Joneses. About William, to be precise. I still can’t remember his wife’s name, but I do remember that he went missing.”
“ Missing? What d’you mean?”
“It was in the papers. Without any warning, he just didn’t come home one evening. It was all hushed up, of course. George had influence in so many places, including with the local newspaper owner. The story just disappeared, like William. I heard no more, and not being in the charmed circle of the mayor and his entourage, I completely forgot about it. But there it is, Ivy. He could’ve returned, but by the time I read about it he’d apparently been gone for a couple of months. The original story was leaked out by William’s gardener, if I remember rightly.”
“Gardener?” Ivy said sharply. “Did you say gardener?”
Roy confirmed he had said gardener, and wondered if her hearing was going. But no, Ivy didn’t waste words. He would no doubt be enlightened in due course.
Ten
“I’VE THOUGHT OF a possible snag,” Deirdre said as she and Gus cruised along in her big cream-coloured car. Gus was always a nervous passenger with Deirdre, irrationally anxious in case he suddenly vomited on the cream leather seats, or had Whippy’s best on his shoes.
Now he looked at her in alarm. “What snag?” he said, rather more sharply than he intended.
“Oh, it’s only a possible,” she said, turning to smile at him. “Just my enquiring mind churning away.”
“Go on, then. What is it?”
“Well, if we’re looking for a wedding notice and hopefully photograph, we might be heading for the wrong newspaper. Most girls are married in their hometown, not their husband’s. We don’t know where Alwen lived before she was wed, do we?”
Gus was silent, trying hard to remember if Alwen Wilson Jones had said anything about her early life and times. He thought not. She was unusually reticent about anything to do with her past. All they knew was that she had been a head teacher in Thornwell Primary School until her retirement. She had never talked about her husband, and had in fact deliberately avoided mention of him.
“Do you remember her saying anything directly about him? And has she ever actually denied having anything to do with the brewery Joneses?” Deirdre said.
“Says she was distantly connected, I think. We must ask Ivy and Roy. They see more of her than we do. Maybe their walk to the shop yesterday will have turned up something. Anyway, we’re nearly there now, so we might as well have a look in the archives.”
THE RECEPTIONIST IN the newspaper office was helpful and interested in their request. “Looking for William Jones’s wedding, are we?”
Gus nodded. “It would be about forty years ago, we guess,” he said. “Sorry we can’t be more specific.”
“Don’t worry. The Joneses are a well-known local family, always in the news, so we’re sure to find it. Who did he marry?”
“Well, possibly it was a girl called Alwen Wilson. We don’t know if she was a Thornwell girl. We just hoped that because it was the brewery family, there might be a mention or a photograph. Could have been quite a big wedding.”
The receptionist, a pleasant-faced woman in her forties, said that this was not necessarily the case. “Now, if you’d asked for George Jones’s wedding, that would be easy! But his brother William was always in the background. Seemed to like it that way. Some said he was actually the clever one, too, clever by half, said some. But George had a better business head. Anyway, I mustn’t stand here gossiping. There’s a queue forming! If you’d like to sit down over there and help yourselves to coffee, I’ll see what we can turn up.”
Bronwen Evans had just joined the queue. She had decided to comb the jobs vacant pages in back numbers of the newspaper, and as she stood waiting, she was sure she heard her father’s name mentioned at the desk. She watched Gus and Deirdre cross to the coffee machine and was certain
“ Missing? What d’you mean?”
“It was in the papers. Without any warning, he just didn’t come home one evening. It was all hushed up, of course. George had influence in so many places, including with the local newspaper owner. The story just disappeared, like William. I heard no more, and not being in the charmed circle of the mayor and his entourage, I completely forgot about it. But there it is, Ivy. He could’ve returned, but by the time I read about it he’d apparently been gone for a couple of months. The original story was leaked out by William’s gardener, if I remember rightly.”
“Gardener?” Ivy said sharply. “Did you say gardener?”
Roy confirmed he had said gardener, and wondered if her hearing was going. But no, Ivy didn’t waste words. He would no doubt be enlightened in due course.
Ten
“I’VE THOUGHT OF a possible snag,” Deirdre said as she and Gus cruised along in her big cream-coloured car. Gus was always a nervous passenger with Deirdre, irrationally anxious in case he suddenly vomited on the cream leather seats, or had Whippy’s best on his shoes.
Now he looked at her in alarm. “What snag?” he said, rather more sharply than he intended.
“Oh, it’s only a possible,” she said, turning to smile at him. “Just my enquiring mind churning away.”
“Go on, then. What is it?”
“Well, if we’re looking for a wedding notice and hopefully photograph, we might be heading for the wrong newspaper. Most girls are married in their hometown, not their husband’s. We don’t know where Alwen lived before she was wed, do we?”
Gus was silent, trying hard to remember if Alwen Wilson Jones had said anything about her early life and times. He thought not. She was unusually reticent about anything to do with her past. All they knew was that she had been a head teacher in Thornwell Primary School until her retirement. She had never talked about her husband, and had in fact deliberately avoided mention of him.
“Do you remember her saying anything directly about him? And has she ever actually denied having anything to do with the brewery Joneses?” Deirdre said.
“Says she was distantly connected, I think. We must ask Ivy and Roy. They see more of her than we do. Maybe their walk to the shop yesterday will have turned up something. Anyway, we’re nearly there now, so we might as well have a look in the archives.”
THE RECEPTIONIST IN the newspaper office was helpful and interested in their request. “Looking for William Jones’s wedding, are we?”
Gus nodded. “It would be about forty years ago, we guess,” he said. “Sorry we can’t be more specific.”
“Don’t worry. The Joneses are a well-known local family, always in the news, so we’re sure to find it. Who did he marry?”
“Well, possibly it was a girl called Alwen Wilson. We don’t know if she was a Thornwell girl. We just hoped that because it was the brewery family, there might be a mention or a photograph. Could have been quite a big wedding.”
The receptionist, a pleasant-faced woman in her forties, said that this was not necessarily the case. “Now, if you’d asked for George Jones’s wedding, that would be easy! But his brother William was always in the background. Seemed to like it that way. Some said he was actually the clever one, too, clever by half, said some. But George had a better business head. Anyway, I mustn’t stand here gossiping. There’s a queue forming! If you’d like to sit down over there and help yourselves to coffee, I’ll see what we can turn up.”
Bronwen Evans had just joined the queue. She had decided to comb the jobs vacant pages in back numbers of the newspaper, and as she stood waiting, she was sure she heard her father’s name mentioned at the desk. She watched Gus and Deirdre cross to the coffee machine and was certain
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