Cry for Kit Page 3

  A hesitation at the other end of the phone. He didn’t like the rendezvous, but feared to argue in case I refused him an interview altogether.

  ‘All right,’ he said, and replaced his receiver.

  I thought I’d handled that very well. The nerve of the man, ringing up like that after nearly nineteen years, and coming direct to the point without apology, or even enquiry as to my health! Then I grinned. Edward had never been any good at small talk.

  The phone rang again, and this time it was Jack.

  He was thrilled I was home again, wanted me to have lunch with him, to show me his new office premises and the home he and his wife had designed and built; he also wanted me to be guest at a Welcome Home party, and...

  I arranged to drop by his office some time that morning. When he had finished, I phoned Con at St Luke’s Vicarage. He was out, said his wife, but would be back later that morning. If it was urgent she could pencil me in for twelve o’clock. I said yes, it was urgent, and sallied forth to the bank.

  The bank manager turned out to be another old friend, James Ferguson, nicknamed ‘Morton’ from some ancient tag about a one-time Chancellor of England who extorted money from people by saying, ‘If you’re spending money, then you must have some to spare for the king, and if you’re not spending money, then you must be saving it, so how about some for the king!’ Morton of Morton’s Fork, they’d called him. Our Morton had been the treasurer of our group in the old days, collecting money for outings, organising transport and so on.

  He stood up and gave me the Big Welcome act. ‘Kit! Well, I declare! Someone said they’d seen you in the hotel last night. Married an American, didn’t you? Over here to see the old folks?’

  He was the man I’d half recognised in Edward’s party the night before. I explained that yes, I’d married an American, and that he had recently died leaving me well provided for, and that I was thinking of returning to live in town, if I could find a suitable house. I had money in a bank in London, and would like it transferred back here, to his branch.

  ‘Not for long, I’m sure,’ he said gallantly, and then, realising that he’d phrased his compliment badly, he added, ‘You’ll be marrying again, that goes without saying.’

  ‘Thanks, but no thanks. Pat’s only been dead three months, and I’m not in the market for another husband.’

  He smiled, but I could see him mentally totting up my assets—including my face and figure—and coming to the conclusion that The Little Woman wouldn’t be allowed to run around loose with all that cash for long. I didn’t tell him that I was no helpless Little Woman, because I have often found it very useful to pretend to be one. I can get my own way with men more quickly by pretending to be helpless than by a show of strength.

  Morton fell over himself to arrange credit for me once he’d made a discreet call to London to verify my statement. He spoke enthusiastically of various big houses for sale in the neighbourhood, and I suggested he might like to spread the word that I was interested in buying. I wanted Edward—and everyone else for that matter—to know that I was no longer a penniless girl who could be bought off with a bundle of fivers.

  Unwittingly, Morton supplied me with another piece of evidence against Edward. The Fergusons had voted the previous evening a failure because Edward had taken Amy home early, which had broken up their party. Edward had said that Amy had not been feeling well, but Morton thought she’d looked all right.

  So far so good. I needed a car, so I took a taxi to Tinker’s place. Tinker’s name was really Timothy Mayhew, but everyone called him ‘Tinker’ because he spent all his time in or under old cars in the old days. It was Tinker who had relieved me of my virginity; or rather, he had forced me in spite of my protests. He was half cut at the time, and so ashamed of himself afterwards that he had offered to marry me. He’d been told that I was an easy lay, although he wouldn’t say who had slandered me so. Some girl in the group, no doubt, jealous of the attention I attracted. I had refused to marry Tinker, but I continued to go out with him partly because he said he was madly in love with me, partly because he offered to teach me to drive, and partly because he was so adept in bed. Once I’d lost my virginity, I found I had a natural aptitude for sex which surprised me, and delighted Tinker.

  Dear Tinker! Everything was black or white to him. He loved or disliked with intensity. He had been in the hotel the night before; I had seen him bustling through into the ballroom with another man and a woman, neither of whom I recognised. He was far too straightforward a character to attack me in the dark. If he wanted me out of town, he’d come straight out with it, and say so.

  Con had written to tell me when Tinker had got married, and over the years I had accumulated other items of information about him. He had three children, I seemed to remember, and after his father’s death Tinker had taken over the big garage at the end of Broad Street.

  The garage was obviously doing well. It had a massive forecourt stocked with three sets of pumps, a shop for accessories, a shed for repairs and a yard at the side full of second-hand cars for sale.

  I asked for Mr Mayhew, and a lanky lad of seventeen or so ambled up, the very image of what Tinker had been at his age. He even had Tinker’s trick of sliding his hand along the coachwork of the car beside him, as if to assess the thickness of the paint. I asked for his father and was directed to an office where Tinker was sitting behind a big desk, amid a rash of pot plants.

  Tinker looked hardly older than his son. His pleasure at seeing me again was muted in the lad’s presence, by his fear of what I might blurt out. I’d always liked Tinker in spite of our bad start, and I saw no point in worrying him. I said how marvellous it was to see him again, that he looked just the same, but that so much had happened to me in the intervening years that I felt like a different person.

  He got the message, grinned and dismissed his son.

  ‘Thought you’d married a millionaire,’ he said. ‘I went round to your old home once or twice, but your father told me you’d gone to stay with an aunt in London. The next we heard, you were married and in New York.’

  My parents had told everyone who enquired for me that I had left town, whether I was sitting upstairs in my room crying, or doing the family wash in the kitchen. It was nice to think Tinker had remembered me.

  ‘Pat was a good man,’ I said. ‘He thought I ought to come back here, buy a house, settle down. Do you think I’d like it, Tinker?’

  ‘After America? Depends what you want, doesn’t it?’

  ‘I think I might like it. I wasn’t sure until I got here, but the people in the hotel are so friendly, everyone is so friendly. Relaxed. You don’t see people rushing about as you do in New York. I didn’t realise before how tired I was. Nursing Pat, you know? We had nurses, of course, but I liked to be with him, and he liked me to be there...But I have a sister here, and one or two good friends. Enough for a start.’

  ‘You can count on me, of course. That is…’

  He gave me a sly grin, and flicked a finger at the photograph on his desk. His wife was a plump-faced, smiling woman. I wondered if Tinker was as randy as ever, and if his wife objected.

  ‘I don’t suppose you remember her,’ he said. ‘She used to admire you tremendously. She is much younger than me. If you do settle down here, I could fix it with her for you to come over to supper one night. She’s a great cook.’

  ‘I’d like that. She wasn’t with you last night?’

  He looked blank.

  ‘I saw you going into the ballroom at the hotel. I’m staying there. I thought you might have seen me.’

  ‘Wish I had. I was with my brother-in-law and his wife, and believe me, our party could have done with some livening up. The wife didn’t feel up to it; some bug or other. There’s a lot of it around at the moment.’

  I said I was sorry, and could he find me a car to rent for a week or so. He was a good salesman, by which I mean that he wasn’t out to rent me the most expensive car in his saleroom, but the one which would su
it me best. As he waved me off, I reflected that Tinker was well in the clear. He had been wary of me, but not afraid.

  Then I began to wonder why I was trying to turn up alternative suspects for the attack on me, when it was so obvious that Edward was the guilty party.

  Fred Greenwood’s estate agency was in Queens Street, at the other end of town to Mayhew’s garage. I would have had difficulty finding a parking place if a helpful policeman had not shown me where to leave my car. Marvellous treatment, after New York.

  Dear Fred. He had been the Billy Bunter of the group, the man who had introduced me to the delights of good food and wine. Under his tuition I had learned not to grimace when I swallowed oysters and chewed snails, and to appreciate dry wines and sherries. Like Paul, he had respected my virginity, and although he had taken it hard when I refused to marry him, he had given way to Tinker with good grace. It was true that he had also given me a gold charm—a sceptre—to hang on my bracelet, but I saw no reason why my return should alarm him.

  Like Jack, he had recognised me in the hotel the previous evening, but unlike Jack he had done nothing about it. He had entered alone by the door near the ballroom, and looked around as if expecting to meet his wife.

  Whom had he married? Sheila something? I couldn’t put a face or a surname to her for the moment. He’d seen me, stood still for a moment with a shocked expression on his heavy face, and then plunged through the doors into the ballroom. Like Paul, he had put on weight. Unlike Paul, he looked not exactly shabby, but certainly not well groomed. He reminded me of a great soft baby, whose mother had neglected to spruce up before sending out to play.

  No, Fred wasn’t pleased to see me. He was standing in the main office when I went in, and I could see his smile fade. I’d thought his reaction was odd the previous night, but now I was convinced my return had upset him in some way. He didn’t invite me into his sanctum, even when I explained that I was in the market for a house with a big price-tag. He said gloomily that he had nothing which would suit me, and I’d better go elsewhere. I was on the point of asking him what the devil was the matter with him when a much older man, who turned out to be Fred’s senior partner, spoke up.

  ‘Mrs Neely, delighted to meet you! Something came in this morning which might interest you. Not on the open market yet, but if you want an unusual luxury house, White Wings might be just the thing.’

  ‘She wouldn’t be interested in that,’ said Fred hastily. ‘Far too big for you,’ he continued, speaking to my collar-bone. ‘Five bedrooms, two bathrooms, private lake, swimming pool, separate cottage for the staff, four acres of woodland...not at all the sort of thing you were looking for, I’m sure.’

  ‘Fred!’ I said. ‘Come off it! Likewise loosen up, will you? Do you mean that White Wings, Edward Straker’s house, is on the market? And if so, why?’ How ironic if I were able to buy Edward’s house!

  His telephonist interrupted before he could reply. ‘Someone keeps ringing up for a Miss Jeffries, asking if she’s arrived yet. We aren’t expecting anyone of that name, are we?’

  ‘That’s me,’ I said. I took the receiver from her, ill-prepared for what I was to hear.

  ‘So you’re there, are you?’ the hoarse whisper said. ‘You can’t escape me. Be out of town by ten tonight, or die!’

  CHAPTER TWO

  ‘What is it?’ Fred asked.

  ‘A joker. Edward, I think. Threatening me. Telling me to get out of town or else...’ I put a hand to my throat and dropped the receiver. I think it was the fact that Edward wasn’t speaking in his normal voice which frightened me more than anything else. If he’d just said in a matter of fact way that he found my presence embarrassing, and that he’d do everything in his power to see I didn’t stay, I’d have got the message.

  Fred was dialling. He spoke to someone, listened for a moment, killed the call, and tried twice more. Then he beckoned me into his office, bespoke some coffee and made me sit down.

  ‘Edward is not at the hotel, or at the Mills. I tried White Wings on the off-chance, but he isn’t there either. Cigarette?’ He took one, but I refused. ‘Look, Kit; you’ll have to tell me what this is all about.’

  He was himself again, the sweetest of Billy Bunters. I told him what had been happening, and the conclusions I had drawn. He heard me out, and shook his head.

  ‘I’m sure it’s not Edward. It’s true that he left very early last night. They were hardly settled at table before they were whispering together, and then Edward fetched Piers, who was with some of his own friends, and they all went off together about fifteen minutes after they’d arrived. I could tell something had happened by the look on Amy’s face. You know that prune look of hers? All pursed-up mouth. But why should he assault and rob you? Why should he want you out of town?’

  This was getting difficult. I hadn’t told Fred about Johnny, and I wasn’t going to do so.

  ‘Scandal?’ I suggested.

  ‘Ridiculous!’ said Fred. ‘Any man would be proud to have his name linked with yours. If I were you, Kit, I wouldn’t take any notice of...Hey! That’s a thought. If you had your bracelet stolen last night, then how come then charm I gave you was returned to me this morning? It was pushed through the letterbox here. I thought you had returned it to me to show you didn’t want me to presume on our old friendship, though heaven knows, it was innocent enough. It upset me, I can tell you.’

  ‘I didn’t send it back. I wouldn’t have done so for the world. Whoever took it off me last night knew which charm you had given me, and sent it back.’

  He didn’t offer to give me the charm back, and since I’d lost all the others, I didn’t ask for it.

  ‘Edward wouldn’t have bothered to send me back my charm,’ said Fred. ‘Such a petty action. He’s not like that. He’s generous with his time and his money. Yet...something is very wrong with him, I’ll agree. He rang me first thing this morning before I’d left for work. He was at the Dragon Hotel, in the High Street. He said he and Amy had decided to separate with a view to divorce and he was putting White Wings on the market. It is his house, actually—nothing to do with her. I couldn’t believe my ears when he said he wanted to sell it. He loves that place and is always working to improve it, putting in the swimming pool, building a studio for Piers. He said I should ring Amy to fix a date for measuring the house. He said he wanted me to find him a flat for the time being; something easy to run. Furnished, he said, because he wasn’t taking anything from White Wings. So I rang Amy, and much to my surprise she confirmed what he said about putting the house on the market, although she made out that they wanted something smaller now that Piers was eighteen and wanted to set up on his own. I didn’t dare ask her whether it was true about the divorce, but I did check at the Dragon, and it’s true that Edward booked in there last night. Amy told me to send someone out to measure the house tomorrow, after the dance. They’re having a big “do” there tonight to celebrate Piers’ eighteenth birthday. Everyone’s going.’

  Coffee came, and Fred asked me if I wanted to phone the police. I said no, not to bother, as I’d be seeing Edward later that day, and would sort it out then. Maybe he’d been overworking and ought to see a doctor.

  ‘Shouldn’t have thought you two had a lot in common,’ said Fred, ‘except good looks.’

  ‘Not much,’ I agreed. Except our need for each other, which was something I couldn’t explain to Fred.

  Fred sighed, relaxed in his outsize chair, reached for the biscuit tin and put on the look of a man brooding on a secret sorrow. I recognised the act, which I’d met everywhere I went, as being that of The Misunderstood Husband who wants to tell ‘All’ to Someone Sympathetic.

  I liked Fred, and since I had just remembered that his wife had definitely been called Sheila, I obliged.

  ‘How is Sheila? It’s three children you’ve got, isn’t it?’

  Of course, I ought to have known better. Three-quarters of an hour I sat there listening, nodding and shaking my head and saying, ‘Oh, dear!’ at i
ntervals. But it did him good to talk. Poor Fred! Caught feeling up the au pair’s skirt, he had blustered instead of pleading guilty due to temporary insanity. Proceeding to a boozy party with a sense of injury, he ended up in a bedroom with a young girl who ought to have known better, and had been discovered, of course! Sheila had taken the three children and gone back to her parents, refusing to speak to him again. That had been six months ago and, according to Fred, Sheila now had an old flame hovering around her and the children could talk of nothing but their new Daddy, who took them to the zoo and sailing, and let them drink sherry in the evenings. Fred had tried weakly at first, and then with every bit of cunning that he possessed, to get Sheila back, but she wouldn’t give him so much as the time of day. He was in a bad state, aware of what he had lost and that he had no one to blame for it but himself. He apologised for not speaking to me the night before, but he’d been feeling very nervous, having seen Sheila enter in another party just before him.

  He perked up when I’d finished murmuring ‘Poor Fred!’ and offered to take me out to lunch, or if I was engaged for lunch, to dinner…but no, of course he had to go to Pier’s party that evening.

  ‘Tomorrow then?’

  I said maybe and left, glancing at my watch. I was going to be late for my appointment with Con.

  I almost crashed into a light blue Mini as I drew away from Fred’s place. The driver waved me on and followed me out of the city centre. He was still behind me when I reached Con’s solid, creeper-clad vicarage.

  Con’s wife, Bet, came to the door and said not to worry about being late as Con hadn’t got back himself yet, and would I care to have a sandwich lunch with him? She was a tall blonde, placid and beautiful, although her figure had thickened with the bearing of four children. I recognised her as the cousin of one of the lads I used to know. She had been Bet Hinds, hadn’t she? She remembered me, of course, but she was poised enough not to resent me the way most women did. She knew my story and spoke of my problem sympathetically, adding that she had met my sister through some Women’s Institute function, and that she believed Mary was going through a difficult time at the moment, what with the change of life and all. I asked Bet if she thought I ought to feel compensated for the loss of my child by all the money which Pat had left me, and she said of course not, and that it was a pity I couldn’t find some way of passing money on to Tom, as she had heard he wasn’t doing too well financially.