Beside her, Clement, too, was making motions to rise.
Trudy thanked Mrs Finch, told her to stay where she was and that they could see themselves out, and quietly followed Clement as he made his way back to the front door.
Outside, a ginger cat sitting in the sun on the path saw them, got up and came sauntering up to be petted.
‘Well, that was awful,’ Trudy said, bending to oblige the cat with a quick ear-scratch.
‘It always is,’ Clement said sombrely. As a coroner, he’d had to deal with more than his fair share of grieving relatives. ‘But it was also very interesting,’ he added, almost under his breath.
Chapter 11
When Trudy got home that evening, she heard the sound of the radio coming from the kitchen. As she recognised the Shadow’s number one hit, ‘Wonderful Land’ she smiled and walked on through. For all her mother claimed not to think much of ‘this modern pop music’ she was often to be caught out listening to it! A quick glance around the small but cheerful room showed her that her father had yet to get in from his bus driving job, as the small table pressed up against one wall was empty. Usually Frank Loveday liked to bring back with him an evening paper, which he spread out on the table and studied whilst waiting for his tea.
Intriguingly, she noticed a lovely bunch of flowers standing in a jug of water on the worktop near the back door.
Her mother, Barbara, was at the sink busy peeling potatoes and she glanced around as she sensed movement behind her. ‘Oh, hello love. You’re a bit early,’ she said, glancing at the clock.
Trudy nodded. ‘Dr Ryder said we might as well call it a day. Nobody wants to talk to you when it’s getting towards the end of the day. What’s for tea?’
‘Spam fritters, chips and peas.’
‘Lovely.’
‘You still working with Dr Ryder then?’ Barbara said rather too nonchalantly. Trudy, trying to think of a tactful way of avoiding having to satisfy her mother’s inquisitiveness, was relieved when a knock came on the door, saving her the need to respond.
‘Oh, it’s the meter man,’ Barbara said, peering through the window. ‘Let him in will you love?’
Trudy opened the door to the man who came to read the electric meter every three months or so, glancing again at the delivery of flowers that must have come to the house some time that day. The same man had been reading their meters ever since she could remember, and he knew he could rely on the Loveday household to sit and have a chat if he had time. Trudy let him in with a smile and watched him go through to the hallway without breaking stride.
‘Hello Tom, time for a cup of tea?’ Barbara called over her shoulder right on cue, as he crouched down to open the door under the stairs and peer in to read the dials on the machinery there.
‘Would love to, but I’ve still got most of the main street to do before I can clock off. Maybe next time, hmmm?’
Trudy showed him back out with a cheerful wave, and again admired the large and exquisitely colourful bouquet of mixed flowers sitting in a pail of water by the kitchen door.
‘Mum, who sent the flowers?’ Trudy asked curiously. The bouquet looked expensive. As she turned to look at her mother at the sink, she was surprised to see her mother was beaming at her.
‘You tell me, our Trudy,’ she said with a knowing twinkle in her eye. ‘They’re for you.’
Trudy almost felt her jaw drop, but she managed to stop herself from gaping just in time. ‘For me? Are you sure?’ Feeling a sense of excitement, she crouched down to check. Sure enough, attached to a slender black stick, a small envelope had been thrust down amongst the stems, with her name prominently displayed.
Wonderingly, she pulled it free and stood up, staring at it. The only person she could think of who could afford to send her such a marvellous gift was Dr Clement Ryder. But why should he? It was not her birthday …
‘Well, don’t just stand there gawping at it, our Trudy, open it,’ her mother encouraged impatiently, wiping her hands dry on her apron front and coming to stand beside her. No doubt, Trudy mused, she’d been on tenterhooks ever since it came, since Barbara Loveday’s curiosity was legendary in the family.
‘You kept quiet about it, I must say,’ her mother teased. And on seeing her daughter shoot her a baffled look, added, ‘having an admirer, I mean.’
‘But I don’t have an admirer,’ Trudy assured her, working her finger with some difficulty under the sealed tight and tiny flap of the envelope before managing to pry the card within free. Quickly, she pulled it out and read the message.
For Trudy
I hope you haven’t forgotten me?
Duncan G.
‘Who’s Duncan G. when he’s at home then?’ Barbara asked, her voice a mixture of caution and warmth as she peered unrepentantly over her daughter’s shoulder.
‘He’s no one, Mum, honest,’ Trudy said shortly. ‘He’s just some reporter I used to know.’
‘Really? Young, is he?’
‘Well, a few years older than me,’ Trudy said reluctantly.
‘How many years?’ Barbara asked suspiciously.
‘I don’t know Mum! Maybe five or six,’ Trudy said exasperatedly.
‘Good-looking lad, is he?’
‘Very,’ Trudy said, before she could stop herself, then added, ‘and engaged to someone else.’
‘Oh,’ her mother said, somewhat deflated, and then sniffed disapprovingly. ‘Then he has no business sending you flowers, does he, the cheeky young pup!’
‘No, he doesn’t,’ Trudy agreed. But she couldn’t help but give the bouquet a lingering look. She’d never had flowers sent to her before. You couldn’t really count some daffodils picked from the family garden, that had been her one and only boyfriend’s previous gifts. But these sumptuous blooms had clearly
