Annie Pearson walked along Old Compton Street on a sunny Saturday morning. Passing her favourite patisserie full of fabulous gateaux without gazing in at the window, she didn’t seem to notice the inviting smell of coffee and failed to collect her usual copy of the Boston Post from the newsagent.
Rounding the corner by the Prince Edward Theatre, she looked for a narrow doorway. There it was, number 35. She pressed the buzzer and waited. When she had given her name, the door clicked open and she climbed the steep staircase to the top of the building.
Trying to regain her breath and composure, she entered an office, finding a room with two desks; one facing the door and the other overlooking the street. A short, balding man sporting a ridiculously large moustache rose from the desk nearest to the door and held out his hand,
“ Peregrine Oddbod at your service.”
His firm handshake went some way towards restoring her faltering confidence as he turned to introduce the room’s other occupant.
“ My wife, Octavia.”
Mrs Oddbod was a perfect match for her partner. Petite but well -rounded, she beamed a welcome smile of dimpled contentment.
“ I’ll put the kettle on while my husband takes a few details.”
With this, she disappeared, returning before long carrying a tray, laden with tea and cake.
Mrs Oddbod poured tea from one of two teapots.
“ Earl Grey?”
Annie was surprised, “ Why yes! How did you know?”
“ I’m not usually wrong about tea! I find it an indication of character you know.” Octavia Oddbod did not elaborate on her conclusions about Annie’s character but it was an intriguing thought that one’s choice of tea could be so easily predicted and that it should reveal deeper secrets!
However, sipping the hot, comforting liquid and tucking into homemade cake, Annie found herself relaxing, as she explained her problem.
Mr Oddbod took copious notes, stopping only to ask,
“ Can you tell me why you have not approached the police, this is obviously a serious crime against your company?”
Annie knew exactly why she did not want to involve the police.
“ The investigation must be discreet, both money and sensitive personal information have been taken. We would lose a considerable amount of business if clients lost confidence in our reliability, efficiency and above all, our trust. In fact, with such a dent in our reputation, we could be forced to cease trading.”
Octavia put down her china teacup, “ Why Oddbods, my dear?”
Annie was actually wondering that herself, but managed to reply,
“ A friend of mine recommended you very highly. Sarah Mills?”
Mrs Oddbod refilled the teacups without asking,
“ Ah, the Islington hotel murder, I remember it well. One of our most satisfying cases.”
By the time Annie left the office, she felt like a different person. Quite restored: enough to contemplate a bite of lunch at the Amalfi Restaurant, despite having succumbed to Mrs Oddbods’s chocolate cake.
Denton and Crayshaw occupied two floors of a modern office block on the South Bank, overlooking the Thames. A superb and convenient location in the heart of the capital. The company provided insurance for high risk occupations and leisure pursuits. Its clients included film stuntmen, explosives experts and sportsmen and women both professional and amateur. It was surprising how many people risked their lives regularly; perhaps more surprising how many survived unscathed. Other aspects of the business had grown as a result of the compensation culture. Practitioners of alternative medicine and similar services needed to insure themselves against a failure to provide miracle cures or the possibility that they may be blamed for worsening conditions. Like it or not, people needed insurance and Annie’s firm were experts in the unusual. Their slogan was “ Exceptional deals for Exceptional individuals.”
Over the next few weeks, life at the company continued much as usual. Staff worked long hours getting ready for the annual audit: memories of long lunches seemed gone forever in the new economic climate. Days
were divided into small highlights, one of which was the arrival of the tea trolley morning and afternoon, providing a welcome pick -me -up. However, the new tea lady was less than popular, spilling tea over desks, apologising profusely and regularly knocking over piles of well-organised paperwork.
“ Sorry dear,” she would say, crawling under the desk to retrieve the latest invoices, extricating herself with considerable difficulty.
“ I am rather clumsy. I’m sure I’ll get the hang of it. Dearie me, there are coffee stains all over your totals. I’ll see if I can blot the paper. Perhaps if I photocopied it for you it would be a bit clearer? …Now really, you finish your coffee, I’ll have it back to you in no time, good as new.”
Annie dealt with a flood of complaints about her new employee, but then as she reminded her staff, Mrs Spry did make an amazing cuppa and wonderful homemade cakes.”
It didn’t seem long before Annie found herself strolling along Old Compton Street again towards Oddbod’s. This time, she noticed all the usual sights and sounds of the bustling Saturday morning. Up in the office, she drank a refreshing cup of tea and looked over the report compiled by the agency.
“ Well, I have enough evidence to confront the culprit, plug the leak in information and demand the return of the money. If I cannot get a satisfactory resolution, I will have to present this to the police. I can’t thank you enough. An excellent job and most discreet.”
Mr Oddbod looked serious, “ It was our pleasure, Mrs Pearson. Can I just make a recommendation? Please look at your computer systems. They were rather easy to hack into. Mrs Oddbod usually finds new technology more of a challenge. Oh, and do please sack your tea lady. She’s been experiencing a bit of pain in her knees with all that crawling around under desks.” He concluded with a wink.
“ Yes, of course,” replied Annie, “
such a shame though. I really do enjoy her cups of tea!”