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Authors: Cynthia Harrod-Eagles
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weather there’s still earth and cement and everything, isn’t there? But I couldn’t get it through his head. But apart from that, I’ve no complaints. There’s hardly anything to do, really. To tell you the truth, I don’t think they’re ever in much. He’s down the pub often as not, and she’s gallivanting God knows where. Which, when you think of it, is a waste, this lovely new house built specially for her and everything. But she wasn’t a bit grateful.’ She sipped her tea. ‘How did she die, then?’
‘We don’t know yet,’ Slider said. ‘Did she have heart trouble, do you know, or any chronic condition like that?’
‘Heart? Strong as an ox, her,’ Mrs Attlebury said. ‘Far as I know, anyway. But you’d want to ask him, really.’
‘Oh, we will. But it’s nice to get these things confirmed. Was she on any medication, that you knew about? Did she ever take sleeping pills?’
‘I never heard that she did. There was never any on the bedside table, anyway – or in the medicine cabinet. Her doctor’d be the one to know, I expect. Dr Lands, same as me, she went to, in Dalling Road.’
Slider noted down the name, and she watched him, her mind working. ‘So it wasn’t a road accident, then, or anything like a shooting or a stabbing? I mean, you wouldn’t be asking about pills if it was,’ she said ruminatively, and then seemed to feel this comment lacked proper feeling, for she looked at them defiantly and said, ‘I hadn’t any time for her, if you want to know. She wasn’t a nice person, in my view.’
‘In what way, not nice?’ Slider prompted.
‘Fast,’ said Mrs Attlebury decisively, and made a face. ‘I don’t know how he stood her, to tell you the truth. He had a hell of a life with her, poor soul. All right, she kept herself nice, and I don’t say she wasn’t a smart-looking woman, but it was his money she spent dolling herself up, and she should have been doing it for him, not showing herself off to every Tom, Dick and Harry. I mean, he’s out working every hour God sends to make money for her to spend, and she’s off gallivanting around and flirting with anything in trousers. Oh,’ she said, with a significant look, ‘it wasn’t a secret. I mean, she didn’t bother to hide it. Flirted openly – if it wasn’t worse than flirting. I wouldn’t put it past her.’
‘How did Mr Andrews take that?’
‘Well, he didn’t like it, of course,’ she said. ‘What man would?’
‘Did they quarrel about it?’ Slider asked.
‘What do you think?’
‘Were the quarrels violent?’
‘Shocking! I’ve heard them going at it hammer and tongs in another room when I’ve been cleaning. Heard them over the Hoover more than once – well, she was a loud-mouthed woman, you know, voice like a foghorn. And bossy? Always telling you how to do your job. Had to organise everything – you know the sort. She’d organise a pig into having puppies, that one. Well, it’s not nice for a man, being taken down by his wife like that, in front of other people, like she did. It’s no wonder he got mad.’
‘Did he hit her?’
She seemed to realise at last where this was going. ‘We-ell,’ she said cautiously. ‘I can’t say I’ve ever seen him lift his hand to her. He’s not that type, to my mind. And, like I say, he worshipped the ground she walked on. Except when she got him riled and he lost his temper. But he’s the quiet sort, really.’
‘Those are sometimes the worst,’ Atherton said wisely. ‘Quiet till you push ’em too far, and then – bang.’
‘He could be shocking when he was provoked,’ she acknowledged, ‘but that’s the same as any man. But he’s never hit her that I know of. He’s a nice man. It’s her I couldn’t stand.’
‘Did they have any children?’
‘No, and it’s a pity if you ask me, because he’d have made a lovely dad, and it might have kept her at home a bit more, clipped her wings. But they didn’t, and why I couldn’t
‘We don’t know yet,’ Slider said. ‘Did she have heart trouble, do you know, or any chronic condition like that?’
‘Heart? Strong as an ox, her,’ Mrs Attlebury said. ‘Far as I know, anyway. But you’d want to ask him, really.’
‘Oh, we will. But it’s nice to get these things confirmed. Was she on any medication, that you knew about? Did she ever take sleeping pills?’
‘I never heard that she did. There was never any on the bedside table, anyway – or in the medicine cabinet. Her doctor’d be the one to know, I expect. Dr Lands, same as me, she went to, in Dalling Road.’
Slider noted down the name, and she watched him, her mind working. ‘So it wasn’t a road accident, then, or anything like a shooting or a stabbing? I mean, you wouldn’t be asking about pills if it was,’ she said ruminatively, and then seemed to feel this comment lacked proper feeling, for she looked at them defiantly and said, ‘I hadn’t any time for her, if you want to know. She wasn’t a nice person, in my view.’
‘In what way, not nice?’ Slider prompted.
‘Fast,’ said Mrs Attlebury decisively, and made a face. ‘I don’t know how he stood her, to tell you the truth. He had a hell of a life with her, poor soul. All right, she kept herself nice, and I don’t say she wasn’t a smart-looking woman, but it was his money she spent dolling herself up, and she should have been doing it for him, not showing herself off to every Tom, Dick and Harry. I mean, he’s out working every hour God sends to make money for her to spend, and she’s off gallivanting around and flirting with anything in trousers. Oh,’ she said, with a significant look, ‘it wasn’t a secret. I mean, she didn’t bother to hide it. Flirted openly – if it wasn’t worse than flirting. I wouldn’t put it past her.’
‘How did Mr Andrews take that?’
‘Well, he didn’t like it, of course,’ she said. ‘What man would?’
‘Did they quarrel about it?’ Slider asked.
‘What do you think?’
‘Were the quarrels violent?’
‘Shocking! I’ve heard them going at it hammer and tongs in another room when I’ve been cleaning. Heard them over the Hoover more than once – well, she was a loud-mouthed woman, you know, voice like a foghorn. And bossy? Always telling you how to do your job. Had to organise everything – you know the sort. She’d organise a pig into having puppies, that one. Well, it’s not nice for a man, being taken down by his wife like that, in front of other people, like she did. It’s no wonder he got mad.’
‘Did he hit her?’
She seemed to realise at last where this was going. ‘We-ell,’ she said cautiously. ‘I can’t say I’ve ever seen him lift his hand to her. He’s not that type, to my mind. And, like I say, he worshipped the ground she walked on. Except when she got him riled and he lost his temper. But he’s the quiet sort, really.’
‘Those are sometimes the worst,’ Atherton said wisely. ‘Quiet till you push ’em too far, and then – bang.’
‘He could be shocking when he was provoked,’ she acknowledged, ‘but that’s the same as any man. But he’s never hit her that I know of. He’s a nice man. It’s her I couldn’t stand.’
‘Did they have any children?’
‘No, and it’s a pity if you ask me, because he’d have made a lovely dad, and it might have kept her at home a bit more, clipped her wings. But they didn’t, and why I couldn’t
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