A Body in the Village Hall by Dee MacDonald (best business books of all time .txt) 📗

like to see ’er gone. And what about that ’usband of ’ers, eh? ’Ow long was he supposed to put up with all ’er goings-on? And ’im such an important person! ’E’s up in London, you know, and don’t come down that often. And who could blame ’im, tell me that? I reckon ’e’d ’ad enough and she was becomin’ an embarrassment. I wouldn’t blame ’im if he took a knife to ’er.’ And with that she hobbled out the door.

Kate knew that most of what she was hearing was village gossip but nevertheless she was fascinated. Crime on television was one thing but, like it or not, this was the first time she’d ever been involved in a real-life murder.

All the appointments had overrun, as Kate suspected they would. Just as she was making her escape, Sue caught up with her in the car park.

‘You’ll never guess what I just overheard!’ she squeaked, catching Kate’s arm. ‘I just heard Dr Ross talking to Dr Colwill and they were rabbiting on about Dickie Payne – that’s Dr Payne who retired a while back. Nice old boy he was, but he’d been having an affair with Fenella for years and everyone knew that.’

As she stopped to draw breath Kate wondered how Fenella had found enough hours in the day, and night, for all these dalliances.

‘Apparently, Dickie tried to end the affair because the poor man was knackered. He’s not in his first youth you know – must be seventy if he’s a day. Anyway, Fenella wasn’t at all pleased and threatened to tell Clare, Dickie’s wife. Now, Clare’s been disabled for years, which is probably why he went to Fenella in the first place.’

‘Surely,’ Kate said, ‘if this doctor had been with Fenella for all these years his wife would have known about it? I mean, everyone else seems to have known, don’t they?’

‘No, no, nobody would want her to know; a shock like that might kill her.’

‘So are you saying that he’s another suspect? I mean how long is this list of lovers?’ Kate was doing a mental check: add Dr Dickie to her list. Could there possibly be more?

Sue laughed. ‘You won’t see anything better than this on the telly,’ she shouted as she went back indoors.

Three

Kate should have been home by three o’clock, but after she had run late at the surgery she found the narrow road from Middle Tinworthy down to Lower Tinworthy blocked by an Outside Broadcast truck and she was held up yet again. She was becoming increasingly aware that the three small villages were agog with a mixture of fear and excitement. Television crews were appearing from nowhere, newspaper reporters had arrived in droves, the pubs and shops were doing a roaring trade and the Tinworthys were finally on the national map. Fenella had given them their five minutes of fame.

It was half past four by the time she got through her sturdy golden oak front door, which the previous owners had fitted.

‘I’ve hardly had a drink all day,’ Angie announced as Kate came in, ‘and I wondered if we could go up to Lidl’s because apparently they’ve got a special offer on gin.’

Kate sank wearily onto the sofa. ‘Angie, I’m exhausted. And I’m not getting in that car again tonight. There is absolutely no way I’m driving eleven miles to that supermarket and you aren’t either because doubtless you’ve already had a couple, haven’t you?’

‘Only teeny-weeny ones,’ Angie replied sulkily.

‘When your bank account finally runs dry I am not going to be subsidising your drinking habits,’ Kate said, knowing full well that George had left her well provided for and it would likely be a long time before Angie drank her bank account dry. ‘Put the kettle on for a cup of tea, would you?’ There were times when Kate got fed up of the responsibility of caring for her older sister, much as she loved her.

As Angie stomped down the steps into the newly floored kitchen, Kate could hear her filling the kettle with much more noise than was necessary.

‘Tell you what, Angie: I’m knackered and I don’t fancy cooking tonight. I don’t suppose you’ve organised anything?’

Angie reappeared from the kitchen. ‘Well, I thought we might have got something in the supermarket,’ she snapped.

‘I’ve a better idea. Why don’t we wander down to the pub in an hour or so and we’ll eat there? We can do the shopping tomorrow.’

Angie brightened visibly. ‘Good idea,’ she said.

Angie had had a drink problem even before the death of her husband. George Norton had died five years earlier when the stress of his high-powered banking career finally drove him to a sudden and fatal heart attack. It had devastated Angie and taken her nearly three years to get back to a point where she could socially function again, by which time any hopes of getting back on the stage had gone. Her acting career had frequently been nipped in the bud (and the pub) by appearing late for auditions and then forgetting her lines which, in turn, required further alcoholic comfort. The only reason she continued to get work over the years was because she’d been stunning to look at and she could hold an audience in a vice-like grip. When she remembered her lines there was no one to match her. Kate had tried in vain to get her to go to AA or some support group, but Angie flatly refused to admit that she had any kind of drink problem. Any time Kate mentioned her concern, Angie would settle for – grumpy as hell – one glass of wine with her evening meal. Once she’d felt she’d proved her point, she was then at liberty to go on a bender the next day. Having tried everything she could think of, Kate was now resigned to the fact that Angie was happy enough, could hold her drink reasonably well and, at the age of fifty-nine, was unlikely to change. But it was certainly