Her car started first time for once, and she was on her way to Tresham at top speed, which in the Vauxhall was about forty-five miles an hour. As she drove into the suburbs of town, a plain, unobtrusive car passed her and a hand waved in salute. She saw through the window the familiar profile of Detective Inspector Hunter Cowgill.
¦
Prudence Betts, Prue to her family and friends but still Prudence to her grandmother, stood behind the bar of the Waltonby pub and hoped that the major would not be coming in today. There was absolutely no reason for this, she told herself. He was the perfect gentleman, always polite and correct, and she had no cause to be anything other than pleased to see him. But he made her feel uneasy, with his constant stream of talk about old times that seemed to have nothing to do with the look in his eye. She’d not told Hazel about this irrational feeling, but wished she could be like her, taking the major in her stride, laughing at him behind his back and flirting with him in a mild kind of way as she served him with his Teacher’s. Prue was happy enough with the young farmers, when they came in full of cheek and energy. She really liked them, and knew exactly how to handle them now.
Well, it was nearly two o’clock, and the major hadn’t appeared. He was a strict timekeeper, and would certainly have been in by now. Prue relaxed. “Nice day, Mr Meade,” she said, calling across the room to where Derek sat in the window, taking a break from his rewiring.
He nodded, his mouth full. He liked Prue Betts, and felt the customary disapproval at seeing such a young girl behind a pub bar. He knew, of course, that it was legal. Geoff would never allow an underage girl to serve. It was just that Prue looked so much younger – and was, a year or so – than Hazel. He’d done some work for her parents in the village school, where her father was headmaster. Prue was a precious only, and her father’s pride and joy. Derek had heard she was waiting to go to university, filling in time and earning a few pounds, and he wondered what her parents thought. Maybe they reckoned it was safe enough, being in the same village. Anyway, you couldn’t lock ‘em up! He knew that well enough from his own Josie, unfortunately.
“Haven’t seen the major today,” Derek said, making conversation.
Geoff Boggis answered him. “Gone into Tresham,” he said. “It’s Tuesday, and on Tuesdays the major marches off to Tresham with his dirty laundry. Every Tuesday, without fail.”
“Walks all that way?” said Prue.
Derek and Geoff looked at each other. “No, dear, that was a joke,” said Geoff. “He took the bus as usual, 9.45 am outside the village hall, and back on the 3.15 pm, arriving at his front door at 3.25 pm precisely.” He drew himself to attention, clicked his heels and saluted.
Prue laughed this time. “Why does he go on the bus?” she said. “He’s got a car. I’ve seen him cleaning it.”
“He says the parking’s terrible in Tresham, which it is, and anyway, if we don’t use the buses we’ll lose them, he says. Makes it sound like a duty…take the bus, or straight to the guardhouse for twenty-four hours!” Geoff Boggis snapped to attention again, and Prue smiled.
She would have liked to ask some more questions about the major. Hazel had told her that he was an old lecher, and had several times asked her if she’d like to go and see his holiday snaps. She had been scornful, and Prue had felt a moment’s pity for the major. Maybe just an old bloke who’s lonely, she thought. No harm in him, most likely. Still, these days it wouldn’t do, she knew that from her parents’ frequent warnings.
“How’s Dad and Mum?” said Derek. He’d liked both of them. Mr Betts was a bit stiff and starchy, but polite enough. Some people, when you worked in their houses, treated you like dirt, stepping over you like you were something the cat brought in. But Mr and Mrs Betts had been nice, talking to him about this and that. Regular cups of coffee had appeared, and when he’d finished the work, they made a point of saying how pleased they were with it, and how they’d certainly be in touch if they had any more electrical problems.
“They’re fine,” said Prue. “Dad’s busy with meetings and such, and Mummy…Mum…is shopping for new clothes today. I expect she’ll be back by the time I get home, full of it!” And full of questions for me, she added to herself. How did I get on? Who was in the pub? Who did I talk to? Was it all right, and did I manage the money, giving change and so on and so on. What they really wanted to know, of course, was did all the men gang up together and rape me on the billiard table after the pub closed? She sighed. Chance would be a fine thing. Her father had at first met her after work, especially if it was a late night shift. She had done her best to discourage him and he hadn’t been there recently. She had a momentary vision of him taking on the young farmers single-handed, and laughed.
“You got a nice laugh,” said Derek in a fatherly voice. “Mind you don’t waste it.”
Now there’s a nice man, thought Prue.
? Terror on Tuesday ?
Three
The advertisement in the
“How many are you going to start with, gel?” said Derek. They were sitting at the big kitchen table with the applications spread out in front of them. One of them slipped off the edge and floated to the floor, and the cat, Melvyn, a stroppy ginger torn, pounced on it with muddy feet straight from the garden.
“Give it here!” said Lois sharply, and tugged at it. Melvyn hung on, and the letter tore in half.
“Better ditch that one,” said Derek. “Must be a jinx on that woman.”
“Rubbish,” said Lois, and wrestled the other half away from the cat. She put the two halves together carefully and read aloud: “‘Sheila Stratford, aged forty-five, married with grown-up kids, own car, reliable.”’.
“Which is more than could be said for yours,” said Derek.
“‘Hard-working and reliable, like my car…’.” Lois laughed. “I like that, shows a sense of humour and my God you need one sometimes. Sounds promising?”
“Where’s she live?” said Derek.
“Um…oh, yep, that’s good. She lives in Waltonby…I think it’s the council houses on the Tresham road. You know, on the right hand side, just up from the pub. Definitely a possible.” Lois put the two halves on the pile of possibles, and picked up the next. “Oh no,” she said. “This one’s sixty-eight and lives miles the other side of Tresham. Fallen on hard times, I shouldn’t wonder, from the ladylike sound of her.”
“Prejudice,” said Derek. “Give it here.” He read it quickly and smiled. “Mrs Bigsby-Jones, I don’t think you’ll do,” he said, and put it with the rejects.
Finally, they had six possibles, including a twenty-eight-year-old man, who said he was useless at most things except housework, and he was excellent at that. Derek repeated his question. “How many for a start?”
Lois shook her head. “Don’t really know,” she said. “It’ll depend on what they’re like. I think the best thing is to hire say three or four of the really good ones, and then take on jobs accordingly. As we get known, I can always recruit more. There’s word of mouth, too. If I can get recommendations, that’ll be a good thing. They’ve got to be the right sort, not just good at cleaning. Got to know when to keep their mouths shut, an’ that.” In her mind, Lois knew exactly what she was looking for, and that last quality was not entirely to do with the cleaning business. But Derek need not know that. She checked that the six all had telephone numbers, and went off to her office to make some appointments.
Derek tidied up the table and got ready to go out to work. He was proud of Lois, and determined to do what he could to help her set up this business, but he had a vaguely uneasy feeling that she was not telling him everything. Still, when had she ever?
“Cheerio!” he yelled, but there was no answer. Lois was already on the telephone to the first on the list: Sheila Stratford, of Waltonby.
As luck would have it, Mrs Stratford’s husband answered the telephone and said that Sheila had gone away up north to her sister’s. She’d be away for a couple of weeks, but was very keen to have a job with New Brooms, and would – if required – get in touch the minute she got back. Lois put down the phone, disappointed at this first frustration, but went on to the next one down on the list. This one was in her twenties, address in Tresham, own
