“No need to go to that extreme,” laughed Ted. “Over to you, Betsy,” he said, and with a full glass in her hand, Betsy began.
*
Sunday lunch was always a special meal in Meade House, when Josie and Matthew came over, and sometimes Lois’s eldest son, Douglas, with his small family. Jamie, her youngest, was a concert pianist and spent most of his time flying round the world, performing at concerts. He visited his family about four or five times a year, on average.
Today, Gran had cooked a large free-range chicken, with all the trimmings, and five of them sat round the table, appreciating the warmth of the Rayburn and the good red wine poured out by Matthew with a sure hand.
“Good health,” said Derek, holding up his glass.
“And so say all of us,” chanted the others.
“What are we all doing this afternoon?” said Lois. “I’m walking Jeems. A short walk today, and a quick one to work off this magnificent lunch. I’d be glad of company.”
“I’m watching the sport on telly,” said Derek.
“Me too,” chorused the others, including Matthew, who was a renowned football player in police circles.
“And you Gran? One thing you’re not doing, and that’s the washing up.”
“Thanks, Josie. No, I shall retire to my bedroom, put my feet up and read a book.”
“And I shall have a nice snooze, like Gran,” said Josie. “Mum, looks like you’re walking on your own today.”
The meal over, Lois went to fetch Jeems’s lead, and the little dog was dancing about everyone’s feet in her excitement at the mention of a walk.
Then the phone rang. “Blast!” said Derek. “Who can that possibly be? I’ll answer it.”
He disappeared, and a few seconds later was back, saying it was for Lois. “An old friend,” he said, and then, making sure Gran could not hear, he whispered in her ear that it was Dot Nimmo. “Said she’s sorry to bother you, but was sure you’d want to hear.”
“Hear what?”
Derek shrugged his shoulders. “Better go and find out,” he said, and Lois went quickly to her office, closing the door behind her. Dot would never ring her on a Sunday, unless it was really important.
“Hello, Dot? Something wrong? Oh gosh, if it’s really a matter of life or death, you’d better come over straightaway. See you in about half an hour?”
She returned to the kitchen to find them all except Gran staring at her. Gran had already gone upstairs to her room, shutting her door with a bang that everyone could hear. She was mildly offended by Josie suggesting that she intended to have a snooze. She picked up her book, a racy novel about Regency folk, read two pages, and fell asleep.
“So who was that?” said Josie. “Are you going to tell us, or is it a secret to do with ferretin’?”
“I’ll tell you later, when I’ve talked to her. It was Dot Nimmo, and she says it’s red-hot news.”
“You bet it’s nothing that couldn’t keep until tomorrow,” said Matthew. “I guess she’s bursting to tell somebody.”
*
“Come on into my office, Dot,” Lois said, a short while later. “We shan’t be disturbed, with any luck. Gran’s safely asleep upstairs. Now, what is it all about?”
“Well, it’s like this. I went to church this morning, and no, the whole place didn’t fall down in surprise. Then, even more surprising, I saw Betsy Brierley, with Ted, and went to sit with them. Afterwards, she asked me in, and then she filled me in on what we had just seen.”
“Which was?” Lois settled comfortably in her chair. This looked like it would take some time.
“A man in a wheelchair, who’d been in the church, was being carried down the steps by a couple of strong blokes, and stowed away in a special vehicle. The man was wrapped up against the cold, and you couldn’t even see his face. Then, when I was having a sherry with Betsy, she told me who he was.”
Lois sat up straight, and her eyes opened wide. “Not him? Not Pettison? But isn’t he very poorly?”
“Yes, I know that’s what we all thought after that story in the newspaper. But he isn’t that bad. He’s still suffering, but it’s more in mind than in body. They got the paint off very quickly, and he hadn’t swallowed any, or anything like that. He’s back in his own room. You know the phrase? ‘Responding well to treatment’?”
“What do you mean, ‘in mind than in body’? We all know the red-paint details. That story was an anonymous one, given to the newspapers by someone who didn’t want his name mentioned. Tell me again what happened. Your paper probably gave a different report!”