A Fete Worse Than Death

by Liz Hedgecock

  ‘That’s very lovely,’ said Pippa, ‘but not at all helpful.’

  And Sam was still on her mind. Every time Dev’s name was mentioned on the TV news, or the radio (he had moved down from the headline to perhaps the third or fourth item), or she saw the latest headline on a local newspaper (‘TV CHEF STILL FIGHTING FOR LIFE’ had been that morning’s trailblazer), Sam’s anxious face floated to the front of her mind, like a washed-up corpse that wouldn’t sink.

  ‘I think Sam’s got something to do with it,’ she told Simon. ‘Her face is nagging at me.’

  ‘Or is that what you want to believe?’

  ‘Just because I can’t stand her doesn’t mean it isn’t true,’ Pippa retorted. She spun her fork a little too vigorously and splattered herself with bolognese. ‘Darn!’

  ‘The motto of a good detective: leave no trace,’ said Simon, passing her a paper towel.

  ‘Thanks,’ said Pippa, mopping at herself and grimacing at the orangey splodges decorating her pale blue top. ‘Good to know you’re taking this seriously.’

  ‘I am, honest,’ said Simon. ‘But it feels a little less urgent now that the fete’s done and Dev’s on the mend.’

  ‘They could strike again, though,’ Pippa said defensively. ‘And next time they might be more successful.’

  ‘So what’s the next move, Columbo?’

  ‘First of all, find out how you manage to eat spaghetti and keep your shirt clean.’

  ‘Good idea. The kids definitely take after you.’ Simon grinned and twirled his fork.

  ‘Secondly, visit the private hospital where Dev is and somehow get in to see him.’

  ‘And how will you do that with the kids in tow?’

  ‘One kid,’ said Pippa. ‘I’ll go when Freddie’s in preschool tomorrow morning. Maybe they’re more lax on Fridays.’

  ‘You’ll still have Ruby.’

  ‘I’ll find a way,’ said Pippa.

  ‘I look forward to hearing how it goes,’ said Simon, taking his empty plate through to the kitchen. ‘I hope I don’t get a phone call asking me to collect you from police custody.’

  ‘That won’t happen,’ said Pippa. ‘I’m not going to break the law.’

  ‘Mm,’ Simon shot her a sceptical look. ‘Maybe you could pretend to be a desperate fan with a big bunch of flowers.’

  ‘I’d like to retain some dignity, thank you very much,’ Pippa snapped.

  ‘Yeah, but would you rather they think you’re a bit deluded, or a dangerous intruder?’

  ‘Oh, do shut up.’ Pippa stabbed at her spaghetti, wishing Simon would just — just — stop reasoning with her.

  The next day she dropped Freddie off at preschool, then bought a ‘variegated summer bouquet’ from Dot the florist. It had a lot of pink and orange gerberas in, anyway.

  ‘Treating yourself?’ asked Dot, wrapping the flowers in tissue and cellophane.

  ‘They’re for a friend,’ said Pippa. ‘Must dash.’

  At least she knew where Dev was. At Higginbotham Hall on Tuesday, everyone had circulated after finishing their chilli, and Pippa had managed to snatch a few moments with Lady Higginbotham. ‘It’s excellent news about Dev, isn’t it?’ was her opening.

  ‘Oh, absolutely.’ Lady Higginbotham smiled. ‘I’m sure he’s in good hands at the Cavendish. My aunt had her gallstones zapped there, and she said they did a lovely job.’

  ‘That’s good to know,’ said Pippa. ‘Nice that the weather’s holding, isn’t it?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Lady Higginbotham. ‘Although the lawns do worry me. With everything that’s been going on, I quite forgot to remind Armstrong about the sprinklers. Excuse me a moment.’ She drifted to the sideboard, and took a notepad from the drawer.

  Almost too easy. Pippa hoped Lady Higginbotham wouldn’t smell a rat later, but the lawn had probably distracted her.

  She put the flowers on the passenger seat of the Mini, loaded Ruby in, and dumped the pushchair in the boot. According to her satnav Cavendish Private Hospital was a twenty-minute drive, out on the far side of Gadcester. Pippa had never visited before; but the website showed a building more like a manor house than any hospital she had ever seen, set among flowerbeds and lawns.

  The satnav took her round Gadcester on the ring road, then into open country. She drove for a few miles until a large sign loomed: Cavendish Hospital, 550 yards on left. Watch for emerging traffic. A minute later she drove the Mini down a wide, shallowly-curved driveway, smooth-surfaced, and with fields either side. The hospital grew bigger and grander every second. Pippa gulped and followed the signs for the car park, which was at the back of the building. It was full of large, expensive cars; Bentleys, Maseratis, and even a Rolls Royce or two. She could also see a familiar bright red shape. Either it was Dahlia’s Porsche, or that car had a twin.

  Oh God. She’d forgotten about Dahlia. Another layer of security to get through. She parked well away from the Porsche, in a different row.

  ‘Come along, Ruby,’ she said, sounding much jollier than she felt. ‘Let’s explore.’

  The entrance to the hospital was through a rather less grand back door. They probably save the front for visiting dignitaries, thought Pippa. Nothing lower than a Sir. She wheeled Ruby up the ramp, the bouquet of flowers balanced on the hood of the pushchair. The door opened automatically to let her in. Of course.

  She walked into a reception area painted a pale, restful green, with the hospital’s logo, a branch of green leaves, on the wall behind the desk. The receptionist was booking someone in; an elderly gentleman wearing a brass-buttoned blazer with a polka-dot handkerchief in the breast pocket. ‘I won’t be a moment,’ she said, glancing in Pippa’s direction. ‘Do take a seat.’

  Pippa sat in one of the wingback chairs, manoeuvring Ruby so that they faced each other. But Ruby wasn’t happy. She wriggled, and jerked from side to side, and screwed her face up. ‘Come on then,’ said Pippa, unbuckling her. ‘Let’s have a cuddle.’

  A young woman talking on her phone shot the baby an impatient look. ‘Might have to call you later,’ she said, loudly. ‘It’s quite noisy here.’

  The minute Ruby was in Pippa’s arms, she reached out for her breast. ‘Please don’t,’ Pippa pleaded, moving her to arm’s length. Ruby wailed, flailing as if she were drowning.

  The young woman huffed and ended the call, glaring at Pippa.

  ‘Excuse me a moment,’ the receptionist said to the elderly gent, and leaned round. ‘Can I help?’

  ‘I don’t suppose there’s somewhere I can feed her?’ Pippa asked, fending Ruby off.

  ‘Of course.’ The receptionist pressed a buzzer and a near-identical woman came through the door. ‘Millie, would you mind taking this lady to the family room?’

  Millie beamed. ‘This way, madam.’ She reopened the door and held it while Pippa wrapped an arm round Ruby’s middle and steered the pushchair through one-handed, with some deviation from the normal route.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘It’s like shopping trolleys.’

  Millie’s smile slipped a bit, and she led the way down the corridor quite rapidly. ‘Here you are, madam.’ She opened a door to reveal another pale green room, with wicker chairs, cushions, a stack of toys, a changing table, and a view over fields. I could get used to this, thought Pippa.

  ‘You can lock the door while you’re feeding, if you want,’ said Millie.

  ‘Thank you.’ Pippa sat in a wicker chair and hoicked up her top, and Millie fled. Pippa turned the lock on the door, and resumed her seat.

  ‘Well done, Rubes,’ Pippa whispered to her greedily-sucking baby. ‘You played a blinder there.’ While Ruby fed, she considered her strategy, then concluded that she didn’t have one. Her best bet was, once Ruby was satisfied, to roam around looking for Dev, until either she found him or got thrown out. At least Ruby’s presence would probably save her from anything worse than a reprimand.

  Ruby broke off and stared at her, rubbing her breast gently. ‘Does that mean you’
re finished?’ Pippa asked, kissing her warm forehead. ‘Good girl.’ She did a quick nappy check — no sense wasting the facilities — then strapped her in. ‘We’re going on an adventure!’

  She listened for footsteps before unlocking the door. It was hushed in the corridor, and the rolling wheels grated on her nerves. She stopped by a board full of signs. Rooms 1-34 were down the corridor; treatment rooms on the first floor, and there was something mysterious called ‘The Annexe’ which lurked beyond a glass corridor. Hmm. She pulled out her phone and found the hospital website.

  For longer stays or increased privacy, the Annexe is fully equipped for our executive clients. With high-speed wifi, room service and a bookable conference suite, you don’t have to neglect business during your stay with us.

  If Dev wasn’t holed up in there, she’d eat her hat. Pippa spun the pushchair round and set off, feeling dreadfully exposed as she wheeled Ruby along the glass corridor. At the end was a door with a sign in swirling copperplate, The Annexe, like a pretentious business card in building form.

  And the door was locked. Pippa thought about kicking it in frustration, but decided to ring the bell instead. She’d come all this way; what did she have to lose?

  A woman in nurse’s uniform — not a modern one, but something straight from a fifties costume drama — came to the door, surveying her through the glass panel before opening it. ‘Hello?’ she said. ‘Are you looking for someone?’

  ‘Erm, yes,’ said Pippa. ‘I’ve come to visit Dev Hardman. He knows me. My name’s Pippa Parker. I’ve got flowers.’ Oh Pippa, do stop talking.

  The nurse smiled the sort of professional smile that gave nothing away. ‘If you don’t mind waiting?’ The door closed.

  Pippa waited, and seconds stretched into minutes. She put her ear to the glass, but couldn’t hear a thing. The executive treatment probably included soundproofing, too.

  The nurse returned, still smiling. ‘Sorry to keep you, Ms Parker,’ she said. ‘Unfortunately Mr Hardman isn’t receiving visitors at present —’

  ‘Oo says?’ called a familiar voice.

  ‘Dev, we agreed —’ The clipped tones of Dahlia.

  ‘Whatever. I don’t mind if she pops in with a buncha flowers.’

  ‘Excuse me a moment.’ The nurse, no longer smiling, closed the door again. A minute later she was back. ‘Come this way, please.’

  The Annexe was very plush indeed, with thick carpets, designer wallpaper, and mood lighting. It was more like a boutique hotel than part of a hospital. But Pippa’s mind was not on the furniture. If Dev wasn’t receiving visitors, why had he agreed to see her? And why didn’t Dahlia want him to?

  CHAPTER 20

  Dev Hardman’s room was a cross between a shrine, a florist’s and a card shop. There were cards everywhere, propped up and stacked in heaps — padded ones, glittery ones, ones with badges, handmade ones. A bouquet of helium balloons floated near the window, bearing the legend Get Well Soon. Vases of flowers occupied every flat surface; Pippa’s bunch were pitifully inadequate by comparison. In the middle of it all, propped up in bed, was Dev.

  He looked — not ill, but fragile. A bit pale, as PC Horsley had said, and that wasn’t helped by his black silk pyjamas. His hair was still shiny and quiffed, though, which Pippa took as a sign that he wasn’t very poorly.

  Dev chuckled. ‘This isn’t all of it,’ he said, waving a hand around the room. ‘At least half’s gone to the rest of the hospital. Saved them a fortune on flowers this week.’

  ‘That’s kind,’ said Pippa, parking Ruby and walking forward. ‘How are you feeling?’

  Dahlia came in with a stack of papers. ‘Stefan’s sent it over at last —’ She stopped when she saw Pippa. ‘Oh. You’re still here,’ she said. Her mouth twitched.

  ‘Gimme a few minutes, Dahlia, would you?’

  ‘I’m not sure that’s wise,’ said Dahlia, not moving. ‘After that fete, I wouldn’t be surprised if she was carrying some sort of killer bug.’

  ‘I can hear you, you know,’ said Pippa. ‘No need to be rude.’

  Dahlia snorted. ‘Hand over the flowers, ask how he is, and go, please. We’ve got a lot to get through.’

  ‘So I see,’ said Pippa, eyeing the papers.

  ‘Dahlia,’ said Dev, shifting himself in the bed. ‘Would you mind getting me a packet of chewing gum? I’ve run out.’

  ‘I’ll ring the nurse,’ said Dahlia.

  ‘No.’ Dev’s voice dropped, and he looked at Dahlia very steadily. ‘I want you to go.’

  Dahlia clicked her tongue. ‘The shop’s on the other side of the hospital.’ She turned to Pippa. ‘You could go. That’d be helpful.’

  ‘Dahlia. You’re going.’

  Dahlia made a show of picking up her jacket, putting the papers in her bag (with a beady glare at Pippa), and stalking out. The door banged and Dev winced. Ruby, however, barely flinched, and carried on playing with the rattle fastened to her pushchair.

  ‘Are you sure you’re OK?’

  ‘I’ll live,’ Dev said, frowning. ‘Bit sensitive to noise, that’s all. S’nice and quiet here, so when something like that happens, you notice it more.’

  ‘I’m sure she’ll calm down,’ said Pippa. ‘I can go before she gets back, if it helps.’

  ‘To be honest,’ grinned Dev, ‘I sent her off to have a bit of a break. She’s pretty full-on, our Dahlia.’

  ‘I’d never have guessed,’ said Pippa. ‘A friend of mine mentioned her. Suze Hegarty.’

  ‘Suze!’ Dev’s grin broadened. ‘I always got on with her, till Dahlia snapped me up.’

  ‘Why did you change PRs, if you got on with Suze?’ Pippa asked.

  Dev shrugged. ‘Seemed like a good idea at the time. Dahlia kept turning up at my events, saying she could get me bigger gigs, a larger cut, more adverts… I figured if she was that persistent at badgering me, she’d do a good job. Actually, yeah, I wanted to ask you about that.’

  ‘About what?’

  ‘Weeeell, when Suze rang me she said you’d worked in PR, and I could use a pair of extra hands right now. What with being here, Dahlia’s having to reschedule a bunch of stuff with her other clients. Plus she’s got another deal she’s working on, and that’s making her even moodier.’ The corners of his mouth drooped.

  ‘I’m not sure I understand. Are you asking me…?’

  ‘To help out? Yeah, I guess I am.’ Dev eyed her appraisingly. ‘When you were running the fete, you were moving stuff around and keeping things going, so — yeah.’

  Pippa’s heart leapt. ‘Yes!’ she cried. She was going to work for Dev Hardman, an actual celebrity! On a temporary basis, of course… Then it sank again. ‘But what about my children?’

  Dev seemed to see the pushchair for the first time. ‘A lot of it you could do at home. Ringing round and stuff. She’s cute.’

  ‘Thank you. Erm … when do I start? And won’t Dahlia go mad?’

  ‘I’m the boss, not Dahlia.’ Dev drew himself up in the bed and set his jaw, but the pyjamas made it less convincing. ‘What I say goes.’

  ‘So long as she doesn’t kill me,’ said Pippa, and she wasn’t entirely joking. ‘What sort of things would you want me to do?’

  Dev thought for a moment. ‘Booking stuff. Bookshop signings, transport, that sort of thing. Making sure stuff goes smoothly behind the scenes, know what I mean?’ He lowered his voice. ‘Between you an’ me, Dahlia’s so busy wheeler-dealin’ that she’s let some of that slip.’

  He was being kind, Pippa knew it, and she felt herself welling up. ‘It’s very kind of you,’ she gabbled, while she could still talk.

  ‘Nah, you’d be doing me a favour,’ said Dev. ‘A stressed Dahlia is a grumpy Dahlia. No-one wants that, specially not when she’s spending most of the day with you.’

  ‘But do you think you’ll be well enough to manage book signings?’ Pippa asked, her glance falling on his pyjamas.

  ‘Don’t have a choice,’ said Dev. ‘Contractual obligation. Anyw
ay, it’s only sitting in a chair, writing my name, and having a bit of a chat with people. I can do that in my sleep.’

  ‘I suppose. Don’t overstretch yourself, though.’

  ‘Wish Dahlia would say that,’ Dev muttered.

  As if he had summoned her, Dahlia appeared, holding a pack of chewing gum as if it were a dead mouse. ‘Still here?’ she said, eyeing Pippa with no change of expression.

  ‘Oh yes,’ said Pippa. ‘Dev and I were discussing my work duties.’

  Dahlia’s mouth set in a firm line, and Pippa could almost see the dark clouds looming in her brain. ‘Care to enlighten me, Dev?’

  Dev grinned what should have been a disarming grin. ‘Thought you could use a bit of help, Dahlia, and — is it Pippa?’ Pippa nodded. ‘Pippa has agreed to step up to the plate.’

  ‘I see,’ said Dahlia, in a voice that could have frozen a sunbeam.

  ‘Gosh, is that the time,’ said Pippa. ‘I must get back to Much Gadding. Child to pick up, and all that. I’ll leave you to discuss the finer points. You have my number, Dahlia, don’t you.’

  ‘I do indeed.’ How could she manage to make anything sound like a threat?

  ‘Excellent. See you soon!’ she trilled, wheeling Ruby round with sufficient speed to stop her grabbing any of the interesting balloons, flowers, or other assorted paraphernalia.

  As she walked down the corridor, Ruby began to whimper. Pippa stopped and leaned over the pushchair to see what was the matter.

  The uninterrupted view of her daughter’s face screwing up was the matter. ‘Have you taken your rattle off? How did you manage that?’

  ‘Waaaaaaaa,’ said Ruby, at a steadily increasing volume.

  ‘All right,’ said Pippa, parking her. ‘Wait a minute, and I’ll fetch it.’

  At least I didn’t find out on the way home, she thought. My life would be hell. And, hurrying back, she reflected that perhaps grumpy Dahlia wasn’t much different from grumpy Ruby. The thought made her smile.