Simon Brett - The Corpse on the Court

‘I’m sure we’ll find out in time.’

‘And indeed when he got there. Does Lockleigh House have security cameras, because if it does, then there’d be a record of-’

‘It doesn’t have security cameras.’

‘Isn’t that rather unusual? For a big place like that?’

‘It doesn’t have security cameras because, being an old people’s home, there’s someone on duty all the time. Also a lot of the residents suffer from insomnia. Only an extremely stupid burglar is going to break into a place like that.’

‘But if there’s someone on duty all the time, then they might have seen when Reggie’s car arrived and-’

Again the hands were raised. ‘Jude, Jude. I really don’t want to talk about this either. I’ve just lost a very close friend. I need a bit of time to get used to that idea.’

For a moment, to her surprise, Jude wished Carole was with her. Her neighbour would have had no inhibitions about picking through the details of an unexplained death.

But then she looked across at Piers and was overcome by a wave of sympathy. She could see from his face that he really was suffering. Though he erected defences of humour, referring to the ‘poor old bugger’, asking which chase Reggie had died on, the death had affected him profoundly. Jude reached across and placed her plump hand on his thin one. ‘Sorry,’ she murmured.

‘Don’t worry about it,’ he said. ‘How was the Old Boys’ doubles?’

‘Fascinating. I really did get more of a feeling of the game from watching them. They don’t move about much, but they hit the ball beautifully.’

‘They were all pretty good players in their time.’

‘And how old are they?’

‘Oh, I’m not sure that it’s polite to ask that. Still, you reckon you’ve now got an idea of the rules now?’

‘I get some of it. The bit that still doesn’t make any sense is why they change ends.’

‘But I told you about that. It’s to do with the chases. When two chases are laid, or only one if the score has reached-’

It was Jude’s turn to raise her hands. ‘Please, Piers, please. We’ve established there are subjects you don’t want to talk about at the moment. Well, I’ve got one too — and it’s the rules of real tennis.’

He grinned. ‘Very well.’ He looked up towards the pub door to see the entrance of four elderly gentlemen. ‘Ah, here come the Old Boys themselves. Maybe you’ll take being taught the rules better from them. .?’

‘I doubt it,’ said Jude.

She knew the other three elderly gentlemen who entered because Wally Edgington-Bewley had introduced them with punctilious politeness in the dedans before they had started playing. Their names were Rod Farrar, Jonty Westmacott and Tom Ruthven. They all wore a kind of uniform of variegated cardigans and brightly-coloured corduroys.

‘My turn to buy the drinks,’ said Tom Ruthven.

‘I’ll have-’ Jonty Westmacott began.

‘I know what you’ll have. . unless you’ve changed the habits of eleven years. I know what you’ll all have.’

‘Do you mind if we join you?’ asked Wally Edgington-Bewley, edging towards the table near the fire.

Piers flicked a quick look at Jude, but she nodded assent. She was rather fascinated by the geriatric foursome and was pleased to see them draw comfortable chairs up to the table.

‘Oh, incidentally, you left this,’ said Wally Edgington-Bewley, holding out a fat envelope towards her.

‘Sorry?’

‘Copy of my book. I said I’d leave it for you in the club room.’

‘Oh, I’m so sorry. I forgot, what with. .’ Seeing a negative head-shake from Piers, she didn’t mention Reggie Playfair, just concluded: ‘One thing and another.’

‘Well, I do hope you’ll enjoy it. Labour of love on my part. It’s about all the real tennis courts I’ve played on.’

‘Which is virtually all the real tennis courts in the world,’ said Piers.

‘Virtually,’ Wally agreed with a modest smile.

‘As I know well,’ said Piers.

‘Oh yes, we’ve had some jolly jaunts in foreign climes, haven’t we?’ The old man recollected with a nostalgic smile.

‘Well, thanks. I’m sure I’ll really like it,’ asserted Jude, with possibly more tact than truth, as she took the book. Then she went on, ‘I enjoyed watching you play this morning.’

‘You didn’t see me at my best, I’m afraid,’ said Jonty Westmacott. ‘Just wasn’t seeing the ball today. Tweaked a tendon in my knee a couple of months back and it hasn’t really settled down yet.’

‘Well, you saw me at my best,’ said Rod Farrar. ‘Sadly, that’s as good as I get these days. Not that I ever was that great. And the new hips and knees, wonderful though they are, never quite match the originals.’

‘Have you had them done recently?’ asked Jude.

‘Most recent knee a couple of years ago. But I have got to second time round on both hips and knees. So what you see before you is a bionic man. All parts in more or less perfect order. . though not all the original parts I started out with.’ He looked at Jude piercingly. ‘Are all your joints your own?’

It was not a question that she had ever been asked before, but she was able to reassure Rod Farrar that her body had not yet been enhanced in any way by the surgeon’s knife.

‘Lucky you.’ Then realizing that actually asking the question might be seen as some lapse from gallantry, he said, ‘But of course you are far too young to worry about that sort of stuff. Anyway — ’ he grinned at her — ‘are you hooked yet? Are you going to become obsessed with real tennis like the rest of us?’

‘Early days,’ she replied cautiously.

‘I do hope you’ll take to it,’ said Rod. ‘And it would be really good if you could join us one day for a Wednesday morning doubles.’

‘Oh? Why?’

‘Because,’ he replied, ‘you would lower our total age to under three hundred!’

Quickly she did the calculation and realized that, even if Rod Farrar was being rather gallant about her age, all of the men must be in their eighties.

By now Tom Ruthven had returned to the table with the drinks. A red wine for Jonty and for the others halves of bitter (Jude got the feeling that a few years earlier, when their prostates had been in better condition, they would have been ordering pints.)

‘Incidentally,’ Wally Edgington-Bewley announced, ‘George did tell us about Reggie, so if you were delicately skirting round the subject. .’

‘Thanks for telling us,’ said Piers.

‘You two found him, I gather?’

‘Yes.’

‘We should raise a glass to him.’ Wally raised his half and said, ‘Reggie Playfair.’

All the others around the table did the same and together, as somehow Jude knew they would, they all solemnly intoned, ‘Poor old bugger.’

‘Hello, it’s Oenone Playfair.’

Jude was taken aback by the unexpected phone call and hastened to assemble some appropriate words of condolence but Oenone briskly cut through them. ‘Yes, well, it was bound to happen one day.’ As Piers had said, she wasn’t the type to let anyone see her suffering.

‘Listen, Jude, the reason I’m calling you is that a great friend of mine is Suzy Longthorne. . you know, who runs the Hopwicke Country House Hotel.’

‘Oh yes?’ Jude knew exactly who was being referred to. Suzy, a former model, had been a friend for a long time.

‘Well, Suzy told me that you were very helpful to her when she had an awkward situation of a young man being found hanged in her hotel.’ Jude remembered the circumstances vividly. What had looked like a suicide had been proved to be murder.

‘She said you and your friend — Carole, is it? — found out the truth of what had really happened.’