Death in Elysium

by Judith Cutler

  ‘But—’

  ‘I don’t think she had any idea of what she was letting herself in for when she encouraged him to give up teaching and enter the priesthood. At least, that was what she always claimed. And actually, it would have been hard to do it without her support, financial and otherwise. But then, all of a sudden, she gave up her job. Just like you did.’ She looked at me with appraising eyes.

  ‘Actually, my job gave me up, Elaine. Redundancy.’ I didn’t need to tell her about severance packages and the contract work. That was Theo’s business and mine. ‘Merry was a civil servant, wasn’t she?’

  ‘A revenue inspector. I think Theo would, biblical allusions to tax gatherers apart, have been happy for her to carry on working – he had a suburban parish somewhere near her work. But then she suddenly got a misty-eyed yen for a roses-round-the-door village life; God knows what she thought of this place when she actually got here. Not to mention this house, of course.’ She looked around her expressively. ‘Talk about sackcloth and ashes! She had all sorts of money-saving ideas; I think she even kept hens for a couple of months until some commuter bastard complained that the rooster crowed too early in the morning. She made curtains with not quite enough material so they didn’t meet in the middle – well, you’ve seen. Those great piles of recipes were a substitute for putting a decent meal on the table. All this is between you and me, of course. Because I think her meanness somehow guilt-tripped poor Theo into being equally cautious with money – tight-fisted, if you don’t mind the expression.’ She smiled. ‘But I’ll bet that he was the one who got the coffee-machine out of its box and read the instructions and set it working, and that he’s the one who can’t live without it. Give the poor man half a chance and he’ll take over that car of yours, not because he begrudges you the fun of driving it but because he’s sick of being dreary. I bet he loves the day’s life in London you’ve got the sense to maintain.’

  ‘We both do.’

  ‘Of course you do. I bet you love wearing nice clothes again. You looked really good yesterday, by the way. It takes really expensive clothes to look as elegantly understated as that. Which is why we need you to do something other than make jam and chutney or whatever.’

  What did good clothes have to do with anything? Best not to ask. ‘Not even a cupcake?’

  ‘Bugger cupcakes. How this craze for over-decorated mouthfuls of refined sugar, refined flour and cholesterol came about I don’t know and I don’t care. What I need you to do … Well, now I come to say it aloud it seems a bloody cheek.’

  ‘I can deal with cheek,’ I said coolly.

  ‘We may have a wonderful team of bakers, and all the women have the best and kindest hearts you could imagine. But how many of them could do front of house stuff? And I’m not for one moment suggesting, before your jaw hits the table and breaks, that you become a waitress or even the maître d’. Well, only for a couple of weeks,’ she conceded. ‘We need to recruit waiting staff. I think we discussed it before. So I thought of some of your young protégés.’

  Or rather I had, a week earlier. But it was always good for people to believe they’d had a brilliant idea all on their own. So I simply beamed enthusiastically. ‘Recruiting kids like Sian and Mazza and their mates would be wonderful. Absolutely admirable. I know they’ll need training on the job, but they’ll also need a wage.’

  Her face fell. ‘Wouldn’t their tips cover that?’

  ‘What if they had a load of tightwads one week? No, it’s got to be a proper wage, the national minimum at least. Wasn’t that part of Tina’s business plan? No? Oh dear. Though,’ I added with a smile, ‘I know someone who could sponsor their wages until the concern built up. And someone like Tina should look into tax credits and things I know nothing about. I don’t want them to miss out on their dole.’

  ‘I think you’ll find it’s called welfare now,’ she said tartly, surprising me. But then I remembered what daily paper she read, and blamed that for the narrowing of her outlook.

  All the same, I couldn’t let it pass. ‘Whatever happened to Social Security? That was a good name. Not so patronizing to the recipients. Anyway, you asked for my advice and that’s what it is.’ I knew I was being confrontational, which was the quickest way to antagonize someone I needed as an ally. ‘I’m sorry, Elaine. I always get on my high horse when people aren’t paid properly – like all those poor interns working their socks off in fashion houses and law firms for nothing except expenses if they’re lucky. I’ve been there, believe me. Being a drudge is not good.’ I didn’t need a shrink to tell me what had driven me to uni and my doctorate and all the way up to the corporate ceiling, which I’d duly crashed through. But I’d never turned my back on my roots. I might have made fistfuls of cash, but they were honest fistfuls, and I’d never knowingly underpaid anyone. Or sacked anyone to save money, whatever the size of the organization or the pressure from the board or the shareholders. Never, never, never.

  ‘Anyway, I’ll find a sponsor, and I’ll certainly talk to the kids for you. Mazza’s got a good head on his unemployed shoulders – he’ll know who could do it and who not. And I’ll help train them. And then if the scheme works, you’ve got local staff – always a bonus – and if it goes belly-up, then at least they’ve got something for their CVs.’

  She obviously recognized my olive branch. ‘I hear you got Sian to help with your website – would she be a good option?’

  I laughed. ‘Technically she’s back at school, so she could only do a Saturday morning shift. In any case, I think she might have her sights set on something else now.’ And if that school of hers didn’t develop those talents, I’d want to know the reason why. If she didn’t get many formal qualifications, there were always some of my old mates who might take her on anyway and make her an unqualified success. ‘But there must be other capable young women.’

  ‘And these sponsors – they wouldn’t just renege on the deal if they felt like it?’

  No, I wouldn’t! I shrugged what I hoped looked like high-finance shoulders. ‘You’re asking them to sponsor five or six kids, if that. Four weeks. By then the WI will have made a decision about whether the project continues for another month, right? I presume that’ll depend on its profitability. If there are profits, then the kids should be able to draw wages. End of sponsorship. Peanuts to the organization I have in mind.’

  She might be laughing but there was more than a hint of asperity in her expression.

  ‘What have I said?’

  ‘You always speak as if the WI is some external body. It isn’t, Jodie – it’s us. You’re an integral part of it.’

  Why did it sound more like a threat than a simple statement? It was enough to make me stow all those unopened ingredients in the cupboard.

  As I dug another row in the future vegetable garden, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in a window. I didn’t like what I saw. Had there been a hint of surprise in Elaine’s voice when she’d remarked on my TV interview outfit? Ditching the Louboutins and the posh bags had been sensible, but – apart from when I was gardening – did I need to look such a mess? What had happened to the Jodie of only two months ago? The sort of metaphorical sackcloth and ashes Elaine had mentioned in connection with Merry, that was what had happened. Heavens, I wasn’t even wearing gardening gloves! I, who used to have a manicure at least once a week, and a regular pedicure too.

  I was inspecting the pretty poor job I’d made of painting my fingernails when the phone rang. I couldn’t leave it, of course, in case it was important. Why on earth didn’t we have one of those modern phones that showed the caller’s ID? Next thing on my list, obviously. Meanwhile, I picked up.

  ‘Jode, one of your rich mates got a helicopter we can borrow?’

  ‘No, Dave, but I know some of your friends who have. They’re called the police, remember.’

  ‘I know to the nearest pound just how much a shout they cost. Twelve hundred an hour. So I haven’t a snowball’s. Come on, you must know the odd millionaire �
�� bloody hell! OK, I suppose we’ll just have to have a closer look ourselves.’

  ‘Where are you?’

  I think I knew the answer; in any case, I wasn’t going to get it from Dave, who’d clearly switched off his phone. I’d better go and see what they were up to. I smeared nail varnish all over my running bottoms as I dragged them on.

  I popped my phone and fresh water into my lightweight rucksack, in which I always kept chocolate and a first aid kit. If I drove to the start of the footpath it would win me ten minutes, and correspondingly save my energy. Why had I let so many days go by without really taxing myself?

  Fortunately for road safety the village streets and the lane leading to the downs were deserted. In fact, the first car I saw belonged to Ted Vesey, who gave a most courteous salute in response to my wave. I slung the car into a lay-by and set off uphill without so much as a sensible warm-up. However, it quickly dawned on me that my going lame wouldn’t help anyone, so I slowed and stretched. Only then did I run on, and up. It was only when I’d been striding out – second wind! – for some ten minutes that I remembered I should have brought heavy walking shoes too: if Dave and Mazza were heading down that tiny sheep track it’d be hare-brained to the point of foolhardy to try to follow them without boots. That was what had stopped our previous expedition, after all. On the other hand, I had such a strong sense of trouble that I pressed on, ready to deal with the problem of the track as and when I reached it. It didn’t help that I usually ran down, not up, this particular path; the incline was much steeper than I realized, and I’d never, even when I was younger, had the legs and lungs to be a cross country runner.

  I was really struggling by the top of the hill. It wouldn’t be a case of stopping to admire – or speculate about – the view. I would simply have to stop to gather myself together.

  And then worry about that track.

  THIRTEEN

  The track was even more overgrown than I remembered, full of spiky young shoots at ankle height. In places where the soil showed through, however, there were clear boot tracks heading downhill. And I had to follow them. In running shoes. And with my calves exposed. I was about to regret this.

  About fifty painful, scratchy metres down I heard the sound of other walkers: laboured breath, the occasional grunt, not much conversation. They were coming my way. Dave and Mazza. But side by side? On this track?

  Then I realized Mazza was almost carrying Dave, who was struggling both with the steep slope and an injury. Ankle? Knee?

  Dave raised a hand: I was to stay where I was. For once I was pleased to do as I was told, although I could see that his hand was streaming with blood, as if he had stigmata. It would be best if I simply turned round and made my way back up again; there was no way anyone could administer First Aid here. I did – and promptly stumbled so hard I nearly went base over apex.

  Despite the running gloves, falling hands first into gorse was not a pleasant experience.

  Clearly Dave hadn’t had even that minimal protection. I sat him down on the nicely greening grass on the edge of the path along the brow of the hill, from which we could see the steadily growing building in the valley below.

  Like an obedient child, Dave held his hands out. However, as I tore open the first antiseptic wipe, he reached for the wipe himself, wincing as the alcohol touched raw flesh. But he declared bravely, ‘I think I’ll live.’

  So did I.

  ‘What about that ankle?’ Mazza asked. ‘And how are we going to get you back down to the village?’

  ‘Why didn’t you buy a four-by-four, Jodie?’ Dave grunted.

  ‘Because I’m not in the habit of trying to ferry people up and down hills. And I don’t think four-by-fours are allowed up here.’

  ‘You don’t usually let minor considerations like rules and regulations bother you.’ He’d finished wiping the blood from his hands and was inspecting the deeper cuts. I passed him a selection of sticking plasters. ‘Or you didn’t till you became a vicar’s wife.’

  Was that regret or anger? But this wasn’t the place to have a row, especially as Mazza was cocking an eyebrow.

  I asked quickly, ‘How did you come to fall, anyway, Dave – someone who prides himself as being as sure-footed as a camel?’

  His eyes narrowed. ‘Didn’t I see you trip earlier? Mazza, you’ve got the sharpest eyes – go and check. Careful, mind!’

  ‘What’s he supposed to be looking for?’ I asked as Mazza moved cautiously down the path, stopping abruptly more or less where I’d tripped.

  ‘Yeah! Got it!’ Mazza bent, and then straightened, flourishing something over his head as he made his way back up, as slowly as a pensioner looking for a paper clip on a pavement. ‘And another one!’ he called. ‘Look, Jodie,’ he panted as he triumphantly laid some scraps of wire on my rucksack.

  ‘Tripwire,’ Dave said.

  ‘That’s how he got to be a DCI – recognizing wire when it trips him up,’ I observed. ‘Or are you reading too much into it, by any chance?’ But then, jeering no longer, I answered my own question with another. ‘Or is this the physical equivalent of all those CCTV cameras by the entrance to Elysian Fields and Double Gate Enterprises? The properties on the far side of the valley,’ I added impatiently.

  Dave frowned, as if I were some rookie constable. ‘I didn’t know you’d been out there, Jodie. On your own?’

  ‘I was just enjoying my new car,’ I said. ‘And found my way there quite by chance.’

  ‘I wish you’d been enjoying a nice anonymous hire car instead,’ Dave said. ‘And don’t let that give you any ideas. Someone really doesn’t want chance visitors down there, do they? Are you sure you can’t summon up a chopper, Jodie?’

  ‘I bet Double Gate and co would have ground-to-air missiles to deal with it if I did.’

  ‘Have you really got mates with helicopters, Jodie?’ Mazza gasped.

  ‘Only in Dave’s imagination,’ I said, not quite truthfully. ‘Or I’d summon one to get him down this hill. I’ve got some serious strapping here, Dave. If we bind up your ankle, do you think you could manage to walk if you leant on the pair of us? Or shall I dial nine nine nine and see what happens?’

  ‘Air ambulance?’ Mazza gasped again. ‘Really?’

  Dave eased his boot off and waggled his foot.

  I watched carefully. ‘I don’t think anything’s broken – not that that’s any consolation: sprains can take as long as bones to heal.’

  ‘OK, avert your eyes – I’m about to take my sock off. Tape, please, Jodie.’

  I’ve never been one for male feet, but I knelt in front of him, taking the weight of his leg on my lap and applying the strapping myself. ‘There, you look like second cousin to a mummy. Let’s get your sock back on. And your boot. And I’ve got paracetamol in here. Water?’

  Down went the tablets. ‘I could have done with something stronger. OK, let’s get me upright.’ We took a hand each and got him vertical. And then it was time for the long stagger back, Dave’s height and weight making it hard for him and his human crutches. We were all glad to see my car. Until we realized it now sat heavily on four flat tyres.

  ‘Bastards. If I get my hands on …’ Mazza embarked on a diatribe that Burble would have been proud of.

  ‘I’ll call the Audi helpline,’ I said wearily. ‘Before that I’ll summon Theo. I’m sorry, both of you, to offend your sense of style, but it’s got to be the five-year-old Focus that rides to your rescue.’

  Theo insisted on staying with the Audi while I ferried Mazza home, and Dave, protesting loudly, to the nearest A&E, where he received the promptest and most courteous treatment one could wish for. They even provided him with free elbow crutches, though he was instructed firmly to keep the offending limb off the floor for at least five days. ‘And elevated above head height for the rest of the day,’ the casualty nurse said by way of valediction.

  And to think that Theo had been urging him, almost literally, to get on his bike and take himself off home. Truly, t
he dear man would need the patience of a saint for the next few days.

  It wasn’t until Dave was settled for the night that Theo and I had a chance to catch up on our day, which we did in the privacy of our own room. I thought Theo would be concerned by my hilltop adventure, but he was far more interested in my conversation with Elaine.

  ‘So you’re going to pay any kids you manage to recruit out of your own pocket?’

  He sounded more stern than delighted, I thought, as he relished the last drop of the red wine I’d prescribed as a nightcap.

  ‘Not me. A trust fund. It’s helped young musicians, actors, artists … Now it can help a few waiters.’

  ‘What if it won’t play ball?’ He seemed determined to see the bleak side I was coming to associate with the rectory. Or was it with Lesser Hogben?

  ‘It will. It might be quite independent of me legally—’

  ‘Ah, so you are involved!’ he exclaimed, with a quizzical smile.

  ‘Did I ever deny it? It meets every last Charities Commission regulation, but since I set it up and help fund it, I can nominate up to ten applicants a year.’

  Back to stern again. ‘And if people find out?’

  ‘You’re saying they won’t like it? In any case, they’d be hard put to discover anything. The trustees are household names, the accounts immaculate. And the name Jodie Welsh doesn’t appear anywhere. Josephine Diana Harcourt, yes. So unless someone nips up to St John’s Wood to check the names in the register of marriages, I’m in the clear.’

  ‘You make it sound as if you’re committing a crime!’

  ‘You make me feel as if I am.’ Heavens, where had that come from? Theo looked as shocked as I was. ‘And I’m not. I’m trying to do good by stealth, that’s what, and if I can’t cook and I can’t garden, and I can’t even paint my own fingernails properly …’ I wasn’t sure how I was going to round off that lot, but I didn’t need to.