Cleo wished Clare had timed her visit to Austria
more conveniently. As it was, the library was going to claim all her attention
for a week or two just when she should have been concentrating on her private
life.
Clare was going to take Gloria Hartley to the
airport. At least that was settled. Gloria was not really looking forward to
the trip back home. She had signed a year’s lease on a little place in
Middlethumpton from the beginning of December. Good friends back home would
look after her affairs there while she was in Europe.
On the way to the airport she poured her heart out
to Clare. Now if Cleo had been married to some decent guy instead of a thug,
things would have turned out differently. Gloria felt guilty about the whole
affair. Why, oh why had she kidded herself that Jay was a good guy? She hadn’t
believed a word Cleo said in those days. Cleo had confused her with talk of a
brother who might be Jay, but she had not believed that- She had even visited
the guy named Jay in prison because she thought there must have been some awful
miscarriage of justice. Cleo had made a big effort to forgive her for
interfering, but things would probably never be the same between them again.
Unless, of course, Bobby.....
‘I’m going to patch things up with Karl. You met him,
didn’t you, Gloria?’
‘Sure. Nice
guy, Karl. Good manners, charming, mature, sensible.”
‘He’s so sensible that I couldn’t cope with it in
the old days. He was one of those people sometimes described as having been
born old. He’s only five years only than me, but we are really a generation
apart. I gave up trying to get things right in Vienna and walked out. But I
know better now, and we are still married, after all.”
“How romantic!”
“I need some stability in my life.”
“Don’t we all, Clare? That’s why I’m going to spend
more time nearer Cleo. She’s the only family I have left. Don’t tell anyone
about my plans though, will you?”
“Of course not, but I’m sure Cleo will be happy to
have you near whatever happened in the past.”
“I hope so. I’ll be living in Middlethumpton.
That’ll leave a little space between us.”
“Phone me at the vicarage when you know your
arrival time. I’ll pick you up at the airport, Gloria. I don’t know if Karl
will be coming over here. That depends on his job and other family matters.”
Gloria looked at Clare and nodded knowingly, which
made Clare blush.
“Well, maybe I’ll go back to Austria instead. But
not before Christmas. I can’t leave my job without giving notice. That would be
a terrible blow to Cleo.”
“When is the baby due, Clare?”
“Reckoning back to the night of the fire alarm, at
the vicarage, I have another six months to go. But …”
“OK. I get it. Congratulations.”
Back in Upper Grumpsfield, things were not going
smoothly. Far from being modest and grateful for all the help he was getting, Gareth
Morgan had been pestering Robert at all hours, telling him what to do and how
to do it to get the flat just as he wanted it. The only thing he didn’t do was
to lift a finger to help. If asked to, he would wriggle out of it saying he had
to practise the organ, or get his car repaired, or make sure he didn’t damage
his hands. Robert was starting to regret having taken on Mr Morgan.
“If you don’t like the flat, you don’t have to move
in,” he told him. “There are plenty of people who’d be grateful for such a nice
place.”
“Oh but I am grateful, Robert. Very grateful indeed.
It’s just that I have so many things to do and decorating is not good for my
hands, honestly.”
“Normally you would have to pay someone.”
“‘Ah, but then I’d leave the place as it is. I
don’t care what colour my walls are.”
Robert tried to ignore Gareth’s absurd comments.
The whole situation was rather amusing after all.
Over a hurried breakfast Robert told Cleo that Gareth
was a pain in the arse, beg pardon. Cleo urged him to leave the guy more to his
own devices.
“I can’t do that as long as I still officially live
there, Cleo.”
“You never sleep there, Robert. What’s the
problem?”
“Gareth doesn’t know that, does he? He’ll expect to
move in the day I announce that I’m officially out and then I’ll have the guy
pestering me in the shop.”
“Gloria is leaving this morning. Move in here
today! Problem solved.”
“I don’t need her bed, Cleo, but I don’t need
Gareth hanging around the shop, either.”
“I wasn’t thinking of throwing you out of my bed,
Robert. Do you know what? I think you are getting cold feet!”
Robert did not answer.
“Is that it? Do you regret our relationship?”
“Of course not, but I should be making the sausages
for tomorrow.”
That surely heralded in everyday life for Cleo, but
she did not see it in that light. Robert was a kind, honest, hard worker. Her
experience of men had not included such a nice guy. She would rather have him
talking about sausage-making than robbing a bank, she reflected.
“I’ll help you. I should learn how to do all those
jobs. After all, I am going to be a butcher’s wife.”
“Yes, you are. I’m making things difficult and
don’t know why.”
“Were friends,” said Cleo. “If you are having
second thoughts, that’s OK. I don’t want to rush you.”
“But I want to rush,” said Robert. “I want to marry
you before someone else crops up and takes you away.”
Cleo had to laugh at that confession. Cleo was
single and thought she would remain so. She and Robert were a handsome couple
and their mutual affection had done wonders for both of them. That evening they
worked harmoniously at the shop to produce the strings of sausages people would
expect to see on the meat counter next morning. When the sausages were safely
refrigerated Cleo and Robert went upstairs to the flat, packed a couple of
bags, threw them into the back of Robert’s white delivery van with ‘Jones, your
family butcher’ written on both sides and across the rear doors, and drove the
short distance to Cleo’s cottage. Robert was to call it home from now on and Mr
Morgan could do what he liked with Robert’s old flat.
“I’d better carry you across the threshold,” said Robert.”
“You’d better not, unless you want a slipped disk,”
said Cleo.
“I’ve carried much heavier bodies than yours, Cleo!”
was Robert’s curious comment. Cleo thought immediately of the carcasses he had
to deal with. Being compared with them was hardly flattering. Robert’s face
reddened as he realized what he had implied.
“Don’t worry about it, Robert. I know you didn’t
mean to be tactless.”
Robert was now acutely embarrassed. Cleo continued
to play down the comment until she was quite sure that he had recovered from
the faux pas.
“Why don’t you unpack while I make us something to
eat? I know it’s late, but I’m hungry. Use the space Gloria left in the guest
room and we’ll reorganize our bedroom tomorrow.”
Robert tipped the contents of his bags onto the guest
bed. He had lived alone for many years. How was he going to cope with having a
woman around? What if she didn’t understand him? Would she put up with him
singing all over the house?
In the kitchen, Cleo was making toast and wondering
how she would cope with having a man around the house. What if he had a violent
streak? Was it true that we attract the same kind of partner over and over
again? Robert could be quite frightening when he was angry. And he was as
strong as an ox. Was this relationship going to be a big mistake?
They bumped into each other in the little vestibule
that separated the living area from the two bedrooms and bathroom.
“I was just wondering.....” they began
simultaneously.
“Do you think we should.....” was the next
synchronic outburst.
“Ladies first....”
“No, you first....”
“I was just thinking...”
“So was I.”
“Maybe...”
Robert had prevaricated long enough. Taking the initiative
was not his thing and he was far from being a Latin lover, but he would get his
act together this time.
“Maybe what, Robert? Gloria is not here to listen
in.”
“Oh, what the hell. Let’s just skip supper then,
shall we?”
To Cleo’s total surprise, the almost platonic
nature of their relationship was at last over. Robert had jumped that hurdle
and she was grateful that he was a gentle lover and a gentleman. They would
need a little time to get over their shyness, since they had been without
partners for a long time, but the foundations were laid.
Tuesday was memorable for two main reasons, quite apart from
the new status Cleo and Robert had found. There was nothing to choose between
the events for drama and suspense.
The first occurrence was the theft of Dorothy’s old
television, which would probably have been gone for ever and a day had the
burglar been less conspicuous.
It isn’t often that a burglar actually rings your doorbell and
you probably wouldn’t recognize one if you saw one, since burglars tend to be
average human beings and – if they know their job – avoid shifty looks and
nervous twitches.
The thief who took Dorothy’s TV set had obviously studied
human behaviour. The hardest part was to get into a house when an occupant was at
home. But he was resourceful, another vital characteristic of anyone bent on a
criminal career.
“Tuning free of charge,” he offered and that had tipped the
scales in Dorothy’s favour. She had, like countless others everywhere, been
wooed by the prospect of getting something for nothing. Her TV set was so old
that it had buttons to turn instead of pads to press and only two programmes to
choose from. The ancient mahogany encased innards were in constant need of
tuning,
A local power cut helped the burglar to get into the cottage because
it was quite definite that no TVs were working in the district. The burglar
would not know the age of a TV until he saw it, but since everyone had a TV it
was a fair bet that the one in Dorothy’s cottage would work if there was a
power supply, and that would make it a candidate for theft.
Had Dorothy noticed that the power was cut off, she would have
been suspicious. As it was, once he had seen the TV, the thief had no desire to
make off with such an ancient contraption and unfortunately no opportunity to
locate anything of value in her parlour.
With his whole masquerade on the line, however, the confidence
trickster found himself shouldering the TV set to take it away for repairs. As
far as he was concerned, the whole exercise had been a dead loss up to now. His
only chance of finding something actually worth stealing would be if he brought
the TV set back, which might not be worth the effort, and getting the old woman
out of the room for long enough to make a search. The alternative would be to
dispose of the TV down the railway cutting behind Upper Grumpsfield station. He
did not cherish the idea of another confrontation with the old woman, but on
the other hand she was slightly preferable to the risk involved in chucking the
set down onto the railway lines in broad daylight.
Shortly after he had disappeared round the next street corner,
the noise of a petrol-driven pneumatic drill sliced through the birdsong and Dorothy
was a little surprised to see a man making a hole in the middle of the road
opposite her cottage.
‘Sorry about the noise, Miss. I'm breaking up some of the
tarmac just above the electricity cable. That's why the power was cut off for a
bit. We don’t want any accidents, now do we?’
“When did you cut the power off?” Dorothy asked as a terrible
thought crossed her mind.
“My mate did it while we oiled the machines and had a rest. When
we’ve finished this hole you’ll have power for the rest of the week because we
won’t be back till next Monday to dig some more holes. The Telecom men are
going to re-cable you.”
“Are they?’ Dorothy did not really know what that entailed,
but thought Telecom would be sure to let her know if it was going to cost her something.
Since it was now Tuesday, people would have to avoid the holes in the road for
nearly a week, but that is not what was bothering Dorothy right now. She asked
the road-mender if he had seen anyone acting strangely.
“Well, come to think of it, I did wonder. There’s a motorbike
parked just round the corner from here, and there’s an ancient TV set sitting in
its sidecar.”
“A man collected my TV a few minutes ago. He must have passed
you. You did not see him pass, I take it.”
“I was busy with the drill and my newspaper, Miss. I didn’t
have time to look up. “
The road-mender lifted his cap so that he could scratch his
head. He was an avid reader of crime reports when he wasn’t making holes in
roads.
“But that TV on the sidecar might be yours. I think we’d
better look into it,” he said. “I’ll just finish this hole.”
A few minutes later the thief reappeared labouring under the
weight of Dorothy’s TV.
The road-mender left the hole to its own devices and went
towards the burglar.
“Where are you going with that?” he asked. Now he had seen the
man at close range he thought he might have seen his photo in the Police
Gazette, which his brother-in-law, a professional arm of the law, passed on to
him every week.
“Errr... I’m bringing her TV back. Errr ...I had a quick look
at it and it’s all right now.”
Dorothy was about to challenge the thief when the road-mender
intervened.
“Leave this to me, lady,” he said, winking at Dorothy to keep
quiet.
The road-mender instructed the fake repairman to put the set
back where it belonged. He had to ask himself why the man would want to risk
bringing it back having successfully absconded with it, but it crossed his mind
that such an antique object would probably be too conspicuous to sell, even if
it was worth anything. So why take it in the first place?
Dorothy went on ahead through her front door, which was still
wide open, because she hadn’t intended to go anywhere. The burglar took the TV
into the cottage and put it back on its table while Dorothy and the road-mender
watched him closely in case he got it into his head to take something else
instead.
“What a good job there was nothing wrong with it,” Dorothy
remarked dryly.
She had not enjoyed being made a fool of and was sure anyone
else who had fallen for the ruse would feel the same. Unnoticed by the thief, who
was making a show of tuning it now it was working Dorothy sidled out of the
parlour into the hall and made a hasty phone-call.
The road-mender blocked the parlour door, confident that he
had cornered a wanted criminal.
“So you decided against that particular TV set, did you?” he
said.
“Oh, come on. Give me a break. You’ve got to admit it was a
good idea, waiting till the power was off. I usually have to fix them broken on
the spot.”
The road-mender was flabbergasted. The thief obviously thought
he must be just as dishonest.
“Go on. I’ll give you a cut next time if you don’t let on.”
“Why did you have to take it in the first place? You must have
seen that it was ancient.”
“The old girl had such a suspicious mind that I thought it
would be safer to keep the act up.”
The man tried to push the road-mender aside, cursing that he
had been rumbled by a road-mender and an old woman. He was already too late to
escape however. The police patrol car summoned urgently by Dorothy had been on
the way to a similar suspicious burglary. It drew up in front of the cottage
and the two police officers soon matched the thief with the description several
victims had given them over the past few days. He was led off in handcuffs.
Since the power was back on, Dorothy put the kettle on and since
the road-mender was still hovering he was invited to share a pot of tea and a
whopping slice of currant bread.
“You’ll have to give evidence in court, Miss.”
“Will I? I’ve never done that before.”
“And maybe you should go to your doctor and complain of shock
symptoms. You could claim damages for being frightened out of your wits.”
Dorothy was quite sure that she would not want to say anything
dishonest, especially about her mental state. The man shrugged his shoulders
and told her she would be a fool not to. He was just about to regale her with
tales of people making a fortune out of such incidents when the doorbell rang
again.
***
Dorothy was very surprised that the vicar was calling on her
at breakfast time. He usually timed his visits to coincide with the moment
Dorothy took something delicious she had baked out of the oven.
Mr Parsnip was not wearing his usual smile. In fact he was
extremely agitated.
“You’d better come in and tell me what’s wrong, Frederick.
This is Mr ...”
“Lewis. Please to meet you, Vicar.”
“Mr Lewis has just helped me catch a thief.”
“Really? I’ve no time for that today. Edith has gone.”
“Gone?”
“Yes, gone. Without leaving a note.”
“Where could she have gone to?”
“If I knew that, I wouldn’t be here, would I?” snapped the
vicar.
Mr Lewis was listening to this dialogue wide-eyed. His inner sleuth
came back into action.
“When did you first miss her, if I may ask?” he said.
“Between last night and breakfast.”
‘What do you mean by last night, Frederick? Did you errr?’
Dorothy had often wondered about the Parsnip marriage. Had it
gone on the rocks? Surely not. Edith was such a faithful soul.
“No I didn’t, young man. I did an extra all-night vigil in the
church,” Mr Parsnip explained. “I try to do that every Tuesday night but I did an
extra vigil last night as well because I had to think about something.”
“Can’t you think at home, Vicar?” said the road-mender.
“Not with 5 children and a nervous wife, Mr Lewis.”
Frederick was talking about his family as if he hated them.
The road-mender thought for a moment.
“So your lady wife used the vigil to make her escape, I mean
leave home, did she?”
Mr Lewis’s remark was not in good taste, but it might not have
been far off the truth.
“She must have. What am I going to do?”
“Call the police,” Dorothy advised.
“I can’t do that. The bishop would find out and I’d be in
disgrace. He’s started threatening to close St Peter’s. That would give him
another reason.”
“Why should you be in disgrace for something Edith has done, Vicar?
That doesn’t make sense,” said Lewis.
“I agree with Mr Lewis,” said Dorothy.
“I haven’t been a very attentive husband lately,” said the
vicar. Mir Lewis suspected there must be something sexual about the
disappearance of the woman named Edith. “I might have driven her to do
something she’d regret.”
“Rubbish, Frederick. Edith is not likely to do anything
terrible. Mind you, she seemed a bit preoccupied at the meeting last Sunday. Clare
was not quite herself either.”
Dorothy was improvising. She had noticed the way Edith kept
glancing at Gareth Morgan, but had dismissed any notion of some kind of
clandestine arrangement as a figment of her imagination. On the other hand, who
knows how desperate a woman can get when she’s cooped up in a draughty old
house with five rowdy boys to rear and a husband who’s on a different planet
half the time.
Dorothy’s sympathies tended to be on Edith’s side, but she
would have to support Frederick now. Edith must be found, and fast.
“Who’s Clare,” asked Mr Lewis.
“Edith’s twin sister,” replied Mr Parsnip in terse tones. He
did not like Mr Lewis’s interference, though he seemed to be on friendly terms
with Dorothy.
“Could she have something to do with it?”
“No. She left for Austria yesterday morning and she won’t be
back till next week,” said Dorothy.
“Clare is too busy getting her own life sorted out to want to
put Edith up to anything,” the vicar added.
And that, thought Dorothy, was about the most perceptive thing
Mr Parsnip had ever said about anyone.
Mr Lewis was now totally involved.
“I hate to ask this, but is there a chance of another man
being involved?”
Mr Parsnip’s face turned ashen.
“What do you mean, Mr. Lewis?”
“Another man. An affair. Someone she’s been seeing on the
side.”
Dorothy gasped.
Mr Parsnip was beside himself.
“I can’t think of anyone Edith would want to see on the side,”
he said. “Perhaps she just wanted to be alone for a bit, or she’s gone
shopping. Maybe we should just wait and see.”
“If you think that’s for the best, Frederick. As you say,
Edith might just have gone shopping.”
Dorothy didn’t believe that for one minute, but as usual, Frederick
Parsnip was proving useless in a crisis and helping him was something beyond
her power.
“Either you call the police or you go home and wait,
Frederick,” she said as that idea occurred to her.
She ushered the men out.
Mr Lewis went back to his hole in the road and Mr Parsnip got
on his bike and peddled erratically back to the vicarage. He’d have to find
someone for the boys if Edith hadn’t turned up by teatime. They needed someone,
Dorothy had told him as a parting shot. She had shown him almost no sympathy
and not even suggested coming to the vicarage and taking over.
The vicar felt self-pity overcoming him. He hadn’t yet given serious
thought to actually looking for Edith. Did she want him to find her? If so,
surely she would have left him a note. What
would she have done if he’d walked out?
Mr Parsnip resolved to tell everyone that Mrs Parsnip had gone
to Austria. That would give him time to sort himself out. He wished he felt
more sadness than anger, but he didn’t. Edith could be very annoying when she
put her mind to it.
When the vicar was out of sight, Mr Lewis walked back to
Dorothy and told her that there was no getting round it; the police must be
called in. Dorothy agreed, but was unwilling to take the initiative. Mr Lewis
went back to his hole-digging.
***
When Edith got off the train in Dover it was just
after midday and she could not for the life of her remember how she had got
there. In fact, she could not remember anything at all, not even her name.
She looked at her reflection in a glass door. Who
was this person looking back at her? What was she doing on a station platform?
And why was she in Dover?
It was a muggy November day and Edith was wearing only
a summer jacket. She shivered as she made her way to the main hall. She took a ticket
out of her jacket pocket and looked at it closely. It was a used bus ticket
from a place called Upper Grumpsfield. She had never heard of Upper
Grumpsfield. If she could just remember who she was, she thought. Edith rummaged
in her handbag for clues, but there were none. Her purse was almost empty.
Whoever she was, she was quite poor. Edith found some loose change in the other
pocket of her jacket and decided to get herself a drink from one of the vending
machines. Then she sat on a bench and sipped at her paper beaker of cocoa,
wondering what people did who couldn’t remember who they were. If I can
remember how to read, why can’t I remember my name? she pondered.
Dover station was busy. People hurrying to their
connections gave her but a passing glance. Of course, they didn’t know she had
lost her memory. About an hour must have passed before one of the station staff
came up to her and asked if he could be of assistance.
“Where do you want to go, Miss?”
”‘I don’t know” Edith replied. “I don’t know
anything, not even my name.”
The man wondered if she had been taking drugs. She
wasn’t drunk, but seemed to be in another world.
“I think we’d better go to the station office,
Miss. They can probably help you.” He didn’t want to get involved.
Edith followed the man, dragging her little
suitcase on wheels along behind her. She felt quite elated, but she could not
have explained why. The suitcase only contained simple cosmetic necessities, a
few garments and a pair of shoes, it transpired. No clues to her identity
there, either.
Dover station master’s attempts to get any
information out of Edith were fruitless. He was obliged to call the paramedics,
who bundled her into their ambulance and took her to a local hospital. She
would need psychiatric help, they were sure. Edith acquiesced to everything.
The police were called. They would look through their files for any persons
fitting her description who had been reported missing, starting in the Upper
Grumpsfield area, though the bus ticket might not be hers. She might have just
picked it up somewhere. And that was all they could or even wanted to do.
Edith would have been of more interest to them if
she had been a corpse. Now that was a challenge. But a seemingly healthy person
can do anything within the law, including making a disappearance. If she had
committed no crime, she was just another case of someone leaving home.
The police took photographs of her and left her in
the care of the hospital psychologist, who placed a questionnaire in front of
her and watched her struggle with it while he ostensibly dealt with some
paperwork.
“It isn’t that I don’t want to answer all these
questions,“ Edith assured him. “But I can’t. I don’t remember anything about
myself.”
“Don’t worry. We can do some tests,” the
psychologist told her. He was used to people pretending they had lost their
memory. It always took a while before they tripped up and gave the game away,
so saying they would do some tests often saved him the trouble in the end.
But if this woman was a genuine case, there might
be a physical reason for it, such as a slight stroke, or a bump on the head, or
medication of some kind. They would have to know what to do with her before
passing her on to the next instance that would be the police if they meanwhile discovered
something illegal, or she would remember her home address and decide to go
home. It was now well past tea-time. He couldn’t do anything more for her that
day. Edith wished she could remember something, although she was rather enjoying
being a mystery woman and getting selfless attention from kind people.
The psychologist pressed a buzzer on the underside
of his desk and almost immediately a nurse entered the room with a worried look
on her face. She was relieved to find the psychologist in no danger.
“Take this patient to a quiet ward and give her some
supper and a mild sedative,” he told her. “She looks as if she needs a good
night’s sleep more than anything else.”
Edith allowed herself to be led to a small side ward
which had only one other occupant, a young woman who greeted her briefly before
returning to gazing out of the window. Edith ate what was on her supper tray, swallowed
a sedative, undressed and slipped into the pyjamas she had found in her
suitcase. Hardly had her head touched the pillow than she fell into a deep
sleep, blissfully unaware of the consternation back in Upper Grumpsfield.
Dorothy was shocked at her friend Frederick
Parsnip’s ambivalent reaction to his wife’s disappearance. He hadn’t even suggested
looking for her, but he had hinted that Clare was more of a curse than a
blessing. He seemed to think that Clare had something to do with her sister’s
disappearance, but he did not say as much.
So had Clare led Edith astray? Dorothy thought that
Clare had behaved quite sensibly of late, but she wasn’t really up to date with
all the goings-on at the vicarage and was sceptical about a possible
reconciliation between her and Karl von Klippen, which was what she suspected
Clare’s trip to Austria to be in aid of. Surely Clare could not have had a hand
in Edith’s disappearance if she was a thousand miles away. Or could she?
One thing was certain and that was that Gareth
Morgan had set his cap at one of the two sisters. Dorothy wasn’t sure which one.
She thought he might be having trouble telling them apart, but there was a
faint possibility that he knew something about Edith’s whereabouts. She would
ask him. No use speculating. Facts were what were needed.
Since she had heard that Mr Morgan was moving into
the flat above Robert’s shop very soon, she would pop down to the shop and ask Robert
about Mr Morgan’s current whereabouts.
“No, he hasn’t moved in yet, Dorothy. He has
brought some of his stuff over, but we’re going to paint the walls at the
weekend so he’ll have to wait till next week to settle in. Anyway, I’m still
moving out, though I don’t sleep here anymore.”
Robert blushed a little at these words. Dorothy
smiled knowingly.
“Well, I’m glad everything has turned out so well
for you, Robert. You had me worried a few weeks ago.”
“I had myself worried, Dorothy. I behaved very
badly. It’s a wonder that Cleo could forgive me.”
“You’re a lucky man, Robert.”
“Yes, I am. So what can I do for you today, Dorothy?”
“I need to find Mr Morgan, Robert. I thought you
might know where he is.”
“Sorry. I can’t help you on that.”
“Never mind. I’ll try the church. He might be
practising.”
“Is it about Edith Parsnip, Dorothy?”
“Yes, it is. I suppose the whole world knows by
now.”
“I expect she had her reasons,” said Robert, thinking
of all the rumours he had heard.
“I hope you don’t listen to gossip, Robert,” said
Dorothy.
“I listen to it, but don’t believe it all. Take
some sausages with you for tea, Dorothy. Freshly made.”
“That’s a good idea. Cleo told me you are still
busy clearing your old flat out.”
Robert nodded happily.
“Not furniture. Gareth can use it. Cleo’s cottage
is already fully furnished.”
Dorothy was as happy for the Cleo’s new happiness
as she would have been for her own. She couldn’t help remembering her own brief
romance all those years ago. What if....? Shaking off the melancholy that had
overcome her out of the blue, she slipped some coins for the sausages onto the
glass counter top, since Robert invariably refused to take money from her, and
walked briskly to St Peter’s in search of Mr Morgan.
Sure enough, she could hear the organ as she
approached. Mr Morgan was quite glad to see Dorothy, but he was horrified when
heard the reason for her visit.
“Why that’s terrible, Dorothy. Gone away suddenly?
Are you sure?”
“Mr Parsnip told me himself. He thought she might
have just gone shopping.”
“Well, that’s all right then.”
“I don’t suppose you know where else she could have
gone to, do you, Mr Morgan?”
“Me? Why should I know?”
Mr Morgan was leaning over the side of the organ gallery,
so Dorothy was forced to crick her neck and raise her voice, which made it
quite difficult to say what she wanted to.
“Well, I thought you were quite partial to Edith Parsnip;
or is it Clare?”
Mr Morgan was so disconcerted that he didn’t lodge
a protest. In fact, if he hadn’t been clutching the balustrade, he might easily
have fallen head first into the pews below. Had he forgotten he had told her
about his infatuation?
“To be honest, I did used to have a little fond
feeling for the ladies, but I realise that there’s no future in it, so I’ve
moved on.”
“I’m glad to hear that, Mr Morgan. Is there someone
new in your life?”
“Not quite, but now I’m moving house, who knows
what may be in store for me.”
Mr Morgan was optimistic about his own future and
seemed almost indifferent to what was happening to Edith Parsnip. He might be
putting on an act. He might be concealing Edith somewhere, but if he had
something to do with her disappearance, he was hardly likely to tell anyone.
Cleo might have more luck. She was good at solving mysteries. Dorothy swore Mr
Morgan to secrecy about Edith’s disappearance. Back home, she phoned the
library, hoping that Cleo could shed light on the mystery. It was worth a try.
A few hours later Dorothy was sitting in Cleo Hartley living-room
drinking coffee. Edith’s disappearance -
and Dorothy had checked if Edith had in fact already reappeared - had priority
even over Robert’s move. Cleo would be only too glad to help if she could.
“Can you think of any reason Edith Parsnip might want to leave
home, Cleo?”
Cleo shook her head although she privately thought that it
must be rather awful being married to the vicar.
“She was acting a little strangely at the meeting last Sunday.
She hardly took her eyes off that funny organist guy.”
“Yes, I noticed that, too.”
“He’s smartened himself up. He’s quite a dapper young man
these days.”
“Dapper?”
“You know, smart.”
“He’s at least 40, Dorothy. I don’t know why you say he’s
young.”
“I suppose I meant immature,” said Dorothy, and Cleo nodded
agreement.
Dorothy thought it had something to do with moving into Robert
Jones’s flat. She explained briefly that he had once set his sights at Edith
and was now in a dilemma because he could not tell if Clare was Clare.
Cleo found the idea that Edith could consider having an affair
with Mr Morgan nothing short of absurd, and said so.
“I could tell you a story about identical twins that would
make your hair really stand on end, Dorothy, but now is not the time.”
“Do tell me!”
“Another time, Dorothy. We need to stay with our present
dilemma,” said Cleo. “How are we going to deal with a Gareth Morgan who has set
his sights on romantic roles at the impro show?”
“Can’t we leave Laura to sort that one out?”
“Not after the way she ridiculed him at the meeting, Dorothy.”
“Robert was just as bad, Cleo.”
“But Robert was amused. Laura was malicious.”
“Sorry,” said Dorothy.
“I know what you mean, Dorothy.”
There was a silence while they both thought over the current
problem of Edith’s disappearance.
“It could be a personality problem of Edith’s if she has run
away. I don’t envy her job as vicar’s wife. She’d cope better if she had
Clare’s personality.”
“Then she would not have married him,” said Dorothy.
“That’s true and do you know what? I think that it’s only men
can’t tell Clare and Edith apart at a glance. Robert never knows which one he’s
sold meat to from looking at them. But he says they are like chalk and cheese
as far as personality is concerned, and I’m sure that’s true. As soon as Clare
cracks a joke, he knows it can’t be Edith. Edith has never cracked a joke in
her life.”
“Clare is actually a bit taller than Edith,” said Dorothy.
“But if they aren’t standing next to one another, you can’t
very well compare their height, can you?”
“No, of course not,” said Dorothy. “But Mr Morgan was
concentrating on their eyes, he told me. And this morning when I interrupted
his organ practice to ask him if he had any idea where Edith could be, he told
me that any torch he had been carrying for the two ladies was now extinguished.
He also promised not to say a word to anyone about Edith going away.”
“Let’s hope he keeps his word,” said Cleo. “I would not be
surprised if Edith had cleared off!”
Cleo thought it was a pity that Mr Morgan hadn’t disappeared,
too. That would have explained everything.
Dorothy helped herself to a second bagel. Cleo filled her cup
with wonderful coffee. They agreed that Robert Jones was sure to be well looked
after now his bachelor days were over.
“I’m sure he needs caring for, “said Cleo. “That’s one of his
main attractions for me.”
“I hope it isn’t the only one, Cleo,” said Dorothy.
“So where shall we start looking for her?” said Cleo, ignoring
Dorothy’s last remark.
“Well, Frederick Parsnip seemed in no hurry to call in the
police and he may be right. What if they were called in unnecessarily? That
would shed a very bad light on him.”
“But surely that’s not the point?”
“As far as Mr Parsnip is concerned, it is. Annoying the bishop
is about the worst thing he could do in his view,” said Dorothy.
“He’s a heartless guy,” said Cleo. “She could do with some TLC
in her life.”
“I’d agree if I knew what that was,” said Dorothy.
“Tender Loving Care.”
“Oh!”
Dorothy wondered about her friend Frederick’s character. What
if he wasn’t quite what he seemed? He’d been a good friend to her, but sometimes
she got the feeling that there was a darker side to his nature. She wondered
how dark.
“We all have a darker side, Dorothy. It doesn’t mean he has
done anything wrong.”
As Cleo pacified Dorothy, she too had a feeling of foreboding
about the whole business.
“He’s such a mild guy and I thought he had a good marriage,”
said Cleo. “All those kids!’
“They don’t prove anything, Cleo. Something must have happened
to change things, but I’ve no idea what. And the vicar hasn’t the faintest idea
what’s going on.”
“He might not even have noticed, Dorothy.”
“That’s true.”
“But there’s no point in speculating. Even if Mr Parsnip
doesn’t want to find his wife, we do, don’t we? So let’s make a plan!”
Dorothy nodded her approval.
“First, we should call the vicarage again and see if she’s
turned up,” Dorothy suggested. “I’d better do that, Cleo. Frederick doesn’t
know I’ve told anyone except Mr Morgan.”
“No, let me, Dorothy. As you say, he does not know that I know
and he might think you are fussing.”
Whether Cleo also thought that Dorothy was fussing is of no
account here. Before she could remonstrate, Cleo had picked up the phone and
dialled the vicarage number.
“Trust me,” she whispered, and then at her normal volume “Ah vicar.
How are you today?”
Cleo had turned the loudspeaker on so they could both hear the
coughing and spluttering that went on at the other end after this seemingly
innocuous inquiry.
“Errump, quite all right, Cleo, errump. What can I do for you?”
“I’d just like a word with Edith. It’s about the catering for
the theatre show.”
This time Mr Parsnip was completely thrown.
“Errump errump errump...” he spluttered. “She’s gone to visit
her sister in Austria.”
For a vicar, he’s a pretty slick liar, thought Cleo. Now it
was her turn to improvise.
“Oh really? That must have been a sudden decision. We were
talking about the catering on Monday and she didn’t mention Austria. In fact,
she asked me for my bagel recipe. Can you get her to call back as soon as
possible? There’s no time to waste.”
“I’ll do that, errump Cleo. I’ll do that!’
If Mr Parsnip was feeling bad about Edith’s disappearance, he
was doing a good job of concealing the fact. Cleo couldn’t help feeling
disgusted. Dorothy was dismayed.
“How clever of you to think of that way to find out, Cleo. It
would never have occurred to me.”
“So now we know she hasn’t come back yet, Dorothy. And the vicar
has obviously settled on the Austria story so that he doesn’t lose face.”
