by Simon Brett
Jude knew she should really do the same. She was out of virtually everything. Not even enough in the freezer to make herself lunch. For Carole, that would have been a definite argument to go shopping. For Jude, it was an argument to go and have lunch at the Crown and Anchor.
The bar looked welcoming and relaxed, but even scruffier than before. The same could be said for its owner. Ted Crisp’s hair and beard were shaggier, and it was a few days since their last encounter with shampoo. His uniform T-shirt and tracksuit trousers also looked as though they had been on for a while. Perhaps, Jude thought, like Carole, he was reacting to the end of their relationship by becoming more intensely himself. She had become more uptight than ever, he more sloppy. As if to say: This is what I’m really like. You’d hate me if you saw me now. It could never have worked.
Jude hadn’t had any breakfast and was hungry, so arrived at the pub soon after twelve. There were a coupleof weekending families squabbling over crisps and Coke at the open-air tables, but she was the only customer inside the bar. Ted Crisp looked up lugubriously, took her in slowly, and said, “Hello, stranger.”
“Yes, sorry I haven’t been in much recently. I’ve had to – ”
“No need to apologize. Still a large white wine, is it?”
“Please. And are you taking food orders yet?”
“Sure. Recommend the Fisherman’s Pie today. Got a bit of everything in it, that has, and all fresh from the quay. Cheesy potato on top, and it’s served with chips the size of logs. Get outside of that and you won’t hurt.”
“Your silver-tongued sales talk has persuaded me. I’ll go for it. God, I’m starving.”
Ted called the order through to an unseen presence in the kitchen, then turned back to her. “What you been up to, then?”
When asked direct questions, Jude always answered. Carole was the only one whose gentility made her think she’d gone too far into their friendship to start asking.
“I’ve been with a friend who’s just lost her husband. Very cut-up, needless to say. I’ve been hand-holding to get her through the funeral.”
“Ah. I see. There you are.” Ted pushed across her glass of wine. There was a silence. The ghost of Carole seemed to hover between them, and could only be exorcized by the mention of her name.
Ted took a clumsy run at it. “Thought I might have lost your custom too.”
“Hm?”
“You know, when I put your friend’s back up. Thought I might get the old sisterly solidarity reaction.”
Jude shook her head and sighed in exasperation. “No I wouldn’t behave like that. And you haven’t exactly put Carole’s back up. She just feels embarrassed, that’s all. Oh come on, Ted, it’s not as if you treated her badly.”
“Didn’t I?”
“No. It just didn’t work out between you, that’s all. You were looking for different things.”
“You can say that again.” Ted Crisp wearily ran a hand through the foliage of his beard. “Carole…” There, he’d managed to say it. “Carole kept wanting to define everything. Where were we going? What was the nature of our relationship?” He let out a defeated sigh. “Why is it that men think in terms of enjoying things right now and are never in any hurry to see what happens next, whereas women are always thinking in terms of bloody relationships?”
“That’s been one of the great gender issues since time began,” said Jude.
“Yes, in the bloody garden of Eden I bet Adam was just thinking ‘This is all very nice’, while Eve was working out how many fig-leaves it’d take to make the curtains. Well, I’m afraid, in terms of what me and Carole were thinking, we could have been on two different planets.”
Jude grinned. “Might be a good idea for a book in that.” She went on, “You have to remember, of course, Ted, that I don’t think Carole’s ever before been in a casual relationship.”
“You’re right. Seems like the marriage was about it for her. Funny, ‘cause she’s a bloody attractive woman.”
“I’m not sure that she thinks that.”
“No. The husband – bloody David – when he left her, he drained away any little bit of confidence she might have had. Really knocked her sideways, that. She never opened up to me much, you know, like emotionally, butshe said something once that indicated just how much he’d hurt her.”
“Anyway, I’m sure soon you and Carole’ll be able to…you know…see each other without any pressure or recrimination.”
“Just be friends’?” He grimaced cynically. “Yeah. Sounds simple. Trouble is, it never turns out like that, does it?” Having performed the ceremony of exorcism, he now wanted to put it behind him. “Anyway, what you been up to? Apart from comforting the bereaved?”
“Been having some thoughts about that business up in Fedborough…”
“‘The Torso in the Town’. Yeah, lot of the old codgers in here been maundering on about that. Heard every kind of theory about who the body might’ve been – names ranging from Eva Braun, who somehow survived the bunker in Berlin, to Lord Lucan after a sex change. One old geezer even reckoned she was a serial killer…who got into a feud with another serial killer. Mind you, I don’t believe that.”
“Why not?” asked Jude, stepping straight into the trap he had prepared for her.
“Because I know she was totally ‘armless.”
She groaned. “God, I do set them up for you, don’t I, Ted?”
“Sorry. Old habits die hard. When you done the standup circuit as long as I did, you’re always looking for the comic angle.”
“And the tasteless angle?”
“Oh, got to be tasteless in comedy these days. If you don’t offend a few people, then you’re not cutting-edge.” Jude took a long swallow from her glass. Isn’t wine wonderful, she thought. And now doctors are even saying it’s good for us. Maybe there is a God, after all.
“So, Ted, apart from the speculations of the Fethering old fogeys, have you heard any intelligent ideas about what might have happened in Fedborough? I’m sure you’ve been keeping your ears open.”
“You bet I have. And I dare say you have too…you and…” Unable to say Carole’s name again, he moved swiftly on. “Even got a theory of my own, and all…”
“What’s that?”
He made a self-deprecating shrug. “Well, not so much a theory, more an idea of where I might start investigating if I was in charge of the case.”
“Really? I didn’t know you knew anyone in Fed-borough.”
“ A few people. In this business you tend to know who runs the local boozers. Meet them from time to time, chat on the phone, keep tabs on dangerous elements, you know.”
“I didn’t think there were any dangerous elements in Fethering.”
“Don’t believe everything you read in the brochure, darling. They’re not all old farts come in here, you know. And even the old ones can be troublemakers. Be amazed how much carnage you can cause with a Zimmer frame.”
Jude chuckled. “So…who? Where would you start your investigations, Superintendent Crisp?”
“Two or three years back,” said Ted, scratching at his beard, “just after I took over this place, geezer came to see me. Wanted to organize pleasure trips down the Fether from Fedborough, and was trying to get some deal to include lunch in the pub here. He’d just bought up the old boatsheds and café from an old geezer called Bob Bracken, who I know from way back. And he was working on the project with an architect who sometimes comes in here, so I’d heard a bit about what was going on. Anyway, the new owner’s figures didn’t work out, the discount he was asking would have eaten up any profit so far as I was concerned, so the idea’s a complete non-starter…but he was a nice bloke. Bit of a boozer, but, you know, very well-spoken, real gentleman of the old school.”
“Roddy Hargreaves,” Jude murmured.
“You know him?”
“Met him earlier in the week.”
“Right. Anyway, we had a few drinks together and he started pouring his troubles out, way peopl
e do. Occupational hazard in my line of business. And he tells me the lot, how his parents left him with a load of Catholic guilt and a load of money, but how he’s never had much of a business brain. Got stung badly when Lloyd’s crashed, and that seemed fairly typical of the level of his investment success. Sounded like his plans to set up this pleasure-boat deal was going the same way, and all. Just couldn’t grasp the basics of running a business, no mind for detail.
“And the way these things happen, when everything financial’s crashing round his ears, he’s got problems with his marriage and all. He wasn’t vindictive about the wife – quite nice about her, actually – but, reading between the lines of what he’s saying, she – called Virginia, some bone-headed deb ten years younger than him – anyway, I got the pretty firm impression she liked him well enough while he’d got the dosh, but rapidly lost interest once that started trickling away.
“Next thing I hear, through Keith and Janet, the couple who run the Coach and Horses in Pelling Street – that used to be our Roddy’s favourite drinking-hole – ”
“Still is.”
“Anyway, they tell me his wife’s suddenly upped and left him.”
“Where did she go?”
“That’s what nobody in Fedborough seems to know. And if I was in charge of the case,” said Ted Crisp, “that’s the first question I’d be asking now…”
∨ The Torso in the Town ∧
Twelve
On the Sunday morning, before she went to Carole’s for her lift into Fedborough, Jude had a phone call.
“It’s Kim.” Her Pelling House hostess sounded uncharacteristically uptight.
“Anything the matter?”
“Harry.”
“What wrong with him?”
“Well, he’s been quite difficult since we moved down here…you know, keeps going on about having left all his friends in London and having no one he can talk to. And he says he hates his new school. I keep telling him that he’ll soon make friends down here, but…You know what they’re like at that age. They think everything they feel at any given moment is going to last for ever.”
“Yes.”
“But the thing is, since…you know, what he found in the cellar…Harry’s been much worse. Much more uptight and difficult. He’s even been rude to Grant, which is most unlike him. And, well, I’ve got him an appointment with the local doctor down here, and maybe they can refer him somewhere. Or we’ve got friends in London who’ve used behavioural psychologists and could recommend – ”
“Don’t do that yet, Kim. I’m sure Harry doesn’t need a psychologist.”
“No, well, I wasn’t keen. But Grant’s insisting. You know, Grant’s always had that American philosophy that, whatever kind of problem you’ve got in your life, you simply need to find the right professional expert to cure it.”
“Which is fine for architecture and plumbing – and probably computers, but I’m not convinced it always works with human beings.”
“Nor am I. I tried to make that point to Grant, but…” A silent shrug came over the phone. “You know what Grant’s like.”
Jude was getting a much clearer picture of what Grant was like by the minute.
“Anyway, what I said was, before we resorted to doctors and psychologists, I’d ask you to have a word with Harry.”
“Ah…”
“When we first met you in Spain, you were doing that sort of healing stuff, developing a holistic approach to integrating the mind and body.” That wasn’t exactly what Jude had been doing, but she didn’t contest the description. “And you seemed to have great sympathy – I mean, the people there got a great deal out of what you were doing – so I was wondering if you would mind talking to Harry…?”
“Mm…”
“Obviously we’d pay your going rate for…you know, by the hour or a flat fee or – ”
“There’s no need for that. Yes, of course I’ll see if I can help. When were you thinking of?”
“Soon as possible, really. I mean, we’ve got Sundaylunch coming up, and Grant’s a great traditionalist about liking to have all the family round the table for Sunday lunch, and Harry’s going through a phase of not sitting down with us…”
“Like at your dinner party?”
“Yes. Yes, I suppose so.”
“Which suggests that it’s not the shock of the body in the cellar that’s made him like this. That it’s just intensified something that was going on, anyway.”
“See, I knew you’d understand. Anyway, as I say, Sunday lunch is looming, and that’s going to mean another row between Grant and Harry and – ” Kim sounded already exhausted by the prospect, and pleaded, “If you could come…?”
“I can’t do it before lunch, I’m afraid, but I do in fact have to be in Fedborough today. Suppose I dropped in round about three…?”
“Oh, Jude. That would be wonderful.”
“I’ll be with a friend, though. Carole Seddon. I’m dependent on her for a lift. Do you mind if I bring her too?”
“No, of course not.”
James Lister had clearly been doing his Town Walks for a long time. There was an automatic quality to his delivery of local history anecdotes which suggested they had been honed over many years. The same applied to his jokes, if that was the right word to describe them. They had the shape of jokes, but the level of wit shown in them was not much above Rotary Club level. And it is common knowledge that Rotary is the lowest form of wit.
Indeed, as James Lister gathered his walkers in the courtyard of the Pelling Arms, he instantly made a reference to the Club. “This coaching inn, which dates back to the early eighteenth century, is home to the meetings of the local Rotary, and should you pass by on a Wednesday evening and hear laughter coming from the dining room, that probably means I’m in there, telling one of my jokes.”
There was a tremor of slightly anxious laughter from the group, uncertain what the nature of his jokes might be. Jude, who had heard exactly what they were like, was silent. About a dozen people had assembled in the courtyard – a Japanese couple in designer leisurewear, four Scandinavians in bright colours, the remainder English, including a young couple with a whining toddler in a buggy who Carole thought would probably not last the distance.
“My name’s James Lister – Jimmy to my friends – and, without false modesty, what I don’t know about the town of Fedborough isn’t worth knowing. I am a Chub, and for those of you who think there’s something fishy about that…” He waited in vain for a laugh. “Let me tell you that people who are actually born in Fedborough are called ‘Chubs’ because…”
The explanation was duly given. “Now what’s going to happen this morning is we’ll have a gentle walk round the town, and I will highlight various points of interest for you. The whole thing will take exactly an hour, which means that we will arrive back here where we started at the precise moment that the bar is opening, so those of you who want to can refresh yourselves with a pint of local Fedborough bitter. Don’t worry, incidentally, the older ones amongst you…”
Carole looked round. She must be the oldest in the group. No, of course she wasn’t, she reminded herself.
Jude was actually older than her. Why couldn’t she get that idea into her head?
“…this walk is going to be taken at a very leisurely pace. I’m over seventy myself…” no reaction “…which always surprises people…” no evidence of surprise “…but I do keep very fit. Fedborough people, according to a survey, are amongst the fittest in the country. This is due partly to the particularly benign climate of the region, but also, I believe, to the number of hills there are in the town. If you’ve spent your entire working life climbing up and down the streets of Fedborough, I reckon you’re as fit as an Olympic athlete…though I don’t myself have any gold medals to show for it – yet.”
Again, this sally of Rotarian wit fell on deaf ears.
“What did you do?” The question was asked in good English, with only slight Scandinavian singsong inton
ation.
“I’m sorry?”
“What did you do for your working life here in Fed-borough?”
“Oh.” James Lister seemed a little thrown by the question. “I was the local butcher.”
They walked up to the Castle ruins, and James Lister gave them a potted history of the siege of Fedborough during the Civil War. “I like to see myself as a Cavalier rather than a Roundhead – though, if you got my wife on to the subject, she’d say I was more of a bonehead!”
The Japanese couple, who didn’t have much English, had by now caught on to the idea that their guide was telling jokes, and greeted each sally with disproportionate hilarity. The rest of the group, who understood exactly what he was saying, was silent. The couple with the toddler had melted away in the Castle grounds and weren’t seen again.
From the Castle, James Lister led his party along Dauncey Street, at right angles to the High Street. “This road, being at the top of the town with views down to the sea at Fethering, has always been one of the most exclusive residential areas of Fedborough. It was here, as you can see from all these fine façades, that the successful merchant traders of the early nineteenth century chose to build their mansions. And Dauncey Street is still a magnet for property buyers, commanding some of the highest prices in the area. Many of the leading lights of the town live here. And,” he concluded coyly, “guess where I live?”
A Scandinavian voice, apparently not understanding the principle of the rhetorical question, asked, “Where?”
“I actually live here. In fact, we are standing right outside my house.” He put his arm round Jude’s ample waist and drew her face to his. Then, with elaborately manufactured anxiety, he sprang apart from her. “Oops, better be careful! The wife might see!”
The Japanese couple laughed immoderately. The rest of the group shuffled their feet. Jude felt residual distaste from his beer-breath and the scratch of his white moustache.
