Drink With The Devil

by David Woods

  They all looked aghast and a young manager in a grey suit said, “We always attract new customers by our reputation.”

  “Not enough, I’m afraid. We need new business.”

  Another senior manager, a middle aged man, with a large gut added, “What do you suggest?”

  “We’ll contact an advertising agency.”

  “I don’t approve of advertising and nor did your father.”

  “I don’t care what you or my father approved of. This company needs to bring in new business to cover our rising overheads.”

  They all sat thinking about this suggestion and Simon Berry, a young manager seated at the far end of the table said, “I think it’s a good idea.”

  Garry looked directly at him. “Good. Then you can help find a suitable agency.”

  Simon, a man of about his own age of medium height with fair curly hair, was summoned into Garry’s office. He looked him up and down, approving of his smart appearance. “Simon, I want you to leave your present duties and concentrate on bringing in new business to this tired old company.”

  “Yes, Sir. I’d be pleased to have a go.”

  “That’s the spirit. We need a few more enthusiastic people around here.”

  They discussed the new idea for the remainder of the afternoon.

  That evening Garry picked up Jane at her flat, to find her looking tense and her eye make-up smudged. She got into the sports car and Garry kissed her cheek. “What’s the matter, Jane?”

  “I’m fine, but Dad’s been taken to hospital. He collapsed at work.”

  “Oh, that’s pretty serious. Is there anything I can do?”

  “No. I’ve been visiting the hospital on and off all day.”

  “What do they think is wrong with him?”

  “A heart attack, I’m afraid.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. Is he stable now?”

  “Yes, so they say.”

  “He’s tough and sure to get over it.”

  “I do hope so, but he was very run down.”

  They went to a restaurant and Jane picked at her food. Garry found himself worried about a girl for the first time in his life. They visited the hospital together after dinner, but Jane was told there was no change in her father’s condition. She introduced Garry to her mother, who would not budge from the waiting room despite Garry offering to take her home. They went back to Jane’s flat and drank coffee, and although Garry tried to talk about light-hearted matters, she was inconsolable.

  The next morning Garry rang the hospital to find Roland Blake was out of danger. He felt relieved, and worked hard reviewing the performance of each key member of staff and their cost to the company. He finished late and was about to leave when Jane rang. She sounded cheerful. “I’m sorry for being so dull last night.”

  “Think nothing of it. It was only to be expected.”

  “Will you be taking me out to dinner tonight?”

  “Yes. I’ll pick you up later.” Garry felt very happy, as having forgotten to ask her out the previous night, he was worried that she would not want to see him again.

  Jane climbed into the car and spoke before Garry could welcome her. “Dad’s a lot better.”

  “That’s marvellous news.” Garry smiled as he asked, “d’you think he’ll delegate a little more now?”

  “He’ll have to. I’ll make sure of it.”

  “D’you work near to him?”

  “Yes. In the adjoining office.”

  “That’s useful.”

  They were a little merry as they walked back to Jane’s flat, where she immediately rang the hospital to find her father’s condition was still improving. They had a drink and cuddled on the sofa, Garry feeling very happy to be with her. Their kisses became more intense and they clung to each other, lying back on the wide surface. Clothes were soon loosened and Garry untied her hair, letting it cascade down over her shoulders. As he felt the silky blond strands between his fingers, he became aroused. They undressed each other slowly, stopping to kiss deeply. Garry was quivering with excitement at the beauty of her body and stammered. “I-I love you, Jane.”

  She said nothing, but felt different than ever before as she clung to his slim body, and their kisses became more and more passionate. After they had made love they lay still for a few minutes and Jane whispered, “I’ve never felt like that before. I think I love you, too.”

  The following day was Saturday, and Garry had arranged to see Peter French at the farm office. Jane brought him breakfast in bed early and they discussed their plans for the day. “I want to go to the hospital to see Dad.”

  “Okay. Why don’t I take you, and then we could go on to the farm together, returning here tonight.”

  “That’s a good idea. I’d like to see your farm.”

  Jane went into the private ward on her own and found her father sitting up and looking cheerful.

  “Hello my dear. When are you going to bring that young man to see me?”

  “You’re only allowed one visitor at a time, so you’ll have to wait.”

  “Not for too long. I’ll be out of here in no time.”

  Jane studied her father’s face which seemed to have got thinner. His white hair was combed back, revealing his bald head, and his pyjamas were pulled tightly around his slender frame. She thought how fragile he looked. When she left an hour later she was replaced in the ward by her mother.

  Garry drove fast along the country lane to the farm, and pulled up outside the office. Peter looked out of the window and spoke to his wife, who was helping with some filing.

  “Good God. I believe he might just be human after all.”

  “What d’you mean?”

  “He’s got a girl with him.”

  “Perhaps she’s just an ornament to be shown off.”

  “Maybe. But she’s beautiful.”

  “That’s what I mean.”

  Whilst the meeting in the farm office was taking place Jane wandered around the farm buildings, looking at the new born calves and trying to make a fuss of them. Garry found her talking to a farm worker, who almost ran as he approached.

  “Why did he go off like that?”

  “I don’t know. Perhaps he’s frightened of me!”

  “D’you give your employees a hard time then?”

  “I chase them every now and then.”

  Jane gave him a strange look. “You won’t start getting nasty with me, will you?”

  “Of course not. Don’t be silly.”

  They walked around the farm for a couple of hours and then drove back to London, so that Jane could visit her father again. She looked happy when the visit was over. “If the improvement continues he’ll be home on Monday.”

  “That’s certainly good news.”

  She looked at him with loving eyes. “What now?”

  “Dinner. Then back to my flat for a change.”

  “That sounds good.”

  The evening passed quickly and Jane walked around the flat looking at his furniture and pictures. “I can see this is a man’s flat.”

  “Yes. Perhaps it needs a woman’s touch.”

  “Are you asking me to stay?”

  “Yes. That would be nice.”

  “We could give it a try.”

  On Monday morning Garry rang his secretary to say he would be late, and then took Jane to the hospital to collect her father. They were greeted in the waiting room by Jane’s distraught mother sobbing uncontrollably. Jane ran up to her. “What’s the matter?”

  “Dad’s gone.”

  “He can’t have. I don’t believe it!” she screamed.

  A white-coated doctor came in, looking serious. “I’m sorry, Miss Blake. Your father had a massive heart attack an hour ago and we couldn’t save him.”

  Jane and her mother clung to each other, their bodies shaking as they cried and sobbed. Garry felt uncomfortable and stunned. He looked at the two women and, not wishing to intrude on their grief, moved to the corner of the room and sat down quiet
ly. Remembering how he had reacted when given similar bad news, he realised he was not affected so badly. He could only remember being sad, but not bad enough to cry, and he felt jealous of Jane’s feelings towards her parents. Both Jane and her mother sat down continuing to sob. A nurse come in, looked at them and walked away.

  After about ten minutes Marian stopped crying and said quietly, “We’ll have to be brave and face the future without him.” This statement made Jane cry even harder. The nurse returned with cups of tea, which had a calming effect, and Garry arranged for a taxi to take both ladies to the Blake’s large house on Hampstead Heath.

  Jane looked at Carry with bloodshot eyes. “I must stay with my mother. Can you fetch my things?”

  “Yes. Of course.”

  On arriving back at his flat, he quickly packed her clothes and drove back to Hampstead to be let in by Jane’s mother. She was a tall white-haired trim lady and trying her best to cope with her grief. They had another cup of tea and Garry left, feeling depressed and sad for the two distraught ladies.

  Jane followed him out to his car. “I’m going to be busy trying to help run the business, and I won’t have time to go out with you for a while,” she said.

  Garry went home depressed, thinking that was the end of another brief encounter.

  Chapter Seven

  Judge Edwin Thomas presided over the court as Jim stood nervously in the dock. The judge looked hard at the wild-looking man in prison clothing, and wondered why anyone would want to look that way. Jim glanced around the large room and noticed his barrister checking a pile of papers. In the public gallery several reporters were sitting with note pads ready, but his eyes suddenly focused on a tall, slim dark-haired man dressed in a grey suit, who was staring at him with a stony-faced expression. Jim looked away, wondering who he was.

  The trial did not last long with Jim pleading guilty, and his young barrister reading out the mitigating circumstances with such eloquence and passion that the judge was noticeably moved, nodding his head in approval. He sentenced Jim to twelve months in prison, after giving him a lecture on self-control and telling him not to take the law into his own hands again.

  He felt relieved and happy to know at last how long he would have to wait for his freedom. His lawyer met him after the trial. “With any luck you’ll be out in four months. You’ve already done four, so keep your nose clean and all will be well.”

  “I’ll do that I can assure you.”

  “I know you will.”

  Jim was taken to Wormwood Scrubs and subjected to the usual degrading strip search, then a bath and on to the barber’s. The prison barber, an elderly man with white hair, looked at his client as he entered and groaned. “What ’ave we got ’ere, then?” A bloody monkey?”

  Jim did not answer. He sat down and watched as the man removed his “wild man gypo” identity. He smiled when the job was done and turned to the old man. “Thanks very much. I’ve wanted to get rid of that for months.”

  “My God. You do look different.”

  Jim looked again at his clean-shaven face and stroked his white chin. He even liked the short back and sides.

  The small cell had two bunks, and when Jim sat down to test the mattress, it was hard and just how he liked it to be. The man lying on the other bunk stood up and extended his hand. “How do you do?” He said in a cultured public school voice.

  Jim was surprised to be greeted in such a manner. “My name’s Jim Grainger.” He towered over the other man, a middle aged short chap with grey-streaked dark hair.

  “Hello, Jim. I’m Oliver Smythe.”

  Jim sat down again. “Well, Oliver, what are you in for?”

  “Oh, only a trivial matter of company fraud. I was quietly running my own business. Not hurting a soul. Just selling the odd bit of stock and placing the proceeds in an offshore account in my own name, when the taxman pounced.”

  “Oh, that was bad luck.”

  “Not so much bad luck as a bad choice of stockbrokers.”

  Jim was intrigued. “How did they cause a problem?”

  “I needed to raise money in the City, so I contacted a firm of stockbrokers who agreed to find an investor for me. What I didn’t bargain for was their own investigators unearthing my private business, and blowing the whistle on me.”

  “That’s terrible. How long did you get?”

  “Eighteen months and a fine. What are you in for?”

  “I killed a man.” Jim said quietly.

  Oliver looked shocked.

  “It wasn’t intentional.”

  “Good. You don’t look like a killer.”

  “Don’t you think so? I reckon I might have done this morning.” He told his story and Oliver sat wide-eyed in amazement, listening to Jim’s deep husky voice giving a graphic account of his life.

  “So now you know all about me.”

  Oliver smiled. “You and I have one thing in common.” “What’s that?”

  “We’ve both fallen foul of the Osbornes.”

  “How d’you mean? Both of us.”

  “The firm who let me down was Osbornes. And the investigator who took a great deal of delight in calling the fraud squad was young Garry Osborne.”

  “Angela’s brother. She told me about him, but I’ve never seen him.”

  “I have. A nasty piece of work.”

  Suddenly recalling the stony-faced man in the court room, Jim said, “What does Garry look like?”

  “Tall, slim, dark-haired. Bit of a womaniser they say. Matter of fact he’s about your height, but not so well built.”

  Jim told him about the man he had seen staring at him at the trial.

  “That was probably him. I expect he’s gloating over your incarceration.”

  “Could be,” agreed Jim.

  The two men talked for hours. Oliver told him all he knew about the Osbornes and their company. He listened intently and asked questions until he had learned all that Oliver knew.

  The next morning Jim was in the washroom having a shave for the first time in over a year. He stroked his chin, appreciating the feel of a close shave, and then washed. Just as he was about to leave he heard a gruff voice behind him.

  “So you’re the evil bastard who killed my mate ’arry Briggs?”

  Jim turned around and received a powerful punch in the stomach, which doubled him up, and then felt a stinging blow in the back. He was on the floor receiving kicks and blows to his body, which seemed to go on forever, but suddenly the onslaught stopped as he passed out. The next thing he remembered was someone splashing water on his face. Two men helped him up, his body ached all over and he felt sick. He opened his eyes to be confronted by a thick-set man, with a neck like a bull and as tall as himself, who looked him squarely in the eye. “That was for my mate ’arry. And when you get out his brother’ll be waiting to finish the job.”

  The two men let go and Jim staggered backward, propping himself up against a wall. The washroom was empty and he slowly gathered his towel and shaving things up, feeling dizzy and in severe pain. After splashing more water on his face, he walked unsteadily back to his cell. A prison officer spotted him and shouted. “Are you all right?”

  Jim just nodded. “I’m okay, thanks.”

  Oliver looked at him. “Good God, man. What happened to you?”

  “Someone doesn’t like me.”

  It was a week before Jim felt fit again. He kept a wary eye out for the thick-set man and his henchmen, but they seemed to ignore him. After getting over his beating and, in an effort to get fitter, he exercised in his cell until he was exhausted. This made him hungry and he ate all be could. Slowly his self-confidence returned and his muscles got larger.

  During their long hours locked up, Jim and Oliver talked a great deal. Oliver told him how he had started his own company, a small shop that became a chain of grocery stores. He was very interested and asked many questions about running a business. With Oliver pleased to pass on his considerable knowledge, every evening became a lesson for
Jim and he was the most intensely interested student a lecturer ever had.

  This mental activity made time pass quickly for both of them, but during the dark hours of night Jim still dreamed of being with Angela. He could still visualise her beautiful face smiling at him, and the enjoyable time they spent together. His forest home seemed a lifetime away. Life in prison was so different and alien to him, and freedom was uppermost in his dreams - being able to walk with the wind in his face, to smell the perfume of the countryside and the sight of trees and animals. He spent a lot of time thinking about what he should do when released, as it was quite obvious he could not return to living in a wood.

  Oliver had made him interested in starting a business, but how could he start with no money at all? He churned this question over and over in his mind, and one evening asked Oliver what his advice would be.

  Oliver frowned and thought for a while. “It’s always more difficult for an ex-con to get started,”

  “Yes, I can imagine.”

  “I think if I were a young, strong and fit man, I would go into the building industry.”

  “Why building?”

  “Well, this is 1959 and I can foresee a boom throughout the sixties in house and local authority building.”

  “But I don’t know a thing about the trade.”

  “You’d soon learn. It’s well worth considering.”

  * * *

  Garry attended the trial and sat in the public gallery as close as possible to the dock, so he could study the accused. He felt tense and nervous at the thought of his family’s name being ridiculed by the press, which was well represented on the benches beside him. Some of them had done their homework well and recognised him. “Can we have your comments on the trial, Mr. Osborne?”

  “No comment,” was all the response they received.

  Garry watched as Jim appeared in the dock. His stomach twisted and he felt weak as he realised the man looked every bit as bad as he had been led to believe. How could Angela associate with that man? It just could not be true. He kept telling himself over and over again it was impossible. He wanted to cry out “murderer,” but just managed to stop himself. The more he studied the man, the more he was convinced this was the murderer of his parents and the animal that hurt his sister, still lying in a coma. He looked around the public gallery and noticed an artist drawing a portrait of the prisoner.