Plots and Errors

by Jill McGown

  Esterbrook had driven out to his mother’s cottage; Foster had known, as soon as he had seen him take the turn-off, where he was going, and had congratulated himself on his forward planning, even if it had really been a bit of a scam to get a few days at the coast. He had arrived at the back garden of the cottage to find the windows open but still curtained, and had thus been able to slip up the ladder and into the treehouse unobserved.

  Sounds had come floating through that open, curtained window that were unmistakable, and he had duly noted the time, and the nature of the sounds. Since then he had been keeping an eye, and more importantly an ear, on the curtained house, because as soon as he heard them moving around in there, he had to get ready to record. They would want to leave things as they found them, and that would presumably mean opening the curtains again. Just catching him on video in the cottage with Townsend might not be proof of adultery, but it would be all he’d need to keep Mrs Esterbrook from giving up on him.

  The bedroom curtains had indeed opened, and Foster had reached for the camcorder, his heart beating fast when he saw the subject, as he called him in his reports, stark naked. He had used the slow zoom, as Esterbrook had sat on the bed and looked in the drawer for something, focusing first of all on his face, to ensure that there could be no dispute as to his identity, then had pulled back to include his companion.

  And as Paul Esterbrook made a phone-call, Foster was getting the reward for all that patient watching and following. Esterbrook had slipped up at last.

  SCENE IX – BARTONSHIRE.

  Sunday, August 24th, 9.45 a.m.

  The House at Little Elmley.

  Elizabeth arrived at Little Elmley, and let herself in. She was never sure how she had been inveigled into working with Angela like this; naturally, she wasn’t paid for it, and once wouldn’t have wanted to be, but now she had a private investigator’s bills coming in, and she could do with some income. She wasn’t really that desirous of doing it at all, but it had somehow evolved into a routine that she didn’t know how to break. Now, she had even less incentive; Angela Esterbrook was part of what she saw as a conspiracy to defraud her of the shares her father-in-law had meant her to have if his son failed to mend his ways. He had seen Paul for what he was; Angela saw only what she wanted to see, and turned a blind eye to anything she didn’t.

  But Josh had had some sort of accident with the boat, apparently; Paul might have slipped up this time, with any luck, because his plans depended on what he could foresee. If there was any justice, Foster would have something to report.

  She went into the office, switched on the computer and the printer, then glanced at the telephone, where a message was flashing.

  SCENE X – BARTONSHIRE.

  Sunday, August 24th, 3.00 p.m.

  On the Road from Cornwall to Bartonshire.

  Sandie had listened to what Paul thought of his mother, listened to his effing and blinding hour after hour, mile after mile, until she felt like jumping out of the car.

  ‘This is just to let me know that she knows what I’m up to,’ he said, for what Sandie was pretty sure was the fifteenth time. She had started counting after about the fourth or fifth, but she might have missed a few. ‘She and Elizabeth are in this together, I know they are. Whoever that bitch has got watching me must have lost me when Josh holed the boat, and my darling mother worked out where I’d be.’

  ‘But I thought you’d checked out everyone you were worried about?’

  ‘Except the right fucking one,’ muttered Paul.

  Sandie suggested that his mother might simply have his best interests at heart, was trying to make sure Elizabeth didn’t catch him, but he would have none of it. They were in a conspiracy together, and that was all there was to it. And when he’d exhausted that topic, he started complaining that he was late, blaming her because she had detained him after he had made his call to his mother’s answering machine.

  ‘There isn’t an exact time for driving from Penhallin to Little Elmley,’ she pointed out. ‘You can’t be late for something that hasn’t got a fixed time.’

  After what seemed like a hundred years, they were coming into home territory; he was still swearing and muttering to himself when he pulled up at her block of flats, and groaned when he saw Josh walking towards the car. ‘What now?’ he said.

  Josh grinned. ‘Relax,’ he said. ‘I’m doing you a favour. Angela found out about the boat being holed.’

  Paul went pale. ‘How?’

  ‘She has to foot the bills. The guy rang her about something that he wanted to do, and she rang me wanting to know what it was all about. I told her that it happened right after she had rung this morning, and that we would all be coming back as soon as I got things organized. She told me to bring Sandie back with me for dinner, and not to forget her letter.’

  Paul looked quickly at her again, then, his eyes narrowing slightly. ‘See?’ he said. ‘I told you. She’s doing this on fucking purpose! She still thinks she can pair you and Josh off.’

  ‘Anyway, I assumed you’d be bringing Sandie home, so here I am, to pick her up. You can give me the letter, and no one will be any the wiser.’

  The colour slowly returned to Paul’s face. ‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘Thanks, Josh. I owe you one.’

  Josh smiled. ‘You owe me several, big brother.’

  Sandie got out of the car, and watched Paul drive off.

  ‘Well?’ said Josh, opening the passenger door of his car. ‘Are you ready for this?’

  Ready for it? She had thought it was never going to happen. But it was happening, and she couldn’t be happier, couldn’t be more ready. She got into the car, and smiled up at Josh as he closed the door and walked round.

  He got into the car, and smiled back at her. ‘You might not thank me for moving you in with Angela,’ he said.

  ‘It’s not Angela I’m moving in with.’

  SCENE XI – BARTONSHIRE.

  Sunday, August 24th, 4.00 p.m.

  The House at Little Elmley.

  Angela was still in her office, telling Elizabeth which photographs she wanted to use in the book; she raised a hand in greeting as Josh went in, and carried on marking photographs as she spoke. ‘You weren’t trying to ring me, were you?’ she asked.

  ‘No,’ said Josh. ‘Why?’

  ‘The answering machine’s gone funny.’

  Josh pulled the phone towards him. ‘There’s a message flashing,’ he said.

  ‘I know, but it won’t play.’

  Josh fiddled with it, pressed play, fiddled with it some more, and then took it out, inserted a pen, and rewound it. ‘Try recording a new message,’ he said.

  Angela recorded a new message, then Sandie went out to the hallway and rang the number; her call was answered, she left a message, and the machine played it.

  ‘All we needed was a man, obviously,’ said Elizabeth. ‘I’d better be going, I suppose, if Paul’s home.’

  Angela shook her head. ‘How on earth did you manage to hole the boat, Josh? You’ve been messing about in boats in Penhallin harbour since you were eight years old.’

  ‘I wasn’t looking where I was going,’ said Josh, and glanced at Sandie. ‘I had other things on my mind.’

  ‘Oh, well. The man rang because he says it’s in need of a complete overhaul, so I suppose it’s just as well. You should have been keeping an eye on what needed doing to it, as well as on where you were going, Josh.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Josh. ‘I know. I’m sorry.’

  Elizabeth left then, and Josh waited until he heard the front door close. ‘I really did have my mind on other things,’ he said. ‘Sandie and I have some news.’ He fancied he saw a hint of relief as he told her that he and Sandie were man and wife.

  She looked from him to Sandie, smiling, shaking her head. ‘When?’ she asked.

  ‘Last month,’ said Josh, taking out the marriage certificate. ‘Proof, since you’ll need it for the anti-fornication clause.’

  ‘Josh! I won’t have you t
alking like that.’

  Angela disapproved of jokes about Paul senior’s Victorian outlook. But she would have asked to see it, if Josh hadn’t volunteered it. He knew that, and so did she. Living in sin would not have been tolerated by his father, and it wouldn’t, therefore, have been tolerated by Angela.

  ‘But—’ Angela shook her head as she read it. ‘But why didn’t you tell anyone?’

  Josh sat down. ‘Because of the will,’ he said. ‘Sandie’s got a good job, and we’re not sure whether she counts as a member of my family or not. Paul might not be able to carry on employing her.’

  Angela frowned slightly as she thought about that. ‘It might be all right,’ she said. ‘It would depend how the Trust board saw it, I suppose. I think your father really meant . . . well . . . blood relations. Because of . . .’ She shook her head rather than finish the sentence. ‘He had these old-fashioned notions,’ she said to Sandie.

  ‘Well, we didn’t fancy them putting it to the vote, so we thought we’d keep it quiet, and carry on living in separate houses,’ said Josh. ‘But . . . well, we’d much rather be together.’

  Angela nodded vigorously. ‘Of course you would,’ she said. Then she jumped up again. ‘What am I thinking of? This calls for champagne. Come along.’

  They followed her into her sitting room, champagne was produced, and Angela drank to their health and happiness.

  ‘The thing is,’ Josh said, ‘Sandie doesn’t want to stop work, because I don’t earn enough to keep us both—’

  ‘You mustn’t worry about that! I can let you have anything you want – anything you need.’

  Sandie smiled. ‘I know you’d be very generous, Mrs Esterbrook, but—’

  ‘Call me Angela, dear.’

  ‘Angela. But – please don’t be offended – I really would prefer it if Josh and I were independent, financially.’

  Angela was not offended. She was a reasonable woman, and reasonable women didn’t take offence over things like that, could entirely understand that their stepdaughters-in-law wouldn’t want to live off them. Josh took up the conversational baton when Angela had finished being reasonable.

  ‘So what we thought,’ he said, ‘was that Sandie would look for another job, one as good as she’s got at IMG, hopefully, and when she gets one, then we’ll make it public. Once she’s no longer on the payroll, there will be no danger of over-zealous trustees pulling the plug on Paul.’

  ‘Good,’ Angela said, smiling. ‘He’s always looked out for Paul,’ she told Sandie, and turned back to him. ‘Haven’t you? It’s as though you were the older brother.’

  He found it hard to believe how self-deluding his stepmother was; despite her intimate knowledge of her so-called family, she genuinely believed that he didn’t want to do anything that would put Paul in a difficult position. If she only knew. The more apparently difficult a situation he got Paul into, the deeper in hock Paul got into Josh when he apparently extricated him from it. And he had just put Paul exactly where he wanted him.

  ‘So as far as Paul is concerned, Sandie still lives in her flat in Stansfield,’ Josh said. ‘All right?’

  ‘Of course,’ said his stepmother. ‘I won’t tell a soul anything different until you tell me I can.’

  Josh smiled. ‘Good,’ he said. ‘I knew you’d understand.’

  How could she not understand? She was, after all, so very reasonable.

  SCENE XII – BARTONSHIRE.

  Sunday, August 24th, 10.30 p.m.

  Joe Miller’s House.

  Kathy dropped him off, and handed him the video.

  ‘You won’t forget, will you?’

  ‘I won’t forget,’ said Joe. He wasn’t likely to forget. She had told him what she had seen in Room 312, and that video was destined to be blackmail material, or he was a Dutchman. He could imagine that the guy would be prepared to part with a lot of money to get his hands on it.

  He bent and gave her a kiss, feeling a sudden stab of conscience, not something that he had felt too often in his life. He had taken advantage of her yesterday, and he still was taking advantage of her, because last night after dinner she had clearly decided that all he had had was an attack of cold feet.

  She obviously believed that everything was going to go ahead as originally planned, and he hadn’t tried very hard to disabuse her of the notion. He wished, a little wistfully, as he let himself into his empty house, that he were a better person. But it had been a bloody good weekend. Pity it had ended so abruptly; once Esterbrook had checked out, Kathy had had no reason to stay the extra day.

  He went to bed early and alone, unlike last night, and lay awake, thinking. All in all, the weekend had given Joe lots of food for thought; he thought about the financial mess he’d got himself into, about Debbie, about the video he now had in his possession.

  He might do a little digging. Find out what sort of money this Esterbrook bloke had, and just how good a prospect for blackmail he was.

  SCENE XIII – BARTONSHIRE.

  The following day, Monday, August 25th.

  Paul and Elizabeth’s House.

  Elizabeth was very anxious to get her private investigator’s report of the weekend, because she wanted to know what Paul had been doing while Josh was arranging for the repairs to the boat to be carried out. The break in his routine had to have thrown something up, surely, even though he had come home immediately. He certainly wouldn’t have been ready to leave, and that could just mean that this time she would have something on him.

  She rang the number, and let it ring out for three minutes before she realized that it was, of course, Bank Holiday Monday, and she presumed that even private detectives’ secretaries got the day off. Foster would have been working, though, if Josh hadn’t holed the boat, so perhaps he would go into the office at some point.

  She tried several times throughout the day, every time Paul went far enough away for it to be safe, but got no reply. She was going to have to be patient for one more day.

  SCENE XIV – BARTONSHIRE.

  The following day, Tuesday, August 26th.

  The House at Little Elmley.

  ‘IMG Limited, Trish speaking, how may I help you?’

  Josh shook his head a little. Trust Paul to have them say that when they answered the phone. ‘Good morning, Trish,’ he said. ‘You may help me by putting me through to my brother.’

  ‘Who’s calling, please?’

  ‘Josh Esterbrook. My brother is your boss.’

  ‘One moment, I’ll see if he’s in.’

  One of the Four Seasons was played into his ear in case he got bored. Poor Vivaldi. If he had thought for one moment of the crass uses to which his music would be put, he would never have written a note.

  ‘Josh?’

  ‘Yes. I thought I’d better ring you in an Elizabeth-free zone. It isn’t very good news, I’m afraid. I’m not getting the boat back this weekend. In fact, it’s going to be out of commission for a few weeks.’

  The disappointment was audible.

  ‘Sorry,’ Josh said. ‘It seems it wasn’t in as good nick as I thought when I got it. It needs a lot doing to it. It won’t be back in business until the twenty-sixth of September.’ And after several weekends in his wife’s company, nothing would keep Paul away from Penhallin when the boat was finally back in service.

  ‘Oh, that’s a pity.’

  Josh grinned. He must have someone with him, so he couldn’t give vent to his true feelings. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘Nothing I can do about it.’ He had persuaded the boatyard to tell Angela that it was essential maintenance; that way she would foot the bill without asking awkward questions.

  ‘Well, I suppose it can’t be helped.’ Another sigh. ‘Thanks for letting me know, anyway.’

  It was fun listening to Paul having to take the news without filling the air with four-letter words. ‘You’re welcome,’ Josh said, smiling broadly, and hung up.

  SCENE XV – BARTONSHIRE.

  The following day, Wednesday, August 27th.


  Foster’s Office.

  ‘Where were you yesterday?’ Debbie demanded as soon as he walked in.

  ‘Working,’ said Foster.

  ‘Nursing a hangover, I presume. Couldn’t you have rung in?’

  Foster went back out and looked at the scratched and scuffed plate clinging by one and a half of its screws to the wall outside. He must do something about that, he thought. ‘Ian R. Foster, Private Enquiry Agent,’ he read aloud, then looked back in at Debbie. ‘I’m called Ian R. Foster,’ he said. ‘Does that mean I’m the boss?’

  ‘Very funny. Mrs Esterbrook rang for her report yesterday – she wasn’t very pleased when I said you hadn’t been in all day.’

  ‘I told her I was a one-man band,’ said Foster, coming in again, and closing the door. ‘She can’t expect me to be here all the time.’

  Debbie pulled a face. ‘She’s practically your only client,’ she said. ‘The only one worth being here for, at any rate.’

  This was entirely true, but that job was almost certainly finished, unless he extended it a little, as he’d been thinking of doing. But he’d had a good win yesterday, and that proved that his luck really was in, so he might try something even more risky. He hadn’t quite made up his mind yet what to do. He pulled a face back. ‘You’re getting paid, aren’t you?’ he said.

  ‘For the moment,’ she said drily. ‘Anyway, I said you’d give her a ring when you came into the office.’

  ‘Right.’ He went into his own office, closed the door, and switched on the fan. The matter of Mrs Esterbrook’s report was a little complicated; he usually gave his notes to Debbie to type up, but he didn’t want to do that this time.

  He went back into Debbie’s office. ‘I’m just off out again,’ he said.

  ‘Have you got another job on?’

  He touched his nose.

  ‘I work for you, in case you hadn’t noticed! When you’ve got any work for me to do.’

  ‘Don’t worry, sweetheart,’ he said. ‘Things will pick up.’

  ‘They’d better,’ Debbie called after him as he went back out. ‘I’ve got two kids to feed, and I can’t do that on your promises.’