Weeping on Wednesday lm-3 Read online

  Oh God, sighed Lois silently. “No, quite sure, thanks,” she said. “Can you do it?”

  It was all settled. They would have lunch on Wednesday, mid-week being quieter at the Hall. Six could be accommodated with ease. They were all delighted at the meeting, excited as children at the prospect of lunch at Dalling Hall. Sheila Stratford asked anxiously what she should wear.

  “Ball gown, o’course,” said Hazel, and Bridie nudged her to be quiet. Bill did not seem in the least bothered about being a ‘thorn among the roses’, as he gallantly said. Hazel raised her eyebrows at Lois, who ignored her and said Bill should count himself lucky.

  If that manager shoves us in a corner, thought Lois, I shall make a scene, and he’ll be sorry. She grinned as she vacuumed the big dining-room where they’d be guests themselves.

  When Derek was told, he shrugged. “If that’s where you want your profits to go, no business of mine, gel,” he said.

  Lois was for the moment downcast. It was so unlike Derek not to encourage her, whatever she did, so long as it was not dangerous. Perhaps he really wasn’t feeling too well. She’d have to keep an eye on him when he wasn’t looking. Derek never admitted to illness, but soldiered on through colds and flu, stomach upsets and occasional bursts of the runs.

  ♦

  A couple of days later, as he drove carefully along the narrow Dalling Hall road, Derek felt the wheels sliding on black ice and slowed down to a crawl. Rounding a bend where high hedges concealed a view of the road ahead, he was just able to stop safely as a car suddenly appeared in front of him. He backed to the nearest field entrance, and pulled off to one side. The car passed, and Derek drove on, looking at his watch and frowning. What was he doing coming this way, anyway? He was still working in Waltonby, and this was nothing like the shortest route.

  He’d been into Tresham for supplies, and now it was nearly lunchtime. Lois had said it would be best for him to get something at the Waltonby pub, as they were all livin’ it up at the hall. None of the others had mentioned the celebration to him, some embarrassed that Lois had told them she’d not asked Derek to come because he was sure to mock. But Derek did not know that, and wondered. Lois had said he could reach her on her mobile, or leave a message at the hall reception if something urgent came up.

  So she was definitely at the hall. But doing what? And who with? Was it really a New Brooms lunch? Or was she up in one of them luxury bedrooms, naked and lovely, in the arms of…In the arms of who, Derek? He felt the envelope crackle in his jacket pocket, and faced his suspicion. In the arms of Inspector Hunter bloody Cowgill, that’s who.

  It would be easy enough to check. All he had to do was go in and ask for her. Pretend there was something up with one of the kids. He’d see then. They’d either go off to the dining-room, or get on the blower to one of the luxury bedrooms…

  Derek stopped the van a couple of hundred yards from the entrance to Dalling Hall. He put his head in his hands and groaned. This was bloody awful. He should just go on to Waltonby and get on with his work. Lois was still Lois, tough, loyal and truthful…more or less. He gritted his teeth, let out the clutch and drove forward. When he came to the tradesmen’s entrance to the hall he slowed down and turned in, parking the van out of sight of the rear windows of the hall. He looked at his watch. It was half past one. They’d certainly be in the dining-room now. If they were there at all.

  He got out of the van and locked it. He walked like a zombie into reception, and asked if he could speak to Mrs Lois Meade. It wouldn’t take long, just a message that couldn’t wait. The receptionist smiled at him. “Yes, of course,” she said. “I’ll fetch her. They all went in to lunch about half an hour ago. A very jolly party! Aren’t you joining them?”

  Derek mumbled something about having to earn a crust, and when the girl had disappeared to fetch Lois, he retreated as rapidly as he could. Half-running to the car park, his head down for concealment, he bumped into a tall figure walking purposefully towards the hall. “Sorry, mate,” said Derek, and looked up. It was Detective Inspector Hunter bloody Cowgill, clutching his stomach where he had been mildly winded. Derek rushed to the van, and was out of the gates, grating gears, and on his way to Waltonby before Cowgill could recover his breath.

  The road and passing hedges were a blur, and Derek had no idea how he got to the pub yard. He sat down in front of a pint, shook his head when offered food, and did not hear Betty saying he still looked a bit peaky, and was he sure he was fit for work?

  So, it could still have been a cover story. The same dreadful possibility went round and round in Derek’s head. They could have had the meal, then the others go back to work and Lois skipped up to the luxury bedroom, laughing and bouncing around with Cowgill in her wonderful way. Derek drank down the pint, and asked for another.

  “Are you sure, Derek? On an empty stomach?” asked Betty, now very concerned. He didn’t answer her, just waved his hand towards the pump. She drew him another pint, and went to fetch Geoff, the landlord.

  ♦

  Lois walked into reception and looked around. “Where is he, then?” she said.

  The girl looked surprised. “Well, he was here. That’s odd…”

  They looked around in the various conference rooms, and sent the barman into the gents in case Derek had been taken short. But no Derek. “Are you sure it was him?”

  The girl frowned, and nodded. “Pretty sure. I just assumed…Still, now you mention it, he didn’t say his name. Maybe it was somebody else. Anyway, it couldn’t have been very important.”

  Lois shrugged and turned to go. She’d ring Derek after lunch and check. As she was going back into the dining-room, a voice behind her pulled her up.

  “Afternoon, Lois,” said Cowgill.

  “Blimey, are you following me?” said Lois crossly. “We’re having our Christmas dinner, and this is not the place for a chat with you.”

  He smiled. “Just coincidence,” he said mildly. “I’m meeting the wife. But all the best for the festive season,” he added. As she turned away from him, he said, “Oh, and by the way, your husband just headbutted me on his way out to the car park. I do hope it wasn’t intentional.”

  Lois returned to the others, and Bill said, “Penny for ‘em, Mrs M. You’re miles away. Come on, you’ve got some catching up to do. We’re on the third bottle, and have ordered pud. What’re you having?”

  Lois sat down and tried to concentrate. No doubt there was a perfectly good explanation. She looked around the table. They were all relaxed and enjoying themselves, and even Enid lifted her glass to Lois, a lock of her neatly permed hair fallen over one eye. With a huge effort, she ignored the table in the corner where Cowgill sat with his steely-faced wife, and did her best to be the life and soul of the party.

  “A toast,” said Bill loudly, when they’d finished coffee and all the etceteras. “To our gorgeous boss…Mrs M!” They all raised their glasses, and Enid sang a quavery line of ‘For she’s a jolly good fellow’.

  “I’ll drink to that,” said a voice sotto voce in Lois’s ear, as she stood up to reply. It was Hunter Cowgill, threading his way through the tables with his wife leading the way towards the exit.

  “Oy, oy!” said Bill, looking round at a now empty dining-room. “D’you know him, Mrs M, or shall I punch him on the nose?”

  “Neither,” said Hazel, butting in. She had drunk only water, and had noticed Lois’s worried look. Lois smiled at her now, mute thanks. Hazel was sitting next to Bill, and the pair had been getting on famously, as far as Lois could see.

  Sheila, on the other side of Bill, had had only Enid to talk to, but seemed content. She came over to Lois and said her thanks. “It was very nice of you,” she said. “I’ve enjoyed talking to Miss Abraham…Enid…She was quite forthcoming, actually. Anything you need to know about the Abrahams, you just ask me,” she added. “Except the whereabouts of her rotten brother! She seemed a bit bothered about that. Concerned for him, though I’m blessed if I would be! Yes, we had a good o
ld gossip. I don’t think she’s used to the drink!” Sheila smothered a hiccup, laughed and said she didn’t know what Sam would say, and left with others in a merry group.

  Only Lois and Enid were left. “Will you be all right, Enid?” said Lois. “Where are you working this afternoon…it’s the Charringtons, isn’t it?”

  Enid nodded, now suddenly perfectly respectful and sober as a judge. “That’s right,” she said. “I’ve got my things in the car, and shall go straight there. It has been a most enjoyable interlude, Mrs M. Thank you so much. It was a pity I didn’t have a chance to catch Mrs Cowgill…I haven’t seen her for such a long time. Used to teach piano to her little girl, you know. That was before…”

  Enid’s voice had tailed away as usual, and she stood quietly staring straight at Lois, seeming to expect an answer or comment of some kind. She didn’t get it. At that moment, Lois’s mobile rang. It was Betty at the Waltonby pub, asking Lois if she could pop over as soon as possible. Not urgent, not to worry. Just Derek, needing a bit of help.

  Lois left Enid without a word, and was on her way to Waltonby in seconds.

  ∨ Weeping on Wednesday ∧

  Sixteen

  Enid Abraham took a packet of Polo mints out of her handbag. She was sure Mrs Charrington wouldn’t like her to arrive for work smelling of alcohol, though she had told her about the Christmas lunch. She liked working at Bell’s Farm. It had all been smartened up, with a Victorian-style conservatory built out into the garden from the sitting-room. Everywhere was freshly painted, and Rosie had hung cheerful curtains in every room. The children had all the latest toy crazes, and Rosie allocated for herself a little room she called her sewing-room, where she made clothes for Maria, and worked tapestry seats for the dining chairs she had picked up for a song at a junk shop in Tresham. To Enid, this clean and colourful family home was paradise, and if anyone had suggested the Charringtons had sinned in destroying most of the original farmhouse, she would have considered them crazy.

  The only snag was Anna, the au pair. Enid could see straight away that the girl was not happy. In a rare moment of friendliness, she confided in Enid that she had always lived in towns and hated the country. “It is so cold always, and dirty, and nobody to be my friend,” she had said, and there were tears in her eyes. Rosie Charrington seemed not to notice, and Anna’s unhappiness caused her to take it out on the children, and especially on Enid. If she could find fault with any of Enid’s work, she would grin in triumph and mention it to Rosie with glee.

  “I find a dirty tissue behind the laundry basket in children’s bathroom,” she said lightly one morning to Rosie, well within Enid’s hearing. “Do you think Enid overlooks it?”

  Fortunately, Rosie was only too well aware that cleaners were hard to come by, and dismissed Anna’s remark with a laugh. “It was me,” she said, “I missed the rubbish bin; and it was after Enid had done the bathroom anyway. Do put the kettle on, Anna, and make us all a nice cup of coffee.”

  Confident that her breath now smelled sweetly of peppermint, Enid cheerfully began work. When she took a short break for coffee, she noticed Rosie taking something from the drawer in the kitchen table. “Look, Enid,” Rosie said. “We finally managed to tidy up that pile of rubbish left in the garden when it was so wet. Sebastian made a start on getting it straight, and when he raked the ashes he found this.” She held out her hand, and Enid saw a blackened penknife. “Perhaps Mrs Meade might know whose it is?”

  Enid took it from her. She looked at it more closely, and saw what she suspected at first sight. The initials ‘E.A.’ showed up clearly. She felt dizzy, and grabbed the back of a chair. Hoping Rosie had not noticed – and she hadn’t – she collected herself, and shook her head. “Doesn’t mean anything to me,” she said quickly, “but if I can take it, I’ll ask Mrs M. She might know. If not, do you want it back?”

  Rosie said no, they didn’t approve of having knives around the house, except those needed in the kitchen. “Knives and guns, even toy ones, are absolutely forbidden,” she said. Enid did not mention she’d seen six-year-old Felix conducting a fierce battle with his sister, both of them wielding gun-shaped twigs with great expertise.

  “No, you take it, Enid. I am sure you can find a home for it.”

  I am sure I can, said Enid to herself, and slipped it into her overall pocket. She did not show it to Lois, Lois especially, as she knew perfectly well whose it was, and intended to keep it to herself.

  ♦

  Lois was, meanwhile, concerned with more important matters than penknives. She arrived at the pub and rushed into the bar. No Derek in sight, but Betty had seen her coming and beckoned her into the room at the back.

  “Um, he’s there,” she said, pointing to a slumbering figure, head back and snoring, in a comfortable armchair.

  “Is he…?”

  Betty nodded. “Sleepin’ it off,” she said. “I asked Geoff what to do, and he said to serve him four pints and on no account let him out of the door. That’s why I rang you. I hope it was all right, Lois?” she added anxiously.

  Lois frowned. “Stupid bugger,” she said. And then she sat down opposite Derek and stared hard at him. “There’s something up with him, Betty,” she said. “He’s not been right for a while. Not himself at all.” Derek stirred in his sleep, and Lois caught a word in a slurred voice…It sounded like her name, and she put her hand on his arm.

  “Derek?”

  He stirred again, and his eyes opened a fraction. Then he groaned, turned his head away, and seemed to go back to sleep. But Lois knew him only too well, and reached for a glass of cold water that Betty had placed on a nearby table. Her aim was deadly.

  Derek sat up, spluttering and shouting. “Bloody hell, what d’you think you’re doin’, Lois?!”

  “Taking you home,” she said bluntly, and dragged him to his feet.

  “Geoff and me’ll follow and bring the van,” said Betty, trying not to laugh. “Time to close up, anyway.”

  Lois got Derek into her car, and they made their way back to Long Farnden in a silence broken only by heavy sighs from Derek and the occasional “Huh!” from Lois.

  When Betty and Geoff had gone, Lois and Gran made another mug of black coffee and got it into an unwilling Derek. Lois had telephoned the house where he should have been working, and made an excuse that he’d had to go out on an emergency call in Tresham. The customer wasn’t very pleased, but said he hoped Derek would be at work at the crack of dawn tomorrow as it was time the job was finished.

  By the time the kids came home from school, their father was more or less sober, but feeling very fragile. He grumbled that the telly was too loud, that the smell of Gran’s cooking was making him feel sick, and that he thought he’d be better putting his feet up for a bit.

  Lois put a stop to that. “There’s that washer needs replacing in the cloakroom,” she said. “Might as well do it now, while you’ve got the time.”

  “Oh, Lois,” said Gran, “you’re a hard-hearted one. Probably only having a festive drink with his mates in the pub.”

  “Not according to Betty,” said Lois shortly. “And anyway, I can smell burning in the kitchen. Hadn’t you better see to it?”

  Gran knew that with Lois in this mood, it was best to keep out of the way. She retreated, telling herself it was none of her business, and never to come between man and wife.

  ♦

  Next morning, Derek was up and away to work before Gran had had time to cook him breakfast. “Looked a bit green, Lois,” she said tentatively.

  “I’ll give him green,” said Lois. “He’ll be black and blue if he comes that trick again. He’s got a family to look after and his own business to run, and if he gets a reputation for bein’ unreliable the work’ll dry up and then where shall we be?”

  “Not like him, though, is it, Lois?” Gran persisted. “Is he worried about anything? Has he said anything?”

  Lois shook her head. “No, nothing. I suppose everything hots up this time of the year. Everybo
dy wants things done yesterday. Still, it’s never bothered him before.”

  “You’ve not had a business before,” said Gran quietly.

  “What d’you mean by that?” Lois’s voice was sharp.

  “Well, perhaps he relies on you more than you think. You know, to talk about his work, an’ that. P’raps you haven’t given him so much time lately.” Gran knew she was running the risk of an explosion here, but was determined now to have her say.

  Lois did not explode, but stalked off to her office, slamming the door behind her without a word.

  The day passed routinely, with no more calls for a rescue party. The only call Lois had was from Derek’s football mate from Tresham ringing to say he could bring the piano over on a trailer late on Christmas Eve, if that was OK with Lois. She agreed, and thanked him profusely. He was a family man, she knew, and was doing them a big favour.

  She rang the manor to check that it was all right with them, and they asked if she’d like to pop over and have a quick look at it, to make sure. They’d be happier if she saw it before the move was made. She protested she wouldn’t know one piano from another, but they said she’d surely know whether she liked the general appearance, and were insistent. After all, she was putting it in her sitting-room. So she agreed to be there around half past five, just for a quick look.

  It was dark when she set off, and raining again. She had some supplies to drop in on Bill in Fletcham, and Sheila in Waltonby, and so decided to go round the triangle and call in at the manor on the way back.

  Bell’s Farm was ablaze with light, and Lois smiled. It had certainly brightened up this stretch of road. Before the Charringtons came, it had been the gloomiest half-mile in the county, with the neglected farmhouse and Cathanger Mill with its overhanging trees shutting out all except the smallest glimmers of moonlight.

  She slowed down to round the bend before coming to the bridge. No floods now, thank goodness. Her headlights were weak, but picked up a moving shadow by the entrance to the mill. As she approached, the shadow divided, and she could see it was two people, one tall and stooping, bending down towards a smaller figure. Was it Enid?