GUS STIRRED, AND shrieked with pain. His head felt the size of a beach ball, and even a tiny movement stabbed him with sharp knives. Waves of nausea overcame him, and he blacked out. When he briefly became aware again, it was dark, and he had no idea where he was, nor did he much care. He drifted back into a blessed state of unknowing.
When he surfaced again, he was aware of a distant knocking sound. With huge difficulty he struggled to his feet, felt overwhelmingly faint and put out a hand to save himself from falling. The banister at the top of the stairs supported him, and he felt his way slowly along the landing, and stopped. Now he had his bearings, and knew that his next step would send him hurtling downwards. He tried out his voice, and that seemed to be working.
“Who is it?” He tried desperately to control his nausea, and sat down on the top stair.
“Me! Deirdre! Gus, are you there? Are you all right?”
He shook his head, and then wished he hadn’t. Another step. Very carefully, he made his way down and managed to reach the front door before collapsing on the Welcome doormat.
Deirdre pushed the door open until she could just squeeze inside. At the sight of Gus, prostrate in front of her, she gasped, but being first and foremost a practical woman, she pulled her mobile from her pocket and dialled 999. “Gus! Speak to me,” she begged.
He opened one eye and said hoarsely, “Has he gone?” Then he passed out again, and Deirdre cradled his poor head in her arms, praying for the ambulance to turn up.
IVY HAD HAD a busy day, but was still up and about, not feeling at all like sleep. First the Blake woman, who had called as promised and sat, looking the picture of health, in Ivy’s best chair, nattering on about nothing very much, until Ivy had pointedly asked what exactly was the advice she needed. Miriam Blake had then said people were being horrible to her, not exactly accusing her of killing her mother, but dropping such heavy hints that she had begun to avoid conversations in the village. What should she do? It was making her so miserable. Ivy had said she was sure that once the real murderer had been found, all would be well. Miriam would just have to put up with it. Then the questions began. Why had Ivy come to Barrington? Was she close to her cousin at Tawny Wings? Had they grown up together, and been teenaged friends? And on and on, until Ivy became thoroughly annoyed and had more or less shown her the door.
Then on to her game of crib with Mr. Goodman, and while waiting for him to decide which card to play, she had pondered on Miriam Blake’s motives. It was Deirdre, of course, who had been the subject of most of the questions. Deirdre Bloxham, attractive and rich, a merry widow and old flame of Theo Roussel.
“Penny for them?” Mr. Goodman had said, playfully wagging his finger at her. She had gritted her teeth and concentrated on the game. She had won, of course, and left his room promising to have the return match with him very soon. He had said a few interesting things already, and she needed to follow them up.
Finally, settling between her cool sheets, she had said her prayers and reported to the Almighty that life at Springfields was looking up.
IT SEEMED ONLY a couple of hours later that she was awoken by her telephone ringing. She looked at her bedside clock and saw that it was already eight o’clock.
“Ivy? It’s Deirdre. Can you be ready by half past nine? We have to go into the General Hospital in Tresham. Gus has had an accident. I found him, and the ambulance men were brilliant. We need to see him. I’ll pick you up half nine. Bye.”
Ivy had not moved so fast for a long time, and by nine fifteen she had washed, dressed, breakfasted and was waiting in the reception hall for Deirdre to collect her.
The grand car cruised to a halt, and Deirdre came swiftly up the path. “Ivy?” she shouted as she opened the door.
“I’m ready,” said Ivy. She called to Mrs. Spurling that she did not know when she would be back, but not to worry about lunch, and then the pair were moving off at speed towards Tresham.
Mrs. Spurling frowned. This could not go on. Springfields was supposed to be for the elderly and infirm. Miss Beasley was certainly elderly, but not at all infirm! She treated the place like a hotel, issuing orders right, left and centre, and obeying none of the rules that made the home run like clockwork.
She turned to go back into her office, and saw Katya waiting for her. The girl was not looking happy, and Mrs. Spurling wondered if Miss Beasley had been sharp with her. But on asking her outright if this was so, Katya had said, “No, of course not! Miss Beasley is very kind to me and makes me feel homely. She is an interesting person, do you not think, Mrs. Spurling?”
“Then is something else bothering you?”
Katya hesitated. “Nice Mr. Goodman. He asks for Lands’ End catalogue? Is this clothes? I did not understand all he say, but he points to his coat and says it is ‘boring.’ Is this right? I am not sure…”
“Nor am I, Katya! Still, some of our residents do make odd requests from time to time. Just tell him you have ordered a catalogue, but don’t do it. He’ll have forgotten about it by tomorrow. We really cannot add to the mountain of junk mail we receive every morning. A genuine, handwritten letter for a resident is quite a rarity, unfortunately.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Spurling. Was that Mrs. Bloxham collecting Miss Beasley? It is great compliment-is that right?-to Springfields that Miss Beasley is so happy and, er, busy, is it not?”
Mrs. Spurling suggested that Katya might have some work to get on with, and sat down again at her desk. A compliment, was it? Something she might add to the Springfields prospectus? “All our residents are happy, busy people, etc., etc.” Yes, it sounded very positive. Perhaps Miss Ivy Beasley might be regarded as an asset after all. She picked up the pile of charity demands and catalogues delivered this morning, and without looking at any of them, tipped them straight into the wastepaper basket.
THE CAR PARK spaces were not really wide enough for the Rolls, so Deirdre parked across two, saying they were lucky to find any spaces at all. They had hardly exchanged a word on the journey, too shocked and concerned with their own thoughts. Finally Deirdre said, “Usually the whole wretched car park is full, with weeping drivers going round and round knowing they are missing their appointments.”
“And then you have to pay if you do find a space,” said Ivy, noticing the machine for tickets. “Daylight robbery,” she said. “If you ask me, it’s exploiting the sick and disabled.”
Deirdre locked the car and they headed for the main entrance. There were queues everywhere: for the reception desk, the public telephones, the snack bar with its coffee machine and sad array of buns and biscuits, and, when Deirdre and Ivy finally found out where they should go, there was a long impatient queue for the lifts.
“He is sleeping at the moment,” said the nurse, as they found Burton ward. “You can sit by him for a bit, but don’t try to wake him. He needs rest and quiet.”
As Ivy looked around and heard the cacophony of sounds that exists in most hospital wards, she doubted if Gus would be very peaceful in here. As soon as he was able, she would arrange for him to have a week or so in Springfields. He would mend quickly then, she was sure.
Both women were shaken as they looked at Gus, his face twitching as he mumbled in his sleep.
“My God,” said Deirdre quietly, “he made a proper job of it, silly fool.”
Ivy shook her head. “Did you call the police?” Deirdre said no, she had just got the ambulance as quickly as possible.
“I had this feeling that Gus might not want the police involved,” she said.
“Sshh!” Ivy said, and then added in a stage whisper, “He’s coming round!”
Gus, now sedated and relatively pain free, opened his eyes, and then quickly shut them again. It couldn’t be, could it? He must be hallucinating. Then he heard Ivy’s voice, and knew they were really there beside his bed.
“Augustus, it is only Deirdre and me. You’ve been getting up to mischief, I see.”
Mischief! Gus tried a caustic reply, but the effort was too much, so he just sighed. After all, it was early in the morning, and the two must have set out very promptly to come and see him.
“You just lie quiet,” continued Ivy, “and we’ll do the talking.”
“But Ivy,” Deirdre interrupted. “We were supposed not to disturb him.”
“I don’t intend to disturb him,” Ivy said, straightening her skirt as she sat down on a chair brought by a young nurse. “There are only two things I want to say, Augustus. First, I shall make sure you are looked after properly when you come out of here. And second, our nice little Katya sent you her…” She hesitated, and then said firmly, “Well, she said her love, but I’m sure she meant her kind regards.”