At tea time on Wednesday the newspaper shop in Belthorp was busy.
‘That’ll be eleven pounds eighty altogether, Mrs Budd,’ said Sam Swanson after pondering over the entries in the book.
‘All that money on newspapers,’ said Mary Budd, taking two ten-pound notes from her purse. ‘It’s not all that long since you could keep a family for a week on that!’
‘Time goes by,’ said the newsagent, handing his customer her change. ‘Seems no time since I was a lad delivering the papers and here I am with two kids of me own nearly ready to take over!’
Philip and Anthony had just come home from school and were behind the corner counter looking for the Wednesday comics before going upstairs for their tea. Mickey Trent was with them, his back to the shop.
At the main counter, three women with children were waiting to be served. As Mary was about to leave the shop, yet another customer entered. This was not a villager. Mary stepped to one side, deciding to stop and see who it might be. All of the women looked askance at him. Sam smiled at them, as much as to say, I’ll get rid of this one and then we can get on with our business. The youngsters always dilly-dallied, so there was no harm in allowing the stranger to jump the queue.
‘Can I help you?’ said Sam.
Rupert Shawcross smiled politely. If he’d been wearing a hat he would probably have doffed it. It was part of his technique to be smooth. This was not his first visit to the village: he had been there once before, to interview Stella Dalrymple. He was not a journalist nosing out a story. He was a government investigator. His office in Manchester specialized in collecting information about possible extraterrestrial visitors; hence his interest in Mrs Dalrymple, the lady whose neighbours had so mysteriously disappeared.
‘I’ll take a packet of those cigars,’ he said, indicating a pack on the shelf behind the newsagent. ‘And a box of chocolates. They’re for Mrs Dalrymple. Do you happen to know what sort she likes?’
The women inspected him more closely.
‘I’m a friend of hers,’ said Rupert, stretching the truth. He had only met her once, and then she had given him short shrift!
‘You’ll not have seen her for some time, then?’ said Sam, just a shade suspicious of the stranger. ‘We don’t get many strangers in the village.’
This was Rupert’s opportunity to enquire about any other strangers, but he missed it. One of the mothers joined in the conversation, saying, ‘I knew I’d seen you somewhere recently. You were at Stella’s just a couple of weeks ago.’
At the corner counter, Mickey Trent kept his head well down. He had met Mr Shawcross and he didn’t want to meet him again. He had come snooping, asking questions about Mickey’s best friend, Thomas Derwent.
‘Yes,’ said Rupert, making the best of this. ‘I was up here making enquiries about the Derwents. That is how Mrs Dalrymple and I became acquainted. I just thought I’d pop back to see how she was getting on. I don’t suppose she’s had any more visitors?’
‘Strangers, you mean,’ said Sam, ‘like yourself?’
‘There was that girl,’ said Mary Budd helpfully, ‘the one I saw at the station. Mrs Dalrymple was taking her home to Casselton.’
Anthony had lost interest in the conversation of the other two boys and was making his way behind the main counter towards the door to their flat. He stopped as he heard talk about ‘that girl’ and ‘Mrs Dalrymple’.
‘We saw her,’ he said excitedly, ‘Phil and me. Mickey took her across from the bus stop to Mrs Dalrymple’s house. Didn’t you, Mickey?’
Mickey turned round reluctantly.
‘Didn’t I what?’ he said.
‘Take that girl to Mrs Dalrymple’s the other night. Phil and I saw you.’
‘Mickey!’ said Rupert Shawcross delightedly. ‘Perhaps we should have a little talk.’
‘Sorry, no!’ said Mickey. ‘I’m in a hurry and in any case I don’t want to talk to you and don’t come to our house because I’ll tell my mam not to let you in.’
He flushed. It was the first time in his life he had ever been so pointedly rude to anybody. Without another word, he rushed out of the shop.
‘Well!’ said Mrs Tolent, leaning heavily on the handles of the pushchair she was holding. ‘What can you make of that?’ Her gaze was full on the stranger.
‘Not a lot,’ he said rather feebly. ‘I did ask him a few questions about Thomas last time I was here. It’s my job, you see. Thomas Derwent is a missing youngster. We are still pursuing enquiries.’
‘The lad’ll be upset,’ said another woman. ‘They were very friendly, you know.’
But Rupert Shawcross was already following another line of thought. Who was the girl?
‘You can’t go wrong with Black Magic,’ said Sam, placing a large box on the counter next to the cigars.
‘That’ll be fine,’ said Rupert absently. He paid for his purchases, slipped them into his briefcase, and was glad to get out of the shop.
‘Yes?’ said Stella, opening the door just a fraction. She had seen Rupert coming and was ready for him. She had as little wish to converse with him as Mickey had, but adults are constrained to be civil, most of the time.
‘Can I come in for a minute?’ said Rupert. ‘It won’t take long.’
Stella smiled slightly. ‘I have work to do,’ she said. ‘I can give you maybe ten minutes, and a cup of tea if you’d like one.’
An outright refusal to speak to the ‘investigator’ might not be the thing to do. Stella wanted to keep abreast of what he had managed to find out. So far as she was concerned, the situation had become very sensitive since Nesta’s visit. It was important to know whether the moles of Manchester had succeeded in establishing a connection between Thomas and Nesta. It seemed unlikely, but Stella was very cautious.
‘That’s kind of you,’ said Rupert, taking the chocolates from his case. ‘Brought you a present.’
‘I hope that’s not some sort of bribe,’ said Stella, raising an eyebrow. ‘Still, I can run to one or two biscuits.’
Stella at that moment reminded Rupert of his cousin Audrey, who always made him feel as if she were mocking him in a kindly way. To Rupert, who was devoid of humour, it was puzzling. He sat down and listened to the clock ticking till Stella brought in the tray.
‘Now,’ she said. ‘Does this mean you’ve had some word of Thomas?’
‘No,’ said Rupert dolefully. ‘The trail has gone completely cold, I’m afraid. I was really just wanting to check if you had heard anything.’
‘Sorry,’ said Stella. ‘No word here.’
‘You had another young visitor the other day, so I’m told,’ said Rupert. He bit hard on a custard cream as he waited for her reply.
‘Where on earth did you get that insignificant snippet of news from?’ said Stella, immediately alert but genuinely puzzled.
‘A lady in the newsagent’s mentioned seeing you take a girl to the Casselton train. As soon as I heard your name I wondered if this girl could in any way be connected with Thomas.’
‘What a daft conclusion to come to,’ said Stella. ‘Why should she be? I do have visitors, you know.’
‘Yes, I know,’ said Rupert. ‘I suppose it’s grasping at straws. It intrigued me that Mickey Trent was upset when it was mentioned. That young man has taken a bit of a dislike to me, I’m sorry to say.’
‘Well,’ said Stella, ‘the daughter of a friend of mine paid me a visit. That’s all. As for Mickey, he met her at the bus stop and walked her to my door. Maybe he felt a bit embarrassed about that. You know what boys are like.’
That, if Rupert had any sensitivity, should have been the end of the matter. Stella certainly hoped and expected that it would be.
But he persisted.
‘What is her name?’ he said.
‘Whose name?’
‘The name of the girl who came to see you.’
Stella put her cup down noisily on the saucer. ‘Mr Shawcross!’ she said. ‘I am not going to be interrogated about any visitor who happens to come to my house. It is none of your business what her name is.’
Rupert crumbled a scone on his plate. ‘I have a job to do,’ he said anxiously. ‘You must let me be the judge of what is my business. If you have nothing to hide, this child’s name is totally unimportant.’
‘Names are always important,’ said Stella. ‘We carry them from the cradle to the grave and beyond. There can be nothing more important than that.’
Rupert shook his head.
‘I think you’d better go now,’ said Stella. ‘I really have a lot of work to do, and there’s nothing more I can say to you.’
‘The girl’s name?’ said Rupert with one last stupid effort. ‘I like to cover the ground thoroughly. This visit has really produced nothing else of note.’
‘The girl’s name, and where she lives and why she was visiting me?’ said Stella, sounding reasonable.
‘That sort of thing,’ said Rupert obtusely.
‘You must be joking! Have you never heard of civil liberties? Please leave. Leave now.’
Rupert stood up and fastened his coat. He reached for his briefcase.
‘And you’d better take your chocolates too,’ said Stella, thrusting the box towards him. ‘I could never bring myself to eat them, and I do hate waste.’