It's Raining Men

by Milly Johnson

  ‘So are you going anywhere nice with Daisy when she gets back today?’

  ‘We’re going for dinner tonight. She likes this French place in Whitby. Not really my sort of thing but,’ he shrugged, ‘it’s something I can do to make up for her having to keep going back and being prodded and poked at.’

  Oh, you poor man. What a burden of guilt to carry. She only just stopped herself from putting her arms around his shoulders and hugging him. She had better go before she overrode her safety catch.

  ‘Well, it’s been nice seeing you again, Frank,’ she said, standing and picking up her litter. ‘I hope you have a lovely meal later.’

  ‘Thank you, May,’ he said. She felt full of warm syrup hearing him say her name.

  ‘Bye.’

  She turned from him and began walking, knowing that he was watching her. She concentrated on trying not to trip or let the wind blow up the skirt of her floaty dress, Marilyn Monroe-style.

  Chapter 70

  Gene insisted on paying the bill. He wouldn’t even let Lara pay as a gesture of thanks for the crutch. She could move quite fast on it now and reckoned she wouldn’t need it in a couple of days. She wondered whether she should ask if he wanted it back.

  They arrived at their destination at quarter past eleven: a rescue centre which had a long twisting drive flanked by huge trees that blocked out the sunlight. At the end of the drive was a large stone house with outbuildings next to it. Penny, the lady to whom Gene had spoken on the phone, was waiting for him in the doorway. She was a straight-backed no-nonsense horsey type wearing a disposable apron.

  ‘Mr Hathersage? Welcome. I’m Penny.’ She held out a meaty hand and gave Gene’s a thorough shake. She threw a friendly hello at Lara too as she was getting out of the truck. ‘Come in, come in and meet Gracie and Poppet. You okay there?’

  ‘I’m fine,’ replied Lara, following Penny and Gene into a sizeable kitchen dominated by a huge red Aga. At the side of it, curled into a small ball, was a light-grey dog looking up at the strangers with wary grey eyes. A shaggy little pup came bounding over from across the room, his tail wagging so much that he almost knocked himself over with it.

  ‘This is Poppet and that over there is Gracie,’ breezed Penny. ‘I gave you first refusal on Poppet but if you don’t want him, he’s got two people on the waiting list. As for our Gracie, well, she’s been in the wars a bit, poor thing. She was found very scared in the woods with her back leg in a very bad state, so God knows what she’d been through. Had to take it off but she’s doing very well. The vet thinks she’s no more than nine months old. Bit nervy. Doesn’t like noise or plastic bags. Likes a basket by a fireside and she’ll sneak up on your lap when she thinks you aren’t looking. Needs some patience and love and a quiet life.’

  Don’t we all, thought Lara, as Poppet jumped up at her in an effort to claim her attention.

  ‘Someone took her and then brought her back after two days because she wouldn’t come to them. I want to know that whoever takes her will persevere with her. I don’t want any more upsets for her, she’s had more than her share,’ Penny said with a stern edge in her voice.

  Gene squatted down to the basket, offering the back of his hand. Penny moved away and picked up Poppet, who was trying to cut in on the action.

  ‘Hello, girl,’ Gene whispered. ‘How are you doing?’

  Gracie shivered to her three feet and, just when Lara thought she was going to walk away, her head came forward and she sniffed at Gene’s fingers. He was talking to her gently, words that Lara couldn’t make out because they were so quiet.

  ‘He’s got the touch,’ said Penny. ‘Lovely creature.’

  Lara wasn’t sure if she meant Gracie or Gene. The way he was trying to make a connection with the dog, talking to her softly, was fascinating to watch. She hadn’t thought he could be so patient. Gracie didn’t seem to be put off by his wild hair and black beard. In fact she settled down in her bed and let him stroke her head, even closing her eyes.

  ‘What do you think? Are you the man for our special little girl?’ asked Penny, her friendly head on a tilt. ‘Or are you more of a Poppet man?’

  Gene turned to Lara. ‘Well, which do you think I should take?’

  ‘Are you kidding? You have to take Gracie. Poppet’s got the chance of a home, two other homes.’

  Gene nodded and turned to Penny. ‘Yep. I think Gracie would fit in at La Mer, if you think I’m suitable to take her.’ He straightened up. ‘Got a space by the fireside waiting for her. I think I must be a sucker for the wobbly-leg type.’ He cast a furtive glance in Lara’s direction.

  ‘Can we say the weekend, then, for pick-up?’ asked Penny, struggling to hold giddy little Poppet.

  ‘Good for me,’ replied Gene.

  I won’t see her settled in, thought Lara with a sad gulp. I’ll be gone.

  Penny saw them out.

  ‘Pleasure to meet you, Mr Hathersage, Mrs Hathersage.’

  Lara opened her mouth to say that they weren’t married, but it was too much hassle to explain. For a moment, she imagined herself as Mrs Gene Hathersage. Then she imagined living at La Mer with a three-legged greyhound in a basket by the wood-burning stove in the kitchen. It wasn’t a thought that had her rushing in panic to the hills, as it would have done on day one of her holiday.

  Chapter 71

  Gladys was frosty with her again and Joan didn’t know why. She had been politeness itself to the woman and yet Gladys was throwing her enough cold looks to turn her into a snowman. That was unfortunate as Joan was hoping to engage her in conversation over a nice cup of tea and some cake, and subtly winkle information out of her.

  Joan needed to go back to the Internet café in Wellem. It was such a nuisance having no access to Google in the village. There were questions that needed answering because at the moment she had crumbs of information that refused to bind together. She was missing the link that would connect all the pieces.

  At the moment it wasn’t much of a story to deliver to the newspapers for a mighty sum, but she suspected that it had the makings of a scoop. What she knew so far was that Gilbert Carlton, lord of the manor, was out in a boat in 1928 with twelve fishermen and the boat sank, but the rain saved them. Or a very able dolphin. For some reason Gilbert paid money to all twelve of them and the mysterious R, who was probably a woman called Raine de la Mer. And that money was still being paid to R, the wife of Seymour Acaster. R Acaster was the heir of the Carlton estate. And it looked as if she was still alive because if she wasn’t, wouldn’t Edwin have made a new will? Then again, Mrs Acaster had to be a hundred if she was a day. It had to be an oversight. She herself had claimed some of Stanley’s benefits for a month after he died – putting it down to grief when they caught up with her. Someone in Ren Dullem had been creaming off the estate for many years, though. Joan had to applaud their brass neck.

  ‘So why did you take me with you?’ asked Lara as they drove down the ridiculously littered lane that led to Ren Dullem.

  ‘As a guiding beacon to steer me away from sentimentality,’ Gene said, and sniffed. ‘I thought that as a hard-nosed business woman you would help me make a sensible decision and not automatically load me with a dog that would require extra maintenance.’

  Lara snorted with laughter. ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘And she’s female.’

  ‘Bound to be trouble, then.’

  He sounded so grumpy yet Lara knew he was play-acting with her. He was as pleased as punch that he would be adopting Gracie at the weekend. He was looking forward to seeing her wander in, sniff around and settle herself by the fire when she realized she was home.

  ‘I was being sensible. I couldn’t see you with a ball of cotton wool like Poppet. You’re more of a hound man.’

  ‘Even three-legged ones.’

  ‘You could make her a crutch. Don’t forget the fish.’

  She saw Gene’s eyes crinkle and his mouth smile under his beard.

  They were seconds away from Well Cottage.
<
br />   ‘Thank you,’ he said, using the same gentle tone of voice he had used with Gracie.

  ‘I enjoyed it,’ said Lara. ‘And the Frannie’s sausage filler,’ she added. ‘I only wish I could see Gracie walk into your house for the first time and take up residence by the fire.’

  ‘You’ll be catching up with all your stuff on your computer by then,’ said Gene, braking by the front door.

  ‘Very probably.’ She sighed, and a cold draught brushed against her heart as she visualized it.

  Chapter 72

  When gardeners arrived taking Lord Carlton’s attention, Joan took the opportunity to nip out to Wellem to get ‘some feminine things’, as she put it. Gladys huffed and nodded her assent.

  Joan had to ask. ‘Gladys, have I offended you in any way?’

  Gladys hardly knew where to start. But she remembered Edwin’s warning that if she stirred up trouble it wouldn’t be Joan who was out on her ear.

  ‘Of course not,’ she said with a cold smile. ‘I’ll tell Lord Carlton where you are, if he asks.’

  Joan wasn’t convinced, but she had bigger fish to fry than humouring an old woman’s moods. She took the bus into Wellem which, annoyingly, was extra full of people as there was a midsummer fair on. Luckily the Internet café was quiet as everyone was outside enjoying the sunshine. Joan got out her notepad and pen, reviewed what she had written, then started to type into the Google search box.

  What does Illis quos amo deserviam mean? These were the words cut into Seymour Acaster’s gravestone. The answer came up immediately, under Romantic Quotes: ‘For those I love I shall sacrifice.’ Joan wrote it down but she was still no wiser. The translation to that quote was obviously not the magic binding agent.

  Where is High Top in Ren Dullem? It was a long shot, seeing as even Google didn’t know anything about the village, never mind an individual house. Google wasn’t helpful. It returned search results of window-cleaners in Ipswich, shops selling sports shoes and a porn site featuring busty women smoking cannabis.

  Next on Joan’s list was: Why are no girls born in an area? That brought up lots of irrelevant results about China and India so she changed the question to: Why are no boys born in an area? That didn’t lead to anything but wider issues of choosing the sex of a child and declining birth rates. Joan tapped her fingers on the keyboard.

  Raine

  She read: ‘People with this name tend to be visionary, with great spiritual powers. They are inspirational and powerful and have an overwhelming desire for a stable home life and/or community.’

  Apparently it was a Teutonic name meaning, not rain, but counsel or mighty army. In German it meant strong. Joan didn’t even bother to write any of that claptrap down.

  Reine

  Lots of references to a Norwegian fishing village. Obviously it was also the French word for queen.

  Joan pressed the back arrow to take her to the search bar again. To Reine she added de la mer – words associated with and wished she hadn’t. Numerous entries came up, ranging from ships named as such to waltzes and hotels. Les Sirènes de la mer, Crème de la Mer, Walter de la Mare, Maris Piper potatoes . . . She felt like picking up the monitor and throwing it at the wall.

  She tried the only phrase she didn’t recognize: Les Sirènes de la mer. It brought up a host of French entries. She clicked on the first and was grateful for the ‘Translate this page’ option. It didn’t translate it very well.

  Les Sirènes de la mer – known alsos as reines de la mer

  Sirenia is an order of aquatic, herbivorous mammals that marine waters, rivers, swamps etc. inhabit. Including those as manatees and dugong which have adaptations for the aquatic: steering arms and a propulsing paddle. Hydro-dynamic with very much muscular although appear fat. Mariners often mistaking the presents of these animals in the waters for mermaids, legendary creatures of the aquatic bearing human body upper with fish tail of the lower. Often depicted in artworks of great note as harbingers of floods, storms, shipwrecks, drowning. Also folk traditionally can be benevolence, saviours of humans in need and of falling in love with sailors. An association with Sirens of Greek mythology whose enchantment of singing voices could not be resistable, hences Queens of the Sea.

  Joan threw down her pen in disgust. So that was it, then. Unless old Raine was a frigging mermaid, she had reached a dead end in her Internet searching.

  The only thing she had left to do now was find out where High Top was and introduce herself to the woman who lived there. She’d get the story from the horse’s mouth. From Raine de la Mer herself. Or whoever was claiming monies from the Carlton estate in her name.

  Gladys asked for the afternoon off. In all the forty years she had worked for Lord Carlton she had never asked for this and of course he could not deny her.

  ‘Is everything all right, Gladys?’ he asked, pulling on his gardening gauntlets.

  ‘Yes, yes, it’s fine,’ she lied. It wasn’t fine, not at all. She needed to speak to Raine and it wouldn’t wait. And no better time to do it than when Mrs Sly and Mighty was out of the house herself. Otherwise she wouldn’t put it past her to follow Gladys up to High Top.

  Gladys took with her a basket of food from the larder and a fresh trout from the lake. She never turned up at Raine’s empty-handed. She walked as fast as her legs would take her through the village and up through Spice Wood. She knew she wouldn’t sleep if she didn’t see her old friend.

  Raine was dozing in her chair outside in the sun when Gladys arrived. Faithful Albert was on her lap as usual. Raine’s odd-coloured eyes sprang open just as Gladys was about to nudge her. Her weathered old face broke into a smile.

  ‘Hello, my dear, how lovely to see you.’ Then the smile slipped as she registered Gladys’s furrowed brow and the worry in her eyes. ‘Whatever’s the matter?’

  ‘Raine, I need to talk to you. Can we go inside?’

  ‘Yes, of course. Come in.’

  Gladys wheeled Raine through the door and sat down heavily on the sofa. She barely knew where to start.

  Chapter 73

  No one could be bothered to cook and when May suggested they go to Jenny’s and have lunch made for them, there was a resounding yes by way of response.

  ‘Are you sure Gene Hathersage didn’t try to kiss you when you got out of his truck?’ Clare asked Lara as they walked down the hill.

  ‘I’ve told you, no. He’s not interested in women. He went to great lengths to tell me that. Not that I’m bothered because I’m not interested in men.’

  ‘Okay, we believe you.’

  ‘Good.’

  As they passed Spice Wood, Clare was relieved to see that Val Hathersage wasn’t hanging around waiting for her. Not that she would have been tempted to join him. She couldn’t help thinking what would have happened if the old couple had called the police and they came to arrest her whilst she was waiting ‘two minutes’ for Val to return with their lunch. What if she had been arrested and her name would have appeared in the national papers? What if her parents had read it? She felt sick at the thought and shuddered.

  ‘Cold?’ asked May, seeing her.

  ‘No, someone just walked over my grave,’ fibbed Clare.

  ‘Please, please, God, make Daisy Unwin not be in here,’ said May under her breath as they approached the Front Café. She wasn’t, but a few other locals were. They nodded a hello, even if they didn’t actually say the word.

  ‘Hello, ladies.’ Jenny came bustling over, wearing a brightly coloured gingham apron made of the same material as the tablecloths. ‘Can I get you something to drink whilst you’re looking through the menu?’

  They ordered three fizzy lemon juices; it was too warm for coffee today.

  ‘There’s no reason why this café couldn’t be extended at the front to have an outdoor eating area,’ mused May.

  Lara raised her hands. ‘Please don’t get me started on what I’d do with Ren Dullem if I had half the chance.’

  ‘You too?’ Clare chuckled. ‘I lie in bed
at night planning changes. So far I’ve reorganized the market, redesigned the park and renovated all those derelict cottages opposite the woods.’

  ‘Ooh, guess what I was told?’ May suddenly remembered an interesting fact from her conversation with Frank. ‘We aren’t actually staying in Ren Dullem. We are staying in Reines de la Mer.’ She sat back and let the others absorb that.

  ‘More needed,’ prompted Clare.

  ‘Apparently the village was named after the mermaids that once lived in the sea so they wouldn’t sink the fishing boats. Clare, steady on. It’s a legend,’ said May, seeing Clare’s eyes widening.

  ‘And who did you hear all this from?’ asked Lara.

  ‘Er, Frank. I bumped into him earlier on. We had a little chat. Don’t look at me like that, you two.’

  Jenny returned to take their order and they had to suspend their conversation whilst they hurriedly chose.

  ‘Spicy chicken and rice for me, please,’ said Lara.

  ‘Baked potato with chilli and cheese, please,’ May added to the order.

  ‘All-day breakfast, please, with extra mushrooms,’ said Clare, turning to Lara. ‘That’s your fault for talking about your breakfast this morning – you’ve got me craving sausages.’

  ‘I shan’t be craving any of those for a while,’ replied Lara. ‘Now, what has anyone got in mind for altering the harbour front?’

  Chapter 74

  ‘I’m getting old.’ Gladys sighed. There was a major slump to her shoulders. She was weighed down with stress. ‘I actually gave her the benefit of the doubt. I said to myself: “Gladys, maybe you’ve been a bit too hard on the woman. Maybe you’ve got things out of proportion because you like the setup with Lord Carlton and you were too afraid of it being spoiled.” So I started being a bit more friendly to Joan Hawk. Then I sneaked over and looked in her bin. I was right: she had got Edwin drunk that night. And those prawns didn’t come from Wellem market, she lied. And that elder-flower cordial wasn’t home-made. I’m not wrong, am I, Raine? You know I’m not. What’s she up to, and can’t you stop her?’