The Sleeping Salesman Enquiry (4 page)

S
ix

GUS LOOKED AT
his watch. He had overslept, and fumbling for his watch disturbed an offended Whippy, who was still snoozing at the end of his bed.

“Blast!” It was Saturday already, and if the bus was on time, it would be across the Green and outside the shop in exactly one hour’s time. He leapt out of bed, stubbing his toe on a leg of the bed. Hopping painfully to the bathroom, he had a quick sluice down, wishing he had not stayed so long at Miriam’s last evening. She had, as usual, insisted he stay for coffee and chocs, and he had fallen asleep on her sofa. When he had surfaced at midnight, she was curled up with her head on his shoulder, leaving him in a dilemma. Should he wake her and return home, or should he leave her sleeping peacefully until morning?

He had chosen the first option, and she had been resentful, saying all he wanted from her was her cooking. He tried to find a tactful way of saying she was right, and was more or less shown the door.

Now he dressed quickly. One of these days, he said to himself, you will find yourself in Miriam Blake’s warm bed, having been tempted once too often by her homemade primrose wine, and unable to stop her having her wicked way with you. Well, he consoled himself as he pulled a warm jersey over his head, worse things could happen.

He gave Whippy her breakfast, and looked at the clock. Ten minutes to go. “Better be off, little dog,” he said, and fixed her lead. “Let’s hope Roy’s ugly man appears this morning. And if he turns out to be Alfred Lowe, I shall not be put off. Oh God, there’s Miriam at the back door!” he added. “Come on, quickly, let’s creep out the front way. Good dog. No, no barking! Quickly!”

Once out of the cottage and striding across the Green with Whippy trotting along beside him, Gus’s spirits rose. It seemed as if the wedding of the year was really going to happen this time, and he looked forward to a May weekend of jollity. He was fond of both Ivy and Roy, and could think of no reason at all why they should not be very happy in the time left to them. He would call on them after his stint at the bus stop, and see how they were getting along with preparations. His own marriage had been disastrous, but he was not against the institution entirely. Sometimes he even considered asking Deirdre how she felt about it. But her recent reaction when she had quite mistakenly thought he was about to propose had been enough for him to forget it for the moment.

They reached the shop, and the usual crowd of shoppers stood waiting for the bus. It must be galling for James, Gus thought now. His own shop was well stocked with all that anyone could need, whilst not ten yards from his open door stood potential customers in a line ready to spend their all at Tesco in Thornwell.

But hang on a minute! There was Alf again! Why would a miserly old bachelor want to go two days in one week? But then again, why not? The thing to do would be to ask him. Gus took a deep breath, attached Whippy’s lead to the shop’s dog hook, and returned to the queue with a big smile.

“Good morning, Mr. Lowe,” he said. “My name is Halfhide, Gus Halfhide, and I believe we may have friends in common? I am so sorry if I alarmed you, but I really only wanted to say hello.”

“Hello,” said Alf.

Progress, thought Gus. Definitely a better start than before. “I am sure I remember my old father mentioning your name. He had a farm in the Cotswolds and was always going on about his brilliant stockman, one Donald Lowe? Does that ring bells?”

Alf stared at him. “Supposing it does?” he said suspiciously. “Now, look here, the bus is just coming, so if you’re going into town, come and sit by me and we’ll see if there’s anything in your story. More likely a trumped-up reason to get me to talk. But we’ll see. On you go; you go first.”

As the bus started on its way, Gus’s arm was touched by a kindly looking matron across the aisle. “Was that your dog?” she said. “Did you mean to leave her hooked up outside the shop?”

Panic! Gus tried to stand up to stop the bus, but Alf pulled him down in his seat. “Dog’ll be all right,” he said. “Do you want to talk to me or not? I’m not bothered, so you’d better make up your mind. You could get off at the next stop and walk back.”

Gus thought for half a minute, and then pulled out his mobile. “I’ll get James to take her in until I return,” he said.

“Don’t know what we’d do without our village shop,” said Alf, with the trace of a smile. “So, I’m supposed to have met your friend at a bus stop a while back?”

“Yes, that’s right. He said you were having wife trouble—do forgive me if I’m getting this wrong—and he offered the services of our enquiry agency, should you need it. We have just finished a case, and wondered if we could be of any use to you?”

It would have taken a monster not to be softened by Gus’s anxiety to please.

“Well, what did you say your name was? Mine’s Lowe. Alfred Lowe. Alf to my friends in the pub.”

“Barrington pub? Haven’t seen you in there. Mind you, I only go in for the odd pint and a game of darts.”

“You any good? At darts, I mean.”

“Not bad. I fill in if one of the regulars can’t make a match in the league. How about yourself?”

“County champ in my youth. Misspent youth, I should say. I’ll give you a game someday.”

They were silent then until approaching the outskirts of Thornwell, and then Alf asked if Gus had much shopping to do.

“None,” said Gus. “If you remember, you abducted me onto this bus.”

Alf laughed uproariously. “Very good!” he said. “Now, would you like to be abducted to a café in the marketplace? Then I’ll tell you the whole story of my ill-fated marriage.”

“So it
was
you who met Roy that day?”

“Roy who?”

“Roy Goodman. He lives at Springfields residential home in Barrington. You must know him, surely?”

“Roy Goodman! Was that him that day? I thought the old bugger looked familiar! Well, I never. Roy Goodman, still in the land of the living! His family used to farm near us. A wealthy lot, they were. Several farms here and there. Goodmans everywhere a generation back, you know. What about Roy? Did he get wed, have children?”

Gus shook his head. He thought he would keep quiet about the forthcoming marriage between Roy and Ivy. “No, he’s been a confirmed bachelor, I gather.”

“Blimey. When the old man dies, then, there’ll be quite a carve-up, won’t there?” Gus did not answer, and Alf stirred in his seat. “Now, here we are,” he said. “Follow me, and I can guarantee a good cup of tea and the best rock cakes in the county.”

Gus frowned. This family information did not quite accord with Roy’s oft-repeated denial of any close relations, except for one nephew, son of a now-deceased sister. It could just be true, if all the Goodmans and their offspring were now dead. Except one, and he was to be Roy’s best man. Odd, but possible.

When they were settled in a scruffy café in a side street off the marketplace, Gus thought it was time to open the subject of Alf’s marriage. But the old man was too swift for him.

“I’ve just remembered something else about old Roy,” he said, with a smirk. “I’m sure it was him who was once engaged to his cousin Ethel. Lovely girl, she was. Quite a bit younger than him. I never knew what happened, but my auntie told my mother that Ethel Goodman was jilted. Roy broke it off, they said. At the altar steps, if I remember rightly. He’d found some rich bloke’s daughter who was a better bet, so the rumours said. There was talk of him being sued for breach of contract, but I don’t know if that was even legal in them days. Are you sure he’s never been married? He must be getting on for eighty odd?”

Gus was astonished. He was sure this had never been mentioned at Springfields, unless Ivy had been told by Roy and they had agreed to keep it quiet. Good heavens! If anyone had suggested that Roy was a dishonest old philanderer, Gus would have staked his life on them being wrong!

“You’ve gone quiet, Gus. Something I said? Don’t you worry about old Roy. Whatever happened in the past is not going to make much difference to an old man in his eighties, is it?” Alf chuckled. “Let’s go mad an’ have another rock cake. What do you say, Gus? Then I’ll tell you the story of my life.”

S
even

“WHEN I WAS
quite a young lad,” said Alf, fishing out of his pocket a grubby red handkerchief and blowing his nose noisily, “I fell deeply in love, as they say, with a gel who was at school with me. We were friends right from infants’ class. We used to do country dancing in them days, and Susan was always my partner. Her favourite was Gathering Peascods, where couples stood in a long line and then the bottom pair danced up to the top and so on. You in a hurry, Gus? I see you looking at your watch. There’s no bus for a couple of hours, and you said you’d got no shopping to do. Just you sit there and listen to me. You might learn something.”

“No, no, I’m going nowhere. You carry on, Alf. Fascinating stuff.”

“Then, later on,” Alf continued relentlessly, “during the war, we used to get what we called aeroplane glass—it was really some kind of perspex—and fashion it into rings and bracelets and stuff.”

“How on earth did you do that?” Gus asked, fascinated by an aspect of World War Two totally new to him.

“Not sure. Cut it, I think. My dad gave me one for Susan, and it had a blue stone glued into it. I told her it was a sapphire, and I made it myself, and she laughed at me. She was always laughing at me. Anyway we got married eventually.”

“Good,” said Gus, with some relief. So Alf
had
been married. “And it ended badly, did it?”

“You could say that. She died in childbirth. The baby died, too. It was a boy, a lovely bouncing boy. I suppose it wouldn’t happen now.”

Gus looked at him and frowned. Alf had a dreamy look on his face, and a half smile, which hardly seemed appropriate.

“Alfred,” said Gus. “Are you telling me the truth, or making it up as you go along?”

Alf tried to look affronted, but gave up and burst into a raucous laugh. “Got you going there, didn’t I! I always could tell a good story. Known for it.”

“So how much of all that was the truth, you old fibber?”

“Not a lot,” he replied comfortably. “Susan didn’t die, and she didn’t have any children. Didn’t want them. But she left me. Wanted a divorce, but I’m Roman Catholic, and marriage is for life. So there we are. Husband and wife, but not lived together for thirty years. She gets in touch when she finds it convenient to have a husband, and that’s about it.”

“Ah, now, is that really the truth? Because if so, that sounds like what you told Roy at the bus stop that day. So, do you want help or not? Seems you’ve rubbed along reasonably well up to now?”

“But things have changed. She’s got her whole family together, and now they’re talking again about persuading me to give her a divorce.”

“Sounds like a straightforward case for a lawyer. I don’t think Enquire Within is well enough qualified to help you, Alf.”

“How about another pot of tea? I haven’t finished telling you yet. The fact is, as far as I’m concerned, we was married in the sight of God, an’ there’s no way of undoing that. As long as ye both shall live, an’ all that.”

“No more tea for me, thanks. But I’ll sit with you, if you want more. Actually, I wouldn’t say no to another rock cake. As to the divorce, aren’t you being a bit of a dog in the manger? You don’t want her, but you won’t let anyone else have her?”

When they were served, Alf resumed. “The thing is, young Gus, I think she might have been shacked up with a bloke all these years, and now he wants to marry her. Make it legal, an’ that. Maybe put a gun to her head? Well, the more trouble I can make for her, the better I shall like it. She put me through it when we was living together, I can assure you of that. I didn’t go to church, an’ that, but we were both Catholics, and that goes deep. She knew I wouldn’t divorce her then, and I won’t now. When I go, I mean to go with my image of a nasty old man safely intact! What do you say to that? Can you keep her off my back? That’s all I want. Tell her there’s no chance, and she’ll just have to carry on like she’s been doing. All I want is a bit o’ peace, a game of darts, and a couple of pints in the pub. Not a load of legal stuff and notices in the local paper. No, you tell her, boy.”

“I’m sure we can help,” Gus said, though he was far from sure. “I must take the whole case to my colleagues for discussion, and then I’ll be in touch. Roy will be particularly interested to hear about your predicament, you being neighbours in the past.”

“You’d better think twice about that stuff I told you about him and Ethel, my old flame.”

“Why? Wasn’t it true?”

“Ah,” said Alf, struggling to his feet. “That’d be telling, wouldn’t it?”

• • •

BY THE TIME
Gus got off the return bus in Barrington, he was still confused. He got halfway home and then remembered Whippy.

“How could you forget her, Gus?” said Deirdre. She had stocked up on chocolate cake and homemade shortbread, and was leaving the shop looking guilty.

“Thought you were on a diet?” he said. “Anyway, I love you as you are, so no need to hide the goodies from me.”

“Never mind about dieting,” she said huffily. “Did you find Roy’s man at the bus stop?”

“Oh yes, I found him, all right! I’ve spent a happy afternoon trying to sort out truth from fiction. All shall be told at our next meeting, unless Ivy wants to get us together sooner. Here, let me carry those for you.”

“No, thanks. You’ve got a dog to collect, remember?”

“Right! See you soon, Deirdre love. Must go now. Miriam’s promised me a slap-up lunch, with a new bone for Whippy.”

Deirdre was almost sure that Gus had no evil designs on Miriam, but she regarded him as her property and did not like to hear about her rival’s latest move. Bones for his dog now! The woman was pathetic.

“Fine,” she said. “Enjoy yourself. I’ll think of you on the sagging sofa whilst I am languishing in the arms of the squire in his stately home.”

Gus laughed. “I do love you, you know,” he said. “In spite of everything.”

• • •

IVY HAD SEEN
Deirdre walking by Springfields, and now saw her returning with shopping bags bulging.

“Do you think she’s given up driving the Bentley to Oakbridge to shop at the supermarket? Of course, there’s the weekly hairdo as well. But those full bags look to me like weekly supplies. Has she started to think of the environment at last?”

“Probably not, dearest,” said Roy sweetly. “I think she stocks up on Miriam’s baking once a week, and shares it with us on Thursdays.”

“Which reminds me, shall we get together tomorrow for tea? Sunday tea is always nice here in Springfields. Old Spurling is off duty, and Katya loves to bake. We could ask her to serve it by the fire in the lounge. Nice and cosy. Shall we give Deirdre and Gus a ring to fix it? Then we can hear how he got on this morning. He was seen getting on the bus, and Whippy was taken in by James at the shop.”

“How on earth do you know all that?” Roy never ceased to marvel at his beloved’s talent for information-gathering.

“Katya told me. She went to the shop for supplies, and they were all talking about it.”

Katya was one of two Polish girls working at Springfields, and had a special fondness for Ivy Beasley. She had a knack of saying the right thing and treating Ivy with due respect. She thoroughly approved of the Roy and Ivy romance, and did all she could to foster it.

“Guests for tea?” she said now, coming into the residents’ lounge. “I have new cookies for you to try.”

“You are a treasure,” said Ivy. “And yes, Deirdre and Gus will be here around four o’clock.”

“Unless we let you know otherwise,” said Roy considerately. After all, they had not yet been asked, though he knew Ivy regarded her invitation as an order to attend.