“Sure, Mrs M, I’ll drop in,” said Gary. He had adopted Hazel’s name for her, and somehow it seemed right. Just that touch of respect she hoped to have from younger members of the team. Derek had laughed when she told him that. “You’ll be goin’ on a management course next,” he’d said, and although he was joking, Lois had subsequently given it some thought. Still, they were doing fine so far. The surgery was a daily customer, likewise the pub and the hall, and the rest of the week had filled up nicely. Next step would be more cleaners, but at the moment Lois had decided to establish a solid base before expanding.
Gary arrived punctually, and Lois took him into her office. “Not much time, Gary,” she said, “so I’ll come to the point.”
He looked puzzled. “Something wrong?” he said.
“Far from it,” she said. “Very good reports about your work. I thought I’d tell you that. And I just wanted to ask you something about a woman I saw when we came round backstage last night.”
Gary’s expression changed. “Oh yes,” he said, “it was really nice to see you and Hazel. Never dreamt you’d show up! I was a bit embarrassed, I don’t mind saying – ”
Lois interrupted him. “No need,” she said. “But about this woman. I could swear it was one who applied when we were starting New Brooms.” She thought of telling him how she’d turned down Joanne Murphy, and how disgusted she’d been at the whole set-up, not least the woman’s reaction to being rejected. But she thought better of that. No, first wait and see if he knew her. “She sounded just like Joanne Murphy,” she said, and waited.
Gary’s expression did not change. He shook his head slowly. “Can’t remember that name,” he said. “It’s a big cast, mind,” he added, “and some of ‘em I only know by their Christian names. Let me think…” Lois watched him closely. He looked unruffled and not very interested. Then he brightened. “There is one of the walk-on characters called Jo,” he said. “Could that be her?” He picked up a rubber band from her desk and began twisting it in his fingers.
“Maybe,” said Lois. “Anyway, she was the one that called you out to see us.”
“Yep, that was her,” he said, and looked at his watch. “Shall have to be getting going,” he said, “if Brooms wants to keep its reputation for punctuality.” He smiled at her, apparently relaxed and friendly. As she went to the door with him, he turned back and said casually, “Oh, and by the way, why did you want to know about Jo?”
“Just curiosity,” Lois said. “I hate not being able to recognize people. You know how it is…can’t get it out of your head. So thanks for calling in. I did want to tell you how pleased everyone is with your work, anyway. See you next week.”
After he had gone, Lois sat for a while in her office, thinking. So it
¦
In the schoolhouse in Waltonby, Mrs Betts prepared a lunch tray to take upstairs to Prue. She had returned home from hospital and gone straight upstairs to her room. The doctor had advised taking it easy for a few days, and suggested that a holiday away from Waltonby would be a good idea. When she had said Prue had cousins in the Lake District, he had been enthusiastic and waffled on about daffodils ‘Beside the lake, beneath the trees’, and the beauties of Lake Windermere. Prue had not seemed at all keen, but Mrs Betts intended to work on her. Worried and anxious as she had been, there had also been anger and a feeling of being betrayed. Hadn’t they given her every advantage? Prue’s father, she knew, had wanted a boy – still did – but had decided very soon that Prue would do equally well, and with any luck she would fulfil his decided views about equality of the sexes.
Mrs Betts had told nobody her own view, which was that Prue was a dear little girl and should play with dolls, prefer frilly dresses, and in due course become, perhaps, an infant teacher, which would prepare her very well for looking after her own family in the future. But it was best not to argue. She backed up her husband in his plan for Prue’s education, and in her own quiet way made sure that the more frivolous side of a girl’s growing-up was taken care of. The result, she had thought, was a daughter with pleasing looks and nature, a good brain, as her husband put it, and a healthy interest in the opposite sex.
A small voice answered Mrs Betts’s knock on the bedroom door. She went in, and found Prue sitting up in bed, staring out of the window at the children in the playground.
“They’re very lucky, those kids,” Prue said.
Her mother put the tray on the bedside table and sat on the end of the bed. “How do you mean, darling?” she said quietly.
“Well, look at them. All in their lovely red and grey school uniform, dashing about without a care in the world. Except that one,” she added, “over there in the corner.” Mrs Betts looked. A small girl sat on her haunches against the school fence, huddled up, the picture of misery. “That was me,” said Prue. “The outsider, the teacher’s daughter. Nobody wanted me in their gang, nobody told me secrets. They thought I’d run off to Dad, and they’d be in trouble.”
Mrs Betts frowned. “Are you serious, Prue?” she said. “You never said anything at the time, and I’m sure your father would have noticed if there was anything wrong with you.”
“I was good at hiding it,” Prue said. “It wouldn’t have been any good telling Dad. He had a job to do, and that came first. As it should.” She turned towards her mother. “You could have sent me to another school, though,” she said. “If you’d thought. It was fine once I went on to Tresham. Only the school bus to contend with then.”
“It is easy to find excuses, Prue,” her mother said in a firmer voice. “Easy to put the blame on to others… especially your parents…when things go wrong. Anyway,” she added, standing up, “try and eat some lunch, and then you can come down and have tea with us later on. It’s not good to sit up here on your own and brood.” She settled the tray on Prue’s lap, and turned to go.
“Mum?” said Prue. Mrs Betts stood still, waiting.
“I’m sorry,” Prue said.
¦
Detective Inspector Cowgill sat in his car outside the school-house reading from a file of papers. After ten minutes or so he dialled a number on his mobile phone. “Lois?” he said. “We need to talk. Developments,” he said cryptically. “Three o’clock suit you? No? All right, then, four o’clock. What about the kids home from school? Ah, good old Derek. Usual place, then. Bye.”
He opened the car door, shut it noiselessly, and walked slowly towards the school.
“Why do people always call just when we’re sitting down to a meal?” said Mr Betts. “No, I’ll go,” he said to his wife, who had half-risen from her seat. He walked into the hallway, and she heard him say in an irritated voice, “Yes? What do you want?” There was another voice then, quieter, and after that her husband’s tone changed. “Oh, I see,” he said, “you’d better come in then. I’ll get the wife. Prue’s in bed upstairs, and still far from recovered.”
Mrs Betts sighed. It was a good thing they were having salad. She covered the plates and went into the sitting room to find her husband talking quietly to a tall, serious-faced man in a dark suit.
“This is Inspector Cowgill,” Mr Betts said, and the man shook her firmly by the hand.
“I shan’t keep you long,” he said. “And I do apologize for coming at lunchtime. I thought it would be least disruptive for the school.” He took the chair indicated by Mr Betts, and said, “Better get straight down to it. We know what happened to Prue, and are very sympathetic with you both. Very worrying time, of course, and this is not entirely connected with it. I realize that. But if you could just give me some idea of what kind of girl she is, how she spends her free time, who her friends are, that kind of thing, it would be a great help with our present investigations. Then perhaps I could have a quick word with her. I promise not to upset her, or stay too long.”
His quiet air of authority did the trick, as usual, and Mr Betts opened up at once, describing the good academic results of his daughter’s schoolwork, her future place at university, his hopes for a brilliant career.
Mrs Betts said nothing, until Cowgill addressed her directly. “And do you have anything to add?” he said kindly.
Mrs Betts thought of her conversation in the bedroom with Prue, and hesitated. She glanced nervously across at her husband, and then said quickly, “She was unhappy at the village school. Found it difficult, with her father being headmaster. We didn’t know. She only just told me.” And then, to her extreme chagrin and her husband’s amazement, she burst into tears and hurried from the room.
“It’s the stress,” said Cowgill reassuringly. “My fault. It’s probably too soon. Don’t worry, Mr Betts. We’ll leave the talk with Prue for a bit. Maybe tomorrow. And thank you for being so helpful. Give my apologies to your wife for upsetting her. Now, you go and help her, and I’ll see my way out.”
