bath, drank a lot of water and went downstairs. It was still light and the day’s heat stayed in the air. There was not enough breeze to stir the windchimes that hung by her open windows.
Jude thought about the attack of food poisoning at the Crown and Anchor and reckoned she had got off lightly. The two people who’d actually been sick in the pub had been pretty frail, which was probably why they were affected so quickly. She wondered how many other customers had spent the afternoon laid up like her. She rang Carole.
“The scallops got me too,” she said. “I was just wondering if you were feeling any better?”
“No,” replied the strained voice from next door.
“Have you been sick?”
“No!” Carole’s voice shuddered with horror at the very idea.
“You’ll feel better if you are.”
“That I doubt.” From childhood onwards, Carole Seddon had been terrified by the very idea of vomiting. She hated losing control in any area of her life, and throwing up seemed to her the ultimate loss of control. She would do anything to avoid it happening, tensing her body with iron – and painful – willpower.
“Have you slept?”
“No. It’s daytime. I’m not in the habit of going to sleep in the daytime.”
“It’s different when you’re ill.”
“I’m not ill. Just a touch of food poisoning.”
“Is there anything I can do for you?” Jude knew the answer to the question before she posed it. There were times when she got frustrated by her neighbour’s unwillingness ever to be beholden to anyone else, but she rarely voiced her reaction. Like most people, Jude reasoned, Carole Seddon was a complex bundle of illogicalities, which anyone who wanted to be her friend must just take on board.
“Well, ring me if you do need anything.”
“I can’t imagine there will be anything I need, thank you.”
“I’ll call in the morning to see how you are.”
“I will be fine in the morning,” said Carole icily, daring her body to do anything other than mend itself overnight.
To her surprise, when she had come off the phone Jude almost felt hungry. Her ready vomiting must have thoroughly cleared all the poison out of her system. Maybe she fancied a little soup? Or even something more substantial? But just the mental image of food prompted another wave of queasiness.
She decided she’d better check how things were with Ted Crisp and was surprised by how long it took for the Crown and Anchor phone to be answered. Perhaps just busy in the bar, she thought, about to hang up.
But then she heard Ted’s voice. And there was no background noise of a busy bar.
“Sorry it took me so long. I was upstairs in the flat.”
“I thought you were just busy.”
He let out a hollow laugh. “Can’t be busy when the pub’s closed, can you?”
“What?”
“Someone made a complaint…you know, after what happened at lunchtime. I’ve been closed down by Health and Safety until they do an inspection.”
“And when are they going to do that?”
“Hopefully tomorrow. They may not be able to do it for a few days though. God, and I’ve got this Dan Poke gig set up for Sunday. It’s the bloody limit! The longer a place like the Crown and Anchor’s closed, the longer it’ll take to build up my trade again. And this is my busiest period. What I take this time of year offsets those endless winter nights when I’ve just got three old farts nursing one half of bitter all evening.”
Ted Crisp sounded so gloomy that Jude couldn’t resist inviting him round for a drink. An offer that he took up with considerable alacrity.
¦
He refused her offer of soup or anything else to eat. The fact that he asked for Scotch to drink and the despatch with which he downed it were measures of how upset he was. Ted had never succumbed to the temptation that has ruined the health of so many publicans. He didn’t normally sample his wares during the day, contenting himself with a single pint at closing time.
Jude had never seen him quite so desolate. She tried desperately to think of anything that might cheer him up. She sipped her water – her stomach didn’t yet feel up to anything stronger – and asked, “Are you worried what the Health and Safety inspectors will find?”
“No, they were only there last week. And I’ve never had any trouble with them before. Place is as clean as a whistle. Standards are higher then ever since I’ve had Zosia keeping an eye on things.”
“She’s worked out well.”
“Yeah.” He was always slightly grudging in any praise he gave to his bar manager. “Even though she is Polish.”
“Presumably the Health and Safety people will be checking your seafood supplier as well?”
He nodded and scratched his scruffy beard. “Which isn’t exactly going to make me popular with them.”
“Scallops are notorious…you know, if they’re slightly off…”
“I’m sure it’s not from the supplier. They’re a big company, and they’ve always had the most exacting hygiene standards.”
“Then how come you got a dodgy delivery from them?”
“I can’t work it out,” Ted Crisp replied wearily. “I’ve been through all the possibilities and…” he sighed “…I don’t know what to think.”
“It’s incredibly bad luck.”
“You can say that again. And I just don’t know how much more bad luck the Crown and Anchor can take.”
“How do you mean?”
He let out another deep sigh. “Licensed Victuallers’ trade’s always been an up-and-down business. Every week you hear of more pubs closing – or being bought up by the big boys, the chains. Gets increasingly difficult to make a profit – particularly if you borrowed as much as I did to get the Crown and Anchor in the first place. And there are constantly new problems. Another government clampdown on drink-driving and your trade drops off. Then the smoking ban didn’t help. Been a long time since you could make a living just by pulling pints, so you have to organize other attractions to get people through the doors. Darts, quiz nights, wall-to-wall football – though I don’t want to go down that route myself. Just like I don’t want to have that CCTV so many pubs have these days – looks like you don’t trust your customers. Then of course I used sometimes to get the punters in with live music, though that’s got hideously more expensive with the new entertainment licences the government saw fit to bring in a few years back. I tell you, Jude, it’s a bloody nightmare.”
“I’m sure it is.” She was good at supplying sympathy. “And you’ve got this Dan Poke comedy night coming up. That should bring them in, shouldn’t it?”
“Yes, assuming I’m open by then. But that’s a one-off. Dan’s just doing it as a favour, only charging expenses, because he’s a mate from the days when I was on the stand-up circuit. Yeah, I’m sure – if I’m allowed to open by then – Sunday’ll be fine. Dan says I’ll be able to judge from how it goes whether it’s worth having a regular comedy night, but that’s going to cost. No other comedians are going to do it for free, are they?
“So what you come back to is the food. You got to do food that’s better than the local competition. Which means you need a good chef…and they’re like gold dust round here. And you have to pay them as much as if they were bloody gold dust.”
“But I thought your new chef was very good. Word of mouth about the Crown and Anchor’s food has been great.”
“Yes,” Ted Crisp agreed gloomily. “I thought I’d turned the corner with him. And I had until those bloody scallops came in.”
“Who is the chef? I haven’t met him.”
“Boy called Ed Pollack. Trained at catering college in Chichester. Used to moonlight here a bit while he was finishing his course.”
Jude vaguely remembered Ted mentioning the young chef before, while she had Carole had been enquiring into an unexplained death at Hopwicke Country House Hotel. “But he’s fully trained now?”
