‘The Overtown law’s asking around to see if anyone saw chummy make the drop,’ said Briscoe. ‘They’re checking people who used the night safe that night, to see if they saw anyone near the bank, but they’ve got a missing kid on their patch. They’re a bit short of men.’
‘Let’s ask the local radio boys to put out an appeal,’ said Thomas. ‘Might be lucky.’
He’d got no missing child in his area, but in addition to finding the bearded raider he had to deal with several cases of larceny and one of arson.
He’d arranged to see his children at the weekend. Too often before, such plans had had to be cancelled; he wondered if he’d make it this time.
No wonder his wife had got fed up.
The press enjoyed the story about the return of the money. It was easy to surmise that the robber had chosen a different branch so that he need not revisit the scene of the crime, but he had not moved far. The story about the telephone calls to the hospital had leaked, too: ‘ROBBER WITH A CONSCIENCE’, said one paper, going on to say, ‘If Helen had Died, He’d have been a Killer’. Another paper talked of the gentle gunman who inquired about his victim.
‘He didn’t seem so gentle,’ Wendy said, as these efforts were studied in the bank on Thursday. ‘He held that gun at me and demanded the money pretty fiercely. I wasn’t to know it was a dummy.’ The papers knew about the toy pistol now; Wendy supposed Thomas must have decided to tell them. There were times when leaking information was useful, as occasionally law-abiding citizens, stumbling on information, would come forward. Maybe some child’s gun was missing: borrowed by its father?
‘He must have been seen dumping that carrier in Overtown,’ said Philip Grigson. ‘You can’t walk up to a bank and stuff three thousand pounds through the letter box without being seen. It must have taken a lot of shoving.’
‘He’d have been in his disguise,’ said Angela Fiske. ‘Wouldn’t he?’
‘Maybe he wore a different one, this time,’ said the typist, who was feeling less new in her second week. ‘White whiskers, like Santa Claus.’
They speculated about it at odd moments during the day. Returning the money seemed to have made the robber more real to them: humanized him.
Robbie knew that he might have been seen, but he was sure that no one had followed him from the bank to his car, and there was no one about when he drove off.
All that was needed was nerve.
He did not switch channels on the television that evening when he heard Isabel come in. She had been at a meeting called by local tradesmen to consider their latest rates demand, and had had dinner with some of them at the Crown. While she was out, Robbie had telephoned Wendy and talked to her for over half an hour. He had asked her to go away with him for the weekend, saying that it wasn’t good for her reputation if he kept leaving her place so late at night.
How old-fashioned he was, she thought, but she found it touching. He didn’t know about Terry, who had so often stayed all night.
She demurred at first.
‘We’ve got into this so suddenly, Robbie,’ she said.
‘If we can have a weekend together, we may know if we want to go on,’ said Robbie. ‘Or you may. I know about myself.’
Why not, thought Wendy, and agreed.
‘I suppose you’ve been stuck there in front of the television all evening,’ Isabel said, entering the sitting room.
Robbie had worked for a while on Wendy’s coffee table, but he was very tired and had soon come in; he had dozed in front of the set and in fact it was not switched to a thriller now but to a programme about insects.
He did not answer Isabel.
‘You must get all your stuff packed up this weekend,’ Isabel went on. ‘We’re moving the following one, remember. Throw away everything you don’t use. There’s no point in taking a lot of rubbish.’
‘I’m going away next weekend,’ said Robbie. He should have added, ‘And I’m not coming back,’ but he didn’t.
‘Away? But you never go away,’ said Isabel.
‘Well, I am now,’ said Robbie. ‘With a friend,’ he added. ‘No one you know.’
‘You can’t go. You’ve got to pack,’ said Isabel.
‘I’ll do it when I get back,’ he said. And then he’d look for a place of his own.
When Isabel went up to her room, she found a Teasmade machine wired up and placed beside her bed. Robbie had finished carrying trays.
Helen Jordan was glad to be at home, but she felt as if she was living with a stranger. James had moved into his dressing room, in order, he said, not to disturb her. She was pleased in a way that she did not have to worry about waking him, when she stirred restlessly during the night, but his aloof politeness to her made her aware that he had not moved merely out of consideration. She was being punished.
The second evening his icy manner was too much for her. She accepted the glass of sherry he gave her, and then said, ‘How long is this going on, James? I’m in the doghouse because when I was a young girl a man took me to bed and taught me about tenderness. Do you think you’re so wonderful that I’d have learned about it from you?’
‘I’ve always thought our sex life was satisfactory,’ said James austerely.
‘It is – was. Because I’d learned not to be inhibited – a thing that didn’t always come easily to girls of my generation,’ said Helen. ‘You’re a good man, James, but you’re not imaginative.’
‘I trusted you,’ said James.
‘I should hope so,’ said Helen. ‘It had nothing to do with you, James. I hadn’t met you then.’
‘You should have told me about it.’
‘If I had, you’d have called off our marriage, wouldn’t you?’ Helen said.
He looked at her with a steely eye.
‘Probably,’ he said. ‘You were tarnished,’ and he slammed out of the house.
Helen began to laugh. His reaction was archaic. But she was still weak, and after a while she began to cry. Who did he think he was, for God’s sake? She hadn’t inquired about his activities either before marriage or since; he might well have strayed with a fräulein when overseas, but she trusted him not to jeopardize all that they had built up together over so many years. Now it seemed that the structure was so unsoundly based that it could be washed away by the first really serious storm. And it was so pointless. She began to feel that her whole marriage had been built on a false foundation and that the years of family life had been a living lie.
She went upstairs and began to pack. She’d go to her sister’s for a few nights and see what happened. She’d tell Pamela the truth, but they’d say she was there because she still felt shaky after the accident. It was true enough. It would give her time to regain some strength, and it would give James time to come to his senses: if he ever did, since their relationship had been based, it seemed on an illusion.
James, drinking his third double gin in a pub, felt himself to be a man betrayed. Nothing would ever be the same again.
11
Isabel had spent Friday evening as well as Thursday with Beryl. She wanted to tell her affectionate, faithful friend about Robbie’s rebellion and the advent of the Teasmade.
‘I can’t think why you didn’t have one years ago,’ said Beryl, who did not enjoy the idea of Robbie in his dressing gown entering Isabel’s room.
‘Oh, I liked him coming in with the tray,’ Isabel admitted. ‘It kept him in his place. And it gave me a chance to speak to him, if there was something I needed to say. We scarcely meet, you know. Really, it’s been quite civilized.’
‘Has he come round about the move?’
‘No. He’s gone away for the weekend, if you please. I don’t think he’s ever done such a thing before. But he said he’d pack when he gets back.’
‘Where’s he gone?’
‘I don’t know – and I didn’t ask. The less fuss, the sooner it’ll all be over,’ Isabel said. ‘He’s always been like a child. This is just childish temper.’
‘Yo
u might be better off without him,’ Beryl dared to say. It was true that Isabel was moving no nearer to her, but without Robbie around, she could pop over to Harbington any time and have more excuse to do things for Isabel. She’d need help, with no Robbie.
‘He’s useful,’ Isabel said. ‘He’s always there when I want odd jobs done, and it’s useful to have him for the books.’
‘We could employ an accountant,’ said Beryl. ‘We can afford it. And there are handy carpenters around.’
‘Not at weekends,’ said Isabel. ‘It’s useful to be able to get things done promptly. Besides, I’ve looked after him long enough – I expect some return.’
‘You’re quite conventional, aren’t you?’ said Beryl. ‘You like the appearance of being married.’
‘It’s not what I like. It’s how society works,’ said Isabel.
‘But the system’s breaking down,’ said Beryl.
‘It’s not. People just go their own ways more,’ Isabel answered.
But a rebellious Robbie was not something she had had to deal with before, and on Saturday morning she awoke alone in the house. He wouldn’t be there to do the books – well, he could make that up one evening. But several times lately he’d come home very late. She’d heard the car, though she said nothing. She slept heavily as a rule, but the unusual sound of Robbie’s car arriving when everything else was quiet had roused her. What could he have been doing? Charlie’s mother, next door, had commented on it, saying, ‘You were late last night, weren’t you? Living it up, then?’ in a cheery way as Isabel left for the shop and Charlie left for school. Isabel had ignored the remark, though the girl seemed to think they had been somewhere together.
If it was any other man, she’d suspect some woman, but not where Robbie was concerned.
You could get used to things so quickly, Wendy thought. Every day now, at the bank, there was a hidden excitement. She was so used to Robbie’s working presence that most of the time she forgot about it, and both of them were too busy with their work to think of much else, but now and then she would smile to herself with secret amusement.
Robbie had changed. He was livelier, often joked with the younger girls, and had quite an argument with Philip Grigson about a customer’s complaint over excess charges, proving Philip’s pronouncement on the matter wrong, what was more. Wendy felt more cheerful too; the days had ceased to drag. She had been thinking of asking for a transfer even without promotion; things would never change for her in Blewton, she had felt, and a new environment might be stimulating. Then, in a flash, life had altered.
She was already fond of Robbie; otherwise she would never have let things go so far; but now she had developed a great dislike for his wife – almost a horror. That woman had destroyed something essential in him – his self-esteem – and Wendy thought she might help its restoration.
If the weekend away was a failure and she wanted to return to their earlier, merely workaday, relationship, her own trip to Scotland would make it easy to break with him. She could return after the week away and carry on as before, quite casually. She accepted her own share of responsibility for the situation between them; she could have discouraged him at the start, but she hadn’t, because she was beginning to fear her own solitude.
‘But James is being ridiculous,’ said Helen Jordan’s sister.
Helen had been given breakfast in bed on Sunday morning. She sat propped against pillows in Pamela’s spare room drinking coffee, while her sister sat on the end of the bed idly glancing through the Observer as they talked. Outside, Pamela’s husband could be heard giving the lawn the first mow of the season, and there was also the thump, thump, of a tennis ball hitting the garage door as Helen’s niece practised.
‘I know he is,’ said Helen.
‘Hugo was a lamb,’ said Pamela. ‘I used to wonder about you and him, but I was never sure.’
‘You were too young to know about such things in those days,’ said Helen. She moved awkwardly in the bed. ‘This rib still hurts like the dickens.’
‘Poor old thing,’ said Pamela. ‘But they do. They take ages to mend. What an ass James is. He’s jolly lucky you haven’t been off on a few shady weekends.’
‘Have you?’ asked Helen.
‘No, I couldn’t. Even if I was tempted, I’m much too fond of dear old Tim to do anything like that,’ said Pamela. ‘But I can understand how people might. Boredom could make you, for instance.’
‘I thought James and I had a good marriage,’ Helen said. ‘It was hard at first, but now he’s doing well and things are easier, and the children seem to know what they want to do and are on the way to doing it. I thought I was happy.’
‘You’ve got a good job. You could manage on your own very well,’ said Pamela. ‘James may feel threatened. Men do break out in middle age, quite often, and I suppose with him it’s taken the form of jealous pique. I wonder how it will hit Tim?’
The prospect of plump, equable Tim breaking out into adultery or jealous rage, or indeed, in any other way, seemed unlikely.
‘He might need something, to restore his self-confidence,’ Pamela mused. ‘Some young girl at the office for instance, like Hugo went after you.’
‘There wasn’t much wrong with Hugo’s self-confidence,’ said Helen. ‘He just liked women.’
‘Well, if Tim gets up to anything like that, I just hope I never know about it,’ said Pamela. ‘I’d be furious. What about James? Do you think he spends his evenings alone in Düsseldorf or wherever he goes?’
‘I think he’s probably too tired to do anything else,’ said Helen. ‘Those trips are exhausting.’
‘Um, yes. Well, he’s a prig. He’ll be frightened, though, when he finds you’ve gone. He’ll soon come to heel. You stay here as long as you like. You won’t be fit to go back to work for some time.’
‘That wretched man,’ said Helen. ‘That robber. It’s all his fault.’
‘You must have been a bit reckless, getting in his way,’ said Pamela. ‘You couldn’t have stopped him, after all.’
‘I couldn’t believe what was happening. He’d started the engine and got the car in gear before I knew it. In fact I think he moved off with a jerk, and that’s why he hit me. But think – if he’d been going at any speed I’d have been badly hurt. As it was, it felt like a damn great bus hitting me.’
‘Well, it was moving, and you struck your head on the kerb, didn’t you? That’s what knocked you out,’ said Pamela. ‘Bad luck on the thief, really. He was only pinching money and now he’ll have to face a charge of attempted manslaughter, won’t he?’
‘I hope so,’ said Helen. ‘If they ever catch him. But for him, none of this trouble with James would have happened.’
‘Wouldn’t you rather know just how frail your marital craft is?’ asked Pamela. ‘Better to face it now than when you’re ten years older, and feeling a lot less spunky.’
The hotel was by the sea. It had a glassed-in sun lounge with plants in pots, and a main lounge with deep chairs and a television set. The restaurant was papered in mock brocade and was lit by two chandeliers. It was very comfortable and rather expensive. Robbie and Wendy spent very little time in the public rooms; their own room was large, with a balcony overlooking the sea, which was choppy and grey. They reached it late on Friday night: Wendy had cut her ancient history class with only a minor pang.
After breakfast in bed, they took the car into the country where they walked over the downs until it was time to find somewhere for lunch. Robbie had bought various guides, and they found a recommended pub where ham on the bone and game pie were featured. The atmosphere was friendly, and Robbie visibly expanded. Wendy was touched by the change in him; he looked years younger. He wasn’t old at all, yet behind his back he had always been known in the bank, since he came there, as Old Robbie.
In the afternoon they poked around various shops looking at things. Wendy liked a picture of a sailing ship; it was an old galleon, a water-colour in soft greys and misty blues with white c
urling foam. It cost fifty pounds, and Robbie bought it for her.
‘But you mustn’t, Robbie,’ she protested. ‘It’s much too expensive. I can’t let you.’
Robbie thought of the useless trinkets he had bought Isabel over the years. They meant nothing to her.
‘You like it, don’t you?’ he asked.
‘I love it,’ she said.
‘It’ll go in your room?’
‘Yes. Over the mantelpiece.’
‘Well, then.’
‘You are a dear,’ she said, and when they were back in the car, kissed him warmly.
Robbie felt wonderful. Could it really be that after all these years his life was going to change?
In bed that night he said, ‘I’m going to leave Isabel, Wendy. I’m not going with her to the new house. She can please herself what she does about that but she can do it alone.’
This news did startle Wendy; she thought it wiser not to comment.
‘If I got a divorce, would you marry me?’ he asked her, and then added quickly, ‘No, don’t answer at once, I’m afraid you’ll say no. Would you think about it?’
‘I’d think about it,’ Wendy said. That committed her to nothing.
Robbie tightened his arms around her. She felt so good, locked there, close to him. He had never known such bliss.
‘Why didn’t you leave her years ago?’ Wendy asked.
‘I suppose I had no strong enough reason,’ Robbie said. ‘In fact we haven’t lived together, as you might say, for years. I’ve had my own little part of the house, in the attic. We have a few meals together, at weekends mostly. She’s often out in the evening seeing to business things or meeting her smart friends. I go on parade with her when it’s partners. I can’t bear the idea of the new house – I like it where we are. There’s a little boy who helps me wash the cars – I do them both on Sundays – and I like the people who run the shop on the corner, and all that. They’re all why I’ve stayed, I suppose.’
Wendy thought it sounded dreadful.
Death on Account Page 10
