by Angela Dyson
“Haven’t we met before?” he asked.
I froze. I’d completely forgotten about Flan’s rash but brilliant venture into his house to retrieve my car keys.
“I don’t think so,” replied Flan with perfect equanimity. “I have a good memory for faces and I don’t believe that I have ever seen yours before.”
“Well it’s funny,” he pursued with suspicion, “But you look just like a woman who knocked on my door late one night last week feeling faint.”
“I have never felt faint in my life,” Flan returned crisply. “It’s an indulgent weakness I wouldn’t dream of allowing myself.”
Apparently satisfied with this, Simon dropped his gaze.
Mr. H. who didn’t do things by halves had actually unearthed a teapot and after laying out the milk and mugs he resumed his seat to ask, “Shall I be mother?”
I laughed. The incongruity of us all sitting down to a midnight tea party in the exact same spot where less than an hour before I’d been threatened and attacked, where I’d been desperate, was farcical. And yet I asked myself why not? What was the point in being melodramatic about it? I was a little bruised and undeniably shaken, but I was all right. I’d survived and here we were sitting down and discussing it over a nice cup of tea. It was all so terribly British.
I felt another spasm of laughter. And then another. And then they kept on coming. Really I couldn’t seem to get them under control. This was just too ridiculous for words. Perhaps it was the after-effects of shock combined with a lack of food that was making me feel so light-headed, but one way or another I was suddenly feeling a whole lot better. Flan stood up and crossed over to me.
“Drink your tea darling. It’ll do you good.”
Dutifully I did as I was told, took a few sips, gradually regained my composure, and after a few moments Flan once again took charge of the proceedings.
“So what happens from here? Clarry you have, my dear, a perfect right to call in the police.”
I sobered instantly, conscious that I now had a very important decision to make.
Flan’s expression was very grave. “This young man has forced his way into your home and has attempted an assault upon your person.” She sounded just like a lawyer and I remembered what she’d said about the cop shows. “You are fully entitled to redress and should you choose to go down that route then informing the police is the natural course of action.”
“Quite right,” agreed Mr. H. staunchly. “I was just about to suggest it myself.”
Simon had sat up very straight, his body rigid, and his eyes fixed upon mine.
I closed my eyes uncertain of what to do. Part of me wanted him to endure the indignity of being questioned by the police. That would knock some of the arrogance out of him. It would be his turn to feel cowed and afraid. But then again did I want to face all the questions?
They would be bound to ask me what his motive in coming here had been. How much should I tell them? Wouldn’t then the whole story inevitably come out? What about the implications for Laura and her company? And in the end what would be the point? The whole process would probably take forever what with statements and things, only for Simon to get a ticking off. And maybe not even that. After all it was my word against his. Wouldn’t it be better for everyone to leave the police out of it? Wouldn’t my best revenge be to outmanoeuvre him and get him off the scene for good?
“Well,” I let out a reluctant sigh. “I am very inclined to involve the police. This has been a very frightening experience for me and I do feel traumatised by what has happened.”
Simon’s expression of despair was a tonic to my jaded spirits. There were sheens of sweat on his face and his eyes were pinpricks. “Look, please Gemma… or what is it? Clarry. I really can’t be arrested. It would be on my record. Please can’t you just…” He was begging now.
I screwed up my face in a show of deep contemplation and from the corner of my eye I could see the merest suggestion of a smile hovering at the corners of Flan’s mouth. She knew me too well.
“So, OK,” I said when I felt that a sufficient amount of time had passed and that I’d put Simon through the maximum level of anguish. “Here’s what’s going to happen.”
“Anything,” he said and I could almost see the tension physically drain out of him. “Anything you like.”
This could be fun I thought. Think of the mileage I could get out of it. I was pretty broke at the moment and I could really do with… No. I veered away from the thought. I was not like that. I was one of the good guys.
“I will not go to the police but only on the following condition: First thing tomorrow morning, before your office even opens, you are going to deliver back your car and leave your boss a note of resignation from immediate effect. Say it’s for personal reasons or whatever you like. And you are not to work again as an estate agent in this area, or in fact anywhere again. Take up a new career. You’re young enough to start again and besides I feel sure you’ve got some money stashed away from some of the other deals that you’ve made.”
Of course I knew that he had plenty of money. I was thinking of his £200,000 investment with Lehman Black. Simon’s face fell and I fought down a laugh.
Well what did he think I was going to say? That he had been a bad boy but it was OK now, we’d just forget all about it and he could go on as before as if nothing had happened? I think he’d got off pretty lightly. On consideration I thought I’d actually been rather magnanimous, although realistically how would I ever know if he did work as an agent in another area? I knew that that part of my conditions was just hot air. But I was enjoying the feeling of empowerment that the dictating of terms was giving me and so why should I deprive myself of a good feeling by getting bogged down with the details?
“And listen Simon,” I pressed it home. “Of course I can’t promise that your boss whomever he or she may be won’t get to know the truth. That much is out of my hands. Laura’s firm may have already contacted Dunstan Stead. But I will do what I can to see if I can swing it so that they don’t prosecute you. But I don’t know if they will even give me the opportunity to voice my opinion.”
He was trembling now but I went on without compromise.
“Because trust me they might very well pursue this. They might investigate every sale you’ve ever made and maybe not just at Dunstan Stead, but wherever you were before, because I’m betting that this is not a new thing for you. And then you’ll be well and truly screwed.”
He looked truly afraid as I said this and I wondered fleetingly just how dirty his hands were. Not my problem thankfully. I’d done my bit for the greater good.
“Oh and just one more thing,” I added casually.
His eyes met mine in the full expectation of another body blow.
“You will never get in contact with Laura or me ever again. Understood?”
He nodded in undisguised relief but I didn’t take it personally.
I sat back crossing my legs in a show of elaborate unconcern. “So take it or leave it Simon. The choice is yours. You can try and brazen it out with the police, with your firm, with the solicitors at Laura’s company if you want to, if you’ve the stomach for it, but if I was in your place I know what I’d do.”
It took him all of ten seconds to decide. “OK OK.” He made a gesture of surrender. “I agree. I’ll do it. I’ll resign. But I think that you are being very unfair about this – unnecessarily harsh.”
“Unfair?” bellowed Mr. H. who over the last few minutes had become increasingly agitated and who now rounded on Simon. “Harsh? Why you cheeky little sod. You should by rights be prosecuted. And not only that, I for one would like to give you a damn good thrashing.” His blood was well and truly up. “And don’t you think I couldn’t. Even at my age. I keep myself fit and I could still beat the living daylights out of you. You just see if I bloody well couldn’t.”
He
broke off and turned with an apology to Flan and me. “Sorry about the language but it makes my blood boil to hear him when he’s been given the chance to…”
Flan leant across the table and patted his hand with the kind of smile that explains why even in her seventies she could still inspire devotion in a man.
“Nobody doubts that for a moment George. You’re twice the man he could ever be.”
Simon dropped his head in mortification. Even someone as self-satisfied as he couldn’t fail to feel some semblance of shame.
“Well I think that’s all don’t you?” said Flan slicing through the tension and rising to her feet with the air of one who was just bringing a neighbourhood watch meeting to a close. “Although just wait one moment whilst I take a look at that cut.”
Simon seemed inclined to object but glancing at her expression decided to think better of it.
“Clarry do you have a first aid box?”
“No. But I do have some plasters.”
“Good but the cut needs to be cleaned up first.”
She turned and went over to the dresser for a bowl and registered for the first time the broken teacup on the floor. “One of your grandmother’s favourites. You did it I suppose?” She glared at Simon who coloured.
“I’ll of course make good any damage. Just let me know how much,” he offered hastily.
I waived the offer away. I was feeling exhausted now and just wanted him to go.
“Right,” said Flan after she had filled a soup bowl with water and taken a clean tea towel from a drawer. “Let’s see what we have here.”
Like a chastened schoolboy, Simon submitted to her ministrations and I was suddenly reminded of Maggie tending to Dan in the pools parts place. Perhaps as a revenge for the attack he’d made upon me or possibly as payback for the broken teacup, Flan was not quite as gentle as she might have been. Simon flinched under her touch but wisely kept his mouth shut.
“There’s no harm done.” She stood back to examine it. “It’s very slight but head wounds do bleed a lot.”
Once the plaster had been applied, Mr. H., still rather red about the face, asked, “Are you alright to drive?” He may have lost his temper and all but challenged Simon to a duel, but he was a very kind man and would not have allowed someone in a weakened state to get behind a wheel.
“I’m fine,” Simon mumbled and for an instant I saw a look of respect for the older man flash across his eyes. “Well goodbye then. And well… thank you…” He trailed off miserably and was quite unable to look at me.
Flan looked at him sternly. “I don’t expect to be meeting you again but I just hope and pray that you have learnt your lesson from what’s happened here tonight.”
And remembering the look he gave Mr. H., I wondered if perhaps he had. Simon nodded mutely and then gathering what shreds of dignity he had left, walked out of the kitchen. A moment later we heard the front door close behind him.
“Thank you. Thank you both for everything.” I bit my lip. “I don’t know what I would have done without you.” My voice wobbled and I felt close to tears again.
“What you need is a good night’s sleep,” replied Flan tenderly and hugged me close. “You’ve had a nasty shock. Get straight into bed and you’ll feel more like yourself in the morning.”
Flan is rarely motherly but in her simple response I could feel a wave of love and concern. I bit back more tears and turned to Mr. H. “And Mr. H., you were magnificent.”
He drew himself upright. “Glad to be of help young Clarry and take it from me, if there’s ever a bit of a flap on, I’m your man. It’s National Service that does that. It’s the training. They want to bring that back you know.” And then seeing that he was losing the attention of his audience said, “I’ll just go and start the car. Bye then now.”
He trundled off and once out of earshot Flan remarked, “He was wasn’t he? Rather magnificent I mean?”
I nodded. “He’s a lovely man. A real sweetie and actually I think he must have been rather good-looking when he was younger. And he’s still got a good head of hair. Not sure about his teeth though. Are they his original set?”
Flan flashed me one of her rakish smiles. “Listen darling,” she drawled. “At this age I count myself lucky if they’ve got a penis and a pulse. Anything else is a bonus!”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Sunlight streaming in through a gap between my bedroom curtains brought me around to consciousness at about eight o’clock. It was a beautiful morning. I would have expected to feel a little woozy and punch-drunk after last night but I was clear-headed, light-hearted, and absolutely starving.
In T-shirt and knickers I headed downstairs to find a kitchen that looked like a battlefield. Ignoring the chaos and shoving my feet into a pair of trainers, I made tea, three rounds of toast, and boiled an egg. I felt the need for protein. Taking my breakfast out into the garden I sat down at the old stone table and took in the aftermath of not only the natural storm and its affects upon the garden, but also the man-made tempest and its impact upon me.
Both of us had recovered pretty well I thought. The budding roses clambering up the back fence had taken a bit of a battering; the bird feeder had been shaken off its branch on the lilac tree and as for me I may have become acquainted with the threat of violence, had got up much closer to it than I would have wished to, but my perspective on life hadn’t in fact shifted as dramatically as I’d believed.
Most people I reminded myself were just normal and decent and I saw no reason for a prat like Simon to jaundice my view of the rest of humanity. And although my shoulder felt a little stiff and my eyes were slightly swollen, I was alright and still the girl I’d been yesterday. There would be no need to send flowers. But it could, I reflected as I sipped my tea, have been a whole different story.
Shaking my head I banished the thought. Whilst I wasn’t going to minimise the fear I’d experienced last night, neither did I regret taking on this investigation. I had been given a brief and for once I’d fulfilled it. I hadn’t lost interest, hadn’t backed off or simply quit. I’d seen it through.
I decided to tackle the mess before having a shower and by nearly ten the kitchen was looking more like itself again. In fact it was looking rather better. Moving some of the china to fill in the space where the teacup had been and seeing how dusty it all was, I’d decided to clean the shelves of the dresser and give each and every piece of crockery and glass a wash. I’d stopped after finishing only three of the shelves, as my hands were getting pruny with the soapy water and because I saw no need to get carried away.
Gazing in satisfaction at the sparkling glassware, I was interrupted in my labours by the phone. It was Laura and she was sounding remarkably pleased with herself.
“How did it go with Mr. Garstein?” I asked.
“Brilliantly.”
“Really?” I asked doubtfully. “But you were so worried.”
She cut across me. “Yes but that was before I’d really thought it through and realised that it’s all just a question of angles.”
“Angles?” I questioned.
“Yes, because if there’s one thing I’ve seen time and time again as a solicitor it’s that if a person feels guilty then they look guilty. Do you see?”
“Well no not really,” I admitted. “I mean how does that relate to you and your boss?”
“I changed my approach,” she explained. “Instead of going to Mr. Garstein and saying, I may have really fucked up here and please don’t sack me, my strategy was to turn it on its head and present the case in a totally different light.”
“And that would be in a light that reflected well on you?” I asked now beginning to get it.
“Of course!” she laughed. “I said that I had become suspicious when the sale prices on the two other houses were lower than expected and had decided to look into the matter before the good name o
f the firm was jeopardised.”
“That’s pretty slick babes!” I offered and was genuinely impressed.
“I know!” she gave a short laugh. “And Mr. Garstein said I’d done the right thing in coming to him and praised my professional judgement.”
I gave a low whistle. “God you’re good. And I don’t suppose you mentioned that you were sleeping with Simon?”
“Well no, it kind of slipped my mind.”
“Very wise,” I said gravely.
I then went on to fill her in on last night’s drama.
“Oh my God!” she exclaimed. “I can’t believe it. Are you OK? Did he hurt you?”
“It was more the other way around. He definitely got the worst of it.”
“Bloody hell. I can’t wait to hear the full story. So you say he’s agreed to resign from his job?”
“Yep. Should have done so by now and…”
“Oh Christ I nearly forgot,” Laura interrupted me. “The main reason for calling you. You and I are meeting with the owner of Dunstan Stead at twelve o’clock. James Dunstan. Can you make it? Right got to go. See you outside their office.”
And before I could protest, she rang off. I glanced at my watch. Nearly half ten and I was hot and sweaty from my housework. That is so Laura. She delivers a fait accompli and just expects me to comply. Well one of these days I might not automatically fall in with her plans, I thought crossly, and then where would she be? Dismissing this line of thought as a waste of valuable time and energy, I charged upstairs for a shower.
At five minutes to twelve, I was standing outside Dunstan Stead wearing my cornflower flippy skirt with a pale pink wrap top and leaning in to give Laura a hug.
“Fab. You’re on time,” she said.
She was in her usual business uniform of charcoal suit and white shirt but she’d jazzed it up with a black lace choker and was looking cool and confident.
I grimaced, “Well I nearly wasn’t but…”
