Omens of Death Read Free Page A

officer, for when Montague removed his hat he did reveal a head of very thick, dark-grey hair. Many balding Crickledonians were slightly envious, perhaps wondering if he used a secret potion gleaned from the Pluke family records, or whether he washed his hair in the water of horse troughs.
    Whatever his secret, he had an astonishingly good head of hair for a man in late middle-age. However, some acute observers of the social scene considered his hair-style was not the most modern, nor was it flattering to his distinctive and strong face, but Millicent was confident that her tonsorial skills were just as professional as those of any of the local barbers. Besides, she felt that a man of Montague’s status should not have to queue for haircuts alongside farm labourers, butchers’ boys and lorry drivers. One never knew what one might catch from combs which had scraped the heads of some of the people who haunted Crickledale’s masculine hair salons.
    The face beneath the Pluke hair and hat wore heavy black-rimmed spectacles over thoughtful grey eyes. The eyebrows were lush and dark to match the colour of his hair, while Montague’s teeth were his own, very white and well kept. A somewhat prominent nose protruded above a mouth which rarely smiled, while a clean-shaven, determined jaw-line hung beneath his long, rather narrow face which always seemed pink with good health, a tribute to his daily exercise.
    Montague favoured expensive brown brogue shoes, enhanced with light beige-coloured spats which were a family heirloom. His great-grandfather, grandfather and father had all worn these self-same spats. Montague, however, had no children — he and Millicent didn’t indulge in the sort of behaviour that begat families — and so the destiny of the Pluke spats was a constant source of worry to him. He had often considered leaving them to Crickledale Folk Museum as it did have a small ‘Clothes of a Bygone Era’ section.
    The rest of his clothing was of interest too — he always wore a very old and worn beige-coloured Burberry check-patterned overcoat. Some experts said it was the very first coat ever made by Burberry and should be in a museum, but Mr Pluke denied that, saying it was a coaching coat which had belonged to an ancestor. It had a fitted cape about the shoulders, a large collar, wrist flaps and huge pockets. In one of the pockets he carried his lunch — a cheese sandwich and an apple. He had lunch at his desk, so that Millicent could undertake her many social engagements without the worry of ministering to his needs at midday.
    The famous Pluke greatcoat was rather large for Montague, but he wore it because it was a family heirloom. Like the spats, it had belonged to his great-grandfather, grandfather and father, all of whom had been rather tall gentlemen of generous width. Great-grandfather had been a coachman and had worn this coat during journeys aboard the ‘Highflyer’, but time had taken its toll. Now the wrist flaps were invariably undone because they lacked the necessary buttons; all the edges — hems, tips of sleeves, epaulettes, pockets — were worn and tattered, and the coat had what some described as a ‘lived-in’ appearance. Newcomers to the town had often commented in private that they thought he bought his clothes from Oxfam, whereas the local people knew the impressive history of the Pluke greatcoat. It had even survived two coach crashes and one fire. He thought he might leave it, like the spats, to the Folk Museum because he had sometimes visualised a full-size wax model of himself in the coat and spats after his death.
    His trousers, always in need of a crease, had deep turn-ups and were very similar in colour to his greatcoat, a beige check design. The fact that they rode at half-mast meant they did reveal the full glory of his spats, which concealed his socks — a good thing, perhaps, because he favoured socks in unsympathetic colours like pink, white or yellow. Montague wore the same