it out over the rubbish, weighting it down with bricks to keep out the rain.
“I’ll take care of it,” Lois said. “I’ll be round this way again tomorrow.”
“Y’know what,” said Hazel. “We could ask our Enid Abraham to come up and light it when it dries up. They’re only just down the road.”
Lois hesitated. She was well aware that Hazel had reservations about Enid Abraham. This did not worry her, but she had had cause to trust Hazel’s judgement in the past, and did not dismiss it out of hand. “Well, she’s not really on our books until Monday,” she said. “No, I’ll do it, Hazel. And by the way, I’ve told Enid we always have a four-week trial period at New Brooms.”
Hazel nodded. “Mind-reader, that’s what you are, Mrs M,” she said, and touched Lois lightly on the arm. “Mum said would you like to drop in for coffee if you got time,” she added. “I’m off to the hall, so you girls can have a gossip together.”
Lois laughed. “Just watch it, young Hazel,” she said.
It was not until she sat having a late coffee with Bridie, telling her about the junk in the old farmhouse, that Hazel’s words came back to her. Down-and-out and homeless, she had said, and a sudden picture of a tall man in dark clothes, with a white, unshaven face, came back to send a shiver down her spine.
¦
“Hello, Bill?” Lois had eaten a delicious savoury pancake, more slowly than usual to please Gran, and now reached across her desk for the notes she had made in Sackville’s office. “Bill, it’s Lois here. When did you say you could start? In two weeks’ time? Great. I’ve got just the job for you to start on, and I’ll fill in until you can take it on. It’s the estate agent’s…in your village, yes. What?”
There were chortles of an unmistakable sort at the other end of the phone, and Lois frowned. “Never mind about the blonde behind the desk! You won’t even see her – we have to be finished in the office before they open up. So you can forget any ideas in that direction. And this is a cleaning agency, not a dating…Oh, OK, it was a joke. Yep, well…” Lois reached for her mug of tea and took a slurp. Bill continued to apologize, until she said not to worry, she was not totally without a sense of humour. She would see him in two weeks’ time at Sackville’s office, show him the ropes for the first morning, and then introduce him to the others at the Monday meeting.
Bill put down the phone and turned to Rebecca, who had called in for a swift sandwich break from school. “Oops,” he said, “nearly made a mess of it there.”
“She’s not a soft touch, not by any means, according to Mrs Stratford,” said Rebecca.
“Who’s Mrs Stratford?”
“One of the school grannies,” Rebecca replied. “Very nice woman, works for Lois Meade. Respects her no end, but says you can’t take advantage. So if you really mean to make a go of this cleaning nonsense, you’d better remember that.”
Bill’s face fell. “It’s not nonsense,” he said. “You might give us a chance. You’re not ashamed of your bloke being a cleaner, are you? I mean, Rebecca, if that’s how you feel, I’ll give it up now, before I start. There’s bound to be farm work about sooner or later.”
Rebecca looked at his nice open face and relented. She’d been tempted to tell him that Sheila Stratford had more or less said she could get him work on the farm. But who was she to tell him what to do? She wasn’t his wife, after all. They had no kids to think of. She thought of all those thickos in the village pub, young sons of local farmers, whose conversation ran out of interest after two sentences. No, Bill was different, and if he wanted to be a char, good luck to him. There must be a euphemism for chars, anyway, like rodent controller instead of ratcatcher. Something like home refreshers? Rebecca looked at Bill, with his hefty rugby-player’s shoulders and square jaw, and laughed aloud.
“What’s funny?” he said defensively.
“Just wondering what I’ll call you,” she said, giving him a peck on the cheek.
“Call a bloody spade a spade,” he said crossly. “I’ll be a cleaner, and that’s that.”
“I’ve got it!” said Rebecca, moving away from him to a safe distance. “You’ll be New Broom Bill, sweeping the world cleaner!” He lunged, but she was out of the room and locked in the lavatory before he could catch her.
¦
Sheila Stratford was a typical grannie, blind to her grandchildren’s imperfections, and certain that whatever shortcomings there were, were due entirely to faulty education in the village school. But she had nothing against Rebecca, and said to all and sundry that if anyone asked her, she would stake her life on Bill Stockbridge being a really nice bloke, a hard worker and totally trustworthy.
She looked at husband Sam now over the table. He had just said Bill must be crazy, or a poof, to want to do house cleaning. “None of our business,” she scolded Sam as he sat back from a satisfactory meal. “Nowadays,” she challenged him, “things are different. Women do men’s jobs, and men take on women’s work in loads of places. Take that son of her up at the manor,” Sheila added, warming to her subject. Sam was trapped, sitting in his socks, whilst Sheila cleared away the dishes.
“That son of her up at the manor,” she’d repeated. “Got a first at Oxford, whatever that means, but I know it’s good. Suddenly decides to be a nurse. A nurse! On skivvy’s rates of pay, and dreadful hours!”
“Yeah,” Sam said, getting to his feet and trying to edge past Sheila to the door, “and now he’s got some admin job…good pay and prospects…fast track to the top, his dad told me. So your argument don’t hold water, Sheila. No, I reckon your Bill’s one of them closet blokes. You can’t always tell, you know.”
“And what about Rebecca, then?” Sheila replied triumphantly.
“She’s his cover, see.” Sam had reached the door, and stood grinning at her. “I’ll be off then. See you later, gel.”
“Rubbish!” said Sheila. Sam was just an old-fashioned stick-in-the-mud. Well, she’d do her best to befriend Bill, show him the routines an’ that. And there were always jobs that needed a bit o’ muscle in New Brooms. Lois knew what she was doing.
Sheila swilled water round the sink, dried her hands and took off her apron. No, she thought, if there were going to be any snags to Bill Stockbridge, it was much more likely to be on the Hazel Reading front. She had an eye for the lads, like any young girl. If Sheila were Lois, she’d make sure not to send them out on a job together. You couldn’t be too careful.
? Weeping on Wednesday ?
Eleven
Rain was still falling relentlessly next morning, and Lois abandoned any ideas of lighting a bonfire at the old farmhouse. Not that there was any rush, but she decided to ring Sackville’s and tell them what she had done.
“Thanks very much, Mrs Meade,” said the girl. “I popped in after you’d gone, and must say it is a complete transformation!”
“It’s clean,” said Lois.
“Yes, indeed! And such a good thing, as Mrs Charrington and her husband are coming over again today. She’s picking up the key from here – wants them to see it alone, without me rabbiting on! Now you’ve done such a good job, they’ll be sure to buy.”
“Well, we’ll see,” said Lois. “Now, if you were satisfied, I’d like to suggest we get this on a regular footing. What goes for the farmhouse goes for most properties. I do the same thing for another agent in Tresham, and it seems to work well. As you’re in this area, perhaps we could have an agreement that you’d call on New Brooms for any properties standing empty and needing a wash and brush-up?”
Gran, who’d come into Lois’s office at the start of this conversation, raised her eyebrows. My God, Lois was certainly turning into a real businesswoman! She wished her husband was alive to see it…he’d always said she had a good head on her shoulders. And he loved to be proved right.
“So what time is Mrs Charrington expected? I might drop in and see if she’s thought any more about a cleaner once they’re there.”
“Oh, well, I don’t know about that,” said the girl doubtfully. Then, since Lois said nothing, she added, “Still, if you’re just passing and see their car, or something…They plan to get there around eleven this morning.”
