"I should phone Dorothy after breakfast," said
Cleo, very early on Saturday morning. Jason and Jessica had not been in contact
and Robert thought they should be left to their own devices to sort things out.
"Do that," replied Robert. "Let me know how
you get on."
"Sure."
***
As usual, Robert drove to his shop in his white delivery van.
Saturdays were always hectic. After closing the shop at about one o'clock, he
delivered the orders of Sunday joints to customers who had no time or fondness
for food shopping. This week, business hadn't been so hectic and Wednesday's visit
to the wholesaler had been a brief affair, mainly to secure enough T-bone
steaks to feed a battalion. T-bone steaks had never been an issue until Cleo
sailed into his shop that memorable day and he had been smitten. The wholesaler
had been quite amused when the order was changed from entrecote (they're big
enough for normal eaters) to the American dream of beef from the ranch,
preferably grilled on a barbeque, strewn generously with hickory and served
with lashings of herb butter. The big fridge at the rear of the shop was kept well-stocked.
Saturday's orders had already been sorted out by Phillis,
who didn't mind getting up at the crack of dawn as long as Robert paid overtime,
and did not notice that she had already hidden her meat ration for the weekend
in her spacious handbag. Robert knew about the meat pilfering. He had once told
her once that he would start searching her bag before she left the shop, but
Phillis remained undeterred and Robert did not make good his threat.
Robert was not sure how far Phillis’s move into the upstairs
flat had progressed. She slept there, he thought, but maybe not every night,
and even if she did it as not his business. If she fed Mr Morgan on the meat
she smuggled out of the shop, it was a good reason for taking her theft
lightly. As a tenant, Mr Morgan was better than some, he thought.
When Robert arrived at the shop, the first thing he saw was
Phillis on a ladder scrubbing viciously and unsuccessfully at a warning smeared
all over the shop window. The words "I’ll get you!" daubed in acrylic
paint would not simply wash off. It would take a glass scraper and a lot of
elbow grease to dispose of the mess, Robert thought, almost amused by the sight
of Phillis trying to cling onto the ladder and get rid of the scrawl on the
glass..
"I've sent for the police," Phillis said. "They'll
be here any minute."
"Thanks, Phillis. That was a sensible decision,"
he told her.
“I just don’t know why someone would climb a ladder to write
such rubbish,” she said.
He did not want to say it, but he was sure that whoever had
written those words must mean Cleo.
"You don't think they're after me, like that poor Mrs
Finch. Do you?"
"I shouldn't think so, Phillis. Have you got any
enemies?"
Robert thought privately that Phillis was her own worst
enemy. The upstairs window above the shop was flung open.
"What's going on down there," shouted Mr Morgan.
"It's all right, dear," Phillis called back in a
sycophantic voice. "I’m just cleaning the shop window."
The affectionate 'dear’ was so out of character that Robert
couldn't help being amused.
"Well, do it quietly," the organist commanded
before slamming the window.
Robert thought Gareth Morgan was a good deal less devoted to
Phillis than she would have liked since he had not yet invited her to share his
abode permanently, although she had dropped innumerable hints.
Despite being flattered, Gareth’s philosophy was ’once
bitten, twice shy’ now he perceived himself to be the object of Phillis’s
desire. After all, he had escaped the clutches of a mother in Wales who was, Gareth
had told Robert, hell-bent on banning even the smallest speck of dust before
breakfast even if it meant him getting out of bed so that he could help her
move the furniture around.
Gareth was not house-proud, so Phillis’s frenetic
window-cleaning would also have shown him what it would be like living with the
woman. Surely he would not want to share his life with anyone else with a mania
for cleaning. Robert hoped he'd notice the similarity between Phillis and his
mother in time to dissuade Phillis from moving in and taking over hook, line
and sinker.
However, Gareth Morgan, out of the clutches of his mother,
but alone in the world, was grateful for the attention of any female, whatever
form it took. He was not a confirmed bachelor and had gone to great lengths to
smarten his appearance by wearing jeans and blazers instead of the end-of-line
suits his mother used to order for him from the mail-order catalogues she studied daily from cover to cover. He had replaced
his mothball perfumed pomade with a musky aftershave. Antelopes used their
musky perfume to attract females, he'd read somewhere. What's good enough for
antelopes is good enough for me, he argued.
Gareth Morgen found himself irresistible. The women of his dreams
(and only in them) wore Chanel 5 and preferably nothing else, but rather than
continue his lonely existence, he would compromise with a butcher's part-time
assistant prone to home knits, lavender toilet water and sensible shoes if that
was all that was available. Phillis did at least put on a show of affection to
flatter his manliness, such as it was. Up to now, the word 'dear’ had not been
in the vocabulary of any female he'd set his sights on. In fact, the words he
had heard most up to now had been a great deal less ladylike than ‘get lost’.
***
Robert thought women often had ulterior motives for choosing
a mate. They were far more cunning than men. He was glad he'd found Cleo. She
was independent enough to kick him out if things didn't work out, he thought,
but unlikely to do so. Not that he'd go without a fight. Robert had his pride,
but he was only too aware that Cleo was not only attractive to him, but to
others, and that could include Gary, a man rubbing shoulders with her
professionally.
***
After a race across Middlethumpton and up Thumpton Hill,
excessive speed being supported by the siren system Gary Hurley switched on to
legitimize his fast driving, he got out of his car. Gary was now in the habit
of answering all the emergency calls to Upper Grumpsfield personally. He now
hoped that one of them would lead to his solving the heinous crime on Laura
Finch before the Hartley Agency could.
Things had to move fast in the criminal sector, if only to
protect other potential victims, Gary told himself. Heinous was not the word he
would necessarily have used to describe Laura Finch's murder, but the press
report had used the adjective and it had engraved itself on his mind.
The press had a point. Everyone was in danger until the
murderer had been caught. What if he (presuming it was a he) exchanged the
breadknife used to stab Mrs Finch for an axe next time?
“Who is that on the ladder,” Gary asked, pointing at Phillis’s
legs.
"That is my assistant, Mr Hurley.”
“Phillis Smith?" said Gary.
“That’s her,” said Robert.
Phillis was now almost at the top of the ladder and it was unfortunate
that she was wearing a skirt instead of striped butcher trousers. She was cursing
like a trooper since she could not budge any of the white paint.
"Now, now," Robert chastised. Who would have
thought she knew such language?
"I’ll get you," Gary read. "What sort of a
threat is that? Any idea?"
Add one word and you have the threat on Dorothy>’s
mirror, thought Gary, but this message was in acrylic paint rather than
toothpaste.
"I just hope it's a practical joke," he added.
"I wouldn't bet on it. It could be because Cleo found
the body in her new office. It was in all the papers," said Robert.
Gary Hurley would have liked to know who had passed the
information on, possibly inadvertently. His suspicions went in the direction of
the vicarage. Or was it those neighbours in Lavender Drive?
"I'll put a stop to all that nonsense," said
Robert, who'd been uneasy all along, but anxious to please Cleo. "She
should never have rented those premises. And to think it was all my idea!"
"I wouldn't worry about that,” said Gary. “Some things
are simply waiting to happen and whoever did it could have smeared her office window,
so it probably has nothing to do with Cleo.”
Gary told Phillis’s to stop trying to get the paint off as the
forensic team would need to examine it for fingerprints.
"I haven't touched the other side of the window, so
they'll have plenty to examine," retorted Phillis, who was now hot and
sweaty from her efforts.
"Including your prints, Miss Smith."
Phillis stopped what she was doing.
"What?"
"Your fingerprints. We have to separate them from those
of the street artist, don't we?"
Phillis seemed to be struggling with that idea. After a
pause, she climbed gingerly down the ladder and admitted that hers were already
in the records.
Robert and Gary watched Phillis stack the ladder against the
wall between the door and the shop window. Very slowly.
“Why?" said both men simultaneously.
Robert Jones was very curious. He hadn't asked Phillis for a
character reference.
"You might as well know, Robert. You'll find out soon
enough."
Robert cringed.
"I did a bit of theft when I was younger. Nothing dramatic.
Just pranks really. But someone snitched on me. I'm an honest woman now."
Robert thought of all the sausages and chops the woman had
taken home without asking. He decided to take a compassionate line. He did not
want to see Phillis arrested for theft. As far as he could see, Gary would be
capable of doing just that, if only to record some sort of success.
"I hope you are, Phillis. You should have told me that
before I gave you the job."
"But then you wouldn't have given me it."
Robert had to admit that she was right. But the accounts had
been OK since she started work. He was a kind boss. Even if she had been taking
produce home every time she worked even after Robert had said she should tell
him each time she fancied a chop or two, bacon, or sausages for her supper, he
would continue to turn a blind eye.
"You didn't get prison, I hope, Miss Smith?"
"No, just a fine and community service. I've learned my
lesson, Sergeant!"
“Detective Inspector to be exact."
Phillis was already red-faced with embarrassment after her
confession, and now she had put her foot in it when she was only trying to be
polite.
Robert hoped she had told the whole truth, but decided that Hurley
would check.
"I don't suppose you saw who did this, did you, Miss
Smith?"
"No Sir."
"Have you any idea who it could have been?"
"No Sir."
"The door wasn't open, I hope," said Robert.
"No."
"Thank goodness for that.”
Gary phoned HQ and asked for a forensic team to look at the
damage.
“I think we can assume that no one actually went inside, but
a forensic team will have to look at the damage before it's cleaned off, Mr
Jones. It won't take long to find out who was responsible," said Gary. "We
get damage like this quite often. Mostly pranks. But we have to investigate.
I’ll deal with this case myself since it is so soon after Mrs Finch’s murder."
***
Cleo had phoned the vicarage as soon as Robert left for his
shop. She was as yet unaware of what had happened to the shop window. Edith
took her call and invited her round for coffee. That way they could have a
pow-wow in the kitchen. The boys were out on a field trip doing something
teachers sometimes offered during school holidays, and usually something
parents would never dream of doing. She hoped the boys wouldn't bring anything
creepy home this time. Last time there had been snails in the bathtub.
***
For reasons best known to himself, Robert did not tell Cleo
about the white paint. He assumed that Gary Hurley would, however. Robert did
not want to question his motive for leaving Cleo in the dark.
Before going to the vicarage, she would visit Dorothy, who
was delighted to see her. Dorothy had recovered from the shock of Laura’s
murder and was very glad to be back in her cottage rather than trying to keep
the peace between Frederick and his family.
The two sleuths walked to the vicarage together. Edith was
waiting with the coffee and biscuits.
***
"Of course, I haven't forgotten about Laura,” Dorothy
explained. “I've just been trying to get it all into perspective. You see,
although Laura was sometimes quite annoying, I can't believe that was the
reason she was killed."
"I’m sure it wasn't," said Cleo. "I believe
she was left in my office for no other reason than to get rid of the corpse."
"I suppose whoever it was did not know you were about
to open up, Cleo. They could have put the body in there thinking it wouldn't be
discovered for a few days," Edith said.
“Very astute, Edith. I can tell that you’ve given it a lot
of thought.”
"It seems unlikely that the gesture was aimed at you,
Cleo,” said Dorothy.
“They may not even have known that the rooms were furnished
as an office," said Edith.
“Not until they had dragged Laura’s body to behind my desk.
Then they must have noticed, but they still left it there,” said Cleo.
"They were taking a risk, but it would be double the
risk if they had tried to remove the corpse," said Dorothy.
"Not if they didn't leave any clues," said Cleo.
“And that suggests that they were professionals, especially as they were
probably confident that no one would find out who left Laura there."
"On the other hand, apart from the office furniture,
there were no signs that someone had been working there, so they might have
believed that Laura would not be discovered until Monday at the earliest,"
said Dorothy. “That would be a good reason for leaving her there to rot.”
"It’s all horrible," said Edith.
“They might have seen light burning the evening before she
was left in your office,” said Dorothy.
“Surely that would have warned them off,” said Edith.
“I didn’t need to put the lights on, as it was still light
when I went there, Dorothy. No one at the back of the building can have seen me
going in or out.”
"Do you think we are labouring under a misapprehension
then?" pondered Dorothy.
"What do you mean by that?" Cleo asked.
"Supposing the person or persons who got Laura into
your office via the open window were not the killers."
"You are clever, Dorothy," said Edith admiringly. "I
hadn't thought of that."
Dorothy continued to spin her theory.
"We don't know where she was killed, do we?"
“No, not yet," said Cleo.
"Supposing she had an assignation? There was an
argument, Laura tried to leave and was stabbed in the back," said Dorothy.
"It's possible," said Cleo.
"She might have tried to blackmail someone,"
Dorothy continued. "Or been blackmailed herself for something."
"Dorothy, stop! It doesn't bear thinking about,"
said Edith, shuddering.
"We have to think about it, Edith. She was stabbed with
a knife, wasn't she, Cleo? And breadknives are usually found in kitchens."
“Dorothy, how do you know it was a knife?" Edith asked.
"Knives are usually used in stabbings unless there’s a
dagger handy, Edith. Anyway, I phoned Mr Hurley and asked him."
"You didn't!" said Edith.
Edith was full of admiration, as she always was when someone
did something she would not have done in a month of Sundays.
"Knives are quite often within grabbing distance, so
she might even have been killed in someone's kitchen."
"You didn’t tell me you’d phoned Gary, Dorothy.”
“I haven’t had a chance.”
Cleo was worried that Dorothy was starting to do her own
thing rather than working with her.
“Have you told Gary about your new theory, Dorothy?"
said Cleo.-
"Not yet."
"Because I think you should just tell me your ideas.
You promised not to go it alone."
"Sorry. I thought I was being helpful."
"Have you told Gary who you visited while we were
questioning the former members of Laura's chorus?"
"No. I didn't think it was relevant, though come to
think of it, all those women have kitchens."
"I have a kitchen, too," said Edith. "And I've
known Frederick borrow a knife to cut things in the bicycle shed, in other
words, take it away. He usually forgets where he put it, so I hope you're not on
the right track, Dorothy."
Cleo was amazed that Edith was entering into the spirit of
it all with such energy. She hoped Edith would not start to suspect Frederick.
"It might be irrelevant now, Dorothy, but let's go
through your list again – the one you made when we started the investigation, if
you didn't leave it at the cottage," said Cleo.
"Were you investigating officially, Dorothy? You never
told me that."
Edith was impressed.
"In partnership with Cleo," Dorothy informed her.
Cleo was not aware that Dorothy considered herself a partner
in her enterprise, but she thought it would be unsporting of her to comment in
front of Edith. May be she should offer Dorothy a partnership. She would think
about it.
"So you still have that list, I hope."
"I wouldn't leave anything as important as that lying
around. It's in my handbag. I'll fetch it from the hall."
Edith took the opportunity to scold Cleo for letting Dorothy
indulge in snooping.
"You shouldn't lead her on," she told Cleo in a
whisper.
“Dorothy doesn't need any leading on, Edith."
***
"Here we are," Dorothy announced as she returned
waving a pad designed for shopping lists.
"I always carry this around in case there something
important I need to jot down."
It was just as well that Dorothy did everything with verve
and determination, though at this moment Cleo thought Dorothy's poking around
in those muddy choral waters had not been such a good idea. They should have
gone straight to the police. It was Cleo's vanity that had prevented that.
Laura had definitely been frightened of something and the chorus intrigue had
been malicious.
“The list can wait. Let's talk a bit more about Laura for a
moment," said Cleo. "Dorothy, what do you know about her past?
"Not much. She was a music student and I accompanied
her at various auditions and concerts. Then she landed a lucrative contract
singing on cruise ships, and that's the last I saw of her until we met again,
quite by accident, at Verdi's grocery store down the road. She had returned to
live in the family home and I hadn’t even known she was from these parts. I was
very surprised to see her again. "
"And she never told you what she had been doing since
you last met?"
"No, and I never asked. I assumed she done the cruise
entertaining for all those years. I know she was going to take turns on the
public announcement system aboard ship, so I assumed that she was still doing
that even if she was no longer singing."
"What a wonderful life," sighed Edith.
"It would have been if she'd stuck to it," said
Cleo.
Edith and Dorothy looked at Cleo, then at one another before
giving Cleo their full attention.
She then told them what Jessica had told her.
"No wonder she didn’t tell me everything,” said
Dorothy.
Edith got up. She was so flustered that she knocked her
chair over. She would make fresh coffee. She needed time to let it all sink in.
***
The kitchen door swung open and Frederick Parsnip came in.
"I'm back," he announced.
"I’ve been out on my morning bike ride," he
explained to Cleo.
Ever since he had been given a mountain bike to replace his ancient
rickety one, he had done his pastoral rounds on it and even practised riding up
and down Thumpton Hill. Though the hill didn't quite have mountain status, it
served the purpose. The vicar arrived back home reinvigorated.
"I'm going to get Edith a mountain bike," he told
Dorothy and Cleo.
"No you're not," said Edith. "Only one of us
can go sailing off into the sunrise here. I’d prefer a new mattress."
The vicar changed the subject hastily.
"What brings you here so early, Miss Hartley?"
"I needed to talk to Dorothy about Laura Finch and then
we came here for coffee."
"Ah yes, Laura Finch. Poor soul. Met with an untimely
death, an untimely death, an ….."
Edith broke into his reverie.
"I don’t think that she was a poor soul, after all."
"Of course she was."
"You don't know what she was really like, Frederick."
"Laura Finch was never anything but gracious and
generous in my experience."
"You never were a good judge of character, Frederick.
Remember how you cow-towed to that horrid bishop?" said Edith.
"I'd rather forget that episode, if you don't mind."
The vicar sniffed and held out his beaker for some coffee.
The boys had given him the beaker for Christmas. It had "Bless you!"
scrawled around its belly. Albert had been doing pottery at school.
"I'm sure you'd like to tell me what she was really
like, wouldn't you, Edith?" said the vicar, with more than a hint of
sarcasm. He did not believe Edith could have had access to such information.
"She was a loose woman," said Edith, lowering her
voice to a hiss.
"Oh that,” said the vicar. “But it's all so long ago.
Forgive and forget, Edith. Forgive and forget."
The women looked at each other in surprise and then at the
vicar.
"Frederick, does that mean that you knew about Laura's
immorality?" said Dorothy.
"I would never have betrayed her confidence, but yes, I
knew."
"How much did you know?" asked Edith, deeply
shocked that Frederick had not taken her into his confidence, though that was
the usual state of affairs at the vicarage.
"She told me about being sacked and having to sell her
body to keep herself."
"And what else?"
“I don’t think she had anything else to sell,” said
Frederick.
“What else did she tell you, Frederick?” said Dorothy.
"About working at a disreputable place in Bermuda and getting
back to Britain years later."
“She was known as “Big White Mother” to the hookers she had
under her wing, Frederick,” said Cleo.
“I didn’t know that,” said Dorothy.
“I don’t know anything,” said Edith. “Mr Parsnip seems to be
very knowledgeable about Laura finch.”
***
Dorothy wondered why Laura hadn't found work in the music
trade when she finally got back to Britain, but she had to admit that all those
years doing what she had done would have made it unlikely that Laura had any voice
left to sing with. She’d heard enough of the Finch Nightingales to know that
Laura had not taught them anything vocal.”
***
Frederick Parsnip wished he hadn't known anything. Laura
Finch had only told him because she was desperate to tell someone and he seemed
big-hearted enough to share her secrets with and discreet enough to keep them
to himself. He was, too, though it had weighed on his mind heavily. Talking
about it now was release from a spiritual prison.
***
Edith was appalled. What a bare-faced hussy Laura Finch had
been. Good riddance to bad rubbish, went through her mind.
"Did she offer you... favours for keeping quiet,
Frederick?" said Cleo.
Edith thought she had never been so disgusted in her life.
"What favours?" she asked, though she did not really
want to know.
"You know what I mean."
“She meant sex, Frederick,” said Dorothy.
"No, no, no,” agonized the vicar, who now seemed to be
in the midst of a trauma. “By the time Laura Finch moved to Lower Grumpsfield,
she had left all that behind her," said the vicar. "She was determined
to live a decent life, and I think that's very bad of you to suspect us of
improper conduct."
“Nobody leaves sex behind them, Frederick, though I admit
that you are an exception!” Spat Edith.
Dorothy and Cleo exchanged glances. Was that the problem?
Dorothy decided to make things easier all round.
"Assuming you didn’t kill Laura, Frederick, someone else
could have known about her ugly past and tried to blackmail her," said
Dorothy, who was more determined than ever to find answers to at least a few of
the questions that kept popping into her head. “She wasn’t blackmailing you,
was she, Frederick?”
“No, no, no, Dorothy.” Frederick Parsnip was genuinely
horrified. "Starting the chorus, inventing a respectable past, and joining
the committee to help organize church events was really all an attempt to save
her soul," said the vicar, who was on the verge of becoming evangelical.
There was fire in his eyes and his fists were clenched. There was a passion in
his voice that Edith hoped was reserved for his spirituality since any other
purpose would be scandalous.
But saving souls was really what the vicar wanted to do, and
Africa was the land of unlimited opportunities for his ministration. Saving Laura’s
soul had been a stepping-stone.
"There is no justification for Laura indulging in prostitution
and rejecting her son," said Edith.
"And no justification for consigning her to the devil,"
said the vicar.
"But we must find her murderer, Frederick, and we'll
need your help for that," said Cleo, hoping to change the direction of the
conversation.
"My help? How can I help?"
"By remembering exactly what she said to you,"
said Cleo.
"I think Laura was afraid of someone in her chorus. The
chorus disbanded and the danger seemed to have passed."
"But maybe it hadn't," said Edith.
"Poor Laura had clearly not shaken off all her adversaries,"
said Dorothy. "She wouldn't have been stabbed to death if she had."
Mr Parsnip winced at Dorothy's harsh words.
"So where do we go from here?" Edith's question
was rhetorical.
"You don't go anywhere, Edith," retorted the
vicar. "Leave it to the professionals."
"I'll read out the list of suspects, shall I?" said
Dorothy.
"That advice applies to you too, Dorothy."
"Nonsense, Frederick. I'm part of it and intend to continue until the murderer is
brought to justice."
"That's the spirit," said Cleo, encouragingly.
"Why don't you go and write your sermon, Frederick?"
said Edith, who would have dearly liked to tell her husband to drop dead. “I’d
rather you preached to your pencils than to us.”
Cleo could not help hearing the indignation in Edith’s
voice. Like so many marriages, it had only really worked as long as Edith
showed unflinching admiration for what Frederick did and said.
"That's the first good idea you've had today, Edith,"
the vicar retorted as he topped up his coffee before stalking off to his study.
***
"Carry on, Dorothy," said Edith. "Sorry about
that. Frederick doesn't think women are fit to do detective work."
Edith did not say what she thought about Frederick keeping Laura's
dark secret to himself or about what Frederick Parsnip thought women were good
for.
“It certainly sounded like that," Cleo agreed.
Dorothy flipped through a few pages of her notepad.
"I also wrote down what I thought about each person
interviewed. If I'd got round to telling you the details, Cleo, we might have
prevented the tragedy."
"I doubt it, Dorothy. That murder was not the work of a
female. No use feeling guilty. I no longer believe the chorus had anything to
do with Laura's death."
“So the list is now superfluous, isn’t it?”
“No, Dorothy. The information could still be useful as long
as we don’t know who murdered Laura and why. One of the chorus women might have
sent her partner to do the deed for her.”
“That’s just as terrible,” said Edith.
“One thing occurs to me, Cleo,” said Dorothy, who had really
wanted to wait until they could speak alone, but now thought Edith might have
something useful to add. “What if someone knew Laura had been a prostitute and
offered her money for her ‘services’, and then been turned down? That would
also be a motive.”
“You’re not thinking of Frederick, are you, Dorothy?” said Edith,
now on the defensive.
“Of course not, Edith,” said Dorothy. “Frederick is
sometimes silly, but he isn’t immoral.”
Earlier, Gary Hurley had told Robert Jones that sometimes
things were just waiting to happen. Cleo wondered if that also applied to Edith's
marriage.
“What about Betjeman?”
“Where would he have got information about Laura’s past,
Dorothy?” said Cleo.
Just then her mobile rang.
***
"Stay where you are, Cleo," Robert shouted down
the phone.
"Why? Just calm down, will you?"
"Because someone has smeared ‘I’ll get you!’ across my
shop window in white paint. Gary Hurley is here with a forensic team."
“Are you sure it isn’t toothpaste, Robert?”
“Of course it isn’t.”
"I'll come right over," said Cleo.
"No you won’t. It's too dangerous," shouted
Robert.
"I'll risk it," said Cleo. She explained to
everyone that there was an emergency at the shop and hurried out, leaving
Dorothy and Edith gobsmacked at the speed at which Cleo had left.
“Do you think we should follower her?” Edith asked.
“We’d better not. Cleo would have said so if she’d wanted us
with her.”
“Let’s have some fresh coffee then,” said Edith. “I’ll ask
Frederick if he’d like some.”
“When are you going to stop cow-towing to that man,” Dorothy
said.
“When the children are old enough to understand,” said
Edith. “I know it’s a hopeless situation, but I’ve nowhere to go and certainly
not with five children.”
“Then you’ll have to stick it out a bit longer,” said
Dorothy. “Find a job. That will take you out of the house and you can save for
the future.”
Dorothy could hardly believe what she was advising Edith,
but sad to say, Frederick was not a very good friend to have and the last
person she would want to have been married to.
“If only I had someone like Robert Jones,” sighed Edith.
“He’s kind and doesn’t preach.”
“He’s taken, Edith.”
“Is he?”
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