by Ann Purser
“Ivy, have you heard from Gus at all?”
“He went to London, Deirdre. Of course I haven’t heard from him. Did he say what time he’d be back?”
“Well, yes, he said he hoped to be back in time for Whippy’s tea. She always has it around five o’clock without fail.”
“But Deirdre, he could have got held up anywhere. There’s always tube strikes and rail strikes and rush hour traffic jams. He’ll be back soon, I’m sure. Anyway, if you ask me, he’ll have decided to stay with one of his mysterious friends. You know our Gus!”
“Mm, I’m not so sure. He loves that dog like she was a child. I think he’d do his best to be back by five.”
“Well, maybe Miriam Blake knows something. I saw her from my window going down the street with Whippy on a red lead. Why don’t you give Miriam a ring?”
“Okay, Ivy. I’ll do that. Sorry to bother you. Anyway, I’ll be in touch tomorrow.”
As they sat at the supper table, with Alwen now making up a permanent threesome, Ivy told the others about Deirdre’s call. “Making a fuss about nothing, if you ask me,” she said.
“Sounds like it,” said Alwen. “It’s typical men, though, Ivy. He’ll turn up late tonight, I bet, full of the joys of spring.” Her words were encouraging, but her expression was oddly one of concern.
IN A DINGY back room of a small café not far from Liverpool Street, Gus thought nostalgically of having supper with his friends in the protected atmosphere of Springfields.
The man and the woman, Margaret, had shoved Gus through the café, upstairs and into this smelly room, locking the door behind them when they left him with assurances of their swift return. There would be developments, he knew, but he tried not to think about that. His fear had gone. He was now the old Gus, living on his wits and never allowing distractions to prevent him from concentrating on the one important thing. In this case, it was escape.
He looked around. There was very little in the room. A few rickety chairs and a small table propped up on three legs with a pile of old telephone directories for a fourth. A window with one filthy pane looking out over a tiny backyard, stacked high with cardboard boxes and anonymous rubbish. There was no means of opening the window. He began to walk slowly round the skirting board, kicking it carefully for hollow sounds. A cupboard door was hanging half off its hinges, and he looked inside. Nothing, except for signs of an abandoned mouse nest. Not even a resident mouse. Not very promising, he admitted to himself. He would have to rely on the locked door. He sat down on the least rickety chair to wait and to think. Most urgent, he knew, was to find out why they wanted him, and why they thought he might run away when they told him. It was unlikely to be the unsavoury death of an old man at Measby.
“HELLO, THEO?” DEIRDRE was now trying long shots to find out where Gus had got to. It was nearly ten o’clock and dark, and Miriam Blake had taken Whippy into her own cottage with her bed and feeding bowl.
“Deirdre, my darling! How can I help at this hour? Well,” he continued before she could answer, “I can think of lots of lovely ways, but don’t suppose that’s why you’re ringing?”
A little of Deirdre’s panic subsided at the sound of Theo’s confident tones. “No, though that does sound very inviting. No, Theo, it’s about Gus Halfhide. I was wondering if he’d mentioned to you anything about being away in London for more than a day? He’s not answering his mobile. It’s dead as a doornail, and Miriam has taken Whippy into her house, and because of, well, you know, because of Gus’s past, we are all a bit worried about what might have happened to him.”
Theo’s answer was a hearty laugh. He said he had no idea where Gus Halfhide was, but guessed he was living it up with friends in London. “I do hope he hasn’t deserted us completely,” he said in a more sober voice. “He is an excellent tenant, always prompt with the rent and no complaints.”
“For God’s sake, Theo, never mind about the rent! The man might be in danger! Haven’t you any useful connections or ideas about how we could get hold of him?”
There was a moment’s silence, and then Theo said he probably still had Gus’s details from his application for the cottage. “I’ll look out the files in the morning, see if I can find his address at that time,” he said. “Meanwhile, darling Deirdre, why don’t you get into your car and speed up to the Hall, where I’ll help you forget all about the mysterious Augustus Halfhide?”
Deirdre cut off the call without saying good-bye.
IVY WOKE WITH a start, and sat up. She put on her bedside light and looked at the alarm clock beside her. Midnight, the witching hour. She rubbed her eyes and listened for any noises in the home that might have awakened her. Sometimes, there were shouts and screams as the residents fought with their dreams. But tonight it was silent. Nothing but an old tomcat yowling in the garden outside. She lay down again, adjusting her hairnet over stray strands of hair. Her eyelids began to close, until suddenly they shot open again, and she sat up once more.
“Of course!” she said aloud. “I bet Deirdre hasn’t thought of it. That’s where he’ll be. With his ex-wife!”
Twenty-one
“THAT’S ALL VERY well, Ivy,” Deirdre said, “but how do you propose we should find Gus’s ex-wife’s telephone number or even address?”
“You’ve got a key to his cottage, haven’t you? And if you haven’t, I should think Theo Roussel has. You can bet old Beattie kept duplicate keys to all the cottages.”
Deirdre had called Ivy soon after breakfast with the news that Gus had not shown up, and Miriam was still looking after Whippy. She had heard nothing, and both of them were worried sick. Gus’s mobile was still dead, and he seemed to have vanished without trace. All this would not in any way have looked suspicious, but when he had left Whippy behind, and with no instructions as to her welfare if he should be delayed, they knew something was wrong.
“It’s just not Gus, and no, I don’t have a key to his cottage,” Deirdre said, sounding offended and ending the call.
At coffee time, when Roy, Ivy and Alwen met in the lounge, they agreed that it was totally out of character for Gus to behave in this way. Even Katya, who had been taken into Ivy’s confidence, said she thought maybe they should think about going to the police. Perhaps there had been an accident, and maybe Gus had not been carrying any means of identification.
“Good point,” Ivy had said, remembering Gus’s insistence on keeping himself more or less anonymous.
Now Deidre marched into the lounge, and Ivy ordered another coffee for her. “A council of war, you said, Ivy, so here I am,” Deirdre said, flopping down into a chair drawn up to make a circle with the other three. In this way, they shut out curious eyes and ears, and felt they could talk freely, if quietly.
Deirdre reported that at Ivy’s suggestion she had asked Theo for a spare key to Gus’s cottage, and she would pick it up later.
“Good,” said Ivy. “Now, any more suggestions or comments. I reckon we’ll need plans A, B and C.”
Roy looked at her proudly. There was no doubt about it. In an emergency, Ivy came into her own. No wonder she had commanded the village of Round Ringford for so many years. Various stories had filtered through to him about his beloved’s record in her home village, including one about the little school, threatened with closure, being rescued by Ivy’s sizable donation.
“I had this idea in the middle of the night,” Ivy continued. She told them about her plan for contacting Gus’s ex-wife, but Alwen was sceptical. “Last place he would go, I should think,” she said. “If I know anything about ex-husbands, they stay away from you as much as possible. Especially if they’re short of cash.”
Deirdre looked at her in surprise. “Speaking from experience, Alwen?” she said.
“Not an unusual situation,” Alwen replied, purposely vague. “I do have one thing we might try,” she added. “We could go over to Oakbridge station and see if they remember selling a ticket to London yesterday to anyone looking like Gus. If they do, then at least we’d
know he’d actually gone there, and not anywhere else.”
Roy was doubtful. “There’s a hell of a lot of commuters catch the London trains first thing in the morning,” he said. “I think we’d be wasting time.”
“But most of them have season tickets,” Ivy said. “I think it’s a good idea. Deirdre could go and ask. No harm in asking.”
At this point, Katya came over to them, and said there was a call for Mrs. Wilson Jones. Perhaps she would like to take it in Mrs. Spurling’s office, to save her going upstairs to her room? Alwen said she was expecting a call from her daughter Bronwen, and limped off to the office.
The others asked Katya to bring more hot coffee to help them think, and Roy said cookies were known to be good for the brain, so could she put a few more of her specialty on a plate for them? While they waited, they discussed other ways of finding Gus, and Deirdre remembered Theo’s offer to look out for any previous address he might have in the files from when Gus first applied to rent the cottage.
It was only a matter of minutes before Alwen was back, helped by Mrs. Spurling who was holding her firmly by the arm.
“She insisted on coming back to you three,” she said caustically. “She should really take a rest, but as I say, she insisted.” She helped Alwen, who was looking whey-faced and shaky, and then turned on her heel. Sooner or later this lot would go too far, and then she would be the one to carry the can.
“Alwen, my dear,” Roy said, stretching out his hand to take her trembling one, “what has happened?”
“It was another of those calls, wasn’t it?” Ivy said flatly. “The anonymous caller?”
Alwen nodded. “Yes, it was. I put down the phone, but not before he’d said something really horrible.”
“Which was?” prompted Ivy. She looked at the two entwined hands, and began to think Alwen was spinning it out unnecessarily.
“It was the same voice, but the message was different. He said that if we wanted to see our friend again, I should arrange for ten thousand pounds to be delivered in banknotes to an address which would arrive in the post tomorrow.”
“Oh my Lord,” said Deirdre. “So did you cut him off then? Did he give you a deadline?”
“Yes, he did,” said Alwen, her colour returning. “I thought I should keep him talking, to see if I picked up any clue to who he is. He then said that I shouldn’t try telling the police, or it would be curtains for Gus Halfhide. And he said the money should be at the address by midnight, the day after tomorrow. Or else. Then I knew he wasn’t bluffing.”
“Never mind about that,” said Deirdre firmly. “I am going home right now to phone Inspector Frobisher of Thornwell police. We are out of our depth here, chums. Hands up those who agree?”
She thought the result would be a foregone conclusion, but it wasn’t. No hands were raised. “But Ivy!” she said. “This is really serious stuff now. We’re not playing games,” she added, unconsciously echoing Gus.
“Nor were we in the Beatty case,” Ivy said stiffly. “Gus trusted us, and he’s probably stuck somewhere where he can’t come home, crossing his fingers that we don’t go to the police.”
“So you think his ex-wife has him tied up at gunpoint, demanding alimony or else?” Alwen had had enough. She began to rise to her feet, but then sank back into her chair. She had just remembered that she herself had every reason not to want the police sniffing around. Especially with Bronwen coming to see her this afternoon.
“No, of course not,” Deirdre said. She sighed. “Well, I’ll go along with what we plan to do for another few days, but after that, the police. Is that clear?”
“Another few days might be too late, if that caller is serious,” Ivy said. “Personally, if you ask me, I suspect he was bluffing, Alwen. He must know that stuck here in Springfields we’re unlikely to be able to do what he asks. Did he say he’d call again?”
Alwen shook her head miserably. “No. It was all I could do not to spill it all out to Mrs. Spurling. She was not far away, needless to say. I’m afraid that he is not bluffing, Ivy. I feel it in my bones.”
Ivy shifted in her chair until she was sitting upright in a commanding position. “Right,” she said, “here’s what we’ll do. First, Deirdre has to go into the bank in Thornwell and stay there for as long as possible, then come out smiling. Doesn’t matter what you do in there, Deirdre, but just make it look as if you’ve settled a lengthy transaction.”
“Why?” said Roy.
“Just in case somebody’s watching.”
“You mean following me?” Deirdre gasped.
“Of course,” Ivy said. “We’re not dealing with a oneman band here, you know. There’ll be several of them. Now, after that, Deirdre, you can go on to Thornwell station and ask if the ticket office remembers seeing Gus.”
“What shall we do?” Roy was anxious not to be left out, and rather fancied the idea of taking on Theo Roussel. “Shall I go with Ivy up to the Hall and see if himself has found any papers?”
Deirdre agreed reluctantly, but then cheered up when she remembered that Theo was not taking her at all seriously last night. Perhaps Ivy and Roy would have better luck.
“And I’ll wait here,” Alwen said firmly. “I’m expecting Bronwen to call to confirm this afternoon, and anyway, that man might call again.” She frowned, looked at Ivy and said, “D’you know, I reckon he’s disguising his voice. It sounded odd, like it would be if he was . . . sort of strangulated. Now why would he do that?”
“Obvious,” said Ivy. “He knows you’d recognise his real voice.”
Alwen looked at her closely. It was such a sensible remark, but there was something about the way Ivy said it. And the way she returned Alwen’s gaze, steadily and perhaps with a warning? Ivy had spent a lifetime behind lace curtains, picking up clues from village life going on outside her windows, sorting the evidence, jumping to conclusions, often proving to be correct. Not to be underestimated, thought Alwen. One to watch.
I WONDER IF Deirdre’s ears are burning, Gus said to himself. He had been thinking about her for a long while. He’d been told straightaway that a ransom had been demanded, and knew that only Deirdre would be able to raise that amount of cash at will. Did she care enough? He knew that she fancied him. But then she fancied Theo Roussel, and had enjoyed high jinks in his bed for some while. Could he compete with the local squire? And, more importantly, did he want to? Now he had time to examine this question honestly. Answer: yes, he did, and if he ever got out of here he would take positive steps in that direction.
The door to his prison opened, and Martin and Margaret locked themselves in with him. While he had been left alone, Gus had become sure that “Martin” was not the colleague he had been expecting to meet. It had been years, and now he saw that he looked nothing like the Martin he had known, even accounting for the passage of time. That Martin had been small and wiry, and was losing his hair at a relatively young age. His gaoler must be in his early sixties, and was tall and thickset, with close-cropped thick grey hair and old-fashioned heavy-framed glasses.
He was more or less convinced that Margaret’s story had been a pack of lies. She was clever, and the way she had accosted him had made him uncertain. But that had been an unexpected meeting, and he was prepared to admit that his memory was not that good. But now he was sure. She was a complete stranger, and a dangerous one. And, if he was not mistaken, she was the boss of the duo.
“Are you hungry, Gus?” she said with apparent concern. “Sorry there’s no time to talk now. We’ll be back later for a discussion.”
“What discussion? Just get out of my way, and let me out of here. You don’t fool me. Neither of you have anything to do with the person I was supposed to meet. I don’t know what you’re up to, apart from blackmail, but you must know that my lunch friend will be making enquiries when I don’t show up. He is a top man in his field, and I don’t give much for your chances when he finds you.”
“Nice try, Gus,” said the woman. “And don’t worry about your
top man. He’s certainly not worrying about you.”
Twenty-two
“I’M DUE TO see Mother at half past two,” Bronwen said as she stacked the dishwasher.
“It’s nearly two now,” he said, “so you’d best be off. And don’t forget the big question this time.”
Bronwen had not yet had the courage to approach her mother for a loan, which she was almost one hundred percent certain she would not get. It was a waste of time, she had said repeatedly to Trevor, and what was more, they had little chance of paying it back in the foreseeable future.
“What makes you think she has reserves enough to lend us?” she said now. “After all, the fees at Springfields are horrendous. It won’t take long to make a huge dent in her savings, and compared with some of the old biddies there, she is quite hale and hearty.”
“I don’t know why she wanted to go there in the first place,” Trevor replied. “She could have managed in her own home, with carers coming in and Meals On Wheels and all that jazz.”
“Can you imagine Mother accepting personal help from a ragbag of local authority women? As for Meals On Wheels, well, I ask you!”
“She managed to eat school dinners all those years. I think you misjudge her.”
“Oh, no I don’t! I know exactly what she’ll do to save money when it’s to her own advantage. And the fact is, none of us in the family know just how much she has in the kitty all together, investments and savings bonds and so on.”
“It’s a pity she’s not gaga,” Trevor said gloomily. “If you had power of attorney, then we could really go to town.”
“Not these days, boyo,” she snapped. “Takes about six months to finalise, and then there are all kinds of checks and balances to make sure her money is secure.”
