Secrets on Saturday (2 page)

“Yes, of course.” For all her shrinking feeling, she wouldn’t turn away good business, and it sounded like a doddle, once they’d got the place shipshape.

She took down all the necessary information, and said she’d be in touch when she’d worked out her schedules. He gave her an address in Suffolk, and limped softly away down the path to his car. Lois watched him go.

“What a nice man!” said Gran, coming up behind her. “Nice job for Sheila, that one.”

“Hey, who’s cleaning business is this, anyway?” said Lois. “Back to the kitchen, woman, and get busy with the lunch.”

Gran laughed. She and Lois were very alike, and sometimes sparks flew, but on the whole it was a very comfortable arrangement.

R
EG
A
BTHORPE PULLED UP HIS COAT COLLAR AND
started his engine. It was reluctant, but he coaxed it slowly down the street, turning off to cruise into Blackberry Gardens. He sat for a minute outside the deserted house, and then quickly walked up to the front door, unlocked it and went in, shutting the door firmly behind him. An inventory was needed. After all, he’d never seen the Meade woman before, and for all he knew she might specialize in light-fingered staff who were adept at removing small objects which nobody would notice. There was nothing really valuable in Uncle Herbert’s house, but people flogged the most extraordinary rubbish at car boot sales these days. Seems there’s
always a customer for everything, he thought to himself. He took a notebook from his pocket and began to make a list, room by room. He paid particular attention to the freezer.

The task was a tedious one, and it took Reg a good hour before he had finished. He looked at his watch. Half past one, and he was hungry. He’d noticed a pub on his way into the village, and decided on a snack before he returned—not to Suffolk, but to his real home, which was not nearly so far away.

He looked around, checking that he had turned off lights and shut doors. The central heating was turned down low, but left on continuously to keep damp at bay. It would be better once the cleaner was coming in regularly, if only to stir the air. He locked the front door and glanced around at the garden. It must be kept trim, and he made a mental note to check on this. Then he was back in his car and driving down the street towards the pub.

“Morning,” said the publican, Doug. He and his wife were new in the business, and very good at it. They had quickly become popular in the village. Now he welcomed his customer and said, “A bit parky out there this morning! What can I get you, sir?”

“Pint of Best, and what’ve you got to eat? Something hot, if possible.” Reg Abthorpe smiled at Doug behind the bar, his one-sided, chilly smile.

Doug wondered why he felt a draught of cold air. The log fire was burning well, and doors were shut. He drew up the pint, and then went out to order food. “Who’s in?” said his wife, Meggie. “One of the locals?”

Doug shook his head. “Not seen him before,” he said. “Seems all right Here,” he added. “Did you have the back door open just now?”

“Nope, not the day for it.”

Doug shrugged, and decided he’d imagined it—or someone had walked over his grave …

“Not very busy today,” remarked Reg, as a plateful of steaming fish and chips was placed in front of him.

“Weekdays, not many about,” Doug said. “The occasional travelling salesman, or the weekly lunch for the Darby and Joan club—highlight of the week, that is.”

“So weekends is your busy time?” The fish and chips were disappearing fast.

“Yep,” Doug replied with a smile. “We get the regulars then. Darts and bar skittles, husbands and wives come in then, and we do well on the food. Food’s where the money is in pubs these days. Leastways, until we have the smoking ban.” Doug returned to his usual spot behind the bar and leaned on the counter. “You’re not local, are you?” he said, his curiosity getting the better of him.

Reg shook his head. “Just passing through,” he said. “I’m one of your travelling salesmen,” he added, and Doug asked quickly what he was selling.

“Don’t worry,” Reg said, thinking rapidly. “Nothing that you’d be likely to want. It’s stuff for computers and office systems. That kind of thing.” He was rather proud of this sudden inspiration. It sounded convincing, and Doug was unlikely to question him further.

“Oh, yeah,” said Doug, sounding relieved. “All double-Dutch to me, I’m afraid. Now then, can I get you another pint?”

Reg refused, saying he was driving, and it would be just his luck to meet a policeman with nothing better to do than to breathalyze him.

“Far to go, then?” Doug asked.

“Mmm,” Reg replied, getting to his feet and feeling for his wallet. “How much do I owe you then? It was very nice, just the job.”

After Reg Abthorpe had left, Doug cleared away the plate and glass and went out to his wife. “He’s gone. Might as well close up. We’ll not get anybody else now.”

“What did you find out about him?” Meggie said. It was a big part of the fun in running a pub to ask questions and discuss the answers. Meggie came from a family of publicans, and would not have been happy in any other job. Long hours on her feet were no problem, and her
cheery smile and delight in small talk had made her many friends in the locality.

“Not a lot.” Doug busied himself stacking the dishwasher. Then a thought struck him, and he turned to Meggie with a frown. “You don’t think he could’ve been some kind of inspector?” he said.

“I didn’t see him. What did he look like?” Meggie regretted she had not gone through to the bar to see for herself.

“That’s the funny thing,” Doug said slowly. “I can’t think of anything much—just a nondescript sort of bloke. I think he had a bit of a limp, but hardly noticeable. Nothing you’d remember him by. Except …”

“Except what?”

“His smile,” said Doug. “It was sort of one-sided, and very chilly. His eyes stayed cold. I like a bloke who smiles with his eyes.”

“Well, we’ll probably not see him again. Unless he’s an inspector and makes a bad report. But those fish and chips were fresh as a daisy, and his plate looks as if he licked it clean. So let’s get on with the work, and then we’ll have a sandwich and a nice cup of tea.”

Doug did as he was told, but for the rest of the day that chilly smile returned to make him shiver.

M
ONDAY MIDDAY
,
AND THE
N
EW
B
ROOMS TEAM
Assembled in Lois’s office in Long Farnden: Hazel Thornbull, nee Reading, and her mother Bridle; Enid Abraham from the mill; and Sheila Stratford, farmworker’s wife and Waltonby born and bred. Jean Slater
was the most recent member of the team. She had been involved in a very unpleasant episode that had all but destroyed her life, and Lois had been not at all sure about employing her. But she had given Jean a probationary period, and so far she had been an exemplary worker.

Bill Stockbridge had not yet arrived. He had telephoned to say he was held up at the vet’s, where he worked part-time. Lois had wondered if, now that he was a married man, he would give up cleaning and get a more lucrative job. But his wife Rebecca was still teaching in Waltonby village school, and he had declared he had no intention of giving up a job he enjoyed. Lois had been pleased. Bill was a steady young Yorkshireman, and she relied on his good common sense.

“Shall we start? Bill can catch up when he arrives.” Lois began to go through the schedules, and then came to the new client. “There’s this house in Blackberry Close,” she said. “It’s empty—well, nobody’s living there—and we have to keep it clean and tidy. It was old Mr. Everitt’s house. He’s gone into a home somewhere.”

“What? Old Herbert? Why on earth …? It’s a bit sudden, isn’t it, Mrs. M?” Enid Abraham was usually the quiet one. Steady and reliable, she ran her mill house as a bed and breakfast, and fitted in all her jobs with characteristic efficiency.

“Did you know him, Enid?” Lois was surprised at her outburst, and frowned. “Wasn’t he getting a bit past looking after himself?”

Enid shook her head vigorously. “Right as rain. Certainly had all his marbles, and his house was clean as a new pin. And his garden well looked after.”

Sheila Stratford nodded. “Old Herbert was fine,” she said. “Walked that little dog morning and evening every day, and he’d go quite a long way. My Sam used to meet him in the woods sometimes. He was in really good shape for his age. Did he have a stroke or something?”

Lois shrugged. “I really don’t know,” she said, and told them about her interview with Reg Abthorpe. “Anyway,” she added, “it’s not our business to know the
client’s personal circumstances. We just go in there and do what we’re told. I’m going in myself at first, and then I’ll probably send you, Enid, if you’ve got time.”

The door opened and Bill came in. “Morning all,” he said cheerfully. “What have I missed, Mrs. M?”

“Not a lot, Bill,” said Lois, and gave him instructions for the coming week. Then she mentioned Herbert Everitt, and he showed no reaction. “Good,” he said. “Another client in the village cuts down travelling time! Blackberry Gardens, did you say? Who’s going to do it?” He looked round the team, and they all looked at Lois.

“I am, at first,” she said. “Then Enid, probably. She knew Mr. Everitt. His nephew said the old boy expects to come back to the house, but there’s no prospect of that.”

“Why don’t they put it on the market, then?” Bill said.

“That’s their business,” said Lois, sharply now. “Anyway, let’s get on.”

“Um, before we do, could I just ask where Mr. Everitt has gone?” Enid flushed. “I’d like to visit the old boy, if possible.”

Lois sighed. “I’ve no idea,” she said, “but I’ll try to find out from Mr. Abthorpe. He lives in Suffolk, but I’ve got his number. I’ll let you know, Enid. Now, can we change the subject, else Hazel’ll never get back to Tresham.”

Hazel manned the office in Tresham, which was always shut on Monday mornings because of the team meeting. She should open it up at two thirty, and Lois could see time slipping by. “Any questions or suggestions?” she said. Nobody said anything. They had known Lois for a long time, most of them, and were well aware that she was ready to wind up the meeting.

“I saw the new woman from Hornton House in the shop,” Sheila ventured after a pause. “She said her daughter is looking for a part-time job, and I said I’d mention it to you.”

Lois nodded. “Fine,” she said. “I’ve made a note.” She looked around the familiar faces, and said, “Thanks
a lot everybody. Any problems, let me know. Have a good week.”

After they’d gone, Lois went into the kitchen where Gran was making a sandwich. “I’m just going out for a few minutes,” she said, and Gran looked mutinous. “What about this sandwich, then? You can’t go without something to eat.”

“I’ll not be more than a few minutes,” Lois said. “Just going to see Josie in the shop.” Josie was her daughter, who had run the village shop successfully for some while.

“Can’t it wait?”

“No. Back soon.”

Lois set off down the street towards the shop, but she did not go in. She carried on and branched off into a close of detached modern houses—Blackberry Close. As she approached the one for which she had the key, she stopped and looked around. Nobody about. She walked up the path and disappeared into Herbert Everitt’s empty house, unaware that although there was not a soul to be seen, behind net curtains there were watching eyes.

“H
I
, M
UM
.” J
OSIE WAS STANDING AT THE OPEN DOOR
of the shop. “I saw you go by. D’you want a cuppa? It’s a slack time, and we can keep an eye open for customers.”

Lois shook her head. “Love to,” she said, “but Gran will kill me if I don’t eat the sandwich she cut for me half an hour ago. But I’ll come down after closing time this afternoon—I want to ask you about old Mr. Everitt.”

“Old Herbert? Haven’t seen him for a while …”

“Right, well, I’ll be down later.” Lois hurried away up the street to face Gran’s wrath. But when she greeted her bravely in the kitchen, Gran’s mind was on something else.

“I’ve been thinking,” she said.

“Oh, no,” groaned Lois.

“Thinking about Herbert Everitt,” Gran continued.

“Don’t you think it’s a bit odd that none of us knew he was ill and couldn’t manage? I wouldn’t swear to it, but I’m sure he looked very sprightly last time I saw him out walking.”

“I suppose you don’t remember when that was?”

“No, but it was quite recently. Why don’t you ask Josie? He was a regular at the shop.”

“I will,” Lois said. “But it isn’t really any of our business. Still, Enid wants to visit him, so I’ll try to find out where he’s gone. I hardly dare ask,” she continued, “but is my sandwich …?”

“I ate it,” Gran said shortly.