The Sleeping Salesman Enquiry (31 page)

S
ixty-one

IVY AWOKE TO
a gentle knock at her door, and saw that someone was drawing back the curtains, admitting bright morning sunshine and the sound of a blackbird singing on his usual branch outside her window.

The person was, of course, Roy, and he smiled at her. “Good morning, my love,” he said. “I do hope you will forgive my coming in, but I found Katya outside your door bearing a tray of tea and biscuits, so I thought we might share? And,” he added, “I brought you these.”

He handed her a small bunch of pale yellow primroses, still with drops of dew on the leaves, which he had carefully arranged in an egg cup from the kitchen.

Ivy reached for her glasses, checked her hairnet was in place, and blinked briskly to clear her vision. “Goodness, how lovely, Roy. Have you been out in the garden in your slippers? They look quite wet!”

She slipped out of bed and fetched a towel from her bathroom. “Here, sit down, and I’ll dry your feet,” she instructed.

But Katya was having none of it, and insisted on both of them sitting at the little table by the window while she gave Roy’s feet a good rub and then poured the tea.

“Now, Roy,” said Ivy. “It’s not my birthday, so why the beautiful flowers?”

“Have you forgotten? Our banns will be called once more this morning, and we shall be there to hear them. I have spoken to Reverend Dorothy, and she says the police have assured her that Frank Maleham is safely in custody, so there will be no hitch this time.”

“Don’t tempt fate! Many a slip ’twixt cup and lip, as my old mother used to say.”

“Dearest Ivy,” answered Roy, “I shall be holding your hand, and no harm will come. You’ll see.”

• • •

WORD HAD GOT
around the village, and half the congregation were rooting for Miss Beasley and Mr. Goodman, while the other half, though perhaps not acknowledging it, were hoping for another dramatic interruption.

Gus and Deirdre, obeying Ivy’s orders, were sitting with the betrothed couple in the front pew. Roy, as promised, held Ivy’s gloved hand tightly, and she sat close to him, as if to gain warmth and courage from his presence.

It was a communion service, and the long queue waiting for the bread and wine smiled encouragingly as they passed the front pew. At last it was time to call the banns, and Reverend Dorothy smiled broadly as she began.

“I publish the banns of marriage between Ivy Beasley, spinster of this parish, and Roy Vivian Goodman, bachelor of this parish. If any of you know cause or just impediment why these two persons should not be joined in holy matrimony, ye are to declare it.”

The silence was thick with tension, and Ivy counted up to five, holding Roy’s hand in a vicelike grip.

“Then this is the second unchallenged time of asking,” Rev. Dorothy pronounced, and to Ivy’s surprise and joy, the entire congregation burst into spontaneous heartfelt applause, and the organist played from memory, and not very accurately, Handel’s triumphant hymn tune, “See the Conquering Hero Comes.”

Everyone joined in, and Gus changed the words to “conquering heroine” as Ivy sang loudest of all.

After the “Amen,” all sat, except Ivy, who remained standing and turned round to face the congregation.

“Friends,” she began, with an unaccustomed wobble in her voice, “I would just like to say that if anyone asked me, I would say Barrington is the best village in England. Thank you all for your support for me and Roy, and you are all invited to the wedding on May the fifth.”

“Are you sure about that, dearest?” said Roy, as she sat down.

“Of course not,” she answered, and knelt down to pray. As silence fell on the assembled company, a very small miaow was heard from the back of the church. A cat marched up the aisle and leapt onto Ivy’s pew. “Ah, there you are, Tiddles,” she said, and got to her feet. “Time to go, Roy,” she added, and with the cat tucked under her arm, she set off for home.