A Fête Worse Than Death Read Free

leisurely progress back to the beer tent, slipping round the back of the hoop-la stall to avoid Boscombe. Boscombe saw them and looked as if he was about to follow, when he was stopped by a very elegant woman who had come over to speak to Colonel Whitfield.
    â€˜Have we shaken him off?’ asked Haldean, pausing at the entrance to the tent.
    â€˜It you’re quick. Damn! Here he comes again.’
    Boscombe, weaving slightly, walked across to them and linked arms affectionately with Haldean. ‘Thought I’d missed you, Jack old man. You don’t mind me calling you old man do you, Jack, old bean? I used to have to call him sir,’ he confided to Rivers. ‘He wanted me to chase Huns all the time. It was
bloody
dangerous.’
    Haldean unlinked his arm. ‘You’re drunk.’
    â€˜Just a little. Seen anyone you know? I’ve seen someone. Bloody surprising that was, all things considered. Bloody funny too, if you think about it. Give a man enough rope and he’ll hang himself.’ He started to laugh and Haldean and Rivers looked at him wearily.
    â€˜Look, Boscombe, why don’t you go somewhere and sleep it off?’ asked Haldean with diminishing patience.
    Boscombe stopped laughing. ‘Don’t tell me what to do. I don’t need you any more,
Major
Haldean. You see that woman with Whitfield? She needs me.’ Boscombe gave a knowing wink. ‘
Nice
woman. We go way back.’
    â€˜Glad to hear it,’ said Haldean with false cheerfulness. ‘Don’t let us keep you.’
    He shook off Boscombe’s groping hand and went into the tent, Rivers following. Boscombe was left swaying gently outside. ‘Little tick,’ said Haldean briefly and applied himself to a pint of shandy. ‘Who was the woman, by the way? The one Boscombe was being revoltingly suggestive about, I mean.’
    â€˜That’s Mrs Verrity. I can’t see what she’d have to do with the likes of him.’
    â€˜Me neither.’ There was a long and liquid pause. ‘Has he gone yet?’ asked Haldean, finishing his drink.
    â€˜Yes,’ said Rivers, glancing outside. ‘All clear.’
    â€˜Thank God. I want to see Mrs Griffin to talk about old times and I don’t want him around while I’m doing it. Let’s go and see if she’s free.’
    Mrs Griffin wasn’t busy; in fact she was standing outside the fortune teller’s booth, looking extremely hot in a long and artistically tattered skirt, brilliant red blouse and heavily beaded shawl. She greeted Haldean with delight. ‘Do excuse what I’m wearing, Master Jack, but I’ve got to look the part. I mean, everyone knows it’s me and when I’m just doing the tea-leaves at home I don’t bother dressing up, of course, but it’s different here. People like you to make an effort.’
    â€˜Do you really tell fortunes then, Mrs Griffin? I mean, it’s not just something you make up?’
    Mrs Griffin looked shocked. ‘Oh no, Master Jack. T’wouldn’t be right, that. I could read your hand now easy as wink. Of course in the general way I don’t charge for it – I don’t want no trouble with the police – but I have a stall at the Stanmore Parry fête to oblige her Ladyship and she asked me ever so kindly if I’d do Breedenbrook as well, as the usual lady they had was laid up and Mrs Verrity couldn’t get no one. Well, I don’t mind. It’s not very far, not really, and I did wonder if I did Mrs Verrity a favour it might count for something when it came to the home-made cakes. Twelve years I’ve been doing cakes for this fair now, and nothing more than an Honourable Mention to show for it. Still, it’s not what you know, as I always say, it’s who you know that counts. Speaking of who you know, I think this gentleman’s looking for you.’
    With a feeling of ghastly inevitability Haldean turned and