One to Six, Buckle to Sticks (Grasshopper Lawns Book 11) Page 13
Edge’s mobile phone gave some muffled musical peeps from the depths of her handbag. She rummaged for it, politely tilting the screen towards her companion to show that the caller was Clarissa’s next-door neighbour, William. Maggie scrambled to her feet, looking a little offended that attention had been switched from her tummy scratching.
‘Mr Robertson?’ She answered the phone with ironic formality, and his voice boomed back, instantly matching her tone.
‘Miz Cameron. You agree you owe me a favour for catching you the other night before you could do yourself an injury?’
‘Catching? Oh, all right. What’s the favour? I’m visiting your neighbour, as it happens.’
‘Well, dinna fash, but when you leave, would you drop in to have a word with my computer? I think I may have a wee problem.’
They rang off and Clarissa started busying herself loading their cups and plates onto the tray. ‘Of course, you’re on the list of computer helpers, aren’t you? Are you quite a whiz?’
‘‘In the land of the blind, the one-eyed man is king’.’ Edge quoted. ‘I’m as likely to be calling as helping. Still, William’s worse than me. I think it might be part of the whole Sci-Fi thing. He wants a computer he can have conversations with and until then he just gets impatient. I’m glad we have it, though, I thought I’d lost two hours of work the other day, I nearly went into meltdown. I had to sit through a lecture from Godfrey Crossley first but I didn’t care once I got it back.’
‘I think it’s a wonderful idea. So I can call on you if I get any odd emails?’
‘Sylvia’s probably the most clued-up of us amateurs, but yes, of course, if you want. Best is auld crabbit Crossley, but he’s pretty rude, and makes people feel stupid; he’s a bit of a last resort. The new administrator’s our real expert, very hot on fraud. I’d better go see what William’s done to his poor long-suffering pc this time.’
As Edge got up to leave, Clarissa noticed her handbag was still open and started to laugh. ‘Is your purse in your bag?’
Edge looked automatically, then glanced up, startled. ‘No. I must have dropped—’
‘Maggie is purse-mad.’ Clarissa shook her head, still chuckling . ‘Okay, Maggie, where’s the purse?’ The dog offered bewildered innocence, then looked shifty. A quick search found the purse half-pushed under the back of the chair. Apart from a faint impression of teeth, and a sheen of drool, it was undamaged.
‘It’s her oddest foible, she’s obsessed with purses. Doesn’t chew them, just puts them in her idea of a safe spot. I really should get visitors to hang their bags up on the hall-stand out of her reach.’
‘Well, no harm done.’ The faint impressions smoothed out as Edge rubbed them with her thumb. ‘She’s a regular pick-pocket, I’d have sworn I had my eye on her since I got here. That’ll eke out your pension nicely!’
Maggie sighed as the purse vanished back into Edge’s handbag, and turned her head to rest her chin on her basket. Nothing, her body language implied, could be of less interest to her than how the purse had mysteriously hidden itself under a chair.
CHAPTER THREE
Thursday—Fraud patrol
Edge was still smiling to herself as she limped up the two steps to William’s bungalow. He flung the door wide before she could knock. A Henry VIII look-alike, huge of frame and generously curved, with a mane of hair coloured a rather determined Tudor red and a matching ruddy beard, he was sporting a black velvet smoking jacket and eye-watering tartan trews.
‘I’ve done something stupid.’ he announced immediately, ‘so can we bypass the recriminations and fix it?’
’Depends how stupid. I can try;’ she promised cautiously. ‘What did you do?’
‘Got an email from PayPal telling me someone had been putting through odd transactions, so I logged in from the email. Then I remembered that we’re not supposed to that, are we? And I called you.’
‘Have you checked your account? Any odd transactions?’
‘Yes I have, and no there aren’t. Not yet. Does that mean it’s all right? Do you want tea or coffee? Or a dram?’ He took her jacket and hung it impatiently behind the door on faux antlers. Edge rather liked William’s place—he had chosen to decorate it as an old-fashioned library, rather than the conventional lounge/dining décor. Panelled walls with bookshelves, two huge Chesterfields, and his double-sided antique partner desk, made it as unlike the bungalow she had just left as could be imagined. A snooker table had been placed where Clarissa, for example, had her dining table, and although the sinking watery sun shot level beams through the window the whole room maintained a kind of stately gloom.
She sat herself at the desk and checked the time on the most recent transactions showing on the PayPal statement. ‘You’re right, all good, nothing in a couple of days. Close down, log back in properly instead of from the email, and change your password. They send out hundreds of these at a time, so as long as we get you changed before they pick up the details, it should be fine.’ They changed places and she looked away politely as he logged in again.
‘You do have different passwords on all your accounts, right?’ she thought to ask and he looked at her guiltily. ‘Oh, William! We’d better change them all!’
‘I’ll never remember them.’ he warned with gloomy satisfaction and she picked up the address book lying next to his phone.
‘Yes you will. They can be all be the same word, even the one you use at the moment, with different numbers, and we’ll write the numbers in here. Say your word is—’ she looked at his trews and smirked. ‘Tartan. We’ll make PayPal’s password tartan27 and you’ll write down PayPal and 27 under P in the address book. Then all you have to remember is the tartan bit.’
‘My password is ’incorrect’.’ William remarked blandly. ‘That way, if I type in anything else, a warning comes up with ’your password is incorrect’ to remind me.’
Edge groaned and he grinned at her, then picked up the phone as it gave its imperative peep-peep-peep internal ring. ‘Robertson. Hello, my lovely. Yes, she’s here. Fixing my computer. No, I haven’t told her, shall I send her on down to you? We’re all done here, she’s just leaving me with some homework—’
He listened for a moment, smiled and nodded. ‘Seven pm in the pub. That’s a date.’
‘Vivian?’ Edge asked as he put the phone down, and he snorted.
‘How many other lovelies would I be making dates with, eh?’
‘With you, William, I dread to think.’ The thin sunshine abruptly shut off, throwing the library into gloom apart from the pool of light from the lamp on the desk and one from the standing lamp, and she ducked to look across through the window. ‘Wow, that’s boiled up quickly! I’d better run before that storm hits. And don’t forget your homework. Change every password!’
~~~
‘Jump in here and shut the door, that’s Baltic!’ Vivian welcomed her as the wind snatched the kitchen door from her, and automatically reached across to turn on the kettle. ‘Did William tell you after all? He’s to do next Sunday? So you have to come, Edge.’
Edge groaned as she stood in front of the mirror fixed to the kitchen door, trying to comb some order back into her violently wind-tossed topknot with her fingers. Vivian was a much more spiritual person than she was, a practicing if not fervent Episcopalian, and quietly slipped off once a month on the minibus to take Wednesday communion with the ’piskies’ in Onderness. On Sundays, she loyally supported the Sunday room gatherings in the main house but had long since given up trying to include Edge.
On the other hand William, who was after all a flamboyantly eccentric writer of critically acclaimed science fiction, couldn’t be pictured delivering a pious sermon in muted tones—’No, he didn’t mention it. Let me brace myself. Okay, the sermon will be on the thriving carbon-based life forms bounding around the Oort cloud, will it?’
‘Idiot.’ Vivian sugared a cup of coffee and put it on the end of the table nearest to Edge. ‘Sit here or in the other room?’
‘He’s getting better.’ Vivian defended her Labrador. ‘I’ve switched back to the old dog food. Actually, I had to, the paint was starting to crinkle. I’ve told you often enough that there isn’t a sermon on Sundays. The guest speaker talks about something interesting and relevant, and picks the songs, which are very rarely hymns, although I won’t deny it has been known, and we all have elevenses afterwards. It’s all very sociable and rather fun.’
‘I’d come more often if you did solos.’ Edge offered handsomely, giving up on her hair after a final tweak to centre her topknot and sitting down to her coffee. Everyone at the Lawns had an interesting past—it was one of the conditions of acceptance—but Vivian was the only opera-trained singer.
‘Thank you, poppet.’ Vivian offered her some home-baked gingerbread. ‘If I believed you, I would. But as I was trying to tell you, you know William’s degree is in history, right?’
‘I didn’t. I only knew about his weird and wonderful books and that he had some random qualifications in sciences and astronomy. Nothing formal and respectable like history.’
‘Well, he could hardly get a degree in Science Fiction. What would that be, a BScFi? Anyway, he’s been invited to be guest speaker for some History Faculty dinner at Edinburgh Uni, so he did some research into how primitive cultures treated their older folk. He wanted to try the speech out first, and submitted it as a topic for the Sunday room, and it’s been approved. All a bit of a rush, but the guest we were to have was happy to switch. Now we’re struggling to find two songs on the theme.’
‘I am my own Grandpa.’ Edge suggested solemnly. ‘Why not look songs up on the Internet?’
‘I’ve been trying.’ Vivian flicked the lid of her laptop. ‘You can’t believe how gloomy some of them are, I’ve been sitting here bawling, and gulping down rivers of tea. All about regrets and loss and wishing they’d spent more time with their kids when they were younger. The only bouncy one I’ve found is ‘When I’m Sixty-Four’ which might be a bit too bouncy, but at least we’d be able to sing it without people breaking down and sobbing into their hankies. Anyway. Put it in your diary. No excuses, you’re coming to the Sunday room this Sunday.’
‘I’ll be there. Do you want me to rope in Kirsty, if she isn’t on duty? It’ll be a good chance to introduce her to Sylvia’s nephew.’
Vivian looked surprised. ‘Why do you want to introduce her to Sylvia’s nephew? Buster doesn’t approve of him at all.’
‘Oh, you know what Sylvia’s like.’ Edge defended herself gloomily. ‘She goes on, and on, and on—she’s decided if her nephew falls for my niece it will be one more inducement for him to come stay in Scotland. And since Kirsty’s relationship has bust up anyway, and Simon seems a nice enough bloke, I didn’t nip it firmly enough in the bud the first time she mentioned it. Now she never shuts up about it, especially with him leaving next week. This will be so much less embarrassing than a formal introduction; they could just gravitate together naturally as the only two youngsters. You know, united in adversity by their hideous aunts. And gravitate as naturally apart if they don’t click. No pressure.’
‘What does the nephew do, anyway? Does she have any idea?’
‘I think, but don’t quote me on this, that he sells insurance. She was a bit vague about it. Funny how time changes things, isn’t it? My parents were absolutely thrilled when I told them James was an insurance broker. It seemed such a nice safe, respectable thing to be.’
‘Do you remember how appalled my father was when I met Gordon?’ Vivian smiled reminiscently. ‘A financier! He’d hoped I’d meet someone in the diplomatic service but you know, it was quite enough growing up in that life. And at least it meant I wouldn’t be presenting him with some tenor with a waxed moustache, which was his real fear.’
‘Well, my parents liked James. It did worry my mother that he was so much older than me but that couldn’t be helped. Do you know one of her predictions for me was that I would end up marrying three times? Once for money, once for love and once for fun. James had the money, but I loved him as well. And I adored Alistair.’
‘Would you marry again?’ Vivian finished her coffee and got up to get more. ‘I simply can’t imagine starting over with cold coals, and yet at times I do miss Gordon so much, I loved being married. I do sometimes wonder about William—he’s been married, you know.’
‘Oh, Vivian! I think your father would have preferred the waxed moustache! William’s lovely, but quite apart from the rumours about his lifestyle, orgies and what all else, honestly, he’ll bolt like a startled rabbit if you start thinking of him as the next Mr Vivian Oliver.’ Edge saw she had offended her friend and hurriedly slid sideways into safer waters. ‘How on earth did we get onto this subject? I wanted to tell you I’ve got the Maggie dog tomorrow afternoon so don’t bring Buster round or there’ll be war on the doorstep. Gives me a chance to do a couple of sessions with the muzzle, an hour or so apart, which should do the trick.’
‘Sooner you than me.’ Vivian said frankly. ‘And thanks for the warning—we’ll keep our distance. Are you buying anything for the birthday boy, by the way? I’m not, but I wondered if you were.’
‘No.’ Edge stood up and brushed crumbs off her woollen trousers. ‘I thought about it, because I do like Jamie, but you know once you buy for one person who isn’t a close friend, you end up buying for everyone in the place. Like Mose used to, bless him, but it was awful when his birthday was looming and you had to think of something small but thoughtful. Absolutely not my area of expertise. You’re by far the easiest, only every four years. Have you made plans for your non-birthday yet?’
‘Donald’s been doing some unofficial consulting on the set design, apparently, so he’s been offered really good house tickets for the opening of La Bohème in Glasgow, that’s only a few days after, so I thought maybe the four of us, dinner, the show—oh, don’t pull that face. You loved Quartet! And Bohème’s one of the best operas. Anyway, my non-birthday, my rules. You have to be nice to me because I only get presents every four years.’
‘I can hardly wait.’ Edge said resignedly. ‘I’ll get my own back on my birthday, though. Hot air ballooning, or something equally mad, and you’ll have to do it because I came to your foul opera.’
They both laughed, and the slight awkwardness left by Edge’s unthinking comment about William seemed to be smoothed over. Vivian pushed her chair back from the table to follow her to the door, saying with slight anxiety, ‘you won’t forget Sunday? And Kirsty, if she can come. I don’t mean so she can meet Simon, because to be honest Buster really didn’t take to him. Just to swell the numbers.’
‘It’ll be standing room only once the word gets out. But I won’t forget. Sunday school in the morning and a birthday party in the afternoon.’ She paused at the doorway and looked back at Vivian, her eyes dancing. ‘I did wonder when my second childhood would kick in and here it is!’
CHAPTER FOUR
Sunday—William’s speech
The Sunday room was full, as expected, and William, a very experienced public speaker, held their attention from start to finish. Growing old, he told them, had been the exception rather than the rule right up to Roman times; his research proved to be thought-provoking and occasionally very funny. He had thrown in a great many Scottish words and phrases, despite, or perhaps because, half the residents were only Scottish by adoption, but with a handy little glossary on the back of the song sheet.
Edge glanced sideways to watch her Russian neighbour Olga mouthing ’ky-och’ to herself, then looking baffled at the spelling, and sternly suppressed a hiccup of laughter. Vivian had done a very good job. The glossary showed each word approximately as it was pronounced—for example, ky-och—then the meaning, ’old woman’, and then the correct spelling, ’cailleach’. Considering most of the non-Scots had bar
ely mastered the much more familiar word ’ceilidh’—Sylvia still stubbornly pronounced it ’keylid’—they kept up very well. Vivian had also printed off the words to the popular Beatles song, as well as the livelier verses from the title song in Cabaret, for their song-sheets. Josie, retired actress, entertainer and one-time professional madam, stormed the piano accompaniment with gusto, her grey curls bouncing furiously.
Flushed and animated, the group, several of them there for the first time other than for the previous administrator’s funeral service, crowded round the elevenses table in the hall afterwards. Edge had even enjoyed the singing, and got a slightly exasperated look from Vivian when she said so.
‘I can’t believe you sound surprised, Edge. People like to sing, and it’s good for them. Releases all sorts of endorphins into the blood. Why do you think people sing in the shower? Or join choirs? If there were no collections, no dodgy wine, and better tunes, every church would be full on a Sunday.’
‘Ja, that’s actually true.’ Katryn, the new administrator chimed in. ‘The Sunday room is supposed to be a chance for everyone to get together once a week, sing until they feel good, and go away smiling. We should get William to do a few more, this is the best turnout since I started here.’ She looked around with satisfaction. ‘He was good, hey? I liked the outline of his speech when he submitted it, but I never expected to be laughing.’
‘What do you think?’ Edge asked her niece in an undertone as the conversation rolled cheerfully around them.
‘Oh aye, I thought he was superb. I expected it would be all Eskimos dumping their old on the ice, I had no idea there were so many ways of—’
‘No, darling.’ Edge interrupted. ‘The Simon person. Sylvia will be over here any minute now, do I protect you or tactfully withdraw?’
‘The Simon person is very bonny, especially in profile.’ Kirsty said consideringly, ‘but do you really want me moving to Australia? I thought you enjoyed our Tuesday afternoons? And I don’t really want to be married off just to give Sylvia’s nephew a British passport. Anyway, don’t know if you noticed, but he seemed quite disconcerted when he found out about my job. He’s probably got a guilty conscience. Most men have. It’s one of the down sides of joining the Force, watching every man you meet do that little flinch when they find out.’