Take No Farewell - Retail

by Robert Goddard

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘Just a chat. A bit of company. A sympathetic ear. It’s not much to ask, is it?’

  ‘It seems a great deal at this moment. Why don’t you go home to bed?’

  ‘Because it’s more fun here. We could discuss the many mysteries of life. To take but one example, how did I know you were here?’

  ‘I assume you didn’t.’

  ‘Well, you assume wrong. Did you have a pleasant spot of breakfast with Aunt Hermione this morning?’ He grinned more broadly still. ‘No need to look so shocked. The old bat’s an expert at giving herself away. Now, stand me a drink and be sociable and maybe – just maybe – I’ll keep it to myself.’

  Mercifully, the only other customer was the thin fellow with the irksome cough and he was engaged in an animated discussion of racehorses with the barman. So, with a nod of reluctant consent, I ordered some drinks and piloted Spencer to the remotest table in the room.

  ‘Where have you been all this time, Staddon, eh? I’ve been waiting for you since they opened. I was beginning to think you’d let me down.’

  ‘If I’d known you were here, I would have done.’

  ‘Oh dear! That’s not very nice, is it? Want to know how I rumbled Aunt Hermione?’

  ‘No. But I expect you’ll tell me anyway.’

  ‘As a matter of fact, I believe I will. She announced last night that she’d be bustling down to the cathedral at sparrow’s croak for her devotions. Made too big a thing of it, though. She’d normally have gone without telling a soul. So, I reckoned my dear demented aunt must be up to something. A fling with one of the canons? Hardly. That’s when I remembered the brouhaha about her meeting you last time you were in Hereford. You were staying at the Green Dragon then, only a crozier’s throw from the cathedral. So, I looked in this afternoon and what should I find but your name on the register? You’re too predictable, Staddon. That’s your trouble, far too predictable.’

  ‘All this is wild guesswork. You have no proof I met your aunt.’

  Suddenly, much of Spencer’s drunkenness seemed to fall away. ‘I don’t need proof,’ he said in an altogether steadier voice. ‘We’re not in a court of law. But Consuela will be soon enough. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? You’re still trying to pull the irons out of the fire for her.’

  ‘What’s it to you if I am?’

  ‘I might be able to help.’

  ‘I don’t think so. Even if you could, I doubt you’d bother to.’

  Spencer’s smile tightened. ‘Sometimes I get the impression you don’t like me. But you should. At least, you should pretend to. Consuela’s other shining white knight did that if he did nothing else.’

  ‘Who are you talking about?’

  ‘Her brother. The mad Brazilian. Rodrigo Manchaca de whatnot. He treated me very well, as a matter of fact.’

  ‘You mean he bought you drinks.’

  ‘Yes. And he smiled more than you. And he listened more respectfully to what I told him.’

  ‘What did you tell him?’

  ‘Oh, this and that. Tit-bits about my family. He seemed to find it all quite fascinating. Unlike you.’

  ‘But I’ve heard it all before. Remember?’

  ‘No you haven’t. You haven’t heard the half of it.’

  I leaned forward and spoke slowly enough to avoid misunderstanding. I was tired and in no mood for Spencer’s game-playing. ‘If you have something to say, say it. I’m not going to beg for your two penn’orth of family gossip.’

  ‘Fastidious all of a sudden, aren’t we? You won’t save Consuela’s luscious little neck by striking poses, you know.’

  ‘Nor by listening to you, I’ll warrant.’

  ‘Now that’s where you’re wrong. I asked you last time we met how you hoped to prove Consuela hadn’t poisoned my dear departed sister. You didn’t have an answer then and I’ll bet you don’t have one now.’

  ‘And you do, I suppose?’

  ‘Maybe. Ask yourself this. What proves Rosemary wasn’t the intended victim?’

  ‘The fact that she arrived at Clouds Frome unexpectedly.’

  ‘Exactly. Otherwise it would have been à bientôt Uncle Victor. But what would it mean if she wasn’t unexpected?’

  ‘It would … Are you suggesting it was known she’d turn up that afternoon?’

  ‘I have it on reliable authority that Uncle Grenville telephoned Uncle Victor from Ross that afternoon after Rosemary and Mummy dear had left his house and before they reached Clouds Frome. Now, I don’t know what was said, but if Uncle Grenville just happened to mention that the ladies were thinking of looking in on their way back to Hereford, well, it would alter everybody’s calculations, wouldn’t it?’

  He was right. Until now, I had been unable to sustain my suggestion that Victor might have staged the poisoning in order to rid himself of Consuela. As Imogen Roebuck had pointed out, he would have been taking an outrageous risk with his own life. Moreover, Consuela could only have been accused of attempted murder in such circumstances. Whether imprisoned or not, she would have remained his wife. If, however, Victor knew Marjorie and Rosemary were about to walk obligingly on to the scene, such objections fell away. He could have let his sweet-toothed niece gorge herself on the poisoned sugar and swallowed just enough himself to induce sickness. Then all he had to do was wait for Consuela to be charged with murder – and for the death penalty to free him from their marriage. Suddenly, timing was all-important. When was the telephone call made? How long did Victor have in which to set the trap?

  Spencer was smirking in triumph. He could see he had me where he wanted me. ‘Bit of a shaker, isn’t it?’

  ‘What is your … reliable authority?’

  ‘You surely don’t expect me to identify him.’

  ‘Of course I do. This must be brought to the attention of the police.’

  ‘Not on, Staddon, simply not on.’

  ‘But it could make all the difference.’

  ‘Oh, I realize that. But I was told in the strictest confidence, by somebody who’s too interested in keeping his job to consider speaking up in court.’

  ‘Keeping his job? Good God, we’re talking about a woman’s life. Don’t you understand what this means?’

  ‘I understand, but I’m not sure you do. Suppose my … friend, let’s call him … did have a fit of honesty and came forward. He couldn’t exonerate Consuela. All Uncle Victor would have to do is either deny that the conversation ever took place or admit that it did, but deny that the ladies’ plans were mentioned in the course of it. My friend’s only reward would be dismissal. Uncle Victor doesn’t care to be crossed, as you must know.’

  ‘Your friend works for Victor?’

  ‘Self-evidently.’

  ‘And he took this telephone call?’

  ‘So he tells me.’

  ‘There aren’t many people it can be, then, are there? Danby. Gleasure. Noyce. That’s about the limit.’

  ‘It won’t help you to narrow the field.’

  ‘What about Grenville Peto, then? He’d know what he told Victor.’

  ‘Naturally, but if it was what I’m suggesting, he’d have said so by now, wouldn’t he? Unless, of course, he doesn’t want to help Consuela. Unless, perhaps, Victor’s squared him in some way. In that case, you won’t get anything out of him, will you?’

  I slumped back in my chair. This ray of light was worse than the blackest despair. It glimmered but to deceive. The hope it conjured up was frail to the point of falseness. As Spencer well knew. ‘Did you tell Rodrigo this?’

  ‘No. Actually, the information hadn’t come my way when he stormed the city. You’re the first person I’ve shared it with. You should be flattered.’

  ‘Why have you shared it with me?’

  ‘Thought you ought to know. That’s all.’ But his flushed and gleeful expression put the lie to his words. He had another secret to spill from his hoard. ‘I’ve a sudden yen for some bubbly. What do you say?’

&
nbsp; ‘Not for me.’

  ‘Treat me, then.’ His eyes telegraphed the blatancy of his demand. If I pandered to his whim, he might be still more forthcoming. I signalled to the barman and ordered champagne. He bustled out to fetch it. ‘It’s amazing, you know,’ said Spencer, ‘how considerate people are – how eager to please – when they want something from you. Have you ever noticed that?’

  ‘It doesn’t apply to everybody.’

  ‘It applies to everybody I’ve met. You included. Happen to have a cigar about you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Well, be a good fellow and order one when the barman gets back. I’m partial to Havanas.’

  The grin never left Spencer’s face as the champagne was opened and poured, a cigar delivered and lit for him. Then, when the barman had withdrawn, he raised his glass.

  ‘What shall we drink to, Staddon? Or should I say to whom? Consuela, perhaps?’

  I said nothing. Only the thought that he might tell me something more of value restrained me from throwing the champagne in his face. As it was, my glass remained untouched on the table, whilst Spencer, with a shrug of the shoulders, drank to his own toast.

  ‘Not bad. Not bad at all.’ He leaned back in his chair and took a puff at his cigar. ‘This is the life, eh?’

  ‘If you have something else to say, I’d be grateful if you’d say it.’

  ‘Oh, sorry. Am I keeping you up? Well, the fact is, Staddon, I owe you an apology.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘I may have spoken out of turn to our Brazilian friend, Rodrigo. Tongue ran away with me. You know how it is. A few drinks. A spot of reminiscence. Then, before you know what’s happening, you’ve let the cat out of the bag.’

  ‘I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.’

  ‘You and Consuela. I suggested to Rodrigo – well, more or less told him, actually – that you and she had had a fling a few years ago.’

  I stared at him, as yet too amazed to be angry. ‘You told him?’

  ‘Ah, I see it’s as I feared. No doubt he had a word with you about it. Probably none too pleasant a word. No diplomat, our Rodrigo, I grant you. Well, I’m sorry if I landed you in it, I really am.’

  ‘But … What did you tell him? What could you tell him? You knew … You know nothing about it.’

  Spencer grimaced theatrically and re-filled his glass. ‘I’m afraid you’re labouring under another illusion there, Staddon. I have a quite distinct recollection from my youth – which I related to Rodrigo – of seeing you and Consuela in circumstances that left little doubt even in my inexperienced mind of how matters stood between you.’

  ‘What recollection?’

  ‘Are you sure you want to know? You could find it rather embarrassing.’

  I leaned forward and fixed him with a stare. ‘Just tell me what you told Rodrigo.’

  ‘All right. If that’s how you want it.’ He grinned at me, entirely unabashed. ‘Cast your mind back to July, 1911. Remember that frightful cricket match at Mordiford? Purgatory from start to finish as far as I was concerned. Except I didn’t stay till the finish. I wandered off after lunch, while they were still bowling donkey-drops for Uncle Victor to hit for six. You’d disappeared by then as well, though I’d no idea where you’d gone. I wasn’t trying to spy on you, though maybe I would have if I’d had any inkling what I’d see. An education in itself for a young shaver like me, I don’t mind admitting.

  ‘I trailed up through the orchard to Clouds Frome and stopped about halfway along the pergola for a breather on one of those wrought-iron benches you’d dotted around the place. I was just sitting there, staring up at the sky and the rear of the house, counting how many fleecy bits of cloud I could see, when a curtain moved at an open window on the first floor. It was nothing more than a twitch that caught my eye, but when I looked up, what I saw meant I couldn’t have looked away again for all the chocolate in Bournville.

  ‘Consuela was standing at the window and she hadn’t a stitch on. I didn’t know what to think, except that she was lovelier than anything I’d ever seen before. Not that I need to describe her to you. You must remember it all well enough. As I watched, you appeared in the window next to her, as naked as she was. You kissed her and put your arms round her. By this time, I was transfixed, eyes bolting out of my head. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. And you know what I saw, don’t you? You know what happened next.’

  The day was recreated in my memory as Spencer spoke. The heat, the passion, the deceit: all the components stood sharp and incontrovertible in my mind. Yes, I knew what happened next. It was seared into my conscience, the joy of the moment erased by the suffering it had caused.

  ‘You want me again?’

  ‘I want you always.’

  ‘Then you shall have me. Always.’

  I had thought nothing could make what I had done worse. It could not have been more selfish. It could not have been less honourable. Yet this latest, least welcome disclosure somehow succeeded. Spencer had seen us. He had peered up at us, watching eagerly as we touched and embraced, salivating with glee as we performed unconsciously for his benefit. And now, years later, he had turned what was merely unforgivable into something irredeemably sordid.

  ‘Rodrigo seemed shocked when I told him. I suppose we shouldn’t be surprised. You know what these Latin males are like. They roger every tart in sight, but expect their sisters to live like nuns. Mind you, I was shocked at the time. Precocious I may have been, but not that precocious. It was a real eye-opener to me. Of course, it doesn’t seem very extraordinary to me now. If I’d been your age then, I don’t suppose I could have kept my hands off her either. She’s always been a fine figure of a woman, our Consuela. There have been times in recent years, I’m bound to admit, when I’ve thought of giving her—’

  ‘You’ve said enough!’ A silence fell at the bar, broken only by an irritating cough. I lowered my voice. ‘You’ve made it all perfectly clear and no doubt you’ve enjoyed doing so. You think you’re very clever, don’t you? – meddling in other people’s affairs, pouring your little drops of poison into their minds.’

  ‘Poison, Staddon? An unfortunate choice of metaphor, I must say.’

  ‘I’ve heard as much from you as I can stomach. Now, clear out of here, would you?’

  ‘But I’ve not finished the bubbly yet.’ He reached out for the bottle and began to pour some into his glass. As he did so, I grabbed his wrist, so suddenly and tightly that the champagne missed its target and fizzed across the table. ‘Steady on!’ he cried.

  Still grasping his wrist, I reached out with my other hand, plucked the cigar from his mouth and dropped it into his glass. With a tiny hiss, it was extinguished. He stared at me in open-mouthed amazement.

  ‘What the devil do you think you’re playing at?’

  ‘I’m not playing at anything. If you don’t leave now, I shan’t be answerable for the consequences.’

  He stared at me a moment longer, then tossed his head dismissively, brushed at his jacket and stood up. ‘Well, if that’s the line you’re going to take …’

  ‘It is.’

  ‘The day may come, Staddon, when you regret making an enemy of me.’

  ‘I doubt it.’

  ‘Have it your own way. Meanwhile, I’ll bid you good night.’ With that, he strode from the bar.

  I did not watch him go, but relaxed back slowly into my chair. The fire was burning down. I closed my eyes, as if by that alone I could wipe away the stain his words had left. But I could not. And, when I opened them, there were so many traces of his presence close at hand – the smeared glasses, the half-empty bottle, the pool of champagne, the floating remnant of his cigar, the pungent reek of it in the air about me – that I could almost see him still sitting opposite me, grinning maliciously, eager to recall all he knew or had guessed about me. Some sump of venom in the Caswell line had drained into Spencer’s vicious little mind and this was its result. He did not care who he hurt or why, whether Consuela ha
nged or was spared, whether his own sister lived or died. We were all the same to him: fumbling actors on a crudely lit stage. Whilst we lied and fought, he lounged in the stalls, laughing himself to drunken sleep.

  Hermione had told me that Caswell & Co. board meetings always commenced at half past two and never lasted less than an hour. It was at half past three the following afternoon, therefore, that I crossed the yard of the cider-works and entered by the office door.

  Mortimer’s secretary, Miss Palmer – whom I remembered from my previous visit – was younger and prettier than might have been expected, though heavy horn-rimmed spectacles gave her an air of earnestness. She looked up nervously from her typewriter as I entered her room and said: ‘Can I help you, sir?’ Evidently, she did not recognize me.

  ‘I want to speak to Victor Caswell.’

  ‘Oh. Well, I’m afraid he’s in the board meeting at present, sir.’ She nodded towards the firmly closed door on the far side of her office.

  ‘I know. I’ll wait, if I may.’

  ‘Oh. I see. Rightio, sir.’

  I sat down on the only free chair in the room. Miss Palmer returned to her typing. Between letters, it was possible to hear a murmur of voices from the board-room, but who was speaking or what they were saying was indistinguishable. Ten minutes passed. Then Miss Palmer cleared her throat and said:

  ‘Are you sure you want to wait, sir?’

  ‘Quite, thank you.’

  ‘Only there’s no knowing when the meeting will end.’

  ‘When it does, I’ll be here.’

  ‘Oh. I see. Rightio, sir.’

  Typing resumed. Four o’clock approached. Miss Palmer stifled a yawn and looked as if she would have paused for a cigarette if I had not been there. Then she abandoned typing and commenced filing correspondence in a cabinet near the door. Muffled voices could still be heard from the board-room; there was nothing to suggest the meeting was drawing to a close.

  Thanks to the noise made by the filing-cabinet drawers when she pushed them shut, Miss Palmer failed to hear the door being opened behind her a few minutes later. Spencer Caswell slipped into the room from the corridor outside and grinned at the spectacle, which he clearly found inviting, of her bending down to reach the lowest drawers. He did not notice me and crept forward on tiptoe, his intentions by now obvious. At the last moment, I coughed.