funny way, a death often rather bucks them up, as long as they aren't too close to whoever it is!'
She laughed as she spoke. Pascoe grinned back at her.
'How many do you have at a time?' he inquired.
'Oh, we can take up to eighty and we've squeezed a few more in from time to time, especially during the summer.'
'That'll be when the big demand from families comes, is it? Wanting to get away to the Costa Brava without gran?' said Headingley.
'Partly,' she replied. 'Though there's a constant demand for that kind of accommodation all the year round. It's not just people wanting to get away on their own summer holidays, you know. It's people who need a break in their own homes without having the old person on their backs twenty-four hours a day. You've no idea what it can do to people. And it can be very awkward for us at times.'
'How's that?'
'Oh, when it comes to going home time. Sometimes the family ring up and say it's not convenient, could the old person stay here another day or two? Or very occasionally they just don't turn up at all to collect them and when they're contacted, they say that's it, they've had enough, the State can look after them now! But worst of all is the old folk who don't want to go back themselves. That's really heartbreaking.'
She ushered them to the front door and waved them off with the same geniality Pascoe was sure she bestowed on her elderly residents.
As they drove off, Pascoe asked Headingley, 'How was the bike, by the way?'
'Sound as a bell, which it had,' answered Headingley. 'It was the old boy's own, he rode it round town regularly, always insisted on bringing it down here so's he could get to the pub. Good lights, back and front. Good tyres. Steady handbrakes.'
They continued in silence till they saw the sign Paradise Hall Country House Hotel and Restaurant. A smaller notice attached to the ornately scrolled board announced that the hotel was closed until Easter, but the restaurant was open as usual.
The drive wound its way through fields filled with sheep and cattle rather than the lunatics hoped for by the owner of The Towers. Of the original extensive grounds only the neglected formal garden immediately surrounding the house had been retained. The Hall itself was an undistinguished but not unpleasant building, slightly in need of a lick of paint and a spot of pointing. Pascoe had never eaten in the restaurant but had heard mixed reports. Detractors and enthusiasts alike were agreed upon the impudence of its prices and when Pascoe glanced at the luncheon menu standing on the unattended bar, he said in amazement, 'Pissed or sober, there's no way Andy Dalziel'd pay that for a bowl of soup!'
'Doesn't seem likely he was paying, does it?' said Headingley, helping himself to a handful of peanuts.
'Charlesworth, you mean? Or Kassell? I can't see where this guy fits in, can you? Estate manager at Haycroft Grange. William Pledger's shooting parties. It doesn't sound like fat Andy's scene.'
'He's very respectable, that's the main thing,' said Headingley, who wasn't looking for aggro.
'Maybe. But his story doesn't gell with Warsop's, so who's making mistakes? What was he a major in, by the way?'
'The Mid-Yorkies,' said Headingley. 'I looked him up. Got out in 1975. He'd been out in Hong Kong, made some contact with Pledger out there, followed it up, and landed this job.'
'You've been working fast,' admired Pascoe.
'No sweat,' said Headingley complacently. 'There's this lass works on the Council switchboard. She knows everything.'
Pascoe laughed and then said seriously, 'George, what precisely is it you're doing? I mean, how do you see your function?'
'I wish I could be precise, Peter,' said Headingley. 'I'm going through the motions without going through the motions, so to speak. Which is to say, I'm doing a proper job, but mainly, I reckon, so the DCC can say, if he's asked, which he's still hoping he won't be, that yes, of course we've done a proper job of looking into this
She laughed as she spoke. Pascoe grinned back at her.
'How many do you have at a time?' he inquired.
'Oh, we can take up to eighty and we've squeezed a few more in from time to time, especially during the summer.'
'That'll be when the big demand from families comes, is it? Wanting to get away to the Costa Brava without gran?' said Headingley.
'Partly,' she replied. 'Though there's a constant demand for that kind of accommodation all the year round. It's not just people wanting to get away on their own summer holidays, you know. It's people who need a break in their own homes without having the old person on their backs twenty-four hours a day. You've no idea what it can do to people. And it can be very awkward for us at times.'
'How's that?'
'Oh, when it comes to going home time. Sometimes the family ring up and say it's not convenient, could the old person stay here another day or two? Or very occasionally they just don't turn up at all to collect them and when they're contacted, they say that's it, they've had enough, the State can look after them now! But worst of all is the old folk who don't want to go back themselves. That's really heartbreaking.'
She ushered them to the front door and waved them off with the same geniality Pascoe was sure she bestowed on her elderly residents.
As they drove off, Pascoe asked Headingley, 'How was the bike, by the way?'
'Sound as a bell, which it had,' answered Headingley. 'It was the old boy's own, he rode it round town regularly, always insisted on bringing it down here so's he could get to the pub. Good lights, back and front. Good tyres. Steady handbrakes.'
They continued in silence till they saw the sign Paradise Hall Country House Hotel and Restaurant. A smaller notice attached to the ornately scrolled board announced that the hotel was closed until Easter, but the restaurant was open as usual.
The drive wound its way through fields filled with sheep and cattle rather than the lunatics hoped for by the owner of The Towers. Of the original extensive grounds only the neglected formal garden immediately surrounding the house had been retained. The Hall itself was an undistinguished but not unpleasant building, slightly in need of a lick of paint and a spot of pointing. Pascoe had never eaten in the restaurant but had heard mixed reports. Detractors and enthusiasts alike were agreed upon the impudence of its prices and when Pascoe glanced at the luncheon menu standing on the unattended bar, he said in amazement, 'Pissed or sober, there's no way Andy Dalziel'd pay that for a bowl of soup!'
'Doesn't seem likely he was paying, does it?' said Headingley, helping himself to a handful of peanuts.
'Charlesworth, you mean? Or Kassell? I can't see where this guy fits in, can you? Estate manager at Haycroft Grange. William Pledger's shooting parties. It doesn't sound like fat Andy's scene.'
'He's very respectable, that's the main thing,' said Headingley, who wasn't looking for aggro.
'Maybe. But his story doesn't gell with Warsop's, so who's making mistakes? What was he a major in, by the way?'
'The Mid-Yorkies,' said Headingley. 'I looked him up. Got out in 1975. He'd been out in Hong Kong, made some contact with Pledger out there, followed it up, and landed this job.'
'You've been working fast,' admired Pascoe.
'No sweat,' said Headingley complacently. 'There's this lass works on the Council switchboard. She knows everything.'
Pascoe laughed and then said seriously, 'George, what precisely is it you're doing? I mean, how do you see your function?'
'I wish I could be precise, Peter,' said Headingley. 'I'm going through the motions without going through the motions, so to speak. Which is to say, I'm doing a proper job, but mainly, I reckon, so the DCC can say, if he's asked, which he's still hoping he won't be, that yes, of course we've done a proper job of looking into this
Similar Books
