Theft on Thursday by Ann Purser Page A

muttering to himself. “Excuse me?” Brian had said, thinking maybe he was being addressed. “Oh, sorry,” Gerald had replied. “Just talking to myself. Trying to explain it! Bit weird, isn’t it?”
    After that, they’d walked on together, and then had a cup of tea in the café. Instant rapport, it had been, and they’d kept in touch. Brian had been best man at the wedding, and now he remembered his mixed feelings as he saw his friend become a twosome, more or less out of his reach.
    His telephone rang, and he sighed again. “Hello?” he said.
    “Sandy here. Forgot to tell you … I’ll be out to supper tonight. OK? See you later. Bye!”
    Disappointment drove Brian out to the kitchen, where he cut a thick slice of bread, spread it lavishly with butter and honey, and ate it quickly, despising himself.

E LEVEN

    “B ILL ?”
    “Hello, Mrs. M.”
    “New customer—Trimbles, estate agent’s in Tresham.” Lois had cornered the market in local estate agents some years ago, and this lot had sprung up recently with the explosion of house prices. “Not where Sandy works, you’ll be pleased to hear,” she added, and thought she heard an answering grunt. “I’ve signed them up for regular cleaning. Just the job for you, I thought. Starting after the office closes, but still a couple of long-haired blondes floating about. I’m going over this afternoon. Like you to come with me for a preliminary tour around their extensive premises.”
    “Extensive? You mean that two-roomed job in Cross Street? That’s Trimbles, isn’t it? Is that what they said?”
    “Yes, well, they
are
estate agents, Bill. You know, desirable property, spacious reception rooms, sweeping lawns, etc., etc.?”
    “Ha ha,” said Bill, who was very fond of his boss.“Right. See you there, or will you pick me up? I’ll be finished at old Madam’s around four.”
    “I’ll collect you from home about half-past. See you then.”
    When Lois arrived at Bill’s cottage, it was Rebecca who opened the door. “Hello, Mrs. M, Bill’s just on his way. The client kept him cleaning the silver. Family arriving tomorrow, or something. But he rang and said he was just leaving.” She stood aside, and Lois went into the cottage, noticing as always the pleasant smell of cleanliness. “No thanks, no time,” she said, refusing Rebecca’s offer of tea.
    “Right …” There was a pause. The two of them had little in common, though friendly enough, and conversation flagged for a moment. Then Rebecca said, “Are you coming to sing in the choir with us? Bill’s joined, and he’s got a really nice voice.”
    Lois shook her head. “Not me, Rebecca,” she said. “Voice like a foghorn. And anyway, I’ve not got the time.”
    “Bill says he’s heard you singing, when you didn’t know anyone was around, and it was good. It’s only an hour a week.”
    “And church on Sundays. I reckon the bells’d crash to the ground if they saw me comin’ in. No, our Jamie’s going, and he likes it. But then he’s musical all round, so no wonder. Says that Sandy is OK. What d’you think of him?”
    To her surprise, Rebecca turned away, her colour rising. “Oh, he’s all right,” she said. Then she added with obvious relief, “There’s Bill! Now you won’t have to wait …”
    Spinning along to Tresham in the white van with New Brooms in gold lettering on the sides, and “We sweep cleaner!” emblazoned across the rear doors, Lois wondered about Rebecca’s obvious unease. Something to do with Sandy Mackerras? Probably fancied him. He was quite attractive in a freckled, dodgy-quick kind of way.Bill’d better watch out. Rebecca was quite a catch. Well dug-in at Waltonby school, own cottage, independent.
    “Penny for ‘em,” said Bill, glancing across at Lois.
    “I was just thinking you’d better watch that Sandy bloke. He’s after all the girls, I hear,” said Lois, who was not one for the subtle approach. The vehemence of Bill’s reply startled