‘Well you won’t be that much longer, laddie; he’ll skin you alive. You open your mouth about this and he’ll skin you alive.’
‘Why should he? He’s not to know that you’re fiddling your returns. He’s checked them in good faith hasn’t he, Mr Bolton? You’ve got signed receipts, one from your casual driver?’ This last was a shot in the dark, but he saw it had struck home.
‘You’re a smart bloody Alec, aren’t you? But wait till I tell old Wilcox.’
‘I shouldn’t worry too much about old Wilcox if I were you,’ said Laurie with aggravating coolness. ‘It’s the police I should worry about. But anyway you won’t tell Mr Wilcox that I’ve been here.’
‘Won’t I, begod!’
‘No, you won’t. I’m going to make a deal with you, Mr Bolton. I’d much rather go straight to the police and tell them you’ve been lying about the Thorpe boy and show them your returns to prove it, but it won’t suit my purpose. This is what I want you to do, Mr Bolton. I want you to go to the police, you yourself, and tell them you made a mistake. Tell them that you were rushed that particular Saturday morning, but now you remember that you did employ Patrick Thorpe, up till one o’clock. Therefore he couldn’t have been with that gang of boys when they attacked the little girl. And for once you’ll be speaking the truth. They mightn’t be too lenient with you, as this isn’t your first offence in this and other directions, is it, Mr Bolton?’
Mr Bolton gulped. He gulped three times before he said, ‘I’ll see you in hell’s flames burnin’ afore I do.’
‘It’s up to you. You’ll likely get fined and a strong reprimand, but that would be a flea-bite to what the tax inspector will do to you, because there’s not only the case of the casual labour on a Saturday, is there, Mr Bolton?’
This was another shot in the dark, based on the fact that if a man fiddled in one way he was more than likely to do it in other ways.
That his second blind shot had found its target was evident when the greengrocer, after grinding his teeth and wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, growled out, ‘You’re a dirty blackmailing swine.’
‘What?’ It sounded like a polite enquiry.
‘I’ll not do it.’ Bolton’s voice rumbled deep in his throat. ‘I’ll not be got over by a bloody young punk like you.’
‘I wouldn’t speak too hastily, Mr Bolton. I’ll give you twenty-four hours to think it over. Talk it over with your wife, women have a way of seeing these things sensibly. One warning though. Speak a word of this to Mr Wilcox and I don’t hold my hand. I’ll go straight to the police and I’ll kill all your birds with one stone, and I wouldn’t be a bit surprised if you’d have to sell up all this’—he waved his hand about the room—‘to pacify those dreadful Inland Revenue people. And don’t think that you can tell Wilcox about this visit and he’d keep his mouth shut. He couldn’t; you see I know him very well; he’s shortly to become my father-in-law.’
He now felt a desire to laugh as he saw the surprise on Bolton’s face. ‘You can get me at my office any time tomorrow. Ask for me personally, Mr Laurance Emmerson.’
As he went through the shop he fully expected some heavy implement to hit him on the back of the head. He was shaking slightly when he started up the car, and he fumbled at the gears before he got her going. He was smiling to himself, but nervously, and when he had travelled some distance he pulled in to the side of the road and, leaning back against the seat, wiped his face with his handkerchief. He had started something, and if it went the way he thought it would the boy would be all right. But what about himself?
In the shop he had been not a little proud of the way he handled the man; cool, tough, James Bond fashion. But the play-acting was over. He had to face the fact that he had made an enemy of Bolton and he’d have to look out.
Five: Val
‘He’s a lot better.’
They were having their evening meal. There were only the two of them, but everything was set as usual. He glanced up at her and swallowed the food in his mouth, then said, ‘Yes.’
‘Laurie.’
‘Yes, Mother.’
‘I feel we should talk.’ She laid down her knife and fork. ‘You’ve turned a complete somersault in a week.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You know what I mean, dear.’ She shook her head at him. ‘Your father was all wrong before and I was all right; now he’s all right and I’m all wrong. You know, there’s never any real black or any real white.’
‘I’m sorry if you see it like that.’
‘You know it’s true, and I…I never thought that when I told you the truth that it would turn you against me. I—I don’t think I would have told you if I’d known it would have come between us.’
‘It hasn’t, it hasn’t.’ He stopped eating and leant towards her, trying to convince her, and himself as well.
‘I’d like to think that but I can’t, Laurie. But anyway, what—what I want to say now is that perhaps we could start from here. Everything’s in the open now, there’s nothing more to hide, or at least from ourselves, and—and it would be nice if we could get along on a sort of friendly footing until you…you were married.’
He watched her breaking some bread, her eyes cast down towards it, and he said, ‘I’m not going to be married.’
‘You’re not…you mean? Oh, Laurie.’
For the first time in days he took her hand, saying, ‘Don’t be upset, please.’
‘I’m not, I’m not, not for me. But why?’
‘Oh, so many reasons. I just can’t stand the old fellow. And Aunty May either, for that matter. Oh, I know.’ He lifted one shoulder. ‘I wouldn’t be marrying them but…but they’re all bound up together, and we’ve done nothing but fight for months now.’
‘They say that isn’t unusual with an engaged couple, although your father and I—’ She bowed her head and he passed over the allusion quickly by saying, ‘But this is different. They’re not just rows we’ve had or differences of opinion, it’s our whole outlook.’ He paused. She still had her head bent when he ended, ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Oh, don’t mind me, Laurie.’ She was looking up at him, her expression tender and understanding. And there was relief in it too, and he saw this.
‘You never really liked her, did you? Val, I mean.’
‘No, Laurie, I didn’t. But…but that doesn’t mean that I’m glad about it, because, well, because I think you should marry.’ She raised her eyebrows. ‘That might seem strange coming from me, but I feel now that you should marry, and, and get away from us both.’
They stared at each other, she waiting for a comment on her last remark, but she didn’t get it. Instead, he said, ‘You know, for days now, weeks in fact, I’ve been longing to be a free agent again, to come and go as I please without having to clock in at Syracuse, either by tooting the car horn, or waving, or stopping. It’s odd the few times you can pass that house without somebody seeing you.’
He had risen now and was standing at the french window of the morning room, looking out into the garden, when she asked guardedly, ‘Is there anyone else, Laurie?’
Slowly he turned towards her. ‘Anyone else? No, no. Good Lord, haven’t you been listening? I’ve just told you I want to be free. And who else could there be?’
‘But you’ve left it so late and May will go mad. Then there’s your father. You’d better not tell him.’
‘He knows.’
‘Oh, Laurie.’
‘It did him good. It acted like an injection on him.’
‘You really mean…’ She nodded her head, then said, ‘Yes, yes, I suppose it would. He’s never had any room for them.’ She paused awhile before adding softly, ‘There’ll be trouble, Laurie; I doubt if Val will take this quietly…or James.’
‘I doubt it too. But I’ve got to go through with it, or through with the other, and the other is for life, and I know I just couldn’t stick it.’
He moved from the window now, saying, ‘Are y
ou going to the hospital—I can run you there and look in on him; then I’ve got some business to do and I can pick you up later, any time you like.’
‘That would be nice, yes.’ She sounded grateful that he wanted to go with her to the hospital …
Ten minutes later she stood dressed in the hall and he said to her wryly, ‘I hope we can break through the lines.’ She turned an enquiring glance towards him, then gave a small laugh. ‘Oh, yes, yes. Oh, Laurie.’ She shook her head.
But they passed Syracuse without seeing any of the Wilcox family. They got out of the car in the hospital foreground, crossed through the hall, went up the private corridor to No. 7 and Laurie, pushing the door open, went to hold it for her, to allow her to pass in, but the next minute he had let the door swing closed almost in her face, and, taking her arm, hurried her back along the corridor, round to the side of the entrance hall and into the waiting room.
The room was empty, and he stood facing her now, holding her by her shoulders, saying, ‘It means nothing. It doesn’t mean anything, I tell you. He told me, and she told me. It means nothing.’ He watched her close her eyes and press her lips tightly together.
‘Let me sit down,’ she said. When she was seated he gripped her hands in his, saying, ‘It looks bad, but she could just have been saying goodbye to him. Anything. Anything.’
‘Yes, yes.’ She moved her head slowly, but he knew she didn’t believe that the woman kissing her husband was saying goodbye to him, more like setting a seal on the future.
‘Stay there,’ he said. When he reached the hall it was to see Cissie leaving by the main door and he glared after her; then, returning to the waiting room, he said, ‘It’s all right. Now listen. Don’t let him know you saw anything. If they heard the door open they would think it was a nurse. They didn’t see me. I tell you it’s all right, take my word for it. Come on, come on.’ He touched her chin with the old tenderness. ‘Don’t let him see you’re upset, it would make him worse.’
She was dry-eyed, but she breathed deeply before saying, ‘I’m all right. Are you coming in?’
‘No, I’ll see him when I get back. As I said, I have some business to do. How long do you want to stay?’
‘An hour or so. It doesn’t matter; don’t hurry.’ Her voice was flat, dead sounding.
He left her at the corridor, squeezing her arm before parting from her. He felt something of the old feeling for her; he was also deeply indignant on her behalf.
He had intended to go to that one’s flat in any case to tell her what had taken place with regard to Bolton. He had waived, in his mind, what her reception of him might be, thinking only of easing her worry over the boy, and now he was so blazing angry inside he could slap her from here to hell. He could see the picture of her, bending over the bed, her arms around his father, her loose towy hair hanging like a sheath covering their faces. He could hear her again as she went for him the other night, defending herself, putting on the innocent act, making him feel an out-and-out swine…Wait till he saw her.
When he arrived at Greystone Buildings he knew that she couldn’t have reached home yet, not by bus, and that suited him. He would act as a reception committee for her. He went up the stairs, not bothering to step softly now. He didn’t care about the private eye, or who saw him. He felt a hatred of her, cheap little get-up that she was. Good woman! Of course his father would want to think of her as good, he was ripe for being gulled. Well, she wouldn’t gull him. He would make it plain that his mother would fight her every inch of the way; and if she were to win there wouldn’t be much money left in the kitty for her. This fact, he felt, would be the main deterrent.
When he reached the top landing the door was open and the boy was standing there.
‘I thought at first it was me mam,’ he said. ‘She’s out.’ He looked up at Laurie.
‘I know, I would like to wait for her.’
‘Come on in.’ The boy left the door open and followed him into the long room, and as he did so he said eagerly, ‘Did you see anybody? I mean Mrs Rice or Mr Bolton? Did you do anything?’
As he stared down into the boy’s face, he thought, old Wilcox was right where she was concerned. Perhaps after all he did know about her kind and how to deal with them.
‘Well did you?’
‘Oh, yes, yes, I saw them both. Not the boy, the boy’s mother, Mrs Rice. She wasn’t very communicative, I mean helpful, but I think it’s going to be all right. I saw Mr Bolton. I’ll…I’ll know by tomorrow for sure.’
‘You mean…you mean he’ll tell the truth?’
‘I hope so, but you mustn’t say anything about this to anyone, you understand?’ His anger didn’t touch on the boy. He still felt sorry for him.
‘Oh, yes, yes, Mister. Oh, yes.’
‘Do you think your mother will be long?’
‘No, she should be back at any minute. She was just going to the hospital to see…to see your father.’
‘She wasn’t going any place else?’
‘No. No, she told me to stay put, not leave the house an’ she’d be back directly. Won’t you sit down?’ The boy made the same movement as Cissie did, his arm extended towards the couch by way of invitation.
‘No, I like walking about.’
And he walked about, looking from one piece of furniture to the other. She had invested her money all right.
When he came to the piano he said to the boy, ‘Do you play?’ He wasn’t interested whether he played or not, but the boy was standing watching him with a set look on his face.
‘I’m learnin’, I’ve just been at it a year, but me mam plays lovely, she can play anything, all the hard stuff. Beethoven and Bach.’
She could play more than Beethoven and Bach if he knew anything about her.
They both heard her on the landing. The door closed and neither of them moved.
Cissie came into the room and stood just in the doorway. She looked from her son to Laurie, then kept her eyes on him. As she threw down her bag and took off her coat she still kept her gaze tightly on him. Then without looking at Pat she said, as she had done last night, ‘Go into your room.’
‘But, Mam, Mr Emmerson…Mr Emmerson’s got news.’
‘Go into your room, Pat.’
The boy went slowly into the bedroom, and not until he had closed the door did she come forward. Snapping her eyes from him, she went to the fireplace, switched on the electric fire, kicked the pouffe to the side with her long pointed shoe, then sitting down and endeavouring to pull her skirts over her knees, she said coolly. ‘Why don’t you start? I’m waiting.’ When he didn’t speak but continued to glare at her, she said, ‘I’m surprised you’re stumped. I’ll give you a lead, shall I? I’m a bitch. I’m all the things you think I am. You’ve just had proof of it, haven’t you? You came into your father’s room, and found him in my arms and me kissing him.’ When she saw his eyelids flicker she went on, ‘Oh, yes, yes I knew it was you and your mother. You weren’t quick enough in closing the door. And you know something else? I’m not going to give you any explanation.’
To say the wind was taken out of his sails was putting it mildly, but the anger in him was intensified. ‘What do you hope to get out of it?’ he said. ‘If you think that my father would ever leave my mother for you you’re vastly mistaken.’
‘Am I? Well now, Mr Know-all, I’ll tell you something. If I had wanted to I could have made your father leave your mother weeks ago, months ago, like that.’ She raised her little finger slowly upwards.
He said disdainfully, ‘You’re suffering under a great delusion, woman. There are things you don’t know about my father. If you did you’d know that your cause was absolutely hopeless.’
‘There’s nothing, Mr Emmerson, that I don’t know about your father. NOTHING. NOTHING. You understand? You don’t want me to explain further, do you?’
He felt the blood draining from his face. His father had told her that. There had been so much between them that he could tell her that.
‘Your type’s good at one other thing, and that’s cheap prattle.’ He sent the words at her with his upper lip pulled back in a sneer, and the next minute he was gasping and spluttering as the contents of the glass enveloped him. He had taken it full in the face. Some had gone into his mouth and was causing him to choke; the rest had drenched his collar and shirt, the front of his head, and was running down his face.
His eyes were stinging, and when he squeezed the liquid from them and blinked hard he saw her standing immobile, one hand pressed tightly across her mouth, the other hand still holding the empty glass. She was no longer looking fierce, her expression was now one of amazement as if she had seen someone else do this. Then he saw the glass drop to the floor and watched her long body crumple as she threw herself onto the couch, and as he listened to her sobbing he went on slowly wiping his face down with his hand.
He was still standing in the same place when the boy rushed past him and to the couch, crying, ‘Oh, Mam, Mam.’
He took a handkerchief out of his pocket and began drying his face as he continued to look at her. The sound of her crying was a strange sound, not high and hysterical but a deep strangled sound, more like the sound a man would make, or like someone not used to crying. The boy, too, was crying, talking through his wide open mouth. ‘Oh, Mam, Mam, give over. Oh, don’t cry, Mam, don’t cry.’
Then quite suddenly the boy was standing in front of him, his attitude threatening, the tears spilling from his chin like rain. He was shouting, ‘My mam’s good, she is. She’s good, she is.’
The Unbaited Trap Page 16
