When Alice Met Danny (11 page)

‘We only had the two children.’ There was regret in the old voice. She was propped up on three pillows, her face close to Alice’s ear, but her voice was little more than a whisper. ‘Robbie died young. He was a sickly boy. His younger brother Derek was quite the opposite. He was into all the sports; rugby, football, you name it, he played it.’ The smile had returned to her face.

‘And how do I contact him if there’s ever any need?’

‘He lives in Canada. He emigrated with his wife the best part of thirty years ago. He comes over every few years, though, and he phones me.’ She was looking much more cheerful now. ‘Peter’s been in touch with him and he phoned me a few days ago, here at the hospital. He’s going to come over in a week or two. If you need his number, it’s in the address book on the shelf above the Aga.’

Alice was delighted to hear the news and could imagine how much it would mean to Mrs Tinker to see her only surviving child again. She could also see that the old lady was tiring. She changed the subject and told her how the house in Beauchamp was progressing.

‘The Burrell boys are doing a terrific job. The kitchen looks about twice the size and the new bathroom upstairs is ready for plastering. The electrician and the plumber started today. They have to put in all their wires and pipes before the walls can be finished off.’

‘Who are you using to do that?’

Alice gave her a smile. ‘The plumber has more tattoos than a gang of Hell’s Angels, and the electrician would make your decorator friend, Neil, look like a dwarf.’ Seeing the expression on the old lady’s face, she giggled. ‘I’m exaggerating a little bit, but he’s so tall he has to duck to get in the door. But he’s as thin as a rake. His name’s Gerry, and they all call him the giraffe.’

Mrs Tinker reached out and caught her arm. ‘I know Gerry, he’s a lovely boy.’ This was not the phrase Alice would have used to describe the fifty year old beanpole of a man, but she nodded as Mrs Tinker went on. ‘And is the plumber called Scottie?’

‘That’s right, Mrs Tinker. He’s even got “Scottie” tattooed on the back of his head. You know everybody round here, don’t you? Which reminds me, you never did finish your story about my dog-walking companion, Mandy.’

‘Did I not? Well,’ Mrs Tinker cast a watchful eye around the ward. There was nobody awake within earshot. ‘She didn’t tell you why her husband left her, did she?’

Alice shook her head.

‘She and her daughter arrived back in the village a couple of years ago.’

Alice looked up in surprise. She had imagined that Mandy would have been born and bred in Woodcombe to have such an encyclopaedic knowledge of everybody and everything. Mrs Tinker read her expression.

‘She was from here originally, and her mum’s still here, but she’s gone a bit doolally. Mandy moved to London and got married. She had the one daughter. A nice girl, but a bit of a tearaway, though that was probably because of the divorce. Anyway, a couple of years ago, she and her husband split up, so she came back to Woodcombe. Mrs Armstrong, who used to run the butcher’s before it closed, knows her and her mum very well. The reason for the divorce was infidelity.’ Mrs Tinker looked suitably disapproving. ‘And she was the guilty party. She had an affair, and the marriage collapsed because of it. There, I bet she didn’t tell you that.’

‘Oh dear, what a shame. It must have been awful for their daughter.’ Mrs Tinker nodded sadly. Clearly, her knowledge of the folk in the village was every bit as comprehensive as Mandy’s, so Alice decided to ask her the question she had avoided asking Mandy. ‘While we’re talking about village people, I wonder of you could satisfy my curiosity about somebody else?’

‘I’m sure I don’t know as much about the village goings-on as Mandy, but I can try.’

Alice smiled. She felt sure the old lady in her heyday would have been able to run rings round Amanda. ‘What can you tell me about Mr Tremayne at Manor Farm?’ She immediately saw Mrs Tinker’s face cloud.

‘Now, Alice, that really is a sad, sad tale.’ She gave Alice a weary look. ‘And it’s a long one. I’ll tell you tomorrow, if you don’t mind. I’m think I might just have a little snooze now.’

Her eyes were already closing as Alice left the room.

A sad, sad tale
. Alice was still thinking about Mrs Tinker’s words as she drew up outside 23 Lyndhurst Avenue. The Burrell brothers had gone off to another job this week, so as to leave the place free for the electrician and plumber. Inside, she found Scottie on his knees in the kitchen, identifiable by his helpful tattoo, while Gerry the Giraffe had disappeared into the roof space. Sinister thumps and a ghostly scraping sound indicated his exact whereabouts. Tentatively, she climbed the ladder until her head was inside the loft. It was a big space and they had even considered turning it into a fourth bedroom for a while. In the end it was decided to keep it for storage.

‘Hello, Gerry, is that you?’

‘Certainly is. I’m doing a bit of treasure hunting.’ He pointed across to a small suitcase. ‘I found that underneath the old insulation. It’s locked. I thought you might want to try and pick the lock. Otherwise I can easily break it for you if you like.’

He crawled back across the joists and handed her the case, which she took gingerly.

‘Feels a bit too light for doubloons, I’m afraid.’ She gave him a big smile.

He was clearly one of the glass half full persuasion. ‘You never know, it could be a map showing the location of buried treasure.’

‘Well, if that’s what it is, you’ll be due a finder’s fee. Anyway, we’ll open it together when you come back downstairs.’

‘Ten minutes and I’m out of here.’

Alice climbed back down the ladder and took the case into the lounge. The new floor joists were in position and she knew that as soon as Scottie and Gerry had finished, the new floorboards would go down. She laid the case in the corner and went out through the kitchen into the garden. Outside, Scottie the plumber was on his knees, about to start drilling a hole in the wall for the sink waste.

‘It’s going to get a bit noisy and a bit dusty round here. You might do well to stay down the far end of the garden for a few minutes.’ She thanked him and took his advice. The garden, now that all the rubbish had been cleared away, looked much bigger. Miraculously, they had even found a couple of shrubs still alive in spite of having spent years under heaps of rubble. She had decided to simply turf the rest.

‘Afternoon.’ She spun round, unsure where the voice had come from, and looked up. There, peeking over the top of the fence, was a face she hadn’t seen before.

‘You must be my new neighbour.’ He was a sandy-haired man with piercing royal blue eyes. ‘Name’s Mortimore. I would offer you my hand, but I’d probably fall off this damn ladder while I did so.’

She gave him a bright smile. ‘Alice Grant. I knocked on your door a few times, but you were never there.’

‘Just come back from Italy. I’ve got a house near Florence and I find myself spending most of the year there. I only really use this place as a pied-à-terre for a few weeks now and then. I must say it’s good to see the clutter all gone. You’ve got a fair job on your hands, I dare say.’

She grimaced. ‘It wasn’t a pretty sight. But, now, we’re getting on very well. It’s all cleared out and the builders have been marvellous.’

‘I would be happy to offer you a cup of coffee if you have time.’ He shifted his weight on the ladder. ‘You can come in by the back gate if you like. I’ve done all the pruning I intend to do here anyway.’

Alice decided it would be sensible to do her best to bond with her neighbour, so she accepted gratefully. She went out through her smart new back gate and round into his garden. It was a bit overgrown, but she could see at once that he had some beautiful plants in there. With a few days’ work, it would be a delight. She walked up the path and met him by the rear of the house.

‘I can offer you my hand to shake now without fear of causing an accident.’ He smiled at her. She shook his hand and took a closer look at him as she did so. He was probably at least ten years older than her, in his late forties or early fifties. There was no doubt about it, though. He was one of the most handsome men she had ever seen. He looked very fit and the blue eyes were somehow compelling. ‘Would you like to take a seat out here?’ He waved her into a smart conservatory that had been tacked onto the back of the house.

‘This is a lovely room.’ She looked around, rather regretting not having done something similar next door. ‘Did you put this on?’

‘Yes. I must confess it was as much as a barrier to that crazy Browning woman as anything. At least from in here you couldn’t see her or, God help us all, smell her. Now, what can I get you?’

Alice looked at her watch. It was almost four o’clock. ‘A cup of tea would be wonderful, if that’s all right.’

‘Of course. Now just make yourself comfortable for a few minutes while I make it.’

‘Can I help?’

‘No, thanks, I can manage tea by myself.’ He gave her a smile. ‘It’s when I start cooking that things tend to go wrong.’ He disappeared into the house. She sat down on a wicker chair and studied her surroundings. Although there was no direct sun on the conservatory at that time of the afternoon, it was very warm in there. She pulled her jumper up and over her head, inadvertently catching her T-shirt and pulling that up with it. As she removed the jumper and scrabbled to pull her T-shirt back down again, she opened her eyes to find him standing by the door, clearly fascinated by the scene.

‘Oh, please excuse me.’ She saw the slight smile on his face and tried to brazen it out. ‘I don’t always start stripping off as soon as I’m in a strange man’s house.’

‘Well, in that case I will consider myself particularly fortunate.’ In spite of the age gap between them, she found herself blushing. ‘Anyway, I just came to ask if you want any particular type of tea.’ He reeled off a list of exotic names, but she stopped him when he got to English breakfast. Any further embarrassment was interrupted by the sound of the kettle boiling. He disappeared once more and she had time to calm down and take stock of her feelings. That had been an almost flirty exchange and, to her surprise, she found it rather stimulating. Absentmindedly, she folded her jumper and laid it over the arm of the chair. At that moment, he returned with a tray. On it were two mugs of tea and a plate of biscuits. She saw that they were typical Tuscan
cantuccini
, made with almonds.

‘The
biscottini
should be good. At least they’re fresh, but do be careful. They’re as hard as rocks.’ He pushed the plate towards her. ‘I tend to dip them in the tea. Saves on dentist’s bills.’

They chatted for over half an hour. He was a good conversationalist and she found that she enjoyed his company. For his part, he seemed as delighted as Vicky, her other immediate neighbour, that the horror house was finally being civilised. When her watch showed four-thirty, Alice stood up and took her leave.

‘I really must go and see how the electrician and the plumber are getting on. Thank you for the tea. I look forward to being able to return the favour before too long.’ He accompanied her to the door. As she was leaving she turned back to him. ‘I’m very sorry, I didn’t get your full name.’

‘Oh, please excuse me. It’s Daniel, Daniel Mortimore. My friends call me Danny.’ They shook hands once more and she left, her head spinning.
What is it about me and men called Danny
?

Chapter 20

Gerry and Scottie were taking a break. Both had cups of tea. Scottie had lit a roll-up, while Gerry was demolishing a sticky bun. He looked up as Alice came in.

‘Ah, that’s good. I thought you’d gone off and left us with the secret of the treasure map still unsolved.’ Gerry levelled a thumb at the suitcase. ‘I was telling Scottie about it. He thinks it’s full of bank notes.’

Scottie took a final drag of his cigarette. ‘So, do we pick or smash the locks?’ The two men exchanged glances.

Gerry picked up a hammer. ‘I was never any good at picking locks. What about you, Scottie?’

‘Never tried. No, give it a whack.’

Gerry gave Alice a quizzical look. Alice shook
my friends call me Danny
, her next-door neighbour, out of her head and concentrated on the matter in hand. She shrugged and nodded. Gerry raised the hammer and, with two quick blows, smashed the locks clean off. He refrained from opening the lid. Instead, he turned formally towards Alice. ‘If Madam would like to do the honours?’

Alice came over and sat down on a toolbox beside Gerry, setting the suitcase down on her knees. Taking the lid in both hands she pulled it upwards. All three of them leant forward as it opened.

‘I told you there weren’t any doubloons.’ Alice was disappointed to see nothing but a sheaf of papers in there.

‘But that could still be the treasure map, couldn’t it?’ Gerry was still hopeful, but beside him, Scottie extended a thumb and turned it downwards.

‘Hope springs eternal, but somehow I don’t think there’s a map here.’ He stubbed his cigarette out on the side of his toolbox, and flicked it into the hole where the floor was yet to be put down. ‘So, Alice, what does it all say?’

She picked up the sheets and flicked through them. They were all handwritten on cheap lined paper, yellow with age. They were letters. She was fascinated to see that they were dated 1915 to 1916. The heading on each sheet read simply
France
and a date. To her great excitement, it became clear that these were letters written by a soldier in the trenches of the First World War, the period that so fascinated her. In every case, the handwriting was the same. She glanced down to the signature at the bottom of the pages and almost squealed out loud. He had signed them all in the selfsame way.
Yours forever, Danny
.

She sat bolt upright.
That name again!

‘You all right, Alice?’ Gerry sounded concerned. ‘What is it? You look like somebody’s just walked over your grave.’

‘Sorry, Gerry. No, I’m fine. It’s just these letters. They were written by a soldier in the trenches of the First World War. I’m studying that period at the moment. The terrible thing is that they only go up to 1916.’ She flicked through to the last sheet. ‘July first, 1916. How awful. I wonder if he was killed.’ She sat back in shocked silence.