The Corpse Wore Red

by Pat Herbert

  Lucy held his coat for him. “Keep warm, Bernard,” she said. “It’s bitter out. Never known a winter like it.”

  “Don’t you remember about ten years ago, that was even worse.”

  Bernard felt more comfortable talking about the weather, and proceeded to reminisce about the icy conditions that held the country in their grip in the long winter of 1947. Lucy, now certain Bernard wasn’t to be the new man in her life, was becoming bored with his meteorological knowledge. Besides, she still had Robbie’s dinner to prepare, and she had only peeled two spuds so far. He would expect it on the table at one o’clock sharp.

  “Do you want to tell me your second reason?” she said at last, when Bernard had run out of things to say about icicles and snow.

  “Oh, yes, sorry. I was just wondering if you’d noticed anything odd about Robbie, lately.”

  “Odd? In what way? If you mean the way he moons about after that woman….”

  “No, nothing to do with Celia. I wondered if you had noticed anything different. I mean, does he seem his usual self to you?” he said.

  “In what way different?” she asked.

  Bernard shrugged as he opened the street door. “Just different. Seems a bit depressed, but at the same time almost frightened of his own shadow. I noticed it the other day. Nothing I could put my finger on, though.”

  “I haven’t noticed anything,” she said with a dismissive shrug. “Is he going mad, then?”

  “Of course not,” said Bernard crossly. “I just wondered if he had said anything, that’s all. I’m a little worried about him.”

  “Well, it’s not to be wondered at, what with that woman giving him the run-around all the time.”

  “I don’t think it’s anything to do with her.”

  “She’s at the bottom of it, you mark my words.”

  He decided not to say anything further. She was obsessed with Celia Pargeter and there was no moving her on the subject. “Well, thank you for the refreshments, Mrs Carter. Good day.” He tipped his hat, formally polite, but his manner was cold.

  Lucy closed the door, tears welling in her eyes. What a fool she had been. What had come over her, to act like that? And with a vicar, of all people. She got no respect from Robbie, and now Bernard was upset with her. She knew it had been a mistake to bring up Celia Pargeter. Bernard was obviously as taken in by her as Robbie. Men could never see past the outward show. Lucy studied herself in the hall mirror. What she saw there made her cry even more. Who was she trying to kid? Now on the wrong side of forty, what man would ever look at her now?

  13th July 1957: Catford

  Doreen Pettigrew was sitting in the waiting room of Lewisham Hospital. She was a plump, homely-looking woman in her early fifties. Beside her sat her son, Arthur, a lanky, twenty-something with a permanent sneer on his face. He was getting restless. They had been waiting over an hour.

  Every time they heard footsteps approaching, they stood up expectantly. Only once did the footsteps stop at their door, but they belonged to a nice young nurse who brought them tea. Doreen had drunk hers gratefully, while Arthur turned up his snub nose at it, leaving it to go cold and develop a film on the top.

  “Why don’t you drink it, Arthur?” said Doreen, just for something to say. The sole magazine on offer was one she had at home and already read. “It’ll calm you down.”

  “I am calm, mum,” said Arthur. “It’s all this bloomin’ waiting about. Gets on my nerves. When will they come and tell us something?”

  “They will as soon as they have something to tell us,” said Doreen reasonably. She hadn’t been feeling too well herself lately, and being in hospital was giving her palpitations. She must go and see the doctor, she thought. You never knew when it was your turn.

  “They’re taking their time, that’s all,” said her sulky son.

  “Don’t be stupid. They have to do their job. He’s in the best hands.”

  “Must’ve been drunk as usual,” said Arthur, stretching out his long legs, hands in his trouser pockets. “Didn’t see the car coming, I suppose.”

  “Show some respect,” his mother snapped. “Your uncle could be dying for all we know.”

  “Since Auntie Nettie died, he’s gone off the rails completely.”

  “I know, love. He misses her so much. Should have had kids. At least they’d be a comfort to him now.”

  “Why didn’t they?”

  “You don’t just go into a shop and buy them,” she said. “They wanted them, but nothing happened.”

  “Firing blanks, was he?”

  “Hold your tongue!” she snapped.

  Arthur grinned and picked a spot on his chin. “Yes, mum. Sorry, mum.”

  “If your father was alive, he’d give you what for.”

  “Well, he’s not, so hard cheese.”

  “If you were a bit younger, I’d put you over my knee and spank you.”

  Arthur was about to make a smart retort when the door to the waiting room opened and a doctor entered with a grim look on his face. Doreen prepared herself for the worst. She loved her brother, but he had been difficult lately, not only because of his alcohol consumption, but his depression had got to her. She couldn’t be with him all the time, although she usually managed to cook most of his meals and launder his shirts, travelling between their two homes. But it was exhausting her and her heart wasn’t what it was. Again, she made a mental note to consult her doctor.

  “Mrs House?” asked the doctor in a kind, soft voice, belying his grim, grey-haired appearance.

  “Er, no. Mrs Pettigrew, I’m Mr House’s sister.”

  “I beg your pardon. Are you his nearest relative? I mean, does he have a wife?”

  Doreen looked sad. “His wife died last year. In this hospital, in fact.”

  The doctor coughed politely. “My apologies. Is this.…” He turned to Arthur. “Is this his son?”

  “Wrong again, doc,” said Arthur with a smirk. “I’m his only living nephew.”

  “Oh, I see. Well, maybe we can talk in private, Mrs Pettigrew?”

  Doreen felt scared now. “What you have to say to me can be said to Arthur. He’s nearly twenty-one, old enough to know the facts of life.”

  “Quite. Well, your brother is unconscious. We have operated to remove a blood clot from his brain, but he is in an induced coma. I’m afraid the prognosis is poor, Mrs Pettigrew. There is no way of knowing if he will ever regain consciousness.”

  ***

  “What’ll you do, mum?”

  They were back home, drinking more tea. Arthur, this time, felt the need of it, and poured himself a cup.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know the old boy’s going to snuff it. Has he got any money to leave you? He owns his house, doesn’t he? That’ll come to you too.”

  Doreen felt her heart race. “Stop it! You’re a nasty bit of work, Arthur. I thought you had a decent heart underneath. But now I see you for what you really are. A mean, grasping, selfish little runt!”

  Arthur stared at her. She had always indulged him, all his life, never criticised him or told him off. His dad used to take the strap to him but she always took his side. He couldn’t believe she was saying these words. Then he watched as her face turned blue and she suddenly keeled over onto the floor.

  20th June 1957: City of London

  Pete Farrell stood outside the headquarters of the Anglia-Cornish Bank. For once, ‘flaming June’ was living up to its name and the sun was beating down relentlessly onto the City pavements. Sweat poured off him as he stood there, looking up at the imposing concrete and glass edifice that housed the doings of the great City machine. He wondered if the people working inside were as hot as he was. All those big windows must be reflecting the sun something rotten. Probably there were fans going full blast in every office. No expense spared. More money than they knew what to do with, these City institutions.

  He thought about Howard Drake, and people of his type. They sat there all day in their pinstrip
es shoving bits of paper around. Wouldn’t know a real day’s work if it came up and bit them on their fat, City arses. Pete liked his catering job, although he knew he was looked down on by people like Howard who thought they were a cut above. Pete folded his arms and continued to stare at the building. He wouldn’t have long to wait, he guessed, as it was gone half-past five. It looked, from where he was standing, as if most of them had gone home already, but he hadn’t seen his quarry emerge as yet, and he’d been there since half-past four.

  Another quarter of an hour passed, and he was getting impatient. He was beginning to think he must have blinked and missed him, when he saw him appear at the top of the steps leading out of the building down to the street. He watched the man as he stood there, taking in the warm air. He was probably feeling in need of a good stretch in the sunshine, thought Pete, being cooped up in there all day. But he felt no sympathy for him.

  Howard started down the steps, his jacket over his shoulder, his tie loosed at the collar. Pete began to follow him down the street. As they neared the tube station, he decided it was time to accost him before he lost him in the scrum heading down into the underground. He tapped him lightly on the shoulder.

  Howard looked around in surprise. A dark-haired, rather handsome young man, whom he didn’t know from Adam, was looking at him with disdain. They stood eyeballing each other for a moment as the crowds pushed passed them, anxious to get home and enjoy the rest of the evening with their loved ones.

  “What d’you want? Do I know you?” said Howard curtly. He held his briefcase tightly. Was he about to be robbed, he wondered. The man could probably could get away with it in this crowd.

  “No, you don’t know me,” said Pete, “but I know you.”

  Howard stared at the young man, and began to think there was something vaguely familiar about him.

  “My name’s Pete. You don’t need to know my last name. Can we go somewhere to talk?”

  “I’m on my way home, if you don’t mind. Please state your business.”

  Pete pulled him to one side, as the crowds became too much for them. “We can’t talk here. But what I have to say is very important. It concerns a mutual acquaintance named Alice.”

  Ever since Alice Troy’s visit to his wife, Howard’s relationship with Flora had been strained at best. No matter how many times he tried to reassure her that Alice had meant nothing to him, she couldn’t, or simply wouldn’t, accept it. He wanted to make matters right, especially now that their baby was on the way, but he knew it would take a long time to get back to where they once were, and sometimes he wondered if that day would ever come. Tonight would be like every other night since that fateful visit. She would greet him with a false smile playing around her pale lips and put his supper in front of him. She would then switch on the wireless, and sit down with her sewing basket, fashioning baby garments and studiously avoiding his gaze.

  The thought of another evening like that wasn’t appealing to him at all. Now here was this strange young man wanting to talk to him, saying it was important. In normal circumstances he would have told him to take a running jump, but maybe it would be worth going for a drink with him. Besides, he could do with a cold beer before facing Flora again.

  ***

  Five minutes later, they were inside a crowded, sweaty pub, the noise almost deafening. Howard ordered two lagers and made his way to the corner table they had managed to secure on their way in. The spot wasn’t quite as noisy as the rest of the pub, but it was still difficult to hear themselves speak. They both sipped their drinks gratefully, enjoying the cold flow of liquid down their thirsty gullets.

  Pete was first to speak. “Thanks for the beer,” he said, wiping his mouth. “Just what the doctor ordered.” In other circumstances, he thought, he might even like this man, who seemed genuinely nice and not City-fied at all. In other circumstances, perhaps.

  “Don’t mention it,” said Howard, waiting for him to continue.

  “I don’t think you remember me,” he said.

  “You do look vaguely familiar,” said Howard.

  “Cast your mind back to last March,” said Pete, finishing off his lager. “Can you remember what you were doing then?”

  “Last March? What, the whole of the month?”

  He gave a wry laugh. “Just a few days. You were up in Scarborough. For a conference. Remember?”

  Light was beginning to dawn. Howard wasn’t sure he liked the way the conversation was starting to go. He drained his glass quickly, preparing to leave. Was he about to get a punch on the nose? He didn’t think Pete looked particularly threatening. He didn’t seem the type to turn nasty on a sixpence. But he wasn’t prepared to stay and find out.

  “I think it’s time I was off,” he said. “My wife will have my tea ready.”

  “Off you toddle then to the little wifey,” said Pete, sarcastically. “Mustn’t keep her waiting. Only when you’re having it off with someone else, of course.”

  “And what exactly do you mean by that?” That punch on the nose looked more likely now. But it was Pete in danger of being on the receiving end this time.

  “Alice…. Alice Troy. That name ring any bells?”

  “Er, no. Should it?”

  “You lying bastard!” said Pete, his nostrils flaring, his cheeks turning crimson.

  “Calm down, can’t you?” said Howard. “People are looking.”

  Their raised voices had filtered through the crowds, who seemed to have turned round as one man to stare at them.

  “As if I cared. I’ve got nothing to be ashamed of. Have you?” said Pete.

  “No, I haven’t. So just leave me alone.”

  “She’s up the duff, did you know?”

  “Up the what?”

  “Don’t pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about. She’s told me it’s yours.”

  “What’s mine?”

  “The baby she’s up the duff with.”

  They stared at each other, hatred in both men’s eyes. What could Howard say? Was there really any point in denying it?

  “Look, Pete, I’m sorry. I wouldn’t have had that happen for the world.”

  “I bet you wouldn’t. That won’t go down well with the little woman, now will it?”

  Howard wasn’t about to tell him his sob story. “Just what is it you want?”

  “I don’t believe you’re the father, if you want to know. She wants it to be yours, but it’s just as likely to be mine.”

  Howard felt relief flood through him. This was swiftly followed by a feeling of hatred towards Alice who had put him in such a predicament, without any proof of his paternity. Up until that moment, he was under the impression he had robbed her of her virginity, but now it would seem that wasn’t the case. The loathing he felt for her surprised even himself.

  “Why don’t you do the right thing and marry her, then?” Howard said, slamming down his empty glass on the table. “And get her off my back. She’s ruined my marriage as it is. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to fix it.”

  Pete smirked. “You shouldn’t have slept with her then, should you? For your information, I wanted to marry her until this happened.”

  Howard felt sorry for him now. It couldn’t be nice to have the girl you love and want to marry go with another man. He was beginning to think that Alice wasn’t just a nuisance, but a nasty, scheming, manipulative little bitch. And he and Pete were her unsuspecting dupes.

  “What do you intend to do?” said Howard, absently moving his glass around the beer-soaked table. Pete watched him as he did so.

  “You really need me to tell you?”

  “Yes, I do. Look, if you think the baby’s yours, it’s down to you, surely? You said you wanted to marry her.”

  “That was before,” said Pete stonily. “Now it’s over to you. She says it’s yours so you deal with it. I suggest you prepare yourself to pay out, maybe for the rest of your life.”

  “How d’you mean?”

  Pete shrugged. “I think
you can work that one out. If she doesn’t want the money for an abortion, which’d be your best option, then you’ll be paying maintenance for the brat, won’t you? Kids don’t come cheap.”

  Howard glared at him. He knew he was right. Whichever way he looked at it, it came down to money. Most things did, at the end of the day.

  Pete suddenly stood up. “I feel sorry for you, I really do. She’s a lovely girl and easy to fall for. I was ready to fight with you tonight, but I can see you’re a decent bloke. Just do right by her, that’s all.” He fished in his trousers pocket and drew out a small piece of paper. “Here’s her address. She’s moved out of her parents’ home and living in a bedsit in Catford on her own.”

  Howard took the piece of paper and folded it up, putting it carefully in his wallet. He slung his jacket over his shoulder and they walked out of the pub together. Without another word said between them, Pete crossed the road to the bus stop.

  Howard, now deep in thought, made his way slowly to the tube station. The crowds had more or less dispersed now, and he was sure of getting a seat on the train. That would have given him some pleasure before, as he always had to stand in the rush hour, unable to read the evening paper in comfort. Tonight he could have it over three seats if he’d wanted to, but he didn’t want to. All he really wanted now was to wake up in the morning and find there was no such person as Alice Troy.

  ***

  Pete watched Howard disappear down the steps to the underground from his vantage point at the nearby bus stop. He hadn’t long to wait for his number 15 and hopped on quickly, climbing up to the top deck. He needed a cigarette to gather his thoughts. It was stifling hot as he sat down in the only unoccupied seat near the back. He tried to ease his collar which was sticking uncomfortably to his rather large bull neck. It was always the same, he could never get shirts to fit him properly because of his oversized neck.

  He wondered about Howard Drake. Had he seduced Alice or was it the other way around? He wouldn’t put it past her, not now he knew the truth about her. Besides, he had quite liked the man; he didn’t seem the seducer type.