‘I pretended to be one in France for three years. I’m pretty sure I still remember how.’
‘See? She’s one of us. D’you think we could get away with it?’
‘We could put her in bags and a waistcoat and she could take my place,’ said Ernie. ‘I’m the one who’s going to be letting the side down. She could be Eli. No one there has met me so they don’t know who to look for. They’d never know.’
‘I thought you were at school with Masher Watson?’ said Bertie. ‘He’d know at once she wasn’t you.’
Ernie sighed dejectedly. ‘I’d forgotten about him. Always was an absolute pill, that boy.’
‘There’ll be an audience, though, won’t there?’ said Ellie.
‘It’s the highlight of the Friday dance,’ said Charlie. ‘The Wags insisted it be in public to maximize our humiliation.’
‘Then I shall be on the sidelines, dancing along. Just focus on me and you’ll be fine.’
‘That’ll have to do,’ said Alfie. ‘Needs must when you’re nodding and winking at a blind horse and all that.’
‘That’s that settled, then,’ said Millie. ‘Time for a break, I think. I could do with a drink. Fifteen minutes, everyone.’
The musicians downed their instruments and the gang formed up for a full-frontal assault on the beer table. Ellie pulled Alfie to one side.
‘You really don’t have anything to worry about, you know,’ she said. ‘You’ve got it.’
‘You’re very kind to say so,’ he said. ‘Always been a bit of a duffer, you know. Since I was a child. Ma and Pa despaired. Couldn’t wait to send me away to school.’
‘I’m sure you were never as bad as you think. You survived the war, after all. You were on the front line?’
‘First Lieutenant, First Battalion, Essex Regiment. Gallipoli, Egypt, then France. Wasn’t so bad as all that, really. Surrounded by good chaps. Camaraderie and all that.’
‘I guess,’ said Ellie. ‘But something like three out of every twenty junior officers didn’t make it. More than that, some say. But you did.’
‘Well, when you put it like that . . .’
‘If you can survive four years of war, you can survive four minutes of dancing.’
‘Dash it all, m’dear, you’re right. I bally well can. Were you like this in your what-do-you-call-it . . . aid station? You’d have built the boys right back up. I bet you broke a few hearts, what?’
‘I couldn’t say. I’d already given my own heart to another.’
‘Yonder drummer chap, eh? Lucky fellow. You met during the festivities?’
‘No, we first met years before the war, in Weston-super-Mare.’
Alfie laughed. ‘Get away. Really? Had an aunt who lived near Weston-super-Mare. Ghastly place. Ghastly aunt. What the blue blazes were you doing there?’
‘Travelling,’ said Ellie. ‘With my aunt.’
‘Ghastly or otherwise?’
‘Formidable. But quite lovely underneath it all.’
‘You must have been terribly young.’
‘I was sixteen. But the heart wants what the heart wants. Have you ever been in love, Mr . . . ?’
‘Do please call me Alfie. No, never been lucky enough to find a gel who’ll have me.’
‘There’s someone out there for you, I’m sure of it. But look, I’m sorry – I’m keeping you away from the beer. You’d better get back to it before your pals drink it all.’
She patted his arm and returned to the band.
‘Is it him?’ said Puddle, eagerly.
Ellie smiled. ‘The deserter? I doubt it. He’s either a fantastic actor or he’s the sweetest guy ever to draw breath – my own dear husband excepted, of course. And Barty. But if he’s a master criminal, I’ll eat Ivor’s bass drum.’
The band packed up quickly after the lesson, and one or two expressed a desire for a chance to unwind at a local pub before retiring for an early night.
‘Coach and Horses on Avery Row?’ suggested Skins.
There were murmurs of agreement, though Puddle’s pal reluctantly declined.
‘I’d really love to,’ he said, ‘but I’ve got another engagement. Another night, definitely. And thanks for letting me sit in, by the way – you’re a joy to play with.’
He left clutching his two instrument cases and the others finished their tidying up. To speed things along, they even pitched in and helped Skins carry his drums and traps to the storeroom – something they almost never did.
‘Just think how quickly we could get everything done if you all helped like this every time,’ said Skins as they piled up the last case.
‘But then what would we moan about?’ said Elk. ‘Half the fun of setting up and tearing down is complaining about how long it takes the drummer to put all his mysterious gubbins together.’
Skins harrumphed.
The pub was a few minutes’ walk away. It was busy for a Tuesday night, but they managed to find a spot where the seven members of the band and their pretend manager could sit or stand together.
‘Let the ladies sit down, boys,’ said Benny.
‘Don’t worry about us, darling,’ said Puddle. ‘We’ve got legs and we know how to use them.’
‘Honestly, Benny dear, it’s all right,’ agreed Ellie. ‘I rather like standing – makes me feel more like I’m part of the goings-on.’
‘As you wish,’ he said.
The drinks arrived and the toast, as had been customary over the past few days, was ‘Blanche’.
‘Gone too soon,’ said Puddle.
‘Great girl, great sax player,’ said Elk.
‘What are the police up to?’ asked Eustace. ‘Have they spoken to any of you? I’ve not seen a soul.’
‘The investigating officer goes by the name of Inspector Lavender,’ said Skins.
‘We met him this afternoon,’ said Dunn. ‘Man’s an idiot. He’s decided it was Puddle and Danny working together.’
‘What?’ said Puddle loudly.
‘Don’t worry about it,’ said Skins. ‘He’ll get nowhere with it. He’s got no evidence, just a working whatsaname.’
‘Hypothesis,’ said Ellie.
‘That’s the fella. He got all worked up by the idea of the poison being in the cocktails and decided Danny was the killer, then thought you must have been in on it because you chose the gin.’
‘But I always choose the gin. I didn’t—’
‘Of course you didn’t,’ said Dunn. ‘He’s an idiot.’
‘What about Danny, though?’ said Mickey. ‘Is he an idiot?’
‘Not sure about him,’ said Skins. ‘We had a chat with him. You did, an’ all, didn’t you, love?’
‘I did,’ said Ellie. ‘He’s quiet and thoughtful. He seems . . . gentle. The way he talked about their rivalry with the other club not coming to blows – like he disapproved of violence.’
‘Could he be the deserter, then?’ said Benny. ‘Someone who didn’t want to fight wouldn’t want to hang around on the front line.’