Fear on Friday by Ann Purser Page A

contacts. One day a week, and at other times when Hazel needed time off, Lois took over, and admitted to Derek that she thoroughly enjoyed herself.
    “Beats going to see stroppy new clients in their homes,” she said. “When they come into the office, they’re usually desperate for a cleaner. Very polite and nice. Later on, when they see a perfect stranger around the house, poking into their private things, they can get nasty.”
    “Not, of course, that your cleaners poke, do they, me duck?” grinned Derek.
    “Course not,” said Lois. “Not unless asked.”
    “Huh!” said Derek. He knew that Lois used New Brooms to collect up information for Cowgill, and he privately thought she sailed pretty close to the wind at times. Still, that was her business.
    Now, with no clients in the office for the moment, she stood at the window chatting to Hazel, and looked across at Rain or Shine. She had not yet spoken to the young bloke who was there every day, but she had looked curiously at the men—usually men—who were his customers. Some marched to the door with great bravado, and disappeared inside, emerging later with plain carrier bags. Glancing to right and left, they marched equally swiftly off up Sebastopol Street and disappeared. Others hugged the inside of the pavement, overshot the shop at first, then turned and came back, finally scuttling inside with face averted. Yet others arrived by car, and parked away up the street. Then they walked nonchalantly up to the window and peered inside, as if wondering idly whether to go in. Then in a sudden dart they would open the door and disappear, like a mouse into a hole.
    All this amused Lois, especially as she had been told by Hazel and her friend Maureen that the shop’s stock covered a wide range of sex aids and toys. Maureen was one of many outworkers who made up raincoats, nurses’ uniforms, bodysuits and much else. “Most of ‘em want pve these days,” she’d said knowledgeably, “rubber’s out.”
    “What else does he do in there?” Lois said bluntly. “What goes on upstairs?”
    “Nothing much—Fergus Forsyth uses it for storage, Maureen says.” Then she added, looking hard at Lois, “You know Fergus is Rupert’s son?”
    “Rupert Forsyth, you mean? His son? Well yeah, Derek thought he recognised him.”
    “Rupert and Daisy live in Farnden. He gets all the letters. Rupert owns the business. I could find out more.”
    Lois remembered the day she had seen Hunter Cowgill outside Rain or Shine. What was it he’d said? “In the line of duty, Lois.” What kind of duty? She supposed Fergus Forsyth would be a good source of information. No doubt some of his business verged on the dodgy.
    “Well, don’t pry, Hazel,” she said. “Just if it comes up in the course of conversation. Might be useful. You knowwhat I mean.” Hazel knew exactly what Mrs. M meant, and made a mental note to steer Maureen round to the subject when she went to collect Elizabeth at the end of the afternoon. The arrangement was successful, with the babies getting on well and Maureen grateful for the extra money. Her partner had gone off one weekend and never returned, and she found it hard going at times.
    “Well, I’d better get going,” Lois said. “Sec you, Hazel. Give me a ring if there are any problems.” She turned to the door, and stopped. A big car drove slowly by, and pulled up two or three hundred yards up the street. After a minute or two, a uniformed chauffeur appeared and went quickly into Rain or Shine. In less than a minute, he reappeared with a parcel, and half-ran back to the car, which he drove off at speed.
    “What car was that, then?” said Lois. “It had a sort of coat of arms on the door. Have you seen it before?”
    Hazel made a face. “Certainly have,” she said. “Talk about corruption in high places! That car is for the use of the Mayor of Tresham. Old Jenkinson, to be exact. Interesting, Mrs. M?”
    “You’d think he’d be more careful,”