Gary drove them away from Brotherton Hall the following morning, the Saturday. Kim Thurrock’s only regret about the experience was that it had to end. At the Nine O’Clock Weigh-In the previous evening she had achieved her lowest weight since arrival and, though of course complacency would have been politically incorrect according to the Sue Fisher ethic, she did feel quite pleased with herself.
‘Oh, the whole time’s been so great, Melita. I can’t thank you enough for organizing everything. Just been wonderful, hasn’t it?’
Mrs Pargeter, whose experience at Brotherton Hall had not been one of unalloyed joy, made some suitably non-committal response and moved the conversation on. ‘How long now till you see Thicko?’
Kim Thurrock grinned nervously. ‘Only a week. Next Friday. Oh, I can’t wait. And I daren’t imagine what state Thicko himself is in. He’s a very stable kind of bloke normally, but he always gets funny a month or so before he comes out. I think most of them do. Did you find that your…?’
A sharp look from Mrs Pargeter dried up the flow of the sentence and Kim hastily changed the subject. ‘Ooh, incidentally, I’ve got another favour to ask, Melita…’
‘Yes?’
‘Well, I know it’s something you don’t approve of…’
The twinkle was back in the violet eyes as Mrs Pargeter asked, ‘Oh really? Now I wonder what you could be talking about?’
‘It’s this plastic surgery business.’
‘Thought it might be.’
‘Look, I have actually gone to the extent of making the first appointment with this Mr Littlejohn… you know, the free consultation…’
‘Oh.’
‘There, I knew you’d start criticizing me about it.’
‘Kim, all I said was “Oh”.’
‘Yes. Yes. Well, the appointment’s for next Tuesday and the thing is…’
‘You feel nervous about going up to Harley Street on your own and wonder whether I’d mind going along with you for moral support…?’ Mrs Pargeter suggested.
‘Well, yes.’
Kim was rewarded with a warm, comfortable smile. ‘Course I’ll come with you, love.’
‘Oh, bless you, Melita.’
‘It’s this one, isn’t it?’ asked Gary, as the limousine drew up outside the Thurrocks’ modest house in Catford.
For the next hour Mrs Pargeter was caught up in the tornado of Kim Thurrock’s reunion with her three daughters, poodles, and mother. There were lots of hugs, and, from the poodles, lots of slobbering. Mrs Pargeter was included in the hugs, but, mercifully, not the slobbering.
The only awkwardness occurred when Kim’s mother Mrs Moore produced the cake she had baked to welcome her daughter home. It was a rich chocolate one, filled and crested with cream, and Mrs Moore was very put out when Kim refused a slice. The old lady subscribed to the East End tradition that equated food with love, and was offended to have her affection spurned.
Kim tried to explain, but all her mother could see was filial ingratitude. When Mrs Pargeter left, Kim was still holding out, but with a resolve that was wavering under a heavy barrage of emotional blackmail. Mrs Pargeter didn’t think many hours would pass before Kim succumbed to a peace-making slice of cake. The principles of self-denial inculcated by a few days at Brotherton Hall would be no match for the sheer force of Mrs Moore’s personality.
Gary took Mrs Pargeter to Greene’s, the discreetly expensive London hotel where she was currently residing. The house Mrs Pargeter was having built was not yet completed; and indeed, given who was building it for her, the prospect of its ever being completed continually receded.
Loyal as ever, Mrs Pargeter had employed one of the late Mr Pargeter’s associates to construct the house in which she planned to spend what she rather coyly (and, given her personality, rather inappropriately) called her ‘declining years’.
Now it wasn’t that Jimmy Jacket — or ‘Concrete’ as he was known to his intimates — was a bad builder. He was one of the best. Indeed his construction of the hidden basement to the Pargeters’ big house in Chigwell stands out as one of the architectural marvels of the late twentieth century; and the tunnel with which he linked Spud-U-Like and the National Westminster Bank in Milton Keynes bears comparison with many more publicly applauded feats of engineering.
But the drawback to employing ‘Concrete’ Jacket on a project was his availability. He wasn’t like some cowboy builders, who’re off on another job the minute their employer’s back is turned. He had assured Mrs Pargeter that, from the moment he started on her house, he wouldn’t take on any other work until its completion.
But the fact had to be faced — ‘Concrete’ Jacket’s attendance record at the site was not good. Maybe he was accident-prone; maybe he just had bad luck; maybe he chose the wrong kind of friends; whatever the reason, he kept having to be away from the job for periods of varying lengths. And, as a result, the building of Mrs Pargeter’s dream house tended to progress slowly.
Which was why she moved around a lot, and why she was currently staying at Greene’s.
As Gary ushered Mrs Pargeter into the hotel, its manager, Mr Clinton (who, under the soubriquet ‘Hedgeclipper’ Clinton, had in the past done some useful if unsophisticated work for the late Mr Pargeter) bustled forward in his jacket and pin-striped trousers to fawn tastefully over his most favoured guest.
‘We’ve missed you, my dear Mrs Pargeter. But I do hope that you’ve had an enjoyable break. Oh, and while I think, there was a message for you to ring a Mr Mason…’
‘Truffler?’
‘I would assume so,’ Mr Clinton replied with a discreet wink.
Mrs Pargeter rang through as soon as she was in her room with a tray of coffee and biscuits.
‘Mrs Pargeter,’ said Truffler with funereal directness, ‘how’d you fancy a trip to Cambridge?’
‘Cambridge? Have you got something from Jenny Hargreaves’ university friends?’
‘I would say I very definitely have, Mrs Pargeter. Some very useful pointers they’ve given me. But I think I’ve got as much as I’m going to get out of them… you know, kids of that age’re, like, suspicious of a man snooping into their private affairs.’
‘Hm.’
‘Whereas I think they’d be much more likely to open up to a woman. Particularly to you, Mrs Pargeter.’
‘Yes,’ she agreed. ‘Yes, they probably would.’