and then…You couldn’t just shoot off to Cornwall overnight.
“Do you have a problem with that? Have you got something booked?”
Trying not to sound pathetic, Carole was forced to admit that no, she didn’t have anything booked for the next day. Or for a good many days after that. But she kept that information to herself.
Jude was busy at the keyboard, typing in her enquiry. Signing off with ‘J. Metarius’, she sent the email off.
“How soon will you get a reply?”
“Depends how often Mopsa – or whoever happens to be there – checks her email. From the impression the Lockes have given of their financial situation, it should be quite often.”
“So what do we do now?”
“We go downstairs, Carole, and we have another glass of wine.”
Their other glass of wine led to further conversation about the case. Carole had missed the opportunity to get back on to Jude’s marriage – or marriages – but she did somewhat shamefacedly describe her encounter with Theo. (She couldn’t see any reason to abide by the confidentiality he had demanded.) When she heard what had happened, Jude was very good and just managed to stop herself from laughing. After the update, they went upstairs to find that there had already been a response from Treboddick Cottages. Mopsa was being appropriately vigilant.
Yes, there was current availability. Maybe J. Metarius would like to email back a more specific enquiry? Or telephone?
“Telephone,” said Jude firmly. “I’ll use the mobile. A Fethering dialling code might be a bit of a give-away.” She got through to the number on the screen. “Good evening. My name’s Metarius. I’ve just received your email.”
“Hello, so glad you’ve got in touch,” lisped the voice from the other end of the line. Had Jude met Dorcas, she would have recognized that Mopsa’s voice was identical.
“Can I ask who I’m speaking to?”
“Yes, of course. My name’s Mopsa Locke. I’m in charge of the lettings of Treboddick Cottages.”
“Oh, good. I’m glad I’ve got the right person. Now the fact is that a friend and I suddenly have some free time and we were wondering how soon we could book in to one of the cottages.”
“As soon as you like. They’re all empty.” Mopsa decided that this last comment made her business sound too needy, and went on, “That is to say, they’re all
“Tomorrow would be ideal.”
“And how long would you be wanting to stay?”
“Well, till after the weekend at least.”
I can’t suddenly go off and leave Fethering for nearly a week, was Carole’s instinctive reaction. But when she thought about it, she realized that there was nothing at all to stop her. She couldn’t even pretend to be restricted by Gulliver. The dog could come with them. There’s nothing he’d like better. Gambolling on Cornish cliffs would be his idea of heaven. On the other hand, she wouldn’t tell Jude that yet. She’d keep the potential problem of Gulliver up her sleeve in case she needed a get-out.
“Normally our minimum booking is for a week,” said Mopsa.
“Well, that’s fine,” Jude responded airily. “We’ll book it for a week.”
What, thought Carole, and where’s the money coming from? Although her Home Office pension and prudent savings habits meant she could easily have booked a round-the-world cruise at that very moment, a week in a cottage in Cornwall still sounded like an unwarranted extravagance.
“I’m not sure,” Jude went on, “exactly what time we’ll arrive tomorrow evening. Is there some arrangement we should make about picking up the key…?”
“It’s fine. I’m here all the time. I’ll be able to let you in.”
“Good.”
“And there will be a Welcome Pack of basics in the fridge when you arrive. You know, bread, milk, butter.”
“That sounds fine. Oh, one thing…Is it all right if we have a dog with us?” The question showed that Jude was ahead of Carole. Gulliver wasn’t going to be allowed as an excuse to get out of the trip.
“Yes, that’s fine. Lots of our guests bring dogs. There are some lovely walks along the cliffs.”
“Great. Now which of the cottages is free, Mopsa? Which one would you recommend?”
“As I say, they’re all free…just briefly. I live in Number One. Two and Four are really one big double room and one small single. Since there are two of you, Three would be best. That’s got two large single bedrooms.” There was a slight hesitation at the other end. “That is, if you don’t want the double…?”
Well, these days you had to ask. Jude suppressed a giggle and decided she wouldn’t pass on that part of the conversation to Carole. Her neighbour was clearly already having difficulty accommodating the idea of the two of them swanning off to Cornwall for a week. The suggestion that they might be mistaken for a lesbian couple was probably more than she could cope with.
“No. Number Three sounds the right one for us. Now are you going to need my address?”
“If you can just give me a credit card number, that’ll be fine. You can fill in the forms when you arrive. We take a non-refundable hundred pound deposit, and that’ll come straight off your card. I’m sorry, but we have had unfortunate experiences in the past.”
“I’m sure you have. Can’t trust anyone these days, can you? Just a sec. I’ll get the card.” Jude reached into a capacious handbag and took out a battered wallet, from which she extracted one from a choice of credit cards.
Carole saw the name: “J. Metarius.”
“Do you have another in the name of ‘Nichol’?” she whispered.
“Yes.”
“And in your birth name?”
“Yes.” But Jude wasn’t about to elaborate. “Hello, Mopsa. It’s a MasterCard, and I’ll give you the number…”
When the call finished, Carole was about to go into a long diatribe about how rash and extravagant they were being, but she was prevented by Jude immediately keying in another number.
“Who?”
“The Lockes. In Chichester. Ssh.”
Carole watched in frustrated silence while her friend spoke. “Hello, who is that? Mr Locke, my name’s Jude. Yes, I came to see Bridget this afternoon about her back…That’s right. Just ringing…a sort of after-service call, to see if she’s still feeling better. Oh, good, that’s excellent news. No, don’t bother her. If it’s still fine, I don’t need to talk to her. And if she gets any more trouble…well, she’s got my number. Thank you so much. Goodbye.” She switched off the phone.
“Do you give ‘after-service’ calls to all your patients?” asked Carole sourly.
Jude didn’t bother to argue with the choice of word. Her neighbour knew she preferred to call them ‘clients’ and was only being annoying. “Not all of them, no.”
“Then what was the purpose of that?”
“The purpose of that was to find out from Bridget whether her husband was around. But he saved me the trouble by actually answering the phone himself.”
“Ah.” Carole understood. “Because if Rowley is currently in Chichester…then we know he’s not at Treboddick.”
“Exactly,” said Jude. “Now, one more glass of wine, and then I guess we should do some packing.”
? Death under the Dryer ?
Twenty-Four
There was one call Carole had to make when she got back to High Tor. Her affront about the idea of suddenly swanning off to Cornwall (as she still thought of it) had now been replaced by a sensation that came quite close to excitement. Since the break-up of her marriage, she hadn’t really done holidays. Partly this was
