In a way, it had been a relief when Jack Sr. had left. Being on her own was hard, but at least she could concentrate on the kids and not worry about keeping them out of Jack’s way when he was in the drink.
Now she picked up a tiny porcelain foxhound, one of a group surrounding a finely modelled horse and rider. As instructed, she took great care and replaced them all exactly as she found them. Mrs. T-J had gone into the village, and Paula wanted everything to be perfect for when she returned. This job with New Brooms was heaven sent, and she intended no fault would be found with her work.
“Don’t open the door to anyone,” Mrs. T-J had cautioned her. “Not even a policeman.” The ghost of a smile crossed her face. “When you’ve been a magistrate for as long as I have,” she added, “you are bound to have made an enemy or two.”
It was so peaceful and quiet, Paula thought, and perched on the edge of a spindly legged chair for a moment. What must it be like to be the old girl, living in luxury, not a care in the world and never a worry about where the next penny was coming from?
A sudden snort from an armchair at the other side of the room startled her, and she jumped to her feet in alarm. Then she saw it was a fat old spaniel, white and liver colored, lumbering across the room towards her, wagging its tail. She bent down and fondled its velvety ears. “You made me jump,” she said. “Must get on,” she continued, and picked up the wax polish and duster and headed for the door.
As she crossed the hall with its chessboard black and white tiles, her eye was caught by a figure walking up the gravelled drive. As he approached she watched him with growing apprehension.
“Oh, God!” As he came closer, she recognized him. “No, no, no!” she yelled, and ran out of the hall, down the passage and into the kitchen. She checked the door was locked, and then shot the bolt in the scullery. Then she heard the front doorbell. He was keeping his finger on it without pausing, and Paula stuck her fingers in her ears. She cowered behind the larder door and prayed that he would go away.
Then she heard the blessed sound of Mrs. T-J’s car sweeping into the stable yard. She ran quickly to the long windows and saw the figure retreating rapidly across the park and disappear into a thicket bordering the road. Her heart was thudding, and she made a desperate attempt to pull herself together.
“Paula? Are you there? All well?” Mrs. T-J was in a good mood. She had put a card in the shop window advertising for an under-gardener to help out Bob, who was certainly in need of assistance. With the present job situation, someone was bound to apply, and all she had to do now was find a way of explaining the need for an assistant to the old man who had been tending the gardens at the hall for what must be more than fifty years.
“Ah, there you are. Are you all right? You look a bit surprised. Surely I told you I would be back? Only been to the village, you know.”
“I’m fine, thank you, Mrs. Tollervey-Jones. Just this dear old dog.” She bent down and patted the spaniel. “Gave me quite a start. She was asleep in the big chair, and I hadn’t noticed her until she snorted!”
“Dog lover, are you?” Mrs. Tollervey-Jones smiled. Splendid, she thought. Must tell Mrs. Meade that she can send Paula Hickson anytime she liked. Hickson? A familiar name, surely? She shook her head, and called the spaniel to offer a biscuit treat from the shop.
SIXTEEN
LOIS HEARD THE DOORBELL, AND WAS NOT SURPRISED TO SEE Paula Hickson on the front step.
“Hope I’m not too early?”
Lois smiled, and said she was on the dot of noon, and to come in. “The others will be here shortly,” she said. “They come in dribs and drabs, according to what time they finish work. Sometimes clients want a bit of extra done. The customer is always right!” she added. Then she took a good look at Paula. She was neatly dressed, but pale, and when she fumbled in her bag to find a notebook and pen, Lois noted that her hand was trembling.
“Are you all right, Paula?” she said. Perhaps it was nervousness at her first day in a new job.
“Oh, yes, I’m fine,” Paula insisted, though she still felt considerably shaken by her husband’s sudden appearance at the hall. She was dreading what he might do next, but was making a huge effort to concentrate on Mrs. Meade and the prospect of meeting the others on the team.
“Morning, Mrs. M!” Three more were standing on the step, and Lois brought them in to her office. “This is Paula Hickson, new member of the team,” she said. “Sheila Stratford, Hazel Thornbull from our office in Tresham, and Bridie Reading, Hazel’s mum.” They all smiled and said welcoming things to Paula.
Last to arrive was Andrew Young, a cleaner on the team but also an interior designer who combined the two. The arrangement was a comparatively new development for Lois and had proved very successful. She was beginning to wonder if Andrew might one day soon give up cleaning and concentrate on what was, some would say, though probably not Gran, a more manly profession. So far, Andrew had insisted that he loved cleaning, was not gay, and found the two jobs complementary. He could drop in a commercial for his design business whilst polishing the silver, he joked.
One by one, the girls gave their reports. The previous week had been uneventful, until Bridie’s report caused Lois some concern.
“All was going well, Mrs. M,” Bridie said, “until I went to the pub in Waltonby on Friday. The new landlady there, Mrs. Coppice, is really nice, and we were having a quick cup of coffee halfway through the morning when the bell on the bar counter rang. Almost nobody comes in the pub on a Friday morning before midday, and Mrs. Coppice asked me to go through, saying it was probably a salesman on his rounds, and to get rid of him. I was to say she had popped out to a neighbour.
Lois happened to glance at Paula, and was alarmed to see her sway on her chair. “So what happened, Bridie? Was it a talent scout, wanting you to star in the next Bond movie?” Lois tried to keep her voice light. Bridie was known for her love of telling a good story.
“He weren’t a salesman, for sure,” Bridie said. “Big bloke, looked as he’d bin living rough. Filthy jacket, black hair needed cutting, black eyes that didn’t look straight at you. Real shifty, he was. He asked if the missus had any jobs needed doin’, and I said straightaway that we was fine and taken care of. Told him to try up the road at the farm, just to get rid of him, though I knew they’d not touch him with a barge pole. Gave me quite a turn though, and Mrs. Coppice insisted I took a very small brandy. Just tellin’ you this, Mrs. M, in case somebody smelled alcohol on my breath in the afternoon and got the wrong idea.”
The others listened spellbound. Wherever else Bridie was at fault, it was certainly not in the spinning of a good yarn. Lois turned to Paula, who had been staring at Bridie with a horrified expression.
“You did well, Bridie,” she said, “and I reckon I would’ve needed a brandy in your place. Thanks for keeping us informed. It might be useful if he turns up anywhere else on our patch.”
As the others drifted off after the meeting, Lois said quietly to Paula that she would like her to stay behind for a few minutes. When they were alone, she motioned her to a chair, and Paula sat down.