The Village Green Affair (17 page)

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Authors: Rebecca Shaw

BOOK: The Village Green Affair
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She had to admit she loved people-watching when she was on her own, and the two women on the sofa opposite her were absolutely right for it. Their conversation was ripe with coarse language. Grandmama quite relished their colourful choice of words, but then the conversation became much more interesting.
 
‘. . . He promised me one, blast him, and, as he promised, he came home with it Friday. Beautiful, such good taste. He does have an eye.’
 
‘Let’s hope it’s just for the silver and not the women!’ They both cackled with laughter and nudged each other. In view of her present predicament, the use of the word silver intrigued Grandmama, and she cursed the woman with the crying baby behind her as it partially masked Old Peroxide’s voice.
 
‘It’s the most beautiful I’ve ever seen, decorated lovely it is, with, like, a castle on it. I’ve decided I’m going to collect them. He says there’s more where that came from. One hundred and fifty pounds, he gave. An absolute snip, he says.’
 
‘A lot for a little box you can’t use, even if it is silver.’
 
Old Peroxide bridled. ‘You, my girl, haven’t seen it.’
 
‘No, but I’d like to,’ said Young Peroxide, hinting furiously.
 
‘Finished your coffee?’ Old Peroxide twice struggled to get out of the sofa and managed it at the third attempt.
 
‘You going?’
 
‘Yes, home to show you my box. That’s if you want?’
 
Grandmama hoped they didn’t notice that she was already struggling to release herself from her armchair.
 
‘Give me time to collect my shopping,’ said Young Peroxide, carefully shuffling together three expensive carriers.
 
They both headed straight for the taxi rank outside Culworth station, and so did Grandmama. Never in her life had she used the phrase, ‘Follow that car!’ But today she did. The Peroxides’ taxi departed smoothly, with Grandmama’s cab at a discreet distance behind.
 
‘Don’t get too close, I don’t want them to know they’re being followed.’
 
‘You sound like a detective.’
 
In order to engage the taxi driver’s enthusiasm she indulged herself in a piece of fantasy. ‘That’s because I am.’
 
‘You look a bit . . . well, old for a detective.’
 
‘That’s why I am one. No one imagines I could possibly be a detective at my age. But I’m the best in the business.’ The taxi in front was now hurtling along at quite a lick, and Grandmama had to cling on for fear of being thrown off the seat. ‘Watch! Watch! He’s signalling.’ But they were only turning into a driveway.
 
Grandmama shrieked, ‘Don’t drive in!’
 
So her driver slid quietly along the street and parked.
 
‘Give them a chance to get into the house and then back up. I need the house number. Gently, gently. No screaming tyres.’
 
Obediently, the driver did as she requested.
 
Number fifty-seven, she noted. ‘Right, pull further along and park again.’
 
As he parked she opened her bag, took out Mac’s card with his number on it and dialled him on her mobile.
 
‘Detective Sergeant? That you? Good. I’m parked in The Avenue in Culworth outside number fifty-seven. Got that? Fifty-seven, The Avenue. Two women have just gone inside, and the one who lives there is going to show the other one what her husband bought her yesterday,
a silver box
. Significant, eh? And she says there’s more where that came from. Come quickly. You’ll catch them with . . . hello?’
 
Blimey! thought the taxi driver. She really
is
a detective.
 
Grandmama shook her phone vigorously. ‘Damn the blasted thing. It’s died. Well, can’t be my phone. Must be Mac’s. Blast it. Right, come on, we’re going in.’ She reached out to open the rear door.
 
‘You’re not and I’m not,’ said the taxi driver, alarmed. ‘No way. You know the address. They’ll keep.’
 
He revved up and drove away to find a wider stretch of road to turn round in. Over Grandmama’s protests from the back he shouted, ‘They could have guns and you’re not going in and I definitely aren’t.’ He spun round in the road and, driving past number fifty-seven again, headed back to the station taxi rank.
 
Grandmama howled but the driver refused to stop. How could he? How could he? She ranted and raved in the back, scheming to leap out the moment he stopped, but the lights were with him and he didn’t need to stop till he arrived at the taxi rank.
 
‘Five pounds, madam, please. Thanks. You know, at your age you should take life a little steadier and give up this detective lark. It could get dangerous.’
 
The moment she grabbed her change Grandmama headed off to the police station, which, fortunately for her, was right by the railway station.
 
The taxi driver watched her and slowly shook his head. He wondered if she’d ever heard of the word retirement. But he guessed she hadn’t because she raced through the door of the police station moving faster than that three-year-old filly he’d backed yesterday.
 
Not a single police officer on duty recognized her. Nor were they inclined to listen to this crazy, breathless old girl determined to have them racing out in hot pursuit of someone or other right in the middle of their morning break.
 
‘Sorry, love,’ one said. ‘You sit down and catch your breath for a bit and then you can get on with your shopping. Here, have my coffee, I haven’t started it yet. Do you good. Sugar?’
 
One taste of the coffee and she had to assume he was trying to poison her. ‘Thank you very much, but no. If you drink this stuff every day, it’s enough to give you a death wish.’
 
Feeling slightly insulted, the officer on the counter asked if she had a relative he could ring.
 
‘You could ring your deputy commissioner and tell him my name. He knows my son.’
 
Too old a bird to fall for that kind of ploy, the constable indicated with his pen that she should drink her coffee instead.
 
‘But he does!’
 
Finally she came to realize that it was not the morning for catching thieves and so, quite overcome by her efforts, in particular that rapid march into the police station, she asked the constable to order her a taxi, as though she were staying in a hotel.
 
He stood at the door, put two fingers to his mouth and gave a piercing whistle, signalling to the first taxi in the rank to pull forward. Unfortunately for the driver, it was the taxi she’d originally hailed. But business being thin this morning he could do nothing but agree to take her. ‘But let it be understood, I am not chasing criminals. I only do that on Fridays.’
 
Ruefully Grandmama agreed.
 
She was so full to bursting with her morning’s adventure she couldn’t just go home so she went to Jimbo’s. Seated in his thinking chair, she complained loudly about the police force. She smacked her right fist into the palm of her left hand and shouted, ‘I had them in the house, you see, with the silver box, and still the police wouldn’t help me.’
 
‘I’m glad you didn’t go in,’ Jimbo said.
 
‘I should have done.’ She clenched her fist again and thumped the chair arm. ‘I should have done. Mac’s damned phone packed up. I might have had a chance with him, but no, everything was against me. Even the taxi driver said he only chased criminals on Fridays.’
 
Jimbo left her drinking the coffee he’d made her and went to phone Mac. ‘Your phone’s working now then? My mother said she tried to phone you.’
 
‘Sorry about that. Got in a tunnel and the dratted thing packed up.’
 
His reply appeared a little too glib to Jimbo, but he couldn’t refute it.
 
‘Your mother . . .’
 
‘Yes?’
 
‘Try to discourage her from going out investigating by herself.’
 
‘You try! Anyway, perhaps if the officers at Culworth had gone like she asked, they could have caught the thieves red-handed.’
 
‘Get a bit obsessive about their routine, you know, don’t like too much disruption.’
 
‘You can say that again. However, I shall be seeing the deputy commissioner later this week. His daughter’s getting married and he wants the best caterer he can find - and that’s me. I might just have a word. Let that idle lot in Culworth know, will you?’
 
All he heard on the other end of the phone was chuckling and then it went dead.
 
Mac knew he needed rather more information than he had before approaching number fifty-seven. Such as who paid the rates for that house. A quick peep at the electoral roll would suffice. He might even take Grandmama with him when he did go so she could identify them. That would be an interesting experience! He was into that kind of thing for the book he was going to write in his retirement. But he just hoped she didn’t intend to ask why his phone had packed up at the crucial moment. Phones ‘packing up’ was the most brilliant pretence and avoided no end of hassle. He smiled slyly at this thought, and there was a kind of secretive charm about his smile which he wouldn’t have liked his wife to see. It didn’t do for wives to know what their husbands were up to every minute of every day. He planned to ask Grandmama to try again next week. Those two women might just make a habit of going into Culworth on Mondays.
 
Chapter 9
 
No one in the village saw Titus Bellamy from one Thursday to the next, and this week was the same, except for Liz, who saw him on Tuesday evening.
 
She was already seated in the reception area of the Wise Man restaurant in Culworth when Titus walked in. They were both filled to the brim with anticipation, and their eagerness spilled over into beaming smiles, clasped hands and their first real kiss. The tenderness of that first kiss silenced them both.
 
Then Titus bent over her and kissed her again just as sweetly as before. ‘Liz. I’ve missed you.’
 
‘And I you.’
 
‘Let’s go in.’ He gently ushered her into the restaurant proper and made sure they were seated in a quiet corner and not by the entrance to the kitchens. ‘No, not there, too noisy,’ he said to the waiter. ‘I prefer that corner by the bay window.’
 
‘I’m sorry, sir, that table is . . .’
 
‘That’s the one I want.’ He smiled at the waiter, and led Liz across to it.
 
The waiter acquiesced and, having seated them, handed each of them a menu and discreetly disappeared.
 
Liz thought that Neville would have made such a fuss about changing tables and here Titus had achieved his objective without so much as a raised voice.
 
‘You do like your own way.’
 
‘I hate sitting by the kitchen with everyone else’s dinners wafting past me, as well as all the shouting in the kitchen each time the door opens. It quite spoils my appetite. How have you been since I saw you last?’
 
‘Telling lies.’
 
‘It’s difficult not to. About tonight?’
 
‘No, about lunch on Thursday. The roses were a giveaway. I turned them into a thank you for the party.’
 
Titus smiled wryly. ‘How did he find out I’d been?’
 
Liz had to laugh. ‘If you have to ask that you don’t know villages. You were spotted, flowers and all, at my door, both arriving and leaving, and someone told Neville. So he knew to the minute how long you’d been in the house.’
 
‘Liz. Is he terribly upset?’
 
No point in not being truthful. This relationship - or whatever it was - had to be open and honest, she couldn’t cope if it wasn’t. ‘Yes, he is.’
 
‘Are you ready to order, sir?’ the waiter asked.
 
‘Not yet. I’ll catch your eye when we are.’ Said so gently the waiter couldn’t possibly have taken offence.
 
Liz liked that. In fact, his every word, his every gesture, endeared him to her by the second. She looked into his eyes, fixedly, as though there was no looking away. ‘You see, another thing that’s happened is our boys, Guy and Hugh, have told Neville they want out of the business. They’re both directors but they don’t approve of the way he does business.’
 
‘A double whammy then. That must be a terrible blow. Has he talked to you about it?’

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