by Una Gordon
He took the bus back to Derwent's flat and made himself a cup of tea. He was well pleased with what he had done. He felt even more pleased when half an hour later the bell rang and he opened the door to find two men standing there with a brand new filing cabinet. He laughed to himself as he took the price tag off the back of the cabinet. “I hope you think, Big Ben, that your sixty quid has been well spent,” he said out loud. He looked speculatively at the new cabinet. Now what can I put in you, he thought. In the end he put his photograph album in the bottom drawer. He then got a pile of new files from the supply Derwent had always kept and started putting labels on them. His spelling had never been up to much, so he got out a dictionary. “Electricity” he wrote on the first one. He paused, wondering what other labels he could write. He would have no mortgage, so he couldn't write that. Probably the new flat would have no gas, so there was no point writing that. As if he'd had sudden inspiration he wrote “Rates”. After another long pause he decided to try to write “Personal Correspondence”, but even with a dictionary the second word defeated him, so he wrote “Personal Letters” instead although he couldn't think of anyone who would write to him. Still it was the sort of thing that people put on these files. After much thought he was able to write several more labels and he was just putting the files in one of the drawers when the phone rang.
When he picked it up and gave the number, he was not at all surprised to hear Big Ben's voice. “Has the new filing cabinet arrived?” asked Ben smoothly.
“Now I just thought it would be you,” gushed Homer. “I'm delighted with it. Just the thing for my new flat. How considerate of you.” It didn't sound at all like Homer. He was using all the phrases he had heard Derwent use many times on the phone. He waited. Big Ben was obviously choosing his words carefully.
“The men brought back the old filing cabinet. I was wondering what had happened to the contents.”
“The contents,” Homer repeated as if Ben had used some strange foreign word.
“This morning when I looked in the cabinet there were various papers in there which, of course, are part of Mr Mollosey's estate and as executor I would like to examine them.
“Oh,” said Homer as if in consternation. “I didn't know. I mean, I thought, I – well I knew the cabinet had been left to me and I thought it was just a load of old rubbish, so I........” He paused, gulped loudly and convincingly.
“You what?” Ben's voice might have struck terror into some, but Homer was delighted with the effect he was having.
“I threw them out,” said Homer as if filled with contrition.
Ben enunciated each word as if he was speaking to an extremely stupid child. “Where exactly did you throw them?”
“Well,” Homer determined to keep this going as long as possible. He was thoroughly enjoying himself. “There were some old carrier bags in the flat – Tesco and the like – even an 'arrods one. I put all the papers in, files an' all. Quite a job it was, too, there was so many of them.”
“What did you do then?” said Ben trying and failing to sound patient.
“Then I thinks what's best to do and I remembered the tip off Ellesmere Road.”
“Is that where you took them?”
“Jus' a minute, sir. Let me explain in my own way.”
“Hurry up then.” This time all pretence of patience was gone.
“I was walkin' along the road with all these bags – cor they was heavy. I don't quite know which street I was in, but I sees a dustcart – a refuse lorry – you know.”
“Yes, yes, I know.”
“I asks them as a favour like could they take the bags. They 'elped me throw them in.”
All Homer could hear was heavy breathing at the other end of the line. “Then I come 'ome, Mr Carmichael. I ain't done nuthin' wrong I 'ope.”
Ben could hardly speak. “You may have destroyed a very valuable part of Mr Mollosey's estate.”
“But them was just old papers and old newspaper cuttings – and....and some photos.”
“It was not for you to judge they were of no value.”
I know exactly of what value they were and you weren't going to get you dirty paws on 'em, Mr Big Ben.
“Will I be in serious trouble?” asked Homer in what he hoped was a nervous voice.
“You may land in jail,” said Ben tersely. “I suppose you have no idea where this refuse lorry was going with the rubbish?”
“None at all,” said Homer. “I could go out tomorrow looking for the cart and ask where they dumped the rubbish.”
“Yes, do that, and try to get it back and don't interfere with anything else belonging to Mr Mollosey.”
“No, sir. Of course not, sir,” said Homer humbly and cheekily to the phone once he'd laid it down. “And two bags full, sir.” He was nearly doubled up with laughter. He'd been smart, real smart. It's a good job he acted quickly after he'd seen Big Ben looking at the files. He'd never get in any trouble. If he did, he could just imagine himself in court. “But, your Lordship, I thought it was just rubbish.”
“Have you any idea what kind of bits of paper these were?”
“Why, yes, your Lordship, there was one file about Mr Carmichael here – all about him and his mistress, Verity Parr, and I thought he'd want them destroyed. He wouldn't want his wife getting to hear about it, would he?” Here, thought Homer, I would look soulfully at Big Ben who would visibly have blenched. Homer went into another fit of laughing. Of course there was nothing Big Ben could do. Homer knew too much about him and if Ben didn't realise this, he could soon convince him.
Homer could still remember Derwent's fury when Graham Carson had refused to deal with his business any more. It was all right for Derwent to ditch someone, but for someone to do likewise to him...... Derwent had thought for a long time, wondering who he could get to act for him because he was not exactly popular and people would want to know why he was leaving Carson, Gale and Peterson. Eventually Derwent had gone to the filing cabinet and after studying one file in particular a satisfied smile had crossed his face.
Ben Carmichael had resisted Derwent's overtures, realising it would do no good for his respectable firm's image to take on Derwent Mollosey as a client. He was no more than a civilised gangster, but eventually he capitulated.
“Want to know how I did it?” Derwent had asked Homer and Homer nodded, knowing he was often used as a sounding board because Derwent had no one else to tell and also because Derwent knew he could rely on Homer's discretion
“Homer,” began Derwent, gazing into his glass of whisky. “Here is the tale, the very special tale of how one of London's most respected solicitors, who, in truth, would prefer not to touch me with a barge pole, is now acting for me in a legal capacity. Oh, there are lawyers who would have leapt at the chance of getting me as a client, but I wanted someone special.”
Homer simply nodded.
Everyone, everyone,” here Derwent leaned forward, “ has a skeleton in the cupboard. One only has to find it. It wasn't easy, for Ben Carmichael has covered his tracks well, but I succeeded.”
“What is this skeleton?” asked Homer on cue as he was expected to do.
“There are certain weaknesses which even in a great man are quite acceptable and some which are not.” Homer waited for Derwent to continue. “Ben Carmichael's weakness is not in society as a whole a serious weakness, but we must consider his situation.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Ben, a man of superior intellect born to a very ordinary middle class family, married above him.” Derwent smiled as if this were some kind of joke. Again Homer waited. “He married into an aristocratic family of the Roman Catholic faith, and this family, Homer, abhors any whiff of scandal. None of them will ever enter the portals of divorce courts and any hint of gossip about them would be immediately investigated by the head of the family, Ben's father-in-law. He's an old man now, but early on in Ben's marriage he found he was...eh...shall we say rather more friendly with his secretary than was necessary. The o
ld man sent for him and the secretary left Ben's employment immediately afterwards. The old man made it plain to him that he played fair and square with his wife or he'd be ruined and the old man carries such power he'd be able to carry out his threat. Ben has been very careful ever since, but I have found out that a certain lady plays a very important part in his life.” That was the first Homer heard of Verity Parr. The name had been given to her by Ben and she signed herself Verity I. Parr, but no one knew what the I was for. Derwent suspected it stood for nothing. The whole name had been invented.
“Ben was very clever and very discreet. It was by pure chance that I found out there was anything between them. Verity, by trade, is a jeweller. She doesn't just sell jewellery, she makes it. Ben first met her when he went to ask her to make something for his wife for their wedding anniversary. The relationship developed from there and, although I cannot be sure, of course, I think Ben's plan is that if he is ever caught at her place of business he will say he is in the process of commissioning a new piece of jewellery for his wife or checking that it is coming along satisfactorily. I rarely buy gifts or women, but my late Aunt Maud hinted that she wanted something rather special for her seventieth birthday, so having vaguely heard of this Verity Parr, I went along. She lives in a small flat attached to a workshop above another shop. I forget what it is – a ladies' outfitter perhaps. Anyway it was rather late when I called and I thought Verity might have closed up for the night, but when I tried the door it was still open, so I went in, but no one was around. I could hear voices and I supposed Verity was speaking to someone in the back room. I was looking round at a few items on show when it suddenly dawned on me I recognised the voice. It was Ben Carmichael's. I was puzzled at first because his voice seemed to be going on continuously without Verity ever replying. Gradually it dawned on me why. She was playing the messages on her telephone answering machine. I couldn't actually hear what Ben was saying, but the message seemed rather long for a business call. I didn't do anything then. I just stored the information in my mind and when it was necessary produced it like a rabbit out of a hat.”
Homer waited patiently to hear the rest of the story as he knew he would.
“When I first approached Ben about being my solicitor, he flatly refused to have anything to do with me. He was quite insulting,” said Derwent petulantly. “I simply asked him how Verity was. He tried to bluff his way out of it at first, of course, but I was persistent and pretended to know a lot more than I did. Be my solicitor or your father-in-law will be told all I know. Not that I knew much, but Ben didn't know that and anyway if the old bloodhound had got on Ben's trail all would have been lost. He's a tenacious, old devil and doesn't give up easily. Reluctantly Ben capitulated and from then on an uneasy truce has existed between us.” Derwent knew that as long as Ben's father-in-law was alive, Ben would keep acting for him and the old boy looked as if he were going to live forever. “The funniest thing of all is that Verity's real name is Jane Stubbs! I can just see his Lordship’s face if he learned his daughter was being displaced in favour of Jane Stubbs!”
Homer knew that the relationship between Derwent and Ben had never been a happy one and it had been clear on many occasions that Ben would have loved to have told Derwent what to do with his business, but he always remembered just in time the price he would have to pay for such a decision. He spent many sleepless hours wondering how he could get the better of Derwent, but, in the end, fate stepped in and released him. Derwent died. When Ben first heard how ill Derwent was he felt pity for him, but he just couldn't believe his good luck. Derwent was forever changing his will, depending who was in favour with him at that moment. The only certain thing about his will was that Homer would be left a tidy sum.
Ben was not surprised to be called to Derwent's hospital bed. He supposed that another change in the will was in the offing. Even making allowance for his serious illness, Derwent was difficult – first he wanted things left to one person and no sooner had Ben got that sorted than he wanted to change it.
One day when Ben went along, Derwent seemed more settled. “I know what I'd like to do, but you'll have to be in agreement.” Rather wearily Ben waited for the latest developments. “How would you like a large slice of my estate?” he began.
I've bloody well earned it, thought Ben, but he was suspicious of what Derwent was up to. “What do you mean?” he asked. It was then that Derwent had told him the plan about the dinner party and the cards and then the Aids rumour.
“They'll never fall for it, Derwent. They'll all realise you've never been to bed with their wives.”
“Oh, come on, it's worth a try. It'll be hilarious if they fall for it.”
Ben looked at Derwent. Hilarious it might be, but Derwent wouldn't be there to see it.
“Do it – say you'll do it.” Derwent sounded like a child trying to persuade his parents to buy him something very expensive for Christmas.
Ben asked for time to consider it and finally agreed. He could not imagine that six intelligent men were going to fall for such a silly prank. He hesitated about the Aids rumour. There was something distasteful about that, but then the carrot dangled before him was too great and he agreed to that as well.
“What do you want from my estate?”
“You know as well as I do that if I'm responsible for drawing up your will I cannot benefit from it personally.”
“Get someone else to draw it up then.”
Ben looked at him. “I have another idea. Leave your flat to Verity.”
Derwent turned to Ben quickly. “Oh, no....”
“Verity knew what was on the cards when she started this relationship, but you know what women are like – they get restless and she's been on at me for some time to set her up in a flat, but the type of place she wants doesn't come cheap and it would be difficult for me to lay out that sort of money without questions being asked.”
Derwent almost giggled with glee. This was wonderful. He told Homer all about it and he also gave Homer instructions what to do if the dinner party was never held. He didn't tell Ben that he had given Homer some very important information. Ben wouldn't have liked that and there was no point in upsetting him. Ben may have guessed that Derwent would make some kind of contingency arrangements, but he thought he'd keep his part of the bargain. It was impossible to know what Derwent might have planned if he failed to do so. The six white envelopes were posted and the dinner party was held. The rumour was duly started and if Ben Carmichael was aware of all the consequences, he lost no sleep over it.
When Ben had seen some of the contents of the filing cabinet he had been determined to get his hands on it. If Homer hadn't come in at that moment he 'd have taken some of the files with him. He was kicking himself for not confiscating them sooner. He hadn't realised that Derwent kept all this confirmation in files; he'd always thought it had just been kept in Derwent's head Why hadn't Derwent told him about this? He had tried to act casually in front of Homer and now that stupid oaf had got rid of the stuff. Ben misjudged Homer completely and believed him to be genuinely stupid, instead of which Homer had that natural craftiness which often people like him had. These files were Homer's income and no one else was going to get their hands on them. He should have moved them sooner. He went into a cold sweat when he thought how close he had been to losing them. Because the filing cabinet had been left to him, he hadn't thought that Ben would want to remove the files.
“Homer,” Derwent had told him, “I'll leave you enough money to buy a nice little flat and enough money for you to live on, but if you want any luxuries, you'll have to earn them.” Derwent had been a good teacher. Homer knew exactly what to do.
In due course he moved into his flat. He left the files in the bin bags at his sister's because as Derwent had said, “Always be prepared for the unexpected” and although it was unlikely that Big Ben would pay him a visit, he wasn't taking any chances. Derwent had been dead for a year when the novelty of having his own flat started to wear off and he felt like
a little holiday. Two weeks in Spain would be just what the doctor ordered, he thought. During the week, while his sister was out, Homer went along to her house. He took two or three files downstairs to study them. Included amongst them was Ben Carmichael's. Naw, thought Homer, it's a bit too soon to start on that again, but in time it should be a nice little earner. Better not leave it too long though because if his Lordship dies, Ben might not be so windy about people finding out.
The fourth file Homer tried seemed to suit his purposes. “Remember, Homer, squeeze them gently,” Derwent had told him. “Never overdo it or it might backfire.” Homer felt full of confidence as he made that first phone call. He heard the gasp at the other end of the phone when he told the person at the other end of the phone what he knew. It was as easy as pie. A month later he was sunning himself on a Spanish beach and looking forward to many more holidays like it.
