Read Online Mrs. Pargeter's Pound of Flesh by Simon Brett - Free Book Online
Authors: Simon Brett
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them, but he did seem almost too studiously preoccupied with his task. The two women exchanged glances. 'Can't talk now,' Lindy Galton breathed. 'Later in the day.'
'All right. When?'
'Quarter past nine. Down here. Everyone else'll be involved in the Weigh-in.'
Mrs Pargeter gave a quick nod, as Lindy Galton crossed to cancel the 'Empty' switch and say in a voice that was suddenly loud, 'No, I'm very sorry, Mrs Pargeter, but I think it would be unwise. The salts and minerals in the mud could all too easily trigger off your allergy.'
With appropriate expression of annoyance and frustration at this cruel deprivation, Mrs Pargeter left the Dead Sea Mud Bath unit.
CHAPTER 13
There was another message to ring Mr Mason when she got back to her room. Truffler, as ever, had done his stuff. He'd tracked down Tom O'Brien, Jenny Hargreaves' boyfriend.
'How did you find him – through Cambridge?' asked Mrs Pargeter.
'No,' Truffler replied dolefully. 'I had to track him down by . . . other routes.'
She knew better than to enquire further. 'Any chance of my meeting him?'
'Oh yes, I've set it up. That is, if you'd be able to get out of that place for a while . . .'
'For heaven's sake, Truffler. Brotherton Hall isn't Colditz.' Though when she came to think of it, there were similarities.
'Good. Well, he said he could give us an hour at lunchtime today. In London, that'd be.'
'Great. Shall I book us into the Savoy Grill?'
'Erm. I don't think that'd be exactly young Mr O'Brien's style, Mrs Pargeter.'
Young Mr O'Brien's style proved to be a greasy spoon cafe round the back of King's Cross Station. He and Truffler were tucking into the All-Day Breakfast – bacon, egg, sausage, tomatoes, beans, fried bread, and a huge mug of tea – when Mrs Pargeter arrived. Though she turned a few heads in her scarlet linen jacket over floral silk print, she did not look out of place. Mrs Pargeter had that rare quality in any surroundings of being always conspicuous, but never out of place.
After basic introductions, Truffler asked if he could order her anything. ' 'Fraid they probably won't have that much that'll fit in with your Brotherton Hall diet.'
'Oh well,' said Mrs Pargeter nobly, 'can't be helped.' She looked at their plates. 'I'll have the same as you.'
While Truffler vied with a couple of gas fitters for attention at the fat-smeared counter, Mrs Pargeter made a quick assessment of the boy opposite her.
He was good-looking, black hair slicked back, and pale blue eyes, which at that moment were giving her a sullen once-over. Tom O'Brien had not a spare ounce of fat on him. He wore a shapeless navy-blue raincoat over a black T-shirt and jeans, and sat in a defensive posture that firmly stated he was there under sufferance.
Mrs Pargeter smiled at him. 'I want to find out about Jenny.'
'So do I,' he replied, the sourness in his tone accentuating a slight Irishness. 'That's why I'm here. Mr Mason said you had some information.'
This was difficult. The information Mrs Pargeter did have was the last information the boy would want to hear. Anyway, it was not information she could divulge. At that moment she couldn't be sure that the starved body she had seen was that of Jenny Hargreaves. She had only Ankle-Deep Arkwright's word to go on, and he was clearly lying about at least some aspects of the case.
Seeing the hunger for news in Tom O'Brien's face, for a moment Mrs Pargeter entertained the attractive idea that the body had not been Jenny's, that Ank had invented a name just to cloud the water.
But if that were the case, why had he come up with an address too? And an address which matched the name he had chosen?
This, Mrs Pargeter realized, was not the moment to pursue such questions. 'I don't so much have information,' she said gently, 'as maybe some pointers to where Jenny's been the last few months.'
Tom O'Brien was instantly alert. 'Well, that's more than I've managed to get. What have you found out?'
Truffler's return to the
'All right. When?'
'Quarter past nine. Down here. Everyone else'll be involved in the Weigh-in.'
Mrs Pargeter gave a quick nod, as Lindy Galton crossed to cancel the 'Empty' switch and say in a voice that was suddenly loud, 'No, I'm very sorry, Mrs Pargeter, but I think it would be unwise. The salts and minerals in the mud could all too easily trigger off your allergy.'
With appropriate expression of annoyance and frustration at this cruel deprivation, Mrs Pargeter left the Dead Sea Mud Bath unit.
CHAPTER 13
There was another message to ring Mr Mason when she got back to her room. Truffler, as ever, had done his stuff. He'd tracked down Tom O'Brien, Jenny Hargreaves' boyfriend.
'How did you find him – through Cambridge?' asked Mrs Pargeter.
'No,' Truffler replied dolefully. 'I had to track him down by . . . other routes.'
She knew better than to enquire further. 'Any chance of my meeting him?'
'Oh yes, I've set it up. That is, if you'd be able to get out of that place for a while . . .'
'For heaven's sake, Truffler. Brotherton Hall isn't Colditz.' Though when she came to think of it, there were similarities.
'Good. Well, he said he could give us an hour at lunchtime today. In London, that'd be.'
'Great. Shall I book us into the Savoy Grill?'
'Erm. I don't think that'd be exactly young Mr O'Brien's style, Mrs Pargeter.'
Young Mr O'Brien's style proved to be a greasy spoon cafe round the back of King's Cross Station. He and Truffler were tucking into the All-Day Breakfast – bacon, egg, sausage, tomatoes, beans, fried bread, and a huge mug of tea – when Mrs Pargeter arrived. Though she turned a few heads in her scarlet linen jacket over floral silk print, she did not look out of place. Mrs Pargeter had that rare quality in any surroundings of being always conspicuous, but never out of place.
After basic introductions, Truffler asked if he could order her anything. ' 'Fraid they probably won't have that much that'll fit in with your Brotherton Hall diet.'
'Oh well,' said Mrs Pargeter nobly, 'can't be helped.' She looked at their plates. 'I'll have the same as you.'
While Truffler vied with a couple of gas fitters for attention at the fat-smeared counter, Mrs Pargeter made a quick assessment of the boy opposite her.
He was good-looking, black hair slicked back, and pale blue eyes, which at that moment were giving her a sullen once-over. Tom O'Brien had not a spare ounce of fat on him. He wore a shapeless navy-blue raincoat over a black T-shirt and jeans, and sat in a defensive posture that firmly stated he was there under sufferance.
Mrs Pargeter smiled at him. 'I want to find out about Jenny.'
'So do I,' he replied, the sourness in his tone accentuating a slight Irishness. 'That's why I'm here. Mr Mason said you had some information.'
This was difficult. The information Mrs Pargeter did have was the last information the boy would want to hear. Anyway, it was not information she could divulge. At that moment she couldn't be sure that the starved body she had seen was that of Jenny Hargreaves. She had only Ankle-Deep Arkwright's word to go on, and he was clearly lying about at least some aspects of the case.
Seeing the hunger for news in Tom O'Brien's face, for a moment Mrs Pargeter entertained the attractive idea that the body had not been Jenny's, that Ank had invented a name just to cloud the water.
But if that were the case, why had he come up with an address too? And an address which matched the name he had chosen?
This, Mrs Pargeter realized, was not the moment to pursue such questions. 'I don't so much have information,' she said gently, 'as maybe some pointers to where Jenny's been the last few months.'
Tom O'Brien was instantly alert. 'Well, that's more than I've managed to get. What have you found out?'
Truffler's return to the
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