Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 122, Nos. 3 & 4. Whole Nos. 745 & 746, September/October 2003

“It’s ideal,” said Dick to Peggy, both of them watching him protectively to see he didn’t stray from the garden down towards the riverbank. “Sort of like a refuge.”

“Don’t think like that,” urged Peggy again.

“All right — it’s what I’ve been dreaming about since — you know. Is that positive enough for you? Now, will you let me take us all to the — what was it? — The Cornishman, and we’ll have a good pub lunch.”

They looked at each other meaningfully.

All the lunchtime regulars in the pub made them welcome for Peggy’s sake. She had herself been a regular there when her husband was alive, but had been less frequent since. She was of the generation of women that didn’t much like going into a pub on their own. They got themselves a table and settled in. Selecting the food was a big thing, because it was a good menu with plenty to appeal to a child. By the time they had made their decisions they seemed to have spoken to, or had advice from, half the customers in the Saloon Bar. When Jack, the landlord, brought the three piled-high plates to their table, Peggy said:

“You still looking for help at lunchtime, Jack?”

“I am. There’s folk that are willing, but not folk that are suitable.”

Peggy looked in Dick’s direction and winked.

“Oh aye?” said the landlord, interested. “Maybe we could have a chat later, young man, after your meal.”

And so it was arranged. The talk was businesslike and decisive: Dick would come down the next couple of nights to learn the business, get into the routine, then he’d start work proper at the weekend. Peggy would look after Malcolm in the middle of the day — “It’ll be a pleasure,” she said, though she did wonder how she’d cope with the unaccustomed situation. The money was far from wonderful, but it would be welcome. Dick only worried about how much he seemed to be putting on Peggy.

“When we’re well settled in, we’ll start looking for a play group for Malcolm,” he said.

“If it goes well, I might even start one myself,” said Peggy.

It certainly went well at The Cornishman. Dick was a good worker and a good listener, and the pub’s routines went like clockwork when he was on duty. He never mentioned his hotel training, but it showed. Jack thought he was manna from heaven and tried to press him into doing longer hours, but Dick was unwilling. The boy came first, he said, and he did. Nobody asked too much about his background. Everyone in the West Country is used to people passing through, casual temporary residents who come from heaven-knows-where and soon pass on. People knew that Dick had lost his wife, because Peggy had revealed that in conversation with a friend and it had got around. Nobody displayed curiosity beyond that.

Dick slept with Peggy the night he got the job. The mutual agreement was silent, and Peggy knew she had to go along with any conditions Dick attached to the affair. She knew already that Malcolm would always come first with Dick — and second and third as well. Dick stayed in her room for an hour or so, then went as usual to sleep beside the little boy in the two twin beds put together under the window.

The routine continued when he and Malcolm went to live and fend for themselves in the tiny cottage the other side of the back lane. The boy was used to finding himself alone at nights, and didn’t worry about it. He knew it wouldn’t be for long. Dick and Peggy developed a code between themselves. When he collected Malcolm, or when he met Peggy casually on his days off, he would say “See you soon” as they parted. That meant that he’d be up that night. Perhaps Peggy should have felt that she was being used, but she didn’t. She was happy to have her hours with Malcolm, which were working out better than she could have believed possible with her lack of experience of children. She found him an enchanting child, and she was happy to have the all-too-brief time with Dick at night. She had expected little of her widowhood, and Dick was a wonderful and unexpected bonus.

By the middle of June they were a settled thing, or felt like it. Peggy was refusing all potential summer tenants for the cottage, and had managed to transfer the first bookings she had already accepted to another landlord in the area. Her friends knew what the situation was, and accepted it. Summer would be a lovely time, she knew. It was the time of year she had always enjoyed most, especially as Briscow was that bit off the tourist map. Colin would be working, of course, but he was still resisting the offer of extra hours because he didn’t want to leave his son for most of the day. Malcolm was regaining his equilibrium, she felt, though it gave her a start one day when he said: “I haven’t spoken to Mummy for ages.” It wouldn’t be long before he forgot her, she thought.