With a cabbie delighted to take us to our destination – because he wanted to get home to Croydon, south of London – Bud and I sat in comparative silence as we took our now almost-familiar route to Beulah House.
“Never been there myself, before today,” the jolly cabbie told us as we got close. “Passed the Knowledge in three years, me, but there’s still some places even I don’t know.”
Bud hissed, “What’s he on about?”
“The exam all black cab drivers in London have to pass to be able to get a licence to drive one of these taxis,” I replied. “It’s rigorous – they have to know thousands of places, routes, junctions, streets – all to be able to navigate London, and get a fare to their destination by the shortest possible route.”
“Why don’t they just use GPS?”
“Not allowed. The Knowledge exams set these black cab drivers apart from mini-cab drivers. This type of cab is still properly called a Hackney Carriage, because a lot of the horses used to pull the original carriages were from Hackney. They were first licensed in 1654. The Knowledge was introduced back in 1865.”
“You’d probably pass an exam like that in a couple of weeks, with your special memory,” observed Bud, with a wink.
“Oh, I don’t know, it could take months to drive all the routes you need to know and see it firsthand, once, to even be able to memorize the information you’d need. But, funnily enough, I did contemplate doing it when I was thinking about leaving the Townsend agency…but decided I’d be too nosey to be a decent driver, so reckoned I’d do better with a career in criminal psychology.”
“I’m glad you did what you did,” said Bud, as we swung into the drive, which was – surprisingly – deserted.
“Nice house,” said our cabbie. “I’ll add it to my list of secret places,” he said, and waved as he left us.
“Have you any idea how much that trip just cost us, given the exchange rate?” Bud sounded horrified.
“A necessary expense,” I said, as I rang the bell. “Wonder what’s the other side of this door today.”
Bud pulled me back from the top step. “I’ll find out first,” he replied.
To our amazement, Glen opened the door. “Hello. Come in.” He sounded half asleep. I couldn’t imagine what he was even doing there – nor why he’d be performing any housekeeping duties.
We hadn’t received an update about his wife’s condition, so I said, “We were sorry to hear about Julie. Is she…how’s she doing?”
“Passed in the early hours. To be expected, they said. She never woke up, but at least I was with her at the end, thanks to Mr. Worthington.” His eyes focused – they were bloodshot. “It’s been the right thing for me to come here. To be near her things. But I can’t deny it’s difficult having to face Miss Felicity. I can’t believe what she said about Julie, see? That’s not my Julie she’s talking about. Why would Miss Felicity want to hurt my Julie like that? Kill her. That’s what I don’t understand. And…and why’s she here…in there, with that lot, instead of being locked up? I don’t get it.”
We’d stepped into the entry hall, and the salon was empty – indeed the house felt as though it were as deserted as the courtyard outside. The tiled floor echoed with our steps.
“Where is everyone, Glen?” Bud used his calming voice.
“After they took Mr. Charles away, they all went into the dining room and shut themselves in there. Without me. Asked me to wait here for you, and fetch you to them when you arrived. I’m surprised Miss Enderby hasn’t come already – she must have heard the bell.”
“Who took Charles away? To where? And why?” I asked.
“That black van from the coroner’s office, that took Mrs. Tavistock.” Glen seemed surprised by my question, then added, “Didn’t they tell you? Isn’t that why you’re here?”
Bud and I shook our heads.
“Mr. Charles is dead, and Miss Bella says she’s terrified she’s going to be next. But they’ll tell you all about it, I dare say. I’m going over to our flat, now. They’ve asked if I can get some clothes ready, for Julie, for when she goes to the undertakers, you know?”
I really didn’t have the words to be able to speak to a man grieving for his wife, who’d apparently died after unleashing an unprovoked attack, killed by a woman sitting just a few yards away – so I rubbed his arm, and thanked him for greeting us. Glen led us to the dining room, knocked, and opened the door.
Worthington was seated at the head of the dining table, and he beckoned us inside. “Thanks, Glen. Let me know when you need a lift, okay? I’ll sort it.” Glen nodded and left. Felicity shuffled in her seat and cleared her throat.
At the opposite end of the table sat Sir Simon Pendlebury – but he was far from the dapper figure we’d met less than forty-eight hours earlier; his skin was papery and gray, he looked as though he’d lost ten pounds, his hair was matted in clumps, and his shirt looked as though he’d slept in it – which he might have done, for all I knew. John was at least better turned-out, in what was clearly a fresh set of clothes, though he looked drawn, with dark circles beneath his eyes. Felicity looked as though she’d been dragged through a hedge, backwards; smeared make-up spoke of tears, her hair was doing a good job of escaping from a topknot, and her clothes were looking less than fresh. Vinnie looked his usual perky self, and Bella looked…well, not like a woman in fear for her life. She was composed, well coiffed, and gazing serenely at John with something in her eyes that wasn’t passion. Proprietorial pride? Odd.
Enderby was hovering behind Sir Simon; she moved to pull out a chair for me. She did the same for Bud, beside me. We took the offered seats. There was a notable absence of refreshments; this get-together was all business.
“Thanks for coming,” said Worthington with an almost genuine, closed-mouth smile. “In case you haven’t heard, Mr. Charles Asimov died this morning. In his bath.”
Bud and I exchanged a glance.
“They’ve all gone, now,” said Bella quietly. “Charles was convinced that something in this house meant him harm. And it seems he was right.” She reached for John’s hand. “I’m afraid I’m next.” There was that Lady of Shallot look again.
John straightened his sagging torso. “Come on now, darling. You’ve nothing to worry about. I’ll take care of you. And look, we’ve got Vinnie and Bud here too. No one’s out to get you. This is your home. You’re safe here.”
Felicity snapped, “Sasha, Piers, and Charles weren’t safe here. Why do you think any of us are? Charles was right – there’s an aura in this place…an aura of death. It’s everywhere. I nearly died here myself. Something’s after our blood. Even Simon had a bad night of it here, you can’t say he didn’t.” She was panting, wild-eyed, appearing to be truly terrified.
Sir Simon’s voice had lost its blustering edge when he croaked, “On come on, Fliss. I picked up some sort of bug on my little jaunt yesterday. You’re paranoid. There are no such things as ghosts, and this place hasn’t got an aura. It’s just a house.” He turned his attention to Worthington. “I keep telling you chaps there’s nothing to investigate here. It’s just a terrible run of bad luck for the family. Sasha killing herself led to Piers needing to be medicated, and Charles probably dropped off in his bath; he was always either bouncing off the walls or half asleep. All this talk of ghosts is what got him so worked up that he just passed out with exhaustion, Fliss. Best you calm down and get yourself home. Which is what I plan to do as soon as my man is here with my car.” He looked at his watch. “Which will be within the hour.”
Worthington stood. “With all due respect, Sir Simon, there have been three deaths resulting from what any reasonable person would label ‘unusual circumstances’ at this property within the past two days, as well as a death resulting from injuries sustained during an attack at another location, involving two persons intimately linked with this house and family. There comes a point when even the most innocent-minded among us can no longer miss, or choose to ignore, the connections. This is not a litany of misfortune. Coincidence cannot be the underlying reason for all that’s happened here.”
His tone when addressing Sir Simon was respectful enough that I knew my belief that Sir Simon had shut down Worthington’s initial investigation was correct. And I was even more convinced it had also been Sir Simon who’d caused questions to be raised about my reputation, too. With Piers dead, he’d shot to the top of my list of suspects alongside Felicity. But…what about Piers’ death? Had Sir Simon been responsible for that, too? And what about Julie attacking Felicity? Or Charles’s death? I sighed inwardly. I was going around in circles. Again.
As a means of calming my inner turmoil, I focused on assessing the body language of both Worthington and Pendlebury. I took account of the latter’s compromised state of wellbeing, but could still tell I was watching a knight of the realm who was determined to have things happen the way he saw fit. His fists were clenched, his jaw set, the tiny muscles around his eyes twitching. He didn’t like being told that the world was operating in a way contrary to his wishes, and that can be a tremendous motivation for…well, what was turning out to be quite the killing spree – if one person were responsible.
“But…” he began.
Worthington stepped away from his chair and spoke firmly, “There are no ‘buts’ on this occasion, Sir Simon. My superiors have assessed this is an investigation that must run its course, and it will be one that seeks to explain all the events of the past forty-eight hours.”
Pendlebury folded his arms and sat back from the table…like a small boy determined to not eat his vegetables.
A feeble knock at the door led Miss Enderby to open it. Renata was standing outside, with Glen at her shoulder.
“Thank you for coming, Miss Douglas,” said Worthington. “Please join us.”
Renata moved with economy, and sat beside Bud, doing her best to disappear into the chair, an illusion aided by the fact her trouser suit more or less matched the mahogany. She hooked her bob behind one ear, and folded her hands on the table in front of her. She hadn’t made eye contact with a soul, not even Worthington.
“Now that we have our full complement, I can tell you why you’re all here,” began Worthington. “I have been tasked with investigating the deaths of Sasha and Piers Tavistock, Charles Asimov, and Julie Powell.” Felicity jerked in her seat, then settled herself, as best she could. I could see her knee bobbing up and down beneath the table. “You were all kind enough to furnish me with information about your activities for yesterday morning, but I now need to talk to you all, individually, to clarify some further details.”
Sir Simon leaned forward and seemed to be about to speak, but clearly thought better of it, slumping back into his seat.
Worthington continued, “I shall use the meeting room to conduct my interviews, which will be recorded by Miss Enderby. I shall require everyone to remain here, and I ask you to be patient while this investigation runs its course.” He took a moment to glance down at his phone, then returned his attention to our group. “Thank you all. The sooner I begin, the sooner I shall be finished.”
He stood, and headed toward the meeting room, with Enderby in tow. He opened the door to take his leave, but turned and added, “I want no one discussing the events of the past couple of days with anyone here, before I have questioned them, or even afterwards. I hope that’s absolutely clear. To everyone.” He made a particular point to look at me when he spoke.
“I’ll come and fetch people in turn,” said Enderby before she closed the door behind them.
No one spoke. No one moved. It was as though we were all frozen, awaiting our fate.
Vinnie popped up out his seat. “Who’s for a spot of lunch? If we all muck in, we could whip something up before you know it.”
Felicity seemed to not have heard him, because she said, “If we’re not allowed to talk about what’s happened to us, what on earth else is there to talk about? I can’t even think about anything other than this nightmare. I just want it all to stop so I can go home and…well, alright then, go to a hotel and put it all behind me.”
“I’m sure you’d like nothing better,” said Bella. “But how do you think I feel? In less than a month I’ve lost my father, my sister, my half-brother, my brother-in-law…and my housekeeper. My entire family is dead.”
“We’re all at the end of our tethers, darling,” said John. “I’m sure Felicity can’t fathom what you’re going through.” He glared at Felicity. “Look at poor Bella – she’s numb with grief. Don’t you understand?”
“I could whip up some sandwiches again,” suggested Vinnie. He sounded a little too perky for the situation.
“Thank you, but I couldn’t possibly face anything,” said Sir Simon, looking nauseous at even the thought of food. “But maybe a pot of tea?”
“All over it, like cat hairs on a spinster,” said Vinnie, and he took himself off to the kitchen.
I was livid; there was an investigation taking place in which I had no role to play, and I’d been told – in clear terms – to not ask anything of anyone that could help me lift the veil that was clouding my understanding of what was really going on at the house. I ran through ways I could glean information from the people around the table without appearing to do so, then had an idea.
I stood. “Just off to…you know,” I said. Bud looked at me with a little concern; he always tells me I’m a terrible liar, and it appeared my inability to mislead him had failed, again.
“I won’t be long,” I added as I left.
I wasn’t sure how to get to my destination, but headed out into the entry hall, used the door Julie and Glen always used to get into the outer hallway, then stopped: there was only one door I hadn’t tried so far, so judged that must be the one I needed, because there had to be a way to get to Glen and Julie’s flat that involved stairs, and John had told Bud there was a servants’ staircase.
I crept along the hall, past the meeting room – hoping Enderby wouldn’t pop out all of a sudden – and reached the back door. I turned the knob of the door beside it, which opened easily, and silently. I did my best to be as quiet as possible as I climbed the carpeted stairs to what I hoped would be the Powells’ living quarters. I could hear a doleful air being sung, by a voice cracked with grief. I knocked, quietly, on the door at the top of the stairs, and waited, peering along the corridor which led away to the main house – yes, I’d found the servants’ stairs alright.
When Glen appeared, it was clear he’d been crying. It was understandable, of course, but he graciously invited me in in any case. I was relieved.
He waved me into a long, narrow space; at one end was a small sitting room, at the other a small kitchen. The esthetic was surprising – minimalist almost explained it, but purist would have been closer to the mark. Each piece of furniture had a purpose, and its form was high mid-century modern. The walls were sparkling white, there were few adornments in the space, and the kitchen was a stark arrangement of utility. I was surprised, because I’d expected something more…homey.
“Thanks Glen. You have a lovely flat.”
“All Julie, this. Loved this sort of thing, she did. Knew her stuff, too. That sideboard is by some Danish bloke. Or was he from Finland?”
“Finn Juhl, from Denmark. He more or less sent everyone else who was designing modern furniture at the time in the direction of using teak.”
Glen’s face lit up, “That’s right. That’s him. Funny you should have heard of him. He was one of Julie’s favorites.”
I was thrilled I’d found a connection, but knew I didn’t have time for idle chatter. “Look, I hate to bother you, Glen, but I wondered if I could just ask you a couple of things about Julie…”
Glen didn’t seem to hear me. “Since you’re here – and I know you didn’t really know her, but you’re a woman – would you mind taking a look at a few things I’ve pulled out of the wardrobe for her? Give me your opinion…for…you know.”
Glen had already opened the door to a small bedroom, which housed a bed, wardrobe, and dressing table that, between them, would, I estimated, have cost the better part of forty thousand Canadian dollars. I was amazed. Maybe Julie had been a whiz at spotting bargains at junk shops and jumble sales? The bed was covered with clothes.
Glen picked up a suit with a lavender jacket and toning floral skirt. “Had this made for her niece’s wedding, she did. Cost an arm and a leg. Found it difficult to get clothes that would fit top and bottom, see, so had them made by a woman she knew in Streatham. She only wore this the once, though; didn’t think the color flattered her. So maybe not?”
He sounded as though he really needed help, so I threw myself into the role. “If she didn’t like it too much, maybe not. What was the thing Julie wore most often?”
Glen chuckled. “That’s easy, that is. ‘My old frock’.” He picked up a red shift dress, almost the same shape as the black one she’d been wearing when I’d first arrived at Beulah House. “That’s what she always called it, see? ‘My old frock’. She’d wear it if we went out for dinner, or even down the pub. She’d be in here putting things on, and taking them off again, then she’d come out wearing this and say, ‘Nothing for it, Glen, but for me to wear my old frock again.’ And she’d laugh, and I would too.”
I smiled. “I think maybe that would be what she’d choose then, don’t you? It sounds as though she really liked it – and it also sounds as though it was with her on lots of special occasions. How about that one?”
Glen caressed the dress as he said, “She had a lipstick that matched it perfect, and she always wore a bit of scent, too. No scent allowed in the house, at work, of course, but she liked to dab it on her wrists before we went out anywhere. Would they put scent on her, do you think? At the undertakers. If I asked.”
“I’m sure they would, Glen.”
His face creased into a broad grin. “Good, she’d like that. Now you ask whatever you want while I find her bits and bobs.”
He sat at the dressing table and started fiddling about, so I took my chance.
“I wondered if you had any idea why Julie—”
He didn’t turn, but addressed my reflection in the mirror. “No, I bloody well don’t. And I don’t even believe she did what they say she done. There’s no way she’d attack anyone, even if she didn’t like Miss Felicity. She’s no better than she should be, that woman. Spent her whole life flaunting herself in the papers, she has, and made Mr. Asimov’s life a right misery when they were married, by all accounts. Dragging him around the place to go to parties with her silly friends. He needed to be working, but all she wanted was to spend his money. Mrs. T was the one who took it all in the neck, of course. There she was running her business, and her father always coming here and ranting about how Miss Felicity wouldn’t leave him alone even though they was divorced. He used to sit in that dining room and the stories he would tell. He gave her money all the time – Julie and I knew that, because we’d hear Mr. and Mrs. T talking about it. Thousands, whenever she asked for it. Mr. Oleg must have had more money than sense. There was that time he bought her a car, and then another time she wanted to do up her flat, and he just put his hand in his pocket and paid out for it. Mrs. T told him he shouldn’t keep doing it, but Julie said he’d told Mrs. T off because she didn’t understand. Miss Bella had no real idea about it all. Never came into the big house when her father was here – talk about oil and water…those two never were in the same room as each other, as far as we knew, anyway. And then when he died, Miss Bella went potty about him, she did.”
He stopped sniffing the lipstick in his hand and drew breath.
I took my chance. “Any idea why?”
He tutted. Loudly. “Look, it was Mrs. T what took us in, and it’s her who pays our wages. Not Miss Bella. Has as little to do with us as possible, she does, until she needs something. Then Mrs. T would ask us to help out, see? No idea why, because Lord knows they might be twins, but those two women were so unlike each other in every way it’s hard to believe they’re even from the same family, sometimes. Never a kind word for anyone, Miss Bella, not unless they’re standing right in front of her, then she’s all sweet as honey, ain’t she? Now there’s a woman who had no truck with Miss Felicity – not only did Miss Bella never have a good word to say about her, she had quite a few choice ones, on occasion. Like I say, I don’t think she knew her father was paying Miss Felicity’s way as much as he was, but I know for a fact Mrs. T talked to her about it in general terms. Julie heard them shouting and going on about it…things like ‘paying up’, and that ‘a woman should pay her own way’. Poor Mrs. T – she was a martyr to her nerves, she was. Always having a bad stomach, and Julie having to clear up after her. Worst before she had big client things to do, I think. And Miss Bella being so wrapped up in her gold and stuff, out in that workshop all hours, she was. I have no idea how she could spend so much time out there. It’s a terrible place – cold, and damp, even though she’s got that fire thing going out there half the time. What’s it called now? Oh, never mind. Anyway, gives off a lot of heat, that thing, but otherwise the place is like a fridge.”
I leaped in with, “I understand Bella and Felicity had a row on the phone the other morning.”
Glen nodded. “Oh, you heard about that did you? Not surprised. Miss Bella could have woken the dead. Julie was…where was she now? Oh, I don’t know – doing the beds, I should think, at that time of day. Anyway, Mr. T was a bit quieter because the doctor had just gone, and Mr. Charles was back in his bedroom – so maybe she wasn’t doing the beds, after all…but she wasn’t in the kitchen, in any case, because that’s where I was. And I hear Miss Bella screaming down the phone, ‘Not blinkin’ likely, Felicity, you won’t leech off me, I’m not my blinkin’ father.’ Only she didn’t say ‘blinkin’, you know? And then she was off about how she could get everyone to be talking about some woman called Jocasta – was it? – if she wanted to, because of what she’d seen, and then about how she knew Felicity was just out to become what she called ‘The Empress of Asimov’, and how she knew she’d…um…sleep her way to it eventually, only she didn’t say ‘sleep’. You know. She was very angry, and said she wasn’t going to play any part in it, so Felicity could forget about her getting the center after all. She didn’t say the center of what. I told Julie about it all later on – but I don’t think she was listening to me proper ’cos she was pulling the kitchen apart looking for her best knife that had gone missing…her favorite one for when she was making stew, and that’s what she had planned for dinner later on. And then she was called in to see Miss Bella for a while. Goodness knows what they were talking about. She didn’t tell me, but I guessed they had to have a chat about the plans for the housekeeping and so forth, because of Mrs. T being dead, you know. Then…then Julie weren’t here no more. I wish…I wish I could remember what it was I said to her last. I can’t recall it at all. One minute she was there, then she wasn’t. They say she went over to Miss Felicity’s and had a go at her, and then Miss Felicity done for her. And here we are, now. See? I don’t understand it.”
“The knife was missing? Which knife? The one they say Julie used to attack Felicity?”
“They haven’t told me nothing about what knife it was Miss Felicity used on my girl…but it can’t have been Julie’s knife, because it weren’t there.”
A knife that wasn’t there? What was so familiar about that concept? What else hadn’t been…where? I knew it was significant that there hadn’t been any writing paper at all in the palace room…so what else…was I trying to recall? That was it!
I had a vision of the smokers’ table in the palace room…when I’d seen it I’d known something was wrong with it, but it was only when Glen mentioned the missing knife that it dawned on me. “Like the ashtray,” I said.
Glen’s brow furrowed. “What ashtray?”
“The one in the palace room. There’s a smokers’ table up there, with everything a smoker might need, except for an ashtray.”
Glen’s entire face screwed up. “There’s definitely an ashtray up there, for Mr. T’s cigars. Big cut-crystal thing it is. Weighs a ton. Mrs. T used it when she smoked up there too, but it was Mr. T’s to start with. Had it as a presentation gift he did from…somewhere, I forget, now. Something to do with some client or other. Waterford crystal, it is. You say it’s gone?”
I nodded.
“Oh dear.” Glen sighed. “Well, I don’t suppose it matters now, does it? Both Mr. and Mrs. T have gone too, and Miss Bella won’t be using it. Very much against smoking, she is. Though she makes enough of a stink down in her workshop. Probably does herself just as much harm down there, if the truth be known.”
Glen pushed a bottle of perfume into the carrier bag he had balanced on his knees.
“Make sure you bring that back with you, Glen,” I said. “You’ll find a quick spray of that will help you remember Julie, whenever you want. Smell is one of our most powerful senses when it comes to trying to recollect something, or someone. Even the smell of her lipstick reminds you of her, doesn’t it?”
Glen’s brow furrowed. “What makes you think I’ll need this scent to remember her? She was my life. My whole life. I’ll never forget her. If I close my eyes I can see every line of her face, every curl of her hair, and I can hear her voice as clear now as if she was standing in the doorway, telling me to get a move on. None of that will fade. It can’t.”
He spoke with conviction, and I realized it wasn’t my place to disabuse him of his certainty.
He stood. “Look it’s been a real help, chatting like this. And I’m ever so grateful for the advice about the frock, but I should be going, now. I said I’d be back there this afternoon. So, if there’s nothing else…”
I also stood, so he’d know I was about to leave. “There is just one more thing…is there any reason you can think of for Felicity wanting to hurt your wife? You see, if we accept that Julie didn’t attack her – why might Felicity have wanted to do her harm?”
Glen stared into the carrier bag, then snapped his gaze to meet mine. “That’s easy. Miss Felicity didn’t forgive Julie for telling Mr. Asimov about the affair she was having behind his back.”
“I thought you and Julie hadn’t been working here when Oleg and Felicity were married…and, anyway, they didn’t live here as a couple, did they?”
Glen looked surprised. “No, we weren’t, and no, they didn’t, but Julie knew Mrs. T’s mother, you see, years ago, so had come to meet Mr. Oleg too, through her. So, when Miss Felicity started knocking around with that rugby player who drank at the pub where Julie worked, well…Julie saw them, and felt she should tell poor Mr. Oleg. Which she did. Then he divorced Miss Felicity, and I think Miss Felicity found out all about it quite recently. See, the last time she was here – right after Mr. Oleg’s funeral, that is – she was horrible to Julie, and poor Julie hadn’t done anything to deserve it, so we guessed she must have found out about what Julie did. Miss Felicity went to see Mr. Oleg in the hospice just before he died, so maybe he told her then. They say folks do some strange things when they know they’re going to die. I’m not sure what good that does. Maybe they want to meet their maker with a clear conscience.” A sigh rattled his entire body. “Oh my poor Julie. She was a good woman. She’ll not have any trouble at the Pearly Gates, she won’t. They’ll be glad to let her in.”
All I could muster was, “I’m sure they will, Glen. Thanks, for your time. I’m sorry to have kept you. Will you…will you be alright?” As I asked the question, I knew how stupid it was.
“You’ve been very kind, but I’ll be honest and tell you that, no, I’ll never be alright again. Julie was my everything. She saved me. That’s not too much to say. And now…I can’t see a way forward. I can’t imagine Miss Bella will have any use for me here. With all her lot gone this’ll be her place now, and I dare say your friend, Mr. John, will come to live here with her. Which will be good, because the old place needs people in it to stay alive. Julie and I rented a little flat in Streatham Hill before we moved in here, so I suppose I’ll have to try to find somewhere just for myself, now. But there, Miss Bella’s always wanted this house to be hers, so now at least she’s got her wish. Funny how everything always turns out alright for her in the end.”
“But I was told Bella chose to live in the coach house after her mother’s death, rather than the main house, even before Sasha and Piers moved in.”
Glen shook his head. “No, I know for a fact she lived in the big house after her mother died. Then she moved out so they could move in. It weren’t no secret.” He leaned toward me. “I’m not speaking ill of the dead when I tell you this – and I wouldn’t speak ill of Mrs. T in any case, because if Julie saved me, then Mrs. T saved the pair of us – but they had no choice but to sell the place they was living in before. Needed the money quick sharpish, they did. Must have been for the company, Julie always said, but I didn’t know about that. They lived well all the time they was here, but not in a flashy way. Worked hard, too, they did – but never seemed to have a lot to spare, if you know what I mean. Not like some who go spending loads of money on all sorts of rubbish. Don’t know where it all went, to be honest with you, because Mrs. T was always all over Julie to keep the housekeeping costs down. But there…”
Glen had been gradually shuffling toward the bedroom door, herding me toward it, and it was clear he was telling me it was time to go, so I left, creeping past the meeting room, where I was sorely tempted to stop and listen.