The Nonesuch and Others (9 page)

At dinner I discovered
that the Czech girls—Hannah’s “common room-maids”—had duties other than cleaning, tidying and changing the linen: they also served meals. They were pretty girls, too, very much down to earth, unlike the rather haughty Hannah.

“Haughty Hannah”…from Hamburg, or maybe Hannover? I had to smile at the alliterative “sound” of it: even though it only sounded in my mind, it served to bring
back
to mind the title of that novelty song, Hard-Hearted Hannah, about a lady who “pours water on a drowning man.” Also, it told me that for some reason I couldn’t quite put my finger on I had taken a dislike to the German woman. Perhaps it was because she had “poured water” on my questions about Mrs. Anderson.

Anyway, the Czech girls served dinner to me and a room full of amateur fishermen and women, and the chef—decked out in a white hat and apron—came out of the kitchen to inquire about his culinary offerings: were they up to expectations? And actually they had been; indeed the food had been exceptional.

I told him so in the bar later, where I was drinking Coca-Cola with a slice of lemon, and lusting after his Jack Daniel’s Old No. 7 on the rocks. A burly, pigtailed Scotsman—“It keeps mah hair oot o’ the grub!”—he appreciated my compliments, and he fully understood why I refrained from joining him in a glass of the hard stuff.

“Oh aye,” Gavin McCann quietly announced, nodding and lifting a confidential forefinger to tap the side of his nose. “Mah old man—mah father—he found it somethin’ o’ a problem, too. He liked his wee dram. Truth is, he liked every wee dram in the whole damn bottle! And he paid for it, the old lad: he saw more than his fair share o’ pink elephants, that yin. Until the time came when they stampeded all over him, especially on his liver! Aye, and they made a right mess o’ that, too.”

Pink elephants? Well, I hadn’t come across any of them. But other stuff? Oh yes, I had seen other stuff.

“How about you?” I asked him—and quickly added. “But hey, ignore me if that’s a bit too personal! It’s just that—”

“Am I an alcoholic, d’ye mean?” He shook his head. “No, not yet. So don’t be affeard o’ buyin’ me a drink or two! Mind you, I’ve seen enough o’ drinkin’ in this place—and in the town—not tae mention the Andersons’ old place down in Polperro. Aye, and ye’d think it would put a body off; but a man gets a taste, and…well, let’s face it: there’s no too much else tae enjoy any more, now is there?” With which he tossed back the drink he was working on, stared expectantly at me, and speculatively at his empty glass.

This was rather more than a subtle hint, but with a little luck I may finally have found a means of discovering something more about the Seaview’s—or Mrs. Anderson’s—mystery, assuming there was such a thing.

And so when McCann was sipping on his next drink, a double I had bought him, and which I wished was mine: “Chef,” I asked him, “Gavin, what do you make of Mrs. Anderson, the Seaview’s boss lady?”

“Eh?” he answered sharply, narrowing his eyes and lowering his glass. “What’s that, ye say? Janet Anderson? Ye’ve noticed somethin’ about that poor lass? Well let me tell ye: she’s one very unfortunate lady, aye! But not so unlucky as some I could mention.
Hmm!
Maybe ye’d care tae hear about it?”

I said I would, of course. And as the drink went in so the story came out and the mystery began to unravel; by which time we had moved to a corner table well away from the other guests, where McCann could tell his story in relative privacy…

“Unlucky, aye, Janet and Kevin both,”
McCann reiterated, with a customary nod and confidential finger tapping his nose. “But as tae who was unluckiest…well, at least Janet’s still here!”

“Kevin?” I raised a querying eyebrow.

“He was her husband,” McCann answered. “And he had the self-same problem as mah old man and yeresel’—er, no offence! But ye’ll ken mah meanin’.”

“No offence taken,” I answered. “And I’m
not convinced that I was ever a full-fledged alcoholic anyway. You see, it affects me very quickly and so badly that I’ve never been able to drink that much in the first place! But whether or no, I’m off it and glad to be.” Which was at least half true: I was off it.

“Enough said,” said he, and again his nod of understanding.

“So?” I shrugged, as if only casually interested. “This, er, Kevin is Mrs. Anderson’s husband? And he what? Ran off and left her or something?”

He gave me an odd look. “Aye, or somethin’…” But then:

“Ye ken,” said McCann, “I’ve always believed there’s only one right and proper way tae tell a story, and that’s frae the beginnin’. And for that I’ll need tae take ye back tae Polperro all of seven long years ago. That’s where they met and wed, and began their first business venture together: a small hotel that was on the slide when they bought it and kept right on slidin’. The Andersons, aye—a
verra
odd couple from the start! Janet, so straight-laced and, well, just straight!—but naturally so,
ye ken? I mean: never holier-than-thou, no, not at all. Just a steady, level-headed lass. As for Kevin, her junior by some seven or eight years: he was a wee bit immature, somethin’ o’ a Jack-the-lad, if ye get mah meanin’. Like chalk and cheese, the pair o’ them, but they do say opposites attract. And anyway, who was I tae judge or make observations? Nobody.

“As to who I
really
was:

“I was the top chef on a cruise liner until I lost mah job tae a poncy French cook who was havin’ it off with the captain! Anyway, that’s a whole other story. The thing is, I was discharged frae mah duties in Plymouth in the summer, and so took time off to rethink mah life. A bit o’ tourin’ found me in Polperro, and that’s where I met up with Kevin in a pub one night. He had a few personal problems, too, for which reason he was sinkin’ a dram or two…or perhaps three or four. This was before Janet knew just how dependant he was becomin’—on booze, ye ken.

“But how’s this for a coincidence, eh? Kevin and Janet Anderson, they’d purchased their wee place just a month ago, since when a cook they’d taken on had walked out over some petty argument or other. So there they were without a chef, and me, Gavin McCann, I was without mah cook’s whites! But no for long.

“Well, I took the job, got mahsel’ installed in The Lookout—a place as wee and quaint as ye could imagine, sittin’ there on a hill—and cooked mah heart out for the pair; because ‘A’ they paid a decent wage and ‘B’ I really liked them. They treated me right and were like family, the Andersons. She was like a little sister, while he…well, I found Kevin much o’ a muchness as I mahsel’ had been as a young man fifteen years earlier. So I could sort o’ watch over her while yet enjoyin’ a wee dram with him frae time tae time. That was before his drinkin’ got a lot more disruptive; which, lookin’ back on it now, didn’t take all that long. No, not long at all.

“Ye see, the fact is he couldn’t face up tae responsibility o’ any kind. Kevin wasn’t a waster as such—he wasn’t a complete good-for-nothin’, ye understand—but simply immature. And when it came tae takin’ charge, makin’ decisions, well, he just couldn’t. Which put a load o’ weight on poor Janet’s wee shoulders. And him feelin’ useless, which I can only suppose he must have, that fuelled the need which only drink could satisfy. And it’s a fact that many alcoholics drink because they’re unhappy. Kevin was unhappy, I’m certain sure o’ that…not with Janet, but with his own weaknesses.

“Now, I’ve told ye how The Lookout was goin’ downhill. That was partly because it had been up for sale, empty for a year or so, and was in need o’ repairs, some sprucin’ up and a touch o’ paint here and there. And bein’ located inland a mile or so, it wasn’t exactly ye’re typical seafront property. Janet’s plan—and ye’ll note I say
her
plan, because she was the thinker; aye and the doer, too—was tae refurbish the place in the fall and through the winter, when tourism fell off, and get it ready for the spring and summer seasons, when all the grockles—the holidaymakers—would be back in force. O’
course, with bills and a mercifully small mortgage tae
be paid, it was still necessary that The Lookout should tick over and stay in the black through that first winter.

“Anyway, I ken now that I was perhaps a bit insensitive tae what was happenin’ with Kevin; but it was Janet hersel’ brought it tae mah attention. She asked me straight out, but in a verra cordial manner, not tae drink so much with Kevin because it was ‘interferin’’ with business. And I finally saw what she meant.

“Kevin sometimes worked the bar: oh aye, servin’ drinks was one of the few things he was good at. In fact he was
verra
good at it! For every drink I bought in the bar when I was done with mah work in the kitchen, there’d be another ‘on the house’ frae him. And for every free one Kevin served me, he’d serve another tae himsel’. The bar was scarcely makin’ a penny because he was drinkin’ it up as fast as he took it in!

“But though his eyes might glaze and his speech slur a wee, he was rarely anythin’ other than steady as a rock on his feet. That’s the kind o’ drunk he was, aye. Which I suppose makes his passin’ just a might more peculiar. I mean, it was unlike Kevin tae fall, no matter how much he’d put down his neck…But fall he did. Cracked his skull, broke his back, and even crushed his ribs, though how that
last
came about is anybody’s guess…!”

When McCann paused to sip at his drink I took the opportunity to get a few questions in. “Kevin’s passing? You mean there was as accident: he got drunk, fell and died? My God! But with all those injuries…that must have been some fall, and from one hell of a height!”

“Ye’d think so, would ye no?” McCann cocked his head on one side enquiringly. “But no, not really. No more than nine or ten feet, actually; or maybe thirteen, if ye include the balcony wall.”

The balcony wall? And then, as certain of the Seaview’s hitherto unexplained curiosities—its mysteries—began slotting themselves uneasily into place, suddenly I saw it coming. But to be absolutely certain:

“And what balcony would that be?” I asked, my own voice and question distant in my ears, as if spoken by some other.

“The one on the corner there,” he answered. “The balcony on room number seven, which Janet lets stand empty now, though for no good reason that I can see. A room’s a room, is it no? If we were all tae shun rooms or houses where kith and kin died, why, there’d be nowhere left for us tae live! I mean, a body has tae die somewhere, does he no?”

To which, for a moment or two, I could find no answer…

He had obviously seen the look on my face and sensed the change in me. And: “Ah hah!” he gasped. “But…ye came in today, did ye no? And ye found the place full tae brimmin’, all except room seven. Well, well! And she actually let ye have it, did she? So then, maybe things are lookin’ up after all. And no before time at that.”

While I now understood something of what had happened here, there were still several vague areas. Since McCann had intimate knowledge of the Andersons, however—since he’d known them and worked for them all those years—it seemed more than likely he would be able to fill in the blank spots.

Unfortunately, before I could get anything more out of him, Janet Anderson herself came into the bar-room, smiling and nodding at myself and her chef as she crossed to the bar where one of the Czech girls was serving. The pair spoke briefly over the bar, before Mrs. Anderson headed back our way and paused to have a word with us, or rather with McCann. But:

“Do excuse me,” she spoke to me first. And then to McCann: “Gavin, I know you’re off-duty and I so dislike disturbing you, but would you mind doing up some sandwiches—say nine or ten rounds—for an evening fishing party? I would have asked you earlier, but they’ve only just spoken to me. And of course you may keep the proceeds.”

McCann was up on his feet at once. “No problem at all, mah bonny,” he said. And to me, as he turned to go: “I’m obliged to ye for ye’re company—” with a knowing wink and a finger to his nose, “—But now ye must excuse me.” With which he was gone…