minutes someone from the Avalon staff is going to arrive. They’ll order a drink, glance round, look surprised to see you, have a quick chat, finish their drink, head for the door, then as an afterthought say, “Would you care for a lift, Mr Dalziel, or are you sorted?”’
‘What makes you think that?’
‘Because not long after you arrived, Alan will have made a call to the Avalon in case they haven’t noticed one of their convies has gone missing. And he’s probably just been reassuring Lady Denham that she needn’t worry about you frightening off the more sensitive customers all afternoon as you’ll be out of here in ten minutes tops.’
‘Why’d she be worried about that?’ I asked.
‘Because she owns the Hope and Anchor,’ he said. ‘In fact, dear Lady Denham owns a great deal of real estate in and around Sandytown. I told you she was wealthy as well as healthy. Moby’s, however, where they are going to lunch, belongs to her dear friend Mr Parker. She enjoys the food there but never goes unless someone else is paying, in this case her nephew, Teddy Denham, who can ill afford it.’
‘For someone not interested in money, you’ve got a sharp eye for how other folk spend it,’ I said.
He said, ‘Only because as a disciple of Third Thought, I have a deep interest in the human condition. Doesn’t Paul tells us that the love of money is the root of all evil?’
‘Paul?’ I said. ‘Thought that were one of Ringo’s. No, sorry, bit further back. Adam Faith, right?’
Not often you can shut Roote up, but that did it.
The women finished their drinks and slipped off their stools, the lass like a snowflake, the old lady like an avalanche.
Clara gave a shy little wave as her aunt said, ‘Alan, perhaps my scatterbrained nephew has gone straight to Moby’s. If he does turn up here, tell him that’s where we will be. And don’t forget to get payment for our drinks. A gentleman does not invite guests and expect them to pay for themselves. Talking of money, these ideas you have about modernizing the cellar, I think we really need to do an in-depth costing. I need quotations, not estimates. If I have time I’ll drop in later to take a closer look.’
The landlord bowed his head deferentially, or mebbe he were worried in case his expression showed this weren’t the best news he’d had today!
‘Of course, Lady Denham,’ he said.
Now she glanced our way and said, ‘Toodle-pip, Franny. Don’t forget you’re lunching with me this week.’
‘Engraved on my heart, Lady D,’ said Roote.
Her gaze shifted to me and she ducked her head and gave a little snort like she were wondering whether to charge but headed for the door instead.
I muttered, ‘Will that be lobster at Moby’s?’
‘Alas, no. Belly pork at Sandytown Hall, I fear,’ said Roote with a little shudder.
Afore I could ask what he meant, the door opened as the women approached and a Yankee voice gushed, ‘Daphne, Clara, how nice. How are you, dear ladies?’
Toilet tooth Festerwhanger.
Well, at least they really had sent Prince bloody Charming not some snotty-nosed orderly to round me up. Always supposing that’s why he’d come. I could see Roote thought it was. He gave me one of them little looks. Quizzical I think they call ’em. Like Pascoe sometimes. Mebbe him and Roote had more in common than I realized.
Stepping into the bar, Festerwhanger flashed the young lass a spotlight smile, then got folded into buffalo woman’s arms. It were like watching one of them Cumberland wrestlers tekking hold, except they don’t clamp their gobs on to their opponent’s face and give his tonsils a tongue massage. I saw now what Roote’s little insinuation were all about.
Eventually he broke loose, staggering a bit like a diver who’d come up too quick. But to give him his due, he made a quick recovery, and soon him and Lady D were chatting away – him all Yankee charm and her sort of girlishly flirtatious – like an elephant dancing in that old Disney cartoon. I almost felt sorry for old Fester. Got the feeling she could chew him up and spit him out all over his consulting room couch. Finally she gave him a farewell kiss which made the first one seem like a rehearsal and set off again but stopped dead in her tracks as the door opened to admit another man.
Different this time, but. No gush and hugs. In fact if I can read a face, there’s neither of them would have lost sleep if t’other had dropped dead on the spot!
The new guy had halted right in the doorway so she couldn’t get by.
‘If you don’t mind,’ she said, haughty as a duchess talking to a gamekeeper she don’t fancy shagging.
He didn’t move. He looked about ninety and I’ve seen healthier looking faces at an exhumation. His eyes were deep sunk, his few bits of hair clung to his pate like mould on an old plum, and he had a beard like a wildlife sanctuary. Despite the heat, he were wearing a mucky old donkey jacket, an old-fashioned striped shirt without a collar and the kind of baggy pants farmworkers used to tie up with string, only no self-respecting rat would have cared to run up these.
Suddenly I didn’t feel so badly dressed.
Still he didn’t move or speak. Then the landlord said warningly, ‘Hen.’
Now he smiled. Bare gums mainly, and the few teeth you could see through the foliage were greeny yallery shading to black at the roots. I half expected Festerwhanger to faint.
Then he stepped to one side and did a piss-taking bow and said, ‘So sorry, Your Ladyship. Didn’t see you there. So sorry. Would hate to get in Your Ladyship’s way.’
‘You won’t,’ she said. And went sweeping past him, young Clara in pursuit looking a bit embarrassed.
The old boy kicked the door shut behind them. The landlord said, ‘Watch it, Hen. It’s me as is responsible for fixtures and fittings. Your usual, Dr Feldenhammer?’
The Yank who’d been watching the incident with interest nodded. His usual was a short. Dark amber, enough ice to sink the Titanic. Jack Daniel’s mebbe. At least it weren’t purple. Festerwhanger sipped it, then turned and leaned against the bar. His face split into that toothy grin as he acted like he’d just noticed us.
‘Well hello there, Franny’ he called. ‘And Mr Dalziel too. Glad to see you’re getting around, sir. You’re looking well.’
Roote gave my thigh a told-you-so jab under the table. I’d have given him a let’s-wait-and-see kick back, only with him not having any feeling in his legs, it didn’t seem worth the effort.
‘Aye, I’m not so bad,’ I lied. Truth was, I felt distinctly woozy. The ancient geezer had got himself a pint without opening his mouth or handing over money, so far as I could see. Another time I’d have been interested to find out what had just gone off here, but at the moment, I didn’t give a toss.
‘Good. And you, Franny, how are you? Coming to Tom’s meeting on Friday, I hope?’
‘Of course. Exciting times, Lester. Won’t you join us?’
Franny
