The Measby Murder Enquiry (11 page)

“Poor girl never knew her father, of course.” This was a comparatively young resident, still in her sixties, but sadly disabled by arthritis. “I remember it well, that business at the brewery.” Her companions urged her on, and she told the story that Ivy and Roy already knew. Then she said something interesting which they had not learned from Deirdre and Gus.

“My sister used to work in the accounts department at the brewery, you know. Said that William Jones was a right moody bloke. You never knew which way he would jump, she said. One day he’d be on top of the world, with praise for everyone and compliments all round, and the next he’d find fault all round the office and insist on people doing jobs again and staying late to finish. Then there was that story about him and his secretary!” They laughed, and she continued, “They all thought his family was well rid of him when he went off. All a great scandal at the time. But it died down, like these things do.”

All agreed that Mrs. Jones had led a very useful life, and now had two adorable grandsons, not to mention the other daughter who was so efficient and helpful to her mother. The residents decided that on the whole, the affair had had a happy ending. They liked happy endings, and returned to their favourite afternoon soap on the television.

 

 

UPSTAIRS, ALWEN JONES was trying to look at her watch without her daughter noticing but failed.

“Time we were going, Mother,” Bethan said. She had brought games and drawing books to occupy the boys, but these had been used up in no time. Now they were occupied in fiddling with everything that Grandma had in her room.

“No, William! Not Grandma’s handbag, please!” Alwen automatically went into teacher mode, and her authoritative voice stopped the little boy in his tracks. Bethan looked at her in surprise. “What have you got in there?” she said, amused at the idea of her mother with a private life in her handbag.

“Never you mind,” Alwen said. “I must have some secrets to keep to myself. Most of my privacy has been taken from me in this place.”

“Right, time to go. Come on, you terrors,” Bethan said, and after the usual affectionate pecks on cheeks, she manoeuvred the two boys out of Grandma’s room and down the stairs. Alwen waved to them from the top stair, and then returned to her room.

“Phew!” she said to Katya, who had appeared to see if she was all right. “What those two need is a firm hand. Bethan is much too soft with them. I’m sure if my other daughter, Bronwen, had had children, they would be quite different. She is much more like me.”

“And does Bethan take after your husband?” asked Katya, straightening the covers on the bed where the boys had bounced.

“To look at, maybe, but I sincerely hope not in any other way.” She seemed to be talking almost to herself, and Katya nodded quietly, thinking Mrs. Jones would probably rather not have said that aloud.

Bethan, on her way out, had been intercepted by Mrs. Spurling. “A little word, my dear, if you have a minute?”

Ushered into the office, Bethan held on to the boys’ hands and asked how she could help. Mrs. Spurling said she wondered if Mrs. Jones had had any complaints, and did Bethan feel that her mother had settled in happily.

“Oh certainly,” said Bethan, anxious to get home. She had no intention of embarking on a long assessment of her mother’s feelings so far. “She seems very well looked after and not at all unhappy. She’s even made friends, so she said. A very nice gentleman called Roy? Apparently he is very much on the ball and they have good conversations. They’re playing cards this evening, Mother said, and she was looking forward to it.”

“She has a very active brain still,” Mrs. Spurling said. “I do hope she finds enough to keep her interested in daily life here. Miss Beasley and Mr. Goodman are a very lively pair, and should be good companions. I hope your late father wouldn’t have objected to a game of pontoon for matches!”

Bethan shook her head. “I don’t think so,” she said. “Of course, he wasn’t around by the time I was old enough to notice. Mother doesn’t talk about him much, and we don’t push her. She brought us up, really, and held down a responsible job at the same time. A great character, my mother!” she added, and made for the door. “I must get these wreckers out of here. Say good-bye to Mrs. Spurling,” she instructed, and they departed quickly down the path and out to her car.

 

 

ONCE MORE THE interview room had been opened up for a use not envisaged by the owner of Springfields Residential Home. The evening was chilly, and Miss Pinkney had found an electric convector heater which Ivy had insisted on switching on an hour before they were due to play.

Now all were settled round the card table, Ivy and Roy, Gus and Alwen Jones, the latter immaculately dressed, powdered and scented with lavender toilet water. Ivy wrinkled her nose. The smell reminded her of her mother, and she would rather not be reminded. Perhaps they could give the old thing a bottle of the stuff Deirdre used. Ivy had to admit that smelled very nice, and not too strong. She made a mental note to mention it.

It was soon apparent that Alwen was no stranger to the game. Gus briefly set out the rules, but he need not have bothered. A respectable pile of matches grew in front of Alwen, and Ivy scowled. She was used to winning herself, remembering well the lessons her father had taught her.

The door opened a crack, and Miss Pinkney’s head appeared. “Ready for halftime snack?” she said. This had not been authorised by Mrs. Spurling, but she was now off duty.

“We’re not playing football,” Ivy said acidly. “Still, if you ask me, a cup of tea and a plate of biscuits would be a good idea. What do you think, Alwen? Not slimming, are we?”

“Good gracious me, no,” Alwen replied. “I don’t know about you, Ivy, but I’ve long given up worrying about an inch or two extra around the waist!”

“You’re both of you perfect as you are,” said Roy soothingly.

Gus looked from one to the other, and suddenly thought of his ex-wife. She was tall, slim and elegant, apparently without trying. But the bills from hairdressers, beauty salons and health farms told a different story. He smiled to himself. If she could see him now! His companions were two old bats and a little gnomish man in his eighties. Ah, but more often than not there was also Deirdre up at Tawny Wings! She could give his wife a run for her money.

They stopped playing to have their halftime snack, and conversation continued about this and that, until suddenly, without warning, Alwen Jones announced portentously that she had something to say. The others stared at her, noticing that her hands were trembling as she set down her cup.

She seemed to have trouble beginning, and so Gus asked pleasantly how they could help. Anything at all, however small, he said, could be dealt with by Enquire Within.

“Well, it’s like this,” she said. “This morning I received a telephone call which upset me considerably, and I had difficulty concealing it from Mrs. Spurling. The fact is, I am being harassed by some character who refuses to give his name or number, and when I try to identify him, the operator says, “The caller did not leave his number.” Each time, he addresses me by my Christian name, and asks the same question, saying that if I give the right answer I shall avoid an unpleasant encounter.”

“What could he mean by that?” Gus was intrigued, and Ivy adjusted her glasses in order to hear more clearly.

“Just a stupid threat, I hope,” Alwen said, more confidently now.

“So what’s the question?” Ivy said, leaning forward in her chair.

“He says,” she began, and hesitated. “It sounds awfully silly. But it’s the same every time. He says, ‘Eeny meeny miney moe, where did all the money go?’ Then he cuts off.”

There was complete silence. Roy and Ivy stared at each other, and Gus was looking stunned.

“Sounds like a practical joke,” said Ivy finally, and forgetting that Gus liked his private life to be very private, and his past life a mystery, she continued, “Augustus, couldn’t you find out a bit more from your old colleague, Martin? And time to open up with us, Alwen, before Enquire Within takes on what I suppose you want us to do.”

“Which is?” said Gus. He was beginning to have worrying thoughts. He supposed there could be no harm in Ivy’s ill-considered remark. Until that recent call, it had been a very long time since he had seen Martin, let alone worked closely with him. It had been a bit odd. Perhaps this was his old colleague’s idea of checking up on him? There had certainly been disagreements in the past, but nothing serious. Maybe it was time to arrange a face-to-face meeting, always supposing he could get through on that telephone line.

“Why, we have to discover who poor Alwen’s tormentor is and get rid of him, of course,” Roy said, taking Alwen’s hand. “It could be the extortion racket having another go at getting money out of you. Don’t you worry, my dear, we’ll sort him out.”

“And in the meantime,” said Ivy, “if he rings again, you’ll know his voice by now, and just put the phone down straightaway. Now drink up your tea, and let’s get on with the game.”

DAVID BUDD PUT his finger on the bell at the kitchen door of the Hall, and kept it there for some time. Noreen had gone home, and he knew Theo would probably be in his study, half a mile away from the kitchen. But there was nothing wrong with the boss’s hearing, and so he prepared to wait.

In due course, he heard footsteps crossing the tiled kitchen floor, and the door opened.

To his surprise, the pretty Polish girl from Springfields stood there, smiling broadly at him.

“Ah, Mr. Budd. I was asked by the Honourable Mr. Roussel to see who was ringing the bell. He said he was expecting you, and you are to go into the drawing room, where he is awaiting you.”

Her stilted English had certainly improved since they’d last had a conversation, but she still managed to make everything sound like a formal announcement. “Thanks, Katya,” he said. “Are you still enjoying working at Springfields? It takes a special kind of person to get on with most of those old fogies, doesn’t it? Still, there’s always Ivy Beasley! Something of a legend in her own lifetime, that one!”

“I am very much attached to Miss Beasley,” Katya said, marching ahead of him, “and most of the others are very nice people. It is not always much fun for them there, Mr. Budd.”

Duly rebuked, David followed her to the drawing room, and was startled when she slid in ahead of him and almost shut the door in his face. He heard her voice saying that Mr. Budd was here and was the Honourable Mr. Roussel ready to receive him? Then the door opened again, and Katya beckoned him in.

“Mr. Budd, sir,” she said, and left the room, quietly shutting the door behind him.

Theo approached and held out his hand. “Come and sit down, David. Sorry about that, but I’m giving her a confidential tryout. Between you and me, Noreen is not a huge success, and I’m hopeful that I can tempt Katya away from Springfields, to come and work for me.

“Is she interested?” said David bluntly. He could not think of a more boring job for a young woman than housekeeping for an old lecher like Theo Roussel. She’d have to spend half her time running up and down stairs and round corners to escape him!

“But surely she will be going back home shortly? She’s been at Springfields for some while.”

“I’m sure something could be arranged,” Theo said expansively. “Now, shall we talk about setting up a children’s farm? Several of my old friends in the county have done this sort of thing. Now, under my present circumstances, I think we should make use of the estate in every profitable way we can.”

“It’s a good idea,” David said reluctantly. “You could combine it with other things, my Rose says. Maybe open the house to the public, say at weekends, with escorted tours. Then the coffee shop in the old dairy building? My Rose is a trained caterer, and she could do drinks and snacks. Perhaps have a couple of craftspeople working in the stables to draw in the public?”

“Oh, my dear chap! All of that would be a last resort! I may have to, one day, but please God not yet.”

David shrugged. “Well, we could start with the children’s farm. You could talk to one or two of your friends, and get some advice on how to avoid pitfalls an’ that.”

“There should be no pitfalls, David,” Theo answered. “If I put my mind to a project, I am quite capable of carrying it through with maximum efficiency.”

“Well, as you know, I’m no schoolteacher,” said David, who was going off the idea of anything that would mean more work for him. Theo’s track record for hiring extra help had so far been pretty useless. David’s good-humoured intention of going along with the boss was evaporating rapidly. “So the first thing,” he continued, “might be to advertise for someone, maybe a retired biology teacher, to introduce the animals to the children. I could just about manage to do the farming side of it.”

Theo’s tone was chilly. “I will certainly bear in mind the teacher idea. But I am sure you could cope. After all, it would just be a fun thing to do at weekends, not an extension of school. Anyway, thank you for coming along, David. You know the way out. Oh, and by the way,” he added, as David reached the door. “The business of employing young Katya is strictly confidential at the moment. Please keep it to yourself. Best if no one knows, not even dear Rose. Thank you.”