Cherry Picking

by Tim Heath

  A waiter came up to her with a glass of orange juice she had ordered, shaking her out of her mindset, her eyes fixed on some distant, unknown place. She thanked him and took the drink, sipping it gently before putting it on the small table next to her high backed wicker chair.

  Mary Ingham’s life was one that Nigel Gamble was only too aware of as well, and it had been his direct meddling that had led to this sorrowful situation she now found herself in. In his attempt to keep his identity unknown, he had long since thrown out any rule book on what could or couldn’t be done, as long as it didn’t hurt him, of course. Therefore in the hunt to limit the resources of his pursuer, Nigel had taken out the guy that would go well into old age and would have dreamt up the idea of the Agency in which his pursuer now worked. As Robert has now found out, there was no way that things would continue as before after the death of that man who would have become great, Mr Simon Allen.

  Mary was another case altogether. She had come close to danger but was as safe as anyone. Nigel knew that next year, in a fresh phase of marital intimacy, their fourth child, the long awaited little girl would be born. The pregnancy was unexpected as they had not intended to have any more after the twins. Mary would be overwhelmed and eternally happy that at last she’d had a little girl and she’d called her Lucy-May.

  Lucy-May Ingham, protected through school by her three older brothers, had a wonderful childhood. She did well at school, enjoyed sports and had plenty of friends. She went on to university, got a job straight after graduation where she met her future husband, Paul Tollgate, who finally proposed marriage after three years of wonderful dating, just at the point when she wondered where things were heading.

  They started a family straight away and Taryn Mary Tollgate was born, followed a few years later by two more boys. Mary Ingham loved her first grandchild and helped out as much as she could but died before Taryn turned fifteen.

  Taryn married young at nineteen, mainly because she and her older boyfriend were getting sexually active and she fell pregnant accidentally, so they married three months before the child was born but unfortunately the marriage didn’t last. He left her when their little girl was only four months old and Taryn raised Amy Queeny Isabella Tollgate herself, giving the child her maiden name which she herself had reverted to.

  Taryn overcompensated Amy with the love that she herself so longed for and Amy grew up happily, but in need of a father figure. She’d got into many unhelpful relationships as she craved male attention and a man in her life, but she didn’t know where to look.

  Amy got married at twenty-five to a city worker who was wealthy, attractive and everything she desired. They moved into the suburbs and started their own family. It was now that the twins re-emerged into the family line, twin boys being born to the happy couple just before New Year.

  The twins were always close and were very intelligent, having a real flare for science. Flying through school, taking their A-Levels a year early, they were both accepted into Oxford where they had studied Physics. And it was the same twins who had formed a close group of friends with three other guys who had worked together to understand and build that first Wentworth Door, and the same twins who had been murdered and burned by the man now calling himself Nigel Gamble.

  **********

  Brendan Charles sat in his office quietly, as he processed the events of the last few weeks. Things had really started to go in apparently opposite directions and yet he was faithfully doing as he was told, toeing the line as he had done for so long. Though his office was large, with a lot of expensive furniture spread around the place to add a feeling of importance and taste, suddenly the walls seemed to press in on him on every side, and he felt most uncomfortable.

  He stood up and walked over to the window. A boat was being moored up on the river down below, and he watched the men tying the ropes in place and dreamed of simpler days when he had once had the time to sail and fish. The streets were busy as usual, people moving all over the place, going about their daily routines. He stood there thinking to himself, how his own routine had changed so much in the last few years, how he’d done things that now seemed just a part of the course of his life but once, a long time ago, he’d have been horrified even to consider. It was of course all because of Nigel Gamble, though that was true of everything he now had besides his family. ‘My family’ he thought, warmth coming into his cold heart once again. They now represented the only place Nigel’s influence hadn’t breached, his one final stronghold where he was the king, he was the decision maker. The one place where he could actually be himself. These last few weeks had seen him withdraw even more than usual into the safety of home life and the weekends had become very precious family times as Brendan had sought to escape the harsh realities of his working life.

  And all along, he always felt, he was just a piece in the puzzle, something that at any moment Nigel Gamble could decide to just discard, to get rid of, to cut his losses. There was much to incriminate him if the police were told where to look, and with Nigel’s influence Brendan was sure that come the day they’d know exactly where to look. The thought made him very uneasy, fearful about his family and what would happen if he was taken away.

  The whole incident with Simon Allen and the police station had been a huge wake up call. Yes, at first Brendan had gone along with things and had passed on the job to the right kind of people, but now...he paused, the thought too much to just let it out...now, he finally continued processing, what if they traced it all back to him? Brendan knew about the cover-up story that Nigel had spread concerning Robert’s involvement but equally he knew how untrue it was. And there were still people within that whole scenario who were dangerous — like Mary Ingham for instance. It was clear that she was aware of what Simon Allen had been working on. She had requested that he look into the figures. And yet Nigel Gamble hadn’t touched her; he’d instead allowed there to be the chance of it all falling once again on Brendan’s own head.

  Suddenly his wife and children’s faces flashed through his mind and Brendan lowered his head. No, he couldn’t let them down. He couldn’t get caught out like this. He’d done some bad things, he knew that, but he’d had no choice really when it came to it. But would that hold up in court? Would that be his only defence when the day finally came, a day he had now convinced himself was coming, as he stood there getting more and more upset looking out at a world where for those down below, life appeared to be a lot simpler.

  There was of course the open window, though jumping out of it was not his style. Still, the thought of just having some closure made suicide linger just a little bit too long in his mind which only made him more angry.

  “What have I become?” he said, turning himself away from the window and walking to his drinks cabinet where he poured himself a large Scotch.

  “This thing has to be closed, closed completely shut. There cannot be any incriminating evidence left behind that could lead them back to me. What’s been started must be finished. Mary Ingham needs to be history!”

  Brendan picked up the phone without hesitating, and dialled a number he now knew by heart; he didn’t like to dwell on the possible consequences of the call.

  **********

  Nigel Gamble had been asleep when Brendan Charles had made the call but it was only twenty-five minutes before he was listening to the recording as he sat in his bedroom. The pace of things and the stresses he was under as his worst fears were being realised, were catching up with him. Nigel was starting to get tired very quickly which had been why he had fallen asleep on that afternoon.

  Nigel, however, quickly called the same firm back and after a brief pause while his identity was verified, it was all action stations and the order was undone, with strict orders from now on to run all of Brendan’s instructions via himself until further notice.

  He’d then called Brendan and had gone at length, but without giving a reason, why such moves were not to be done without his say so and that Mary Ingham was to be left alone,
that she posed no further threat and that if anything were to happen to her in any way Brendan would personally pay the price along with his family. Nigel was not happy at having to make such calls. He’d had more contact with Brendan in these last few weeks than in all the previous time put together, and that thought worried him, but he also knew that he’d need his help in order to remain safe. And by bringing Brendan’s family into play, he knew he’d be striking a nerve. He could only imagine the colour of Brendan’s face but he’d obviously done a grand job restraining himself while speaking and they’d quickly finished the call.

  **********

  Deep inside he had burned with passionate anger and Brendan had had to use all his mental energy to not say anything back, instead throwing the handset against the wall once the call was finished with such violence that he not only destroyed the phone, but it also made an inch-deep hole in the immaculately decorated office wall.

  Brendan had not been this angry and annoyed in a long time but it was Nigel Gamble’s obvious change in approach over the last few weeks, coupled now with his threat against his family, that had finally done it.

  Nothing he had known of his boss from all their years of working together had fitted with the behaviour now being shown. Not that they’d really worked together in the conventional sense of the word. It was more Brendan taking the odd telephone call once in a while with a handful of face-to-face meetings thrown in for good measure. But now, Nigel’s attitude to things had changed, as if he was no longer thinking rationally but instead acting on some kind of more primitive level.

  Brendan paused at that thought, suddenly his heart rate slowing as he started to regain his composure. He walked over to the broken debris that had once been his telephone and slowly picked it up, placing it into a silver metal bin that stood next to the table. Brendan was now slotting the last month’s events into place in his mind and things were beginning to make more sense. ‘It’s ever since Robert Sandle showed up on the scene that he’s changed,’ he thought. ‘What is it about that guy that has changed things? In the past there have been a few scares but they quickly went away and nothing changed. And yet this guy has changed everything? Why?’

  Brendan, now pacing around the room, was quite enjoying this new chain of thought; engrossed so much that he didn’t even notice a knock on his office door, which went unanswered.

  ‘So Nigel Gamble labels Robert with this bombing...which I know he didn’t do.’ The guilt was starting to hurt Brendan. The bombing, the murders...he just couldn’t bear to look at that any more for fear he’d have to tell somebody.

  ‘Then everywhere we flash up Robert’s picture as a wanted criminal. Police are looking for him, his face has been on most TV channels and yet he’s so far avoided capture, a fact that must mean he’s holed up somewhere but still able to communicate.’ Brendan’s thinking was actually starting to surprise him, because growing somewhere inside was this deep warmth, an almost appreciation of this Robert character that could so easily get to Nigel Gamble like no one had ever done before. He remembered his phone call with Robert just the other day, the things Robert had told him, and suddenly he was rather interested by Robert and desperately wanted to know what it was that he had on Nigel. If it was just money, or blackmail, he’d be most upset, but it seemed much deeper than that, much more to it. Dare Brendan scrape the surface to see what was underneath? Brendan now felt more alive than he had done in a long time. Only now did he remind himself how his current position was killing him. He was no more a CEO than just an errand boy, running this way and that doing exactly as he was told. He had no freedom and couldn’t really travel much. The pay was good but it kept him in one place. Oh to know what Robert knew about Nigel Gamble. Surely he had something that could change all this.

  His thinking was becoming more hopeful; he was desperate for a way out but had felt crippled from doing anything up to now. He knew though he had to do something. His life was a farce, a fraud. His family saw him as this big businessman and that is what he allowed them to think as he shielded the rest from them — and yet he knew the reality and the reality saddened him to his very core. That phone call that Robert had made to him only proved the point. How had he got his number in the first place? Who did he work for? The thought that there was even the hint of a government agency that wasn’t tainted by Gamble employees was too impossible to consider. And yet in that call Robert had told Brendan how he indeed felt, as if he knew everything about him. What was all that about? He’d seen his photo and he knew that they had never met before.

  Brendan was now pacing around rather excitedly and the desire for fresh air was strong, so he picked up a jacket, as rain threatened, and left his office in a forceful fashion, walking out of the building in such a way that it told everyone who might need him not to bother trying if they wanted to keep their jobs.

  Around the side of the office building was a large park with paved pathways working their way in a random fashion across and around the lush green patches of grass. Flower beds sat empty now but in spring time they were alive with colour. There was a time when Brendan would go there at lunch time and walk around. He had fond memories of meeting his wife there in their early years when they had lived a lot nearer but those days had long since gone for one reason or other. There were a few joggers working their way around the circular path at different speeds. Two dog walkers talked together as the seven or eight dogs they seemed to have between them strained forward. It was just how Brendan had remembered it, just why he loved to come there. It was a haven in the midst of the madness. Here he could think, walk and plan. Only here, outside the office, did he feel safe. He knew it was a strange thought but a true one nonetheless.

  And with his mind at rest, his thoughts clearer, he knew that he wanted to talk again with Robert Sandle, and not just to talk but to know everything. Working out how to get in contact with him would prove another challenge but he felt sure that before long Robert would again make contact with him and this time he’d be ready to listen.

  Chapter 19

  Jessica Ponter had spent the whole afternoon getting herself ready, such was her excitement at the prospect of once again being with her Tommy, as she had always called him. She’d splashed out a bit and had got her hair done yesterday, cut just below her shoulders in the way that Tommy had always said she looked most beautiful. She’d also bought a striking red dress that was as elegant as it was sexy, designed to turn heads but there was only one head she was interested in and she hoped he would love it.

  How she missed all this — the dressing up, the preparation. Getting ready for some big date, even if in the past it had just been to see a film at the cinema, she’d always loved to make an effort. She felt it was just in her genes to look good around other people. Things had moved on now though. Their lives had changed and somehow Tommy Lawrence was now a football manager. Tonight they were having dinner at an exclusive London restaurant that usually had a twelve month waiting list but they had been fitted in with a week’s notice. After that they were off to Leicester Square and a film première, the full red carpet treatment, though it wasn’t one of the biggest Hollywood blockbusters — maybe one day that would be the case. It didn’t matter now, just the thought of the evening together sent a warmth right through her body. Sitting in her underwear in the privacy of her bedroom, she spent thirty enjoyable minutes carefully painting her toe nails. She pulled on her stockings, the fine silk feeling so good against her now smooth legs which she had spent a painful morning waxing down to the last hair. It would all be worth it just to see Tommy’s reaction.

  **********

  Tommy Lawrence was also at that moment making an effort. Having showered and freshened up, he pulled up his designer trousers over his favourite CK boxers and put on his casual, loose fitting but smart jacket, the light grey accenting his blue eyes perfectly in the dim light of his bedroom. He remembered how much Jessica loved gazing into his eyes, the eyes she always found so captivating.

  T
ommy picked his keys and phone up and was out of the door in a moment. He wanted to pop by the local florists before getting in the hired car, a beautifully streamlined stretched Jaguar XJ8. The lady behind the counter who’d got Tommy’s order ready was taken aback by the man who walked in, such was the transformation from the track-suited individual she’d seen some six hours earlier. He smiled at her, realising the thought that must be going through her head.

  She typed up the order into the till and Tommy paid the total, not too worried by how much they had cost because they looked perfect, the white lilies were Jessica’s favourite.

  Tommy struggled a bit to pick them all up, careful not to mark his new suit and the lady helped him with the door, a smile on her face as if to say; ‘Somewhere there is one very lucky lady’. In reality though it was Tommy who felt the lucky one.

  When he got back to his house the car had arrived and he tapped on the window, the driver getting out and opening the rear door for him. Tommy laid the flowers on one of the seats and sat in another. A vintage bottle of champagne sat chilled in a bucket, this being Tommy’s most expensive purchase of the evening, but even spending £500 on the bottle didn’t matter as he’d be drinking it with Jessica — his Jessica, as he had always thought of her.