way they do. Reckon I was his only friend
at the end. It was me as realized something was
wrong, seeing the milk bottles outside.’
‘But why did he stay? He was rich enough to let
number twenty-two go for peanuts. You’d have
thought he’d go anywhere rather than stay with the
ghosts of his family.’
Mr Hayes muttered to himself. ‘Never understood
it myself. Perhaps he wanted his friends about him.’
‘You said the Clarkes moved. Where did they go?’
He shook his head. ‘No idea. They upped and went one morning without a word to anyone. A removal
van took out their furniture three days later and the
house stood empty for a year till the Blairs bought it.
Never heard a word from them since. No forwarding
address. Nothing. What shall I say? We were good
friends, the six of us, and I’m the only one left now.
Strange business.’
Very strange, thought Roz. ‘Can you remember
which estate agent sold the house?’
‘Peterson’s, but you won’t learn anything from
them. Little Hitlers,’ he said, ‘all bursting with self-importance.
Told me to mind my own business when
I went in and asked what was what. It’s a free
world, I pointed out, no reason why a man shouldn’t
ask after his friends, but oh, no, they had instructions
of confidentiality or some such rubbish. What shall I
say? Made out it was me the Clarkes were cutting
their ties with. Hah! More likely Bob, I told them, or
ghosts. And they said if I spread those sort of
rumours, they’d take action. You know who I blame.
The estate agents’ federation, if there is one, which I
doubt . . .’ He rambled on, venting his spleen out of
loneliness and frustration.
Roz felt sorry for him. ‘Do you see much of your
sons?’ she asked when he drew to a halt.
‘Now and then.’
‘How old are they?’
‘Forties,’ he said after a moment’s thought.
‘What did they think of Olive and Amber?’
He pinched his nose again and waggled it from
side to side. ‘Never knew them. Left home long before
either of the girls reached their teens.’
‘They didn’t baby-sit or anything like that?’
‘My lads? You wouldn’t catch them baby-sitting.’
His old eyes moistened, and he nodded towards the
sideboard where photographs of two young men in
uniform crowded the surface. ‘Fine boys. Soldiers.’
He thrust out his chest. ‘Took my advice and joined
up. Mind, they’re out of jobs now, what with the
bloomin’ regiment being cut from under them. It
makes you sick when you think them and me’s served
Queen and country for nigh on fifty years between
us. Did I tell you I was in the desert during the
war?’ He looked vacantly about the room. ‘There’s a
photograph somewhere of Churchill and Monty in
a jeep. We all got one, us boys who were out there.
Worth a bob or two, I should think. Now where is
it?’ He became agitated.
Roz picked up her briefcase. ‘Don’t worry about it
now, Mr Hayes. Perhaps I could see it next time I
come.’
‘You coming back?’
‘I’d like to, if it’s no trouble.’ She took a card from
her handbag, flicking the switch on the recorder at the
same time. ‘That’s my name and telephone number.
Rosalind Leigh. It’s a London number but I’ll be
down here regularly over the next few weeks, so if you feel like a chat’ – she smiled encouragingly and
stood up – ‘give me a ring.’
He regarded her with astonishment. ‘A chat. Goodness
me. A youngster like you has better things to do
with her time.’
Too right, she thought, but I do need information.
Her smile, like Mr Crew’s, was false. ‘I’ll be seeing
you then, Mr Hayes.’
He pushed himself awkwardly out of his chair and
held out a marbled hand. ‘It’s been a pleasure meeting
you, Miss Leigh. What shall I say? It’s not often an
old man sees charming young ladies out of the blue.’
He spoke with such sincerity that she felt chastened
by her own lack of it. Why, oh why, she
at the end. It was me as realized something was
wrong, seeing the milk bottles outside.’
‘But why did he stay? He was rich enough to let
number twenty-two go for peanuts. You’d have
thought he’d go anywhere rather than stay with the
ghosts of his family.’
Mr Hayes muttered to himself. ‘Never understood
it myself. Perhaps he wanted his friends about him.’
‘You said the Clarkes moved. Where did they go?’
He shook his head. ‘No idea. They upped and went one morning without a word to anyone. A removal
van took out their furniture three days later and the
house stood empty for a year till the Blairs bought it.
Never heard a word from them since. No forwarding
address. Nothing. What shall I say? We were good
friends, the six of us, and I’m the only one left now.
Strange business.’
Very strange, thought Roz. ‘Can you remember
which estate agent sold the house?’
‘Peterson’s, but you won’t learn anything from
them. Little Hitlers,’ he said, ‘all bursting with self-importance.
Told me to mind my own business when
I went in and asked what was what. It’s a free
world, I pointed out, no reason why a man shouldn’t
ask after his friends, but oh, no, they had instructions
of confidentiality or some such rubbish. What shall I
say? Made out it was me the Clarkes were cutting
their ties with. Hah! More likely Bob, I told them, or
ghosts. And they said if I spread those sort of
rumours, they’d take action. You know who I blame.
The estate agents’ federation, if there is one, which I
doubt . . .’ He rambled on, venting his spleen out of
loneliness and frustration.
Roz felt sorry for him. ‘Do you see much of your
sons?’ she asked when he drew to a halt.
‘Now and then.’
‘How old are they?’
‘Forties,’ he said after a moment’s thought.
‘What did they think of Olive and Amber?’
He pinched his nose again and waggled it from
side to side. ‘Never knew them. Left home long before
either of the girls reached their teens.’
‘They didn’t baby-sit or anything like that?’
‘My lads? You wouldn’t catch them baby-sitting.’
His old eyes moistened, and he nodded towards the
sideboard where photographs of two young men in
uniform crowded the surface. ‘Fine boys. Soldiers.’
He thrust out his chest. ‘Took my advice and joined
up. Mind, they’re out of jobs now, what with the
bloomin’ regiment being cut from under them. It
makes you sick when you think them and me’s served
Queen and country for nigh on fifty years between
us. Did I tell you I was in the desert during the
war?’ He looked vacantly about the room. ‘There’s a
photograph somewhere of Churchill and Monty in
a jeep. We all got one, us boys who were out there.
Worth a bob or two, I should think. Now where is
it?’ He became agitated.
Roz picked up her briefcase. ‘Don’t worry about it
now, Mr Hayes. Perhaps I could see it next time I
come.’
‘You coming back?’
‘I’d like to, if it’s no trouble.’ She took a card from
her handbag, flicking the switch on the recorder at the
same time. ‘That’s my name and telephone number.
Rosalind Leigh. It’s a London number but I’ll be
down here regularly over the next few weeks, so if you feel like a chat’ – she smiled encouragingly and
stood up – ‘give me a ring.’
He regarded her with astonishment. ‘A chat. Goodness
me. A youngster like you has better things to do
with her time.’
Too right, she thought, but I do need information.
Her smile, like Mr Crew’s, was false. ‘I’ll be seeing
you then, Mr Hayes.’
He pushed himself awkwardly out of his chair and
held out a marbled hand. ‘It’s been a pleasure meeting
you, Miss Leigh. What shall I say? It’s not often an
old man sees charming young ladies out of the blue.’
He spoke with such sincerity that she felt chastened
by her own lack of it. Why, oh why, she
Similar Books
