The Count of Eleven

by Ramsey Campbell

  "Nothing my little one and I like better than surprises," Janys said, ushering them into the house.

  TWENTY-THREE

  Three days after the presentation at the restaurant Julia was still experiencing surges of rage. She walked to the ferry on her way to work, hoping the walk would calm her, but the sight of the stretch of promenade where Laura had been attacked made her dig her nails into her palms. It didn't help that Laura kept trying to persuade her to forget the Evanses or that Jack had managed to retain his equanimity. If she was the only unreasonable member of the family, she didn't care: she wanted the Evanses to suffer as badly as Laura had. Now that both she and Jack were earning, they could afford to prosecute.

  They wouldn't, not when that would need Laura to relive the attack and to be subjected to cross-examination by whatever lawyers Mrs. Evans found to take her case. Once they had paid off the debt the thieves had charged to their credit card they ought to consult Luke about investments. Surely if there was any justice the Evanses' own lives would catch up with them.

  On the ferry businessmen were strolling round and round the upper deck, hands behind their backs, some stooping forwards as if challenging a wind to oppose them. Julia stood at the rail and watched the Liverpool bank of the river swing towards her like an immense ship laden with warehouses. A party of schoolchildren wearing smiles on their round symmetrical faces met the ferry at the landing-stage. At the top of the exit ramp, people who looked inert enough to have been there all night were smoking cigarettes in the all-night cafe. A stray dog raised an explosion of pigeons from a scattered sandwich as Julia crossed the flagstones of the Pier Head. Beyond the dock road she climbed a wide old street between office buildings pierced by arcades and turned along the side street to Luke's office.

  Though the parking meters outside were hooded, a Ford saloon was parked under the window. A traffic warden peered at the windscreen and turned away without writing in her book. Luke must have an important client, Julia thought as she let herself into the building. Then she hesitated with her hand on the knob of the office door. Someone was crying.

  Julia inched the door open until she could see into the outer office. Only three of Luke's staff were in the room. Lynne was at her desk and sobbing into a handkerchief. More disconcertingly, neither of her colleagues was comforting her; Susie was on one phone, Luke's appointment diary in front of her, and Val was using the other phone to put off a client of Luke's. Julia went forwards and touched Lynne's shoulder. "Lynne, what's wrong?'

  Lynne jumped up, blowing her nose while pushing Julia towards the door with her free hand. She'd cut off her tears like a tap. "Don't come in," she whispered indistinctly. "Call you later."

  "I should at least speak to Luke."

  "He's busy. Can't see anyone," Lynne whispered, pushing harder. "Don't hang around. Go home and I'll call you, I promise."

  "Come outside and tell me."

  Lynne nodded, but it was too late. The rest of Luke's staff had come downstairs from the Ladies and were blocking the hall. As Julia sidled around Lynne to make way for them the door of the inner office swept open, and a man emerged. Though he looked somehow proprietorial, he wasn't Luke. Given the sombreness which had settled over the office, Julia wondered if he was in mourning: so much about him was black shoes, socks, suit, tie, even his glossy receding hair -though his shirt was uncomfortably white beneath the fluorescent lighting. "Do you work here?" he said.

  Julia didn't care for his tone, nor for his assumption of the right to ask. "I'm responsible for the computers."

  "In that case I should like a word with you."

  Lynne sat down quickly and covered her face with her hands, and Julia was aware of having made a bad mistake. "Not until I've had a word with Mr. Rankin."

  "I regret that won't be possible."

  "Then I want him to tell me so."

  Lynne interrupted, her voice muffled by her hands. "Julia, he's from the Fraud Squad."

  So the dark blotch on the frosted glass of Luke's office door was another man in black standing over Luke at his desk. The first man crossed the office to Julia, who held his gaze, trying to feel brave rather than trapped. "Why are you here?" she said.

  "We can talk privately in the car."

  "Why, are we going somewhere?"

  "That isn't necessary," he said as if he meant it as a rebuke. As she followed him she glanced back at Lynne, who refused to meet her eyes, and it occurred to her that Lynne might have been trying to protect her by hustling her out of the office.

  The Ford saloon smelled of upholstery and after-shave and very faintly of petrol. The policeman closed the passenger door behind Julia and walked around the front of the car to slide into the driver's seat. Julia was reminded of her first and only driving lesson, not least by her present nervousness. As he locked his door she heard hers lock too. "May I ask your name?" he said.

  "Julia Orchard. May I ask yours?"

  "Inspector Dicker," he admitted, lounging in his seat so as to watch her face. "Tell me in what way you're responsible for the computers."

  "I train the staff in using them."

  "Including Mr. Rankin?"

  "Very much so. He still needs some training. I wonder if there's been a misunderstanding."

  "By whom?"

  "I don't think Luke is capable of any tricks with the computer."

  He met her eyes with no expression at all. "How long have you worked for Mr. Rankin?"

  "Nearly a year."

  "And before that?"

  "I taught beginners at a night school for three years."

  "So it would be fair to say that your knowledge of computers is..."

  It felt like an English test where you had to fill in the blanks. "Reasonably extensive, unlike Luke's."

  "Which might imply that you would have to be familiar with the information stored in his computer."

  It wasn't a test, it was several kinds of trap. "Luke's always kept as much to himself as he can," she said carefully. "I mean, he locks the kettle and the milk in his office overnight. There's nothing sinister about it. It's just him."

  "Surely you must have access to the information on the computer if you taught him how to store it."

  "Not if he renamed the files," Julia said without thinking, and remembered the Sunday when Luke had been anxious to learn—remembered the name he had given a file. She'd thought HIDEY HO had expressed his growing confidence, but suppose he had been thinking hidey hole "He'd have to restrict the access as well," she added quickly, "if he really didn't want me seeing what was there."

  "Did you teach him how to do so?"

  "No, he never asked."

  "Which suggests that he didn't want it to be realised that he knew."

  "You're assuming he does know."

  "Hardly assuming, Mrs.—it is Mrs. Orchard."

  The hint of sympathy in his voice only made her feel more vulnerable. "What's he supposed to have done?" she asked.

  He considered her for an uncomfortably prolonged few seconds, then he said "It would appear that your employer has been trying to conceal his use of monies entrusted to him by his clients."

  "What kind of use?"

  "We have reason to believe that he intended to make it impossible to trace a considerable amount of money until he had used it for his own purposes."

  "But why? That doesn't sound at all like him."

  "Financial difficulties of his own that have supposedly been building up for years."

  That did. Julia could imagine Luke panicking, growing secretive and desperate, and so she tried to deny the possibility. "Can you be sure he's done anything wrong?"

  "Sure enough to arrest him."

  The policeman was gazing at her, and for a moment she thought he was going to arrest her too. "I've told you everything I know," she said.

  "You may have to tell it in court, Mrs. Orchard."

  The heat of the car and the smell of petrol, which wasn't as faint as it had initially seemed, were conspiring to ma
ke her feel sick. "If you've finished with me," she said, "I could do with some fresh air."

  His hand moved, but not to the lock. He reached inside his jacket for a pen and notebook. "Let me have an address and phone number."

  He might almost have been inviting her to provide false information. Of course she told him the truth, but he didn't release the lock until he had finished writing. As she stepped onto the pavement she found that her legs were unsteady, and there was more of a smell of petrol outside than inside the car. "I may as well hang about for a while," she said.

  "I wouldn't advise that, Mrs. Orchard. There won't be anything for you to do. We'll let you know if we need you. Thank you for your help."

  Being thanked made her feel as though she had betrayed Luke, though if what she had been told was true, hadn't Luke betrayed her and the rest of his staff, not to mention his clients? She turned her back on the office and walked to the station as steadily as she could.

  A descending lift, the train, New Brighton station. Those consumed forty minutes of her life during which she felt walled in by her thoughts. She pushed past the ticket barrier and ran downhill, crossing the road to avoid Cath Venable; she wanted to talk only to Jack. His van was still outside the house. She dug her key into the lock of the front door and slammed the door behind her. "Jack, are you here? Jack?"

  He appeared from the kitchen, lowering a milk bottle and wiping his lips. "Here I am, love. What's up?" he said, and amplified that as he saw her. "What's upset you?"

  "The police."

  His frown was so swift she hardly saw it. "Not about Laura again?"

  "Not Laura this time."

  He turned away in order to replace the bottle in the refrigerator. "Who, then?" he said, his voice hollowed by the box.

  "Luke. He's been arrested by the Fraud Squad. They're closing down the business."

  Jack came to her at once, shoving aside the kitchen door so that he walked out of a sudden blaze of sunlight. She knew that he was on his way to comfort her, yet she found his immediate reaction disconcerting. "Not again," he said aloud to himself with a sigh like an escape of gas.

  TWENTY-FOUR

  It might take nothing more than a meeting face to face, Jack told himself. That morning he held his own gaze as he shaved and saw no sign of weakness. "That's all it takes to get what you want," he heard Andy Nation saying, "looking fierce and sounding as if you mean to get it." He donned his best suit, then he took it off again; it wouldn't do to seem too prosperous. He put on one not quite so good and waited for Julia to emerge from the bathroom. "What do you think?" he said. "Am I irresistible?"

  "You'll do."

  "If we're lucky, you mean?"

  "Can't hurt, can it?"

  "Never has."

  "Only, Jack, whatever happens, let's not care. We're lucky so long as we have Laura and each other."

  In a way she was right, but it was no longer enough; it hadn't been since the fire at the shop. "You're sure you want to come," he said.

  "Any reason why I shouldn't?"

  "Every reason why you should." He must be careful not to let himself assume he had to act alone when there was no need. He might have to do things which he couldn't mention to the family because they couldn't be expected to understand, but he mustn't let that attitude spill into their everyday life. "Maybe going to see him last time without you was my mistake," he said as they made for the bank.

  As he rang the bell beside the enquiry window he found himself willing someone unfamiliar to answer his summons, but it brought him the same young woman. "We can't go on meeting like this," he said, and when she blinked her bluish eyelids at him, "Jack and Julia Orchard for eleven o'clock."

  "You want Mr. Hardy."

  He ought to take care not to sound like his old self. Rather than "You're darn tootin' he said "That's the man."

  She seemed to be examining his words for hidden meanings as she turned away to fetch the manager. Third time lucky, he told himself, especially since Julia was with him. He squeezed her hand while he watched the minute hand of the clock creep towards the vertical. Just as it pointed at the zenith Mr. Hardy came to the door beside the enquiry window. "Exactly right," Jack said.

  Mr. Hardy gave Julia a polite smile and pursed his lips. "I didn't catch that, Mr. Orchard."

  "You know my wife."

  "Of course," the manager said as though Jack had meant it as a sly rebuke, and opened the door of the interview room. "Won't you step through?"

  When Jack and Julia both hesitated he edged towards the doorway. "Please," Jack said with a magnanimous gesture which might have been indicating Mr. Hardy's paunch. "I'll be the back legs," he said. "I'll bring up the rear."

  Lord only knew what Jack Awkward might have felt compelled to add, but his new self knew when he'd said enough. He wafted Julia and Mr. Hardy into the interview room and closed the three of them in while the manager, having waited for Julia to seat herself, sat as far forwards as the desk and his paunch would allow. "I hear you're to be congratulated," Mr. Hardy said to her.

  "About the competition? Thanks."

  "I trust your daughter is improving."

  "On the mend," Julia admitted. "You're looking well."

  "Fed," Jack Awkward would probably have added, hoping it would be inaudible, but Jack only took his place on the remaining chair. Anyway, Mr. Hardy, you wanted to see us," Julia said.

  "That is the case." Mr. Hardy raised a fist in order further to conceal a discreet cough. "Have there been any developments with regard to the employment situation?"

  "I'm still out of a job."

  "How permanent is that likely to be?"

  "As far as that job goes, very, I'm afraid, which is why I'm looking for another."

  "With any success?"

  "So far people don't seem keen on hiring someone who may have to take time off work to be in court, and I'm restricted by the distance I can travel to work."

  "If the work won't come to us, Mrs. Orchard, we must go to the work."

  "I appreciate that."

  She sounded anything but appreciative. "Are you suggesting we should move further than we meant to?" Jack said.

  "That might seem a solution," Mr. Hardy said, and collected another cough in his fist. "Unfortunately, it may present a problem."

  "More like several."

  "In the immediate context, your mortgage in particular."

  "What about our mortgage?" Julia said.

  "In view of the fact that there is no longer duality of income, I fear we may have to adjust our offer accordingly."

  "What are you saying?" Jack demanded, telling himself there was no need to be rude: knowing what he was capable of should give him the strength to be direct and clear. "You must realise we can't buy anywhere worthwhile for less than you're offering."

  "Were offering, Mr. Orchard. I'm afraid we must think in the past tense."

  "A good trick if you can do it, but no use to us."

  Mr. Hardy concentrated on Julia. "I'd hoped to have better news for you, but given what you've just told me I fear I have no choice."

  "Everyone has a choice," Jack said.

  "And the bank's has been made, Mr. Orchard."

  "Banks don't make choices, people do," Julia protested. The house is too small for the three of us now. What are we supposed to do?"

  "I trust you will be able to make the best of it until your situation improves."

  "That isn't good enough," Jack said, holding his voice steady despite the blaze of images which filled his head, Mr. Hardy dancing wildly as the firemen fell over their hoses. "Maybe we should think of moving banks before we move house."

  "I doubt that any other bank would welcome your account in its current state."

  "So you think you can do what you like with us."

  "I don't think there's any need to go that far," Mr. Hardy said, bumping the desk with his paunch.

  "I'll go as far as I have to," Jack said, feeling as though at any moment he might begin to hear m
usic to accompany the ritual fire dance in his skull. "Suppose I take up your attitude with your head office?"

  That's your privilege, Mr. Orchard, but I'm afraid—"

  "Privilege my sphincter. The bank's been happy enough to have our custom over the years. Your predecessor certainly was."

  "My happiness isn't at issue, Mr. Orchard."

  Jack heard him say 'atishoo', but it wasn't worth a joke. "That's right. Ours and our daughter's is. And keeping your customers happy is part of your job."

  "Not at the bank's expense."

  "The bank can stand the strain better than we can."

  Julia reached for Jack as if she wasn't seeing too well and gripped his hand. "We'd better go."

  "Let's be clear first," Jack said, and slipping his hand out of hers, stood up and leaned on Mr. Hardy's desk. "We've done everything we can and despite that you're refusing to help us."

  "Please take your hands off my desk, Mr. Orchard."

  "Where do you think I should put them?" Jack was looking at Mr. Hardy's fat throat, which seemed to squirm like a grub. "I don't like to see my family kicked while they're down."

  "If you think such language will achieve something, Mr. Orchard—"

  "I was hoping language would." Jack lifted his hands from the desk. Mr. Hardy rocked backwards so as to get up, and Jack saw the manager shrinking from him, saw how a push would send the man sprawling. It would only upset Julia. "I expect to hear from you soon," he said.

  Mr. Hardy pressed his lips together so hard they turned white, and held the door open. "I'm sorry not to have been able to offer more in the way of encouragement," he said as Julia came abreast of him.

  She said nothing until she was out on the street, blinking rapidly as if she had sand in her eyes. "We did our best."

  She was asking for at least that reassurance, but Jack knew he hadn't even begun. How much more did he intend to let her and Laura suffer before he did what was necessary? Did he always need a dose of bad luck to spur him into action? Prevention was better than cure, and the family had been through enough. "Don't tell Laura anything until we've been to the top," he said.