Threats at Three (11 page)

As she crossed the hall with its chessboard black and white tiles, her eye was caught by a figure walking up the gravelled drive. As he approached she watched him with growing apprehension.

“Oh, God!” As he came closer, she recognized him. “No, no, no!” she yelled, and ran out of the hall, down the passage and into the kitchen. She checked the door was locked, and then shot the bolt in the scullery. Then she heard the front doorbell. He was keeping his finger on it without pausing, and Paula stuck her fingers in her ears. She cowered behind the larder door and prayed that he would go away.

Then she heard the blessed sound of Mrs. T-J’s car sweeping into the stable yard. She ran quickly to the long windows and saw the figure retreating rapidly across the park and disappear into a thicket bordering the road. Her heart was thudding, and she made a desperate attempt to pull herself together.

“Paula? Are you there? All well?” Mrs. T-J was in a good mood. She had put a card in the shop window advertising for an under-gardener to help out Bob, who was certainly in need of assistance. With the present job situation, someone was bound to apply, and all she had to do now was find a way of explaining the need for an assistant to the old man who had been tending the gardens at the hall for what must be more than fifty years.

“Ah, there you are. Are you all right? You look a bit surprised. Surely I told you I would be back? Only been to the village, you know.”

“I’m fine, thank you, Mrs. Tollervey-Jones. Just this dear old dog.” She bent down and patted the spaniel. “Gave me quite a start. She was asleep in the big chair, and I hadn’t noticed her until she snorted!”

“Dog lover, are you?” Mrs. Tollervey-Jones smiled. Splendid, she thought. Must tell Mrs. Meade that she can send Paula Hickson anytime she liked. Hickson? A familiar name, surely? She shook her head, and called the spaniel to offer a biscuit treat from the shop.

L
OIS HEARD THE DOORBELL, AND WAS NOT SURPRISED TO SEE Paula Hickson on the front step.

“Hope I’m not too early?”

Lois smiled, and said she was on the dot of noon, and to come in. “The others will be here shortly,” she said. “They come in dribs and drabs, according to what time they finish work. Sometimes clients want a bit of extra done. The customer is always right!” she added. Then she took a good look at Paula. She was neatly dressed, but pale, and when she fumbled in her bag to find a notebook and pen, Lois noted that her hand was trembling.

“Are you all right, Paula?” she said. Perhaps it was nervousness at her first day in a new job.

“Oh, yes, I’m fine,” Paula insisted, though she still felt considerably shaken by her husband’s sudden appearance at the hall. She was dreading what he might do next, but was making a huge effort to concentrate on Mrs. Meade and the prospect of meeting the others on the team.

“Morning, Mrs. M!” Three more were standing on the step, and Lois brought them in to her office. “This is Paula Hickson, new member of the team,” she said. “Sheila Stratford, Hazel Thornbull from our office in Tresham, and Bridie Reading, Hazel’s mum.” They all smiled and said welcoming things to Paula.

Last to arrive was Andrew Young, a cleaner on the team but also an interior designer who combined the two. The arrangement was a comparatively new development for Lois and had proved very successful. She was beginning to wonder if Andrew might one day soon give up cleaning and concentrate on what was, some would say, though probably not Gran, a more manly profession. So far, Andrew had insisted that he loved cleaning, was not gay, and found the two jobs complementary. He could drop in a commercial for his design business whilst polishing the silver, he joked.

One by one, the girls gave their reports. The previous week had been uneventful, until Bridie’s report caused Lois some concern.

“All was going well, Mrs. M,” Bridie said, “until I went to the pub in Waltonby on Friday. The new landlady there, Mrs. Coppice, is really nice, and we were having a quick cup of coffee halfway through the morning when the bell on the bar counter rang. Almost nobody comes in the pub on a Friday morning before midday, and Mrs. Coppice asked me to go through, saying it was probably a salesman on his rounds, and to get rid of him. I was to say she had popped out to a neighbour.

Lois happened to glance at Paula, and was alarmed to see her sway on her chair. “So what happened, Bridie? Was it a talent scout, wanting you to star in the next Bond movie?” Lois tried to keep her voice light. Bridie was known for her love of telling a good story.

“He weren’t a salesman, for sure,” Bridie said. “Big bloke, looked as he’d bin living rough. Filthy jacket, black hair needed cutting, black eyes that didn’t look straight at you. Real shifty, he was. He asked if the missus had any jobs needed doin’, and I said straightaway that we was fine and taken care of. Told him to try up the road at the farm, just to get rid of him, though I knew they’d not touch him with a barge pole. Gave me quite a turn though, and Mrs. Coppice insisted I took a very small brandy. Just tellin’ you this, Mrs. M, in case somebody smelled alcohol on my breath in the afternoon and got the wrong idea.”

The others listened spellbound. Wherever else Bridie was at fault, it was certainly not in the spinning of a good yarn. Lois turned to Paula, who had been staring at Bridie with a horrified expression.

“You did well, Bridie,” she said, “and I reckon I would’ve needed a brandy in your place. Thanks for keeping us informed. It might be useful if he turns up anywhere else on our patch.”

As the others drifted off after the meeting, Lois said quietly to Paula that she would like her to stay behind for a few minutes. When they were alone, she motioned her to a chair, and Paula sat down.

“You know who he was, don’t you, Paula,” Lois said. Best not to beat about the bush.

“It was him, my Jack,” Paula said, her lip quivering. Her knuckles were white with the strain of keeping her hands steady. “He turned up at the hall this morning, when Mrs. Tollervey-Jones was out down the village. Luckily she came back before he could get at me. But he saw me, and he’ll try again.”

Then the strain was too much, and she covered her face with her hands. In a muffled voice she said that she would be going home now, and was really sorry that it had all come to an end before she’d had a chance to show what she could do.

“What d’you mean, come to an end?” Lois said. “Do you think I’d give you your cards just because of that? Blimey, what kind of a person d’you think I am? No, you just sit here and I’ll get Gran to make us a cuppa. Take it easy, Paula. You’re a New Brooms team member now, and we’ll stick by you.”

Reflecting that she sounded like a character from a bad movie, Lois went off to the kitchen to persuade Gran.

 

 

“ALL WELL?” SAID DEREK WHEN HE CAME IN FOR LUNCH. HE sniffed good smells and said he was starving. “Running up and down stairs on the new rewiring job has given me an appetite,” he said, patting Gran on her shoulder. She smiled, and said a bit of running up and down stairs would not do Lois any harm.

“She’s been sitting at her desk all morning,” she said.

“How did the meeting go, me duck?” Derek gave Lois a peck on the cheek, just to even things up.

“No so bad,” Lois said. “Bit hairy at the end, when the new woman—”

“Oh, yes,” interrupted Derek, “the new woman. Paula Hickson? Not trouble already?”

“No, not her,” Lois said hastily, remembering that Paula was a big mistake as far as Gran and Derek were concerned. “I meant Bridie. She’s back at work after her operation. Sort of a new start.”

“Nice try,” said Derek. “Anyway, what happened?”

Lois gave them the gist of Bridie’s story, and said that the others had looked a bit alarmed. “Not Andrew, of course, but the girls said they often have to answer the door, when clients are out, an’ that.”

Gran shrugged. “There’s always been tramps trudging round the villages,” she said. “I remember when I was a kid, one bright moonlight night I heard this terrible singing. More yelling than singing, it was. I got out of bed to look out the window, and there was this man, drunk as a lord, stumbling by in the middle of the road, and I was scared stiff! I shot back into bed and pulled the covers over my head. O’ course, it was just some poor old sod on his way to the workhouse.”

Derek chuckled. “You and Bridie Reading,” he said, “should set up as a double act as storytellers. You could have a tent on the playing fields for Soap Box Day.”

“If you want your dinner,” Gran replied huffily, “you’d better sit down and be grateful, in case I decide to give it to Jeems here. At least dogs don’t answer back.”

 

 

IN A DESERTED BRICK BARN ON A FIELD OUTSIDE WALTONBY, JACK Hickson Sr. snored on a heap of dirty straw in a dark corner. He had managed to coax a sandwich out of a scared housewife up the road, and while she’d gone to make it he’d snitched a couple of bottles of Old Best from the outside toilet. Funny place to keep supplies, he’d thought, but very handy. Now he whiled away the warm afternoon in an alcoholic doze. The problem of where he would be next day had been postponed. All he knew was that he had to keep moving, but never too far away from Paula and the kids. Especially his namesake, Jack Jr.

A
FTER THE MEETING ANDREW YOUNG HAD SET OFF ON FOOT to find Gavin Adstone’s wife, Kate. There was nobody at home, and as he had not made an appointment he decided to wander about for a while. She couldn’t have gone far, as a car was parked in the open garage.

Andrew had met Gavin in the pub a couple of evenings ago, and in the course of conversation had mentioned his interior décor business. Gavin had said that his wife had been talking about giving the cottage a makeover. It was very dingy, he said, but as they’d been so busy with bringing up baby since they moved to the village, they hadn’t had time to think about what they would want to do about decorating.

Now he walked briskly around the village, turning back into Church Street, and if she had returned, he intended to say he had just been at a meeting in the village and thought he would look in as he was passing. There had obviously been some kind of family service in the church, and knots of young mothers with pushchairs and small hangers-on were grouped on the pavement. Andrew had no idea what Kate Adstone looked like, so kept going until he reached the cottage. He knocked at the door, and heard a shout from behind him. An attractive, dark-haired girl was running towards him, the pushchair bumping over the uneven pavement.

“Looking for me?” she gasped, out of breath as she approached.

“Are you Kate?” Andrew asked.

He didn’t look like a salesman, Kate thought. He was dressed casually, had curly dark hair, and an open smile. “Yes, I am. Can I help you?” she said.

Andrew explained that he had met Gavin in the pub, and that as well as cleaning for New Brooms he ran an interior décor business, and wondered if she would like to have a chat. Gavin had said they might be interested in brightening up their cottage.

“We had talked about it,” she said. “He mentioned meeting you in the pub. But I think it would be best if you came when he was at home. He hates being left out! How about this evening? He usually gets back around half six. Would that be any good?”

“Fine,” replied Andrew, abandoning his plan for an evening with a takeaway and a film. “I’ll come around seven, shall I? Or half-past, maybe? We men always think better on a full stomach.”

As he made his way back to his car, still parked outside Meade House, Andrew remembered Bridie Reading’s dramatic story, and wondered who the poor sod was who’d been looking for work. It was a downwards spiral, being homeless, as he knew from his work in the Tresham shelter just up the road from his flat. No permanent address, so no job. Stealing money to buy alcohol and drugs was all part of the sad decline.

Andrew had been through bad times himself after his parents were killed in a car crash, and remembered only too well the awful lethargy that overtook him when he should have been out looking for a job, starting a new life. At least he had had money to tide him over.