The Poisoning in the Pub (27 page)

‘But I built the business up slowly. Built up my staff, built up the reputation of the place, got it into the right pub guides, on the right websites. Though I say so myself, I done a good
job.

‘And yes, I always planned to retire some time, but obviously I wanted to do it when the time was right, when I’d get the maximum payback on my investment. And I did have offers.
Location like the Cat and Fiddle, the big chains are bound to be interested. But I didn’t like the idea of my pub just going the way of all the others, being branded, looking exactly the
same. I wanted the Cat and Fiddle to keep its individuality.’

Which was rather ironic, because, to Carole and Jude’s minds, she had created an environment that had made the Cat and Fiddle look exactly like a cloned pub owned by a big chain. But of
course neither of them said anything as she went on, ‘I had a lot of the big boys look at the place over the years. I mean, it was never going to go to a Wetherspoon’s or an All Bar
One, they always concentrate on urban locations, but there are quite a lot of chains that deal with country pubs and, as I say, the offers were there. The most persistent came from a set-up called
Home Hostelries . . . you heard of them?’

Carole and Jude nodded. The name was all too familiar to them.

‘Well, they started off small and then got bigger by taking over other smaller chains. Took over Snug Pubs a few years back.’

‘I’ve heard of them,’ said Carole, immediately making the connection with the KWS warehouse in Worthing that had handled their deliveries. And with Sylvia’s
fiancé, Matt.

‘And quite recently Home Hostelries swallowed up the Foaming Flagon Group. They are becoming very big players indeed. And they kept making offers to me, but I always thought the offers
were too low. I was hanging on for more, and I was sure I could get it, though as time went by all the other interests seemed to fall away, and it was only Home Hostelries who wanted to buy.

‘Then, what, about nine months ago . . . running up to Christmas it was, I started to get trouble at the pub.’

‘What do you mean by trouble?’ asked Carole.

‘Rowdiness. Youngsters drinking too much. Fights. Had to call the police more than once. And it was a bad time of year for that to happen. Got lots of tables booked for staff Christmas
dos, that kind of stuff and yes, they’re all drinking more than they should, but it wasn’t the business clientele who was starting the fights. Though some of them did get
involved.’

‘So who was starting the fights?’ asked Jude.

‘A whole new crowd started coming into the pub. Bikers.’ Carole and Jude exchanged looks and almost imperceptible nods. ‘And once that kind of thing starts, it’s
difficult to stop. You know, the whole point of a pub is that it’s open to anyone, and, yes, you can bar individuals, but it’s difficult to shut out a whole group. And you might end up
just antagonizing them, which would only make things worse. So I was trying to keep control of the place, but there were a lot of scuffles breaking out in the car park at closing time. And,
somehow, every one of them, however minor, ended up getting reported in the
Fedborough Gazette
.’

Again Carole and Jude exchanged brief eye contact. A pattern was starting to emerge.

‘You didn’t have any incidences of food poisoning at the pub during this period, did you?’

‘Funny you should mention that, because yes, a couple of weeks before Christmas, like when we’re at our absolute busiest . . . a whole practice of solicitors got sick after their
Christmas party.’ Potentially entertaining though this image was, neither Carole nor Jude laughed. ‘They blamed the Coquille St Jacques starter that they’d had, but I’m sure
it couldn’t have been that. I always maintained the highest standards of hygiene in my kitchen – I was almost obsessive about it, and the Health and Safety inspectors have never found
anything to complain of – so I’ve no idea how it happened. I think those solicitors all got one of those vomiting bugs which seem to be around in the winter so much these days. But that
was not the way they saw it. And, needless to say, the incident didn’t do anything to help the image of the Cat and Fiddle.’

‘Presumably,’ said Carole, ‘the food poisoning also got coverage in the local paper?’

‘Oh yes. Front page of the
Gazette
. I was even asked to be interviewed for the local television news. But of course I said no. I’m a very private person.’

Carole and Jude both recalled that on their last encounter with Shona Nuttall she had demonstrated a very different attitude to the media, crowing about her recent appearance on the television
news, but neither of them commented on the inconsistency.

‘Anyway,’ Shona went on, ‘all this was having a disastrous effect on the business. Lots of firms ringing in to cancel their Christmas parties. Families with small children
– who used to be quite a staple of the lunchtime trade – well, they kept away from a place that was getting a reputation for violence. And the pensioners, who’d always come in for
their special-rate meals, they stopped coming.

‘Within a couple of months, the Cat and Fiddle, from being one of the most popular, must-visit pubs in the area, had virtually emptied. And I was so stressed, I thought I was going to have
a breakdown.’

At this recollection an involuntary tear trickled down her wrinkled cheek. She dashed it away, took a large swallow from her drink and busied herself lighting another cigarette.

‘And it was because you were so stressed,’ Jude suggested gently, ‘that you agreed to accept Home Hostelries’ offer for the Cat and Fiddle?’

Shona Nuttall nodded, then filled her lungs and blew the cigarette smoke out in a grey line which wavered with the tension in her body. ‘Yes,’ she agreed. ‘though by then they
were offering less than they had been before. Less than I’d previously thought was not enough. But by then I was so . . . I don’t know . . . Tired? Battered? All I wanted to do was to
get away from the place.’

‘And who did you deal with at Home Hostelries?’ asked Carole. ‘Was it always the same person?’

A note of caution came into Shona Nuttall’s eyes. ‘I didn’t deal with anyone in particular. The sale of the Cat and Fiddle was all done through my solicitors.’

‘But you mentioned there had been offers for the pub from Home Hostelries before. Were none of those direct to you?’

She shook her head and reiterated, ‘All through the solicitors.’

Carole and Jude both had the instinct that she was lying, but they couldn’t see any way of making her reveal information she was determined to withhold. In both their minds the same
thought arose: that whoever Shona Nuttall had dealt with at Home Hostelries, he or she had really put the frighteners on her. The ex-landlady wasn’t going to risk further trouble by giving
them a name.

But there was one other detail that could be checked. Jude got out her mobile and found the photograph Zosia had taken on the comedy night at the Crown and Anchor. ‘About these bikers who
came . . .’ she held out the picture of Derren Hunt ‘. . . was this man with them?’

Shona Nuttall looked at the image with distaste. ‘Yes, he used to come. Was one of the ringleaders, I think.’

‘Did you ever find out his name?’

‘Good heavens, no!’ The very idea shocked her.

‘Or speak to him?’

‘I may have served him a drink. I certainly never had a conversation with him.’

Jude clicked on to another photo, the one which featured Viggo, and proffered it to Shona. ‘Do you recognize him?’

The ex-landlady shrugged. ‘Looks vaguely familiar. But I couldn’t be sure. That lot in their leather gear . . .’ she shuddered at the recollection ‘. . . they all looked
alike to me.’

‘And what about the small man beside him?’

No, she had never seen Ray Witchett before. She hadn’t seen photos of him on television or in the papers either. Carole and Jude got the impression that not much news filtered through into
the velvet fastness of that Southwick bungalow.

There was a silence. Shona puffed away at her cigarette as though her life depended on it. She looked pathetic, broken and alone. Neither Carole nor Jude had warmed to her in her former brassy
mode, but it was sad to see any human being so reduced. The Cat and Fiddle had not just been her business; it had been her family, her whole existence.

There was one more question Carole wanted to ask, though. ‘Did you ever do comedy nights at the pub?’

‘No,’ came the reply. ‘Our country and western evenings were very popular. And our quiz nights. But I never liked the idea of comedy nights. Comedians these days are so vulgar,
aren’t they? Scattering four-letter words about like nobody’s business. That wasn’t the sort of thing that would have appealed to the kind of clientele I wanted to frequent the
Cat and Fiddle.’

‘But did anyone ever suggest to you that you might do a comedy night?’

‘Well, it’s funny you should ask that, actually. I did have a call . . . oh, last autumn I suppose it was . . . from quite a well-known comedian, offering to start a series of comedy
nights for me. I said no, because I’d seen him on television and he was rather vulgar there, so what he might have been like in a pub I really didn’t like to imagine. But I was
surprised by the call, because he really was quite a big name.’

Carole and Jude both felt pretty sure they knew the answer, but they still had to ask the question.

‘His name,’ Shona Nuttall replied, ‘was Dan Poke.’

Surprisingly, it was Carole’s idea to Google Home Hostelries. When they got back to Woodside Cottage from Southwick, their tiredness had gone and they were both keen to
get on with their investigation.

‘I mean, we do now have a direct connection,’ said Jude excitedly. ‘The campaign against Shona Nuttall at the Cat and Fiddle started in exactly the same way as what’s
happened to Ted at the Crown and Anchor.’

‘But it didn’t lead to murder there.’

‘That might just be because Shona Nuttall cracked earlier and accepted the reduced offer.’

‘I’d put any money on the fact that Ted’s also had approaches from Home Hostelries. If only he’d talk to us . . .’

‘We need to find out more about the company.’

And it was then that Carole had suggested using Google. Jude was amazed that Carole Seddon, who had at times almost made a religion of her technophobia, was actually suggesting using a computer
as a resource. What’s more, she appeared familiar with both the language and the use of computers. Jude grinned inwardly. She had known the moment would come; it had only been a matter of
time. But she made no comment, as she booted up her laptop and found the Google screen. ‘Would you like to take over?’ she offered.

‘Oh, very well,’ said Carole, as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

She keyed in Home Hostelries and looked at the options thrown up. There were plenty of links to individual pubs, pub guides, restaurant and tourism sites. ‘What we really need is their
home page. See if we can get any relevant names.’

‘What, Carole? Are you planning to confront their managing director with accusations of planning a wrecking campaign against Shona Nuttall and Ted Crisp?’

Carole took no notice of the irony in her neighbour’s voice as she replied, ‘If necessary.’

Their search took quite a while, and they went up many blind alleys into promising websites which all recommended – ‘The Home Hostelries hospitality experience – graceful
drinking and gourmet dining – both available in our personally selected character pubs. Special occasion, family celebration or just a friendly drink to unwind at the end of the day –
whatever it is you’re looking for, you’ll find it in a Home Hostelries pub.’

But eventually they got to a home page for the company. Carole clicked on the ‘About Us’ tab and found a potted history of Home Hostelries. It was a tale of continuing growth over a
relatively short period. Founded in Horsham by two young entrepreneurs who had bought up three West Sussex pubs in the early 1990s, they had continued to add to their portfolio at an accelerating
rate. Soon it was not just individual premises they were buying up, but other small chains and breweries. Shona Nuttall had mentioned Snug Pubs and the Foaming Flagon Group, but they were only two
of many. Though its headquarters remained in Horsham, the Home Hostelries brand had spread from West Sussex to adjacent counties, and was now expanding into the West Country and East Anglia. New
purchases were even taking its reach north of London and into the Midlands. They were also moving away from their base of country pubs and into urban premises (of which presumably the Middy in
Fratton was an example). The website left no doubt that Home Hostelries was rapidly becoming one of the country’s largest hospitality chains.

The names of the two successful entrepreneurs from Horsham who had set the whole thing in motion were unfamiliar to the two women crouched over the laptop. ‘Let’s see if we can find
a list of directors somewhere,’ said Carole.

It didn’t take long. Again, most of the names meant nothing. One did, though.

Richard Farrelly.

The real name of the comedian Dan Poke.

‘Of course, the name under which he wrote his autobiography.’ Carole sounded disappointed, illogically feeling that she should have made the connection before. ‘But
how’re we going to contact him? Through his agent?’

‘I’ve got his number,’ said Jude.

‘How on earth have you got that?’

‘When I first met him in the Crown and Anchor, he gave cards to me and Zosia.’

‘Why?’

‘I think the implication was that if either of us fancied him, we should give him a call and he would be generous enough not to kick us out of bed.’

‘What?’ Carole looked appalled. ‘Surely no men actually behave like that, do they?’

‘Some do. The thick-skinned type who don’t care what people think of them. It’s partly a joke, partly trying it on. A persona they’re trying to project. Particularly in
showbiz. There are a lot of women out there who’re . . . turned on by celebrity.’ Jude had been going to use a less decorous phrase, but avoided it out of consideration for
Carole’s sensibilities. ‘And men like that do get their offers taken up just often enough to make it worth their while. Happens a lot in the music world too . . . Encourages the bad-boy
image. You know, there are still groupies out there looking to add a famous name to their list.’