Danny, unfortunately, saw them first. His eyes were riveted on the top of Claudia’s shorn head. His jaw dropped. ‘What the fuck –?’
There was a lot of tutting and covering-up of the sound equipment. Claudia leaned forward and yelled at Ross, ‘Push the bloody button! He’s going to kill me!’
‘So am I,’ Nell hissed, ‘if this thing moves as much as an inch – oh!’
It was the most terrifying minute-and-a-half of Claudia’s life. Surrounded by white lights, ear-splitting music, the horrifying feeling that she was about to be smashed to pulp at any second, and complete disorientation, she clung to her shoulder supports in relief as the Crash’n’Dash glided to a halt. Still, it was probably preferable than facing her husband.
‘Am I dead?’ Her head was spinning. Her tongue seemed to be glued to her teeth. ‘What happened? Nell? Are you OK?’
‘I think so.’ Nell tried a tentative smile. ‘Actually, that was pretty exciting. Shall we do it again?’
Claudia was fumbling to undo her padded bars. ‘Not on your life. Never, ever –’ She smiled in gratitude as a strong pair of hands helped her with the catches.
‘Get out,’ Danny snarled. ‘Out! Now!’
Wesley and Andy were interviewing Ross. The cameramen seemed delighted with the footage. And Nell was smiling her ‘I’m-dreaming-of-the-bank-manager’ smile.
‘Not now, Danny.’ Claudia’s legs buckled as she put her feet to the floor. ‘Not in front of all these people.’
‘You’ve really done it this time, haven’t you? You know how I feel about long hair. Women have long hair, Claudia. You didn’t even tell me what you were going to do, did you? I don’t like that. I don’t like it at all.’
He had one arm under her elbow. Meridian and Central were packing up. Claudia looked at Danny’s furious face. She couldn’t go on like this. She was frightened of him. More and more frightened. No one else seemed to have noticed that his fingers were leaving white marks on her arm, or that his mouth was snarling, not smiling.
‘Bloody hell!’ Sam appeared from the crowd. ‘Have I missed all the excitement? I was just hosing down the paratrooper when Rio Mackenzie said the television crews had arrived early.’ He smiled at Claudia. ‘Wow! I love your hair! Don’t you, Danny? A real improvement – very pretty. Actually,’ he spread his hands in a gesture of helplessness and looked at his brother, ‘I’ve got a real bugger of a problem with the balance on the centre truck. Can you give me a hand, Dan, or I won’t be able to open tonight.’
Danny sighed and slowly, very slowly, released his grip on Claudia’s arm. ‘Christ! I suppose so. You ought to get rid of that heap of junk, though. Come on then – let’s have a look. I’ve got other things to do.’ He glared at Claudia. ‘And other things to see to. Don’t go too far away.’
Claudia watched as he barged his way through the crowd towards the paratrooper. Her eyes were stinging with tears. ‘Thanks.’
‘It’s OK.’ Sam stroked the marks on her arm which were now turning a livid red. ‘Now go back to your living wagon, get what you need, and for God’s sake leave him.’
‘I can’t. How can I? I’ve got nowhere to go.’
‘Yes you have,’ Sam said quietly. ‘You know you have.’
Chapter Twenty-two
Fiona was due home that evening. She’d telephoned from her car just after seven in the morning while Jack was still in bed, and said no, she wouldn’t be stopping over the weekend in London with her mother and stepfather as originally planned. She’d followed up all her contacts of the previous week and firmed-up her client portfolio. She had a couple of appointments that day with customers she’d been courting, then she’d come home and work on the quotes. Yes, she was feeling fine. Why shouldn’t she be? No, she thought she’d be too tired to eat out. Maybe Jack could cook some pasta when she got back?
She hadn’t, Jack thought as he drizzled the marinade over sliced courgettes and tomatoes and slid the dish into the refrigerator ready for this evening’s meal, said that she’d missed him. But then he hadn’t said that he’d missed her either. In fact he was getting quite used to these breaks. Fiona was spending more and more time on the road. It suited him well. He’d been spending more and more time at Fox Hollow. Percy and Dennis, Harry and Fred, had joined him on the last two occasions, and all were sure that the gallopers would be completed by September. Just in time for his wedding.
Nell’s visits hadn’t coincided with his since that crazy day they’d ridden to the Maybush. He knew she’d been there – she was still leaving notes. He’d kept them. Just as he’d kept the photograph from The World’s Fair. He wasn’t sure why.
In one of her notes Nell had asked how he knew about the Crash’n’Dash – she’d referred to it as the Brain-Scrambler – and mentioned Ross Percival’s arrival at Haresfoot; the appearance of all three on Meridian News had come as something of a shock.
Jack had been perched on the edge of the rigid sofa with his without-Fiona dinner of two cans of Beck’s and a Chinese takeaway. They had played into the news item with a blast of organ music, the way all television companies seemed to announce fairground coverage, and he’d raised his head from the sports pages of the local paper. Seeing Nell, with her hair gleaming like copper in the sun and her long legs in bright green shorts, being strapped into the confines of the Crash’n’Dash, had made him choke on his noodles. They’d interviewed Claudia mostly, but he could see Nell in the off-focus background looking distinctly unhappy. Her freckles – God, he loved women with freckles – were practically glowing with indignation. Poor Nell, he’d thought, knowing how much she hated the intrusion into her life; guessing how much its arrival threatened her dreams – his dreams too, come to that.
They had cut to the Crash’n’Dash in action and he’d sat, chow mein suspended in mid-air, literally holding his breath. Christ – she must have nerves of steel. That must have been hairier than the pillion ride on the Roadster. Nell appeared surprisingly calm afterwards, although he thought Claudia looked a bit queasy. Nell had had her hair cut. He liked the way the long fringe drew attention to her eyes. She was really stunning. No wonder the television cameras were lingering so long.
They eventually panned away and Andy Craig was talking to – he’d squinted at the byline on the screen – Danny Bradley. That must be the older brother – the one who was so unpleasant to the attractive Claudia. And – Ross Percival.
Jack had bitten quite angrily into a piece of chicken. He knew of the Percivals – anyone with any knowledge of the fairground fraternity knew of the Percivals – but he hadn’t expected to see Ross looming large in his living room. So this was the man who was responsible for buying the Crash’n’Dash and who wanted to marry Nell. Not that he blamed him for the latter, of course. He’d stopped for a moment. Christ! Did he really think that? It had disturbed him considerably to find that he did.
He added some black pepper to the chopped onions, covered them with clingfilm and put them in the fridge with the courgettes and tomatoes. There’d be no need to pan-fry the chicken breasts until Fiona got back. He’d do some rice in the microwave while she was having a shower and he’d buy a bottle of Chardonnay on the way home. He was going to make the best of this. He had no other choice. Not now.
The Roadster looked quite out of place in the Morland & Son executive car park – especially next to his father’s BMW. Jack removed his crash helmet, straightened his hair, and was fastening his tie as he galloped up the stairs. He’d hoped his father would be out.
‘Morning, Jack.’ Margaret, their middle-aged and motherly secretary, beamed at him. ‘Coffee?’
‘Please. If it’s not too much trouble.’
‘No trouble. I’ve just put a brew on for your dad. He’s having a meeting.’
Oh God, Jack thought, he bloody would be. He pushed open the office door. His father looked up from his desk. He didn’t smile. Neither did the suited and tied and heavy-jowled men sitting opposite him.
‘Sit down, Jac
k. I believe you know Steve Reynolds and Phil Smith? They’re site managers at Fairy Dell,’ Bill Morland said.
Jack tried very hard to look serious. It wasn’t easy. The more bleak and ugly the housing development, the more whimsical the name of the estate. He had long since learned that Kingfisher Lakeside and Willow Fronds meant ten thousand identical houses, in identical roads, with minuscule gardens, with no view except of other houses and an industrial estate, and probably a six-lane bypass on the doorstep.
‘You know Phil and Steve, don’t you?’ Bill had picked up the letter-opener. Jack winced. Not a good sign. He knew them vaguely by sight, of course. They were regular contacts for Morlands. Bill dealt with them. Jack usually spoke to them on the phone. He couldn’t remember meeting them recently.
‘Yes, of course.’
‘But not quite as well as you should do,’ his father full-beamed straight into his eyes now, ‘considering that you . spent a whole day with them last Monday. At Fairy Dell. Discussing our tender.’
Oh, shit. Jack had spent last Monday at Fox Hollow.
‘Steve and Phil have just called in to tell me that they did in fact leave a couple of messages on your voicemail as you seemed unable to make the meeting. You didn’t get back to them. They couldn’t, naturally, contact me as I was involved with that green-belt meeting in Bournemouth. They’ve also, because they’re old friends, called in to tell me that we’re too late to tender and the deal has gone elsewhere.’
Double shit.
Bill Morland hadn’t finished. He was flicking through the computer screen with one hand and a pile of papers with the other. ‘As has the potential tender for Merrymead, and the unnamed complex at Didcot, and the very prestigious new marina flats on Folly Bridge in Oxford.’ He stabbed the paper-knife into the desk. ‘I trust you have an excellent explanation for this?’
The door opened and Margaret bustled in with the tray. Thank God, Jack thought. His mouth had dried up.
‘Not now, Margaret!’ Bill barked. ‘I’ll ring when – if – I’m ready!’
Margaret, much to Jack’s dismay, backed out again.
There were two options, neither of them particularly pleasant. The truth or lying. Jack had never really been in favour of telling lies. It made life far too complicated. Withholding some of the truth at times was a different matter. But this, he felt, was a time for utmost honesty.
‘No explanations. No excuses. I didn’t go.’
‘I know you didn’t bloody go!’ His father banged so hard on the desk that Steve and Phil jumped. ‘I want to know bloody why!’
Not a moment for complete truth here, Jack reckoned quickly. A bit of fudging might help. ‘Actually, I think I got the dates muddled. I think I put them in my organiser for next month. All four of them. I thought they were in August.’
‘I have access to your organiser on my network. The dates are all here. Very clearly. For July. Not good enough, Jack. Try again.’
Steve and Phil shifted in their seats. Jack sucked in his breath. ‘OK. I apologise to Mr Reynolds and Mr Smith for wasting their time. I apologise to you for missing out on this and the other three deals – and I’d rather like to conduct the rest of this conversation in private.’
Phil and Steve, who were looking increasingly uncomfortable, rose as one with relieved and embarrassed smiles.
‘Sit down, gentlemen!’ Bill Morland’s voice would have halted a whirling dervish. They sat. ‘This won’t take long. No, Jack, there are things that must be said – and I’d prefer to have witnesses. Especially witnesses of the calibre of these two colleagues, who have been true and trusted friends of mine through many years of business. I certainly wouldn’t want them to leave here with the impression that Morlands don’t work ethically, or are in any way unreliable. Any impression of that kind, passed on in the field, could bankrupt our company. Understood? Good. One missed appointment I could forgive – we all have delays and slip-ups – but four – and without notifying anyone of your absence. Sit down!’
Jack shook his head. ‘I’m not some kid at school being ticked off by the headmaster. I am your son – yes – but I’m not ten years old. Nor am I some incompetent who can’t get the stationery order correct. I’m a partner in this business – or at least I was. Now you’ve got your witnesses, Dad, they can witness this. I resign. Now. Immediately. Goodbye.’
He turned and stalked to the door, yanking it open so hard that Margaret nearly tumbled through it. Stepping into her office he closed the door behind him and bit his lip. ‘You heard?’
‘’Course I heard.’ Her eyes were glistening. ‘I wouldn’t know anything that went on here if I didn’t listen in, would I? Don’t go, Jack. I couldn’t bear working here without you. Don’t –’
The connecting door flew open and Bill, red-faced and barely containing his temper, seemed to swell in the opening. ‘Jack! We haven’t finished!’
‘We have. I mean it. I’m sorry, Dad, really, I am – but my heart hasn’t been in it for months. You’ll find someone else to take over. Someone who feels the same way about the company as you do. I’ve tried for so long – but it’s never felt right. I only stayed as long as I did because I didn’t want to let you down. I do appreciate that you’ve made life easy for me, and I’m grateful, but I don’t enjoy it. I need to do something on my own, make my own mistakes, have my own successes, without them being a pale reflection of yours. I didn’t go to those appointments because I simply forgot. I had my mind on other things.’
‘Such as?’
Oh, hell. Fact or fiction? It might score him Brownie points if he laid the blame squarely at the door of the wedding and the impending baby – but Fiona hadn’t wanted him to tell his parents of the pregnancy until after they were married.
‘The Downland Trust. The gallopers.’
‘Fucking hell! You’ll throw away an executive career, a vast salary, security, prospects, everything that I’ve fought tooth and nail for, for a heap of old fairground junk? Jesus, boy! You need certifying!’
I probably do, Jack thought. But now that he had actually said what he felt, actually resigned, he had never felt better in his life. OK, there’d be problems. Massive problems. Money for one and Fiona for about three hundred. But she’d calm down eventually. She wanted to carry on clambering up her career ladder, didn’t she? He’d stay at home and look after the baby. Be a house husband and paint …
‘You’re fucking insane!’
Margaret bristled behind the computer. ‘Excuse me, Bill, but if you use that word again, then I’ll resign too. I do have my principles, you know.’
‘Fucking! Fucking! Fucking!’ Bill roared across the office. ‘Fuck –’
‘That’s it.’ Margaret gathered up her cardigan and her handbag. ‘I don’t need this. I’ve been head-hunted by the customer service section of Chaseys Biscuits, you know.’ And she slammed out of the office.
‘Now see what you’ve done!’ Bill howled. ‘You and your fucking stupid ideas! Go and get her back!’
Jack shook his head. It wasn’t his problem any longer. This wasn’t his office any longer. He’d just joined the ranks of the unemployed.
He thought afterwards, as he swerved the Roadster into the cul-de-sac, that this must be how people who suddenly lose a limb felt; numb with shock and disbelief, so that you have no awareness of the horror. He was quite sure that by this evening, when he’d told Fiona about it, and his mother had squawked down the telephone for hours, he’d feel every grinding, biting inch of the pain.
Right now however, he thought, leaping from the Roadster and nearly tearing off his tie and suit jacket as he fumbled for the front-door key, he felt as high as a March hare on an amphetamine overdose.
‘Cooee! Jack!’ Adam, wearing a tight pink T-shirt, was leaning from his upstairs window across the road. ‘If you’re at home today, I’ve just made some rather nice drop scones for Stan – but I’m sure he wouldn’t miss a couple. I’ve only got the bedroom to polish round. Shall I pop over in �
�� say – twenty minutes for a coffee and a chat?’
‘Sorry, no.’ Jack at last got the key in the lock. ‘I’d love to, really. But I’ve only come home to change and then I’m off out again. Maybe some other time.’
But Adam had slammed shut the window with a crash and flounced away.
Fox Hollow was deserted. The Downland Trusters had obviously been there since his last visit. The galloper platforms had been laid out round the centre truck in the middle of the shed. Someone had manhandled the striped tilt down from its shelf and propped it against the wall. The swifts had been sorted into numerical order. Jack walked round them. In a very short time they’d be able to build up for the trial run – and then what? Now he had all the time in the world to indulge his obsession – and Nell had none.
He sighed. She would marry Ross Percival and become so involved with the new rides that she’d have no time for the gallopers. There was no way that Ross Percival – or that aggressive brother of hers – would give the gallopers gaff room. Nell might, he thought with a pang of anguish, even decide to sell them on. Oh, shit. Why did life never run in concentric circles? Why did someone always have to put a U-turn in the way of happiness?
He painted for three hours. It was very therapeutic. Today he didn’t even switch on the radio. He just let his mind drift along with the colours and the textures. The horses were all completed now, as were the rounding boards and the platforms. He had a few finishing touches to do to the shields and the top centres, but they were small, fiddly jobs that needed every ounce of his concentration. He sat back on his haunches, relaxed his aching shoulder muscles, and surveyed his morning’s work. It was a million times more important to him than selling red-brick boxes to avaricious building-site owners.
Stealing the Show Page 25
