Scandal at Six(12)

“Oh yes. I shall cook breakfast, clear away and generally tidy up, then I’ll be back to my flat by coffee time. Plenty there for me to do, and I shall hear life going on down below in the shop.”

Lois could see that the novelty of the whole exercise was giving a much-needed lift to her mother, and she went back upstairs to find consolation with Derek.

“It’s not that she’s that far away,” she said. “But she’s been with us, here, part of the family, for so long now, there’s a big gap. Still, I expect we’ll get used to it.”

“Give it time,” said Derek. “I reckon about two weeks should do it, then she’ll be back here in her own bed, ruling the roost over the rest of us chickens.”



*



Josie was serving a customer when Gran arrived back, her duties at Meade House completed.

“Sleep well, Gran?” she said.

“Yes, thank you, dear, and I shall be quite all right without Matthew keeping guard tonight. I’ve brought an old cricket bat with me, so woe betide any nighttime visitors!”

She disappeared up the stairs to the flat, and Josie heard tuneless whistling as Gran moved from room to room above. It was some time since Josie had lived up there herself, and she liked to hear sounds of occupation again.

“Good morning! Can you direct me to Waltonby? Satnav broken down.”

A tall, well-built man clad in casual clothes, a knotted cravat at his neck, smiled at her quizzically.

“Certainly,” said Josie, and gave him clear directions to the next village along from Long Farnden. “It’s only two or three miles. Can I get you anything while you’re here?” She looked more closely at him. He was vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t pin it down.

“No, thanks, although I do have some small fliers for our travelling theatricals. I see you have a notice board. Could you put one up for me?”

“Of course. We charge a nominal sum of fifty pence per week. When is the show?”

“Well, we take it round several villages, and perform in their community halls. Altogether it covers quite a wide area. Very popular, I’m glad to say!”

Josie frowned. And through the window, she could see a neat little red Fiat 500.

“Is this what you do for a living, if you don’t mind my asking?”

“Well, I shall never get rich!” He laughed. “I’m on my own, and I have an uncle in Tresham who’s always good for a free lunch. I get by pretty well. So here’s a couple of pounds. That should cover enough for the moment. I hope to call again—you’ve a really nice little shop here. Do you live up above?”

In true village-shopkeeper tradition, she failed to answer a direct question, and made a mental note to ask around her customers for further information. She looked at the leaflet left on the counter, and saw that the show was in fact a play. The Black Hand Mystery, she read, and below, a cast of names, none of which she recognised.

“Are you on this list?” she said.

“Justin Brookes, that’s me. A man of many parts!”

Josie smiled faintly, and something made her clam up. She wished him a good morning and watched him speed away in his little red car. Just like Noddy, she thought, but not from Toyland, she was sure of that.



*



The next customer was familiar. Gran’s friend Joan had come in for her weekly women’s magazine. “How are you today, dear?” she asked. “And is Elsie settling in above? Perhaps I can nip up to see her for a couple of minutes. Can’t stay long.”

“Of course,” Josie said, thinking that half the village would soon be in to see Gran in her new abode. “And by the way, Joan, do you know anything about a travelling theatre show, a play with actors? Here’s the details.” She handed the leaflet to Joan, who nodded.

“Yes, they do come round every so often. Usually very good. I think they like coming to small audiences. More intimate, like.”

“Where do they come from?”

“Oh, they come from all over. Actors get work where they can, I reckon. They usually get lodgings near to where they’re based. I expect this lot are to do with the repertory theatre in Tresham.”

“Very likely. This chap was very friendly. Fancy dresser. Well, I suppose that’s part of being in the theatre.”

“We’ll probably go to the show, Elsie and me. Why don’t you come too, Josie? They’re always worth seeing. Anyway, I’ll go up and see Elsie; then I must run. It’s the institute this afternoon, and I’m doing teas. Now, have you got any raspberry jam? I need it for my sponge cake. Remind me about the play.”



*



The Fiat gathered speed and flew up the long hill into Waltonby, its twin turbo engine making a sound more like a Ferrari as it zoomed to a halt outside the village pub. Justin Brookes got out with difficulty, unfolding his long legs as he stepped out onto the pavement. He stretched his arms above his head, took several deep breaths, and turned to go into the pub. Then he stopped. He had forgotten his fliers, and turned back.