Theft on Thursday (12 page)

“Do you think I should act pale and interesting, or big, strong and quite recovered?”

Brian shook his head. “Try to be serious, Sandy,” he said. “Your mother has been extremely worried.”

“Not enough to come and see me in hospital!”

“For a very good reason,” Brian said sharply. “She has had a bad cold, and would not be allowed to carry infection. She relied on me to keep her informed.”

“Huh!” Sandy clearly did not believe him, and the air
was still full of tension when Brian opened the front door and stood aside for Marion to walk in.

She nodded a brief greeting. “Brian,” she said. “How is he?”

“Come through and see for yourself, Marion. He’s doing very well indeed.” Brian despised himself for his humble, apologetic tone. But Marion hardly looked at him, and passed on swiftly into the sitting room.

“Hi, Mother,” Sandy said, “how’s the cold?”

Excusing himself tactfully, Brian retreated to his study to the impossible task of studying his text for next Sunday. It seemed hours before the sitting-room door opened again, and he rushed out into the hall to offer refreshment. Sandy was on his feet, unsmiling, and Brian quickly offered tea or coffee, followed by an “Or I could rustle up a glass of wine?”

Marion shook her head, buttoning up her coat. “I have to get back,” she said. “Now I can see for myself that Sandy’s on the mend, I shall be able to sleep again.” She gave him a hug, and turned to Brian.

“Please keep me informed,” she said coldly, “if there’s any cause for worry. Anything at all.”

“I assure you, Marion,” Brian began, but was interrupted.

“Never mind about all that,” she said. “All I care about now is that Sandy is safe and well, and settled in a job he enjoys.”

Sandy muttered, “I am still here, you know. Not in a coma any more. And I’m quite capable of looking after myself and living my own life.” Marion’s persistent questions on Brian’s household were beginning to irritate him. He knew he had been planted by his mother on Brian Rollinson, and was fed up with reporting back on life at the vicarage. And now she had done all the talking, telling him things that had stunned him into silence.

“Well, nice of you to come, Mum,” he said slowly. “I’ll try to visit soon. Maybe bring a friend …”

Marion turned sharply. “What friend?” she said.

“Don’t worry, it’ll be a girlfriend. One of many, naturally.”

“I’m very glad to hear it,” she said, and drove off down Long Farnden main street on her way home.

“She’s gone,” Sandy said flatly.

Brian slumped down into the big chair and closed his eyes. “I wish she could have stayed,” he said. His voice was so low that Sandy could scarcely hear him.

“What was that?” he said.

“Nothing, nothing at all.” Brian straightened up with an effort. “And what’s the matter with you, anyway? You don’t look overjoyed at your mother’s visit.”

Sandy shook his head. “I’m all right,” he said. “I think I’ll go down to the pub for a while. The walk’ll do me good. Sun’s shining. I’ll get something to eat.”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Brian was shocked and anxious.

“I’m serious,” said Sandy, and walked towards the door.

“Then I’m coming with you,” said Brian, and followed behind a furious Sandy until they reached the pub.

D
EREK WATCHED THEM WALK IN FROM HIS STOOL AT THE
bar. “Morning, Vicar,” he said. He looked curiously at the pair. It was the first time he’d seen them together, and in view of rumours still flying about, thought he would—without staring—see what he could pick up from how they were together. Might help Lois to get the right cleaner for them. That Sharon was obviously useless. What had reduced her to tears? The thought of working for a couple of blokes living together? But there’d been stories of Mackerras giving her lifts, having a date or two. Confusing. Well, he had warned Lois about the girl, and now she would have to sort it out.

The landlord’s greeting was muted. He secretly wished
this new vicar wouldn’t come in so often. It wasn’t that he minded him having only a half of shandy, or that he insisted on standing at the bar instead of going to sit decently in a corner. It was just that the purest white dog-collar was inhibiting to his other customers. “Difficult to have a good curse, with ‘im watching yer,” old Cyril had said, and his viewpoint was echoed by other regulars. “So what can I do?” said the landlord. “Ban him from the pub? I can just see the headlines: ‘Vicar banned from village pub—bad for trade, says landlord.’ No, we’ll just have to hope he gets fed up with it. He’s not a real drinker, anyone can see that.”

Today Brian Rollinson surprised him. “A large whisky and water, please,” he said, “and what are you having, Sandy?”

Sandy glared at him, then shrugged and said, “Oh, well, if we’re celebrating something, I’ll have a Bacardi Breezer.”

“A what?” Brian raised his eyebrows.

“It’s the latest, Vicar,” said the landlord, and gave them their drinks. They ordered food, and were told to sit at a table—the corner one—where the sandwiches would be brought to them.

“Quite happy here, thanks,” said Brian, looking round. It was easier to be one of the crowd, sitting on a stool at the hub of the drinkers. Breaking down barriers, and all that.

“Come on, Brian,” said Sandy, carrying their drinks to the corner table. “You’re better out of the way, wearing that badge of office. Instant blight on the conversation. Anyway, I’ve got something to tell you.” He had decided it was a good moment, and the sooner said the better. But here, in a public place, he was going to have to be tactful. Put on a good act.

“It’s not that I’m not extremely grateful for what you’ve done for me,” he began, “but the truth is that we don’t hit it off too well together, do we?” He managed a rueful, self-blaming
smile, and saw the dawning of a new anxiety in Brian’s face.

“So I’ve done something about it, Brian,” he continued. “There’s this really promising flat in Tresham. A bit shabby, but in a good area. It’s all settled, and I can move in more or less straightaway. Or after I’ve done some refurbishing, anyway.” He took a deep breath and waited.

Brian passed a hand across his eyes and took a gulp of whisky. “A
fait accompli
then?” he said after a long pause. He knew it was part of the plan, but hadn’t expected it so soon. “No consultation, no discussion, no request for guidance?”

Sandy shook his head and frowned. “Brian,” he said firmly, “I am twenty-five years old, I have been working for my living for five years, and many of my friends are married with children. They make decisions on their own every day of the week. I have made some good friends around here. Some are even socially acceptable—entertained at the Hall—which should please you and Mother. As I said, I am more than grateful for your hospitality. I know what it has cost you, and I’m sorry for that. And,” he said, making a huge effort to suggest the last thing he wanted, “I hope you’ll give me a hand in choosing things for the flat … You’ve got really good taste ….”

At this, Brian Rollinson stood up. He barked out a mirthless laugh that caused heads to turn. “Good taste?” he said loudly. “Good taste in what? Curtains? Furniture? Pretty things for the sitting room? Certainly not in friends, apparently. Not in companions to keep the lonely hours at bay. No, Sandy,” he continued, “I shall not help you choose. You can wash your hands of me, as has everyone else.”

He shrugged on his coat, buttoned it up crookedly, and in total silence walked swiftly out of the pub.

Derek, sitting quietly nearby, finished his ploughman’s
and stood up. He walked over to a miserable-looking Sandy Mackerras and said, “Mind if I join you, lad?”

Sandy shrugged. “Suit yourself,” he said. “I’m having another—what can I get you?” The pub returned to its hubbub of conversation, and Sandy made his way back from the bar with their drinks. Derek settled in his chair and prepared to listen.

“S
O WHAT DID
YOU
SAY?
” L
OIS HAD JUST GREETED
Derek and heard some of what had gone on in the pub. She was still simmering about the Millers, and was only half listening. Sharon’s parents had refused to let her see Sharon the previous evening, saying she was in bed and poorly. The silly girl! Just because she had a wandering eye, they’d made a fool of her, spoilt her rotten. No sense of responsibility. How had she managed in the shop? But then, the old couple had no children of their own and had made things worse, making her think she was something special.

“Say about what?” Derek was patient, waiting for Lois to come to the point.

“You know, Derek. When Sandy told you about the vicar and his mother … about them not getting on and all that. What did you say?”

“Oh, right, yeah. Well, I said all families were difficult at times. Told him about Gran livin’ with us and it sometimes
bein’ a bit tricky. Said we’d all got to try a bit harder when things got difficult. That kind of stuff.”

“But did he tell you
why
they didn’t get on?” Lois wasn’t sure why she felt so curious. After all, it was someone else’s family business, nothing to do with her. And Sandy’s illness had nothing to do with witchcraft or poisoning. Well, nothing to do with witchcraft, anyway? It was just … it didn’t smell right. There was something about Brian Rollinson. He was outwardly friendly enough, but only up to a point. Then the shutters came down. Still, Lois reflected, all vicars were a bit like that. She supposed it was part of their training, like doctors and teachers, not to get too personally involved.

“Nope, he didn’t say any more about them,” Derek replied. “Just said they hardly spoke when she came to see him. The lad was really upset about something. Course, we all heard what Rollinson said when he stalked out. About everybody bein’ against him. Anyway, me duck,” he added briskly, “I just thought it might be useful info for you, deciding who you’re goin’ to send in there.”

“Very kind,” said Lois. “I might send Sheila in. Nice, motherly woman. And she’s a good listener.”

Derek looked at her suspiciously. “What’re you up to?” he said. “Why d’you want a good listener at the vicarage?”

“No reason,” Lois said hastily. “Just thought she might be a comfort to the vicar when Sandy moves out. You know, in case he feels lonely. He hasn’t really made any friends in the village, has he.”

“Give him a chance,” said Derek. “He’ll want to be up there with the nobs, I expect. Creepin’ to Mrs. T-J. Which reminds me,” he added, “Jamie rang. Said could he bring Annabelle to tea on Saturday, before they go to a film. I said he’d have to ask you.”

Gran had come in during this last sentence, and said chirpily, “Of course he can, can’t he, Lois? This is his home. Tell him yes, straightaway.”

Remembering the ear she was supposed to be keeping to the ground, Lois agreed. “Don’t go killing the fatted calf, Mum,” she said. “It’ll embarrass them.”

Gran bridled. “I suppose I’m allowed to make a cake for them? Is that all right? Or shall we just have bread and scrape?”

Derek could see trouble brewing, and decided to change the subject. But just as he began to describe his latest job over in Ringford, there was a tentative knock on the front door.

“I’ll go,” said Lois. She had an idea who it might be, and was right.

“Um … hello, Mrs. Meade.” It was Sharon, in the pink of health, but nervous.

“Ah, Sharon. Come in. Go in there, in my office.” Lois followed her in and shut the door. She motioned Sharon to a chair and sat down herself behind her desk. “Right,” she said. “Explain.”

“I’m really sorry about yesterday. It’s these migraines, you see,” the girl began. “They come on very sudden, and then I’m often sick, and can’t see very well. Only one thing to do then. Go to bed in a dark room and take a pill. Even that doesn’t work sometimes. Anyway, I’m usually all right next day.”

“Mmm,” said Lois. “Sounds bad.” She tried to look sympathetic, but couldn’t help thinking Sharon sounded as if she’d got all that from a medical dictionary. Still, why should the girl lie?

“Why didn’t you tell me this before?” Lois said in an even voice. “And how often do you have these attacks? Our clients rely on us turning up, and if you really don’t know when they’re coming on, it’s going to be difficult.”

“Oh, not very often! Luckily for me …” Sharon laughed, and then immediately stopped when she saw Lois’s unsmiling face. “And sometimes I do get a warning … flashing lights an’ that. If I take a pill then, I can sometimes
stave it off. Anyway, Mrs. M, it isn’t more than three or four times a year.”

“Right,” said Lois. She looked down at her revised schedules. “I’d like you to start with Mrs. Jordan on the new estate—”

“Oh, please!” interrupted Sharon, “can’t I carry on at the vicarage? I’d really like to do that, and Rev. Rollinson said how much he was looking forward to me goin’ there. An’ what with Hazel expectin’ the baby an’ that, I thought …”

“You can safely leave the organizing to me, Sharon,” Lois said acidly. She continued, “Well, I suppose you can have one more chance, if the vicar agrees.” It might be useful, after all, to have Sharon at the vicarage, lovesick as she was. If Sandy was in with the Tollervey-Jones lot, arch-gossip Sharon might well pick up something about the followers of the Prince of Darkness. It was worth another try.