by Daisy White
“Oh, probably next week, when we’ve got the ring and set a date. I looked into it, and we can sign the register at the Town Hall at about eleven o’clock. Afterwards, we can go straight down to the beach. I saw such a pretty little ring at the market stall on Saturday. It looked just like real silver. And there’s a gorgeous dress in that little shop next to Jones the Bootmakers. It’s pink lace!”
She’s glowing with excitement, and I laugh. “I can’t believe you’re getting married!”
“I know. Ted’s even arranging for a lease on one of the farm cottages up Dyke Hill Road. Apparently his dad knew the old man who used to live there, and mentioned that his son was looking for a place. The landlord jumped at the chance of someone decent, so we didn’t even have to do a reference. Ted’s boss has just given him a raise, but there’s so much work around that he wants to start out with his own delivery service in a few years.”
“That’s great news! You can get the bus on the corner to work as well.”
“You’ll be next. What exactly is going on between you and Kenny? Is it just a bit of fun, or have you actually fallen for him at last?” Mary grins at me. “Please tell me. Who knows, we might get another wedding out of 1965!”
“No chance.” I flip our eggs, and stir the beans thoughtfully. “I do think I’ve fallen for him though. The other night when he was hurt . . . I felt like I would kill someone rather than let that happen. Because we’ve been friends for so long, I know him so well it just feels right.”
“Have you been to bed with him yet?” Mary asks.
“No, but I’m not holding out for a ring. It’s right for you and Ted, but one wedding a year is definitely enough for anyone!”
She grins. “Maybe next year?”
I chuck the dish cloth at her. “Do you want dinner or not?”
Summer wakes us at three with a nightmare, and she won’t settle back to sleep. By the time light starts to slice through the darkened sky we’re all three collapsed on Mary’s narrow bed, the little girl curled contentedly between us.
“She hasn’t done that for ages,” I say groggily, sliding my feet onto the floor.
“I know. Maybe I’m not in such a hurry to have another one after all. You forget those awful sleepless nights, don’t you?” Mary says.
“Come on, we might as well get the washing done as we’re up early.”
Mary and I are dead on our feet by lunchtime, but there’s no chance of a break. The salon is busy until about three, and then we get a lull. I snatch the chance to ring Kenny at work and tell him about Sammy’s request. And because I just want to speak to him, obviously.
“Am I boring you, Rubes?” he asks, as I yawn down the phone a few minutes later, having delivered my theories on Rita’s death.
“Sorry. We had a bad night with Summer. Go on, Ken, I am listening.”
“It would be a stretch to make this murder. I mean, if there had been a witness, or anything at all to suggest it wasn’t a straightforward suicide, we would have heard by now. Perhaps Sammy just doesn’t want to think his sister took her own life? He might be angry she left him, or see it as weak and selfish to give up . . . I don’t know, I’m just throwing some ideas out there.”
“It is possible though, isn’t it? James had some ideas about the owners of Love Me Do, didn’t he?” I need to ask Bev and Joanna about Rita’s ‘causes.’ Would it make Sammy feel any better if Rita died for a cause she believed in, rather than being driven to a kind of madness by her lovers?
“Hmm, the chemical company, I know . . . But that would still mean she killed herself, only for a different reason. If it wasn’t suicide, it’s more likely to be an accident than murder though. And the most likely conclusion, given everything that happened before her death, is that she jumped in the hope of finding some peace, poor girl. Did you ask him about the pregnancy?”
“His version is that she told him and his brothers on Friday night. I felt a bit awkward, but he seemed quite open about telling me all the details. We don’t know if it’s true, though, because it didn’t come from the police. I’ll telephone Pearl later when she comes off shift, and see if she might be able to get anything else out of Donovan about Rita and Joey.”
“Alright. Are we meeting up tonight? I thought we could have a nice romantic evening driving along the coast towards Eastbourne . . .” Kenny suggests. I can hear the mischief in his voice.
“How can I refuse an offer like that? Will it be just us, or are you packing James and Johnnie in the back too?”
“I could sell tickets! No, just us, and the sunset and a couple of bottles of beer. I’ll pick you up at eight.”
“Sold. Oh, I meant to ask you — is James still seeing Joanna?”
“Yes. He didn’t just pick her up after the story broke, Ruby, he really does seem to like her. She lives on the White Oak Estate, doesn’t she?”
“Yes. She told Sammy I was alright, and he could trust me. He doesn’t seem to like reporters though.”
“We’re not the most popular of people. Anyway, you are alright.” He’s laughing.
“Go and do some work now, Kenny.” I smile to myself as I put the receiver down, and feel a pleasant tingle of anticipation about tonight. Then I think of Rita rushing off to meet her boyfriends, enjoying the same freedom I do, and revelling in it. Did she know what people were saying about her? Perhaps she didn’t care. Did she jump, or was she pushed? I could send myself mad with this investigation, but with my own history and Sammy’s bull-headed stubbornness, I am starting to believe that there is more to this than a tragic suicide.
Mary is outside talking to Ted over a quick cup of tea, and I smile to myself as they lean close, him laughing at something she has said, and her putting a gentle hand on his arm. She deserves her happy ending, and when she rushes back into work, her face is glowing. That must be what love does to you.
I start sweeping the floor, while Eve chucks dirty towels into the basket ready for washing. Mary comes back in and commandeers the telephone to arrange her wedding. I half listen to her spelling out their names, watching Catherine eavesdropping.
When she finishes, Mary spins round and produces her hand from her pinny pocket. “It’s booked. Ted got the ring yesterday without telling me! Eve, Catherine, Johnnie, I’m getting married on 14 June!”
Johnnie is beaming, hugging her, and Eve and Catherine are exclaiming over the ring, and asking for details about Ted’s proposal. I make a fresh round of tea and add custard creams, before studying the ring myself.
“What do you think?” she asks, blonde hair pulled back, thin face all sweaty from a long day at the salon. But her eyes are bright with happiness, and I tell her the ring is beautiful, delicate and perfect.
“Gorgeous!” I hug her again, and we toast her marriage with tea.
“You do realise that only gives you three weeks to prepare. The dress, darling! What are you going to wear?” Johnnie asks.
Mary explains about the pink lace. “I wouldn’t be getting married at all if your friend hadn’t sorted out my divorce. You’re amazing, Johnnie.”
“I know, just keep telling me that! Seriously, it wasn’t hard to prove cruelty and drunkenness in that ill-fated relationship. I hate to think what you went through, but the most important thing is that you’re here now, and happy.” Johnnie smiles at her.
I catch sight of Sammy hanging around outside, and excuse myself. Johnnie, still laughing with the others, misses nothing, and his icy blue gaze rakes the stranger.
I slip outside, closing the door on the festivities. “Hallo, Sammy. Is something wrong?”
“The police have been on to my dad. They want him to go in and answer more questions!”
“Well, for heaven’s sake, isn’t that a good thing? It probably means they aren’t dropping the case immediately.”
“No. My dad’s mad as fire now, and he says they won’t let her rest in peace. I told you nobody else in the family thinks the way I do. What am I going to do now?” His voice i
s plaintive, and his face crumples a little. He fishes frantically for a handkerchief, and blows his nose with a sound like a ship’s horn. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay. See what happens, and let me know what they say to your dad.” I can’t say that, from the way he described the relationship between Rita and her dad, the police suspect he might know more than he’s letting on about his daughter’s death. From his emotive display, I bet Sammy’s thinking that too.
Several kids are playing with marbles next to the pavement, rolling them down the drainage gulley, oblivious of the traffic. Their little faces are set with concentration, bare knees filthy.
“When I was down at the station, they showed me some pictures that had been taken by some reporter’s friend who was taking photographs for a sporting piece. He was trying to get a shot of Basil’s Pride coming in to win, and it shows Rita falling out onto the course.” He glances at me, apparently fully recovered now. “But they don’t show anyone pushing her or anything.”
“I think you’re going to just have to wait and see what happens. I’ll look into it as much as I can without getting in the way of the police investigation. You must let me know if they decide that it is a murder investigation though,” I say firmly.
“They won’t. There’s that woman copper down there, and she said that they’d be trying to find out if Rita fainted, or if it might have been an accident. She said that there was no proof it was either, and certainly no proof it was murder . . . She looked all shocked when I suggested it. But then she’s just a woman, isn’t she? I expect the proper coppers will be able to find something.”
“If it’s who I think you mean, WPC Stanton is a proper copper,” I say with a trace of annoyance.
He looks up, seeming surprised at my tone, then back at his shoes. “Alright. My dad’s always saying women should know their place.”
I’m sure. I can see again why Rita might have rebelled. “Are you positive I can’t talk to your mum or dad, or even your brothers?”
He shakes his head, “Nah. Too dangerous. My dad’d go ape if he knew I was telling you this. It would be different if they thought like I do, or if you can get one bit of evidence suggesting she was murdered. Then they’ll want to help any way they can.”
“Okay.” I roll a stray blue marble back to the kids, and a little boy grins up at me.
“Don’t forget, if you do find out anything, you need to tell me, not the coppers.” Before I can comment, he continues, “I’ve got Bev’s address for you.” He rummages in his pocket and pulls out a torn and dirty scrap of paper. “Here. Remember she thinks I’m loony to be doing this, but I reckon she’ll talk to you. It’s only me and Joanna that know Rita didn’t kill herself.”
Pressing the paper into my hand, his fingers close around my own for a brief moment. “She didn’t kill herself, Ruby. I know it.”
Gently removing my hand from his, I take the paper, folding it precisely into quarters. I’m thinking of the swinging bicycle chain, the blood on the marble floor, the bruise on Kenny’s face, and say nothing when Sammy abruptly tells me he has to go.
Chapter Nine
The door bangs in the sea breeze when I slip back inside. Eyebrows raised, Johnnie leaves the party and comes to question me. “He looks familiar, and he needs a wash, darling. I do hope you aren’t transferring your affections.”
I explain about Sammy, and he sighs. “I see. What a mess. Poor old Roger was really smitten, but I don’t know what his parents would have thought of Rita. His sister Sophie is such a cold fish, but I think even she could see how happy he was. She knew about the affair, of course, and she kept asking me to keep Roger out of trouble.”
“She seemed to get on alright with Victoria. Maybe Vic could ask her about Rita,” I say thoughtfully.
“I doubt if she’ll talk to anyone about it, and she’ll be going back to Cambridge soon. I believe she sometimes stays in her digs up there during the holidays.” He frowns. “I’ll speak to Roger again, see if knows anything else. I know he likes a flutter on the horses, which is another thing that his dear sister finds offensive. That’s how he met Rita, up on the racecourse. I believe a family member has some animals in training with Tommy.”
Mary goes off to pick up Summer from the babysitter, and, fizzing with excitement, I run upstairs to get ready for my date with Kenny.
We pick up fish and chips and some bottles of beer and cruise along the road out of Brighton, towards Eastbourne. The cliffs rise up like jagged white scars above the sparkling blue sea. Between villages, Kenny pulls in down by a little cove and parks up while we drink. When he leans in for a kiss, the sun is dipping behind the sea. It’s perfect.
* * *
Johnnie strides into the salon the next morning, blond hair gleaming, eyes brilliant. As usual he crackles with energy, while I’m suffering after my late night. “Have you heard the latest?”
Distracted from polishing mirrors, I turn round, yawning. “Latest on what?”
“Basil’s Pride was stolen last night. His lad went to check on him last thing, and when he went in this morning to do morning feeds, his stable door was open.”
Even as he speaks, the telephone starts ringing, and I grab it. “Hallo, Johnnie’s. Ruby speaking. Oh, hallo, Pearl, yes we have.”
She’s gabbling, and I can hear other voices in the background, sounding shrill and anxious. “He’s the yard favourite for the St Leger and the Derby, and Donovan is supposed to be riding him. He said if he wins he might be able to afford a place of his own and . . .”
“Pearl, calm down. I thought Basil’s Pride was injured last week. He turned a somersault and he hurt his leg. And isn’t Joey Castle his jockey, not Donovan?” My brain is whirling, struggling to shift from my lovely romantic night out, to Rita’s possible murder, to a stolen horse.
“No, the horse is fine now and Tommy’s put Donovan up for the Derby. They rested him and he’s been back on the gallops these last few days. I went up to watch after my night shift, and he went like a bomb. He’s done really well in his other races recently—”
“I wonder if Tommy put Donovan up because he’s annoyed at finding out Joey had a fling with Rita as well,” I suggest thoughtfully.
“Well I don’t know, and it doesn’t matter anyway, now there’s no bloody horse to ride! They must have taken him away in a horsebox, but Tommy says his dogs didn’t bark, and the lads sleep above the stables and they didn’t hear a thing.”
Once I get Pearl off the telephone, it’s time to open up the salon. Our usual customers have all heard about the missing racehorse, and by half past ten everyone has been blamed for the theft, including rival trainer Moses Arkwright. Rita’s brothers figure quite highly on the list, too. I wonder about the latter theory. Basil’s Pride was the horse that crashed into Rita first. Could Derek and Josh be so desperate that they’d exact revenge on a horse?
The thought makes me shiver, and I turn back to my customers. The telephone rings nonstop, and once they’ve had their hair done, lots of the customers take their cups of tea outside and continue their conversations. When Johnnie suggests they might like to pop down to Brenda’s because we’re running out of space, they ignore him. He rolls his eyes, and starts scribbling frantically in the appointment book. This is one of the reasons I love working at the salon. Everyone comes here when there has been a drama, and everyone has an opinion, or a snippet of gossip. There is also a huge amount of support for Tommy, who has lost his best horse, and for the people of Brighton who had already started to place bets on Basil’s Pride with various shady characters.
Mrs Green is tall and elegant. With her haughty manner, she reminds me of Roger’s sister, Sophie. “This is shocking. I’ve always said racing is a dirty game. All the criminals encouraging gambling on the racecourse are bad enough, but racing stables with all those Irish lads . . . Most Irish people are criminals as well. Who knows what their history is?”
I take a deep breath, ignoring her warped view of the entire Irish race, a
nd tug a comb through her wet hair. “I don’t think anyone knows who took Basil’s Pride, and as far as I can see, the lads love their horses, whether they’re Irish or not.”
But she’s ignoring me, and her clipped, cool voice continues. “And that girl who was killed, Rita Stonehill, well everyone knows she comes from a gambling family. Her father is one of the worst.”
“Rita’s dad gambles on the horses?” Sammy never mentioned this. Why hadn’t he?
“No, he runs one of those tipster gangs and encourages everyone else to do it instead. It’s quite amusing that his daughter died on the racecourse, don’t you think?”
“I don’t think it’s amusing at all,” I say, snipping quickly, before I say something that might lose Johnnie a client. She really is the most obnoxious woman. I feel very sorry for her husband.
“It is. Alan Stonehill spends his life trading in other peoples’ dreams.”
Definitely something personal going on here. She’s far too bitter and gloating to be just gossiping, however vile she is.
“Do you know Rita’s dad then?” I ask innocently, reaching over to switch on the dryer.
Her eyes, a fishy pale grey, meet mine in the cherub-encrusted mirror. “My brother knew him at one time.”
I think I see, and she won’t say another word, picking up a copy of Tatler and flicking through it while I continue with her hair.
Kenny rings as we’re closing up. “Hi, Rubes. We’re at Tommy’s yard doing the story on Basil’s Pride. Do you want to come up for a bit? Pearl’s here with Declan, and she says he can come down and pick you up on his bike if you like?”
“I was going to get the bus up to Moulsecomb after work, and see if Bev will talk to me.”
“Rita’s best friend?”
“Yes, Joanna said that she knew Rita better than anyone. I’ll get the bus up after I’ve seen her, or the earlier one if she isn’t in.”
“Alright. We’ll be here for a good few hours, I reckon.”
Although I’m desperate to see Bev and hopefully dig a bit more into Rita’s life, I certainly haven’t been planning on being out late tonight. Curiosity and the thought of seeing Ken again override my tiredness. I tell Mary I won’t be late, ignore her knowing grin, and pull on jeans and a pink shirt.
