The Sleeping Salesman Enquiry (14 page)

T
wenty-six

THE SNOW HAD
been falling all night, and Ivy was awoken early by the bright, clear light filling her bedroom. The sun was up, and when she got out of bed and went to the window, it was—to put it in Katya’s words when she brought in Ivy’s early-morning tea—“a beautiful fairyland! It reminds me so much of home, Miss Beasley.”

“It’s all very well now,” replied Ivy, turning to take her tea. “But by the time the farm traffic and delivery vans to the shop have ploughed backwards and forwards, it’ll all be dirty slush.”

“Then you and Mr. Goodman must put on boots and walk around the garden. There are snowdrops under the hedge, and celandines in the spinney. Mr. Goodman could take photographs. He likes to do that, yes?”

“Quite right, my dear. We shall ask you to come with us, in case, like babes in the wood, we get lost. Everywhere looks different under snow. Now, I must be up and about. Lots to do today. Thank you for my tea.”

• • •

IN DEEPER WOODS
down Hangman’s Lane, Gus and Deirdre were laughing like children as they walked hand in hand through the heavy fall of snow, and watched Whippy leaping in a series of arcs in an attempt to see where she was going.

“How long have you had her, Gus?” Deirdre asked.

“Can’t remember. She must be six or seven now. I’d be lost without her.”

“I know.”

The two trudged along in companionable silence, until Gus said, “I think I’ve got some important new information, and I don’t know what to do with it, Dee-Dee.”

“What’s it about? Alf’s Susan, or Steven’s murder, or Ivy’s banns? We’ve got a lot on at the moment.”

“That’s the problem. It could relate to the murder and the banns, but it was Alf who gave me the information yesterday. I went up to see him, and he was communicative for once. Asked me in, and you’d be amazed how clean and bright it is inside that cottage.”

“Is that the important information?”

“No, of course not. It’s to do with Roy, and, incidentally, Ivy, too. We all know about his contention, though he admitted it was secondhand, that Roy was engaged to be married in his youth, and then broke it off for someone richer. This was a
very
long time ago, of course, and Roy denied it hotly.”

“I could never see that it matters much, though,” said Deirdre. “After all, it would be extremely unlikely that such a nice and probably good-looking young farmer would not be an attractive proposition for the local girls.”

“You’re right, absolutely right. And I think it would have been much better if he had laughed it off, saying he had quite forgotten it, instead of denying it so furiously. But he did, and I think that was what upset Ivy most. And, of course, there is the obvious link with the interrupter of the banns. Though again, that in itself can only be a small hiccup. If Roy had decided against marriage altogether when young, there would not now be even a sniff of something untoward.”

“There’s something else, isn’t there,” said Deirdre, looking up at the sky. “Something we haven’t thought of. Perhaps we should turn back. The sky looks full of snow, or maybe rain. Come on, turn around. We can follow our own footsteps.”

“But I think I
have
thought of it,” Gus continued, whistling for Whippy to follow them. “Supposing the Ethel girl was pregnant?”

Deirdre stopped suddenly in her tracks, and Gus barged into her. “Gus!” she said. “Do you think she could have been? And does Roy know? And if he does, he must be going through hell! Oh Lord, Augustus, this is a much more dangerous situation than we—or, at least, me—have thought.”

Deirdre always spoke the careful English of the nouveau riche, and her lapse in grammar indicated to Gus how shocked she was. And he loved her for it.

“So, my lovely, what on earth are we going to do?” he asked.

“Think,” said Deirdre, as they emerged out onto the lane. “You are going to make some coffee, and we will sit and think. And if Miriam Blake interrupts us, I shall tell her we are about to be overcome by lust, and will she please leave us alone.”

“You wouldn’t!”

“Try me,” answered Deirdre. “I’m formidable when roused.”

• • •

THE REST OF
the day was necessarily curtailed for Ivy and Roy by further falls of snow. There was no question of going out with the trundle. Even Roy could see that he would most likely be bogged down and have to be rescued.

After lunch, Ivy suggested they set up a pontoon school, but Roy said who would play with them? They couldn’t ask Deirdre and Gus to venture out in the snow, and Roy whispered that there wasn’t one single other resident who could count up to ten, let alone twenty-one.

This was, of course, not true, but Ivy was silent for a while. Then she spoke, like the oracle. “Pinkers and Katya. I think they will agree to play, if
you
ask them, Roy. You know you can charm the birds off the trees.”

“Are you sure, dearest? I don’t think La Spurling would approve.”

“She’s not here to approve or disapprove. Off you go, now. I saw Pinkers in the office.”

It was some time since the small interview room had been used for the previous pontoon school, and to Roy’s amazement, Miss Pinkney hurried off with great enthusiasm to find extra electric fires to warm it up ready for the players.

“You will have to teach me how to play, Mr. Goodman,” she had said shyly. “Shall I go and find Katya? I think she is in the kitchen with Anya. Perhaps Anya would make up the fourth?”

“We need
you
,
Pinkers, to give us the stamp of approval,” Roy said firmly.

• • •

“NOW, IVY, HOW
are we doing? Is it time for a tea break?” Roy was enjoying himself with the three women, and, what was more, he was winning. Katya and Miss Pinkney, new to the game, had nevertheless picked up the rules and strategy very speedily and the time had passed quickly.

“Anya is bringing us tea at any minute,” said Katya. “This is fun, isn’t it, Miss Pinkney?”

The assistant manager looked nervously at the door. “I keep thinking Mrs. Spurling is going to walk in any moment,” she said.

“Blame it all on Roy, dear,” said Ivy. “She’s already had a rocket from him, and won’t be in the mood for another one. Anyway, she’s gone off to Ipswich to see her aged mother, so she said. Poor soul. A bit of a busman’s holiday for her. We must be nice to her, Roy, to make up.”

As if on cue, there was a knock at the door. Miss Pinkney jumped up, red in the face, and opened it.

“Oh, thank goodness it’s you, Rev. Dorothy!” she said.

“Well, thank you, Miss Pinkney!” the vicar replied. “I don’t always get such a warm reception. But I see you are busy—pontoon, is it? Great game. Perhaps I could join you sometime?”

“You’d be very welcome,” said Roy politely, thinking Mrs. Spurling couldn’t possibly forbid it if the vicar was involved.

“It was really Miss Beasley and Mr. Goodman I came to see. Just to report on the banns fiasco.”

Katya immediately jumped to her feet and left, and Miss Pinkney said she must make a call from her office. Ivy and Roy were left, and Rev. Dorothy smiled at them.

“Not a lot to report, I’m afraid,” she said. “But that in itself may be good news. If that man does not reappear, then his objection will be null and void, and we can go ahead with the second time of asking on Sunday next.”

“So is there no trace of him?” said Ivy. “Surely someone must have recognised him. I tried to make a list of all the people in church, but as I sit at the front, that wasn’t much good. Deirdre Bloxham and Augustus Halfhide might have better luck, but with this snow still around we have not been able to get together. Our regular meeting is tomorrow, and we’ll make it by hook or by crook.”

“There is one small clue,” said the vicar. “After everyone had gone from the church, the cleaner came in and found a man’s white handkerchief. It was in the pew where our interrupter was sitting, and there was an initial in one corner. The letter ‘F,’ it was. I have handed it to the police, of course, but I thought you would want to know.”

There was a short pause, and then Ivy said quietly, almost to herself, “‘F’ for who, I wonder?”

There was a gentle knock, and the door opened. Anya came in with tea and cookies, saying that it was a bit dreary in the interview room, and perhaps they would like to move to the lounge?

“Katya sent a message to say you were not to worry,” she added. “She will clear up the cards and put the room straight before Mrs. Spurling gets back.”

“No need, unless there is an interview in the near future,” said Roy. “Our next session will include the Reverend Dorothy, so I am sure not even Mrs. Spurling will object. Tell Katya she might as well leave it as it is.”

T
wenty-seven

IVY COULD NOT
believe what she saw out of her window next morning. Everywhere was dripping. Torrents poured into the drains, and a small stream of melted snow ran swiftly down the slope in the road from the shop towards Springfields.

“Thawing!” she said loudly, and, opening her door, half ran down the corridor, still in her sensible red nightie, to knock up Roy. “Are you awake?” she shouted joyfully. “Its been raining and everywhere is dripping and there’s not a sign of snow anywhere!”

“Come in, my dear!” he called. “I am quite decent.”

“I’m not,” said Ivy, looking down at herself and sobering up. But it was too late to turn back, so she opened Roy’s door and sidled in.

“It must be my birthday,” said Roy, grinning at her from his bathroom. He was still in his pyjamas, but with a rather dashing silk dressing gown over the top. “My beloved fiancée has entered my room in her filmy, revealing nightdress! Come to my arms, Ivy, while we have the chance!”

Ivy instinctively folded her arms across her chest, and, blushing fiercely, crossed the room and planted a warm kiss on his cheek.

“I’ll have you know,” she said, “that my nightdress is good warm winceyette, which reveals nothing at all! I only came to tell you the snow’s gone, and we can get out and about again. Foolish of me, I know.”

Roy took her hand and led her to a chair. Then he sat on the edge of his bed and said that in that case, he would have to wait until they were properly wed.

“But let’s make the most of this lovely moment,” he added, “and plan what we are going to do today.”

“It’s the Enquire Within meeting this afternoon,” said Ivy, drawing her nightdress well down over her knees. “I hope we can persuade Deirdre to remember who was in church last Sunday. She’s lived in Barrington for longest, except for you. And you were sitting at the front with me, so you couldn’t have seen much.”

“Then this morning we shall arrange for Elvis and his taxi to take us to a certain furniture store in Thornwell. After all, we are to be newlyweds, and must choose a comfortable bed. We can’t rely on La Spurling! If we can get a salesman talking, so much the better.”

“Good idea,” Ivy said. “And now I really think I should get back to my own room. We don’t want—”

A loud knock interrupted her.

“Come in,” called Roy. His smile was broad, and he realised he was looking forward to a confrontation with Mrs. Spurling.

“Ah, there you are, Miss Beasley.” It was Katya, looking worried. She hurriedly shut the door behind her, and said that if Miss Beasley was ready to return to her room, she would make sure the coast was clear.

“Excellent,” said Ivy. “I’ll see you at breakfast, Roy dear,” she said.

“Do come again, beloved,” he said. “You will be very welcome, day or night.”

Katya swallowed hard. “Yes, indeed, Mr. Goodman,” she said. “Now, come along, Miss Beasley. Time to get dressed. The snow has gone, and the sun is breaking through. What a surprise to see the rain this morning!”

They stopped outside Ivy’s door, and Mrs. Spurling’s raised voice came up the stairs very clearly. “Who has been playing cards in the interview room?” she shouted.

“Oops!” said Katya. “In you go, Miss Beasley. I must face the tigress in her den!”

“Don’t forget to mention that the vicar is joining our pontoon four. That should fix her,” said Ivy, vanishing into her own room.

Mrs. Spurling was not so easily put off. She approached Roy and Ivy at the breakfast table, and asked them acidly if they would mind asking permission to use the interview room for gambling in future. “I might have had an interview arranged,” she said.

“But you didn’t,” said Ivy. “And if you say playing an innocent card game for matches is gambling, then you’ve led a very sheltered life, as I believe I have said before. We enjoyed our game very much, and I suggest you organise something like it, perhaps whist, for other residents? A good way of passing a wet afternoon, and better than staring at rubbish on television for hours on end.”

Defeated as usual, Mrs. Spurling marched off to her study, head bent and muttering to herself.

• • •

ELVIS, WITH HIS
specially adapted taxi clean and sparkling, appeared promptly at ten o’clock, ready to take Ivy and Roy to Maleham’s furniture emporium.

“And how are all the plans going?” he said. “Soon be the happy day.”

They realised that Elvis knew nothing about the fiasco with the banns, and so they gave him a brief account. “What did this bloke look like? The one who interrupted in church?” he asked.

“Burly sort of chap,” said Roy. “Red-faced, balding. Oh, and I just remembered. Perhaps you noticed it, too, Ivy. He had an earring in one ear. I’m sure of that now, because I dislike the current fashion intensely. Earrings are for ladies, as far as I am concerned.”

“Tall or short?”

“Medium, wearing a black leather jacket.”

“Could be anybody,” said Elvis. “I pick up dozens like that every month. Can you remember anything else about him?”

They were silent, until Ivy suddenly said, “Yes! I can! He may have dropped a handkerchief with an ‘F’ in the corner, as he went out of the church.”

Elvis drew into Maleham’s car park and switched off the engine. He turned round and looked at them. “Sunday before last, did you say?”

Ivy nodded. “Why?”

“I picked up a bloke who looked like what you just said on the road outside Barrington. I’d dropped off a passenger, and this man hailed me. I don’t always stop, but he only wanted to go to the railway station in Thornwell, so I took him. I tried to make conversation—makes the job more interesting—but he wasn’t saying a dicky-bird.”

“Not even when he got out at the station?” Roy had begun to collect himself, ready to drive out of the taxi in his trundle, but Ivy had sat up straight, all alert to Elvis’s revelation.

“Let me think. Yeah, there was something. I think I asked him where he was going. On the train, like. He paid me his taxi fare and said it was a short journey. Going as far as Colchester, he said. He was sniffing, and helped himself to a tissue out of my box I keep for passengers. I got the impression he was making it up as he went along.”

“And did you definitely notice the earring?” Roy asked. “I do remember that, so it is important.”

“Oh yes, I noticed it.” Elvis explained that he had considered getting one himself, but his wife had said she would divorce him if he did, and so he’d dropped the idea.

After that, he saw Ivy and Roy safely inside the furniture store, and said he would be in the car park waiting for them. “Take as long as you like,” he added. “I’ve got this book to finish. Due back at the library. So, see you soon. Happy shopping!”

Mr. Maleham was in conversation with a customer on the ground floor, and when he saw Roy with a stick and walking with difficulty, he immediately rushed across to them. “Good morning! Can I help you at all?”

“Good morning,” said Roy. “If you could direct us to your bed department?”

“Ah, now, that is upstairs, but we have a lift. Allow me to take you up. Won’t you take my arm, madam?”

“No, thanks,” said Ivy. Smarmy type, she thought, and bristled. “I can manage quite well.”

“We do have a wheelchair handy for disabled customers’ use, if you wish, sir?” Maleham offered.

“The lift will be fine,” said Roy. “Thank you kindly.”

When they emerged into the department, Mr. Maleham called over the salesman who had taken over from Steven Wright, and instructed him to take care of Mr. and Mrs. . . . er? He looked enquiringly at Ivy.

“Miss Beasley and Mr. Goodman,” she replied tartly.

Mr. Maleham sighed. One of those, he thought to himself, and walked off, leaving his assistant in charge.

“We are to be married, you see, young man,” said Roy. “And we shall need a nice comfortable bed, easy to get into and with a reasonably hard mattress.”

“Well, I’m blowed,” said the assistant. “What a lovely thing! You two been married before?”

“Mind your own business,” said Ivy quickly. “Now, what’s your name?”

“Sam, Samuel Frost, but you can call me Sam, Grandma.”

“And you can call me Miss Beasley! I’m nobody’s grandma, nor ever will be.”

“How about that bed over there,” said Roy hastily. “Do you see the one I mean, Sam? It looks so lovely, with a stripey blue and white duvet. I suppose you make them up to look more attractive? After all, there’s nothing very beautiful about a mattress!”

“Too right, though I says it as shouldn’t. Now, come this way. Follow me, and then you won’t trip over the rugs and lamps and stuff.”

“You’ve had an accident in here recently, I believe?” said Roy innocently. “Wasn’t a tramp found dead, tucked up inside a bed of yours?”

“Oh yeah.” Sam looked around furtively. “We’re not supposed to talk about it. But between you and me, it wasn’t a tramp. It was our department manager, and it looks like he was murdered. No signs of natural causes an’ that. They haven’t told us anything more about it, but it does make me nervous, I don’t mind telling you. I’m temporary manager, and sometimes when there’s no customers in, it can get a bit creepy.”

“Well, nothing will happen to you with Roy here,” said Ivy fondly. “He’s very handy with that stick!”

They finally settled on a very comfortable-looking double bed, not too high off the ground, and with a medium-hard mattress. Roy was delighted with the refinement of a mechanism that sat the prone sleeper up in bed, ready for morning tea, though Ivy protested that it would not be necessary.

“I’ll see if I can get you a discount,” Sam said. He had really taken to the old gentleman, and felt sorry for him about to be shackled to sharp old Miss Beasley.

“No need, young man. We shall require it to be delivered before the fifth of May to Springfields residential home in Barrington. Now, shall we go to your office and do the necessary paperwork? Ivy, my dear, why don’t you go and look at those lovely dressing tables with heart-shaped mirrors? I’d love to buy one for you!”

“It’d take more than a heart-shaped mirror to improve my appearance!” she said, blushing a fiery red. “But thanks, anyway. I’ll just have a wander round.”

• • •

THE DRESSING TABLES
were round a corner, out of sight of the office, and Ivy sat on a stool and looked into the heart-shaped mirror. What an old bat, she told herself. What a turnup! Confirmed spinster, unpopular with most people and not caring tuppence. And here she was, loved and respected by the dearest man in Barrington. Tears came to her eyes and she dabbed at them with her handkerchief.

“Everything all right, dear?” said a voice behind her. She turned round and saw a squat, dumpy figure in black.

“Perfectly all right!” said Ivy crossly. “Are you a customer or a member of staff?”

“Customer. I’m looking for a bedside table for my hubby. He’s bedridden, thank God.”

Shocked, Ivy asked her what she meant.

“He was under my feet for forty years. Followed me about like Mary’s little lamb. But he weren’t no little lamb! Miserable old devil. Anyway, it’s a great relief now. He can’t move out of his bed. The nurses come every day and attend to him. I just take his food on a tray, an’ get out of the room as quick as poss.”

For once, Ivy was speechless. Then she asked who was looking after him at this moment.

“My son, Frank. Frankenstein, we should have called him! Looks like the back end of a bus. Still, he’s not a bad lad. Takes care of his dad while I’m out. I often come in here for a bit o’ peace. It’s very nice, and they don’t get many customers, except at weekends. Then I go to the supermarket next door. Frank looks after his dad, unless he’s got a special Saturday job to do. Works on the railways. I don’t know why I’m telling you all this, dear. Just thought you looked a bit upset. But you’re all right now, aren’t you? I’ll leave you to it. Them mirrors make you look awful, I always think!”

“Just a moment,” said Ivy, getting to her feet. “I was thinking of wearing earrings for my wedding, and I suppose I’ll have to have the lobes pierced, won’t I?”

“No problem. Go to Hillses the Jewellers in Church Street. My Frank went there for just one lobe to be done. He’s had no trouble with it. One small ring, he wears. Can’t say I approve, but he’s a grown man. Knows his own mind. Anyway, dear, maybe we’ll meet again sometime in here? Really nice to talk to you. Getting married, did you say? All the best, then.”

“Thank you,” Ivy said. “You’ve been so nice. What did you say your name was?”

“Beryl. Beryl Maleham. And yes, before you ask, I am related! The high and mighty store owner is a distant cousin. That’s why he lets me come in and wander round without being bothered. Cheerio, dear. See you soon, I hope!”