by Nick Thripp
One Friday evening we were sitting on the sofa, halfway through our second bottle of Sauvignon Blanc and watching Friends, Suzie’s favourite TV show, when, apropos of nothing, she spat the words, ‘Uncle Stuart was a complete fucking bastard.’ Dragging my eyes away from Monica’s lithe form which, clad only in a short towel, was at that moment, filling the TV screen, I was shocked to see her shoulders heaving, tears streaming down her cheeks and her eyes fixed in front of her. I tried to put my arm around her, but she shrugged me off.
‘I’ll never forgive him.’
‘Who was Uncle Stuart?’ I asked, uncertain whether Suzie would be prepared to say more. It wouldn’t have been the first time she’d said something dramatic and then, on being questioned, clammed up.
‘Aunt Charlotte’s husband.’ She paused, as though deep in thought. ‘He molested me from the age of eight. Let this be our little secret, he’d say as he slid his hand into my knickers, then he’d always ask me whether I had a boyfriend. The day I told him I did, he stopped. I was thirteen then. Five fucking years.’
‘Did you tell your parents?’
Suzie gave vent to an explosive series of sobs. Finally, she took a deep gulp of air and, still staring into the middle distance, said, ‘I thought I’d done something wrong and I’d get into trouble. Besides, I loved my aunt too much.’
‘What about your sisters? Didn’t you tell them?’
Suzie dabbed ineffectually at her eyes with a tissue. I handed her another paper handkerchief. She took it and blew her nose.
‘I was much younger and we didn’t talk about it till later. Then I found out he’d done it to them too.’
‘Even Rachel?’ I couldn’t imagine Rachel putting up with it. She was too strong, too determined. She would have gone straight to her parents, wouldn’t she?
Suzie glanced at the screen for a moment, and my eyes followed hers. Joey, wearing a Native American headdress, was standing on a table while Monica, now attired in fluffy pink pyjamas, tried to coax him down. Ross was on all fours underneath the table, wearing a straw hat and pulling a face. Guffaws of studio audience laughter flooded the room.
‘She wouldn’t talk about it.’
‘That Uncle Stuart should be locked up. All cons hate paedophiles, he’d have a hell of a time. Why don’t you bring a case against him? If you all testified—’
‘He’s dead. Heart attack. None of us went to the funeral, though he got a hero’s send off from the rest of the family.’
‘Did you tell anyone after he died?’
‘Yes, but they wouldn’t believe me. Aunt Charlotte was in denial and my mother said I’d made it up. Of course, by then, everyone thought the worst of me, so writing it off as a drug-induced fantasy was easy.’
‘And your sisters?’
‘Brushed it under the carpet.’ Her voice was small and childlike. Squeezed into the corner of the sofa, she seemed to have shrunk to half her normal size. I reached out and put my arm around her shoulders. This time she leant towards me. As Friends drew to a close with all the central characters sitting drinking coffee in Central Perk, Suzie, oblivious to what was happening on the screen, soaked my shirt with her tears.
Chapter 27
Senior Partner, 2001
‘So, you’ve made it to the top of the greasy pole.’ Richard watched his sliced shot land in the rough about a hundred yards to our right. ‘Congratulations. I suppose we’ll all have to salute you now.’
I took out my battered old driver. ‘If Braithwaite had still been around, I wouldn’t have. He never liked me, despite my landing the Beart account.’
I swung at my ball and it ended up a few yards from Richard’s. At least they’d be easier to find.
‘He never trusted anyone under the age of sixty,’ Richard said. ‘That’s why we’ve lost all our best young people. You didn’t arrange his death by any chance?’
We trudged in the direction of our golf balls, conscious of a foursome gathering impatiently on the tee behind us. Golf was no longer the leisurely game it had once been. Even on a wet Wednesday afternoon the pressure was on us to perform.
‘No, it really was a heart attack.’ Braithwaite had died on the eighteenth hole at Wentworth, just after missing the putt that lost him the game.
‘Stingy old bastard. Anything rather than pay up,’ Richard said. ‘Still, I’m surprised our fellow partners were prepared to tolerate a callow fifty-year-old at their head.’
‘What a bunch,’ I said. ‘Most of them are just waiting for retirement. Who else could do it? Apart from you, that is.’ My bravado masked the deep disquiet I’d experienced since accepting the role. I’d never been very proficient technically and I lacked the intuition that good auditors need, that ability to ask the right question. I knew most of the people working for me were more capable, and more motivated. In fact, my long-term strategy at work had been to avoid any detail and hide my incompetence behind a barrage of questioning, hoping no one would find me out.
Richard’s second shot was lying nicely on the fairway. Mine hit a tree, ricocheted and ended up twenty yards behind me. Perhaps it was time to give up golf. We looked back at the four golfers taking practice swings near the tee.
‘Shall we step aside and wave them through?’ Richard said. ‘They look like they know what they’re doing.’
‘Not on your life,’ I replied. ‘We’re ahead of them, and that’s the way it’s going to stay.’
*
I met Neil for a drink. His expression was even more jaundiced than ever.
‘Congratulations, mate,’ he said. ‘I always knew you could do it.’
‘Thanks Neil. And congratulations on your promotion to Superintendent.’
‘Thanks. Sadly, I won’t make chief constable now. Too old. All these kids with their Oxford degrees. What use are Latin and Greek in modern policing? Doubt I’ll even make chief super, unless I land a big one, that is.’
‘Got your eye on anyone?’ I asked, not expecting an answer.
Neil tapped the side of his nose theatrically. ‘Might have.’
‘Who is it?’ I was astonished we were having this conversation.
‘Can’t say, mate. Only thing I will say, strictly off the record, is I hope you’re doing a good job auditing Beart.’ He winked and I wondered whether he was pissed. There had been several empty pint glasses in front of him when I walked in.
‘You’re not looking at Beart? Surely he’s above suspicion? There’s hardly a government committee he isn’t on. He spends more time in Whitehall than with Rachel.’
‘I’m not saying anything,’ Neil replied. ‘If you’re covering all the bases, you’ve got nothing to worry about, have you?’ His arm brushed the pile of peanuts heaped in front of him, knocking several onto the stained carpet.
‘The only thing that didn’t add up was Martin’s death,’ I said, ‘though that was a few years back.’ Neil looked around and lowered his voice to be almost inaudible.
‘The Met thought he might have known too much, so they called us in. Couldn’t come up with anything, more’s the pity.’
‘I doubt murder is Beart’s style.’
‘Rich people get others to do their bidding.’ Neil drained his glass. ‘Want another?’
I looked down at my beer. I’d barely started it.
‘No thanks, mate.’
‘You wuss.’ He hauled himself unsteadily out of his seat while I made a mental note to talk to Alana the following day. A few more irregularities had come to light which we’d satisfied ourselves weren’t significant. Now I needed to double check. Even if it was the drink talking, I couldn’t believe what Neil had implied. Beart was far too much of a pillar of the establishment.
*
Chapter 28
Sisters, 2001
When I got home that evening, I found Suzie wrapped in a new black kimono, lying on
the sofa giggling. She was completely stoned.
‘What’s so funny?’
‘Rachel,’ she managed to say between tear-filled sobs of laughter.
‘What about her?’
‘Here; she was here.’ She bit a chunk off the Mars Bar she was gripping.
‘When?’
Suzie shrugged her shoulders. I knew I’d have to wait to get a sensible answer. The next morning, as Suzie was going to bed and I was getting up, I pressed her to tell me what had happened.
‘All I remember was Rachel ringing the bell and shouting at me as soon as I opened the door. Don’t know what she said, though I don’t think it was very nice. Then she fucked off.’
I waited until mid-morning before phoning Rachel at her office.
‘When you came here last night, did you want to see me?’
‘No, I wanted to speak to Suzie.’
‘What about?’
‘Nothing to do with you.’
‘Come on Rachel, you can’t leave it like that. You come to my flat and make a scene. You could at least tell me what it’s about.’
‘If you must know, Suzie’s been going to my mother’s house every now and then for a day or two. After she’s left, something, a picture or a print or a piece of silver, is missing. No doubt she’s financing her drug habit. I hope you’ve counted your valuables recently.’
Although I knew Suzie was a free spirit, and she’d frequently trotted out the hackneyed ‘property is theft’ mantra, stealing from her mother was taking it too far. I was always very careful with my own financial matters; I kept all my papers locked in a safe hidden behind a painting and only I knew the combination. I checked my credit card and bank statements regularly. I’d have known if there were any discrepancies. Even so, I decided to double-check my own security.
Shortly afterwards Suzie started to go out more regularly. She said she’d been given several commissions to paint the portraits of famous people’s pets.
‘Whose pets?’ I asked.
‘Confidential.’
‘Why would a pet portrait be confidential?’
She didn’t reply.
Suzie seemed to have plenty of money now. She bought some stylish clothes and her lifestyle became more diurnal. I wondered about the source of her new-found wealth. Was she selling her body? Had she become a drug dealer? Perhaps she’d taken up with a rich sugar daddy who could only see her during the day? As she wouldn’t answer even the most basic question, there was no way of putting my mind at rest. I decided not to make an issue of it. We were still getting on well and our sex life was good. What did I have to be concerned about?
*
‘Oi! Hang on mate!’
I must have been daydreaming on my way back from the newsagent’s, a copy of The Sunday Times under my arm, because Neil’s disembodied voice made me jump.
‘What the hell—?’
‘You’ll never guess what,’ he exclaimed, stepping out of a shady alleyway and falling in beside me. He looked round the deserted city streets and his voice dropped to a near whisper.
‘You remember Roberts?’
I must have looked blank.
‘From school. In Beart’s year.’
I nodded.
‘We got him.’ His chest visibly swelled. ‘I got him. And the rest of them. A child porn ring.’
‘How did you get onto him?’
‘An anonymous tip off. Then we followed the links from Roberts to the others. Really explicit stuff, children as young as two.’
‘Disgusting. Well done for nicking them.’ It was difficult to reconcile the jubilant look on Neil’s face with this repulsive activity.
‘Thanks. Yes, it’ll do my career no harm, but that’s not the point. Roberts says he was corrupted by old Summerbee, and he’s willing to testify against him. Apparently, he buggered all the Mollies.’
Something was niggling inside my brain.
‘Since when was Roberts a Molly?’
‘He said Summerbee recruited him after we left.’
‘Strange. The Mollies were all pretty boys. Roberts looked like a garden gnome.’
‘Well, that’s what he says.’
‘What about Beart?’
‘I haven’t approached him yet. I’m going to this afternoon. Did Summerbee try anything on with you?
‘No, nothing at all.’
‘Nor me, thank God.’
On the spur of the moment, I decided to mention my concerns about Suzie. I hadn’t heard from her for at least a fortnight, the longest period since the start of our relationship, and I had begun to worry. She was probably all right. But what if she wasn’t? And then again, what if she’d gone off with some other man? I recoiled from the idea. Would it be better not to find out?
Neil listened attentively and promised to make some enquiries, though he wasn’t sure he’d be able to help.
*
A few days later, the phone rang. It was Neil.
‘Strictly off the record, right?’
‘Sure. Are you phoning about Suzie or Summerbee?’
‘Suzie, although interestingly, on the Summerbee case, Beart denied anything took place. Was quite vehement about it.’
‘Strange,’ I mused out loud. ‘He was definitely one of The Mollies.’
‘He was indeed,’ Neil replied. ‘Anyway, about Suzie.’
My heart fluttered like a caged bird in my chest. I wasn’t at all sure I wanted to hear what Neil had to say.
‘She was spotted in the company of Ignacio Rodriguez. Looks like she’s been spending some time with him.’
I didn’t think that confirmation of Suzie’s infidelities would have much effect on me but, as well as experiencing continuing palpitations, I was now beginning to feel decidedly queasy. Nevertheless, I affected a languid drawl.
‘Oh, really? Who’s he? A waiter in some Tapas bar?’
Neil laughed and I felt relieved he’d been taken in by my feigned indifference.
‘Hardly, mate. He’s probably the biggest Colombian drug baron there is. Came to London a couple of months back. He’s staying at The Mirador, one of those posh places on Park Lane. Suzie seems to have taken up residence there too. That’s all I can say; and don’t forget, I’ve told you nothing.’
I instructed my secretary that I wasn’t to be disturbed and spent the next hour pacing up and down my office. It had been easier to ignore Suzie’s absences while ignorant of what she was doing. Now I’d found out, I was in a quandary. I didn’t know whether she planned to return to me, but if she did, I’d have to challenge her. She’d probably evade any questions as usual. I concluded I’d have to go to The Mirador in the hope of seeing her there. Then I’d have a justifiable basis on which to question her.
I marched down the corridor to Richard’s office, where I found him preparing to leave for Wandsworth and the delights of a home-cooked dinner. Reluctantly, he agreed to come for a drink. Without saying why I’d invited him, I positioned us carefully in the bar so I would have a good view of the lobby.
‘Everything all right?’ he asked. ‘You seem rather on edge.’
‘Stressful day,’ I replied.
At about 6.30 pm Suzie walked in wearing a three-quarter length mink coat and carrying a cluster of Harvey Nichols’ and Harrods’ bags. She disappeared into the lift only to reappear about an hour later, teetering on very high heels and wearing a sparkly and scanty silver dress. She was accompanied by a fat, balding man of about sixty, encased in a shiny suit. Even when he stood on tiptoes, he barely came up to her shoulder. She stooped to kiss him, and they went into the dining-room, his arm clamped around her waist.
Richard, unaware of what I’d seen, announced it was time for him to go home, leaving me to finish what was left of the crisps.
*
About a week later she
walked into the apartment as though she’d never been away, and wrapped her arms around me.
‘What’s wrong?’ she asked as she sensed me pulling away from her.
‘I was at The Mirador last Tuesday with Richard. I saw you there with someone.’
‘You were spying on me?’ A scornful smile twisted the corners of her mouth.
‘No, of course not; we often go for a drink together after work. We just went there for a change. Who’s your fat little friend?’
‘That was Ignacio. He’s such a sweetie.’
‘Looked like a little runt to me.’
‘He may be short; he makes up for it in other ways.’ Her look challenged me and I had no wish to debate the invidious comparison.
‘Is the inquisition over? I’m aching to soak in the bath for an hour or two.’ She walked slowly to the door, shedding clothes as she went.
I suppose I could have tried to throw her out, but what if she refused? And, in any case, I was fond of her and liked the company. The door closed firmly behind her naked back, and I was left staring in bemusement.
That night she came to my room, slipping into my bed as though she’d never been away. The warmth of her body soon melted my indifference and I forgot my resentment.
*
Beart buttonholed me in the corridor of his building to give me the benefit of his views on the extortionate nature of audit fees.
‘A mere flea-bite to a firm of this size.’ I forced a laugh.
‘And about as useful.’ He shook his head and made for the lift.
A sudden thought occurred to me and I called out. He paused, waiting for me to walk over to him.
‘Old Summerbee; you’ve heard the police have him in custody?’
‘What of it?’
‘Well, I wondered whether you’d be making a statement.’
‘I have. I told Wallington that Summerbee was an excellent teacher and a man of the highest integrity.’
‘What about Roberts’ allegations?’ I stared into John’s cold, unblinking eyes.
‘Roberts was a fantasist who delighted in getting others into trouble. They won’t find anything on Summerbee, but that little nark Roberts will get his comeuppance at last.’
