Strange Beginnings: The Freeman Files Series: Book 13

by Ted Tayler

  Gus was still making a mental list of the things he needed to check were in order when Suzie had stirred beside him.

  “Are you ready for an early breakfast?” he asked.

  “Did you sleep well?” asked Suzie.

  “I’m as hale and hearty as any sixty-one-year-old can expect,” he’d replied.

  “In that case, my vote is for brunch,” said Suzie.

  Later, after they had got up, showered, dressed, and feasted on waffles, they moved from the kitchen into the lounge. Gus retrieved the file folder from the end of the album rack, and he and Suzie spent an hour with coffee and a notepad, making adjustments to Gus’s existing will.

  “I need to make my will as soon as possible,” said Suzie. “Seeing what you had to put together will help me make my way through the jargon. It’s not something you consider when you’re young, is it? It seems so final.”

  “In your job, it’s a good idea to get something in place,” said Gus. “Criminals carry weapons far more often than they did when I started in uniform. It only takes one idiot with a knife, or worse, to lash out when you’re responding to a shout. If there’s nothing on paper, it can cause grieving relatives extra headaches they could do without. Anyway, that’s enough of the morbid stuff for today. Let’s get outside and enjoy the sunshine.”

  “Not that we’re relatives, but I take your point. An afternoon on the allotment it is,” said Suzie. “Shall we eat at the Lamb tonight?”

  “That sounds like a plan. I have plenty of catching up to do on the allotment. We’ll aim to get into the pub by six, or half-past, and then get back here for an early night.”

  “Easy, tiger,” said Suzie.

  “It will be a busy day tomorrow,” said Gus. “I need to get a good night’s sleep.”

  “You raise a girl’s hopes, then crush them, Gus Freeman.”

  “I try my best,” said Gus.

  They left the bungalow just before three o’clock and walked along the lane.

  “Do you ever read your horoscope, Gus,” asked Suzie as they passed the Lamb.

  “Not likely,” he’d replied. “Why take any notice of a comment that’s so general it’s bound to strike a chord with somebody, somewhere. Why do you ask?”

  “Our baby will be born under the sign of Aquarius. Bob Marley was an Aquarian.”

  “Marley? An interesting character. Perhaps we should call the little one Marley? It sounds gender-fluid. That’s all the rage, so they tell me.”

  “Never in a million years,” said Suzie. “Anyway, Marley is a girl’s name. It comes from Old English and means ‘pleasant seaside meadow’. I read it in a magazine at the doctor's when I was there six weeks ago.”

  “One additional fact every day is the high road to success,” said Gus. “Are names another thing I need to add to my mental list?”

  “What list?” asked Suzie as they walked through the gates to the allotments.

  “Things to do to the bungalow before the baby arrives,” said Gus. “I might need a bank loan.”

  “This is a novel experience for both of us, Gus,” said Suzie, grabbing his hand. “We’ll sort it out, don’t fret.”

  “Love will find a way,” laughed Gus.

  “I see you two are in good humour,”

  The disembodied voice belonged to Clemency Bentham, who emerged from her potting shed with a trowel in her hand and a battered floral sunhat perched on her head.

  “Have you taken the day off, Reverend?” said Gus.

  “Matins ended over two hours ago, Gus,” said Clemency. “Which you would know if you were a regular churchgoer. I celebrated Holy Communion earlier this morning, when you were still in bed, no doubt. So the rest of the day is mine.”

  Suzie blushed, and Gus spotted it and grinned. Clemency caught the glance that passed between them.

  “I tell Bert and Irene they’re in danger of becoming Darby and Joan these days,” said Clemency. “A couple who are content to spend their lives in quiet devotion. You two aren’t far behind.”

  “I must protest, Reverend,” said Gus. “We’re not Darby and Joan. We‘re Ancient and Modern. I’m sure you must have heard the phrase in your line of work?”

  “Here and there, Gus,” replied Clemency. “Bert Penman dropped by an hour ago, by the way. You missed him. He took one look at your patch of ground and shook his head. I had better let you and Suzie get stuck into knocking back it into shape.”

  “You’re right, of course,” sighed Gus. “I can’t go gallivanting around mainland Europe on a Saturday and expect my allotment to tend itself. The next three hours will be a start. We plan on eating in the Lamb later. Will you and Brett be around this evening?”

  “We will,” said Clemency, “although Bert and Irene have already cried off. There’s a series on TV that Irene’s keen on watching. Brett plans to record it, so we can watch it when we have time. He’s not that bothered about the content, but it gives him something to discuss with his grandfather.”

  “Provided Bert doesn’t fall asleep in the middle of the programme after several pints of cider in the Lamb,” said Suzie.

  “That’s a good point,” laughed Clemency. “You know we had to help him home the other night. Bert won’t admit it, but he was worried for Irene after that short spell in the hospital.”

  The Reverend returned to her potting shed, and Gus retrieved tools from his shed so he and Suzie could start work.

  “We’ll see you next door later,” said Clemency, her gardening done for the day. She scooted towards the gateway, clambered aboard her trusty steed, and guided the old bicycle along the lane.

  Gus selected a bunch of carrots to harvest and tried to recall when he last watched a TV series. Something always got in the way of committing an hour or two at the same time every week. As for recording things to watch at a later date, Tess had coped with that. If he missed it, he missed it since Tess died. Just like in the old days when his parents first bought a television.

  Anyway, life was too short to binge-watch a considerable number of episodes while the sun was shining.

  “A penny for them, Gus,” said Suzie.

  “I thought of another thing to add to my growing list,” said Gus. “It’s time to upgrade our television. I might not have much chance to take advantage of any added benefits in the short term, but it could come in handy for you next year.”

  “If you think I’ll have time to sit watching TV, you’ve got plenty to learn,” scoffed Suzie. “What do you want me to do to help?”

  “I can harvest many of my vegetables in August,” said Gus. “I’ve got my carrots in that box by the shed. If you check through my runner beans, beetroots, and courgettes to see what’s ready to pick, then I’ll tackle my second early potatoes before sorting out my onions.”

  “What about the other rows of potatoes next door?” asked Suzie.

  “That’s my main crop. I’ll take a look at what’s underneath the foliage in the first week in September.”

  “How do you know when to do everything?” asked Suzie.

  “I thought you’d know, being a farmer’s daughter,” said Gus. “I didn’t have a clue when I came to Urchfont with Tess. Bert Penman dispensed his wisdom, and I scribbled it in an unused police notebook I had at home. If I lost that book, I’d be in trouble. It’s in a safe place in the shed.”

  “My older brothers were the ones who learned the basics of animal husbandry and the like at their father’s knee,” said Suzie. “Dad always wanted me to stick with the Pony Club and perhaps ride point-to-point the same as he and Mum did when I grew older. He didn’t want me driving tractors and combine harvesters. He was happiest when we could ride out together, even if it were just to exercise the horses in my teens and early twenties.”

  “You weren’t into the competitive side of things like John and Jackie, then?”

  “I had a crack at it for a few years, but once I joined the police, I didn’t have the time. I’ve kept up my weekly hack around the countryside in all
winds and weathers. I’ll be back in the saddle as soon as possible after next February. That’s what’s important to me, not trophies and rosettes.”

  The conversation and gardening continued throughout the afternoon. Time flies when you’re having fun; or when you’re working alongside someone you love. It came as a surprise to both of them when the church clock struck six o’clock.

  “Right,” said Gus. “Straight home. Take a shower and ease those aching joints. A change of clothes and we can be back in the Lamb before the church clock has chimed the half-hour.”

  “You get no argument from me,” said Suzie.

  While she popped into the pub to book a table, Gus collected the tools and returned them to the shed. He took a long appreciative look at the improvements they’d made and the wooden box full of produce he had to carry back to the bungalow.

  “Divya says she’ll meet you in the foyer of the main building, guv.”

  Gus returned to the here and now at the sound of Blessing Umeh’s voice.

  “Thanks, Blessing,” he said. The clock on the wall opposite read eleven twenty-two—time to go.

  “Do we have everything ready for the Chief Constable?” Gus asked.

  The chorus of voices suggested they had been waiting for him to stop daydreaming for a while.

  Gus collected their files together and headed for the lift.

  What delights lay in store for him at London Road, he wondered.

  CHAPTER 2

  Gus eased the Focus into the late-morning traffic on the High Street and trundled out of town. As long as there wasn’t a glut of farm vehicles between here and Caen Hill, he should make London Road with a few minutes to spare. That gave him long enough to grab the metadata on those photos from Divya and slip it into his folder.

  While Gus was en route to London Road, the rest of the team was either clearing the decks in anticipation of their next cold case or catching up on the weekend’s gossip.

  “Come on, Blessing,” urged Lydia. “I can tell something happened that’s concerning you. What’s the matter?”

  “My mother reminded me on Wednesday evening that my father was keen for me to get to Englishcombe in the morning. He wanted me to go with them to church. I persuaded her that Mrs Ferris needed my help first thing and my washing and ironing needed doing. I couldn’t leave the farm until one o’clock at the earliest.”

  “Did you get lost?” asked Lydia.

  “No, Dave Smith’s directions were perfect. He sent me on less busy roads. I went through places with charming names, such as Farleigh Hungerford and Hinton Charterhouse.”

  “They sound like 1930s matinee idols,” said Lydia. “Is Englishcombe as pretty a village as the name suggests?”

  “If you can imagine a village at the end of a narrow, winding lane, hidden in the fold of the hills,” said Blessing. “It’s pretty, of that there is no doubt, but they don’t have a shop, a school, or a pub. They’re all long gone. It’s easy to imagine nothing has ever happened there throughout its history. Yet, Mrs Ferris told me to check out the ruins. A Norman castle got demolished after the authorities implicated its owner in the murder of Edward the Second.”

  “It hasn’t always been the quiet, idyllic group of houses where your parents live today then,” said Lydia. “How long did it take you to drive there?”

  “Fifty minutes,” said Blessing. “I arrived at a few minutes to two, just in time for Sunday dinner. My father came out of the house as soon as I parked the car. He asked if I had a pleasant journey. I told him that since my car had returned from the garage, I hadn’t had one bit of trouble. My father said he was glad I arrived safely. He hoped I didn’t break the speed limit. He’s so funny. My driving instructor kept asking me why; when the limit was thirty miles per hour, I preferred to travel at twenty. I told him I wanted to be on the safe side.”

  “Your father cares for you, Blessing,” said Lydia.

  “A little too much,” said Blessing. “He asked whether my car was truly safe in one of John Ferris’s wooden sheds. He offered to buy me a wheel clamp to stop anyone stealing it.”

  “Well, there have been thefts of equipment and vehicles from rural farms,” said Lydia. “Maybe that’s not such a daft idea.”

  “My mother saved me from further interrogation by dishing up dinner,” said Blessing, “but my reprieve was only temporary. I was ready to sink into a comfortable chair and relax after we’d eaten, but my parents had other ideas. They wanted to show me around the village. My father told me the fresh air would do me good. He said I spent far too long in a stuffy office.”

  “How did that go?” asked Lydia.

  “As soon as he said that I was a dutiful daughter and he and my mother had tried to raise me correctly, my heart sank. We left the house and walked to the church they were so keen I should visit. St Peter’s is another place in the village built by the Norman nobleman who came to these shores with William the Conqueror. From there, we walked to a tithe barn constructed in the fourteenth century. Do you remember when I visited Mere with Gus? Several parts of the village and the surrounding area belonged to the Duchy of Cornwall. My mother told me yesterday afternoon that the tithe barn is privately owned and also belongs to the Duchy.”

  “That means, Charles, the Prince of Wales owns it, Blessing,” said Lydia. “Your parents are rubbing shoulders with royalty.”

  “I doubt he’s ever been anywhere near it,” said Blessing. “My father was quiet while my mother spoke with me about the history of the village. I couldn’t help thinking he had something on his mind.”

  “What do you mean?” asked Lydia.

  “Although my parents moved to this country many years ago, their Nigerian culture remains traditional and conservative,” said Blessing. “I know my mother only wants what’s best for me, but, at best, my father has tolerated my life in the police. He sees it as a passing fancy. I am twenty-one years old, Lydia, and I might already have been married for several years in Nigeria. My father believes in a marriage where men are head of the household. Because of this, in his world, a good marriage will be my crowning glory. I want a career and to wait for the right person to come along. I want to marry for love.”

  “Of course you do, Blessing. I know when Dave Smith broke up with you, you were hurt. You had hopes of a lasting relationship with him, didn’t you?”

  “I wasn’t sure Dave was the one,” said Blessing, “but he was the right one for right now if that makes sense. As we passed Manor Farm, another building carrying the Duchy of Cornwall crest, my father announced he had spoken to a senior member of an Igbo family in Owerri, the capital of Imo State.”

  “Your father wants to arrange a marriage for you?” asked Lydia. “That’s shocking. Is it even possible?”

  “It’s not unusual, Lydia, especially in Nigeria. Often, the young bride doesn’t meet her husband until the wedding day.”

  “I’m half-Nigerian,” said Lydia, “and even I find it barbaric. What did you say?”

  “I told him I didn’t want to go against his wishes, but I wanted to choose my husband,” said Blessing. “He reminded me I should be a dutiful daughter and realise he had my best interests at heart. Then he blamed my mother for putting fanciful ideas in my head. I left earlier than planned and drove home to Worton. Jackie Ferris let me cry on her shoulder. It was a dreadful end to the weekend.”

  “Poor you,” said Lydia. “What happens now? Will your father continue to plan your marriage despite your objections?”

  “I can only hope my mother will work on my father over the coming days,” said Blessing. “That’s her way. Like water on stone, a constant drip will erode the strongest rocks in time. If she can wear my father down, I shall avoid cutting myself off from the family I love. For once, I’m looking forward to my mother’s phone call on Wednesday evening.”

  “I feel guilty sharing the news we received at the weekend now,” said Lydia.

  “Don’t be silly,” said Blessing. “Your mother and father meetin
g after so many years was the opportunity for a joyous occasion. Was it a success?”

  “Alex thought it might be awkward for Eleanor when we heard both Chidozie and Rosa flew from Rotterdam,” said Lydia. “I knew it would have been harder if Chidozie had travelled alone. Twenty-six years is a long time. They’re different people now.”

  “I expect you will visit with your mother soon?” said Blessing.

  “Alex and I plan to get away next weekend,” said Lydia. “I want to hear about the time they spent together. So far, all I know is that Rosa de Vries and Eleanor got on like a house on fire. Chidozie took them to The Table, one of the best restaurants in the city, on Saturday evening. Eleanor told me Chidozie invited her to Dubai in the autumn. Perhaps, we can visit at the same time. That would be great.”

  “It certainly sounds as if there were no awkward moments,” said Blessing.

  “I’m sure my birth parents will follow a similar process to the one I did with Eleanor when I first made contact,” said Lydia. “Small steps, to give the relationship the chance to develop at its own pace. Eleanor and I will stay just friends. We’ll never be too close to one another. No doubt that’s what lies ahead for Chidozie and Eleanor. No regrets. No recriminations.”

  “That’s all that any of us can hope for,” sighed Blessing.

  Gus swung the Ford Focus into the one remaining parking space in front of the main building. He looked towards the ACC’s window and corrected himself. Of course, Kenneth Truelove now had a change of scenery. Sandra Plunkett’s former abode on the first floor had stood empty since her demise. Until the Chief Constable appointment became official, Kenneth had resisted the temptation to move in.

  Change is continuous, thought Gus, but not always easy to accept.

  Somehow, Gus didn’t think he’d ever get used to not seeing Kenneth staring at him from above. There would now be an empty office on the right-hand side of the administration floor. It would make sense for Geoff Mercer to transfer from the dark recesses of the corridor at the back of the building. Geoff would be more likely to wave than frown when Gus arrived to sully the visitor’s car park with his old banger.