Mrs Pargeter 05; Mrs Pargeter’s Plot

preoccupied to notice any potential lapse of decorum.

“Yes, yes, he is. It’s odd, though, Mrs Pargeter. It’s like there’s something he’s afraid of the other lags finding out…”

“But you’ve no idea what it could be?”

Slowly, Tammy Jacket shook her head.

Mrs Pargeter pressed on in the hope of further illumination. “Do you think it’s possibly something to do with Willie Cass’s death?”

There was a bewildered shrug. “I suppose it could be, but I don’t know what.”

“You say Concrete didn’t know Willie that well?”

“No. Well, I mean just like you do know somebody you work with…”

“Hm.”

Tammy was silent and thoughtful for a moment. Then she said slowly, “Unless of course they got pally when they was out in Brazil together.”

Mrs Pargeter focused sharply on the woman. “Willie Cass was in Brazil with Concrete?”

“Yes. Didn’t I say?” The casualness of her reply showed how unaware Tammy was of the information’s significance.

“No.” said Mrs Pargeter, just managing to keep the edge of annoyance out of her voice. “You didn’t.”

Denise was sensitive to the slight change in atmosphere. Instantly she proffered the pot. “More tea, anyone?”

¦

A little time had elapsed. The tea things had been cleared from the table, and Denise was inside the cottage doing her chores. Gary was still down the garden. His strimmer was switched off now. He was tidying up, raking together the last swathes of fallen grass, and dumping them in the trailer of his cultivator.

Tammy Jacket lay in a hammock, with a magazine propped up in front of her. But the long gaps between page-turnings and the frequency with which the magazine slipped down on to her lap suggested sleep was not far away. Finally, after the shock of what had happened to her house, she was beginning to relax.

Mrs Pargeter looked up and smiled as Gary came towards her. “A good job jobbed?” she asked.

“Yes.” The chauffeur grinned slightly awkwardly, and lingered in front of her as if there was something he was trying to say.

“Problem? Something worrying you?”

“Well, no. Not as such. Not exactly a problem, Mrs P. Just something we once talked about.”

“Mm?” Mrs Pargeter was pretty certain she knew what was coming. Denise’s earlier hesitancy had forewarned her. She saw the chauffeur twisting his fingers nervously. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Gary. You don’t have to be shy with me. If there’s something you want to say, say it.”

“Yes, well, erm… the thing is… I don’t know if you remember, but a little while ago we were discussing me getting an older car for, erm…”

Mrs Pargeter couldn’t be doing with all this hesitancy. “A vintage Rolls-Royce for weddings, yes.”

“And I, um…”

“You’ve changed your mind about accepting my offer of a loan for you to buy one.”

“Well, yes, I… The thing is… Denise said –”

“Have you seen one you like?”

An uncontrollable smile spread over Gary’s features. “There’s a beauty advertised locally. 1938. I’ve had a butcher’s at it. Done a test-drive, and all. In lovely nick. Not cheap, mind, but –”

“Great. Go out and buy it.”

“I mean, obviously, if you only mentioned the idea of a loan in a rash moment, I wouldn’t want –”

“Of course I didn’t mention it in a rash moment.” Mrs Pargeter took a chequebook out of her handbag. “How much do you want?”

“Now, Mrs Pargeter, it’s important that we both regard this as a business arrangement and –”

“Gary,” said Mrs Pargeter, in a tone as near to exasperation as her equable nature ever got, “how much do you want?”

? Mrs Pargeter’s Plot ?

Twenty-Five

In its infinitely graceful British way, the summer afternoon was giving way to evening. Shadows had lengthened. An ecstatic Gary was away confirming the purchase of his beloved 1938 Rolls-Royce. Tammy Jacket still breathed deeply and easily in the hammock. From inside the cottage wafted smells of some wonderful evening meal Denise was preparing.

Mrs Pargeter, still seated at the rustic table, was talking on a mobile phone to Nigel Merriman. She brought the solicitor up to date with what Tammy Jacket had told her. “At least it gives us another line of enquiry,” she said. “It becomes increasingly important to find out what Concrete Jacket was doing in Brazil, doesn’t it?”

“I have already questioned my client on this matter, but I am afraid he was as unforthcoming about that as he has been about everything else.”

“Yes, but then you didn’t know Willie Cass was out there with him, did you?”

“I’m not sure that’s going to make a lot of difference.”

“No, but still worth trying, isn’t it?”

“Everything is worth trying, Mrs Pargeter, if it offers even the smallest possibility of clearing my client. I will certainly raise the matter again when I am next in touch with him.”

“Excellent. Meanwhile, it gives me another line to pursue.”

“Yes.” There was a tentative silence. “Might I ask, Mrs Pargeter, how exactly you will be conducting your enquiries?”

She chuckled. “Better not. My late husband was always a great believer in keeping a bit of mystery about one. Let’s just say I’ve got some very useful helpers, and don’t worry – you and I are on the same side, Mr Merriman. We’re both going to do our level best to see that Concrete Jacket walks out of that prison without a stain on his character.” She corrected herself. “Well, without any more stains on his character, anyway.”

Nigel Merriman acknowledged this with a rather prim little laugh. “Yes, of course. And, Mrs Pargeter, I trust I can rely on you to let me know as soon as there’s anything else to tell my client?”

“Of course you can.”

“Thank you so much. I may say it is a great comfort for me to know that I have your support in this distressing affair.”

“No problem at all.”

“When one works in the legal profession, cynicism about the concept of justice does, I’m afraid, become an occupational hazard.”

“Don’t you worry about that, Nigel my love. We’ll see to it that Concrete Jacket gets…” She paused, trying to think of the right words.

“Justice?” the solicitor prompted.

“What he deserves, I think’d be nearer the mark.” Mrs Pargeter chortled. “And if that happens to be justice too… well, there’s a bonus, isn’t there?”

“Yes. Thank you so much. Goodbye.”

“Goodbye.” Mrs Pargeter switched off the phone, pushed in its aerial, and tiptoed across to the hammock. The depth of her sleep had ironed away the wrinkles of anxiety, giving Tammy Jacket’s face an almost childlike innocence.

“Don’t you worry, love,” Mrs Pargeter murmured. “We’ll soon have Concrete back for you.”

Tammy Jacket had finally woken up and gone off to have a shower before dinner. Gary had not yet returned. “No doubt off joyriding in his new motor,” said Denise fondly. “Really appreciate you lending him the money for it, Mrs Pargeter.”

“Don’t even think about it. Anyway, what we’re talking about here is a business proposition. I’m now an