Fear on Friday (23 page)

“He’s our solicitor,” said Doris, after a pause. “My late husband had all the dealings with him, of course. Wills and things. But I remember the old man. Very kind and nice, he was. Thrilled with his grandchildren. A real family man. Such a shame,” she added thoughtlessly.

“Doris!” said Ivy swiftly. “How many times do I have to tell you? No gossip in this house.”

That’s a laugh, thought Doris, but looked suitably chastened.

“What was a shame?” said Lois quietly.

“Shouldn’t be allowed,” said Ivy, enigmatic as ever. “In my day, once you were in the club …”

“Ivy!” said Doris. “How can you, after what you just said to me?”

“Time you went, Mrs. Meade,” Ivy said firmly, turning to Lois. “Everything’s fine here. And don’t bother coming again. I’ll let you know if there’s anything wrong.”

I bet you will, Lois said to herself, as Doris ushered her out. “Don’t take any notice of Ivy,” the little woman whispered. “Her bark’s worse than her bite.” She grinned. “Though they say a barking terrier is the best deterrent to unwelcome callers,” she chuckled, and shut the door.

In the club? Lois sat in her car, pondering, Up the spout? A bun in the oven? She turned the key, and drove off slowly, deep in thought.

J
OSIE
M
EADE HAD AN IDEA
. I
F HER MOTHER WANTED
to know more about Susanna Jacob, there was one person who might well know her. The local lady of the manor, Mrs. Tollervey-Jones, had a niece who had spent some time in the village and was one of the yah set who hunted and played polo, and talked very loudly in pubs. Susanna, daughter of a solicitor, was very likely one of them.

What was that girl’s name? It was on the tip of Josie’s tongue. Arabella? No, that wasn’t it. Josie remembered her brother Jamie having a fling with Miss Tollervey-Jones, so she could ask him. She picked up her mobile and was about to call when the shop door opened and Daisy Forsyth walked in, grinning as always.

“Hello, dear. How are you today?” she greeted Josie.

Anyone would think they’d lived here for years, Josie thought. These newcomers—and there were more and more of them buying up the old houses—they moved in and took over, or tried to. But Josie smiled back, telling herself she was not really being fair. Daisy was a nice woman, unlike her tetchy husband. She seemed to be quite
happy with her garden and gossiping in the shop. She’d been once to the WI, but Gran said she hadn’t come back. Never been to church, either, apparently, but that applied to most of the villagers, old and new.

“What can I get for you today, Mrs. Forsyth?” Josie asked politely.

“Call me Daisy, dear. I’m not used to formality.” Daisy giggled. “All these years I’ve been married,” she said, “and I still can’t get used to being Mrs. Forsyth.”

“Well, Daisy’s a very pretty name,” Josie said diplomatically, wishing the woman would get on with whatever she wanted. Jamie might have his phone switched off, and she’d have to think again.

But Daisy was in a mood for conversation. “Are they settled in now, over the road?” she said. Josie assured her that Mrs. Jenkinson seemed very happy in the old house.

“A bit too happy, don’t you think?” Daisy asked. “For a woman not long widowed?”

“Perhaps she’s just being brave,” Josie said, and sighed. “Was there anything else?” But Daisy was not to be got rid of that easily. She looked around the shop, as if checking nobody was listening. “I knew her husband, you know,” she said, leaning over the counter. She winked. “Knew him quite well,” she added. “We went back a long way, Howard and me.”

Oh, please, Josie thought. Not the old nostalgia trip. I don’t care what you got up to with our late Mayor. Please just go away and let me ring my brother.

By the time Daisy had collected up a basketful of groceries, there were several customers waiting, and it was not until lunchtime that Josie was able to dial Jamie’s number and hear his familiar voice.

“
Annabelle
, you twit,” he said cheerfully. “Blimey, are you getting old and losing your marbles, or something?” Josie retorted that she hadn’t known the girl as well as Jamie had. “I’d forgotten all about her,” he said laughing. “There’s bin a few on the list since Annabelle.”

“Yes, well, thanks. And yes, we’re all fine at home, in
case you were wondering. I don’t suppose you’ve still got Annabelle’s number?” There was a pause, then Jamie rattled off a London number. “Cheers, then,” she said, “talk again soon.”

Josie looked at the old wall clock, which had ticked its way through a number of shopkeepers in Long Farnden, and went to get herself a quick sandwich. She had thought of closing the shop at lunchtimes, but it was surprising how many people came in during that hour.

So now she had Annabelle’s number. But what could she say to her? Did she know Susanna Jacob? And if so, what salacious secrets did she know about her? Josie bit into a succulent piece of ham, and wondered what exactly her mother wanted to know. Perhaps the best thing would be to ring Annabelle and say someone—an old school friend?—had come into the shop asking for details of her whereabouts. Annabelle hadn’t been seen in Long Farnden for a long while now, and maybe wouldn’t know that Susanna was working for New Brooms. It was worth the risk.

Josie washed her hands, and took out her mobile again. She dialled the London number, and after a few rings, a bright voice answered, “Yes, hallo?”

Josie explained, and there was a short pause. “Are you Josie Meade?” said Annabelle. “Yes, that’s right,” Josie answered.

“Um, how’s Jamie?” Annabelle’s voice was light and casual.

“Fine, he’s up North now. We don’t hear a lot from him … you know what lads are like.” Josie wondered what was coming next, but Annabelle just coughed, and said, “Okay, fine. Now, it’s Susanna Jacob you wanted—let me think.”

After a pause long enough for Josie to take another bite, Annabelle said slowly, “Yes, she was at the school I went to for a while. I went to a good few, one way and another. I do remember her. Blonde, good shape. We were all a bit envious, being on the puppy plump side ourselves. And she had boyfriends long before the rest of us. I’m afraid I
lost touch after … well, after I was asked not too politely to leave!” There was a fruity chuckle, and then Annabelle added, “But I know who her best friend was—she might be able to help. A Tresham girl, not exactly top drawer, if you know what I mean, and a bit older than Susanna. Maureen something-or-other—Smith, it was. That’s right. I knew it was an unusual name.” Annabelle hooted loudly, and Josie held the phone away from her ear.

“You don’t remember if she got married, or where she lived?” A bit of a blind alley, this, thought Josie.

“Sorry, that’s all I can dredge up, I’m afraid. Maybe you could ask Tresham Comprehensive? I’m sure she went there. Anyway, I must dash. Love to Jamie, next time you speak to him. Tell him I haven’t forgotten him, dear thing. Byeee!”

L
OIS LISTENED CAREFULLY THAT EVENING TO WHAT
J
OSIE
reported. “That was very clever of you,” she said. “I’d never’ve thought of asking Annabelle.”

“Not much help, though, is it?” Josie sounded disappointed, but Lois gave her a hug, and said it was very useful indeed. “One of my old mates is a dinner lady at Tresham Comp, been there for years,” she said. “Dinner ladies know everything about everybody. I’ll give her a buzz tomorrow. Now,” she said, catching Derek’s eye, “who’s for a delicious Sleepytime tea bag?”

D
OREEN AND
J
EAN WERE OUT ON THE GOLF COURSE
, on the first lee. The sun shone down warmly, the fairway was a long, green-striped ribbon stretching ahead, until it turned out of sight around a small spinney of conifers. It was quite early, and few people were out on the course.

“I don’t know what I’d do if I couldn’t play golf,” Doreen said. “It’s a wonderful feeling of freedom, out here in the sun, walking through a lovely landscape, and nobody to warn us off or tell us to put that bloody dog on a lead.”

“We haven’t got a dog,” Jean said, looking sideways at her friend. “And what about when we get in the rough, and can’t find the ball, and some ruddy men are behind us shouting ‘Fore!’ at the tops of their voices?”

“Oh, Jean,” Doreen said, smiling, “you’ve got no soul.
Sometimes
it’s like what I said. Anyway, it’s your turn to go first.”

Jean took a swipe at the ball with her driver, and the ball soared into the air, sliced off to the right and landed in a
patch of thorny bushes. “And
sometimes
it’s like what
I
said,” she muttered drily. “Your turn, Doreen. Do your worst.”

Doreen squared up to the ball, wiggled her bottom to settle into a good position, tucked her head down firmly and brought her club down powerfully. The ball rolled gently off the tee peg, and stopped less than a metre in front of them.

There was a short silence, and then Doreen looked up at Jean. “Shitty buggers!” she said, and collapsed into hysterical laughter.

Jean joined in, and finally had to cross her legs to stop an even worse disaster. “Oh, go on,” she said, when they had both sobered up. “Have another shot. I’m not counting.”

This time, Doreen’s drive was respectable enough, and the two set off side by side down the fairway, pulling their trolleys behind them and talking amiably. “Everything going all right in Farnden?” Jean said. “Your nice Bill back with you yet?”

Doreen shook her head. “No, still on the emergency job over at Ringford. Mrs. Meade’s coming herself at the moment, though she’s threatening me with young Susanna Jacob. Seems she works for New Brooms now.” Doreen’s head was down, her voice almost inaudible.

Jean stopped dead. She stared at Doreen. “You’re joking,” she said in a choked voice.

Doreen shook her head and shrugged. “She’s not been yet. Ill, apparently. But I’ve got a couple of weeks to think about it. Mrs. Meade’s said it’ll take that long for her to recover from flu.”

“Like last time?” Jean said.

“I don’t think so,” Doreen said flatly. “But who knows?”

S
USANNA
J
ACOB WAS FED UP AND SCARED
. S
HE HAD BEEN
keeping to her bedroom for a couple of days now, pretending to be ill and feigning sleep whenever her mother came in with a cup of tea. “No point in calling the doctor,”
she had said firmly, when her mother suggested it. “With flu, it’s just a matter of time and painkillers.” She was bored, but too apprehensive to move from her room. Perhaps she would not shake off the flu until she heard Bill was back at Hornton House. Meanwhile, she thought, looking at the sunlit garden, I could go for a gentle walk across the meadow and look at the river. The thought of water and fish brought back memories of Howard Jenkinson, and she had no difficulty in shedding real tears.

Downstairs, her mother and father were in conference. “I don’t think she’s ill,” her mother said baldly.

“Why else would she condemn herself to solitary confinement?” said lawyer Jacob.

“Something’s frightening her,” her mother said. “Mothers know these things.” She went to the window and looked out at the bright morning. “Don’t you remember when she was at school?” she continued. “Always a mysterious illness just before exams.”

“But she managed to take them, and did reasonably well.”

“Yes, but maybe this time the escape route is easier.”

“What do you mean?” Sometimes Susanna’s father wished his wife would not be so elliptical. “Speak plainly, woman, do.”

“You’re not in court now,” his wife retorted. “I am speaking plainly. Susanna does not want to work for Mrs. Jenkinson, and knows that she can give up the cleaning job to get out of it. If Mrs. Meade gets fed up with her, she’ll get the push—and her escape.”

Susanna’s father shrugged. “A very good thing, too. Then she can get herself a proper job,” he said. “And we certainly don’t want that Meade woman asking unnecessary questions and upsetting Susanna.”

“Oh, what a tangled web we weave, when first we practise to deceive,”
said Mrs. Jacob sadly, and left her irritated husband wondering why a woman couldn’t be more like a man.