The Twisted Way (28 page)

Patsy and John Elk started to go out on a regular basis as a couple and soon became close friends, something they had not anticipated. Neither of them seemed anxious, at least on the surface, for a physical relationship. John had had one or two girlfriends when he was at school but no serious relationships. He had worked long hours in a local accountants’ office in recent years and, although he had thought about the possibility of obtaining some female company he had not done anything about it and as a result his social life had been limited. Something about Patsy had allowed him to overcome the barrier he had formed between himself and the opposite sex.

John did not mind Patsy’s pinched and anxious-looking face, though she was gradually relaxing and looked much more attractive. She bought some make-up: some good quality face creams, powder and a soft pink lipstick. She had her hair cut in a becoming style and coloured a light brown shade with blonde highlights in the best hairdressing salon in Everton.

John Elk worked in Everton with another man from Little Brinton, Peter Saunders, who had encouraged him to join the bridge club. John was seen as a confirmed and rather dull bachelor by his colleagues so that the courtship of Patsy was an interesting move on his part and his bridge club acquaintances were keen to see how things developed.

Tongues wagged in the Little Brinton village shop. Mrs Blunt the proprietor and local know-it-all was, together with many of her customers, quite intrigued. However, nobody was as pleased as Patsy’s father. He hoped Patsy would marry John Elk and get out of his hair for good but admitted to himself that might be wishful thinking. She had been far too antagonistic towards men since she went on a trip to Germany with the school band as a young teenager. Whatever happened in the past had certainly succeeded in making her dislike the opposite sex. He patted his young black Labrador puppy.

‘We may get a chance to have a peaceful old age after all Bruce my boy,’ he said out loud, looking at his young canine companion with pleasure. ‘A grandchild too perhaps though it’s probably too late. Never knows yer luck. If her mum had still been alive she may have got married years ago.’ He scratched his head, utterly perplexed as always when he thought about his daughter. She needed a woman to talk to; it could have made all the difference.

He was right but it was unlikely that Patsy would have confided in anyone about her experience on that holiday. She kept it close to her chest and did not utter a word to even her best friends, and certainly not her crotchety old dad.

Robbie was intrigued to hear about the history of Little Brinton Bridge Club. He wondered if Jack Headley, the founder, would ever visit the club. He hoped so. It would be interesting to discuss the setting up of a new club with him. He discovered that one of the main reasons Jack had started the club in 1995 was to find a new lady companion after the death of his wife. One or two of the older members were happy to tell him in depth about the murder of the South African jockey Karl Davies who had lived in the village and how Jack Headley had loved Karl’s wife Kitty.

‘Silly man,’ one of the ladies said. ‘Kitty was gay, as they call it these days, and went to live in France with a woman, another of our bridge club members, believe it or not! Jack did not possess much sense when it came to choosing lady friends. He even had a fling with a local shop girl. Stupid man. He has gone to Scotland now to live near his family. He probably won’t want to come back here, there are too many unpleasant memories.’

Hmm, Robbie thought to himself. That is a pity. This bridge club has certainly changed village life, mainly for the better, for a good many people. He had started to think seriously about forming a small duplicate club in Enderly. Janet loved to play bridge years ago he was told but would no longer have the concentration required, which was a shame. He wondered about Felicity Brown. She had settled in to Primrose House rather too well. Perhaps she would be interested in playing bridge; she had mentioned to him one day that she enjoyed the game and had played in a club in Canada. She had boasted that she was considered to be a good player, though Robbie considered that too many bridge players had an inflated opinion about their skill. He decided that he would mention the possible new club to her and hoped she would take the bait. He was perhaps playing with fire but it would be one way to keep a better eye on the woman. Robbie still considered that she was a very shady character who had wheedled her way into her aunt’s life and would not be easy to dislodge though the latter was something he would really enjoy doing if the opportunity ever presented itself.

He consulted some of the rubber bridge players in the Green Man who seemed quite enthusiastic. There were enough people to make up a few tables though whether they could meet in the Green Man or the old dilapidated village hall they were not sure. It would depend on numbers. Like Jack Headley had done in Little Brinton in 1995 when he had started the bridge club there, he placed notices around the village in an attempt to attract players to join a small club in Enderly. He placed one in the local shop and another on a notice board on the edge of a small triangle of unkempt grass known locally as the village green. He also inserted a small advertisement in the
Everton News
and another notice in the Green Man. If they could meet in the Green Man there would be enough parking space at the back of the pub for the locals and a few of the bridge players that might come from outside the village.

Roderick, the red-headed publican, threw his head back and laughed heartily when he read the notice.

‘That club idea won’t come to much, only a few customers bother playing cards in this pub. Duplicate bridge, heck,’ he spluttered. ‘Not many of my punters will care to play that form of bridge. They like playing rubber bridge for money – friendly like. Only a penny a hundred or some similar small amount I believe.’

He was about to proclaim it a daft idea but thought with interest about the small room at the back of the pub which could be let out for a lucrative sum and a bridge club, however stupid he might consider the idea to be, would be one way of obtaining a regular income from the room. He certainly could do with it. He had got married recently and his new young wife was expecting a baby and he would soon have an extra mouth to feed, apart from the baby clothes, toys and prams. There were suitably sized tables and chairs already in the back room. The chairs were a little the worse for wear and the tables slightly scratched but they could be used, especially if some good bridge cloths were purchased by the bridge players and the bumpy old surfaces hidden. There would be a break and one of his barmaids could make coffee, or better still serve the members with beer or spirits. A little more profit could perhaps be made in that way, he calculated. The thought of the money brought a smug smile to his face when Robbie approached him about a possible room in the pub in which to hold a meeting of would-be bridge club members.

‘We have a good room at the back you could rent for a reasonable sum,’ he proffered. ‘It would be really cheap and there are already some tables there. It would be better than that draughty old village hall venue. The Village Hall Committee should apply for a grant to renovate that hall in the same way that the Little Brinton Committee did. They now have a lovely hall which has replaced the old tin hut that sufficed for many years.’

Their loss and my gain he thought as a comfortable greedy feeling settled upon his slightly bulging stomach.

Twelve people turned up to Robbie’s meeting in the pub. They were keen and included, as he had hoped, the unpleasant Felicity Brown. When he had mentioned the new club to her she had been scathing in her remarks.

‘I’ll think about it,’ she said. ‘I’m not sure that it will be up to my standard but it may be worth trying.’

Felicity was bored with auntie’s wandering mind and limited company. Conversation was becoming tedious. An evening playing bridge was attractive. She was, at least in her opinion, an accomplished player and would enjoy it. It could give her the chance, she hoped, to find out some information about Tom Hands. She was convinced that someone would remember something about him sooner or later. She also understood that there had been a photograph of the evacuees hanging up in the pub and if it was still there it may help to refresh her memory.

John Elk and Patsy Croft offered to help and Robbie accepted their offer with alacrity. They came to the meeting that Robbie had arranged in order to meet the prospective members and to consider joining the committee, after all they were experienced in bridge club affairs. There were several elderly ladies, at least seventy or eighty years old, and two young women who taught in the local junior school who claimed that they were competent bridge players. John Elk offered to be treasurer and Patsy said she would act as secretary for one year only, after which perhaps one of the other members would take over the post. Robbie hoped that the new women could play bridge reasonably well but was willing to help anyone who needed some tuition and he thought a few might. Pat said he would play with Robbie so that John and Patsy could play together if they wanted to, though he was not really keen to play duplicate bridge now.

‘You play with John,’ Patsy had said generously to Robbie, ‘I can play with Margaret Jones, she needs a partner and I know her from Little Brinton.’

This was agreed, but Robbie knew that John and Patsy would really prefer to play together in the new club and he would soon have to find another partner.

Felicity was quiet during the initial meeting. There was no way she was going to be coerced on to the committee, it would be too much trouble and a tie, there were after all several other things to occupy her time and thoughts like disposing of the remaining member of the Mace family and checking up on Tom Hands, but she did offer to help. She would make the tablecloths. Auntie had a sewing machine she could use and she was quite experienced with a needle and thread.

‘I’ll buy the material in Everton,’ she said taking the stance of a generous benefactor and thought how useful Auntie’s credit card was proving to be. ‘Robbie will drive me in tomorrow. The club can pay me back when it is able to.’

She looked at Robbie with a mistress-to-servant look and smiled with magnanimous delight. Robbie flinched but decided that he would ignore her unpleasant attitude. She was a revolting woman, but if she would make the cloths he would be grateful and not look a gift horse in the mouth, even if he had to rely on the unpalatable Felicity for that gift.

It was agreed that he should act as chairman and Patsy approached Roderick the pub landlord to discuss details of the rent. Terms were agreed and the group decided to meet the next week for a trial evening. John Elk said that there were some old cards and boards they could borrow from Little Brinton until they had enough cash to buy their own. Members would pay a yearly subscription of five pounds and one pound fifty pence each evening they played; this would be used to pay the rent and eventually pay for new cards and the tablecloths. There was space in the room for at least eight tables and hopefully they would be able to attract a few more members later on. One man offered to do the scoring on his computer and direct if they wished him to do so. He was about eighty-five but had experience of directing and scoring when he lived in Everton about five years ago.

‘I will be delighted to help, until you can get someone younger to take over,’ he said a slow smile spreading over his lined face. ‘I won’t want to do it for long but someone will be sure to be able to do the job later. It’s nice to be wanted and feel useful.’ Robbie thanked him. It certainly would be helpful. Felicity found some suitable thick green velvet material in a shop in Brinton and made the bridge cloths as promised. She gave the bill to John Elk. The cash in hand would be useful when the club could afford to pay her back. It did not occur to her to give the cash to Janet.

It had been agreed that the new Enderly Club should meet every Tuesday evening, which was the day that the members found most convenient. Roderick did not mind which evening it was as long as they paid up and consumed a few drinks during their break. He found a few old pictures in the attic and hung them on the dull old walls in the ‘bridge room’. One of these was another old photograph, taken in Enderly village hall, of a group of the evacuees.

‘It will cheer the place up,’ he quipped with his tongue in his cheek.

Felicity was intrigued and peered closely at it. The photograph had faded, like the other one already hanging in the pub, so that it was difficult to recognise anyone who could be Tom Hands, though she tried. She was determined to find out what had happened to him. ‘Dead with any luck,’ she said to herself.

Marianne Fright (dubbed frightful Marianne locally), an old Enderly resident, decided she would like to join the club, or rather as she put it ‘give it a go’. Marianne was a scratchy and badtempered woman in her seventies. Life had not treated her well in the past two decades and she had been short of money since her husband died twenty years ago. Her only son was working in Australia and had only visited her once in the last fifteen years and that visit had been brief. Not too surprising, some of her neighbours had gossiped; miserable old bat that woman. She had played bridge on and off over the past thirty years with friends and considered herself to be a reasonable player. She was lonely and looked forward to some company and a local bridge club would suit her very well. She could walk to the pub in less than five minutes though she did not really approve of beer drinking and some of those, in her opinion, local louts who frequented the bar.

‘I’ll need a partner,’ she announced in an abrasive tone. ‘Someone who can play, not a rabbit.’

It was decided after some discussion by Robbie and Patsy that she could partner Felicity if they both were happy with that arrangement. A good pair Robbie thought, it should be interesting. They were both difficult women and would suit each other well.

‘I hope you are some good,’ Marianne had spat out with rude abandon when she first set eyes on Felicity. She did not like the look of the woman but would put up with her if she could obtain a reasonable game of bridge.