The Heart of the Dales (50 page)

‘Why's that?' I asked.

‘Because I'm leaving, that's why.'

‘You're not!' I exclaimed.

‘I am. Finishing at the end of the week.'

‘For goodness sake, why didn't you say something?'

‘You know I'm not a one for any fuss,' she told me. ‘I can't be doing with it. As I put in my letter to Dr Gore, I've done my job to the best of my facility and now I want to enjoy my
retirement while I can, with only my own house and the caravan to clean. Also, I want to be able to spend a bit more time with the grandchildren.'

‘But you must have a send-off, Connie' I said. ‘You can't walkout of the door after all these years, not finish without a bit of a do.'

‘It's been a bit of a do all these forty years, Mr Phinn, having to deal with all the destruction and debris you inspectors leave behind. I don't want no ‘bit of a do'. They had a ‘bit of a do', as you call it, when my Ted retired from driving buses for forty years, rain or shine, wind and snow, ice and fog. They gave him a clock, ugly shiny gold thing it were, far too fancy for us. It stopped a week later. Anyway, I've got more clocks than I know what to do with. I don't know why they always give you a clock at the end. Is it so you can spend the rest of your time looking at it and seeing your life ticking away? Anyway, Ted's clock had a label on the bottom saying where they bought it from – Just Clocks in Station Parade in Brindcliffe – so I took it back and got a refund. Do you know that when my Ted retired, the General Manager – some youngster, wet behind the ears – said what a valued colleague he had been and how much he'd be missed. Didn't even know my Ted's name. Kept on calling him Ed. Didn't know him from Adam.'

‘I think everyone knows
your
name, Connie,' I said, ‘and I know for certain that you'll be greatly missed.'

‘Well, that's as may be,' she replied, dismissing the compliment with a shrug. ‘Any road, when I won on the bingo, I said to Ted –'

‘You won on the bingo!' I exclaimed.

‘I did,' she hissed, ‘but keep your voice down. I don't want all and Sunday knowing. I scooped the Christmas jackpot, so you see going to bingo wasn't such a waste of time, like what you said.'

‘Congratulations! How much did you win?'

Connie shrugged again. ‘That's for me to know,' she told me. ‘It's given me and Ted a bit of a nest egg, and it will
supplicate my pension. So, you see, I won't be needing no overall after this week. Mr Clamp is welcome to it.'

For a moment, I considered telling her the truth, that her prized pink overall would be enshrined forever on the wall at St Margaret's School, preserved for all time in a fancy frame for the entire world to see, but I thought better of it. I somehow didn't feel she would find it amusing. ‘I'm sure Sidney didn't take it, you know,' I said.

‘Oh, yes he did,' said Connie. ‘He went all quiet and guilty-looking when I brought it up at your meeting. He looked like a naughty child who had just been found out. I've known him long enough to be wise to his little japes and shenanigans. And if he thinks I'll take that letter he sent me seriously –'

‘Letter?'

‘He's sent me a joke letter.' She reached underneath the table for her handbag and, after rummaging through the contents, found a rather crumpled envelope, which she handed to me. ‘He must think my brains are made of porridge to fall for this one.'

I read the letter. I was stunned.

‘The Prime Minster has asked me to inform you, in strict confidence, that he has in mind, on the occasion of the forthcoming New Year Honours, to submit your name to The Queen with a recommendation that Her Majesty may be graciously pleased to approve that you be appointed a Member of the Order of the British Empire.'

‘Connie, this is no joke,' I told her, running my finger over the embossed crest and address at the top of the letter. ‘It's the real thing!'

‘Don't be so daft!'

‘It is.'

‘And who would want to give a medal to a cleaner?' she asked.

‘The Queen,' I said, ‘that's who.'

‘It's Mr Clamp's idea of being funny,' she said, but there was a hint of doubt now in her voice. ‘Isn't it?'

‘No, Connie. This is an authentic letter from 10 Downing Street. You're getting a medal.'

‘Are you kidding?'

‘Not at all.'

‘You mean they want to give me this – what was it?' she asked. ‘An MBE?' Connie stood there, shaking her head.

‘This is wonderful,' I said. ‘Many many congratulations,' and I planted a little kiss on her cheek.

‘Mr Phinn!' Connie squeaked, turning bright pink.

‘But it's got to be kept secret until the Honours List is announced in the New Year,' I cautioned her. ‘You shouldn't have told me or anyone – except perhaps Ted – until it's official. It says in the letter that you have to keep it to yourself, it's in the strictest confidence, until the announcement.'

‘Well, I didn't know it was for real,' she said. She looked flustered and now her face began to drain of colour. ‘You wouldn't have me on, would you?' asked Connie, gripping my arm.

‘No, Connie, I'm not having you on.'

‘You mean I'm getting a medal?' she murmured. ‘You mean, I'm actually getting to meet Her Majesty at Buckingham Palace, that I'll get to talk to the Queen? I mean, how would the Queen know about
me
?'

‘I believe she – or more likely the Government – reviews recommendations that are sent in. It's not only retiring politicians, pop stars or footballers that get medals. You'll now have the letters MBE after your name,' I told her.

‘I think I'm going to faint,' she said, resting her hand on the table and bending over like a broken puppet.

‘Don't forget – you mustn't say anything to anybody,' I warned her as I caught sight of Geraldine and Sidney heading in our direction.

‘Connie, are we going to get a glass of sherry or not?' asked Sidney. ‘We've been here a good half hour and not a sign of any libation. And when can we make a start on that delicious-looking repast which you have so beautifully prepared?' Connie stared into the middle distance and said nothing. She had a puzzled faraway look on her face. ‘Connie! Are you all right? Did you hear me?'

‘You look ill, Connie,' said Geraldine taking her arm. ‘Would you like to sit down?'

‘No, I'll be fine, Dr Mullarkey, thank you very much,' she replied vacantly. ‘I just feel a bit funny, that's all. I'd better see to the drinks.'

After she'd left the room Sidney said to me, ‘I don't know what you were saying to Connie but you appear to have frightened the life out of her. She went out of this room looking like an extra from
The Village of the Damned
.'

‘I'll go after her,' said Geraldine.

‘No, I'll go,' I said.

I found Connie in the kitchen. She was sitting behind the hatch crying. ‘Now, now, Connie,' I said, putting my arm around her shoulder. ‘Why the tears? You should be over the moon.'

‘I don't know what's the matter with me,' she said, sniffing noisily. ‘I've come over all unnecessary, as my mother used to say. It's the shock, I suppose. Meeting the Queen. I thought it was a joke, that it was Mr Clamp playing his usual fun and games.' She shook her head. ‘To think that anybody would want to give me a medal for cleaning toilets and doing a bit of dusting.'

‘You do more that that Connie,' I told her, ‘much, much more.'

‘Brave people like my father, they get medals,' she said. ‘People what make a difference in life. I have Dad's medals on the sideboard at home. I polish them every week. I don't know what he'd make of this, I really don't.'

‘He'd be so proud of you,' I said. ‘You make a real difference to people's lives, Connie, and if anybody deserves a medal, it's you.'

‘I just do my job, that's all,' she said, choking back a sob.

‘You do more than that. Now, come on, dry those eyes and I'll help you with the sherry. And, remember, you must reply to the letter at once telling them you will accept the award or they'll think you don't want it. Also, remember, not a word about the letter to anyone.'

When we arrived back in the lounge area, we discovered Dr Gore had made an appearance with Mrs Savage. His PA was dressed in a striking cerise silk dress with a feather boa draped around her shoulders and, as ever, jangled with expensive jewellery. She was never knowingly underdressed was Mrs Savage, and rarely missed an opportunity to show off yet another new outfit. She was in conversation with Miss de la Mare and David as I approached them with the tray of sherry.

‘So is it a quiet Christmas for you this year, Mrs Savage?' the Chief Inspector was enquiring.

‘Good gracious, no, Miss de la Mare,' Mrs Savage replied, giving one of her all-too-familiar patronising smiles. ‘Quite the opposite, actually. I'm spending the holiday with a friend in the South of France. The Riviera is quite something at this time of year.'

‘Whereabouts?' asked David.

‘I beg your pardon?' asked Mrs Savage.

‘Whereabouts on the Riviera are you going?'

‘San Tropez,' Mrs Savage told him. ‘And are you familiar with the French Riviera, Mr Pritchard?'

‘Not at all, never been,' he replied.

‘Then why do you ask?' she asked, giving him a withering look.

‘Just interested, that's all,' he said, helping himself to a glass of sherry. There was mischief in his eyes. ‘As a matter of fact, our Captain at the Golf Club has a place in the South of France. Now that's a coincidence isn't it? And I believe
his
place is in San Tropez. He always spends Christmas out there.'

‘Really,' said Mrs Savage, taking a glass from the tray and assuming total disinterest.

‘Of course, you know Tadge – Lord Manston – don't you, Mrs Savage?' said David. ‘You did a bit of the old liaising with him over the CEO's conference.'

‘Our paths have crossed,' she replied, looking extremely uncomfortable.

‘Perhaps you'll bump into him in San Trop,' said David casually.

‘If you will excuse me, Miss de la Mare,' said Mrs Savage, turning to the Chief Inspector. ‘I think Dr Gore wants a word.'

‘That was very naughty of you, David,' I said after Mrs Savage had moved away with a jangle of jewellery. ‘You don't really think she's spending Christmas with old Tadge, do you?'

‘Very likely,' replied David. ‘Plenty of other women have stayed with him over the years, from what I've heard. I told you he was a bit of a
roué
.'

‘You never know,' said Miss de la Mare, chuckling, ‘Mrs Savage might return after Christmas as Lady Manston. Now, that
would
be interesting.'

‘Perish the thought!' exclaimed David. ‘Mrs Savage with a title! Lady Brenda! I can't bear to think about it.'

Sidney gatecrashed the conversation. ‘So what was all that about with Connie?' he asked me. ‘She was uncharacteristically taciturn.'

‘She's leaving,' I told him.

‘Leaving!' exclaimed Sidney and David together.

‘I didn't know about this,' said Miss de la Mare.

‘Nobody did,' I said, ‘well, apart from Dr Gore. Connie says she wants to go quietly.'

‘Go quietly?' repeated Sidney. ‘Connie?'

‘That's what she said.'

‘Whatever will we do without her?' said David.

‘The place just won't be the same,' added Sidney.

Our discussion was interrupted by Dr Gore who, tapping a spoon on his glass, called for attention.

‘Colleagues, friends, before we enjoy the Christmas fare that Connie has prepared for us, I guess it is incumbent upon me to say a few words at this convivial occasion.' He coughed and then slipped with ease into one of his famous monologues. ‘This term has been a particularly successful one. Standards in schools have continued to rise, the Education Department's budget looks as though it should see us through to the end of the financial year, the school closures – which could very well have been most contentious and time-consuming – were effected with the minimum of complaint and only one or two
hiccoughs, and my NACADS Conference was a resounding success. Indeed, Sir Bryan told me as he departed back to the metropolis that he was most impressed with the sterling work we undertake in the county.

‘But, colleagues, friends, I cannot let this occasion pass without mentioning one particular individual, someone who has been a stalwart in the Education Department – loyal, reliable, hard-working and never stinting in the work she has undertaken for the many years I have known her. She has been a great asset to the Education Department and I would like to acknowledge that this evening.'

Mrs Savage, standing to the right of Dr Gore, gave a slight smile of appreciation. She reminded me of a film star waiting to receive an Academy Award.

The CEO continued. ‘I have discovered that in life there are four kinds of people. There are the wishbones and they are the dreamers. There are the jawbones and they are the talkers. There are the knucklebones and they are the critics. And then there are the backbones and they are the ones who carry the load and do the work. The person to whom I am referring has been the very backbone of the Education Department. I speak, of course, of Connie.'

I was watching Mrs Savage, and her face was a picture. She looked like a startled ostrich. In contrast, the colour drained again from Connie's face and she looked ashen and deeply uncomfortable. Fortunately, I was holding the tray of sherry or, had she been dispensing it, it would undoubtedly have clattered to the floor.

‘Connie wrote to me at the beginning of this month,' continued Dr Gore, ‘tendering her resignation and saying she wished to leave at the end of this term. She wanted no fuss, no leaving celebration, nothing special. She wished to retire quietly. Well, for once, Connie, you are not getting your own way.' Dr Gore reached behind him for a large box wrapped in silver paper. ‘I should like to present you, on behalf of all in the Education Department who have so valued your good offices, with this gift, in appreciation of your loyal and devoted
service over the last forty years.' There was a round of enthusiastic applause. ‘And, you know, Connie,' said the CEO, raising a hand, ‘if it were up to me, I'd give you a medal.' I knew then who had recommended her for the award. ‘Perhaps Miss de la Mare, you might like to say a few words.'