The Killing in the Café

EIGHTEEN

The launch for the new incarnation of Polly’s Cake Shop had been scheduled for the Saturday before Christmas. Some members of the Action Committee, including Jude (who still hadn’t managed to get off the bloody thing) and Arnold Bloom (who saw it as his mission in life to oppose any proposal made by Quintus Braithwaite), had been of the opinion that this was not a good date, because everyone would be scurrying about preparing for the festive season and wouldn’t have time to spend drinking free coffee and eating free cupcakes.

But they were overruled by the Commodore, whose view was that Fethering Parade was never fuller than in the weeks before Christmas. Also there would be a bonhomous Christmas Spirit in the air, which could only help to make the launch a joyous occasion. And given the media blitz that Lesley Tarquin was going to unleash about the event, soon no one in West Sussex would be unaware of Polly’s Cake Shop’s resurrection.

It had also been agreed by the SPCS Action Committee that Polly’s Cake Shop would be closed from the Monday before the launch for ‘necessary refurbishment’. And Lesley Tarquin had had the idea of having ‘a mega-countdown’ sign on the door, starting on the Monday with ‘FIVE DAYS TO REOPENING’, and building to ‘REOPENING TOMORROW’ on the Friday. There would be lots of streamers and lametta and balloons for the Saturday, and every visitor would have a ‘WELCOME TO POLLY’S COMMUNITY CAFÉ’ badge stuck on them on arrival. Lesley knew ‘some really good places in London that do that kind of party/event stuff’.

When Jude passed on this information to Carole, it was greeted by a predictable blast of cold air. Being a grandmother twice over had not diluted her cynicism about certain things. ‘“Christmas Spirit”?’ she’d echoed derisively. ‘If Christmas Spirit does exist at all, there’s certainly no evidence of it in the weeks running up to the event. Everyone stressed to bits, pressured into excessive purchasing of presents, anxious about all the cooking that will have to be done, and paranoid at the prospect of having to spend a fixed sentence of time with relatives they can’t stand.’

Good old Carole, Jude had thought, she can always be relied on to cast a wet blanket over any potential ignition of jollity. But as Christmas – and the relaunch – drew nearer, Jude found she was developing more sympathy with her neighbour’s views. Scrooge ruled in High Tor and Woodside Cottage.

Since her encounter with Phoebe in the kitchen of Hiawatha, Jude had had no further calls from the woman. Her Volunteer Rota was undoubtedly being worked out, but she had got the message loud and clear that Jude had no wish to be a part of it, a decision which, undoubtedly, all of her Joannas and Samanthas would have supported.

In the run-up to the relaunch a predictable ritual had been played out between the two neighbours. As soon as the date was fixed, Jude mentioned it to Carole and got the huffy response that: ‘I’ve got better things to do with my time than go to that kind of event.’ So the subject wasn’t mentioned again until Carole herself raised it in a casual way. ‘What was the date when they’re going to do the relaunch of Polly’s Cake Shop?’

Jude had told her and then asked, ‘Why, were you thinking of coming?’

‘Oh, good heavens, no. Just wondering when it was supposed to be happening. Because I haven’t seen any publicity for it locally.’

‘Don’t worry, you will soon. We have a publicity officer on the committee, fresh from a London PR job, who is going to “carpet-bomb the punters”. Soon everyone in the southeast will know about the launch.’

Carole sniffed. In her view all publicity was evidence of the trait that her parents always discouraged in her – ‘showing off’.

‘Are you sure you don’t want to come?’ Jude asked mischievously.

‘No, of course I don’t. I may be in Fulham looking after Chloe that weekend.’

‘Ah. Fine.’

But as the relevant weekend approached, it turned out that Carole’s services would not be required in Fulham. So, with characteristic lack of grace, she said to Jude that she ‘might come along to Polly’s, just to see what kind of a mess they’d made of the place’.

By the Friday, the day before the launch, Carole Seddon was positively excited about what she was going to see in Polly’s Cake Shop – or, as it was now called, Polly’s Community Café. She also felt good because she reckoned she had finally tracked down perfect Christmas presents for both Lily and Chloe.

The impression they had, on entering the premises for the relaunch (and having their ‘WELCOME TO POLLY’S COMMUNITY CAFÉ’ badges stuck on), was of considerable change. During the five days of the café’s closure, the rough white plaster of the walls had been smoothed down and painted a duck-egg blue. The red and white gingham table cloths had been replaced by ones in French navy, and the horse brasses and warming pans hanging from the beams had given way to impressionistic splurges of local seascapes. ‘Done by this wonderful little woman we know,’ Phoebe Braithwaite explained later. ‘So talented. We bought all the pictures from her outright, which means we can sell them to customers – who I’m sure will just love them – and then all the money we make will of course go straight into Polly’s funds.’

Whereas the previous décor of the café had had a distinct retro style of the 1940s, its new incarnation seemed to Carole stranded in time, not fussy enough to be archaic nor yet minimalist enough to be modern. Jude had similar views, and also wondered how much of Kent Warboys’ twenty grand had been eaten up by the refurbishment. ‘At first,’ Phoebe Braithwaite explained later, ‘we had thought of getting together a huge community group to strip the place down and do the redecoration ourselves. But wiser counsels prevailed and we decided we didn’t want to spoil the café for a ha’porth of tar and it would be cheaper to get in a professional to do the job. And we’ve got this wonderful little man who’s done all the decorating work at Hiawatha and …’ Jude also wondered how much that had cost.

But the expense of the decorating must have been small beer compared to that of the new costumes for the waitresses. Gone were the black and white uniforms of Agatha Christie adaptations (and popular sexual fantasies), which had toned so well with the previous retro style. In their place, Phoebe Braithwaite’s cohort of Joannas or Samanthas were wearing short-skirted tunics in French navy, on the front of which were embroidered the anchor and cannon motif which had distinguished Quintus Braithwaite’s notepaper. ‘We wanted a completely fresh look,’ Phoebe Braithwaite explained later. ‘And I know this wonderful little woman in London who runs up stuff like that on an absolute shoestring. She’s done so many “special occasion” dresses for me. Her own original designs are but so, so economical.’

Jude again wondered how much of Kent Warboys’ twenty grand was left.

She overheard Phoebe responding to compliments on the café’s new look. ‘Well, I think it’s very important that we take the place a bit upmarket. The Seaview Café on the beach is always there for day-trippers and people from the Downside estate. We want Polly’s to have a bit more cachet …’

It was hard to discover what the format of the relaunch was. The people of Fethering, all intrigued to inspect the makeover, drifted in to be fed coffee and cupcakes. Phoebe Braithwaite’s blue-liveried Joannas or Samanthas were very efficient at serving these. The café’s Italian coffee machine did not present any problems for them – they all had much more advanced versions in their own kitchens. And serving a cupcake on a plate with a doily on it was not rocket science. ‘Just for the launch,’ Phoebe Braithwaite explained later, ‘we did buy in the cupcakes. Of course we’ll bake everything on site when the café’s up and running. But with all the decorating going on, it was difficult to get into the kitchen at Polly’s. And I do know this very clever little woman in Brighton who does the most splendid bakery of all kinds. And I thought having the words “Welcome to Polly’s Community Café” in icing on them was a justifiable expense … as a one-off for this very special occasion. And also I thought it’d be good publicity … you know, a photo of one of the cupcakes in the local press – or, even better, on the telly-box – would be just massive free publicity.’

For the relaunch Polly’s doors had opened at ten thirty. Tasteful Vivaldi played in the background, though it was soon inaudible against the clash of voices. Phoebe’s Volunteer Rota of Joannas or Samanthas were squeakily loud in their high-pitched chatter, and their husbands, all dressed in crushed strawberry corduroy trousers and quilted khaki gilets, brayed constant hilarities to each other. The locals, as usual, exchanged the latest Fethering gossip.

One person who hoped to be conspicuous by his absence was Arnold Bloom. He boycotted the relaunch as an expression of his protest against the changing of the café’s name. But, sadly for him, nobody noticed he wasn’t there.

A long time elapsed before it became clear whether there was going to be any focus for the morning’s activities. Or was everyone just going to sit around all morning sipping coffee and eating expensively iced cupcakes? Eventually it was established that Quintus Braithwaite would be saying a few words of welcome at twelve noon. Having heard enough of his oratory to last a lifetime, Jude didn’t feel tempted to stay that long.

The one thing there was no sign of amongst the throng of cupcake-munchers was a strong media presence. Certainly no sign of television cameras, not even radio reporters with microphones. And among the guests whom Carole and Jude did not recognize, none had the looks – or indeed the notebooks – of press reporters.

They were close enough to hear a rather fretful Quintus raise this issue with his publicity officer and to hear the reply from Lesley Tarquin, dressed for the occasion in purple leggings, orange baseball boots and a dress that appeared to be made of lametta. Apparently Vince at the Fethering Observer had started his Christmas break early and nobody from the West Sussex Gazette or Sussex Life was interested. Jezza from FOAM FM was tied up with a Secret Santa Charity Foam-Fight, Will at Radio Solent was hosting a Twenty-Four-Hour Christmas Carol-a-Thon, and Flick at Radios Surrey and Sussex hadn’t got back to her, in spite of …

Jude caught Carole’s eye. ‘Shall we slip away to the pub?’ she said.

The Crown and Anchor would fill up later with weary shoppers whose Christmas spirit was already draining away, but at half past eleven when Carole and Jude got there they were among the first customers. Zosia, who was in charge of the bar, greeted them warmly and, without waiting for an order, poured two large glasses of New Zealand Sauvignon Blanc.

Carole said instinctively, ‘Oh, surely it’s a bit early in the day to be—?’

‘We’ve earned it,’ Jude interrupted. ‘A reward for surviving that scrum at Polly’s.’

‘Well, I just thought that maybe …’ And with that Carole’s objections trickled away.

As they moved across to their regular alcove, someone called out Jude’s name. She looked across to the source of the sound and saw the waitress Binnie Swales and the chef Hammo whom she’d met with Sara Courtney at Polly’s some weeks before. Both had pints of Guinness in front of them.

‘I see you were there then,’ Binnie continued accusingly.

Jude couldn’t think what was meant until, looking down at her coat, she saw the ‘WELCOME TO POLLY’S COMMUNITY CAFÉ’ was still stuck there. Carole, needless to say, had removed hers at the first opportunity after they’d left the café.

‘Yes, we were there,’ Jude admitted. ‘Were you not invited?’

‘God, no.’ Binnie chuckled. ‘We would have lowered the tone far too much. We’re never going to fit in with Phoebe Braithwaite’s Bitch Brigade, are we?’

‘What about Sara?’ Jude suddenly remembered she hadn’t seen her at the relaunch.

‘She wasn’t invited either.’

‘Besides,’ said Hammo sarcastically, ‘having people there who actually know how to run a café … well, that would have spoiled the image, wouldn’t it?’

Jude chuckled wryly. ‘Oh, this, by the way, is my friend Carole.’

Carole flashed a short smile at them and was set to continue to their alcove. On the whole she tried to avoid meeting Jude’s friends – they too often turned out to be rather flaky, New Age people. But she got more interested when Jude said the two in the pub worked at Polly’s Cake Shop. ‘Or should that be – “used to work at Polly’s Cake Shop”?’

‘No, we’re still there,’ replied Binnie. She was wearing a fiercely yellow cardigan and green trousers decorated with a design of large red peonies. Hammo had on jeans and a dark hoodie.

‘Oh yes,’ Hammo agreed. ‘Working out our notice.’

‘Ah.’

‘Do join us,’ offered Binnie, pushing back into her bun some grey hair that had escaped. Jude’s eyes checked quickly with Carole’s and received permission so they sat down at Binnie and Hammo’s table.

‘Working out your notice?’ Jude picked up.

‘Yes, just a month,’ Binnie replied. ‘We were told last week. Means we’ll be out of a job in the middle of January.’

‘Which is just about the worst possible time of year in the catering business,’ said Hammo. ‘Everyone takes on extra staff running up to Christmas, then they let them all go after New Year’s Eve. So there’s lots of people out there looking for jobs, and business is such crap during January and February that no one’s hiring.’

‘No,’ Binnie agreed. ‘I’ve worked in a lot of the local pubs and they never take on anyone in January. Used to be a regular behind the bar of the Fethering Yacht Club – nice easy job that was, did it for years – but there’s someone else who’s got her feet under the table there now. I’m never going to get another job at my age.’

‘So you’re neither of you keen on the concept of Polly’s Community Café?’ asked Carole.

‘You could say that.’ Hammo grinned wryly. ‘I’d tend to use stronger language, but not in the company of three ladies.’

‘Your delicacy is appreciated,’ said Jude. ‘But you’ve made me feel rather guilty. I did raise the issue at committee of what would happen to the existing staff, but the meeting moved on to other topics. I’m sorry I should have pursued it further. I didn’t think through the ramifications.’

‘You are not alone,’ said Hammo, ‘in not having thought through the ramifications. I am extremely …’ he was about to use a stronger word but curbed the instinct ‘… extremely annoyed about it. Just moved down from “the Smoke” to Littlehampton six months ago with the girlfriend and the little one. Got a flat. And a mortgage. So you are right. I am less than enthused about Polly’s Cake Shop becoming a Community Project.’

‘Don’t you have any legal redress?’

Hammo shook his head and Binnie explained, ‘Our contracts specify a month’s notice on either side. Josie Achter wasn’t the friendliest of bosses, but at least she was straight. And I’d known for a while that she was thinking of selling up, so I thought that’d just mean a new boss and everything would continue working in just the same way. Never occurred to me that the place would be taken over by the community.’ The distaste with which she spoke the word was worthy of Carole.

‘If it’s any comfort,’ said Jude, ‘I don’t think the café will run for very long as a Community Project.’ What she’d seen at the morning’s launch did not suggest that the new venture was on a very sound financial footing. ‘Initiatives like that do have a habit of coming unstuck quite quickly.’

‘Not quickly enough for us,’ said Binnie gloomily. ‘So I’m afraid no, Jude, it’s not any comfort.’

‘Of course,’ said Carole, ‘it’ll be the same for your friend too, won’t it?’

‘Which friend?’ asked Jude, not very quick on the uptake.

‘Sara Courtney. She’ll be out of a job too, won’t she?’

Binnie snorted derisively. ‘Don’t you worry about her. She’ll be all right.’

‘Oh?’

‘Got this new boyfriend, hasn’t she?’

Hammo was incensed by the reminder. ‘Only the bastard who’s shafted us, isn’t he? Kent Bloody Warboys! Oh, don’t you worry about Sara. She’ll be all right with Kent Warboys paying her bills.’

Jude wondered whether that was true. Until her mental breakdown, Sara had been a very self-reliant woman, always running her own businesses. She wouldn’t take kindly to the idea of being a kept woman. But it wasn’t worth raising that with Binnie and Hammo in their current mood.

Carole suddenly realized that, in the context of their decelerating investigation into Amos Green’s death, she was in the presence of two potentially valuable witnesses. Still rather miffed that Jude hadn’t told her earlier about Sara Courtney’s sighting of the body in Polly’s Cake Shop, she felt she had some catching up to do. And now she was being presented with the perfect opportunity to do it.

‘Going off at something of a tangent,’ she said, ‘you two presumably heard about Jude and me finding a body on the beach?’

‘Of course we did,’ said Binnie. ‘Come on, we do live in Fethering. Round here everyone knows if an empty suntan-cream bottle is found on Fethering Beach, let alone a dead body.’

‘So did the police talk to you about it?’

Both Binnie and Hammo looked puzzled. ‘Why should they?’ asked Binnie.

Of course. Only Sara herself, Jude and now Carole knew what had been found in the store room. ‘Sorry, I gathered they’d talked to everyone locally.’

‘Not everyone.’

‘No, obviously not everyone. But I thought they might have come to Polly’s, you know, being a social centre of the village, to see if anyone there recognized the man.’

‘Well, they didn’t,’ said Hammo.

When she thought about it, Carole realized that this made sense. The police of course were in that great majority of people who were unaware of any connection between Amos Green and Polly’s Cake Shop.

‘Mind you,’ said Binnie Swales, ‘if they had asked, I could have told them a thing or two.’

‘Oh? Do you mean you recognized the man?’

‘When his photo was on the front of the Fethering Observer, oh yes, I recognized him.’

‘What, had you known him a long time?’

‘No. Only saw him the once.’

‘When was that?’ asked Jude.

‘Saturday, a couple of months back.’

‘Would that have been the third of October?’

Binnie did a quick calculation. ‘Yes, you’re right.’

‘And where did you see him?’

‘In Polly’s. He ordered a large Americano. Very charming he was; had a way with him. One of those men who can make a woman feel not quite so old for a moment or two.’

‘Did you see him too, Hammo?’ asked Carole.

The chef shook his head. ‘Busy in the kitchen, wasn’t I?’

‘Did he say anything to you, Binnie? Apart from the compliments, that is.’

‘Yes. When he paid his bill – and he tipped a whole quid, which is a lot for an Americano, even a large one – he asked if Josie Achter was around.’

‘But she wasn’t.’

‘No, I told him she was in Brighton. I gave him her mobile number – and Rosalie’s. Thought he might be able to track her down.’

‘But you don’t know whether he did or not?’

‘No idea.’