by Pam Weaver
‘No matter,’ he said. ‘You’re fortunate that I remember the lady and her instructions well. It wasn’t a legal document, more of a favour really.’
Shirley stared at him with a blank expression as he began to clear a space on the top of his desk. The door opened again and Mrs Webb came in with a tray of tea. She put it down in the space he’d cleared, and scribbling the number from the side of the cutting on a piece of paper, he said, ‘Mrs Webb, would you get me this file? It will be in the second basement, I believe.’
As she hurried to do his bidding, Mr Peach poured some tea. ‘If I remember correctly,’ he went on, ‘she was going to South America . . . no, no, South Africa. Do you ever hear from her? Has she settled in well?’ He pushed a cup towards Shirley and indicated the sugar bowl on the tray. Although she didn’t have sugar in her tea, Shirley was amused to notice what looked like a salt spoon in the sugar. Clearly Mr Peach didn’t want his clients helping themselves to too much.
Shaking her head, Shirley carefully avoided his eye. ‘Mrs Oliver never went to South Africa,’ she said quietly. ‘She died two and a half years ago.’
‘Died?’ Mr Peach’s voice had become hushed.
‘She drowned,’ said Shirley.
There was a short pause; then Mr Peach said, ‘Oh dear, dear. I’m so sorry. Are you a relative?’
‘No,’ said Shirley. She went on to explain how she’d come by the cutting. ‘When I realized that Peach & Lemon must be you, I made an appointment straight away.’ Mrs Webb’s prompt reappearance negated the necessity of explaining any further.
She was handed a single envelope. Then Mr Peach got to his feet. ‘I shall leave you to peruse the document for a few minutes, Miss Jenkins. If you require any assistance, I should be happy to help.’
Shirley hesitated. ‘Can I take it away with me? I should like to be on my own when I open it.’
‘I don’t see why not,’ said Mr Peach after a moment’s consideration. ‘So far as I remember, I was merely instructed to give the envelope to whoever gave me the number on the document.’
‘Then that’s what I should like to do,’ said Shirley.
As she travelled back to Angmering on the bus, it felt as if the envelope were burning a hole in her pocket. She had managed to stay fairly dry. The worst of the storm was over by the time she came out of Peach & Lemon’s offices, and although it rained while she was on the bus, it had eased off again by the time she got to the village. The brief respite had given her a chance to think what to do. She decided that she would open the envelope when she and Janet were together. Whatever Elizabeth had said would affect Janet more than anyone, so she had a right to know.
Everything was put on hold when she got back to the farm. When Shirley saw that Dr Dyer’s car was outside the house, she ran indoors, scarcely able to breathe for the panic in her chest. Several ladies sat round the table drinking tea. They turned as she burst through the door.
‘What’s wrong?’ Shirley blurted out. ‘Is it my mother?’
‘Is what your mother?’ said Florrie, standing up from where she’d been bending over a cupboard to put some clean plates away.
Shirley’s relief was palpable until a second thought crossed her mind. ‘What about Tom? Is he all right?’
She heard some soft laughter, and then Janet said, ‘Calm down, Shirley. Everything’s fine.’
‘I brought the ladies from the WI up for the afternoon to do some fruit-picking,’ said Mrs Dyer. She was sitting with her back to Shirley.
‘They came for anything going spare for their jams and chutneys,’ said Florrie.
‘But we’ve been horribly rained off,’ said Marilyn with a chuckle, ‘so we’ve been having tea and cake instead.’
Shirley felt a little foolish. ‘When I saw the doctor’s car outside, I thought . . .’
‘Here,’ said Marilyn, getting to her feet. ‘Put your body down there for a minute. You look as if you could do with some reviving yourself.’
As Shirley sat at the table, Mrs Dyer and the other ladies stood up and began to make their apologies. After some cheery goodbyes, they piled back into the doctor’s car and set off for the village. While Janet and Marilyn waved goodbye by the door, Florrie gave Shirley a fresh cup of tea and then a hug. ‘You mustn’t worry about me,’ she whispered in her ear. ‘I’m fine, really.’
‘I know it was daft,’ said Shirley, ‘but you’ve been through so much and I panicked.’
Florrie kissed her forehead. ‘I have to go myself,’ she said. ‘I’m only here because Granny Roberts wasn’t feeling too good. She was supposed to be looking after Lucy.’
‘Oh?’ said Shirley.
‘A bit of a cold, that’s all,’ said her mother, putting on her raincoat and wellingtons. ‘I’d better go. If that cloud is anything to go by, we’re going to have another downpour before long.’
‘I came on my bike,’ said Marilyn, coming back inside. ‘If you hang on a minute while I get my coat on, I’ll walk with you as far as Granny Roberts’s.’
‘It’s all right,’ said Florrie. ‘No offence, but I should like to be alone for a bit.’
‘Well,’ said Marilyn cautiously, ‘if you’re sure.’
‘I am,’ Florrie said firmly.
As the door closed, Shirley put a restraining hand on Marilyn’s arm. ‘Can you stay for a minute? I have something to tell you both.’
Janet put Lucy into her playpen. The little girl protested loudly until her mother gave her some toys. It didn’t take Shirley long to bring them both up to speed about the cutting, although she had to backtrack a little to explain everything to Janet.
‘I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,’ she said, ‘but I didn’t want to worry you.’
When they had both familiarized themselves with the cutting, Shirley laid the envelope on the table. ‘I’ve just come back from the offices of Peach & Lemon.’ She raised an eyebrow in Marilyn’s direction. ‘You were right. They are in Liverpool Gardens.’
Janet looked at the envelope. ‘What’s that?’
‘This is what Mr Peach gave me. This is the envelope Elizabeth left in his care.’
‘And he gave it to you on the strength of that cutting?’
‘There should have been a letter as well,’ Shirley went on, ‘which of course I didn’t have, but the arrangement between Elizabeth and him wasn’t anything legally binding. He apparently kept it as a favour to her.’
‘Did you look for a letter?’ Marilyn asked.
‘When I moved into Elizabeth’s room,’ Shirley said, ‘it was neat and tidy on the surface, but every drawer have been rifled through. I think after she died, Mr Oliver must have gone through them looking for something.’
‘Possibly a letter,’ said Marilyn.
‘And he probably found it,’ said Janet.
‘I’m not so sure,’ said Shirley. ‘I was thinking about it on the bus on the way back home. If he’d found it, he would have gone to Peach & Lemon himself. As her grieving husband, he’d have had more of a claim than me.’
Janet pulled the corners of her mouth down. ‘You might be right there.’
‘I think that’s why he didn’t want anyone in her room,’ Shirley went on.
‘In case they found the letter he couldn’t,’ said Marilyn.
The other girls nodded sagely as they stared at the envelope.
‘Aren’t you going to open it, then?’ said Marilyn.
‘I think Janet should do that,’ said Shirley.
Janet chewed her bottom lip anxiously, then picked up the envelope. Sliding a clean knife under the seal, she slit it open.
CHAPTER 32
It was spotting with rain, and the dark clouds in the sky looked ominous. Florrie wasn’t feeling so good. As she walked back to Granny Roberts’s place, she kept telling herself she’d done her best to stay positive, but the loss of a dear friend like Betty was a bitter blow. It didn’t help that she felt in some way responsible for her death. One part of her mind told her that was
ridiculous – Betty’s death had come about because a megalomaniac warmonger was trying to take over the world – and yet time and again she found herself travelling the ‘if only’ path. If only she’d decided to sell up a few months ago when she’d first thought about it. If only she’d gone straight back home instead of coming to Sussex. If only Betty had started the well-earned rest she’d planned for the week after. If only she hadn’t been in the shop to finish off the packing. If only she’d had half-day closing that day. If only, if only . . . It went round and round her head until she had to reach for an aspirin to take away the headache.
Alone in her bed at night, she cried silently in the darkness as she relived the last time they’d all sat on the pavement outside the shop with a pot of tea. War hadn’t been declared then, and she didn’t know it but she was on the brink of going to the sanatorium. That was the last time she’d seen Betty, and the thing that stuck in her mind was the moment she’d laughed at that silly joke. What was it, now? Ah yes, the one about a farmer who put up a notice in his field. She sighed and brushed away a tear. Oh, Betty, Betty . . .
It wasn’t just Betty’s death that had pulled her down into the doldrums. With the shop gone, her dreams of a little place in the country had gone with it. She had a bit put by, but it was only a bit. She couldn’t stay with Granny Roberts without paying her way, and if she found a place to rent, her meagre nest egg wouldn’t last long. She’d have to go back to work, but what could she do? There were plenty of voluntary jobs available – fire-watching, WVS, Red Cross – but where could she find paid work? And would she be fit enough to do a normal ten-hour day? She was still quite delicate, and although she had experience of shop work, she had no other qualification. And what of Shirley? Tom would stay with her no matter what, but her daughter had dreams of her own. After all she’d given up in the past few months to keep Tom happy, Shirley deserved the chance to do something she really wanted to do, but where was the money coming from? Yes, she’d won a scholarship, but that didn’t cover absolutely everything. There was always something unexpected: her bus fares from her lodgings to the college, for example.
The few raindrops had become a steady rainfall. Her shoulders drooped and she knew she was feeling sorry for herself. No good ever came of self-pity, she knew that too, but just for once she wanted to indulge herself. She was feeling miserable and she didn’t want to be sensible. What was the point of putting on a brave face, anyway? Nobody cared about her or her problems. They had enough of their own.
To go through the back door of Granny Roberts’s place, she had to pass the kitchen window. As she did, she caught sight of two men in khaki uniform and her heart went into freefall. The army always sent two men when something dreadful had happened. What did they want? Someone must have died. Her chin quivered uncontrollably. Oh, not Len . . . Please not Len too. She stood at the door, her heart pounding with fear and her eyes brimming with unshed tears. If she went inside, they would tell her and she would know the awful truth. If she ran away, she wouldn’t have to hear it.
‘Ah, there you are,’ said Granny Roberts, coming up behind her with an armful of washing she’d just brought in. ‘There’s someone here to see you.’
Florrie stared at her helplessly and a tall man came out to meet her. ‘Hello, Florrie,’ he said as she stared at him in disbelief. ‘Nice to see you again.’
‘Popeye!’ she squeaked. He was the last person she’d expected to see. They had met a couple of times in the hospital, once when he’d brought Doreen down for a flying visit and another time near to the end of her stay. Florrie liked him a lot and it was obvious that Doreen was totally smitten. ‘What are you doing here?’
‘I’m the one with the car, don’t you know.’ He chuckled. ‘You’d be amazed how many trips I do all over the flipping country.’ He put his hand on Florrie’s shoulder and leaned towards her to peck her cheek. ‘I was so sorry to hear about poor old Betty. Doreen was really cut up about it, but I told her straight, “There’s one blessing, old girl: she wouldn’t have felt a damned thing.” Doreen sends her love, by the way.’
She became aware that there was someone else behind him. Popeye stepped to one side and a voice said, ‘Hello, my lovely.’
‘Len!’ Florrie cried. ‘Oh, Len . . .’
There were several sheets of paper in the envelope when Janet opened it.
‘If you are reading this,’ Janet read aloud, ‘I have either left or I am dead.’
A chill descended over the room. Marilyn clutched her chest and took in her breath. ‘She knew? She knew she might die? But why didn’t she say something? Why didn’t she get help?’
‘Perhaps she thought no one would believe her,’ Shirley suggested.
Janet turned back to the page and began to read again. ‘All he wants is money,’ she continued. ‘It’s taken me a long time to work it out, but I think he only married me for my money. I have nothing now. Not so much as a farthing, but I must begin at the beginning.’
Shirley and Marilyn leaned forward, anxious not to miss a word.
‘Gilbert and Stephen are twins. There was always rivalry between them. I was with Stephen before I married Gilbert. He was a bit older than me but a wonderful man and he’d lost a leg in a motor vehicle accident. When he was well again, he bought the farm and we were to marry in the spring. When he died, Gilbert was his next of kin, so the farm automatically went to him. He was attentive and kind, and once I’d come to terms with my grief, we got married, in February 1937. It was never a real marriage, although I did try to make it so. Gilbert wanted us to live separate lives. Once the ring was on my finger, he didn’t want to share anything. I couldn’t believe he was the same man who had courted me and I grew to hate him. I found a cutting about Stephen’s death hidden between the pages of a book. I don’t know who put it there, but I’m sure it was meant for me. Gilbert never reads. It made me worry, but I had other things to think about. Money was tight. Even my little trinkets were sold for the farm.’
‘What on earth does he do with all the money?’ Shirley muttered.
Janet went on reading:
‘When he took out the life insurance policies, he said it would give us both peace of mind. If one of us dies after two years, it pays out in full. I would have a lump sum if he died before me, and he if I died. That’s what we agreed. I’ve only just found out that he cancelled his life insurance policy soon after we took it out.
‘Now I am afraid. I have no proof of anything, but I fear he means to do me harm, so I have decided to go with M and R to South Africa. I’m sure he’s suspicious. He keeps asking me questions.’
The three girls stared at each other.
‘What is she saying?’ asked Marilyn. ‘Did she think Mr Oliver was going to murder her?’
‘I think she did,’ said Shirley. ‘Elizabeth was supposed to be collecting holly for Christmas wreaths, but I’ve been right round that pond and there are no holly trees there at all.’
Marilyn put her head in her hands. ‘Oh God, what do we do? Is there enough evidence for them to make an investigation?’
‘It’s all circumstantial,’ said Janet.
‘She says in the letter she hasn’t got any money,’ said Shirley, ‘and yet she was going to South Africa with you. Where did she get the money for that?’
‘Reuben lent her enough money to travel steerage,’ said Marilyn. The two of them gaped. ‘And as for the rest, she was sort of working her passage anyway. She’d got a job in the ship’s laundry room.’
Shirley nodded. ‘Another thing I don’t understand – Mr Oliver gets all this money, but he has nothing to show for it. It doesn’t make sense.’
Nobody spoke for a couple of seconds, and then Janet said quietly, ‘He took out a life insurance policy on me soon after we were married.’
They stared at her in disbelief.
‘It pays out five hundred pounds if I die prematurely.’
‘Oh God,’ Marilyn gasped. ‘Janet, you really need to get away from
here.’
‘She’s going,’ said Shirley.
Marilyn looked at Janet.
‘I’ve got a job in a children’s nursery,’ she explained, ‘but I’m not saying where it is. It’s not that I don’t trust you, but Gil has a way of finding things out, and what you don’t know you can’t tell.’
‘So we all agree that he’s really dangerous,’ Marilyn said darkly.
‘Tell him about Lucy when she was little,’ Janet said to Shirley as she got to her feet. Shirley told Marilyn what she’d seen on the upstairs landing and Marilyn’s eyes grew wide. ‘I can’t say for sure he was doing her harm,’ Shirley admitted, ‘but Lucy was very cross and all hot and sweaty. There was a wet mark in the centre of the pillow as well.’
Janet came back to the table with the pile of letters she’d left behind the clock. ‘He writes to me from prison, but I never open them.’ There were probably ten or twelve letters by now, all with the prison stamp on the outside. Beginning with the first, Janet slid the knife along the edge and pulled the letter free of the envelope. They were all the same: angry, abusive and some quite frankly terrifying. He was clearly obsessed that she was going to take his money and he threatened that they would all suffer dire consequences if she did. In one letter, he sounded a little more conciliatory as he asked her to remember to pay the insurance policies.
‘I stopped paying them soon after he went into prison,’ said Janet. ‘That’s when I discovered he’d already cancelled the one on his life. I had no money for food, so I thought why worry about what was going to happen when I die? So I cancelled the other one too.’
‘None of these letters is very nice,’ Shirley observed, ‘but he doesn’t actually admit to anything.’
‘I still think she shouldn’t be around when he gets out of jail,’ said Marilyn.
‘Absolutely,’ said Shirley.
‘I don’t intend to be,’ said Janet firmly.
It was so wonderful to be with Len again. When the rain had stopped, he’d taken Florrie up Selden Lane and away from the houses. They’d walked with their arms around each other, and every now and then, he’d bent his head to kiss her. Eventually, he found a flat area at the base of a huge tree and, taking off his jacket, invited her to sit down.
