There was one more question Carole wanted to ask, though. “Did you ever do comedy nights at the pub?”
“No,” came the reply. “Our country and western evenings were very popular. And our quiz nights. But I never liked the idea of comedy nights. Comedians these days are so vulgar, aren’t they? Scattering four-letter words about like nobody’s business. That wasn’t the sort of thing that would have appealed to the kind of clientele I wanted to frequent the Cat and Fiddle.”
“But did anyone ever suggest to you that you might do a comedy night?”
“Well, it’s funny you should ask that, actually. I did have a call…oh, last autumn I suppose it was…from quite a well-known comedian, offering to start a series of comedy nights for me. I said no, because I’d seen him on television and he was rather vulgar there, so what he might have been like in a pub I really didn’t like to imagine. But I was surprised by the call, because he really was quite a big name.”
Carole and Jude both felt pretty sure they knew the answer, but they still had to ask the question.
“His name,” Shona Nuttall replied, “was Dan Poke.”
Thirty-Three
Surprisingly, it was Carole’s idea to Google Home Hostelries. When they got back to Woodside Cottage from Southwick, their tiredness had gone and they were both keen to get on with their investigation.
“I mean, we do now have a direct connection,” said Jude excitedly. “The campaign against Shona Nuttall at the Cat and Fiddle started in exactly the same way as what’s happened to Ted at the Crown and Anchor.”
“But it didn’t lead to murder there.”
“That might just be because Shona Nuttall cracked earlier and accepted the reduced offer.”
“I’d put any money on the fact that Ted’s also had approaches from Home Hostelries. If only he’d talk to us…”
“We need to find out more about the company.”
And it was then that Carole had suggested using Google. Jude was amazed that Carole Seddon, who had at times almost made a religion of her techno-phobia, was actually suggesting using a computer as a resource. What’s more, she appeared familiar with both the language and the use of computers. Jude grinned inwardly. She had known the moment would come; it had only been a matter of time. But she made no comment, as she booted up her laptop and found the Google screen. “Would you like to take over?” she offered.
“Oh, very well,” said Carole, as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
She keyed in Home Hostelries and looked at the options thrown up. There were plenty of links to individual pubs, pub guides, restaurant and tourism sites. “What we really need is their home page. See if we can get any relevant names.”
“What, Carole? Are you planning to confront their managing director with accusations of planning a wrecking campaign against Shona Nuttall and Ted Crisp?”
Carole took no notice of the irony in her neighbour’s voice as she replied, “If necessary.”
Their search took quite a while, and they went up many blind alleys into promising websites which all recommended – ‘The Home Hostelries hospitality experience – graceful drinking and gourmet dining – both available in our personally selected character pubs. Special occasion, family celebration or just a friendly drink to unwind at the end of the day – whatever it is you’re looking for, you’ll find it in a Home Hostelries pub.’
But eventually they got to a home page for the company. Carole clicked on the ‘About Us’ tab and found a potted history of Home Hostelries. It was a tale of continuing growth over a relatively short period. Founded in Horsham by two young entrepreneurs who had bought up three West Sussex pubs in the early 1990s, they had continued to add to their portfolio at an accelerating rate. Soon it was not just individual premises they were buying up, but other small chains and breweries. Shona Nuttall had mentioned Snug Pubs and the Foaming Flagon Group, but they were only two of many. Though its headquarters remained in Horsham, the Home Hostelries brand had spread from West Sussex to adjacent counties, and was now expanding into the West Country and East Anglia. New purchases were even taking its reach north of London and into the Midlands. They were also moving away from their base of country pubs and into urban premises (of which presumably the Middy in Fratton was an example). The website left no doubt that Home Hostelries was rapidly becoming one of the country’s largest hospitality chains.
The names of the two successful entrepreneurs from Horsham who had set the whole thing in motion were unfamiliar to the two women crouched over the laptop. “Let’s see if we can find a list of directors somewhere,” said Carole.
It didn’t take long. Again, most of the names meant nothing. One did, though.
Richard Farrelly.
The real name of the comedian Dan Poke.
“Of course, the name under which he wrote his autobiography.” Carole sounded disappointed, illogic-ally feeling that she should have made the connection before. “But how’re we going to contact him? Through his agent?”
“I’ve got his number,” said Jude.
“How on earth have you got that?”
“When I first met him in the Crown and Anchor, he gave cards to me and Zosia.”
“Why?”
“I think the implication was that if either of us fancied him, we should give him a call and he would be generous enough not to kick us out of bed.”
“What?” Carole looked appalled. “Surely no men actually behave like that, do they?”
“Some do. The thick-skinned type who don’t care what people think of them. It’s partly a joke, partly trying it on. A persona they’re trying to project. Particularly in showbiz. There are a lot of women out there who’re…turned on by celebrity.” Jude had been going to use a less decorous phrase, but avoided it out of consideration for Carole’s sensibilities. “And men like that do get their offers taken up just often enough to make it worth their while. Happens a lot in the music world too…Encourages the bad-boy image. You know, there are still groupies out there looking to add a famous name to their list.”
“Are there?” Carole pondered this. “Erm…you’ve never been a groupie, have you?”
“Not exactly,” replied Jude, simply for the devilment of watching her neighbour’s reaction. And maybe adding one more to the manifold mysteries of her past.
Awkwardly, Carole moved the subject on. “Well, I find it most odd. I thought celebrities were meant to guard their privacy, not give out their home phone numbers to all and sundry.”
“The number I’ve got won’t be his landline. It’s probably a mobile he keeps just for the purpose of women ringing him. His totty hotline.”
That drew a predictable wince from Carole.
“Anyway,” Jude announced, “I’m going to ring him. See if he does want to meet.”
“Isn’t that rather dangerous…I mean, if he’s involved in the kind of thing we think he may be involved in?”
“I won’t agree to meet him anywhere except a public place of my choosing. Treat it like it was a blind date, you know, meeting someone through online dating.”
“Have you ever actually done that, Jude?” asked Carole, her eyes owlishly large behind the rimless glasses.
“Not very often,” came the mischievous reply.
“Oh. Well, I think you’ll be taking a big risk meeting Dan Poke – or Richard Farrelly or whatever he’s called. And if it’s sex he’s after, as you suggest, though he may agree to meet you in a pub, he’s not going to want to stay in the pub, is he? He’s going to want to take you back to his place.”