THE NEXT AFTERNOON was after all sunny and bright. Ivy sat on the seat beside the bus stop and this second time felt more confident. She chatted to people going in and out of the shop, and kept her eye on Hangman’s Row, waiting for the dumpy figure of Beatty to appear.
Once more, all went well. Beattie saw Ivy sitting there, and asked if she was coming on the bus. “We could go to market together,” she said, in spite of a reluctance to have anything to do with Miss Beasley. She realised a bus journey would be the ideal opportunity to pump the old woman for more details of Deirdre Bloxham and her easy come, easy go ways with the opposite sex. She was sure this exgirlfriend of Theo had something to do with the strange way he had been behaving lately. But how? She had kept a close ear to telephone calls, and a close eye on correspondence and visitors. There had been no opportunity for a return visit from Deirdre Bloxham.
“Perhaps next week,” said Ivy. “Young Katya is taking me for a walk later. But yes, Miss Beatty, next week I might like to come with you.”
Even as Ivy said this, a horrid possibility occurred to Beattie. Today! And last Saturday! While she was at market, had Theo somehow managed to get in touch with the Bloxham woman? And was Rose Budd to be trusted?
Ivy could not believe her eyes when Beattie came hurrying down the steps of the bus, just as it was about to depart, exactly as she had last week. But today was different. Beatty reached the bottom step, stopped and shook her head, turned and went back into the bus.
Ivy heard the driver shout, “Make up yer mind, missus!” and the bus departed.
Ivy had been practising with her mobile phone, and in seconds was talking to Deirdre. “She’s gone,” she said. “But it was touch and go again. This time, she didn’t get right off the bus. Just came to the bottom step, then went back in again. Goodness knows what that was about, but she had a face like thunder.”
Deirdre, looking her very best, felt a sudden shiver. She was not cold. It was a beautiful day. It was like someone had walked over her grave, her mother would have said. She gave herself a shake, and said she was on her way.
All the way to market, Beattie boiled with fury. That must be it. While the cat’s away the mice will play. Never a truer saying than that. Perhaps she should have got off the bus and returned to confront Theo and that wretched girl Rose. But it would be too soon. They’d wait until she was well on the way to town. “You can’t trust nobody,” she muttered to herself. She had learnt that at an early age, but years of living in security at the Hall had softened her. Well, now she was hard again. She would get a lift back early with that helpful Broomfield woman next to the shop. She knew she always went into town on a Saturday and came back in the early afternoon. She would find her car in the car park, and wait by it, no matter how long it took. Then they would see how clever they were!
ROSE STOOD BY the kitchen door in the stable yard, grinning from ear to ear as the big car glided to a halt.
“You’re looking very smart,” she said, greeting Deirdre. “Do you know,” she confided, “Mr. Theo has taken his best tweed jacket out of mothballs for your visit! Smells a bit, but it shows how much he’s looking forward to seeing you again, bless him.”
“You like him, then?” Deirdre said.
“Oh, he’s fine,” Rose said. “It’s you-know-who that’s the real nuisance. She rules the roost. Decides everything on the farm, though David says she knows damn all about farming. Anyway, come on in. He’ll be so pleased to see you.” She winked. “And I’ll keep out of the way,” she said. “Just don’t forget that the old dragon will be back at the same time as last week.”
Theo was waiting for her in the drawing room. This time he advanced on nimble feet and embraced her warmly. “Mmmm!” he said. “Same lovely scent as last week!”
He did not immediately let go of her, and Deirdre’s blood quickened. “Same old Theo,” she said. “You haven’t forgotten how to get a girl going!”
They walked over to the sofa, and sat down, still holding hands. “Would you like coffee?” he said, “Or shall we go straight to bed?”
Deirdre laughed. Did he really mean it? She decided to call his bluff, and said straight to bed would be great. But he hadn’t been bluffing, and still holding her hand, he led her up the wide staircase and along to his room, where a large bed with clean sheets put on that morning by an unsuspecting Beatty, awaited them.
He put his arms around her, and she did not mind the whiff of mothballs. “It’s been too long, Deirdre Bloxham,” he said. “But we’ve all afternoon to make up for lost time.”
All Ivy’s strictures about remembering why she was there flew out of the window. Useful conversation later, she said to herself, plenty of time later.