Hole in One (2 page)

Authors: Catherine Aird

Tags: #Mystery

BOOK: Hole in One

11.41Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub

âWhy not â¦' Anna turned too. âOh, I see. One of them's gone and got herself into the Hell's Bells bunker. Oh, what bad luck!'

âI wonder whose ball it is,' said Christine, watching with interest to see whether it was to be Helen or Ursula who set off for the deep bunker behind the green.

âWhose ever it is, I bet she won't get out of there first go,' said Anna, who had had to listen time and again to detailed accounts of his games from her Colin and who thus knew the course better than Christine â in theory, that is. The depth of the bunker behind the sixth green was a hardy perennial when she was being properly sympathetic in the matter of torn-up cards and lost matches.

âIt's Helen Ewell's,' said Christine, shading her eyes and staring back at the sixth green.

âTough,' said Anna, without any noticeable sound of regret. âYou do realise, Christine, don't you,' she added mischievously, âthat there's not a single man in sight to come to her aid?'

âNot even the greenkeeper, poor thing,' said Christine. It was not clear whether it was the greenkeeper or Helen for whom she was expressing her sympathy.

âOh, the greenkeeper's out of action, anyway,' said Anna. âI heard he's been off sick all week, which is why the fairway grass is a bit long just now'

Christine craned her neck. âI can't even see her now she's in the bunker.'

âSo she'll have to manage on her own, won't she?' grinned Anna. âUrsula Millward isn't supposed to advise her.' She noted with approval that Ursula had taken up a perfectly correct position by the flag, which she was now raising well above her head so that her friend in the bunker might have some idea of the general direction in which she should be aiming her shot.

âCome on, Anna,' Christine urged her friend from the safety of the seventh hole. âNow we've got a head start we might as well keep it. After all, Helen might give up and just mark Ursula's card from now on. That'd make them a lot quicker and that could be a nuisance to us.'

âRight you are,' said Anna amiably. âAnyway, we'll hear all about it with a vengeance when we get in.'

âYou bet we will. Our Helen likes an audience.'

âHelen likes a male audience,' Anna corrected her. âI don't think we mere lady members'll do instead when she tells us about her terrible luck today.'

She was wrong.

Anyone and everyone would have done for audience when Helen Ewell eventually got back to the Clubhouse of the Berebury Golf Club. The trouble was that by then her voice had been reduced to a totally incoherent babble that no one could understand.

Chapter Two

Bogey

Police Superintendent Leeyes checked his watch and not for the first time. He was standing impatiently at the long window of the Clubhouse that looked out on both the eighteenth hole and the first tee of the golf course. Catching sight of some movement near the latter, he turned to the man at his side and said âGreat, they've opened the first tee to us at last. Come along, Garwood. It's gone half-past already and those dratted women should be well out of the way by now.'

âThey'll be slow,' Douglas Garwood, a short spry man, warned him. âVery slow.'

âWomen usually are,' grunted Leeyes.

âRabbits always are,' said Garwood.

âThey aren't the only ones,' said Leeyes. He pointed at someone walking outside the window. âLook at old Bligh over there. He gets slower and slower.'

âIt's his knee,' said Garwood.

âHrrmph,' said Leeyes, resuming his study of the course.

âOld Bligh may be slow,' observed Garwood, âbut he still hits a good drive.'

âTrue,' admitted Leeyes grudgingly.

âAnd anyway it's the third shot that counts as time goes by,' said Garwood, ânot your drive.'

Leeyes changed tack. âAnd Hopland isn't quick either.' He jerked a thumb in the man's direction. âLook at the pair of them shuffling into the locker rooms.'

âJames doesn't have to be quick,' pointed out Garwood. âHe's as good as retired.'

âI suppose he doesn't play all that badly,' conceded Leeyes.

âFor an old man,' rejoined Garwood neatly. âAnd there's Luke Trumper over there with Nigel Halesworth waiting to play.'

âI do believe that they're going to go out now, too,' said
Leeyes, irritated. âWe'll have to look sharp to get in ahead of them.' He scowled. âWhat's Trumper doing up here today anyway? He's not usually around midweek.'

âReady when you are,' said Garwood, leaving Leeyes' question unanswered and suppressing any thought he might have had about it being possible to take the policeman out of the police station but not the police station out of the policeman.

âCome along then,' urged Leeyes. âWe don't want to have to play behind a pair of old dodderers let alone Trumper and Halesworth.'

âPatience is good for the soul,' said Garwood philosophically. âAnd the blood pressure.'

Leeyes shot the man a questioning look, decided he wasn't trying to be funny, and so stayed silent. This was because the Superintendent, ever afraid of being seen in the wrong company, was always careful with whom he played. He never had any qualms in arranging a game with Douglas Garwood. Circumspection was not necessary with the man. Calleshire Consolidated, Plc., of which Company Doug Garwood was the chairman, had an impeccable reputation throughout the county for honest dealing.

And for making money.

A lot of money.

âUnless, that is,' continued Garwood politely, âyou're in a hurry to get back on duty.'

âNo, no,' protested Leeyes at once. âNot at all. My time's my own today.' The Superintendent was up for the Men's Committee â an important and necessary step on the way to the Captaincy â and was belatedly realising that election candidates had to mind their manners. He gave a deprecating little laugh. âOne of the few advantages of being in the Force, you know, is the occasional daytime off-duty. Not that we don't work when other men play, of course,' he finished piously.

The two golfers left the Clubhouse, collected their clubs and strolled towards the first tee, passing as they did so the old Nissen hut that did duty as the caddies' shed. Leeyes jerked his head in its direction. âDo you need one of those?'

âNot today, thank you,' said Garwood. He paused and said: âI do like to have a caddy in a competition, though. It's all very well for you, Leeyes, but I'm not as young as I was, and a caddy does help on the hills.'

âGolf isn't like boxing,' said Leeyes profoundly. âIn boxing a good young one usually beats a good old one.'

âI'm sure â¦'

âIn golf,' expounded the Police Superintendent, âa good old one beats a good young âun. Not the other way round.' He sniffed. âNo use getting old if you don't get cunning.'

Douglas Garwood was still following his own train of thought. âBut I don't like it when I've got a caddy and my opponent hasn't, like I did the other day. I think if Peter Gilchrist had had a caddy when we played the third round of the Clarembald Cup last week, I wouldn't have beaten him and got through into the next round. After all, fair's fair.'

âQuite,' said Leeyes insincerely. A working life spent in the police force had left him uncommitted to the concept of fairness. âIt's just as bad,' he added even more mendaciously, âwhen it's the opposite way round and the other fellow has a caddy when you haven't.'

âNot really,' said Garwood. âBy the way, Leeyes, where do you stand on the Great Divide?'

The Committee of the Berebury Golf Club was presently trying to decide whether to build a driving range on site to attract more players, selling some land for development in the process to fund it. This had split the membership as nothing else had done since the furore over the admission of the Ladies before the war.

âI'm afraid I have to be neutral,' said Leeyes virtuously,
neatly ducking the issue, âbeing a member of the Force and all that. We have to police demonstrations all the time, you know, and nobody's supposed to know what we think. And what about you?'

âIt never does to mix business with pleasure,' said Garwood obscurely.

The two golfers continued on their way to the first tee while within the caddies' shed talk turned to the pair coming along behind the two men.

âWho are you going out with today, Dickie?' asked Bert Hedges. He was sitting down on a wooden bench changing into his golf shoes.

âMajor Bligh,' answered Dickie Castle, bending down to do up his own laces. âSecond round of the Pletchford Plate.'

Bert Hedges stamped his feet well down in his shoes and nodded. âHe's always in with a fighting chance is the Major â unless he's up against a real tiger, of course.'

âWhat about you, mate?' Dickie Castle asked him in return.

âToday? A singles,' answered Hedges. He shrugged his shoulders. âBut only a friendly.'

âIt's my belief,' declared Dickie solemnly, âthat there's no such animal as a friendly match.'

Edmund Pemberton, a copper-nobbed new arrival as a caddy, said âA friendly match being a contradiction in terms, you mean?' He was on vacation from the University of Calleshire and had both an enquiring mind and an interest in the meaning of words.

âI don't know what you mean, laddie,' said Bert Hedges heavily, âbut what our Dickie here meant was that friendly matches aren't so interesting.'

Dickie Castle grinned, âAnd what Bert means, young Ginger, is that there's usually nothing much riding on a friendly.'

Pemberton, who hated being called either young or Ginger,
had the sense not to take his interest in semantics any further, and changed the subject âIs this Major Bligh going to win the Pletchford Plate then?'

Dickie Castle sucked his lips and said judiciously âWhether he wins the Pletchford or not really hangs on who he meets in the round after this one with James Hopland.'

âFor his sins,' said Bert Hedges, who hadn't been inside a church since he got married, âit'll be either Peter Gilchrist or Brian Southon on account of Brian Southon having had a walkover from Eric Simmonds.'

âEric Simmonds still ill, is he?' asked Hedges.

âI can tell you that it's Gilchrist who won,' another man informed them. âI saw it on the board this morning, although how he's got time to play I don't know. They say he's laying people off at his works as fast as he can.'

âThose two played their match the other day,' said a man called Shipley. âMatt went out with them just before he took off and so did old Bellows over there.' He jerked his thumb in the direction of an elderly caddy sitting slightly apart from the others, head well down, and patently deaf to their chat.

Castle nodded. âI'm not surprised that it's Gilchrist who won. He's the better man, really. Plays a very steady game when he's got his back to the wall.'

âIt was close, though,' said the other man. âI heard they went to the twentieth.'

âThe twentieth?' piped up Edmund Pemberton again. âI thought there were only eighteen holes on the course.'

âWhen the match is all square at the eighteenth,' Bert Hedges informed him in a lordly way, âyou start again at the first hole though then you call it the nineteenth â¦'

âBut I thought the nineteenth was the bar in the Clubhouse,' said Pemberton naively. âThat's what Matt told me â¦'

âIt's that, too, boy,' grinned Dickie. âEspecially on Sunday mornings.'

âAnd if you don't happen to win the nineteenth,' persisted Bert Hedges, âyou go to the twentieth and go on playing until one of the players wins â¦'

âAnd for your information,' added Dickie Castle chillingly, âit's called “sudden death”.'

âCan you see where the pin is from where you are?' Ursula Millward had called out after Helen Ewell had descended into the steepest bunker on the course. âI'm holding it up high to give you a bearing â¦'

âThat's not the problem,' Helen called back. âI've got a really horrible lie, though. I'll have to take my eight iron at least â¦' This was followed by the thudding sound of club hitting sand, succeeded by a muffled imprecation from the bunker. âNo, this needs a lob wedge.'

Ursula Millward waited.

The thudding sound came again.

And again.

âThe trouble,' shouted up Helen, âis that the sand in here is so very soft. The ball keeps on rolling back down again after I've hit it and the place it comes back to gets deeper each time.'

âI think the rules say you've got to keep counting,' called back Ursula uneasily. She thought about saying something, too, about rabbits being good at burrowing but suppressed the words just in case the remark upset Helen even more.

There was another thud.

âI am going to get this ball out of this bunker,' said a very determined voice from below, âif I have to stay here all night to do it.' This was followed by three more thuds in quick succession.

âTake your time,' called out Ursula, even though she could see that two men on the course who had been a long way
behind them were rapidly gaining on them â and her own arm was getting quite tired from holding up the flag.

The next thud was followed by a long silence â but not by the expected arrival on the green of Helen's ball.

Curious, Ursula walked across to the edge of the green and peered down. Helen was down on her knees in the bunker, bending over her ball. Then she picked the ball up, tossed it to one side, and started to scrape away at the sand with uncharacteristic urgency.

âHelen,' began Ursula, âI don't think that's allowed â¦'

She was stopped by a high-pitched shriek.

âWhat is it?' she called down.

âCome down here, Ursula,' sobbed Helen in a strangely strangled voice. âQuickly â¦ there's something horrible.'

Ursula laid down the flag-pin and scrambled down to her side, the game forgotten. âWhat is it?'

âA body,' Helen said in a choked voice. âA head anyway,' she quavered.

Before breaking down completely and lapsing into total incoherence, she managed to stutter âAnd I think I've just knocked its eye out.'