Henry Ainsley, the reception clerk, moved out after her. He was a tall, thin man with hollow cheeks and sly, furtive eyes. He wore a neat, clerical-grey suit and sober tie and his hands were soft,
“I’m sorry, madam,” he was saying sharply, “but that’s the way it is. Anyway, you can leave everything in our hands from now on.”
“That’s the way what is?” Meehan said, advancing on them. He put his hands on the old lady’s shoulders. We can’t have this, love. What’s up?”
“It’s all right, Mr.. Meehan. The old lady was just a bit upset She’s just lost her husband,” Ainsley said.
Meehan ignored him and drew the old lady into the office. He put her in a chair by the desk. “Now then, love, you tell me all about it”
He took her hand and she held on tight “Ninety, he was. I thought he’d last for ever and then I found him at the bottom of the stairs when I got back from chapel, Sunday night” Tears streamed down her face. “He was that strong, even at that age. I couldn’t believe it.”
“I know, love, and now you’ve come here to bury him?”
She nodded. “I don’t have much, but I didn’t want him to have a state funeral. I wanted it done right. I thought I could manage nicely what the insurance money and then this gentleman here, he told me I’d need seventy pound.”
“Now look, Mr.. Meehan, it was like this,” Ainsley cut in.
Meehan turned and glanced at him bleakly. Ainsley faltered into silence. Meehan said, “You paid cash, love?”
“Oh yes,” she said. “I called at the insurance office on the way and they paid me out on the policy. Fifty pounds, I thought it would be enough.”
“And the other twenty?”
“I had twenty-five pounds in the Post Office.”
“I see.” Median straightened. “Show me the file.” he said,
Ainsley stumbled to the desk and picked up a small sheaf of papers which shook a little as he held them out Meehan leafed through them. He smiled delightedly and put a hand on the old woman’s shoulders.
“I’ve got good news for you, love. There’s been a mistake.”
“A mistake?” she said.
He took out his wallet and extracted twenty-five pounds. “Mr.. Ainsley was forgetting about the special rate we’ve been offering to old age pensioners this autumn.”
She looked at the money, a dazed expression on her face. “Special rate. Here, it won’t be a state funeral will it? I wouldn’t want that,”
Meehan helped her to her feet. “Not on your life. Private. The best. I guarantee it. Now let’s go and see about your flowers.”
flowers?” she said. “Oh, that would be nice. He loved flowers, did my Bill.”
“All included, love.” Meehan glanced over his shoulder at Dormer. “Keep him here. I’ll be back.”
A door bad been cut through the opposite wall giving access to the flower shop next door. When Meehan ushered the old lady in, they were immediately approached by a tall, willowy young man with shoulder-length dark hair and a beautiful mouth.
“Yes, Mr.. Meehan. Can I be of service?” He spoke with a slight lisp.
Meehan patted his cheek. “You certainly can, Rupert. Help this good lady choose a bunch of flowers. Best in the shop and a wreath. On the firm, of course.”
Rupert accepted the situation without the slightest question. “Certainly, Mr.., Meehan.”
“And Rupert, see one of the lads runs her home afterwards.” He turned to the old lady. “All right, love?”
She reached up and kissed his cheek. “You’re a good man. A wonderful man. God bless you.”
“He does, my love,” Dandy Jack Meehan told her. “Every day of my life.” And he walked out.
“Death is something you’ve got to have some respect for,” Meehan said. “I mean, this old lady. According to the form she’s filled in, she’s eighty-three. I mean, that’s a wonderful thing.”
He was sitting in the swing chair in front of the desk. Henry Ainsley stood in front of him, Donner was by the door.
Ainsley stirred uneasily and forced a smile, “Yes, I see what you mean, Mr.. Meehan.”