‘Father.’ Valerie took hold of his arm, and when he turned towards her she said, ‘Leave this to me, will you? Please.’
‘Huh!’ The sound that Laurie made brought their attention to him. They watched him push papers into his despatch case, lock it, then walk past them into the hall.
‘Where do you think you’re going?’
‘I’m going to the office.’ Laurie was now putting on his coat. ‘You have reminded me more than once in the past that unpunctuality keeps a man’s feet on the first rung of the ladder. Isn’t that so?’ He picked up his hat and walked out, ignoring Valerie’s voice, high and sharp, saying, ‘Laurie!’
He would not use his mother’s car, as he sometimes did. His father’s he had never used, and he would not have used it today had it been here, but it was still where he had garaged it last night, in the stables behind the office.
Having reached the road he did not immediately board a bus but walked to the nearest telephone box, and from there phoned the hospital.
There was little change, the sister said, but he was holding his own. And yes, he could visit him at any time. After replacing the receiver he stood looking down at it. Somebody should be with him, sitting with him. Blast old Wilcox and his job. Blast the lot of them. He picked up the receiver again, put another four pennies in the box and gave his own number. When Mrs Stringer answered he said, ‘Tell Mother I want to speak to her for a moment,’ then asked, ‘Is Mrs Wilcox still there?’
‘Yes, Mr Laurie.’ Mrs Stringer’s voice was very low.
‘Then just tell mother she’s wanted on the phone. Will you do that?’
‘Yes, Mr Laurie.’
A few seconds later he heard his mother’s agitated tone saying, ‘Yes! yes?’
‘It’s me…Laurie. I just wanted to know if you were going straight to the hospital. If not, I’ll go and sit with him.’ There was a short pause before she answered. ‘I’m going straight along now.’
‘All right; I’ll come in at dinner time.’
‘Very well.’
‘Goodbye.’
‘Goodbye.’
They were like strangers.
Laurie’s office was one of four small rooms going off a dark corridor; the other three being occupied by two typists and James Wilcox’s private secretary.
The door of James Wilcox’s office was directly opposite the corridor, and although he was a bustling man, noisy in speech and manner, it was rarely he banged his door, and so the staff, in their cubby holes, seldom had any indication of the boss’s arrival. But this morning was different; the boss’s door banged and almost instantly the bell rang in his secretary’s room. A minute later the secretary knocked on Laurie’s door, and on being told to enter she came in, closed the door swiftly behind her and hissed, ‘His nibs wants you. Hair’s standing on end. Did you hear his door banging?’
Laurie had worked with Miss Patterson for years; there were no secrets between them with regard to their opinion of the boss.
‘OK, Patty.’ Laurie nodded to her, and she swiftly departed. He did not immediately follow her but stood gnawing at his lip, asking himself what line he was going to take if the old fellow became impossible. Tell him to stick his job. No, he couldn’t do that; there was Val. Val! How he wished he could push the last year back. This thought propelled him out of the room.
He went along the corridor, knocked at the door, and entered the office, there to be met by James Wilcox’s back. He knew quite a lot about that back, having had to gaze at it on many occasions: the hands joined over the buttocks, the short legs astride, the shoulders hunched high, cupping the head. It always meant trouble. An odd thought came to him as he stared at it. He was glad he had never called this man ‘Uncle’. It had been quite easy to say ‘Aunty May’ but something had stuck in his gullet at the thought of calling James Wilcox ‘Uncle’.
‘Well now, Laurie.’ The voice was studiously polite. ‘We’ve got to have a little private discussion, haven’t we?’ This was delivered as Mr Wilcox turned his body slowly about and walked to his desk. Then sitting down, he pointed to the chair opposite.
After a moment’s hesitation, Laurie seated himself and, his eyes unblinking, he watched James Wilcox go into action.
‘Now,’ the shoulders, still hunched, were bent over the table and the finger was wagging with ominous slowness, ‘don’t you remind me that I’ve always said it’s bad business to bring your private woes into the office. There are exceptional circumstances, and I consider this business comes under that heading, so we’ll start from there, eh? Valerie tells me you’ve been awkward in more ways than one lately. Now, now.’ The finger beat became more rapid. ‘If my daughter can’t talk to me who is she going to talk to? Anyway, we’re soon to be one family, and such being the case there should be no secrets between us…Well, well, I won’t go as far as that because every man has his secrets.’ The wisdom of this statement brought his head down in a deep sweep, and when it rose again he continued, ‘But about the simple fact of letting us know your father had collapsed. Such a thing as this doesn’t come under the heading of secrets but of ordinary human behaviour. Then going off to that woman’s house and not saying a word. And see what it brought about? Your father wouldn’t be where he is this minute if you hadn’t bulldozed in there. These things can always be handled better by finesse. It’s no use using the bull at a gap tactics with women on the side, women like this Thorpe piece. Legality is what you want there; they’re frightened of the law. They’re all loud-mouthed, big noises until you mention the law, and then they come cringing. I’ve seen it over and over again. Now, that said I’m going a step further.’ Mr Wilcox’s body swayed backwards and forwards between his chair and the desk. ‘As I said this morning it’s ten to one, if your father recovers, this thing will go on, and it could lead to divorce. And we’re not having that, are we?’ He did not wait for an answer but continued. ‘So…I want you to promise not to interfere in any way. Leave this business to me, and don’t go near this woman, or speak to her. That’s vitally important.’
‘What made you think I’m going to?’ The words were rapped out.
On this occasion Mr Wilcox did not take umbrage at Laurie’s tone, but said evenly. ‘You went last night, didn’t you?’
‘I had my reasons.’
‘You could have your reasons again, but I’m warning you.’ The finger was once more in slow operation. ‘You leave this to me. Don’t go near the woman. Those types are dynamite.’
Looking across the desk into this little man’s face, Laurie had an overwhelming desire to take the flat of his hand and push it back, not strike it, just push the face as far back as possible. A blow, being a spontaneous action, could be said to have some dignity attached to it, but what he wanted to do to this man was something that would carry with it the insignia of indignity. He had a mental picture of pushing him slowly backwards, his head going down and his feet coming up—he could see him lying in a ludicrous heap on the floor. It came to him, with no touch of humour, that since last night he had for the first time lived up to his looks. He had wanted to hit his father, he had actually slapped his mother, and now it was all he could do not to put his desire into action and lay hands on his boss.
He rose to his feet and said coolly, ‘I don’t think my father would want you to deal with this matter, sir.’ The insolence attached to the sir wasn’t lost on James Wilcox.
‘Now look here, my boy.’ He was on his feet, his head wagging like a golliwog’s. ‘Don’t you take that tone with me, I’m warning you. And anyway, you’ve no say in this matter, it’s your mother who will decide what’s to be done. I don’t know why I’m talking to you.’
‘I think my mother’s answer will be the same as mine; she won’t wish you to interfere in my father’s affairs.’
‘You’ll go too far.’ Mr Wilcox put his hand to the back of his neck and flexed it, as if trying to relax the muscles, and as he did this he kept on talking. ‘You forget yourself, you’re not being
wise, in fact I would say very unwise. No man who wants to rise in this world bites at the hand that is stretched out to help him, so to speak. I tell you, you can go too far, too far.’
‘Is that all, sir?’
James Wilcox, his face bright red now and choked with his indignation, swung round, walked to the window, put his hands behind his back and placed his feet in the straddled position. It was as if he hadn’t moved since Laurie had entered the room.
Back in his own office, Laurie sat with his head resting on his hands. He wouldn’t be able to stick it, he wouldn’t. He had known for a long time things were coming to a head. To be married to Val, to have the families even closer, to come in here each morning and see him; to have a partnership dangled on the end of a long, long pole before his nose, its shortening depending entirely on his subservience to the little man’s whims. He just couldn’t do it. But how was he going to get out of it?
He knew now that what he had felt for Val wasn’t love, never had been. Perhaps, if from the beginning she hadn’t continually and blatantly extracted from him all he had to give, he might have felt differently. He didn’t know, he just didn’t know. His head pressed harder on his hands. He was in a mess and he couldn’t see how he was going to get out of it.
Three: Father And Son
John looked at his son sitting at the side of the bed and he was pleased he was there; he seemed to be part of the great stillness that was filling him. This stillness that he mustn’t disturb, a stillness wherein his heart was beating faintly. He was strangely at peace in this stillness; except for one thing, one little niggling thought, that would keep drifting to the forefront of his mind, then drift away again. It always drifted away when they gave him his pills, but it was some time now since he’d had them and the niggling thought was back, and with it the gentle urge to do something about it. And he felt that Laurie could help him.
He remembered thinking earlier in the day that if he had known that his imminent death would have brought his son closer to him he would have done something about it a long time ago. He did not have to ponder, or reason, or recognise that the young man who sat evening after evening by his side was not the same person with whom he had lived for years; this man was his son, he could feel it; after all these years he could feel it. The bastion that had grown up between them, mounting as the years mounted, was no longer there. It had vanished. It was as if it had never been. Yet it had been; he had watched its erection brick by brick. Oh yes, it had been. But now it was no more. But about this thing? He moved his hand slowly on the coverlet towards Laurie, and as slowly he said, ‘Laurie, will you do something for me?’
‘Yes, Father, anything. Tell me.’ Laurie leaned towards him.
‘Mrs Thorpe. She’s…she’s in trouble…The boy’s case is coming up. I…I was seeing to it, but…but Arnold won’t talk business. I…I want you to go to her, get her to tell you everything about…about Bolton…the greengrocer.’
Laurie stared back at his father. The last thing on earth he wanted to do was to come face to face with that woman again. Doubtless she was all they said she was, but with regard to the situation between her and his father they had been wrong. Everybody had been wrong, but only his mother and himself and the two concerned would ever know…That was a thought. Did the woman know? It wasn’t likely. Then if she didn’t, why…?
‘Will you go…Laurie?’
‘Yes. Don’t worry, I’ll…I’ll see to it.’
John’s hand came on his, and the fingers made a slight pressure. ‘Thank you. Thank you…Bolton, he’s the man. He’s…he’s frightened. You see…Mrs Thorpe. She’ll…she’ll explain.’
‘All right, all right. Don’t worry. Now don’t worry; I understand.’
He watched his father pull at the air, dragging it into his chest, and he held his hand tightly as he said, ‘Leave it to me; everything will be all right, don’t worry.’
‘Laurie?’
‘Yes, Father.’
‘She’s…she’s a good woman. Very, very good.’
He had to lower his eyes.
‘There was nothing…nothing between us to…to hurt your mother.’
‘I know.’
They were looking at each other.
‘Don’t worry. I know, I know all about it.’ His voice was gentle, as if he was speaking to a child, a sorrowing child, trying to convince it he understood all its unspoken problems.
John’s head pressed back deeper into the pillow, as if to put more distance between his face and that of his son’s, to get him into focus…So that was it. Ann had told him. It wasn’t because he had nearly died, or was dying, it was because he knew. God, after all these years. But…but what did it matter? If it had created this feeling between them, if it had brought them together at last, what did it matter? In a way he felt it lightened the shame of his inadequacy; it took some of the weight of the burden from him…But there were others …
John’s hand began plucking agitatedly at Laurie now. ‘You won’t…you won’t let that go any further? You wouldn’t…tell?’
‘No! No!’ The syllables came rumbling up from his throat like a torrent from an underground passage, so powerful was the denial of any idea of betrayal of the knowledge that he possessed, and John was convinced and his agitation subsided.
To convince his father still further, Laurie said, with a half-smile on his face, ‘You’ve never liked the Wilcoxes’ ménage have you, Father? Well, I’m going to let you into a secret, neither have I.’
There was a crinkling on John’s face that tended towards a smile, and a light in the back of his eyes that spoke of his amusement, but there was also bewilderment in his look.
‘And…and there’s something more.’ Laurie paused. ‘I can’t go on with the marriage, Father.’ He paused again, watching his father’s face, then exclaimed, ‘Oh…oh, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have mentioned it. Don’t let it disturb you.’
There came a pressure on his hand now while they stared at each other. Then John said quietly, ‘I’m glad.’
‘You are?’
‘Yes, she—she wasn’t for you, never.’
‘Keep it dark, won’t you? You see, she doesn’t know yet—I mean Val. And I wouldn’t want to upset Mother. It’ll all come out in good time and then…oh boy, the fireworks. I…I must admit I’ve got cold feet. I haven’t got a notion of how I’m going to do it…I—I shouldn’t have told you. I’d no intention when I came in.’ He lifted one hand expressively. ‘But…but I thought you’d understand, and I felt I must tell someone.’
Again the pressure on his fingers. Then John said, ‘It won’t be easy…they’ll put you through the mill.’
He gasped and began pulling at the air again.
‘You’ve talked too much. It’s my fault. Lie quiet now, lie quiet. No more talking.’ Laurie smoothed the side of the pillow.
They stayed for some time in silence, until John, his words more spaced, said, ‘Don’t…wait for…for your mother coming. Go and see…Cis…Mrs Thorpe now. Will you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Now?’
‘Yes.’
‘It’ll…it’ll rest my mind.’
‘Don’t worry. I’ll see to everything.’ He stood up. ‘I’ll look in in the morning and tell you how things have gone.’
John nodded slowly. Then reaching out his hands, he caught at Laurie’s, muttering, ‘Thanks. Thanks for everything…everything, Laurie.’
The gratitude, the humility in his father’s tone was too much for him. He turned swiftly and went out of the room, down the corridor that housed the private patients, into the main vestibule, out into the street and along to where his father’s car was parked. Yesterday his father had said, ‘Use her, don’t let her rot.’ He had put it as if asking a favour.
He sat in the car now making no attempt to move off. He felt uneasy to say the least. What would he say to her? How would he begin? Would he wait until it was dark before he went? All those nosey parkers on the stairs, espe
cially dear Mrs Orchard and dear Miss O’Neill, private eyes of the Wilcoxes. Well, what was he going to do? He just couldn’t sit here indefinitely, if he went home Val would descend on him; she would be on the watch as she had been for the past three nights.
He beat a tattoo on the wheel with his fingers, then pursed his lips into a whistle, but made no sound. Aw, he might as well go and get it over with. But God, how he hated facing her again. Talk about crawling in the dust; she’d make him do that all right.
Outside Greystone Buildings he parked in front of his father’s office, in exactly the same spot he had left his mother’s car five evenings ago, then walked to number ten. Making his tread as soft as possible, he mounted the stairs and made the journey without meeting anyone. And for the second time he rang the bell of Flat Four.
When the door opened there stood the boy he had caught a glimpse of the other evening. He looked down into the big-eyed, pale face, with the mop of fair hair topping it. Michelangelo’s angels could have been designed from such a face. And this was the boy who was accused of interfering with a little girl. But didn’t all little boys interfere with little girls, and mostly by invitation? And the little girls, as they grew up, didn’t alter much, except to get worse. He could hear Val saying, ‘What’s the matter? Don’t you want it?’ IT. IT. It wasn’t only the infringement on the male prerogative that got him down, it was the crudity of the approach. Where that was concerned education meant damn all; a low type pro would have more delicacy at times than Val had. He wondered where she got it from. Her mother? The old man? How could you tell by how people looked. Val, he supposed, would even look prim as she faced the girls in class. The thought of the girls recalled his attention to the boy again, although he hadn’t taken his eyes from him. ‘Is your mother in?’ he said.
‘Yes.’ The boy didn’t move.
‘Who is it?’ He heard her steps coming across the room.
The Unbaited Trap Page 13
