Lois said.
Hazel shook her head. “He’s thought of that. What that chauffeur buys at Rain or Shine is for himself. Fergus told Maureen—”
“—who told you,” smiled Lois. “Anyway,” she continued, “do we believe that? And if not, how does Howard Jenkinson persuade his driver to carry the can?”
“Very influential, is old Jenkinson,” said Hazel, looking at her watch. “Very influential indeed. Now, I must do a bit o’ paperwork before I collect Lizzie.”
“And I must be going,” Lois repeated. “Take care, then. See you tomorrow.”
I N THE T OWN H ALL , J EAN S LATER FINISHED H OWARD ‘ S letters and took them in for him to sign.
“Morning, lovely Jean,” he said.
Oh God, thought Jean. Not that old thing. Who’d stirred him up this morning? On cue, there was a knock on his door and he said, “Come in!” in a firm voice.
A girl in her twenties, blonde and slender, walked tentatively into the office and looked at Jean. Then she said, “You wanted me, Mr. Jenkinson?”
I’ll say! thought Howard, but he nodded, turning to Jean. “Just sorting out a problem with the staff,” he said. “If you’d give me a few minutes with Suser, Miss Jacobs?”
“Jacob,” said the girl. “Susanna Jacob.”
Jean glared at her, collected up the signed letters and left the office, banging the door behind her. Surely he was past all that? But no, they were never past it. Her old Dad, who’d had a roving eye all his life, had almost lost his wits in the final old folks’ home, but that hadn’t stopped him propositioning a buxom nurse. “I’ve booked us a room at a luxury hotel, my dear,” she’d heard him say confidingly to her one visiting time. “Keeps ‘em going, you know,” the nurse had said afterwards to Jean.
So what would Doreen say? Well, she needn’t know.
T HIRTEEN
“B ILL ? M RS . M HERE . C AN YOU STAY ON FOR A FEW minutes after the meeting today?”
Monday morning, and the team were meeting at midday. Lois put down the telephone and shuffled her papers. There were already several new contacts from the office in town, and she had begun to think seriously about the need for more cleaners. Now that Hazel spent most of her time in Tresham, she was finding it difficult to spread the team efficiently. She would bring it up at the meeting, see if they had any ideas. A recommendation from one of them was more useful than any number of ads in local papers.
As she had hoped, at the end of the meeting the team had several useful suggestions. One of them—the most likely—was a girl from the nearby village of Round Ringford, a niece of Sheila Stratford. She was working at the Town Hall at present, but Sheila had been talking to her mother, who’d said that she was looking for another job where she’d meet more people, and did not have to sit in front of a computer all day.
“Fair enough,” said Lois. “Give me her particulars, and I’ll get in touch.”
They settled a few last problems, and then dispersed, leaving Bill standing awkwardly by the door. “You wanted to talk?” he said, looking apprehensive.
“Yeah, close the door,” Lois said. Gran was lurking somewhere, she knew, and this was going to be a very confidential matter. She wasn’t sure why she wanted to know, except for a nagging curiosity about a potentially explosive matter. But why? It was none of her business, and for sure no crime had been committed … yet.
Bill shut the door, and turned to face her. Lois laughed. “Don’t look like that,” she said. “There’s nothing wrong. Just wanted to ask you about the Jenkinsons. Well, about that room of his. Have you had a look inside?”
Bill shook his head. “Always locked,” he said. “But I think our Doreen would like to know … she was hovering outside the door the other day when I went up to do the bedrooms. Asked me if Howard had mentioned having it spring-cleaned. I said no, and she went off. But I reckon she’s dead curious.”
“With
Hazel shook her head. “He’s thought of that. What that chauffeur buys at Rain or Shine is for himself. Fergus told Maureen—”
“—who told you,” smiled Lois. “Anyway,” she continued, “do we believe that? And if not, how does Howard Jenkinson persuade his driver to carry the can?”
“Very influential, is old Jenkinson,” said Hazel, looking at her watch. “Very influential indeed. Now, I must do a bit o’ paperwork before I collect Lizzie.”
“And I must be going,” Lois repeated. “Take care, then. See you tomorrow.”
I N THE T OWN H ALL , J EAN S LATER FINISHED H OWARD ‘ S letters and took them in for him to sign.
“Morning, lovely Jean,” he said.
Oh God, thought Jean. Not that old thing. Who’d stirred him up this morning? On cue, there was a knock on his door and he said, “Come in!” in a firm voice.
A girl in her twenties, blonde and slender, walked tentatively into the office and looked at Jean. Then she said, “You wanted me, Mr. Jenkinson?”
I’ll say! thought Howard, but he nodded, turning to Jean. “Just sorting out a problem with the staff,” he said. “If you’d give me a few minutes with Suser, Miss Jacobs?”
“Jacob,” said the girl. “Susanna Jacob.”
Jean glared at her, collected up the signed letters and left the office, banging the door behind her. Surely he was past all that? But no, they were never past it. Her old Dad, who’d had a roving eye all his life, had almost lost his wits in the final old folks’ home, but that hadn’t stopped him propositioning a buxom nurse. “I’ve booked us a room at a luxury hotel, my dear,” she’d heard him say confidingly to her one visiting time. “Keeps ‘em going, you know,” the nurse had said afterwards to Jean.
So what would Doreen say? Well, she needn’t know.
T HIRTEEN
“B ILL ? M RS . M HERE . C AN YOU STAY ON FOR A FEW minutes after the meeting today?”
Monday morning, and the team were meeting at midday. Lois put down the telephone and shuffled her papers. There were already several new contacts from the office in town, and she had begun to think seriously about the need for more cleaners. Now that Hazel spent most of her time in Tresham, she was finding it difficult to spread the team efficiently. She would bring it up at the meeting, see if they had any ideas. A recommendation from one of them was more useful than any number of ads in local papers.
As she had hoped, at the end of the meeting the team had several useful suggestions. One of them—the most likely—was a girl from the nearby village of Round Ringford, a niece of Sheila Stratford. She was working at the Town Hall at present, but Sheila had been talking to her mother, who’d said that she was looking for another job where she’d meet more people, and did not have to sit in front of a computer all day.
“Fair enough,” said Lois. “Give me her particulars, and I’ll get in touch.”
They settled a few last problems, and then dispersed, leaving Bill standing awkwardly by the door. “You wanted to talk?” he said, looking apprehensive.
“Yeah, close the door,” Lois said. Gran was lurking somewhere, she knew, and this was going to be a very confidential matter. She wasn’t sure why she wanted to know, except for a nagging curiosity about a potentially explosive matter. But why? It was none of her business, and for sure no crime had been committed … yet.
Bill shut the door, and turned to face her. Lois laughed. “Don’t look like that,” she said. “There’s nothing wrong. Just wanted to ask you about the Jenkinsons. Well, about that room of his. Have you had a look inside?”
Bill shook his head. “Always locked,” he said. “But I think our Doreen would like to know … she was hovering outside the door the other day when I went up to do the bedrooms. Asked me if Howard had mentioned having it spring-cleaned. I said no, and she went off. But I reckon she’s dead curious.”
“With
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