The Wild Wood Enquiry (21 page)

It was hot now, and there was no shade, except for the small rectangle cast by a chimney. He positioned his chair and thought about the sandwich. It was yesterday’s, and curling at the edges, and he was sick of instant coffee. He went back inside, poured himself a large glass of cheap red wine, and returned to the sun. After several gulps, he saw the doves returning, smiled, and closed his eyes.

“THAT WAS DELICIOUS, Miriam,” Gus said, wiping his mouth with a paper table napkin decorated unseasonably with holly berries.

“Jolly good!” she replied, gathering up the plates. “Now, do you fancy peach melba for pud? One of my best, though I says it as shouldn’t.”

“Oh my, I’ve scarcely room for anything more! Well, just a spoonful, then.”

“And can you finish up the primrose wine with a sliver of mature cheddar?”

By the time Gus had managed all Miriam’s goodies, he felt so sleepy that he was not sure he could make it back to his cottage next door.

“Come and sit over here,” Miriam said, patting the seat next to her on the sofa. “Black or white coffee? And a chocky to round off the meal?”

“Good heavens, Miriam, do you always live like this? I wonder you’re not too roly-poly to get through the door!”

“Of course I don’t. Only when I have very special guests…” She looked sideways at him and smiled indulgently. His eyes had closed, and when she touched his hand, it was limp and relaxed. Bless him! He had obviously had a lousy time up in Scotland with that awful wife of his. Why on earth did he marry her? She was quite good-looking but nothing special. And that earring. Of course it was hers, given to her by Gus when he was her husband and the marriage just about to begin. She must have loved him then, surely? Fancy losing such a lovely present. The mystery of finding it in the woods still nagged at her, though she intended to persist with her story that it was hers.

She stood up, carefully avoiding the slumbering figure. She looked at herself in the mirror and smiled. I’d marry him with or without jewels, she thought. He needs someone to look after him. A pair of fake pearls off the market would be enough for me!

Gus heard none of the clatter of clearing dishes and washing up. And when Miriam gently covered him with a fluffy rug, he slept on, whiffling rhythmically. “Night night, Gus,” Miriam whispered. She would keep her bedroom door open, just in case.

NEXT MORNING, DEIRDRE had decided to rise early and bully Gus into coming with her to sign on at the local golf club. He was looking decidedly peaky on his return. Added to that, she had begun to think the occasional swim in her pool was not enough exercise to keep a middle-aged widow in trim. Too much lardy cake and ice cream. She
had risen at once when her alarm went off and had a luke-warm shower. Soon, she said to herself, in my new regime, I shall take a cold one.

Probably have a heart attack, said Bert’s photo on the dressing table.

Deirdre laughed. It was so good that Bert’s voice came back to her so often. It meant he was not really dead, at least not to her. Was that life after death? Living in someone’s memory?

After a piece of dry toast and a black coffee, she put on casual trousers and walking shoes and set off for Hangman’s Row. As she approached the cottages, she stopped in her tracks. Miriam Blake’s door was opening, and the wretched woman, clad only in a flimsy nightie, was waving good-bye to, yes, it was Gus, and to add insult to injury, she was blowing him a kiss!

“Gus! Wait!” He stopped and looked round with a furtive expression. Deirdre walked smartly up to him and said sternly that they should go inside. She had important things to say to him.

“Oh God,” muttered Gus. “Can’t we stay out here for a bit, just to clear my head?”

“If we must,” said Deirdre. “And it’s nothing to me where you spend the night. I have a proposition to put to you.”

“But—”

“But nothing. I expect you’ll be wanting to have a bath and change. I can wait. The thing is this. I have made an appointment for the two of us at the golf club. You and I are both in our middle years and need fresh air and exercise to keep ourselves fit. Muscles get weak, and then the flab takes over. I loathe exercise classes, and I can’t see you doing press-ups in the gym. So, rather than go alone, I
thought you might come with me, and we could be rabbits together. What do you say?”

“I say,” Gus replied, with some gusto, “that it’s all very well for you, but how do you think I am going to find hundreds of pounds for a year’s subscription to Thornwell Golf Club? And then buying new drivers and irons and putters to play with and drinks in the bar afterwards? Besides which,” he added, “I used to play with Katherine, and don’t particularly want to be reminded of those days. And anyway, I sold my clubs.”

“Rubbish! It won’t be like that at all. We’ll just go up and practise and then come home. I haven’t a clue, and you can help me along. Mind you, I used to be good at tennis, and I don’t suppose there’s much difference. It all comes down to hitting a ball with a bat, surely?”

“And I suppose now you’re going to offer to pay for me? Well, Deirdre, I have had quite enough of being beholden to rich women, so don’t even try.”

Deirdre coloured and bit her lip. Then she walked up to him and slapped him hard across his lean cheek. “I shall be home later, if you wish to apologise,” she said, and stalked off.

BEHIND HER LACE curtains, Miriam had watched the whole scene, and though she couldn’t hear what they were saying, she saw the slap and chortled. “Poor old Gus,” she said aloud, and planned to make a chocolate sponge for his tea.

“Women!” said Gus to Whippy, who jumped all over him as if he had been away for weeks instead of nights. “Now the lovely Deirdre has taken the huff, and I shall have to eat humble pie in large quantities to crawl back into her favour.”

Whippy rolled over onto her back, and Gus tickled her. If only it were that easy with women! Just roll them over and tickle their tummies.… Well, he supposed it was worth a try and went to take a shower, ready to walk athletically up to Tawny Wings.

ROY AND IVY had hidden themselves in the summerhouse, away from the bright morning sun, and Mrs. Spurling’s strictures. “If she reminds me once more about punctuality,” said Ivy, “I shall give in my notice and find another more congenial prison.”

“Shall I be included?” Roy said.

“Of course. You and me are one, aren’t we?”

“Not yet,” said Roy. “But soon.”

“Tomorrow,” said Ivy, and Roy brightened hopefully.

“Tomorrow,” repeated Ivy, “we will fix a date. We’ll have a guess at when this particular enquiry will be sewn up, and then we will book the church.”

“Wonderful,” said Roy, taking her hand. “Let’s put all our energies into solving the case of the severed hand at once.”

“And don’t forget the disappearing earring,” Ivy said, smiling. “Now, when are we going to tell Gus and Deirdre that we have useful background information on Mr. Sebastian Ulph, who resides at number seven Folgate Street, Oakbridge?”

“As soon as possible, if our wedding date hangs on solving the case.”

“Very well. I shall telephone them, and ask them to come here for a meeting this afternoon. Remind me to ask Katya to bake some cakes to put Gus in a good mood.”

“Me, too. That young lady has a rare talent. Cakes as
light as a feather are not easy to come by. Please God she never again thinks of taking up Roussel’s offer to join him, not in matrimony nor as housekeeper at the Hall.”

“No fear of that,” said Ivy cheerfully. “I believe she has a new boyfriend. Came to call for her yesterday. Nice looking young chap of her own age.”

“Perhaps we could have a double wedding at Christmastime?” suggested Roy. “What a wonderful celebration that would be!”

“Calm down, dear,” said Ivy. “The lad is a law student, and it takes half a lifetime to become a barrister, which is apparently what he plans to be.”

“Ah, well, never mind. Come to think of it, I don’t want to share our day of days with anyone but you, Ivy Olive Beasley.”

They hugged, and Mrs. Spurling, coming around the corner to summon them for coffee, for once had the sensitivity to retreat quietly back into the house.

“I’VE ASKED KATYA to bring our tea out here,” said Ivy. She and Roy had again taken up residence in the summerhouse, which, with tall sycamores shading it most of the day, was pleasantly cool.

Deirdre subsided gratefully into a canvas garden chair, and fanned herself with her straw hat. “It’s not British,” she said. “We just aren’t used to long periods of hot weather in the summer. I shall be glad when it rains again. Proper rain, not just a quick storm with the blackbirds and thrushes singing their hearts out as if we’d had a good soaking.”

“Poor Deirdre!” said Roy. “Would you like some iced tea?”

“As a matter of fact,” said Ivy, smiling, “I have already asked Katya to bring us iced tea this afternoon, with cream cakes for a change.”

“Ivy! And just when I have started a new diet!”

“Don’t be ridiculous, girl,” said Ivy. “Why do you think you’ve got so many admirers? Nice, plump widow—”

“With a nice fat bank balance,” finished Deirdre, laughing. “But how comforting you are, Ivy. I can’t wait for our treat.”

When Gus had arrived, also complaining of the heat, Katya appeared with a tray of tea and cakes as instructed. “I hope you will enjoy this,” she said proudly. “Bill thinks I make the best cakes in the world.”

“Who is Bill?” Gus said sharply. “Not your pet name for him up at the Hall, I trust?”

“No, no. Bill is my boyfriend. He is studying the law and is very serious and nice. Mrs. Spurling approves and says I can go off duty now to meet him in town. His parents are visiting, and he wishes to introduce me.”

When she had gone, Ivy said that it was clear love was in the air, what with Katya and Bill and she and Roy, and Deirdre and sundry admirers.

“And me?” asked Gus.

“We really must get on,” said Deirdre. “Now, Ivy, are you going to tell us what is so important? Gus and I are all ears.”

Ivy started the story at the point where she hailed Ulph as he walked into the coffee shop. “He looked surprised but came and sat with us. We talked generally, but it was obvious he was not going to give us any details about himself. Roy and he got on like a house on fire, talking mostly about cows.”

“His father bred Dexters,” explained Roy. “He was a nice chap, I thought, but sad. I don’t know what was wrong, but he talked nostalgically about his days on the farm. Didn’t want to talk about music, though, and actually denied being the man who had played with Sid at Springfields. Silly, really, since Ivy remembered him clearly, not only playing the saxophone but also helping her in the woods.

“Did he admit to the woods?” asked Gus.

“Oh yes. He teased Ivy, calling her Maid Marian.”

“So he was definitely your Green Man?” Deirdre said.

Ivy nodded. “Brightened up a lot when we talked about that. Mind you, he wouldn’t answer any direct questions. But when it was time to go, he walked along with us until we reached Market Street, then he turned down there and we lost him for a minute.”

“Ah, but tell them what you did next, Ivy,” said Roy.

“I followed him. Well, we both did. We kept out of sight among the market crowds and finally caught up with him where he’d let himself into one of those tall houses in Folgate Street. Number seven, it was, and quite dingy-looking. Then we walked back to our taxi driver, and he was worried because we were late, and when we got here, our luck was in. La Spurling was off duty, and Pinkers was waiting for us with a beaming smile and plates of ham salad.”

“So, as you see, we now know that the Green Man, the saxophonist and Deirdre’s swimming pal are one and the same man. We still have to identify the man with supermarket bags outside Hangman’s Row late at night, but since that was our Miriam’s evidence, well, you know, moonlight and all that.” Roy sat back in his chair and folded his hands across his stomach. “And that, Ivy Beasley, was the best afternoon tea I have ever tasted.”

“Well done, you two,” said Deirdre admiringly. “So I suppose you had a good talk with him over coffee? Did he give you any clues about why he is living here? Or why he gave up playing with Sid? Did he explain why he said he was going to France and then didn’t go?”