AS HE WALKED along to his own front door, Gus was startled by a shadow which passed the window inside his sitting room. What was that? He knew he had locked up securely before tea with Miriam, but he could have sworn someone was in there. He ran the rest of the way and approached his back door silently. Gus could move very quietly when necessary. The door was still locked, and he eased the key quietly, gently squeezing himself through the opening. Silence. Then he heard the unmistakable sound of his front door opening with a loud squeak.
Damn! He rushed through, hearing footsteps disappearing down the lane towards the woods. The front door had been slammed shut as the intruder ran, and by the time Gus had forced it open-it stuck with damp, as did every other door in the house-the lane was empty and quiet.
“Damn, damn!” Gus said out loud now. No point in trying to catch him-or her. Gus was well aware that he was out of condition, and would soon run out of breath. Better check if anything was missing. He reassured himself that there was nothing worth stealing. Except those papers upstairs… but who would know about those, or, for that matter, still be interested in them?
He walked around the house, and could find nothing amiss. The papers were safe in their red folder secured with white tape and labelled “Bills unpaid.” That’s all right, then, he said to himself, and decided a small whisky would be the best thing to stop his hands from shaking in this stupid way.
Twelve
DEIRDRE LOOKED AT herself in the long mirror in her bedroom, turning this way and that, and decided her reflection was not bad, considering. She saw a plumpish but trim figure, nicely dressed in a suitably flattering dress from her favourite designer. She had been to the hairdresser, who had freshened up her apricot curls.
She smiled at herself, and was pleased to see how her face lightened up. It had been some time since she had seen Theo Roussel, and she had taken a lot of trouble to look her best for this evening.
Thank goodness Theo had answered the phone! If she had got the dreaded Beattie, the old bag would probably have said he was out or in the bath. Poor Theo. He’d lived under that woman’s tyranny for years. But she could remember before that, when Theo had been an attractive man about the county, hunting and shooting and squiring all the prettiest girls in the neighbourhood to balls and parties. The nicest thing about him was a total lack of interest in what was the done thing. He had loved an evening at the pub with the rest, sitting for hours listening to the old men’s tales of his father’s philandering. Perhaps he had inherited some of his tendencies?
Theo had spotted Deirdre at a Golf Club Ball in Thornwell and for several months had convinced her that she was the girl for him. She wasn’t, of course. He was a few years older than her, and when they parted, it was with amiable goodwill. Bert had come along to offer her genuine love and good prospects, and she had made a rational choice.
She had seen Theo on and off over the years, however, and they always had a friendly wave, so that now, when she telephoned him and asked if they could have a word, he had at once invited her to the Hall for a gin and tonic. “Still your tipple, I hope?” he had said, and his voice was just as she remembered it.
WHEN MISS BEATTY brought in Theo’s afternoon tea, he said, “Oh, by the way, Beattie, I shall be having a visitor this evening for a drink. Mrs. Bloxham from Tawny Wings. An old friend from the past. I knew she was living in the village, but never liked to intrude after the death of her husband. I am sure you remember Bert Bloxham?”
Beattie’s face was puce. “Of course I remember Bert Bloxham,” she said. “Had his head under the bonnet of a car mostly. Came from nothing, and went to nothing in the end, like we all do. I believe she was a back-street girl, too.”
“Beattie!” Theo said, and roared with laughter. Somehow that call from Deirdre had, as his father used to say, put a bit of lead in his pencil, and he felt full of energy, quite enough to challenge his minder! “I don’t want to hear you talking like that about my old friend. She was a lovely girl, one of the best. Please remember that. And be a nice Beattie and make us some of those lovely nibbly things to have with our drinks.”
This was too much for Beattie, and she stamped out of the room without shutting the door behind her. Unheard of, thought Theo, and he grinned. Now, he would have a shave and change out of his carpet slippers. He must not slip into his dotage before it was necessary. There were signs! First the carpet slippers, then next the juicy jellies, and then the wooden box… He had seen it happen to his contemporaries and he did not intend to have it happen to him.
In the kitchen, Beattie held on to the Aga rail, breathing heavily. What did that common woman want? Surely she was not pursuing Theo after all these years? She must think quickly what had to be done. She had spun her web around Theo so successfully, and had found ways of keeping rescuers at bay. He did not even realise she had done it, so clever had she been. Well, she was more than a match for a garage mechanic’s widow. All she needed was a plan. She looked at the clock over the Aga. “Plenty of time,” she said to herself.
GUS WAS AT the pub on the dot of nine, pleased to see Will standing by the bar talking to the publican, a large, genial man with a big nose and capable hands. Will spotted Gus and beckoned him over.
“Let me introduce you to Fred,” he said. “Fred, this is Gus, just moved into Hangman’s Row. Next to Miriam and her mother.”
“Her ex-mother, you mean,” Fred said, and smiled. “Bit of a shock when you’d only just moved in, I should think, wasn’t it? Now, Gus, what can I get for you? On the house, your first drink in the Peacock and Royal.”
The evening progressed very happily for Gus. With an introduction from Will, all the regulars drew him into their circle and quizzed him skilfully about his life and times before he arrived in their village. Gus decided he should stick to the version he told Miriam. He was beginning to realise how quickly news spread around the village, and how discrepancies in his story would be picked up and chewed over for days.
“Sounds like a bit of a wimp,” whispered one of the girls sitting in a corner. “All that saving the wildlife stuff. Don’t know what he’d think of my dad and his rat poison.”
The others began to giggle, and were shushed by boyfriends playing darts.
Fortunately Gus did not hear them, and when the lads had finished playing, he suggested to Will that they might have a game. Now the watching girls were quietly admiring, as Gus threw one accurate dart after another, finishing with a spectacular bull’s-eye that drew a round of applause.
“Are you as good as that with dominoes?” said Fred, scratching his nose. “We’ve got the county champion here, if you want a try?”
Gus nodded, and sat down. Alfred Jones was bent with age, but a wily old bugger, whose watery blue eyes were everywhere, missing nothing. He played his usual game, guaranteed to win. Gus was aware that a silence had fallen in the pub, and thought quickly. He could win, he saw that well ahead, but it would not do him any good at all. So he deliberately made wrong moves, and lost.
“Too clever for me,” he said. “Another pint, Alfred?” he offered, and walked to the bar. “Well done, Gus,” the landlord said. “It wouldn’t have done to beat the county champion first go.”
After that, Alfred opened up, and to Gus’s delight said that he had known old mother Blake when they were kids. “Went to school with her, didn’t I,” he said. “She was a moody kid. Sneaky, too. Not popular with the other gels. Don’t know how she snared old Blake, but then, she were twice as bright as him. That Miriam were born six weeks early, and a bonny baby in spite of that. I reckon John Blake had orders from above.” He winked at Gus. “Know what I mean?” he said.