by Purser, Ann
“I expect you have to keep in shape, in your business,” Margie said, with a knowing smile.
“Yeah, well, I may not have to do it for much longer,” Betsy replied. “Things are bound to change around here.”
“How’s Pettison, then? Last I heard was that he was stable, and with a good chance of a complete recovery. We’ve been assured that everything will go on the same meantime, and our jobs are secure,” said Margie. “I should have thought you could say the same?”
“We shall see,” said Betsy mysteriously, and got up to go. “I have to check a few things up in the hall,” she said. “The gossips are busy, as you can imagine. I shall have to see that everything’s okay if he’s coming home soon.”
“You got a key, then?”
“Oh yes,” said Betsy loftily. “Had one for years. I’d best go up and see to the post, an’ that.”
“You’re private secretary now, as well, are you?” said Margie, smiling.
“I do my best,” said Betsy, and walked off.
She was somewhat daunted when she let herself into the hall, and saw a large pile of letters on the doormat. Sorting through them, and discarding all the rubbish, she came across one with a foreign stamp. “Oh blimey,” she said. “Better open this.”
It was from Africa, and the message was blunt. “Dear Sir, your consignment has been dispatched and will arrive soon. Notice of exact time and place of arrival will follow. Yours faithfully,” and the rest was an unreadable squiggle. There were no contact details, and no clues to where exactly it might have come from.
Now what? She read the message again, and made a decision. Taking out her mobile, she dialled a number. “Justin? Can we meet? It’s urgent. Yes, I suppose that will be all right. Your flat, around six o’clock? See you then.”
She stuffed the rest of the post into a bag, and returned to her car. There was nobody around, and she suddenly felt a shiver. It was a creepy old place, she thought, and if any of the animals escaped they’d have a hell of a job finding them. Safely in her car, she drove off down the drive and out into the comforting traffic jam, full of real people going home to lunch.
*
Back in her ticket booth, Margie Turner settled down for afternoon chats with families coming into the zoo. She liked to have a few words of welcome with each lot, and then direct them to where they should start. Most of them chose the chimps, and after that the sadly lonely tiger. He was a mangy old thing, and no one could remember where Pettison had got him from. Most of the time he slept, but occasionally padded over to the visitors and yawned, showing his crumbling old teeth. Only very rarely did he oblige with a roar, and that was when children poked sticks at him, until reprimanded by the keeper.
Before he went into hospital, Pettison had taken delivery of a new, fully grown chimpanzee, bred in captivity and trained to be mild and friendly. So the keeper had said. But today he was clearly depressed. He sat on a branch of dead wood, his head in his hands, looking gloomy.
“Cheer up!” said the father of a visiting family. “It may never happen!”
His wife laughed. “Perhaps that’s why he’s worried,” she said. Suddenly the chimp bounded down off the branch, and came to the front of his enclosure. He banged his huge fists on the bars, and chattered angrily.
“Come away, children!” said the visitor. “Let’s go and look at some little rabbits.”
“Missing his master,” said the keeper, when the incident was reported to him. “Old Pettison had got fond of him, and brought him treats to eat. I expect the poor thing is wondering where he’s gone.”
“He’ll have to get used to somebody else for a while, won’t he?” said Margie Turner, who had heard about it from a visitor leaving the zoo. “If you ask me, it’s a bad idea to get too friendly with animals. You never know what they’ll do next.”
Forty-eight
The bells of St. Martin’s church, around the corner from Dot Nimmo’s house, began their loud pealing for morning service, and Dot paused from her weekly chores, wondering whether she should go. She couldn’t remember the last time she went, and doubted if she could remember when to stand up and sit down. Never mind, she told herself, God won’t mind if I get it wrong. I don’t like them modern hymns, but maybe there’ll be one or two of the old favourites.
“Shut up, parrot,” she said, passing his perch. “I’m going to church, and I’ll say a prayer for the good Lord to take you sooner rather than later.”
There was a trickle of worshippers entering the church, and Dot was surprised to see Betsy and Ted among them. She fell in beside them, and together they sat in a pew suitably near the back of the church. Dot wondered if Betsy confessed her sins? Since she regarded her work as a service to mankind, she probably didn’t.
After the service, when some of the parishioners were collecting at the back of the church for a gossip, Dot and the Brierleys stood at the top of the steps outside, watching two strong men lifting a wheelchair bodily down to a specially adapted car. The occupant of the chair was well wrapped up from head to toe in thick rugs to keep out the cold.
“Must be a devout Christian,” said Dot, “to venture out in this icy wind.”
“Mm,” said Betsy, and she and Ted exchanged a furtive look.
“What?” said Dot.
“What nothing,” said Betsy. “Come and have a sherry, and we’ll have a gossip of our own.”
When they were safely out of the cold and into Brierleys’ warm sitting room, Dot began again. “Okay, what’s up? Is it to do with that man in the wheelchair—oh God, no! It wasn’t him, was it? He’s not in circulation again, is he?” She laughed at the ridiculousness of the idea.
“Depends what you’re talking about, Dottie,” said Ted.
“I’m talking about Pettison, of course. We all know there was a dreadful thing happened to him, but nobody knows the whole story, for some God-knows-what reason.”
“If we tell you, will you promise God’s honour not to tell anyone?”
“Natch,” said Dot. “Cross my heart and hope to die.”
“No need to go to that extreme,” laughed Ted. “Over to you, Betsy,” he said, and with a full glass in her hand, Betsy began.
*
Sunday lunch was always a special meal in Meade House, when Josie and Matthew came over, and sometimes Lois’s eldest son, Douglas, with his small family. Jamie, her youngest, was a concert pianist and spent most of his time flying round the world, performing at concerts. He visited his family about four or five times a year, on average.
Today, Gran had cooked a large free-range chicken, with all the trimmings, and five of them sat round the table, appreciating the warmth of the Rayburn and the good red wine poured out by Matthew with a sure hand.
“Good health,” said Derek, holding up his glass.
“And so say all of us,” chanted the others.
“What are we all doing this afternoon?” said Lois. “I’m walking Jeems. A short walk today, and a quick one to work off this magnificent lunch. I’d be glad of company.”
“I’m watching the sport on telly,” said Derek.
“Me too,” chorused the others, including Matthew, who was a renowned football player in police circles.
“And you Gran? One thing you’re not doing, and that’s the washing up.”
“Thanks, Josie. No, I shall retire to my bedroom, put my feet up and read a book.”
“And I shall have a nice snooze, like Gran,” said Josie. “Mum, looks like you’re walking on your own today.”
The meal over, Lois went to fetch Jeems’s lead, and the little dog was dancing about everyone’s feet in her excitement at the mention of a walk.
Then the phone rang. “Blast!” said Derek. “Who can that possibly be? I’ll answer it.”
He disappeared, and a few seconds later was back, saying it was for Lois. “An old friend,” he said, and then, making sure Gran could not hear, he whispered in her ear that it was Dot Nimmo. “Said she’s sorry to bother you, b
ut was sure you’d want to hear.”
“Hear what?”
Derek shrugged his shoulders. “Better go and find out,” he said, and Lois went quickly to her office, closing the door behind her. Dot would never ring her on a Sunday, unless it was really important.
“Hello, Dot? Something wrong? Oh gosh, if it’s really a matter of life or death, you’d better come over straightaway. See you in about half an hour?”
She returned to the kitchen to find them all except Gran staring at her. Gran had already gone upstairs to her room, shutting her door with a bang that everyone could hear. She was mildly offended by Josie suggesting that she intended to have a snooze. She picked up her book, a racy novel about Regency folk, read two pages, and fell asleep.
“So who was that?” said Josie. “Are you going to tell us, or is it a secret to do with ferretin’?”
“I’ll tell you later, when I’ve talked to her. It was Dot Nimmo, and she says it’s red-hot news.”
“You bet it’s nothing that couldn’t keep until tomorrow,” said Matthew. “I guess she’s bursting to tell somebody.”
*
“Come on into my office, Dot,” Lois said, a short while later. “We shan’t be disturbed, with any luck. Gran’s safely asleep upstairs. Now, what is it all about?”
“Well, it’s like this. I went to church this morning, and no, the whole place didn’t fall down in surprise. Then, even more surprising, I saw Betsy Brierley, with Ted, and went to sit with them. Afterwards, she asked me in, and then she filled me in on what we had just seen.”
“Which was?” Lois settled comfortably in her chair. This looked like it would take some time.
“A man in a wheelchair, who’d been in the church, was being carried down the steps by a couple of strong blokes, and stowed away in a special vehicle. The man was wrapped up against the cold, and you couldn’t even see his face. Then, when I was having a sherry with Betsy, she told me who he was.”
Lois sat up straight, and her eyes opened wide. “Not him? Not Pettison? But isn’t he very poorly?”
“Yes, I know that’s what we all thought after that story in the newspaper. But he isn’t that bad. He’s still suffering, but it’s more in mind than in body. They got the paint off very quickly, and he hadn’t swallowed any, or anything like that. He’s back in his own room. You know the phrase? ‘Responding well to treatment’?”
“What do you mean, ‘in mind than in body’? We all know the red-paint details. That story was an anonymous one, given to the newspapers by someone who didn’t want his name mentioned. Tell me again what happened. Your paper probably gave a different report!”
“Well, this man got into the hospital without being spotted, and made his way to Pettison’s private room. A nurse saw him and let him in. She shouldn’t have, but he convinced her he was family. He was there for only about five minutes, they reckon. Pettison had asked the nurse to get rid of him after ten minutes, but luckily he was able to reach the bell before that, and she came running. Too late to catch the intruder, though.” Dot began to laugh. “Oh, sorry, Mrs M,” she continued. “It’s just the thought of it. What if he was wearing one of them little shorty hospital nightshirts?”
“Dot! Get on with it, gel,” said Lois. “Most of that I can read in the newspapers.”
“No, there’s more. Now, we all know that the nurse ran for help, and they got him cleaned up and back into bed. His face was red and sore, and he was very cold. But mostly he’d lost the power of speech. He wasn’t damaged, but it was the trauma and humiliation, Betsy said.”
“And it was him in church?” Lois said thoughtfully. “He must think he’s going to die in mortal sin. But knowing Pettison, he probably had some ulterior motive. So what else did Betsy say?”
“Well, apparently her and that Justin Brookes, who’s Pettison’s nephew, are keeping things going, and have plans for the future of the zoo.”
“How are they going to keep it going? Pettison may recover, I suppose, and then it’ll be business as usual.”
Dot shook her head. “No, Brookes and Betsy mean to make some changes. There’s no possibility of Pettison recovering immediately, and maybe never as good as he was before, so it seems.”
“This’ll take some thinking about,” said Lois. “Thanks for coming over, Dot. I do appreciate it. On your day off, as well. I’m just about to take the dog for a walk. Do you want to come?”
Dot shook her head. “Gracious no, Mrs M. I’m going home to a good fire and a film on the telly. I’ll say cheerio, then, and see you at the New Brooms meeting tomorrow.”
Forty-nine
“So what did she want, gel?” Derek said, as they sat side by side on the sofa, the telly finally switched off, Josie and Matthew waved off to the cottage, and Jeems safely in her basket in the kitchen.
“You mean Dot? Well, I’m sworn to secrecy, I’m afraid.”
“Oh dear, not again,” he said. “Couldn’t you make up a story, not necessarily true, and then I can be happy?”
“That’s a bit devious, isn’t it?”
Derek shrugged. “Please yourself,” he said.
Lois took a deep breath, and began. “Once upon a time, there was a nosy old man who lived in a nice village in the English Midlands. He couldn’t bear for his wife to have secrets from him, so he attached her by the wrists to a picture hook on the wall. It’d have been a very strong hook, as she was seriously overweight.” At this, Lois collapsed into laughter. “Oh Derek, this is ridiculous. No, I’ll tell you a serious story, and you can decide how much I am making up.”
When she had finished, they both sat in silence. Then Derek spoke in a whisper. “Was it really all over him?” he said.
She nodded. “He was covered with it, everywhere,” she said.
“And the nurse found him like that?” Derek put his arm round her shoulders.
She nodded again. “But he didn’t swallow any paint, or anything like that.”
“No wonder he’s lost the power of speech, poor old fool.”
“I think it’s time for bed,” Lois said. “It’s been quite a day.” She kissed him fondly, and he gallantly stood up and pulled her to her feet. Then he picked her up, moved two steps and put her down again.
“You’re right,” he said. “She was seriously overweight.”
*
Next morning, Lois was in her office preparing for the team meeting when her phone rang. It was Diana, and she had news. “Hi, Mrs Meade. Jamie’s been in touch. Apparently he heard the story in Australia! No, that wasn’t the reason I’m ringing. This morning we’ve had a handout from Tresham Zoo,” she said. “I thought you might be interested.”
“What does it say?”
“It says that owing to local rumours about the zoo closing, they want to assure all visitors that although it is under temporary new management, they are open as usual, and there will be more interactive opportunities, as well as upgrading the café.”
Justin and Betsy haven’t wasted any time, Lois thought. I hope they’ve consulted Pettison. He is still the boss, after all. “That café could certainly do with an overhaul,” she said. “Coffee tastes like dishwater, and the cakes are always stale.”
“I don’t know what the interactive bit means. I can’t think that visitors are going to be encouraged to hug a tiger!”
Lois laughed. “Thanks for ringing, anyway, Diana. I’ll keep you posted if there are any juicy developments; then you can have a scoop!”
As soon as she signed off, the phone rang again. This time it was Inspector Cowgill, and his tone was brisk. “Morning Lois,” he said. “Perhaps you’d like to come and see me this afternoon? I have to go up to Cameroon Hall first, but perhaps we could say half past three?”
“I presume it’s important?” said Lois.
“Could be,” he answered, and that was the end of the conversation.
Dot Nimmo was first for the New Brooms meeting at midday, and she was in a very good mood. “Guess what, Mrs M,” she said
.
“What?”
“The zoo van, the one with the tiger draped all over it, drew up outside the Brierleys’ this morning, and guess who got out of it?”
Lois shook her head. “Tell me, Dot,” she said patiently.
“Justin Brookes, followed by Ted Brierley. How unlikely is that!”
“Certainly is,” said Lois. “I wouldn’t have put Justin down as one of Ted’s bosom pals. Justin’s altogether too public school, don’t you think?”
“Yeah, well,” said Dot. “That whole business with the red paint smacks of stupid public school goings-on, d’you reckon?”
“You may be right,” said Lois, who had come to the same conclusion. “Oh, there’s the others at the door. Could you let them in, Dot?”
*
In the staff room at the zoo, Betsy and Justin were sorting through another pile of post that Betsy had collected. She was keeping the one she had opened until the end, and after junking most of the rest into a plastic sack, she handed the delivery note to him.
“It doesn’t say what the consignment is,” she said. “What are we going to do about it?”
Justin groaned. “I had hoped that there wouldn’t be any more of these,” he said, “but I suppose there could be several orders outstanding. I see they’ll let us know exactly when and what in due course. Have you found a later letter from them?”
They looked again at the small pile of envelopes that were not junk, and Betsy pulled out another with a foreign stamp. “This is the same,” she said. “Here, you open it.”
Justin duly opened the envelope and extracted a single sheet of paper. “It’s brief and to the point,” he said. “A consignment of bees—bees!—will be delivered to Cameroon Hall on Tuesday. That’s Tuesday of this week!”
“In other words, tomorrow,” said Betsy.
They stared at each other. Finally Justin said that until they could find out some more about them, he would transport them—safely, he hoped—to Farnden. “I’ve taken over the garden at the back of the shop, and they can go down the far end. Maybe in the pigsty, if they’re coming from tropical parts.”
