by Maggie Ford
‘Yes, they do,’ came the reply, and Geraldine was conscious of her mother looking across at her. In response she lifted her eyes to meet those older hazel ones, expecting to see them hard and unforgiving. Instead she saw only concern and suddenly her eyes brimmed with tears.
Chapter Twenty-nine
Leaving Geraldine with her mum, Alan let himself out – his quest, that swine Hanford, his purpose, to put him straight on a few things.
Neither of them had noticed him much after he’d told Mrs Glover all he knew of what Geraldine had been through that morning. He’d refrained from mentioning her husband’s infidelity having read the look of pleading in her eyes as he began to touch on the subject of Tony and had immediately switched to something else. The relief and gratitude that replaced the trepidation in those lovely, wide, hazel eyes of hers went straight to his heart. He wanted so much to spend the rest of his life with her, see her happy again. He knew he could make her happy, though the money he made would never come up to that which her husband made. Then again, his money was honestly come by, Anthony Hanford’s never had been, so it seemed. Honest money carried no fear with it, and from what he’d gleaned from Geraldine, she’d been in constant if not heightened fear of his illegal dealings being discovered and he being sent to jail.
All this and more went through his head as he got into his ramshackle van and turned it in the direction of the West End. If he could prevent it, Geraldine ought never again to set foot in that flat of hers, to be forever reminded of all the unhappiness it held: the loss of her baby which he suspected she had never really got over; discovering her husband’s affair with another woman and how it must have felt; now those crooks barging into her home, roughing her up, frightening the living daylights out of a helpless woman. Never mind the good times she’d had in the company of her society friends. She’d be better off out of it and he intended to see that she would be. It was the only way forward for her really.
It wouldn’t be easy dissuading her from going back there, knowing her. She was a survivor, refused to let anything put her down, would hate herself in allowing it to. He could already hear her excuses – the business had to be kept going, bills had to be paid, the part-time shop assistant would need his wages, and so on.
Could he convince her how dangerous it would be to go back there? He wanted her safe from harm. And another thing, he needed to talk her out of this notion of revenge on her husband. Not pursuing her first impulse to go to the police and shop him – she’d been well frightened off that idea – but this other thing she’d spoken about, this refusal to divorce him in mistaken hope of making him suffer. What about her, cutting off her nose to spite her face? And what about himself? She remaining married to Tony Hanford left him with no chance.
He gnawed at his lip as he drove. He was in love with her, had always been in love with her. Could it be that despite all that had happened she still loved Hanford, still clung to the secret hope of winning him back, and he was merely deluding himself? Surely he couldn’t have misinterpreted that day they’d made love. Or maybe he had. She’d never once spoken of loving him, not even during their climax. Maybe she had allowed it to happen out of frustration, a need to be loved and comforted, he happening to be handy. Yet he couldn’t believe that of her. But if she did go through with divorce would she ever want to marry again, once bitten twice shy so to speak?
Not only that, but how could he offer marriage to someone who’d had everything? Oddly enough it had always been this thought that had driven him on to make something of himself, otherwise he would probably have remained a builder and odd-job man.
None of this could he confide to anyone. He had no close friend – he’d striven too hard to make good to go out and make friends. Taking his parents into his confidence was also out of the question – they’d tell him not to be so silly chasing after a married woman, and indeed he would feel silly. There was only one person he could think of to whom he could talk without being made to feel a fool and that was Geraldine’s own mother, strangely enough. He’d always felt comfortable with Mrs Glover. Surely she would listen, even offer help.
His head full of fanciful hopes helped dull some of the anger against her husband, until finding himself in Bond Street outside Hanford’s shop, not having truly concentrated on driving there, it came flooding back.
The place was closed. Probably a day off for the assistant, and with Geraldine running terrified from the place of violence the shop would have been the last thing on her mind. It hadn’t occurred to him that Hanford might not be there and for a few moments he sat in the van pondering what to do, the other traffic passing him by unnoticed, slow in the busy street. He’d been a fool, as always, rushing off half cocked. The only thing to do was to turn round and go back the way he’d come. At least he could try the bell on the door beside the closed shop. Someone might give him an idea where the owner was.
Bewildered, Tony stared at the disordered lounge. He’d called to Geraldine as he came upstairs but there had been no answer. He’d not been surprised at her not being here, in fact felt relief, not having to defend himself against the tirade he was expecting. It had taken courage to come back to apologise for hitting her like that. It was against his nature to hit a woman, but she’d so frightened him, anyone would have lashed out under those circumstances.
Angry and hurt though she must have been, it was unlike her to walk out leaving behind a mess, a hard chair left in the centre of the room, two cushions on the floor, slippers left beside the armchair where she normally put them away tidily in the bedroom before leaving to go out. She must have been enraged indeed.
She would be even more enraged to know that the real reason behind apologies was to talk her into accepting that their marriage was over, that he could never come back and the only solution was for them to part company. He was willing to do the decent thing, give her grounds for divorce, no blame attached to her whatsoever, even have his solicitor draw up a contract for the business to be split down the middle, her half of all profits sent to her.
He’d offer Bell a full-time job, the man would jump at it in these times of huge unemployment although things were beginning to improve. As for Geraldine, he couldn’t very well throw her out of her home. He’d let her stay in the flat until she found somewhere else, which he hoped would be quick – the last thing he’d want after the divorce would be to bump into her if he had to come here on business. He’d pay whatever she wanted for another place and you couldn’t say fairer than that. But he’d dreaded this getting down to brass tacks, and now that she wasn’t even there, in a way he felt almost cheated after having rehearsed it all.
He was about to go into the kitchen when the bell downstairs rang. Instantly all his nerves gave a jump. She was back and just as he was getting himself together.
Well, best to get it over and done with. Then he would go and see if Sam Treater was back home, and having squared things with him would go on to Di’s place. Then he could take up his new life.
A man stood at the door and for a moment Tony felt his heart leap into his mouth. Someone from Sam Treater? He’d got wind of Geraldine going to the police. Bad news travels fast. He should have insisted on hanging around until Sam returned home, explained it from his own angle. Instead someone had got there before him. Sam had inside contacts all over the place, including some even in the police force. He wouldn’t be where he was if he hadn’t.
‘Yes?’ he asked nervously.
The man was tall, good-looking, a workman by his clothes. Outside stood a ramshackle green van, this man’s most likely. He didn’t look like a hit man or any sort of villain, and he was open-faced although with a somewhat angry look. ‘Can I help you?’
‘Anthony Hanford?’ came the question and again Tony quaked inwardly despite the brave face he was presenting.
‘And who might you be?’
‘My name’s Presley. I want a word with you.’ So it was something sinister. Sam had got word. ‘You might remember we’v
e met before.’
The caller continued, ‘I’ve just come from your wife. She came ter find me this mornin’. She was in a proper state. I was a friend of hers a long time ago before she married you. Before that she was going out with me, but that’s neiver ’ere nor there. What I’m ’ere for is that she ’ad a nasty experience this morning, and it’s all due ter you. I don’t suppose you realise that, so I’m ’ere to explain. I’d like ter come in if that’s all right with you. We don’t want ter go on yapping on your doorstep of this posh area, do we?’
Despite what the man said, it wasn’t wise letting a virtual stranger in. He might be here under the pretext of having a message from Geraldine. He had no wish to be beaten up in the privacy of his own home and this man looked quite muscular – not exactly a bruiser, but he could have a knife hidden somewhere in those overalls. Even so, a certain trust was beginning to make itself felt, the openness of the gaze most likely. Making up his mind, Tony stepped back, allowing the man entry but making sure to follow him up the stairs rather than leading the way.
‘First door on your left,’ he directed, and once in the lounge, the door left conveniently ajar, he asked, ‘Want a drink?’
‘No thanks. I need to get this off me chest as quick as possible and be off.’
Tony kept his face towards his caller. ‘So what is it you have to say that you couldn’t say downstairs?’
‘Right.’ Presley’s face had hardened, sending out warning signals. ‘First of all, I know about ’er going to the police. She’s told me all about you, yer see, what yer do on the side.’
Tony felt his face go cold and stiff, made to speak, to defend himself, but Presley hadn’t finished.
‘Yer needn’t be scared. I ain’t goin’ ter do anythink about it. I ain’t that keen in getting’ involved in your mucky pastimes. She did tell me yer did a bit of work for a gang of crooks, although she didn’t mention names if that’s what’s worrying yer. But I don’t want ter know about that either. What concerns me is—’
‘What concerns you?’ echoed Tony, seeing a glimmer of something he hadn’t known about. ‘Why the hell should anything about her concern you?’
‘Because I’m a friend of ’ers. Been a friend of ’ers for years.’
‘I bet you have!’ But his sneer was ignored.
‘I’m ’ere about two things, if yer care ter listen. First is about what you’ve bin getting up to behind ’er back. She loved you. I once ’oped she’d love me, but she settled for you and as far as I’m concerned she made a bad choice. I’d never of done to ’er what you’ve done, picking up with some other woman, leaving ’er in ignorance about what you was up to all this time. Yes, she told me.’
‘I bet she did.’ Tony was feeling brave now. This man was no threat from Sam Treater and his friends after all. ‘And I bet you and she took full advantage of it. I can guess the kind of sympathy you gave her.’
For a moment the connotation seemed to stun Presley. He gulped, but then his lips tightened. ‘You never gave a second thought to ’ow she’d feel, her ’usband ’aving it off with some other woman. That’s you well-off blokes all over, no thought fer anyone but yerselves.’
It was a silly argument. Tony was beginning to feel the superior one of them, felt he could now talk down to this man.
‘So what do you intend to do about it? It seems what you’ve been telling me is a case of sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander. No doubt she got from you what she refused me. Can you wonder I looked to someone else, being the only time she and I made love was when she hoped it would get her a baby? That’s all she’s ever thought about for years. Making love for her is just a means to an end. There’s more to it than just begetting a kid, and kids cramp one’s style, so maybe she thinks you can do better for her. Pity your money won’t match what she’s used to.’
He stopped more from lack of breath after his tirade than loss of any more to say. He could have said screeds, except that Presley was glaring at him and looked about to lash out at him. But then Presley stepped back. His previously squared shoulders appeared to relax and droop, and just as Tony was about to push his luck even further, he was cut dead by a firm, commanding tone.
‘What you do is no concern of mine, but when it comes ter your crooked mates arriving ’ere to terrorise the livin’ daylights out of her, threatening ter knock ’er about, shoving ’er around the room like she was a rag doll, humiliating ’er by laying ’er across their laps and smacking her bottom till it was red an’ then warning ’er of worse ter come if she ever talked to the police again, that’s when it starts to concern me.’
This was the reason for the untidy room, but Tony was too taken aback by what his caller was saying to dwell on tidiness. He glared at the man. ‘Liar!’
‘Your wife’s words,’ came the reply. ‘And judging by the state of her I believed her.’
‘They wouldn’t do a thing like that. Why would they do a thing like that?’
‘They obviously know about her going to the police.’
‘How?’
Presley shrugged, but it wasn’t a shrug of someone who couldn’t care less – coupled with a pair of raised eyebrows, to Tony it was more a question aimed directly at himself. Automatically he answered to that. ‘Someone got wind of it and informed on her to them.’
He was beginning to feel frightened. It crept over him like fog creeping up from a river. It even felt cold. If they’d done to Geraldine what she said they had, then what would they do to him? He had to go and explain things to them. He should have made more certain of doing that in the first place instead of complacently driving away to Diana for solace when he’d found Sam not in. He should have hung around until Sam Treater had come home. He had thought no one would know what Geraldine had done and therefore it might not matter. But he’d thought wrong.
He glared at Presley. ‘I want you to leave. I have to go out. You can tell her if she wants a divorce, I won’t fight it and I won’t see her left without, she can have whatever she wants.’
‘She wants you.’
Tony couldn’t help the guffaw that tore itself out of him in a great hail of breath, though more from nerves than amusement.
‘No she don’t,’ he snarled, calming. ‘She wants the money, the easy life it brings. Why d’you think she’s turned a blind eye to my work all these years, eh? Because it kept her in luxury and she’s greedy for that and little else despite what she’s been up to with you. And she condemns me. How long’s it been going on then?’
He was talking only to calm jangling nerves, the fear of Sam Treater’s crowd, what they’d do when he went to face them and tell them to keep their hands off his wife, try to convince them that her going to the police wasn’t his doing, that he was innocent and wanted to make restitution for what she’d done, that she hadn’t got as far as naming names, so they were safe. He had to appease them. What if they refused to use him in this big job coming up in a few days’ time? All that promised money. All the plans he had for it. He and Di needed that money. It’d be their future, for God’s sake.
Ignoring Presley’s protest that nothing had been going on, he’d hardly paused for breath even while his mind flowed in that other, too awful to contemplate direction.
‘I’m not jealous of her – I don’t care what she does. She can make love to the local dustman for all I care, so long as she agrees to a divorce. I’ve got someone who can really give me what I want without always moaning. All I want is to be free. You can tell her I won’t see her going without.’
‘Yer just said that,’ Presley reminded, his tone sharp. Had he? He couldn’t remember what he’d said.
Had he mentioned any names? ‘Well, whatever. Now you’ll have to leave. I have to go out.’ He’d said that too, ages ago, it seemed.
He was ushering the man to the door, arms stretched out from his sides in a gesture of beseeching more than commanding and for a moment it looked as though Presley intended to stand his ground, gazing at him with an ex
pression of contempt. Then the expression relaxed, the shoulders gave a small shrug of defeat. Elation hit Tony like a fresh wind as the man finally turned to go.
Following him down the stairs to make sure of his leaving, Tony added as he opened the door. ‘Tell her I don’t hold any grudge—’
‘What?’ Presley turned abruptly to him.
‘I mean,’ Tony fumbled, ‘I hope there won’t be any animosity in this, no nastiness with the divorce.’
‘Oo says there’s going ter be a divorce?’ came the retort. ‘She says she’ll never divorce you, that yer can sing for it, yer can rot before she lets you off the hook. Them’s ’er words, not mine. You and me both, we’re in queer streets there. You won’t be able ter marry yer fancy piece and I won’t be able to marry Gerry. As fer grudges, I think she’s the one with a grudge, don’t you?’ He paused while Tony stared at him open-mouthed. ‘Oh, and there’s one more thing …’
Before Tony could even think to leap aside, the fist came towards him with the speed of a striking cobra, catching him square on the mouth, sending him careering backwards to finish up on his back on the stairs. Through a mist of lights he saw the door close quietly behind his assailant, leaving him alone in a low glimmer from the frosted-glass window above it.
Sam Treater was at home. With him, having been summoned at short notice after Tony had unloaded himself of Geraldine’s burden of guilt, were those who called themselves friends, though to Tony’s rueful eyes they appeared far from friends, every face turned on him, grim and unwavering. He squirmed even as he presented them with an ingratiating smile.
‘I should have told you sooner, but you weren’t in, Sam. I know I should have waited for you but I had no idea when you’d be home.’
‘So you breezed off to your girlfriend’s and stayed there enjoying yourself instead, that it?’
‘I couldn’t go home after what she did. But I got it out of her,’ he lied, ‘that she only mentioned me, no one else.’
