Monday October 1
Cleo Hartley-Hurley wondered how Gary would take
the news that she was planning a project that was a far cry from what he used
to call snooping. She would probably have less time to air her theories on the
current cases that beset the Chief Inspector who had, despite himself, become
quite reliant on his wife’s Agency and her wise comments, and been put on the
straight and narrow more than once by Dorothy’s hunches.
***
Mathilda and Max, the new twins, were crowing away
happily in the playpen. They were content with their own company for the time
being. The older twins, Tommy and Teddy, were quite amenable about sharing the
playpen, though their play was not confined to kicking limbs and trying out
their voices, since Tommy and Teddy were a year older. When all four infants
were gurgling or muttering happily Gary was inclined to think he had fathered a
nursery all on his own. PeggySue, born during Cleo’s short marriage to Robert
Jones, but the happy result of Cleo’s and Gary’s affair, was now getting on for
three; Charlie, his daughter adopted by Cleo, and Lottie, Gary’s brother Joe’s
daughter, were both thirteen years old. That made seven children altogether,
since Lottie spent more time in the Hurley household than in Joe Butler’s,
although his soulmate Barbara got on well with her future step-daughter.
“You aren’t …”
“Maybe not,” said Cleo.
“That was not a straight answer, Cleo. If it isn’t
a new Hurley, what is it?”
“A bookshop and that would not make any difference
even if there were another Hurley on the way.”
“Meaning there is?”
“Well…”
“Did you say a bookshop? You are giving birth to a
bookshop? I think I’d rather have another little Hurley to feed.”
“I’ve been wondering what to do with my old
office,” said Cleo.
“Let Robert have it to expand his empire,” said
Gary. Robert, an enthusiastic family butcher, had once been Cleo’s possessive
but unemotional husband. Gloria, Cleo’s mother, who had returned from an
episode with a restauranteur in Middlethumpton to be Robert’s right hand in the
family butcher’s shop once again, had in those days been keen on expanding the
business.
“I’ll turn the office into a bookshop. I’m going to
call it ‘Old and New’ and I want Dorothy to help me.”
“Have you asked her?”
“She’s thinking about it.”
“So am I,” said Gary. “I thought you wanted a
houseful of children.”
“We already have a house full of children,” said
Cleo. “Now I need an office full of books.”
“On your head be it, my love. You have enough to do
here. Isn’t that why your agency is closed?”
“The business was unprofitable, but to be truthful,
closing down was for the lactation of my new babies.”
“That’s one way of putting it.”
“I hadn’t really decided,” said Cleo. “But now I
have. I need a challenge, and sitting in an office waiting for people to ask me
to solve silly mysteries, find their pets, spy on their partners and listen to
their grievances no longer charms me the way it used to.”
“What about your sessions at HQ? Aren’t those guys
enough of a challenge?”
“The therapizing of criminals who just want to get off
lightly is OK part-time, but I can’t dedicate myself to it, and I don’t really
like telling professional cops how to approach criminals with tact and
diplomacy. They should already know.”
“So the bookshop is sure fire, I take it.”
“Not if you disapprove.”
“I don’t really disapprove. It’s quite a good idea,
but I’m not sure that you should be finding ways of keeping Dorothy at the
grindstone. That’s part of the plan, isn’t it?”
Dorothy was undoubtedly the most enthusiastic
sleuth north of the M25.
“Am I doing that?”
“I think you are,” said Gary.
“I’ll think about it from that angle.”
“The test is whether you would consider opening a
bookshop if Dorothy refused to help you, Cleo.”
“That’s a question I can’t answer right now.”
“If I were looking for something to do with that
office, I’d go for antiques,” said Gary.
“I’ve never thought of that.”
“You could fill the room with junk that looks like
antiques together with one or two genuine items, have a corner for used books
and maybe even a rack for bestsellers. You might not make a profit, but you
could probably cover your overheads, and you need not open every day if you
don’t want to.”
“Are you suggesting that I fake antiques?”
“Of course not. Furniture can be renovated to 85%
without losing that definition. There’s even a carpenter in Huddlecourt Minor
who will be glad to help you rescue old stuff.”
“Can you see me swamped by other people’s junk?”
“Not if you don’t see it that way. You could still
offer investigative services as part of the venture and there is no antique
shop in Upper Grumpsfield. I’ve often wondered about that.”
“I can’t say I’ve missed not having a junk shop
here. Even the Norton Brothers left this office because they could not disguise
the fact that they were not selling anything.”
“You don’t know that’s the reason, Cleo.”
The good thing about Gary’s suggestion was that if
he had made it, he could not very well disapprove.
“I’ll talk to Dorothy,” she said. “I could still
call it ‘Old and New’ and it could involve all the family, couldn’t it?”
That was something Gary had not thought of.
“I expect we’d all contribute in one way or
another,” he agreed. “At least one pensioner will go for it hook, line and
sinker.”
“Meaning Roger, T expect,” said Cleo. “But he’ll be
working part time at HQ, won’t he?”
“I’ve no idea, Cleo. I just hope I don’t have to
take over all his chores.”
“So you will support my new venture, will you?”
“You already have a name for it and my blessing for
what it’s worth.”
“It’s worth its weight in gold, and you know it, Gary
Hurley. I’ll phone Dorothy now unless you want to discuss a case.”
“Later. I’ll start making dinner, shall I?”
***
“Just a quick phone call, Dorothy.”
“Oh. It’s you Cleo.”
“Were you expecting someone else?”
“My sister Vera. She said she’d call. I expect
she’s too busy.”
“Are you OK? You sound a bit unfriendly.”
“I was going to tell you that I don’t want to be
part of the new bookshop, Cleo.”
“It’s off anyway.”
“It was rather a barmy idea,” said Dorothy. “Didn’t
Gary approve?”
“He’s had a better idea.”
“Let me guess. You are going to keep the agency
open instead. That would be nice.”
“No, just offer consultations if anyone asks for
one. Gary thought the village could use an antique shop.”
“Did he now? That was clever. I’d help you with
that. Remember the fun we had at the Bring and Buy stall on the vicar’s lawn?”
“How could I forget?” said Cleo, remembering the
trouble she had convincing people that it was not a swap-shop.
Events on the vicarage lawn were now history. People
had never really understood that it was in aid of a good cause. It was not a
place to dump garbage, but somewhere you could donate your overkill and buy
other people’s, thus enhancing whatever good cause was being supported. Talking
of village fetes, Cleo did not miss the sports events, run by Miss Plimsoll, Charlie’s
sports teacher and a vicious hockey-player who evidently had a grudge against
humanity. That was the only reason Cleo could think for driving people to do
things that were strenuous and futile.
“If you come to the chorus auditions tomorrow
evening we could talk about the antique shop idea, Cleo. Have you got time?”
“I was planning on coming out of curiosity, but not
to sing.”
“I’ll see you there then. At seven sharp if you
don’t want to miss anything.”
“I’ll be there.”
***
Gary was well pleased with the solution he had
thought up for Cleo’s determination to do something with the office. He had
known that it could not go on for ever with Cleo as a stay-at-home wife and now
he had hit on a plan that would please everyone.
“So Dorothy’s in on it, I take it,” he said later
as he made coffee in between helping Cleo to clear up the kitchen.
“She is, and you’re making great strides as a
houseman, Gary,” Cleo said.
“It’s my turn for the kitchen so you’re helping me,
technically speaking. It’s in the marriage contract, isn’t it?”
“Reading between the lines, I suppose it is.”
“I know of a few subliminal customs I prefer,” said
Gary.
“Such as borrowing my kimono?”
Cleo took her coffee into the bedroom, proceeded to
take off all her clothes and put on her kimono instead.
“Maybe the au pair will enjoy washing up,” said
Cleo as Gary followed her.
“I’d borrow your kimono if you didn’t have it on.”
“Here you are,” said Cleo.
“You’ll catch cold.”
“Not under the hot shower,” she replied, streaking into
the bathroom.
“Good idea,” said Gary. “I’ll join you even if hot
and cold are not written into the marriage contract.”
A quick check revealed that all the children were
asleep except for Charlie and Lottie who were next door at Joe’s.
“Under a steaming hot shower, everything is good
rather than bad, especially if you are prepared to share the shampoo, my love.”
“I’ll give you a head massage.”
“What luxury. I don’t expect a head massage from an
au pair,” said Gary.
“We could be getting an au pair guy.”
“Never …”
“The agency said to tick the box for girl or guy so
I ticked both.”
“But…”
“So I can’t see the au pair being fair game unless
you’ve changed your preferences,” said Cleo.
“I’m not planning to,” said Gary. “I hope you are
not planning on having a toy-boy. Can we get some shut-eye now?”
But Cleo had not finished with the topic of au
pairs.
“I know of husbands who treat au pair girls as
bedfellows while their wives are out working.”
“I am unlikely to look anywhere else for a shower
partner or a bedfellow after working so hard to persuade the one I have to be
one.”
“You couldn’t afford to, Gary.”
“I admit that’s a consideration.”
“That remark is worthy of a cold shower.”
“Spare me, please! I’m just getting warmed up.”
A veil shall be drawn over the rest of this family
exploit.
***
By Tuesday evening, when the chorus was hoped to be
expanded by a few strong vocalists, Dorothy had made a list of possible names
for the chorus. From Village Songsters to Ladies’ Night, all her ideas were
written down. Sweet Sisters, Keys’ Kittens, Good Girls, Ladies Calling, Silver
Singers … you name it, it was listed. In case of eventualities, some mixed
chorus names would be on the list. A vote would be taken so that the chorus
could be known by its new name from the word go. Dorothy would then bow out
gracefully. At least, that was the plan.
***
Lisa Keys was nervous. When she arrived at Upper
Grumpsfield church hall, where the rehearsals took place, she was even more
agitated to see a crowd of women of all ages waiting at the door.
“Are you all singers?” she asked.
“We’ve come for the audition, Miss,” they answered.
Lisa opened up and went inside, wondering what she
had let herself in for. Dorothy had earlier set up a table in front of the
little stage. Lisa would sit and listen, taking notes and only excluding the
tone deaf from the new chorus. Dorothy would be on stage at the piano ready to
help anyone who could not sing a scale or a little song on her own. Not many of
the contenders were male. Dorothy thought it would be more polite to send them
home now, but Lisa thought they should all be given a crack, so they were.
“We’ll start the ball rolling with the gentleman
carrying a guitar,” said Lisa. “Name?”
“I’m Herbert Hilton,” said Herbert in a fake Texan
accent.
Everyone oohed and aahed at the hill-billy
rendering that followed. Lisa promised to let him know. The
don’t-call-us-we’ll- call-you judgement was an important addition to the casting
routine, it transpired.
One by one the former Finch Nightingales were put
through their paces. Either they had not learnt much under Mrs Finch’s
direction and not added anything to it while Lester Keys was coaching them, or they
had picked up a tip or two during the weeks Lisa Keys had been in charge, or –
and this usually applied - they had forgotten it all. Lisa became ever more
depressed as the evening wore on.
The final exponent was an old regular, Barbarella
Knowles, who had not been at any of earlier rehearsals with Miss Keys. She had
had many different jobs and was very loud voiced, with a large appearance, an
unhealthily florid complexion and very belligerent personality. On hearing that
this candidate had been a member previously, but had just recovered from a bout
of chicken pox, Lisa wondered how Lester had put up with it for as long as he
did. Barbarella, alias Babsi, Babe or Baby depending on your relationship with
her, produced a rendering of ‘Somewhere over the Rainbow’ that had to be heard
to be believed. As a hard-core, hard-hitting former member of Laura Finch’s
chorus, Babsi had been a leading light when it came to mobbing poor Laura out
of her director seat.
“Which voice did you sing in the chorus,” Lisa
asked, not just for something to say. She was inclined to cast Babsi in a
beatbox role.
“I can sing anything,” said Babsi.
“And I could accompany her, called Mr Smith the
local postman, brandishing a trumpet. When the others are singing I can play,”
he said, “unless you want me to sing, of course. I’m a competent bass with
plenty of high notes.”
“I’ll let you know, Mr Smith,” Lisa commented,
ignoring Dorothy’s gesticulation that amounted to don’t let him.
Since Mr Smith always had his trumpet with him, it
took him no time at all to launch forth on the ‘rainbow song’, encouraging
Babsi to proceed with the second verse. The improvised duet silenced the loud
murmuring of everyone in the hall and appalled anyone who was interested in
joining a choir rather than a brass band.
Cleo wondered if Babsi would be a good match for
Robert. She would be much more suitable than Edith Parsnip, widow of the late vicar,
with whom Robert was carrying on an off-on affair, though his erotic potential
in no way matched hers in enthusiasm or – it has to be said – perseverance.
Edith Parsnip had also turned up for the auditions and had rendered quite a
nice version of Schubert’s trout song. Lisa had immediately decided to include
Edith, for which Edith was truly thankful.
Mr Morgan still fancied Edith having discarded his
preference for Edith’s identical twin sister Clare. His one-sided passion had been
part of his life so ever since he got to Upper Grumpsfield to take up his organ
post. Meeting Clare had thrown his emotions into disarray for some time. Edith
had not returned his affections.
Edith had not had much of a life before the
untimely death of the vicar, which was inadvertently (?) sped on by an
inadvisable dose of arsenic that Edith had given to him to teach him a little
lesson for behaviour that was less than dignified for a vicar. During her
period of what the judge called imbalance of mind - since her innocent
appearance did not appear evil – Edith had been therapized with alarming
consequences.
***
A veil should be drawn over Edith’s version of the
therapy, which was enhanced by sex with paying clients at a farmhouse known as
a house of ill-repute. But the farming pimp was dead. She would return to
respectability - and Robert. She would be a model vicar’s widow. In time she
would marry Robert, she had decided. He was taken care of all day in his shop
and Edith would be free to use the days doing whatever she chose, couldn’t she?.
Candidates for sharing those empty hours could easily be found and the
resulting improvement in her cash flow was an added bonus. Edith- like other
housewives enhancing their cash flow - did not regard her erotic activities as
prostitution.
***
On the way out at the end of the rehearsal, Edith
announced to Cleo that she was going to see Robert. Cleo told her that since
she was no longer married to Robert it was really none of her concern, but Edith
insisted on assuring Cleo that she was looking after Robert’s needs since he
was lonely. That left nothing to Cleo’s imagination since she knew all about
Edith’s extraordinary transformation into a vamp.
***
Having auditioned the candidates, Lisa was in two
minds about the chorus. Dorothy pleaded with her to give it a try. Lisa said
she would on condition that Dorothy helped. Lisa looked to Cleo for clearance
on that proviso.
“Not for long, Lisa,” Cleo said, knowing how
unwilling Dorothy was to work with or for that chorus. “Dorothy is planning to
go into the antique business with me.”
Dorothy nodded assent. The main thing was that she
was not going to be saddled with the Finch Nightingales for ever now that Lisa
was going to stay.
The two sleuths went home early.
“We did not try the soup,” said Dorothy. “Jane’s
soups are rather cloying even though she means well.”
“I couldn’t face any, either,” said Cleo. “I’m glad
we did not stay to the end, Dorothy. The whole evening was a drag.”
“I’m not seriously thinking of helping out with
that chorus.”
“You said you would but I knew you would rather do
something else.”
“I crossed my fingers behind my back, Cleo.”
“Very wise.”
***
As they approached Dorothy’s cottage, Cleo having
accompanied her friend past her own cottage to get there, Dorothy could not
resist asking Cleo what she thought about Edith visiting poor Robert.
“Do you know, Dorothy, in the meantime he may have
got to like being seduced by a woman weighing about a third of his tonnage. It
takes all sorts.”
“I suppose so. To change the subject, I’ll start
sorting out stuff for the antique shop. That will keep me busy and stop me
thinking about Edith’s misdemeanours and Robert’s stupidity.”
“We’ll sell on commission, Dorothy. Ask around who
wants to sell stuff. They’ll get 80% of what they are asking for it or what we
can get for it. That should give us a flying start while we amass stuff from
house sales and so on. I’ve notice how cheaply some things are almost given
away when the relatives of the deceased just want to be rid of them.”
“Did Gary work all that out?”
“No, but he’ll agree to it. I think he’s hoping to
start a family business that way.”
“Let me know when you need me, Cleo. I’m quite
excited about the idea.”
***
It would have been nice to report that the Hurleys
drank their nightcap coffees in front of a blazing log fire, sitting on the
little sofa with a plaid over their knees, took a communal shower and fell into
bed and into each other’s arms, but it didn’t happen quite like that.
No comments:
Post a Comment