Read Online The Birthday Present by Pamela Oldfield - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Pamela Oldfield
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I’ve seen enough.’
‘But we haven’t paid for the taxi!’
‘And we’re not going to. He’s lucky we’re not reporting him for dangerous driving.’ He looked around him. ‘Good job we’re nearly there. I’ll get you home in ten minutes.’
Clutching her bag, Rose resigned herself to the early end to her cherished taxi ride and trotted obediently beside Marcus. After a while she said, ‘You were telling me about your ambition for the future.’
‘I told you it doesn’t matter.’
‘It does to me.’
‘Believe me, Rose.’ He shook his head. ‘It doesn’t matter to anyone.’
Having been escorted to her home, Rose watched Marcus walk away and was immediately aware of a deep sense of anticlimax.
‘Cinderella after the ball!’ she muttered. Somehow the thrills of the previous evening had been thrown into shadow by the unsatisfactory ride with Marcus who, she now decided, was a mournful sort of person who had few friends, if any, and had a low opinion of the members of his own family. According to him, Letitia was a snob and Steven was not to be trusted. Marie alone remained a nice person in everyone’s opinion. She felt she had been robbed of all the happy memories of the previous evening but she put on a cheerful expression and breezed in, determined to impress her father with the details of her overnight events.
He was slumped as usual in his favourite chair, reading The Sporting News . He had no shoes on and there was the inevitable hole in each sock where his big toes poked through. She knew at once, by the disgruntled look on his face, that she was about to hear bad news. As she deposited her costume on the table, he said, ‘Ruddy coppers! Can’t leave me in peace for a moment. Bang, bang on the door first thing this morning. I wasn’t even up! Damned sauce I call it, waking decent folk at that time!’
‘The police? What did they want?’ She eyed him nervously. ‘You haven’t done anything.’ She was immediately filled with doubts.
‘Asking stupid questions. Routine enquiries, they call it. I know what I call it – harassment! That’s what!’
Alarm bells were sounding at the back of her mind but she dumped her bag on the table and joked, ‘Someone been murdered, have they?’
‘Murdered? Course not! They were coppers, not detectives. Making routine enquiries about some robbery or other. I gave them short shrift. Don’t expect me to do your job for you, I told them. You get paid, you put in the leg work!’ He scowled. ‘Well, don’t just stand there. Put the kettle on and make a pot of tea.’
Rose said, ‘Was it Colonel Fossett’s place?’
‘Him and a few others. Fuss about nothing!’
‘He lost a valuable snuff box which had sentimental value. He was at The White Horse and they were all talking about it the other night.’ She regarded him anxiously. ‘So they don’t think you did it?’
‘Me?’ He gave her an indignant look. ‘I should ruddy well think not! They were just trying to put the frighteners on me but I’m too fly for that sort of nonsense. They said they could come back with a search warrant. Come back with anything you like, I told them. Bring Scotland Yard with you! See if I care.’ He sighed heavily.
Rose gave him a sympathetic smile. ‘Forget all about them, Pa. Miserable lot! I’ll make that tea and then I’ll tell you about my private evening. I’ve got plenty of good news – oh! I nearly forgot. The housekeeper gave me some leftovers for you. They’re in the bag wrapped in greaseproof paper.’
He perked up at once. ‘Leftovers?’
‘You know – sliced ham and a smoky sort of fish and—’
‘Smoky fish? What, like bloaters? I’m very partial to a nice—’
‘Not bloaters! I don’t know what exactly but it’s pink and smells fishy, and there’s a slice of the birthday cake! Help yourself, Pa. They’re ever so kind and I’ve got so much to tell you . . .’ She fled into the scullery to make a pot of tea but
‘But we haven’t paid for the taxi!’
‘And we’re not going to. He’s lucky we’re not reporting him for dangerous driving.’ He looked around him. ‘Good job we’re nearly there. I’ll get you home in ten minutes.’
Clutching her bag, Rose resigned herself to the early end to her cherished taxi ride and trotted obediently beside Marcus. After a while she said, ‘You were telling me about your ambition for the future.’
‘I told you it doesn’t matter.’
‘It does to me.’
‘Believe me, Rose.’ He shook his head. ‘It doesn’t matter to anyone.’
Having been escorted to her home, Rose watched Marcus walk away and was immediately aware of a deep sense of anticlimax.
‘Cinderella after the ball!’ she muttered. Somehow the thrills of the previous evening had been thrown into shadow by the unsatisfactory ride with Marcus who, she now decided, was a mournful sort of person who had few friends, if any, and had a low opinion of the members of his own family. According to him, Letitia was a snob and Steven was not to be trusted. Marie alone remained a nice person in everyone’s opinion. She felt she had been robbed of all the happy memories of the previous evening but she put on a cheerful expression and breezed in, determined to impress her father with the details of her overnight events.
He was slumped as usual in his favourite chair, reading The Sporting News . He had no shoes on and there was the inevitable hole in each sock where his big toes poked through. She knew at once, by the disgruntled look on his face, that she was about to hear bad news. As she deposited her costume on the table, he said, ‘Ruddy coppers! Can’t leave me in peace for a moment. Bang, bang on the door first thing this morning. I wasn’t even up! Damned sauce I call it, waking decent folk at that time!’
‘The police? What did they want?’ She eyed him nervously. ‘You haven’t done anything.’ She was immediately filled with doubts.
‘Asking stupid questions. Routine enquiries, they call it. I know what I call it – harassment! That’s what!’
Alarm bells were sounding at the back of her mind but she dumped her bag on the table and joked, ‘Someone been murdered, have they?’
‘Murdered? Course not! They were coppers, not detectives. Making routine enquiries about some robbery or other. I gave them short shrift. Don’t expect me to do your job for you, I told them. You get paid, you put in the leg work!’ He scowled. ‘Well, don’t just stand there. Put the kettle on and make a pot of tea.’
Rose said, ‘Was it Colonel Fossett’s place?’
‘Him and a few others. Fuss about nothing!’
‘He lost a valuable snuff box which had sentimental value. He was at The White Horse and they were all talking about it the other night.’ She regarded him anxiously. ‘So they don’t think you did it?’
‘Me?’ He gave her an indignant look. ‘I should ruddy well think not! They were just trying to put the frighteners on me but I’m too fly for that sort of nonsense. They said they could come back with a search warrant. Come back with anything you like, I told them. Bring Scotland Yard with you! See if I care.’ He sighed heavily.
Rose gave him a sympathetic smile. ‘Forget all about them, Pa. Miserable lot! I’ll make that tea and then I’ll tell you about my private evening. I’ve got plenty of good news – oh! I nearly forgot. The housekeeper gave me some leftovers for you. They’re in the bag wrapped in greaseproof paper.’
He perked up at once. ‘Leftovers?’
‘You know – sliced ham and a smoky sort of fish and—’
‘Smoky fish? What, like bloaters? I’m very partial to a nice—’
‘Not bloaters! I don’t know what exactly but it’s pink and smells fishy, and there’s a slice of the birthday cake! Help yourself, Pa. They’re ever so kind and I’ve got so much to tell you . . .’ She fled into the scullery to make a pot of tea but
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