Simon Brett [Simon Brett] - Mrs. Pargeter’s Plot

Table of Contents

A NICE CLASS OF CORPSE

MRS., PRESUMED DEAD

MRS. PARGETERS PACKAGE

MRS. PARGETERS POUND OF FLESH

MRS. PARGETERS PLOT

MRS. PARGETERS POINT OF HONOUR

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This title first published in Great Britain in 1996

by Macmillan London Ltd

ebook edition first published in 2012 by Severn Select an imprint of Severn House Publishers Limited

Copyright 1996 Simon Brett.

All rights reserved.

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

A CIP catalogue record for this title is available from the British Library.

ISBN-13: 978-1-4483-0020-4 (epub)

Except where actual historical events and characters are being described for the storyline of this novel, all situations in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to living persons is purely coincidental.

This ebook produced by

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Falkirk, Stirlingshire, Scotland.

To Beth Porter,
WHO HAD FAITH

And this, Gary, is where Ill be living, said Mrs Pargeter, as the limousine came to a halt by the gate.

Very nice position. The young chauffeur tipped his cap back and looked appreciatively up at the four-acre plot. It was still only a field, sloping indulgently down towards them. In a central position surrounded by cement mixers, diggers and strapped piles of bricks the foundations of a substantial dwelling were outlined by wooden posts and trenches. When it was completed, the house would command magnificent views over the valley below. Its outlook would be green, pastoral, with artlessly scattered clumps of trees in the folds of hills, quintessentially English.

Never really seen you as a country person, Mrs Pargeter, Gary went on.

Dont know till you try, do you? Thats true of everything. The plump white-haired widow chuckled. Might be just the thing for my declining years little old lady devoting her life to breeding roses and bottling chutney.

Cant see it.

Well, no, nor can I not instinctively, like. But you never know. The lids wrinkled round Mrs Pargeters violet-blue eyes as she tried to make the effort of imagination. Not achieving instant results, and not too worried by the lack of them, she moved cheerily on. Its only just over an hour from London, anyway. I can always escape when the birdsong and pure country air become too oppressive. Get back to my natural environment where I can hear the birds cough, eh?

Suppose so, yes. I like the country, said Gary, thats why Denise and meve moved out but I reckon it might be a bit quiet for you, after the life youve led.

Mrs Pargeter was imperturbable, as she smoothed down the bright silk skirt over her substantial thighs. Itll be fine. Anyway, it makes sense economically. Ive never wanted any of my money just to lie idle. A little blush. And it makes sense sentimentally, too. She responded to Garys quizzical look. My husband bought the plot years ago. One of his pipe dreams, this was. Always planned that wed build a house here for our retirement, but... it was not to be.

The chauffeur nodded soberly. He was a saint, your husband, Mrs Pargeter.

She indulged herself in a moment of dewy-eyed retrospection. Oh yes. Yes, he was.

Mind you, cant see him having found much to do in the country either.

There was a side of Mr Pargeter you never saw, Mrs Pargeter reproved. A quieter, less flamboyant side. A side that would really have responded to country life and country pursuits.

Gary chuckled. Huntin, shootin and fishin, eh? Well, I can believe he might have enjoyed the shootin bit, but... In the rear-view mirror he caught the glacial violet-blue stare from his employers eyes, and the words dried up.

Further embarrassment was fortunately prevented by the approach from the opposite direction of a mud-spattered green Range Rover. Ah, thisll be Concrete, said Mrs Pargeter.

The Range Rover stopped almost bumper to bumper with the limousine, and a burly man in a checked shirt got out. He had thinning ginger curls and skin the colour of the bricks that were his stockin-trade. He came forward with hand outstretched to greet Mrs Pargeter as she emerged from the limousine.

Bloody marvellous to see you, Mrs P. Howve you been?

Great, thank you, Concrete. Dont think you know Gary...

The chauffeur, also by now out of the car, shook the builders hand heartily. Never actually met, have we, Concrete... but Ive heard a lot about you.

Nothing bad, I hope?

No, no. Good news all round. Everyone who worked for Mr Pargeter said Concrete Jacket was a real craftsman.

Oh. The builder shrugged modestly. Well... always did my best.

People still talk about that tunnel you built under the Nat West bank in Chelmsford. And the safe deposit box you fixed into the side of Chelsea Barracks.

The builders face turned a deeper brick-red. Yeah, I was quite pleased with those, and all.

Best builder around, I heard.

Concrete Jacket shrugged again. In spite of his embarrassment, he was enjoying this.

Mrs Pargeters next words, however, cut him down to size. Best builder around when you are around, yes. Concrete looked aggrieved as she explained to Gary: Trouble with most builders theyre always away doing other jobs. With Concrete, though, he was always being put away after doing other jobs.

Did have a run of bad luck, the builder conceded.

Bad luck? You were in and out of prison like Lord Longford.

Well, yes, it was difficult. After your husband died, I got in with some bad company and

It meant all the jobs you started kept having two-or three-year interruptions in the middle of them.

All right, I know. But thats all changed now. Totally different. I tell you, now Ive started on this house for you, Mrs Pargeter, nothing nothing on earth is going to interrupt it till the jobs good and finished.

I hope youre right, she said darkly.

Trust me.

They paced through the relief map formed by the foundations. Concretes steel-toed boots splashed unconcerned, while Mrs Pargeters high heels and Garys shiny black shoes negotiated the mud more circumspectly. As she looked around, Mrs Pargeter felt a little bubble of excitement at the thought of the house that would rise from these footings. It would be her dream home, her bolt-hole, a place that really expressed her personality. So, Concrete, I just walk out of the sitting room here into the dining room here for an elegant dinner...

Exactly. The builder was all smiles now he was back in her good books. Not forgetting to pick up a nice bottle of plonk from the wine cellar.

Theres a wine cellar?

You bet. He pointed to a square opening in the ground which was covered over by a couple of planks. Your husband always used to say every house should have places where you can hide stuff.

Mrs Pargeter smiled ingenuously. Did he? I wonder what on earth he meant...

Concrete Jacket went on, And I can do the parquet flooring lovely sos nobodyd ever know the entrance was there.