Scandal at Six(84)

“What does Ted think of it all?”

“He hasn’t said much. But on the whole he’s sticking by me, much the same as ever. He ain’t got much alternative, really.”

“So, we’d better keep in touch, Betsy. It’ll be up to us. I do have some thoughts about how we could carry on in the future, once Pettison is out of the picture. And I can’t see him ever taking over again. That episode in the hospital must have set him back quite a bit.”

“So what are you suggesting? I do sometimes think it’d be nice to keep the zoo going without all that illegal stuff. The two of us, and Ted, could carry on with the zoo and any animals we introduce should be aboveboard an’ all that?”

“Yes. If we could make the transition without being incriminated with Pettison’s past, it would be a much better way for the future. You know how to handle the animals, and I’ve a reasonable head for business.”

Betsy looked him up and down, as if sizing up his chances. “Do you really think we’re going to get away with it? All that we’ve done over the years, I mean? Because I don’t. If you ask me, the fuzz are biding their time. They know most of what goes on at the zoo. Cowgill will strike when he’s ready. And it don’t matter how good we are now; our past history will do for us, but especially Pettison, with any luck. We’ll just have to wait and see. The best thing you could do would be to go back to Lincolnshire to be a farmer. How’s your mum, by the way?”

“Bearing up. She’s more or less decided to sell the farm and buy a bungalow. Her friend Vera is willing to go in with her and be a sort of companion. I reckon that’s the most sensible solution, though I’m haunted by my late father’s hopes that I would take it over.”

“Well, he’s gone now, so you’ll have to make your own decisions. Anyway, I’m busy, so if that’s all, I’ll see you out.”



*



Opposite, Dot watched them talking as they came out of the door, and then Justin drove off with the usual high-pitched roar.

“What ho, Betsy!” she shouted across the street. “That was a quick one and no mistake! Doing all right?”

Betsy laughed. “Nosy parker!” she called back. “Come in for cuppa this afternoon? See you then.”





Forty-seven





Saturday was usually the busiest day of the week, but the zoo was nevertheless quiet. It was eleven o’clock, and Margie looked around to see if anyone could take over while she stretched her legs and had a coffee. There was certainly no rush of customers to deal with

She stepped out of the ticket booth, and called to the keeper, who was walking through the yard on his way to the animals.

“Hi, Dan! Are you busy? You couldn’t take over for ten minutes, could you? I need a little break. My legs are older than my brain, and they seize up if I don’t walk about a bit.”

He agreed readily, and, armed with the daily paper, he took up residence in her little quarters. There was just room enough to open the right pages, and he settled happily.

“Hi, Margie!” Betsy was already sitting in the café, coffee and a large iced bun in front of her. “I shouldn’t, but I weakened,” she said.

“I expect you have to keep in shape, in your business,” Margie said, with a knowing smile.

“Yeah, well, I may not have to do it for much longer,” Betsy replied. “Things are bound to change around here.”

“How’s Pettison, then? Last I heard was that he was stable, and with a good chance of a complete recovery. We’ve been assured that everything will go on the same meantime, and our jobs are secure,” said Margie. “I should have thought you could say the same?”

“We shall see,” said Betsy mysteriously, and got up to go. “I have to check a few things up in the hall,” she said. “The gossips are busy, as you can imagine. I shall have to see that everything’s okay if he’s coming home soon.”

“You got a key, then?”

“Oh yes,” said Betsy loftily. “Had one for years. I’d best go up and see to the post, an’ that.”

“You’re private secretary now, as well, are you?” said Margie, smiling.

“I do my best,” said Betsy, and walked off.

She was somewhat daunted when she let herself into the hall, and saw a large pile of letters on the doormat. Sorting through them, and discarding all the rubbish, she came across one with a foreign stamp. “Oh blimey,” she said. “Better open this.”

It was from Africa, and the message was blunt. “Dear Sir, your consignment has been dispatched and will arrive soon. Notice of exact time and place of arrival will follow. Yours faithfully,” and the rest was an unreadable squiggle. There were no contact details, and no clues to where exactly it might have come from.