by Ann Purser
“Mr. Tollervey-Jones?” His secretary of many years had put her head round his door and for one moment thought he had dozed off. “Mrs. Fitzpatrick is here.”
The morning passed smoothly after that, and after his last client had gone, Robert reached in his drawer for the packet of sandwiches prepared for him by Felicity. He would take them to the small patch of garden outside the office and sit in the sun. Then hail a taxi, he decided, to meet his mother. She had not offered to give him lunch. More a case of “see me in my study at two o’clock, Tollervey-Jones, and don’t be late,” he thought.
When he pressed the bell on the door phone, his mother’s voice was strangely subdued. Not her usual strident self at all, he thought, and frowned. He arrived at the second floor and found her waiting with the door open and a worried look on her face.
“Come in, Robert,” she said, and he noticed that she limped a little as she crossed the room to sit down. He took a chair opposite her, and asked how she was.
“You’re looking a tiny bit pale, Mother,” he said. He expected this to be greeted with a volley of reasons why she was, in fact, in the pink of health. But instead, she passed her hand across her eyes, and said she had not been sleeping too well lately.
“Goodness, that’s not like you,” he said. “Have you seen the doctor?”
“Doctor?” she said, sounding more like herself. “Why should I see a doctor? Two or three good nights’ sleep is all I need, and don’t dare to suggest pills! You know what I think about pills, Robert!”
Better start again, he thought. “So what is on your mind about the estate, Mother?”
“Crisis, that’s what,” she said firmly. “We are in a state of crisis. Money is owed to the bank, there are debts to be paid and I bear all this on my own shoulders without complaint. But now I need to consult you, because you are the heir and will inherit.”
Not that old thing, thought Robert. Am I to get the usual lecture? But his mother carried on in no uncertain terms.
“I do not see your taking over as an event likely to happen in the near future, but we must be prepared. Also,” she added with some chagrin, “that stupid little man at the bank seems to think we are no longer safe enough for further loans. In spite of my protestations, he considers we must do something, and soon, to raise funds to settle debts.”
“Oh, dear,” Robert said. “I am afraid this is a familiar story from many of my estate-owning clients. So we must put on our thinking caps. Have you any ideas?”
“Not mine, but suggestions from the bank manager do not appeal. He proposed selling, either the whole estate and moving to a small property in the village, or a parcel of land for building houses.” She then expanded on her considered rejection of both these proposals, whilst Robert listened and noted that her hands, clenched in her lap, seemed to have acquired a tremor.
She listed concisely the reasons why she could not possibly sell off land for building, and his thoughts began to wander. He could see over her shoulder the view from the window, which was of an extraordinary building with oddly shaped, curving framed windows, and a spiral fire escape unusually decorated for its purpose. He knew from past enquiries in their shop that it was the Rudolf Steiner building, and its interesting interior and exterior had been designed in the nineteen twenties to be in accordance with the German philosopher’s theories of universality. Peace, at-oneness, and all that. Just at this moment, thought Robert, it seems quite a nice idea.
“Robert! Are you listening to me?”
“Of course I am, Mother. You just said that you are too old to move from your ancestral home.”
“I said nothing of the sort,” she exploded. “You must realise that I am very busy, and have come all the way into town to talk to you. The least you can do is have the courtesy to listen!”
He saw her colour rising as she continued hotly in this vein, and then, to his horror, she stopped in midsentence and keeled over the arm of her chair.
He rushed to her side and put his arm around her, gently lifting her into an upright position and propping her up with spare cushions. What does one do now? he thought, and was about to ring for an ambulance when she heaved a great sigh and blinked rapidly.
“What on earth are you doing?” she said, taking the cushions and throwing them over to the empty sofa.
“I am going to suggest that you have a rest, and then I shall call a taxi and insist you come with me to Shepherd Road, where we can talk more calmly and decide what I shall do next.”
He was relieved, though somewhat surprised, when she agreed without demur. As he helped her to her feet, however, she corrected his last words, saying that the decision would ultimately be hers.
FELICITY HAD JUST COME HOME FROM HER SHIFT AT THE CITIZENS Advice Bureau, and had put her feet up on a stool ready to relax and watch her favourite antiques auction show on television. The work was consistently gloomy, with worried citizens bringing in their troubles for advice and, hopefully, solutions. After a morning at the Bureau, she often felt emotionally drained, and about once a month decided to give it up, but then didn’t.
The telephone rang, and she sighed. She looked at her watch. It was probably Robert, desperate to tell her what his mother had said and enlisting her help in dealing with it.
“Hello? Ah, Robert, how did it go? She’s still with you? Did you say lying down? What on earth has happened?”
Robert gave her a brief account of his mother’s collapse, and ended by saying he was bringing her home so that they could get a doctor to take a look at her before allowing her to go back alone to Farnden. Felicity’s heart sank, but she was a good soul and rose to the challenge.
“Right,” she said briskly. “I’ll make up the bed in the spare room. The surgery will be open, and I’ll ring the doctor. Will she be able to get down there for him to take a look at her? Oh, good. They don’t seem to like making visits to the sick these days.”
Robert said that in his experience, visiting the sick was now the province of the church, but even their new swinging vicar was seldom seen about on pastoral duties. She laughed, and said she would see him in an hour or so.
The spare room on the second floor had a pleasant view over the garden, and they had recently installed a small en suite shower room. The only problem, Felicity thought as she shook out clean sheets, would be the stairs. But it sounded as if Farnden Mother had rallied pretty well. “Fingers crossed, then,” Felicity said to their black-and-white cat, who had followed her upstairs.
BACK IN FARNDEN, LOIS WAS BEHIND THE COUNTER IN THE SHOP, filling in whilst her daughter had gone on a mysterious errand to Tresham. Josie was not usually close about her comings and goings, but this time she had muttered something about an important appointment before shooting off at speed away from the village.
“Surely it’s not . . . well, you know, Derek,” Lois said as Derek came into the shop.
“Up the spout?” said Derek.
“Yeah, well, it does happen,” said Lois defensively. “Best-laid plans, an’ all that.”
“Wouldn’t be the end of the world. It’d just mean they’d have to name the day a bit sooner, maybe. Anyway, it might be nothing like that. Could be anything. I expect you’ll get it out of her soon enough.”
“That sounds a bit nasty,” said Lois.
Their conversation was interrupted by the telephone, and Lois put her hand over the mouthpiece and said, “It’s her up at the hall.” Derek made for the door, but Lois shook her head violently. “Wait,” she whispered.
“Another of those funny turns,” she said after the call ended. “She’s staying in London for a day or two, and wants you to go up and check on locks and things at the hall. She had planned to be back today, she said.”
“Not looking good, is it,” Derek said. “At least her Robert will insist on her seeing a doctor. Perhaps a good thing it happened when it did. Was it serious this time?”
“Dunno. You know what she’s like. Makes light of aches and pains. Do you remembe
r when she had that terrible flu and insisted on carrying on?”
“Thereby infecting the whole parish council,” Derek said. “Of course I remember! Anyway, might as well go up there now, on the way to Fletching. It’ll make me a bit late back, but can’t let the old thing down.”
Halfway there, his van was passed by a scruffy white truck, which, to his surprise, turned into the drive up to the hall. Scruffy white truck? That rang bells, and he instinctively slowed down and stopped before turning in himself. He had seen two men in the cab, and decided it would be best not to let them see him following. Whatever they were up to, he planned to take them by surprise and so slowed to a halt for a few minutes. It did not occur to him that it would be one against two.
TEN
ONCE THEY WERE WELL OUT OF SIGHT, DEREK STARTED OFF UP the long drive to the hall. He guessed they had gone round the back to the stable yard. He had given them time to find nobody at home and turn around to return down the drive. They hadn’t reappeared, so he planned to leave his van down a little lane a hundred yards or so from the turn to the stables. He would walk the rest of the way, and see for himself exactly what they were doing. If it was petty thieving, they would be as quick as possible. Grab what they could and be up and away in minutes.
He felt in his pocket for the pencil and notebook he always carried for work. The one thing he could definitely do was write down the truck’s registration number. He parked the van, and began to walk through the trees that bordered the drive as it turned round the side of the house.
Still in the protection of the spinney, he could see the truck, parked close to the back door, and hear its engine still running. The men were nowhere in sight, and he supposed they were already inside the house. On Mrs. T-J’s recent form, it was quite likely she had forgotten to lock it.
He jotted down the number of the truck, then edged round the side of house and approached the back door. If he could frighten them by knocking innocently and enquiring for Mrs. T-J, he might stall their thieving. Might even stop them breaking some of her priceless porcelain. With any luck, they’d scarper like frit rabbits.
He knocked. The engine juddered on, and then coughed. Then even that was silent, and Derek felt a sudden frisson of fear. For the first time it struck him that what he was doing was not sensible. Ah well, he could retreat without any damage. But at that moment the kitchen door opened, and a big bloke growled at him that the missus was in Tresham and they were doing some plumbing work in the house.
He was about to shut the door in Derek’s face, when another voice came from behind him. “We’d better clear out, Gerald. It’s risky—”
Derek frowned. “Perhaps you’d better clear out,” he said. “Before I ring the police.”
He turned to go back to his van, but the big man lifted up the jemmy he was carrying and brought it down hard. Derek crumpled at the knees and saw nothing more.
“You stupid bugger!” Clive shouted at his brother.
“Get in the truck. Now!”
“Don’t run ’im over,” Clive said anxiously as they backed away from Derek’s prone figure. In minutes, the truck was flying down the drive and out into the road.
“WHERE IS HE, THEN?” LOIS WAS BACK HOME NOW, AND OUTSIDE the kitchen window the light was beginning to fade.
“He said he’d be a bit late, didn’t he? Because of having to go up to the hall?” said Gran soothingly. In truth, she was also beginning to worry. It was not like Derek to fail to let them know if he was unexpectedly delayed. “Why don’t you ring his mobile if you’re fretting?” she asked.
“Oh, you know, he doesn’t like me checking up on him,” Lois said. “Not since that time when . . .” Her voice tailed off, and she walked out of the house to look up and down the High Street for signs of his van.
An hour passed, and there were still no messages, nor a sign of Derek. “Well, here goes,” Lois said, dialling his number. “Nothing! It’s completely dead,” she said. “For goodness’ sake, Mum, what can have happened to him?”
“Calm down, Lois. Where was he going after checking on the hall?”
“Fletching, to do some rewiring at that house restoration. There’s nobody living there yet, so I can’t ring him there.”
“The hall, then. Could he have locked himself in by mistake? She’s got the whole place bolted and barred.”
“So why hasn’t he rung me?”
“Mobile out of money?” said Gran.
Lois was silent for a few minutes, then looked at the shelf clock and said, “Right. That’s it. I’m off to the hall to see if I can find him. I’ll keep in touch,” she added. “Whatever.”
IT WAS DARK NOW, AND LOIS DROVE CAREFULLY ALONG THE UNLIT road that led to the hall. The gates were still open, and that was odd. Mrs. T-J could well have left them open on her way out, but Derek would certainly have shut and locked them when he left.
There were no lights in the house, and Lois’s heart sank when she saw Derek’s vehicle parked by the drive. She drove on into the stable yard and heard the old mare whinnying loudly in her stall. Probably hungry, Lois thought, though Mrs. T-J had repeatedly told Derek not to forget to feed the horse.
Then she saw him. Her van lights picked up a dark hump on the ground outside the back door. The hump was not moving, and had not moved as she drove in with her lights on full beam.
“Dear God, no, no, not Derek!” Lois yelled, and almost fell out of the van door.
ELEVEN
“HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO TELL YOU!” YELLED GLADYS. “Don’t bang that door! It’ll fall off its hinges for two pins.”
Gerald and Clive had come indoors in a rush, jostling each other to get in first. “Oh, shut it, Mother,” said Clive. “Got the kettle on?”
“Sodding tea?” snapped Gerald. “I need something stronger than tea. Where’s yer whiskey, Mother?”
“I ain’t got no whiskey, as you very well know,” said Gladys.
“Wha’s this, then?” said Gerald, opening a high cupboard door and pulling out a half bottle of Famous Grouse. “My God, woman, you’ve bin having a go at this lately! Or did your precious Dot Nimmo help you out with it?”
“She wasn’t here long enough before you come home and frightened her away.”
“Frightened her away? Dot Nimmo’s never been frightened of nobody. You wanna watch her, Mother. She’s working for Cowgill on the quiet. Not s’quiet now, mind you. We all know to keep out of her way.”
“Old Cowgill?” said Gladys. “He must be about retiring age now surely.”
“Not that old. And he’s got a nephew coming up the ranks to take his place.”
“That young nephew, Vickers is his name, is engaged to the Meade woman’s daughter who runs the village shop in Farnden,” Gladys said. “Dot told me. They’re all pleased apparently.”
Clive and Gerald looked at one another in alarm. “Farnden shop, did you say?” Gerald growled.
His mother nodded, and Clive groaned. “Bloody hell,” he said.
AFTER THEY HAD EATEN FISH AND CHIPS FRESH FROM THE SHOP, Gerald told Clive to switch on the telly. “News time on ITV,” he said. “We want the local news.”
“Why?” said Gladys suspiciously.
“Him that asks no questions gets told no lies,” said Gerald. “Turn it up, Clive. Can’t hear a word when Mum’s talking.”
They watched through to the end of the news bulletin, and then settled down to their favourite cops-and-robbers serial. “There weren’t nothing about it,” Clive said.
“Don’t count yer chickens,” Gerald cautioned. “Bit early yet. Anyway, I didn’t hit him that hard.” That wasn’t how it looked to Clive, but he said nothing. Gladys, however, had just come into the room after washing up, and heard the last sentence.
“Hit who?” she said. Her absent husband was spending some time as a guest of Her Majesty as a result of grievous bodily harm, and she was well aware that Gerald was exactly like him. Not Clive. He was more like her. Anything for a quiet life. And as
a result, Gerald pushed his brother around and used him without scruple to do the dirty jobs.
“It were just an ole dog what had a go at us,” Gerald said. “One of them pit bull terriers. Illegal, they are.”
“And so are you two idiots,” Gladys said with some feeling. “Don’t blame me if you end up sleepin’ in the next cell to your stupid father. None of you care what’ll happen to me,” she continued, sitting down heavily and wiping her eyes on the corner of her apron.
“I’ve had enough of this,” said Gerald. “I’m off down the pub—you coming, Clive?”
Clive shook his head. He looked unhappily at his mother. “I’ll stay here,” he said. “Keep an eye on the telly.”
DOUGLAS, LOIS’S ELDEST SON, THANKED GOD FOR MOBILE PHONES as he sped through the dark lanes on his way to the hall. His mother had contacted him at home in Tresham, and when she had calmed down, he gathered she was in the stable yard behind Farnden Hall, watching over his father, who had been attacked and was still lying on the ground, just coming round from being dead. Or that’s what Douglas thought his mother had said. Anyway, he was nearly there now, and could take charge.
After establishing that his father was not dead, but certainly very groggy, he said to Lois that they should send for an ambulance. “He’ll need checking over, Mum,” he said.
His father tried to raise himself off the ground. “No ambulance,” he said thickly. “Get me home, boy. The women’ll look after me.”
Between them, Douglas and Lois helped him into Douglas’s big car, and they set off in convoy for the village. When they half carried him into the kitchen, Gran took one look and rushed towards the phone.
