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By Root 665 0

and he recognized it straight away as the most luxurious of the set: it was a Rolls-Royce Phantom II. A whisper ran through the crowd as people realized who had arrived. It was young Mr Frederick Bennett, the new landlord, making his first public appearance in Stambleton since his father’s death. Seeing the parade about to start, he strode over to find a place at the front of the spectators, followed by a very thin woman whose long fur cloak flapped open to reveal a startlingly short dress. She squealed as her high-heeled shoes slithered on the uneven cobblestones. The couple wriggled in between the Langfords, right opposite the vicar, who was about to signal the start of the service. Frederick Bennett kept whispering to Mrs Langford during the hymns and between the prayers. No one else said anything, but it was as if a shout of disapproval rang around the square. At eleven o’clock Johnny could sense that his mother was having trouble holding back tears, and he took her hand for the two-minute silence. The atmosphere was ruined by several bouts of coughing from Mr Bennett’s companion, whose automatic ‘Pardon me’ came out louder than even she could have expected.

After some marching by the old soldiers, and the laying of wreaths, the Mayor made a short speech. Then the crowd dissolved into little pockets of chatter. Johnny overheard more than one comment that Frederick Bennett wasn’t a patch on his father; but he couldn’t help being impressed by the car. He watched as Mr Bennett and his companion climbed back into the huge automobile. He saw them lighting cigarettes and giggling together before Bennett turned the wheel and the car screeched away towards his big house.

Dr Langford put his hand on Johnny’s shoulder. ‘There goes your new landlord, Johnny,’ he said. ‘What do you make of him?’

Johnny tried to be polite. ‘He was a little rude,’ he said. ‘Do you think his wife is ill?’

‘No. And I don’t think she’s his wife either, Johnny. Don’t worry. That cough of hers probably has more to do with the cigarettes than any disease.’

‘So she hasn’t got phth … phthis … whatever it’s called?’

‘Phthisis … TB … No.’ Dr Langford chuckled. ‘She’s not going to end up in the sanatorium.’ And he winked, adding, ‘I’m pleased to say.’

‘Actually, I wanted to ask you something about the sanatorium,’ said Johnny. ‘I was wondering if I could visit Olwen’s family there? I thought they might know how she’s getting on in Wales. I’ve been worrying about her a bit. I could ask them for her address. I could write to her.’

‘That’s very sweet of you,’ said the doctor, making Johnny blush. ‘But I’d advise you to stay away. You’d probably be safe, but it’s best not to take any risks. In any case, the sanatorium has very strict visiting rules. It’s usually relatives only. This Olwen isn’t a relation of yours, is she?’

‘No. Just a friend. And I haven’t known her very long. I’ve never even met her parents. They wouldn’t know who I was.’

‘Why don’t you leave it to me, then? I still go to the sanatorium from time to time. If you want to send them something or write them a note, I’d be happy to take it with me next time I’m called in to help with a case. Just come to my house and drop it off.’

Johnny said thank you, and promised to take something round in the next few days. Then he rejoined Winnie, who was talking to Mrs Langford. Mr Bennett was the subject of their conversation too.

‘The family were my husband’s patients,’ said Mrs Langford. ‘So of course we’ve known him most of his life. His father and my husband were very close, you know, particularly towards the end.’

Johnny hoped that Winnie would steel herself to ask for a pay rise. He thought that perhaps, since Mrs Langford had just been reminded of how his mother had been widowed so young, she might show some pity. Winnie had sensed the moment too. ‘You’ve heard that Mr Bennett’s putting our rent up, I suppose?’ she began nervously. ‘We may have to move out of the house.’

‘Yes, dear,’ Mrs Langford cut in, patting Winnie’s hand. ‘Times are hard. Hard even for us, I’m afraid. We’re all going