There’s Always Tomorrow

by Pam Weaver

  ‘You knew she was having his baby, didn’t you?’

  Kipper looked away. ‘I knew she was pregnant, but was it her husband’s child, that’s the burning question.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ John demanded.

  ‘There’s some talk that the baby was yours.’

  ‘Mine! But that’s ridiculous. Whatever gave you that idea?’

  ‘You’ve been seen in the company of Mrs Cox,’ said Kipper earnestly. He leaned forward in his chair. ‘Often and alone.’

  ‘I’ve only ever been with her when Patsy was around,’ said John truthfully. ‘Anyway, who saw me? Where?’

  ‘I am not at liberty to say, but the gossip in the village is rife,’ said Kipper, relaxing back in his chair. He began pushing the tobacco down in his pipe, reluctant to tell him that Gerald Gilbert and Vera Carter had come to him with stories of car rides, late-night lifts and walks along the seafront. And although Dr Fitzgerald assured him that Dottie was the soul of discretion, Mariah Fitzgerald considered that she had changed recently from a hard-working woman into a liability, and Janet Cooper was on the verge of giving her the sack. It seemed that her relationship with John Landers was the catalyst.

  ‘Can I speak candidly?’ said John.

  ‘Please do.’

  ‘I won’t deny that I have strong feelings for Dott … Mrs Cox,’ said John. ‘But she and I have never … that is to say … She has always remained absolutely faithful to her husband.’

  ‘For what it’s worth,’ Kipper said, striking a match. ‘I believe you.’

  John pressed his lips together and nodded. ‘Just tell me what evidence you need to prove her innocence,’ he went on, ‘and I’ll make sure you get it.’

  ‘She talked about a hired car,’ Kipper puffed, ‘but nobody saw it, and Reg says he can’t drive. And who wanted to buy that bungalow? She says he did, but the estate agent says he spoke to a woman on the telephone. Did Dottie write that suicide note? It certainly looks like her handwriting. And all that nonsense with the chickens. What was that all about? There was no way the fox got those birds, yet Reg was adamant.’

  ‘Reg was obviously lying,’ John observed.

  ‘Precisely, and while you’re on the subject, ask her again about her aunt’s death.’

  ‘Good God, you’re not suggesting …’

  ‘I’m not suggesting anything, Dr Landers,’ said Kipper. He flicked the rest of the match into the fire and chewed the end of his pipe thoughtfully. ‘And another thing, there’s apparently some question about the true identity of her husband. You obviously did some checks on Mr Cox when you agreed to Patsy coming here. Did you come across anything?’

  ‘I’m afraid we were governed by our hearts and not our heads as far as Sandy was concerned,’ said John, grim-faced. ‘This is really serious, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, Dr Landers, it is,’ said Kipper. ‘You and I may dismiss all this as hearsay and innuendo, but the Eastbourne police believe they have a watertight case.’

  After his evening with PC Kipling, John had returned to his mother’s house. The first thing next morning, he’d arrange an interview with the Eastbourne estate agent (he felt it better to talk to the man in person) and then he’d tackle finding the hire car.

  Laura Landers had been devastated when he’d told her what had happened.

  ‘I refuse to believe that that lovely girl would ever do anything to harm that child,’ she’d said stoutly, ‘or herself for that matter. And believe you me, I am an excellent judge of character.’

  They’d reached the middle of December before they’d had their first really cold snap. There was even talk of snow coming. John and his mother were relaxing over a sherry before Sunday lunch when there was a knock at the door. Minnie, who had been stretched out before the log fire, leapt up and ran barking into the hallway. John went to open the door.

  ‘Dr Landers?’ The woman on the doorstep was elegantly dressed in a cream coat with a fur trim. ‘You don’t know me but I’m a friend of Dottie’s. My name is Sylvie McDonald.’

  John stepped back, holding the door wide open. ‘Come in. Dottie has told me all about you.’ As she raised her eyebrow, he laughed, adding, ‘All good, I assure you.’

  She walked in, peeling off her gloves, and he showed her into his mother’s sitting room. The delicious smell of roast lamb pervaded the whole house and Sylvie began to feel quite peckish.

  ‘This is my mother, Laura Landers,’ he said, introducing them both. ‘Mother, this is Dottie’s friend, Sylvie McDonald.’

  ‘Come in, my dear,’ said Laura struggling to her feet. ‘Sit down. Can I get you a sherry?’

  John took Sylvie’s coat. ‘I’ll get it, Mother.’

  ‘I’m sorry to disturb you,’ said Sylvie, patting the back of her hair, ‘but I really need to talk to you.’

  ‘If you’ll excuse me,’ said Laura, ‘I’d better check the roast.’

  ‘This whole thing with Dottie is driving me mad,’ said Sylvie as John’s mother left the room. She flung herself into a chair and crossed her elegant legs while Minnie flopped on Sylvie’s foot, waiting for a stroke.

  ‘I’ve been hoping it will all blow over,’ said John. ‘I’ll be seeing Dottie, probably tomorrow. I have to go to Eastbourne, and I’m hoping she’ll be well enough to come home by then.’

  ‘Are you aware,’ she went on, ‘that the Eastbourne police are planning to arrest Dottie as soon as she’s well enough?’

  John was conscious of his mouth dropping open. ‘How can you possibly know that?’

  ‘My husband has friends in high places.’

  ‘Do you know the charge?’

  ‘Attempted murder.’

  ‘So it really has come to this.’ He sank into his chair, his face ashen.

  ‘Sadly, yes,’ said Sylvie.

  Laura came back from the kitchen. ‘John? What’s wrong?’

  Sylvie explained.

  ‘And they have enough evidence?’

  Sylvie shrugged. ‘It’s her word against his and for some reason, the Eastbourne police seem to be more inclined to believe him. The thing is, Doctor, I should like to enlist your help.’

  ‘We’re just about to have lunch,’ said Laura. ‘Would you …?’

  ‘Love to,’ beamed Sylvie.

  Laura made an extra place at the table.

  ‘I was horrified to see the state she was in when I got to the hospital,’ said Sylvie as they sat down together. ‘The sister wouldn’t let me in but when she’d gone off-duty, I managed to twist the staff nurse’s arm. The others had to wait in the car.’

  ‘Others?’ said Laura.

  ‘I took her friends with me, Ann Pearce, Mary Prior and Edna Gilbert,’ Sylvie explained. ‘They’d brought her presents and fruit. Everyone is very upset about Patsy but none of us can believe that Dottie could be in any way responsible.’

  ‘I was just saying exactly the same thing to John,’ said Laura, warming to Sylvie straightaway. ‘Peas?’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘How did you find out where I lived?’ asked John. He liked Sylvie’s direct manner.

  ‘From Mary Prior. Dottie told her all about you.’

  ‘We don’t want Reg to know where Dottie is,’ said Sylvie, taking the gravy with a nod of thanks. ‘So we’re going to spirit her out of hospital tomorrow. She’ll stay with Mary for one night and then I’ll get her back home with me.’

  ‘Is that a good idea?’

  ‘The poor girl can’t even think straight at the moment,’ said Sylvie. ‘What Dottie needs now is a good long rest.’

  ‘I’m sure you’re right,’ said John. ‘But why do you need me?’

  ‘We need to get her a change of clothes and she’s also asking for her aunt’s picture,’ said Sylvie. ‘I rather think it’s the one I gave her of me and Dottie and Aunt Bessie during the war. I had it enlarged and framed and gave it to her as a present for putting me up when Michael Gilbert got married.’ Sylvie paused for a mouthful. Th
e thing is, everything is in the cottage and since Reg is going around saying he’ll have nothing more to do with Dottie, getting her stuff will be a bit awkward. The others won’t go and ask for it because they’re too scared of him so I have to be the one to help her. But Reg and I, well, let’s say there’s no love lost between us. I need to get in there, get her things and out without him knowing.’ She took another mouthful of the roast lamb. ‘This is absolutely delicious. I hadn’t realised how hungry I was.’

  ‘I need to talk to Reg about Patsy’s future,’ said John. ‘I feel obliged to make sure she’s in a safe place when she comes out of hospital. I’m not leaving her with someone who has made it clear from the start that he doesn’t want her.’

  ‘What will happen to Patsy now, John?’ Laura asked.

  John shrugged. ‘If Dottie is arrested, she’ll most likely end up in a children’s home.’

  Laura stopped eating. ‘Oh, John, we can’t let that happen!’

  ‘I know, Mother.’

  ‘Can’t she come here, with us?’

  ‘I’m afraid that wouldn’t work, Mother,’ said John laying his hand over hers. ‘You are in no fit state …’

  ‘Worse come to the worse,’ said Sylvie determinedly. ‘Robin and I will have her.’

  John smiled at her. ‘You’re a good friend, Sylvie.’

  They carried on eating and then John said, ‘What if I take Reg to the Jolly Farmer and ply him with a few drinks while you do what you have to at Dottie’s place?’

  ‘Super!’ cried Sylvie. ‘Let’s do it.’

  Alone in her hospital room, Dottie sighed. All the details were slowly coming back to her. The woman in the kiosk and the man next door. The car ride and Patsy’s roller skates. She’d left them on the back seat and during the picnic she’d decided she wanted them in the bungalow.

  ‘You can’t wear them in the house,’ Dottie had said.

  ‘But I need them, Aunt Dottie,’ Patsy protested. Somehow or other, they were more than just roller skates to her. They were a connection with someone she loved.

  ‘No,’ said Reg.

  ‘But I …’

  ‘Leave them, I said!’

  It was a frightening reversion back to the old Reg after a day of niceness and Patsy had hidden behind her, trembling.

  ‘Come on, love,’ Reg coaxed. ‘Sit here and have a packet of crisps.’

  The child did as she was told, but it had rather spoiled their picnic. Afterwards, Patsy had wanted to sleep so Dottie had suggested Reg take them back to the hotel.

  ‘Can’t,’ said Reg, shaking his head. ‘I’ve arranged to meet the bloke selling the bungalow. He’s coming here in about half and hour.’

  Remembering all this now made Dottie feel uncomfortable. She climbed out of bed and stood by the window. It was dark on the street below. No one was about. A lone car went down the road. She watched it stop at the junction and turn left.

  Dottie laid her hand on her stomach and for a brief moment mourned the loss of her child. Perhaps it was just as well, she thought. What sort of life would he have come to? She might even be in prison before long.

  The thought of prison focused her mind again. Back in the bungalow, Reg had been very considerate. ‘Why don’t you have a bit of a lie down?’ he had said. Something told her not to do it, but already it was irresistible. She didn’t like being there. The bed wasn’t very savoury and the room smelled but Reg said he’d keep the door open. ‘It’ll only be for a minute or two,’ he’d assured her. ‘Just until this bloke comes.’

  She knew that Reg was counting on using her trust money, of course. Thank God Aunt Bessie had insisted that the trustees had to agree to whatever she wanted to spend. She was confident that they’d never agree to buy that dump. Reg would go mad when he found out of course, but she’d worry about that when the time came. She’d closed her eyes. Her head was spinning.

  She’d heard the front door open and someone came in. Reg was talking to whoever it was in low tones and at the time something struck her as odd. It was only now that she recalled what was wrong. Reg had talked about a bloke coming to talk to him about the bungalow. The person outside the bedroom door was a woman.

  She must have come into the bedroom at some point. Dottie could remember her heady perfume. Then there was a hissing sound – was that when the gas went out? And then she was aware of several sharp bangs … that must have been when he broke the tap. Someone shut the door. Come to think of it, she remembered hearing the key turn in the lock. He had definitely locked them both inside!

  Dottie felt herself sway and she put her head against the cold glass. How long had she been trying to make her marriage work? What a fool she had been. He’d never wanted her. He’d only wanted her money. A distant memory crept back into her brain. ‘She’s worth more to you dead than alive …’

  She didn’t want to even think it, let alone say it, but Reg had planned to kill her, hadn’t he? Her and Patsy. He hated them both. She clenched her fists. Now that the baby was gone, he had no hold over her, none whatsoever. It was time to get a grip and get herself out of this mess.

  Dottie shivered and climbed back into the bed. She may have worked it all out but she was still in trouble. He’d been trying to stitch her up and so far he’d done a pretty good job. She hugged her knees and rocked herself.

  ‘You’ve been very clever, Reg,’ she said bitterly. ‘You’ve convinced just about everyone that I’m to blame. You think little mousey me will never stand up to you, don’t you? I bet you’re thinking, poor little Dottie, she’s so weak, she’ll be a right pushover. Well, I may have been a fool once, Reg, but not any more.’ Dottie could feel the strength flowing back into her veins.

  She sat up straight and, pulling a notepad out of the locker drawer, she began to list the pros and cons of her present position. She divided the page into two columns.

  Reg had told the police he wasn’t at the bungalow at all. That went in the problems column. Talk to the man walking his dog, went in the solution column. She’d chatted to him over the wall while Patsy was in the lavvy. Only a brief minute, but surely he’d remember the woman who’d given him a friendly wave. ‘My husband’s fetching us a picnic from the car,’ she’d said.

  ‘Funny place for a picnic, missus!’ And they’d laughed. He was a nice man. With nobody else about, he’d remember her.

  Find the roller skates. Patsy had left them in the back seat of the car. Reg must have hired the car from somewhere. There couldn’t be that many places in Eastbourne where you could hire a car.

  Then there was the woman at the kiosk. She and Patsy had stopped there for some sweets. They’d chatted. The woman’s son had just been posted to Suez.

  ‘I don’t even know what we’re doing in a place like that,’ the woman said. ‘They don’t want us there.’

  ‘We always seem to be fighting someone else’s battles,’ Dottie had said as she sympathised with her. They’d grumbled about the general election and wondered if Churchill wasn’t a bit too old to be prime minister again and then she’d asked her if she’d seen Reg. ‘Tall, with dark hair,’ she’d told the woman. ‘Very slim.’

  The woman shook her head, so Dottie and Patsy had decided to retrace their steps back to the hotel, fearing that they’d missed Reg and he was still waiting back in the foyer. But a few minutes later, Reg had picked them up and as they’d driven back past the kiosk, the woman had waved.

  Dottie smiled grimly. ‘I’m going to nail you, Reg Cox. You’re not going to get away with this. You may have won the battle but I’m going to win the war.’

  Forty-Four

  ‘It’s all gone!’

  As Sylvie walked back through Mary’s door, she threw her hands in the air in abject despair.

  Mary carried on wiping her hands on her apron. ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘I’ve just been over to Dottie’s to get her things and I went right through the house,’ cried Sylvie. ‘There’s not one thing that belonged to Dottie in
the place. He’s got rid of it all.’

  ‘But why?’ said Mary.

  The two women were standing in Mary’s kitchen. Mary was doing the ironing. The kitchen table was covered with an old blanket and then a piece of sheet. The iron was plugged into the light socket overhead.

  ‘Whatever am I going to tell her?’

  ‘I’d lend her something of mine,’ said Mary, ‘but she’s only a slip of the thing.’

  ‘I can give her something of mine,’ said Sylvie, ‘but that’s not the point. He has no right to get rid of her things.’ She reached for a cigarette and lit it with a trembling hand. ‘I’ll tell you what though …’ Sylvie leaned forward and Mary was all ears, ‘he’s had another woman back there.’

  ‘You’re joking!’

  ‘I’m not,’ said Sylvie. ‘There was a rubber johnny in the bathroom and a bottle of perfume on the dressing table. Pretty powerful stuff, and very expensive. Dottie would never use that.’

  John Landers pushed the treble Scotch in front of Reg.

  ‘Thanks, Doc,’ said Reg with a familiarity which immediately annoyed John. He took a gulp and set down the glass. ‘Ah, that’s good. Goes down a treat.’

  It was as much as John could do not to let his lip curl with disdain. For a man whose wife was about to be charged with attempted murder, he was far too relaxed.

  John began with small talk. ‘Are you going somewhere for Christmas?’

  Reg shook his head. ‘I’m not bothered about Christmas.’

  John had spent the afternoon with PC Kipling, hoping that he might have found out something which might help Dottie. The only new development had come from the Eastbourne police. They had discovered that Patsy had been drugged before she was gassed.

  ‘Auntie Dottie gave me some tea and it tasted funny,’ Patsy had told them.

  ‘Sleeping pills,’ Kipper had explained to John. ‘The bottle was still in the room.’