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Authors: Mary Wesley
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the widow.’
The woman said, ‘You work for the Sun?’
‘I’m not Press. I was a friend of Giles Piper; tell me about Julia.’
The woman leaned dimpled arms on the bar. ‘Julia, she’d gone before I came here, and from what I hear she should never have come back.’
Maurice said, ‘Ah,’ and hopefully, ‘Why?’
‘You should ask her yourself if you were a friend of Giles. Got her address?’
Maurice said, ‘Yes,’ and then, at a venture, ‘You didn’t like Giles, then?’
She said, ‘I didn’t say, did I? Some found him devious, can’t say I did. Straight to the point, your friend. No messing about, up the girls’ knickers. Shouldn’t slander the dead, should I? It was a dreadful accident, dreadful.’
Maurice said, ‘I heard. Mrs May is taking it hard. Might I offer you a drink?’
She said, ‘Thanks, I’ll have a shandy.’
Maurice said, ‘What was she like as a mother?’
‘The girl or her mother?’
‘The mother, she didn’t strike me as the maternal type. You a mother?’
‘Not yet.’ The woman eyed Maurice, daring him to suppose she had left procreation too late, and following this train of thought, she said, ‘Clodagh May was a teenage bride, to hear her talk, Julia born when she was eighteen.’
Grinning, Maurice said, ‘What else is she like?’
‘You’ve met her. Not much money but class, she imagines, and Giles just the same—his grandfather was a Sir, but you’d know that. No money, but to hear them talk little Christy was going to Eton and us wondering who would pay. They were a funny couple!’ The woman smiled. ‘Thing was, Julia didn’t fit.’
‘Oh?’ Maurice willed her to go on.
‘She’s divorced your friend, hasn’t she? I never saw her when the child was here, it would be with its daddy and Clodagh May. But she came to the funeral. I saw her.’ The woman looked past Maurice towards the road he had followed to the cemetery. ‘They say in the village that she never stayed with her mother after she and Giles married, even before the divorce; if little Christy visited she’d stay at a farm which does bed and breakfast.’
‘Funny.’
‘Not really. Before she married, she had not been home for years. It was Giles and Clodagh who’d come to the pub, they were regulars, but one night Clodagh fell over a chair here in the bar.’ The woman laughed. ‘She broke a leg. I shouldn’t laugh, but it seemed funny at the time.’
Maurice Benson said, ‘Other people’s accidents are.’
The woman said, ‘Well,’ forgiving herself. ‘It was then they sent for the girl to look after her mum and help Giles, who was designing the garden. They could have got help from the village, but Clodagh May’s not one to spend on help if she can get it free.’
Maurice said, ‘So that was when Giles met her?’
‘That’s right. She looked after her mother, ran the house and worked with Giles. Did most of the work, according to some. I like flowers but I’m an Interflora lady, I don’t get my fingers dirty. But she did.’ The woman’s gaze flicked past Maurice. ‘The poor girl,’ she said. ‘Another beer?’
Maurice said, ‘No thanks. Mrs May talked as though she and Giles—’
‘No, no,’ said the woman. ‘She watched and I dare say Giles watched, too. People say it was mostly Julia did the garden. They say she can make a dead stick grow, pops a seedling in the ground and says, “Grow, you bugger,” and it does, knows all sorts about gardens, birds, wildlife, that sort of thing. Green, don’t they call it?’
‘So as they toiled in the garden, they fell in love?’ suggested Maurice. ‘An idyll in Eden.’
The woman snorted. ‘A bonk in the potting shed, more like! No!’ she exclaimed in sudden irritation. ‘I feel really sorry for poor Clodagh May, she was passionate about that fellow.’ As Maurice opened his mouth to speak, she added, ‘I don’t know why I’m gossiping with you. If you’ve got the girl’s address, why don’t
The woman said, ‘You work for the Sun?’
‘I’m not Press. I was a friend of Giles Piper; tell me about Julia.’
The woman leaned dimpled arms on the bar. ‘Julia, she’d gone before I came here, and from what I hear she should never have come back.’
Maurice said, ‘Ah,’ and hopefully, ‘Why?’
‘You should ask her yourself if you were a friend of Giles. Got her address?’
Maurice said, ‘Yes,’ and then, at a venture, ‘You didn’t like Giles, then?’
She said, ‘I didn’t say, did I? Some found him devious, can’t say I did. Straight to the point, your friend. No messing about, up the girls’ knickers. Shouldn’t slander the dead, should I? It was a dreadful accident, dreadful.’
Maurice said, ‘I heard. Mrs May is taking it hard. Might I offer you a drink?’
She said, ‘Thanks, I’ll have a shandy.’
Maurice said, ‘What was she like as a mother?’
‘The girl or her mother?’
‘The mother, she didn’t strike me as the maternal type. You a mother?’
‘Not yet.’ The woman eyed Maurice, daring him to suppose she had left procreation too late, and following this train of thought, she said, ‘Clodagh May was a teenage bride, to hear her talk, Julia born when she was eighteen.’
Grinning, Maurice said, ‘What else is she like?’
‘You’ve met her. Not much money but class, she imagines, and Giles just the same—his grandfather was a Sir, but you’d know that. No money, but to hear them talk little Christy was going to Eton and us wondering who would pay. They were a funny couple!’ The woman smiled. ‘Thing was, Julia didn’t fit.’
‘Oh?’ Maurice willed her to go on.
‘She’s divorced your friend, hasn’t she? I never saw her when the child was here, it would be with its daddy and Clodagh May. But she came to the funeral. I saw her.’ The woman looked past Maurice towards the road he had followed to the cemetery. ‘They say in the village that she never stayed with her mother after she and Giles married, even before the divorce; if little Christy visited she’d stay at a farm which does bed and breakfast.’
‘Funny.’
‘Not really. Before she married, she had not been home for years. It was Giles and Clodagh who’d come to the pub, they were regulars, but one night Clodagh fell over a chair here in the bar.’ The woman laughed. ‘She broke a leg. I shouldn’t laugh, but it seemed funny at the time.’
Maurice Benson said, ‘Other people’s accidents are.’
The woman said, ‘Well,’ forgiving herself. ‘It was then they sent for the girl to look after her mum and help Giles, who was designing the garden. They could have got help from the village, but Clodagh May’s not one to spend on help if she can get it free.’
Maurice said, ‘So that was when Giles met her?’
‘That’s right. She looked after her mother, ran the house and worked with Giles. Did most of the work, according to some. I like flowers but I’m an Interflora lady, I don’t get my fingers dirty. But she did.’ The woman’s gaze flicked past Maurice. ‘The poor girl,’ she said. ‘Another beer?’
Maurice said, ‘No thanks. Mrs May talked as though she and Giles—’
‘No, no,’ said the woman. ‘She watched and I dare say Giles watched, too. People say it was mostly Julia did the garden. They say she can make a dead stick grow, pops a seedling in the ground and says, “Grow, you bugger,” and it does, knows all sorts about gardens, birds, wildlife, that sort of thing. Green, don’t they call it?’
‘So as they toiled in the garden, they fell in love?’ suggested Maurice. ‘An idyll in Eden.’
The woman snorted. ‘A bonk in the potting shed, more like! No!’ she exclaimed in sudden irritation. ‘I feel really sorry for poor Clodagh May, she was passionate about that fellow.’ As Maurice opened his mouth to speak, she added, ‘I don’t know why I’m gossiping with you. If you’ve got the girl’s address, why don’t
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