The Poisoning in the Pub

by Simon Brett

  “You haven’t had your Health and Safety inspection yet?”

  “No. They rang first thing, and said they’d try to fit it in this afternoon. But they didn’t sound optimistic. Ted’ll go mad if he has to keep closed for another day.”

  “Last night he said…well, he was rambling a bit, but he said he thought someone might have tampered with the scallops, that it might have been sabotage.”

  “That is the obvious thing to think, when there is no other explanation. Except I don’t see how it could have been done. Either Ed or I was in the kitchen all the time.”

  “Did you see Ed take the delivery?”

  “Yes, I did. I was in and out to the bar all the time, but I was actually in the kitchen when the seafood delivery came. Ed checked it, signed for the stuff, it was no different from usual.”

  “Ted mentioned someone called Ray who helps out.”

  “Yes, poor old Ray. He is not…” Zosia made a circling movement with a finger by her temple “…not right in the head, you know.”

  “Is he in today?”

  “No. He rather comes and goes when he feels like it. That’s why Ted can’t really employ him on an official basis. Ray’s not good at following a regular schedule. And he seemed very upset by what happened yesterday. We might not see him for a while now. He takes things very much to heart.”

  “Do you know where he lives?”

  “One of these projects where people with the same sort of disabilities share flats. You know, they are independent, but they are quite carefully supervised. Where it is exactly I don’t know. In Fethering, though, I think. I’m sure Ted would have an address for him.”

  “And you don’t think Ray could have had anything to do with sabotaging the scallops?”

  Zosia’s brow wrinkled as she dismissed the idea. “Even if he had the intelligence to work out something like that – which I’m sure he hasn’t – Ray would never knowingly do anything that might hurt another person. Ray is too good, too prepared to believe the best of everyone.”

  “But is he – ?”

  Jude’s question was interrupted by the ringing of the phone behind the bar. Zosia moved towards it, but Ted Crisp, emerging suddenly from the kitchen, got there first. “Crown and Anchor. Yes, that’s me. Oh, right, we spoke earlier. What? Oh, are you sure you can’t? Very well. Expect you tomorrow. When you like. I’m not going anywhere. Goodbye.”

  He slammed the handset down and let out the burst of expletives which he had been restraining while being polite on the phone.

  “Was it them?” asked Zosia when he was quiet.

  “Yes. Can’t come till bloody tomorrow now.”

  “Your Health and Safety inspection?”

  Ted Crisp nodded savagely, too preoccupied by his anger to welcome Jude. He banged his fist down on the counter. “Another whole bloody day! Another day without business, right in the middle of the tourist season. Another day for the rumour mill to go into overdrive. Another day for the gossips of Fethering to inflate a small outbreak of food poisoning into the bloody Black Death!”

  “It’ll be fine,” said Jude soothingly. “You said last night that you’d pass any inspection.”

  “That’s not the point. The worst thing that can happen to any pub’s business is to be closed. And the longer it stays closed, the harder it is to get the punters back. Anyway, knowing the way my luck’s going at the moment, Health and Safety probably will find something wrong.”

  “But surely-?”

  This attempt at reassurance was cut short by the sound of the pub door opening. Zosia had omitted to relock it after letting Jude in. The man who entered was a kind of dapper hippy. He wore jeans, a flowered shirt and cowboy boots, but they were designer jeans, the shirt was too well cut to be cheap, and the cowboy boots had been buffed to a high gloss. Their substantial heels made some compensation for his shortness. There was a neat square of grey beard on his chin and his long grey hair was gathered in a ponytail. From some context Jude could not immediately place, he looked very familiar.

  The newcomer took in the empty pub and his lip curled into a cynical smile. “I thought you said the place was doing good business, Ted.”

  Four

  He moved forward and flashed the whitened teeth of a professional charmer at Jude and Zosia. “Hello, ladies. Dan Poke’s my name. You probably recognize me from the television.”

  Jude now knew exactly who he was. Zosia, who didn’t even possess a television because she had no time between her studies and work at the Crown and Anchor, gave a polite grin that implied she did too.

  “So, Ted, how’s tricks – which is the one thing you mustn’t say at a convention of conjurors!” The lip-curled smile reappeared as he enveloped the landlord in a bear hug which somehow didn’t seem as spontaneous as it was meant to look.

  Ted appeared ill at ease; his participation in the display of bonhomie was forced. But he grinned stiffly as he replied, “Dan, I’m as fit as a flea…on a dog that’s just been covered with flea powder.”

  The fact that Ted had gone so instantly into a comedy routine reminded Jude of his background as a stand-up comedian. And seeing Dan Poke in the flesh gave her a context in which to place him. One of the first surge of Thatcher-bashing stand-up comedians, he had been on television quite a bit in the 1990s, doing his ‘right-on’ act, guesting on chat shows, then hosting panel games. Jude couldn’t recall having seen much of Dan Poke in recent years, but, then again, he didn’t appear on the kind of programmes she watched. For all she knew, his career might still be thriving.

  “Blimey, led, this place is a silent as an audience during one of your gigs.”

  “Ha, bloody ha. Look, sorry, Dan mate, I completely forgot we’d got a date for today.”

  “Forgot?” Dan Poke’s face took on an expression of outraged femininity. “After everything we once meant to each other?”

  “I been a bit preoccupied the last twenty-four hours.”

  “Huh. And I wonder what you’ve been preoccupied with?” The comedian’s camp routine continued. “You haven’t got another feller, have you – you Jezebel? I bet you have. You men are all the same.”

  But Ted Crisp had had enough of the comedy routine for the time being. He looked embarrassed and said, “Come on, let’s go out, Dan. Get a drink and a bite to eat, eh?”

  “I thought you’d invited me to have a drink and a bite to eat here.”

  “Yeah, maybe, but we’re not open today.”

  “Oh?” asked Dan Poke, suddenly alert.

  The landlord’s eyes beamed instructions to the two women not to contradict him as he said, “Maintenance problems.”

  “I see.” The comedian spoke as if it was a subject he might return to later. “But I thought we were going to look at the set-up here for Sunday’s gig.”

  “Yes, sure. After we’ve had something to eat. Just got to get my wallet.” Ted hurried out of the door behind the bar.

  Dan Poke eyed up the two women. “Well, how very nice,” he observed. “Iwo very attractive ladies. As I say, I’m Dan Poke. Poke by name, and Poke by…” He chuckled salaciously and produced two cards from his pocket. “Should either of you ladies wish to take our acquaintance further, you have only to call this number…”

  His manner was ironical, as though what he was saying could be taken as an expression of postmodernist sexism, a witty commentary on the whole notion of sexism. If that’s what he was trying to do, it didn’t wash with Jude. So far as she was concerned his behaviour was plain old-fashioned sexism. But both she and Zosia took the cards.

  Ted was back now with his wallet. “Come on.” He hustled his friend to the door, as if he wanted him off the premises as quickly as possible. Just before they went out, he turned to Zosia. “You be here for a bit, you know, in case the phone goes?”

  The girl understood him immediately. “Yes, I have to work through the bar orders for next week.”

  “Great. See you.” And the two men were out of the door.

&
nbsp; Jude watched as Zosia tore up the card she had been given and dropped the pieces into a waste bin. Catching her eye, the bar manager explained, “Happens a lot in my line of work. Men thrust their phone numbers at you. Particularly later on in the evening. You know, it’s good for a girl’s self-esteem working behind a bar.”

  “Oh?”

  “The later the evening gets, the more pretty you become.”

  Jude grinned, but she tucked her card into a pocket. “Did you know him?” she asked.

  The Polish girl shrugged. “Never seen him before. I didn’t understand what he was saying about television.”

  “He’s a comedian.”

  “Ah.” Zosia seemed grateful to have an explanation for the man’s presence. “That explains it. Ted had said he was meeting someone about the possibility of starting a comedy club in the pub.”

  “Well, it’s Dan who’s doing this gig on Sunday…”

  “Ah.”

  “…but I didn’t know Ted was thinking of setting up a permanent comedy club.”

  “He’s talked about it.”

  “Really?”

  Something in Jude’s intonation made Zosia ask, “Why? Wouldn’t you like the idea of a comedy club?”

  “I’d like the idea quite a lot. But I’m not sure that Fethering would.”

  ♦

  When she returned to Woodside Cottage, Jude rang through to next door with some trepidation, remembering how ghastly her friend had been feeling earlier in the day. But, to her surprise, Carole sounded completely recovered. And characteristically, now she was better, she didn’t want to admit even that her illness had existed. Fulsomely overassertive in her recovered health, she announced that she was really hungry. “Could quite fancy a pub lunch.”

  “Well, you’re out of luck. The Crown and Anchor’s closed till further notice.”

  “I wasn’t thinking of the Crown and Anchor – not after what happened on Monday. Let’s go somewhere up on the Downs. Might be more breeze up there than there is down here. And Gulliver could do with a walk.”

  Carole, in efficient no-of-course-I-haven’t-been-ill mode, said the ideal pub to go to would be the Hare and Hounds at Weldisham, and Jude, amused by the sudden change in her friend, did not argue with the proposal.

  Gulliver was stowed on the back seat of the Renault and the two neighbours drove up into the Downs.

  Though they hadn’t been there since their involvement in an investigation in the village, both had a very clear recollection of the Hare and Hounds in Weldisham. They remembered the decor, themed round some designer’s idea of a comfortable country house. Old tennis rackets in wooden presses, croquet mallets pinned to the walls, faded nineteen-thirties novels on shelves too high for them ever to be reached, gratuitous farm implements and saddlery hung from the beams.

  But as soon as the Renault was parked opposite the main entrance, they could see that things had changed. No longer was the pub sign an eighteenth-century hunting scene. It was now a mulberry-coloured board with ‘Hare and Hounds’ written in grey calligraphy.

  Inside again mulberry and grey dominated the decor. The bar, tables and chairs were again chunky pine. Carole and Jude remembered an interior of small rooms and snugs, but all the partitions had been removed, and the bar was just one large unbroken space.

  “New owners, do you reckon?” asked Jude.

  “Or maybe rebranding by the old owners. I seem to remember that this place was owned by a chain.”

  “Which chain?”

  “Look, I don’t have instant recall of everything,” said Carole, rather pettishly.

  At the bar they bought two glasses of Maipo Valley Chardonnay from a girl dressed in mulberry and grey livery, and ordered salads. (It was noticeable that neither went for the seafood option.) Fortunately they managed to get a table outside the pub, sheltered from the sun by a big umbrella. As Carole had hoped, here some way above sea level, they could feel the gentlest of breezes. Gulliver, after a big slurp from the dogs’ water bowl by the front door of the pub, settled down comfortably to lie in the shade of their table.

  The setting was stunning. Weldisham nestled into a fold of the Downs, an archetype of the kind of serenity which was expected from an English country village. Of course, as Carole and Jude had cause to know, the image of serenity could be deceptive. Seething passions lurked beneath that harmless exterior.

  The thought prompted Jude to say, “Difficult to be here without remembering the murder we solved, isn’t it?”

  “Yes. What was the name of that slimy specimen who managed the pub then?”

  “Will something, wasn’t it?”

  “Will Maples,” Carole pronounced with satisfaction at having remembered. “Thin, shifty character, wasn’t he? I wonder where he went.”

  “As far away from here as he could get. When his bosses found he’d been peddling drugs at the Hare and Hounds they can’t have been best pleased. And what was the name of that girl with M.E. whose parents lived up here?”

  “Can’t remember. Anyway, never mind that.” Carole was much more interested in the current investigation than in nostalgia for an old case. “Tell me what happened this morning at the Crown and Anchor.”

  Jude gave a quick summary, and got the sniffy response that if Ted Crisp had been poisoning the people of Fethering then his pub deserved to be closed down.

  “But it’s not his fault. He and I are both convinced he’s been the victim of sabotage.”

  “Oh really, Jude. I think you’re being a little melodramatic, led has broken the law and he must face the consequences. It must have been a foul-up in his kitchen. Some past-their-sell-by scallops must’ve been served up by mistake.”

  “That seems very unlikely. He’s used the same supplier for years – their stuff’s always been perfect. And his staff are very reliable.”

  This was treated to a sceptical – “Huh. So the place gets inspected tomorrow?”

  “Yes. Unless the Health and Safety people delay it yet again.”

  “And if something is found to be wrong, what kind of penalties might he be liable for?”

  “I don’t know in detail, but Ted talked about a hefty fine. In the worst-case scenario he could be closed down for good.”

  “And what would make it a worst-case scenario?”

  “I’m not sure. If somebody died from the food poisoning, perhaps?”

  “But nobody has, have they?”

  “Well, we know you and I haven’t, but the old lady who was carted off to hospital…I’ve no idea what’s happened to her.”

  “Bettina Smiley,” said Carole.

  Jude looked curiously at her neighbour. “You speak as if you know her.”

  “I do. Well, know her in the sense that I know who she is. The way one does know people in Fethering. You nod politely if you see them, but you don’t actually socialize.”

  “But I didn’t see you nod politely when you saw her in the Crown and Anchor yesterday.”

  “Oh, I did. You didn’t notice because you were up at the bar getting drinks. Yes, I’ve spent quite a few bring-and-buy coffee mornings with Bettina and Alec Smiley…even one in their house.” In response to her friend’s interrogative expression, Carole went on, “For the Canine Trust. You know I’m a member of that.” She looked down at Gulliver snuffling contentedly under the table. “We dog-owners all know each other. We’re a kind of local Mafia.”

  “Oh.” Then Jude said, “But you didn’t say anything when Bettina collapsed.”

  Carole’s pale cheeks reddened. “At that moment I was in no condition to say anything.”

  “No. Well, do you reckon you know Eric Smiley well enough to ring up and ask how his wife is?”

  “Certainly. And since I was there when it happened, it would only be polite for me to make such an enquiry.”

  “Do you want to use my mobile?”

  “No, thank you,” said Carole primly. “I have my own.” And she took out the fairly recent acquisition.

 
But the call had to be deferred. There was no signal up in Weldisham. So they settled down to enjoy the beautiful setting and their salads. Afterwards they strolled over the Downs, which for Gulliver was a nirvana of unfamiliar and intriguing smells.

  When they returned to High Tor, Carole called the Smileys’ number from her landline. (She never used her mobile at home – the monthly bills were already expensive enough.) Jude pieced together most of what was said from the half of the conversation she could hear, but at the end Carole confirmed it. Bettina Smiley had been kept in hospital the previous night for observation, but she was now safely back at home in Fethering, a bit frail, but seeming to have suffered no lasting damage.

  So the poisoning in the pub had not caused any deaths. Yet.

  Five

  The Health and Safety inspection did happen on the Wednesday, and it brought good news for Ted Crisp. Nothing was found wrong with the standards of food hygiene in the kitchen of the Crown and Anchor. The remains of some of the Monday’s pan-fried scallops with spinach and oriental noodles, which had been punctiliously preserved according to instructions, were taken away for laboratory analysis (which might take some weeks). But the Health and Safety officials could find no reason why the Crown and Anchor should not reopen for business on the Thursday.

  This good news, however, was counterbalanced the following day, when the Fethering Observer was published. The main headline read: CROWN AND ANCHOR SHUT DOWN IN POISONED SCALLOPS SCARE. The ensuing article contained all the righteous indignation of a local cub reporter with delusions of being a crusading journalist. It concluded: “Following complaints from customers, the Crown and Anchor will be closed until further notice.”

  Carole had picked up a Fethering Observer from the local newsagent on her way back from Gulliver’s morning walk on the beach. (She did not believe in the indulgence of having papers delivered.) The headline couldn’t be missed; a paraphrase of it also appeared on the felt-tipped display boards for the Fethering Observer all around the town.

  After she had towelled off Gulliver’s sandy paws and made herself a cup of coffee, she sat down at the kitchen table and read the whole item. It was another scorching day. The door to the garden was open, but the air didn’t seem to move at all.