the radio. That would account for Enid’s old-fashioned – though some would say correct – mode of speech. “Anyway, Enid, I’ll let you know what happens.” She handed her the glasses, and said, “Didn’t know you needed these? I’ve never seen you wearing them.”

  “Only for distance,” said Enid. “Considering my age,” she added modestly, “my sight’s pretty good. I can even do my lace work without specs. No, I only need them occasionally, thank goodness. Funny really, Edward’s the same. Just needs glasses for distance…”

  Her voice tailed away, and Lois said, “Probably because you’re twins.”

  Enid’s reaction was sharp. “Of .course we’re not twins. Wherever did you get that idea from, Mrs Meade?”

  Lois shrugged. Bridie must have been mistaken. “Sorry,” she said. “Mixing you up with somebody else. And by the way,” she added, “I’d be very happy for you to call me Lois.”

  Enid shook her head. “Thank you, but no,” she said. “I was brought up to respect my superiors.”

  Blimey, thought Lois. Am I superior? Must tell Derek.

  “But if you don’t mind,” Enid continued, “I’d like to call you Mrs M, like the others do. Would that be all right?” She tucked her glasses into her handbag, and turned to leave. “Oh, yes,” she said, “I nearly forgot. The police were round at the mill this
morning. Something about a mysterious object floating in the stream? I just wanted to reassure you, Mrs M. Father was out there at the crack of dawn this morning, checking again and making sure nothing was there. A trick of the shadows, I expect. Cathanger Mill is full of shadows…”

  She left then, closing the door quietly behind her as usual. Lois watched as Enid slipped neatly into her car and drove off. From her office, Lois could hardly hear the sound of engine noise, and marvelled at Enid’s ability to cope. Something strong about Enid. A survivor, maybe. Funny about the twin thing, though. She would check with Bridie.

  ∨ Weeping on Wednesday ∧

  Fourteen

  Three days of snow did not hold up the post in Long Farnden. The post lady was small, plump and easy with her favours, so the gossips had it. Snow was nothing to her. She was reputed to pedal at speed round the village, delivering the post before breakfast with tireless efficiency, and would end up at the house of whoever took her fancy that week. Lois didn’t care. As long as the post came in good time, the postie could do exactly as she liked.

  “What about me being her last port of call, then?” Derek had said with a smile. He didn’t see why Lois should automatically leave him off the list. Mind you, with Lois’s office being in a front room of the house, and Gran always around, there wasn’t much chance of a spot of the other with Miss Postie.

  It was a surprise to Derek, then, when he called back to the house to pick up a forgotten tool box mid-morning, and saw a white envelope lying on the door mat. Gran was busy in the kitchen and called out, asking if Derek wanted coffee. He bent to pick up the letter. It was addressed to him, in capital letters, and had no stamp. That explained it. It must have been delivered by hand. He did not recognize the handwriting, which was old-fashioned and distinctive. The hall clock struck ten twanging notes, and Derek shoved the letter in his pocket. He was late now, and the client was already complaining about delay. He would read it later. “Got no time, thanks, Gran!” he shouted, and was gone.

  He was working over in Waltonby, and decided to get a quick bite for lunch in the pub, rather than go home again. He sat down with a half of bitter and a ploughman’s, and began to read the paper. The pub was not crowded, and the only other customers were strangers to Derek. Halfway through a story about a postal strike, he remembered the letter. Quickly slitting it open with a cheesy knife, he pulled out a single sheet of paper. The writing, as on the envelope, was in even capitals, and the message was short:

  YOU WANT TO WATCH YOUR WIFE WITH THAT COP. I SEEN THEM, DIRTY SODS. A WELL-WISHER.

  Derek stared at it. The pub was quiet, and Betty behind the bar glanced over at him. “You all right, Derek?” she said. “You’ve gone all pale. Nothing wrong with the food, is there?”

  With an effort, Derek folded the paper and put it back in the envelope. “No, nuthin’ wrong,” he said. “Not really hungry,” he added, and struggled to his feet. Like a blind man, he made his way across the bar holding on to chairs, and left, tottering down the steps unsteadily to his van.

  “Blimey! What’s wrong with him?” said Betty, looking worried.

  “Too much of the old infuriator,” said a stranger with a chuckle.

  Betty glared at him. “That’s a decent working man,” she said. “And a regular. So I’ll thank you to keep your remarks to yourself.”

  The stranger shrugged. Plenty of pubs around. He made a mental note to give this one a miss next time he was in Waltonby.

  ♦

  “Hello? Is that Lois? It’s Betty at the pub. Yes…no, nothing wrong. At least, I don’t think so. No, no, not another accident.” There had been a dreadful accident, when Derek had been injured by a hit-and-run driver, and both Betty and Lois had been deeply involved.

  “It’s just that Derek’s just left…hasn’t finished his ploughman’s, and looked a bit shaky. I thought I’d give you a ring, in case you want to find him. He’s probably on his way home, anyway. Don’t want to alarm you! Rest of the family well? Good…see you, Lois.”

  Derek was not on his way home. He had returned to work, and sat in a freezing cold bedroom of the house he was rewiring. He had the letter in his hand, held between thumb and forefinger as if it was contaminated – which it surely was, by spite, revenge and who knew what else? – and read it over and over again. He realized that it touched him on a raw spot, and was more painful than anyone could have known. Or did they know? Did they know that ever since Lois had been mixed up with that Cowgill, playing at cops and robbers, Derek had had a nagging suspicion that Lois fancied the tall, grim-looking inspector? He had never said as much, of course. Never would, unless he had concrete proof. Didn’t believe in checking on Lois, any more than she would on him…

  A faint smile crossed Derek’s face, and he sighed deeply. None of them had led blameless lives. He supposed there were very few who did. No, he thought, standing up and getting back to work. This was a nasty, vindictive piece of rubbish from some poor sod who probably got his kicks from sending poison pen letters. He started to crush it in his hand, and then stopped. He smoothed it out, and put it back in its envelope. Better keep it for a day or two, just in case. He put in his jacket pocket, and tried to forget about it.

  ♦

  Lois had a very uncomfortable afternoon. Derek was not answering his mobile, but this was nothing new. He often switched it off if he was in the middle of something tricky. Couldn’t be too careful with electricity, he’d say. Interruptions could be fatal. For this reason he did not encourage her to phone him at work. But the message from Betty had frightened her, and although she had to go out, working with Bill at a job he usually did with Sheila, her mind was not on it, and he noticed she was not her thorough, particular self. “Feeling all right, Mrs M?” he said. She nodded. “You seem to be somewhere else,” he added, moving a large chest of drawers as if it were a coffee table. A mouse ran swiftly across the floor, disturbed from its hiding place which had been safe for years. “Cor, look at the dust!” said Bill. “Nobody’s been behind here for a while.”

  Lois hated mice. She tried to hide her phobia, but would freeze and sometimes scream uncharacteristically if one appeared. But today, she watched it vanish with apparent indifference. “Bill,” she said. “We’re nearly done. Would you mind finishing by yourself? I really need to get home – the children…” she added lamely. This hearty young man would not understand her increasing panic. Her work with Cowgill had made her a number of enemies, and Derek had been the victim before. If anything had happened…

  “Course,” said Bill. “You look a bit peaky, as my mum would say. Go home and have a nice cuppa. Put your feet up.”

  Lois smiled wanly. “You’re a good lad,” she said. “Thanks, Bill. See you tomorrow.”

  ♦

  There was no van in the drive. Derek was not at home, and Lois grilled her mother to see if she’d noticed anything odd about him at breakfast.

  “Nothing,” Gran said. “And when he popped in later for some tools he seemed fine. Just came in and went off again – wouldn’t stop for coffee. Didn’t even open his letter.”

  “What letter?” said Lois sharply. She had picked up the post this morning, and there’d been nothing for Derek.

  “On the mat,” said Gran. “I’d noticed it ten minutes before Derek came in. Addressed to him. My arms were full of dirty sheets, so I meant to go back later. Then it was gone, so I knew he’d taken it.”

  A letter delivered by hand. Derek acting strangely in the pub. Lois tried to see a possible connection, and then heard the van crunching up the drive. She rushed out and wrenched open Derek’s door. “Are you all right?” she said, staring at his face. It looked the same as usual.

  His hands on the steering wheel were steady, and he looked her straight in the eye. “Fine, o’course,” he said. “Why shouldn’t I be?” And then he felt it, the stab of doubt, of suspicion, that was to be his uncomfortable companion for weeks.

  “It was Betty, at the Waltonby pub,” Lois said, subsi
ding with relief. “She rang and said you’d left in a hurry, looked shaky and sick. I bin worried all afternoon. Anyway, you’re back now.” She leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. He didn’t respond in the usual way, but she put that down to surprise at his curious homecoming.

  “Let’s get in then,” she said. “Gran’s made a cake, chocolate, specially for you. If you feel like it?” she added anxiously.

  “Righto,” he said. “And don’t worry, gel. There was somethin’ a bit off about the ploughman’s,” he lied. “Didn’t like to say so to Betty. You know how she is. Thought it’d be better to let her think I’d come over a bit dizzy. Anyway, a piece of Gran’s cake’ll go down a treat.”

  As he took off his work jacket and hung it up in the back porch, he heard the envelope crackle. He should bum it. That would be best. Bum it, and forget it’d ever existed. But he didn’t. He left it there, and went into the warm kitchen to his mother-in-law’s comforting chocolate cake.

  ∨ Weeping on Wednesday ∧

  Fifteen

  “If it’s not too late,” said Lois to the manager at Dalling Hall, “I’ve bin thinking I’d like to have a Christmas dinner for New Brooms. Hope you’re not booked up.”

  “Didder?” said the manager, who talked as if he’d accidentally stuffed an olive up his nose. “Fully booked for didder until Christmas, I’m afraid, Lois, but I could fit you in for lunch, I’m sure. How many would there be?”

  Berk, said Lois to herself, not in the least discomforted. Dinner, lunch, whatever you like to call it, matey. “There’s me, and Bridie and Hazel…and Bill and Sheila…and there’s Enid, of course. So that’s six.”

  The manager smiled. “One man amongst the girls! Sure you wouldn’t like hubbie to come too?”