by Ann Purser
“Certainly,” said Gus. “Thanks for offering, old man, but this is a job for me. You can tell me what he looked like, and I am quite happy to hang about on the Green or in the shop around the time the bus is due. We’ve only got two buses to think about, after all! Do you remember what day of the week it was?”
“Not absolutely sure, I’m afraid. Where he was going, or what he was doing, I can’t remember that, either. If he told me, that is. But I do remember that he wore heavy black-framed spectacles, because I remember thinking how unprepossessing he was, and no wonder his wife wasn’t keen. Is that a help?”
Gus laughed. “Of course. But are we sure we want to take on an unprepossessing character with sinister glasses and an errant wife? It’s a bit close to our last case, isn’t it?”
“No two cases are the same,” Ivy said firmly. “Worth a try, anyway. And so long as Roy keeps his promise not to lurk by the bus stop in the middle of winter, I propose we take the first step as outlined. All in favour?”
Roy could not remember giving such a promise, but obediently raised his hand. Gus winked at Deirdre, a wink she interpreted as an instruction to humour the oldies, and they both raised their hands.
“Good, that’s settled, then,” said Ivy. “So you will be by the bus stop tomorrow, Gus. I suggest half an hour either side of the due time. Then if that fails, we can discuss on Thursday whether it is worth continuing. I have a small thought that might be worth pursuing, but we’ll see what happens. Now, is there any other business?”
There were no takers, and Gus said he had to leave soon. He planned to look at some old, affordable cars.
“I have to go into Thornwell,” said Deirdre, checking her watch. “Can I give you a lift?”
Brazen hussy, thought Ivy. In my day, girls waited to be asked. Not so for the widow Bloxham. She had got not only Gus in her sights, but also Theo Roussel. Theo was the bachelor squire of the village, and an old flame rekindled when Deirdre had found herself living alone in Tawny Wings, a few hundred yards away from the Hall, ancestral home of the Roussels.
“Thanks a lot,” said Gus. “That would be splendid. By the way, team, I can’t remember if I already told you about my plan to buy a new car? New to me, that is. Can’t afford a brand-new one, but I shall be looking round for a bargain.”
“Look no further,” said Deirdre, smiling sweetly at him. “My Bert and me were in the motor trade for years, and I still am. I know as much about cars as your average garage mechanic. We shall go together to my showroom, and I shall guard you from being palmed off with an old wreck.”
Ivy snorted. “If you ask me, Gus,” she said, “you’d be better off sticking to the bus.”
Three
THE MORNING BUS through Barrington was not always on time, being occasionally early and often late. Gus decided to take his small grey whippet for a walk around the Green and then call into the shop for supplies and a chat with the shopkeeper, James. That would give him plenty of time to spot the man who had spoken so openly with a complete stranger in a trundle.
As he walked along Hangman’s Lane, where his cottage was the last in a row originally built for estate workers, he thought about the man at the bus stop. It was quite likely, in Gus’s view, that the whole thing amounted to a husband-and-wife quarrel over breakfast. But at least it was something to occupy Enquire Within until something more juicy and important came up.
“Morning, Gus,” said James behind the counter. “Nice to see you. How’s Whippy?”
“Fine, thanks. Hooked up outside, like a good citizen. How’s business?”
“Quiet this morning, but Saturday was good. A posse of cyclists went through and stopped here for snacks. Took more cash in ten minutes than I usually take in a day!”
Gus slowly stacked up a bagful of groceries, keeping a sharp eye on the Green. “No bus yet?” he said, and James shook his head.
“Late today. There’s quite a queue out there.”
“Including the man at the bus stop!” said Gus quickly. “Must go, James. See you in the pub tonight?”
There he was, a lumpy-looking man, with a few strands of hair slicked back and heavy, black-framed glasses with tinted lenses, all contributing to a sinister appearance.
Gus was convinced this was his man, and approached with a friendly smile. “Good morning, sir,” he began. “Lovely morning!”
“Get that so-and-so dog away from me!” said the man. “I don’t know you, whoever you are, and I don’t want to. Here comes the bus, so just get out of my way.”
Gus recoiled, and stepped back onto the forecourt of the shop. He took a deep breath. Wow! So that was a complete disaster. He watched the queue disappear into the bus, and saw his man sit down at a window seat. The scowl on his face was particularly directed at Gus, and as the bus moved away Gus felt as if someone had taken a potshot at him from behind a tree.
“Gus!” It was James calling from inside the shop. “Here a minute! I should have warned you,” he added, as Gus returned. “That charming character is well-known for his dyspeptic manner. Not just you, so don’t be upset. He’s like that to everyone.”
“Does he live in the village? I don’t remember seeing him before.”
“Do you know that tumbledown cottage up Cemetery Lane? Next to the old smithy. Paint all peeling off the woodwork. Well, that’s Alf Lowe’s place.”
“Lowe by name and low by nature!” said Gus, reviving quickly. “A nasty piece of work, then? I don’t think he can be the man I was looking for.”
“Didn’t know you were looking. Can I help?” James knew just about everybody who lived in the village, and was used to directing lost lorry-drivers to village addresses.
Gus described Roy’s brief acquaintance with a man who had trouble with his wife, and James said that as far as he knew, Alfred Lowe was a bachelor. “He may have had a wife years ago,” he said, “before I came to the shop. But now I’m sure he lives alone up there. That’s what I’ve heard, anyway.”
Gus made his way back home, thinking hard about what had happened. Alf Lowe had answered Roy’s description exactly, and yet could not have been further from a friendly chap having trouble with the wife. Ah well, perhaps Alf had a brother. More work needed on this, he decided, and headed for the pub and a lunchtime snack.
• • •
“GUS WAS THERE on time,” said Ivy to Roy, as they sat working their way through large portions of rabbit pie. “He was seen talking to someone outside the shop.”
“Not necessarily our man,” said Roy, “but let’s hope he has something interesting to tell us this afternoon, then.”
“If that was your man this morning, he’ll be here early to tell us, but if not, it will be more like teatime, when the afternoon bus has gone. Chances are, anyway, that he won’t find your man at first attempt.”
Roy, who, along with the rest of Enquire Within, did not feel too much urgency on this new case, changed the subject and said that he had decided to call his nephew to ask if he would be best man, and had caught him just as he was leaving the house.
“Sounded quite shocked when I told him about our marriage,” laughed Roy.
“Why shocked?” Privately, Ivy thought she knew very well why his nephew was shocked, but, as she had previously decided, said nothing about Roy’s will.
“He said he had thought I was a confirmed bachelor, and at my age wasn’t it a bit risky? I asked him to explain, and he huffed and puffed and said what about my weak heart. I said I had no such thing, and if he didn’t want to be best man, I could easily find someone else. But then he changed his tune and said he would be delighted, and looked forward to hearing details. Then he signed off, presumably in a hurry.”
“Mm,” said Ivy, and frowned. “I haven’t met him, have I?”
“I can’t remember the last time he came to see me. Must be at least six months ago. He did say he’d be over here very soon.”
Roy and Ivy, as was their habit, got up to go to their respective bedrooms for an
afternoon nap. This was an established routine now, decided on by Ivy, who said that if they were in each other’s pockets every hour of the day, no engagement could stand up to it, let alone that of two old codgers imprisoned in Springfields.
• • •
AFTER A PLEASANT session in the pub, Gus felt more cheerful and walked home briskly, with Whippy trotting beside him. He had almost made it to his cottage, when his neighbour’s door opened and a figure appeared.
“Gus! Missed you this morning! Are you up for home-cooked plaice and chips this evening?”
It was Miriam Blake, who had grown up in the village and since Gus’s arrival had conducted a brave campaign based on the saying that the route to a man’s heart was through his stomach. In spite of many rebuffs, she still hoped to lead him by the hand to a life of bliss in holy matrimony. And if not that, since Gus was divorced and had vowed never to marry again, then she would be perfectly happy to live with him in unholy sin.
“Thanks, Miriam. Very kind, but I have a prior engagement.”
“Not at Tawny Wings, I hope,” she said, pouting. “You know she’s the squire’s fancy woman? Shouldn’t have thought you’d want secondhand goods.”
Gus forebore to point out that he himself was not exactly a shining example of purity and innocence, and said apologetically that he was free tomorrow evening, if the fish would keep.
Mollified, Miriam agreed, and said that she had just made a pot of good strong tea, and wouldn’t he like a cup?
Never gives up, Gus said to himself sadly, and nodded. “That would be very nice. Thank you, Miriam. I’ll just put Whippy indoors, and then I’ll be round.”
“Don’t be long,” she called merrily, as he disappeared through his front door. “Jam tarts fresh from the oven!”
Four
STEVEN WRIGHT—STEVE to his friends, of whom there were not many—pulled up his car with a spray of gravel in front of his pleasant, pebble-dashed house in the posh suburb of Thornwell. He had had a frustrating day at the office, where he worked as chief departmental manager in a large furniture emporium on the town’s new trading estate.
Trade was slow, partly because of the dire economic situation in the country, and partly because, as he knew, it takes a long time for shoppers to change their habits and try new suppliers. His wife saw his grim expression, and quickly handed him a large gin and tonic to match her own. This ritual had developed over the years, and Wendy Wright had come to need support when her quick-tempered husband returned from work, anxious to make her as unhappy as he was.
He was not unattractive, with clear blue eyes and thick gingery hair, which he kept bristly short, not making any attempt to conceal the grey streaks beginning to appear.
“Distinguished-looking, darling,” Wendy had said one morning, as he brushed fiercely, showing no mercy to his tingling scalp.
“Naturally,” he had replied, and for once waved a cheery good-bye as he set off in his car.
This evening they were due to have dinner with friends, and Steven made it quite clear that he would rather stay at home. “They’re your friends, not mine,” he said grumpily. “Tell them I’m sick. A bug going round the office. Something like that.”
“What happened today to put you in a more than usually black mood?” Wendy was a gin or two ahead of him, and spoke with Dutch courage.
Steven sighed and collapsed into one of his top-of-the-range armchairs. “Uncle Roy happened,” he said. “You’ll never guess what his call was about.”
“Tell me.”
“Asked me to be his best man at his wedding in May.”
There was a long silence. “You’re joking,” Wendy said.
He shook his head. “Nope. Absolute truth. He’s marrying some old harpy in Springfields residential home, and sounded extremely chirpy.”
“Oh my God. And is he likely to live that long?”
“Oh yes. He sounded years younger. I shall have to go over there, and see what’s to be done.”
“Couldn’t you push her into the garden pond and hold her under? Joke!”
Steven did not laugh. “Might come to that,” he said. “I have some serious thinking to do.”
More silence, and then Wendy said, “You need taking out of yourself. Go and get changed, and we’ll hope to be at least amused by our neighbours. It’s one of those parties where each couple takes a dish of something. I’ve done your favourite curried fish, so you can stick to that.”
• • •
IVY SAT IN her room with Roy in his usual armchair. “Did you invite Steven to come over and hear our banns being published?” she asked.
She noticed his eyelids drooping as now she went through a provisional list of people they would ask to their wedding. She counted up, and made it over fifty. “I think this list is long enough,” she said.
“Yes, indeed, Ivy dear.” His answer was not much more than a mumble, and Ivy smiled.
“I’ve decided to call it all off,” she said.
“I’m sure you’re right, Ivy. As always.”
“Roy Goodman! What did I just say?”
Roy snapped awake. “Um, not sure, dearest. Would you mind saying it again?”
“Never mind,” Ivy said. “I’ve just had a count up, and the list stands at fifty-four. Enough, don’t you think?”
“Quite. But what did you say before that? Something about the banns?”
“Did you invite your nephew to come and hear them read on Sunday? Steven, I mean. I suppose we should, though I don’t much care for the sound of him. Perhaps his wife is more acceptable. Pity we can’t have a best woman.”
Roy chuckled. “Who do you suggest? Mrs. Spurling?”
“But seriously, Roy, are you sure you wouldn’t rather have someone else? I am sure James at the shop would be happy to oblige.”
Roy shook his head. “No, Ivy. I think family counts for quite a lot, and Steven is, after all, my last remaining relative. Close relative, that is.”
“What about distant ones?”
“Lost touch long ago. Nobody takes any interest in an old retired bachelor farmer, with nothing to talk about but the old days.”
“But there are some Goodmans somewhere?”
“Yes, I believe there were some Goodmans farming over Settlefield way. Not one of my farms. Another branch of the family, about ten miles away. But there was never any contact. A feud of some sort, I remember my mother saying.”
“Perhaps we should get in touch with them and settle the feud. Often in these cases the new generation has no idea what it was all about. My family were like that. Dad’s lot couldn’t stand my mother, and wouldn’t come anywhere near us. Mind you, I couldn’t really blame them!”
“Let’s talk about it in the morning,” Roy said, struggling to his feet. “Time for my beloved to catch up on her beauty sleep.”
Ivy giggled, a rusty, unused kind of sound. “Oh, you!” she said, and took him by the arm to make sure he got safely to his own bed.
• • •
DRIVING BACK FROM a particularly dull evening, Steven and Wendy sat in silence, until Steven said suddenly that he needed a pee. “Don’t think I can make it home,” he said, and stopped the car. Running for the hedge, he disappeared from sight. Wendy sighed. She had not enjoyed any part of their friends’ efforts to entertain them. The conversation was boring, and a couple of guests were an hour late owing to the non-appearance of their baby-sitter.
“You all right, Steve?” she shouted out of the car window.
He didn’t answer, but stumbled into sight and returned to the car.
“I chucked up,” he said finally. “Must’ve eaten something. I could taste something rotten. Did I have the stuff you cooked?”
“Oh yes. It was all set out on that big table. I had some of mine, and one or two others did, I think. I’m okay, for one, so I expect you’ll be fine in the morning.”
“Let’s just get home and go to bed.” He turned to look at her. “Perhaps next time you’ll take my advi
ce and refuse the invitation.”
“The end of a perfect evening,” said Wendy sadly. As they drove up to their house, she said pathetically, “At least I quite enjoyed talking to the others. We don’t get out much.”
Without answering, Steven made straight for the stairs, looking to neither left nor right, and after a quick visit to the bathroom, he yelled that he would sleep in the spare room. If he died in the night, she was to make sure that stingy old sod, Uncle Roy Goodman, remembered his promise to take care of his heir’s family. “And tell him to find another best man, and good luck to him!” he shouted, banging the door behind him.
Five
“SO ARE WE back to Thursdays being Enquire Within’s regular weekly meeting day?”
Deirdre had seen Gus’s new car—well, almost new—drive into Tawny Wings and park by the front door. He had insisted on collecting Ivy and Roy from Springfields, saying it looked like snow was on the way. His prime reason for buying the Peugeot Partner, or, as he referred to it, a van with windows, was to be able to take them safely up to Deirdre’s house.
“Very useful for a collapsible wheelchair, should you need one, Roy, plus any major shopping we might want.”
“If you ask me,” said Ivy, alighting with the aid of a hand from Gus, “it’s just like mounting and dismounting a horse! But very comfortable once you’re in it,” she added, seeing his face fall.
When they had all made their way upstairs to the Enquire Within office, Gus headed for the chair behind the big desk. But as usual Ivy got in first, and proceeded to act as unofficial chairman.
“Now, Gus, what have you to report? I gather you made it as far as the bus stop outside the shop? So would you like to tell us what happened next?”
“I certainly got as far as the queue waiting for the bus, and was gratified to see an elderly man answering Roy’s description, but perhaps rather scruffier. Anyway, I wished him a cheery good morning to introduce myself, and got a very dusty answer!”
