Murder... Now and Then, page 29
Holyoak slowed the machine, and stepped off, manfully still controlling his breathing so that Rule would continue to feel inferior. ‘Thanks,’ he said. ‘ You’ve been very helpful.’
‘It’s ridiculous! said Lloyd. ‘I told her so!’
Judy raised her eyebrows. ‘Lloyd – telling a seventeen-year-old girl that what she wants to do is ridiculous simply guarantees that she’ll want to do it!’
‘Oh, and you’d know, of course, having so many teenage children of your own!’
He was being unfair; he knew he was. Judy was trying to get everyone out of what promised to be a real mess, but they had had this conversation over and over again in the last two months, and it had got them nowhere.
‘I was a seventeen-year-old girl, which is more than you’ve ever been.’
Lloyd sank down into his leather armchair, acknowledging the truth of that, but failing to see where this endless argument was going to get any of them.
Judy came over to him, and knelt down, her hand on his knee. ‘It won’t take long for it to dawn on her that she doesn’t need anyone’s permission,’ she said. ‘And that is dangerous.’
‘So I should just let her go off with my blessing, is that what you’re saying? Let her take her chances? Hope that she doesn’t end up sleeping in a shop doorway or walking the streets?’
Judy sighed. ‘Lloyd, take it from me. Seventeen-year-old girls do not aim to be street-walkers. They want to go to London because they think they’ll get a fantastic job and be able to buy clothes and make-up and go to pop concerts all the time. It isn’t like that, but you can’t tell them that.’
‘So what do you tell them?’ He got up again, and walked round the room in an effort to work off the frustration. He had seen them – so had Judy. Little girls hard-bitten before they hit their twenties. They weren’t waifs and strays; they weren’t some subspecies. They were ordinary young girls who had found themselves in extraordinary circumstances, and thought that they could see a way out. What they did have in common, most of them, was that they came from broken homes.
‘You don’t tell them it’s ridiculous,’ Judy said.
‘But it is! And this new man of Barbara’s is just complicating everything!’
‘Oh, Lloyd! You can’t—’
‘I’m not saying she shouldn’t have a new man!’ he said, cutting off her protests. He wasn’t. He was pleased that Barbara had someone else; it took the edge off his guilt a little. ‘I’m saying it complicates things,’ he said. ‘Barbara’s talking about marriage, you know. And I know that she’ll be very careful and do everything right but—’ He broke off, and shrugged a little, because what he had been going to say wasn’t strictly true. He had been going to say that Linda resented this man, and he knew that she didn’t, not really. She liked him. She was using him as an excuse, that was all, but it wasn’t terribly convincing.
A tiny part of him wanted to believe that she did resent him. Because Lloyd was afraid that he had already forfeited his daughter’s love, and the manifestation of a possible stepfather had rattled him.
‘It does complicate things,’ he said, this time being painfully honest with himself. ‘ I lose my temper with her because I’m afraid I’m losing her.’
Judy smiled, and came up to him, kissing him lightly on the lips. ‘I know all about that,’ she said.
He sighed. Did other people have all this trouble with women? Did it give them some sort of satisfaction to keep a man guessing? Judy liked living in two flats. He didn’t. It always made him wonder if she really felt as strongly about him as he did about her.
‘And you’re not losing her any more than you’re losing me,’ she said. ‘ Just because people want independence doesn’t mean they don’t love you any more.’
‘Independence! What sort of independence is she going to have trying to make ends meet in London, for God’s sake?’
‘Lloyd – if you don’t want your worst scenario to come true, you have to calm down and look at the problem. Because if you don’t, then before you know it, she could actually have run away to London – and that’s the last thing anyone wants.’
‘So what am I supposed to do?’
Judy’s brown eyes looked frankly into his. ‘She wants to go to London,’ she said. ‘I think you should let her.’
‘Oh, sure,’ he said, breaking away from her. ‘Just let her. Let her go to London and share a flat with God knows who doing God knows what with God knows whom. Let her find out that you can’t get a job for love nor money, and that you get kicked out of flats when you don’t pay the rent. Let her—’
‘If you could stop talking for once in your life and listen, it might help!’
She had raised her voice; the sheer surprise of it stopped Lloyd in mid-sentence. They had had rows – my God, had they had rows. Rows about one another, not about a third party. And never once, during any of them, had Judy shouted. He could yell himself hoarse, but she never yelled back. He was startled into listening to her.
‘I think I have an idea,’ she said, her voice back to its usual even tone. ‘ If you’d like to hear it.’
For the first time in three months, Anna Worthing was doing something which she really understood, for which she was eminently qualified, and was doing it with her customary skill.
Max lay back, breathing deeply. After a few moments of silence, she told him how wonderful it had been, with considerably more conviction than she had ever felt with anyone else. After groping for weeks through an alien jungle of marketing strategies and product identification, she was finally operating in her own field of expertise; that was wonderful in itself. Her satisfaction was that of a job done well, but she had of course allowed Max to think that he had brought it about.
It had startled her when Victor had told her to get Max Scott into bed. She hadn’t asked why; she knew better than to do that. But it did seem a little odd. And she had thought it might be difficult; she had been working with Max for three months, and he had never shown the slightest interest in her, not in that way. He was friendly, and helpful – he had even listened to her problems with work, and saved her from making a fool of herself more times than she cared to think about. But he’d never made a pass or anything like one; she had thought that he might not respond if she made the running.
She looked round the beige and white bedroom, wondering if Victor had put a camera in this one. His wife had been living here until Christmas, and he had said that he would be using it himself from time to time, so she had assumed that it would be fly-on-the-wall free. But presumably he wanted to have something on Max for some reason, and the guest flat in the Amsterdam office had had a camera recording the proceedings. Some of Victor’s guests were still regretting their few hours of illicit pleasure with her. He had employed others now and again, when she wouldn’t do, but mostly it was alimony-grabbing wives of whom the businessmen were afraid.
She hoped Max wouldn’t regret it, but obviously he would, somehow, because he seemed to have nothing to offer Victor, which was the only other reason for her favours being bestowed. She liked Max; he was always there when you needed him, somehow. He didn’t let people down. The words she had thought made her shiver slightly; she lived in dread of letting Victor down, of finding herself back down there on the street hustling a living.
‘Are you cold?’ Max asked, putting his arm round her, drawing her into the warmth of his body.
‘Goose walked over my grave,’ she said.
He kissed her. ‘You’re not still worrying about the meeting, are you?’ he asked. ‘Just tell them that you don’t speak their jargon, and they had better tell you what they mean in plain English, or they’re off the project.’ He smiled. ‘It’s amazing what an effect that has on them,’ he said.
She hadn’t thought about the meeting; the sheer relief of being back on familiar ground had driven all thoughts of Holyoak UK’s image in the market place out of her mind.
She had devised all manner of strategies to hook Max, but as it turned out, it hadn’t been difficult at all; the opportunity had presented itself. She had had a real problem with a letter from one of the firms which were competing to give Holyoak UK a corporate identity, of which she had barely understood a word, except the fact that their task was difficult, given the wide diversity of goods and services provided by Holyoak International; tomorrow, she would have to attend a meeting to discuss their proposals, and she had panicked.
It had almost been time for the offices to close up when she had gone into Max with it. He had explained it in layman’s language; she had thanked him. She had told him – entirely truthfully – that she couldn’t have survived without him for the past three months. Their eyes had met, their mouths had met and in no time at all they were gliding up in the lift to the penthouse flat.
He was telling her how easy being a business executive was, once you got the hang of realizing that you simply got other people to do all the work. He was reassuring her, telling her she mustn’t worry about the job. She was new to it, but all that she had to remember was that they were trying to impress her, not the other way round. She was the one who would make recommendations to the directors – all these flash young men were dependent on her goodwill, and would be only too eager to make certain that she understood their ideas.
She wished she could believe him, because Victor was determined that she should do this job, for some reason, even though she felt like a fish out of water. And she was so much better at this. But she liked Max, and it bothered her a little. She smiled up at him.
If he had to regret it, she could at least make sure that he would never forget it.
‘Mark Callender?’ said Charles, a little unwillingly, as he poured Victor a Perrier. ‘What about him?’ He gave himself a dry sherry; it was the festive season, after all. They were in his office at the clinic and he had hoped that Victor had come to talk finance. He was showing some interest in expanding the operation; Charles had entertained visions of Rule Life Style Clinics springing up everywhere.
‘He’s PPS to a cabinet minister or something, isn’t he?’ said Holyoak.
‘Yes,’ said Charles.
Mark Callender had been defeated at Stansfield by a tiny margin which had, of course, been overturned at the next election, by which time Stansfield had lost their chance. Mark had been snapped up by another constituency, and had been returned with a comfortable majority elsewhere. It had always irked Charles slightly that Stansfield had failed to see his friend’s sterling qualities. Stansfield could have had Mark, and he could have had a friend at court which was always useful.
‘I was wondering if you could speak to him about the possibility of his boss opening the new factory,’ said Holyoak.
How did Holyoak know that a friend of his was parliamentary private secretary to anyone? Zelda, he supposed. Zelda could spread news faster than any other medium known to man. She had doubtless given Victor the lowdown on poor old Max, and what had happened during that election, in the hope of spiking his chances of promotion. How galling for Zelda that the only piece of information upon which Holyoak had seized was the one in which he saw an opportunity to push Holyoak UK into the news bulletins. All the forecasts suggested that the opening would coincide with the run-up to the election, and that could mean free publicity.
He had no desire at all to rake up old memories, but he didn’t want to offend Holyoak, who was talking quite seriously about investing in the clinic, albeit not on the grand scale of Charles’s daydreams.
‘I’ll see what I can do,’ he said.
‘I never forget a favour,’ said Holyoak. ‘ You get him to the opening, and I’ll be very grateful. You have my word.’
Charles thought about that. ‘Have you made up your mind about the general manager’s job?’ he asked.
‘Not yet,’ said Holyoak.
‘I’d like to think that Max hadn’t been ruled out because of gossip and rumours,’ said Charles. ‘ Or even his weakness.’
Holyoak nodded. ‘Done,’ he said.
‘Charles got him to do it,’ said Geraldine. ‘His friend Mark is his PPS. I think he jumped at the chance to show that someone had faith in Britain and the government.’
‘The opening’s on the first of April,’ said Zelda, with a laugh. ‘Maybe Mark’s got a sense of humour.’
Geraldine smiled. ‘You met him,’ she said. ‘What do you think?’
‘True. Not the practical joke sort. Well, that should make certain that the opening gets coverage. And I suppose it’s a little feather in Charles’s cap, too.’
Geraldine nodded. Charles liked being the man with the contacts in high places. Getting Holyoak an introduction to someone who might one day have need of his sophisticated security systems on a government contract was more than a little feather in his cap. She heard nothing but Victor this and Victor that these days. It used to be Max; now it was Victor.
‘I’m surprised Charles has never thought about standing for Parliament,’ said Zelda.
Geraldine smiled. ‘He was quite interested in politics once,’ she said. ‘I think it would be too rough for him – he’d be taking offence all the time. Anyway, he went off the idea.’
Zelda laughed. ‘Another coffee?’ she said.
Zelda always fed and watered her guests until they staggered out begging for a week on bread and water. Charles could hardly bring himself to visit her, what with the cholesterol and the sugar and the saturated fats, and had manufactured a prior engagement when she had invited them to a pre-Christmas dinner. But she was a wonderful cook; Geraldine had learned the art from Zelda, modified by Charles’s healthy eating regimen, but she still felt she could never hold a candle to Zelda herself. And she wouldn’t dream of turning down an invitation to eat at Zelda’s, so she had come on her own. It had been fun, just the two of them.
‘You should do a cookery book, Zelda,’ she said, pushing her cup across the table for more coffee.
‘Your husband would have it banned,’ said Zelda. ‘Do you fancy a brandy?’
Charles allowed alcohol, within certain strictly defined limits, which Geraldine was in no danger of meeting, never mind exceeding. ‘Please,’ she said.
‘I thought Charles had taken his first step on the road to Westminster when Mark Whatsisname was here,’ said Zelda.
Geraldine nodded. ‘I think that was the idea,’ she said. ‘But he didn’t pursue it. I don’t know why, really. I think maybe what happened to Valerie gave the whole election bad associations. He had no heart for it next time round.’
‘Could be,’ said Zelda. ‘And I suppose you didn’t help.’
‘Me? What did I do?’ Zelda handed her a brandy which probably shouldn’t be consumed prior to driving. Geraldine reached over for the bottle and solemnly poured half of it back in.
‘You weren’t exactly cock-a-hoop about him running all over the town wearing a blue rosette, were you?’ said Zelda.
Geraldine smiled. ‘ Not exacdy,’ she said. ‘ But I’ve got used to the idea that I married a turncoat.’
‘He just saw sense,’ said Zelda.
‘I suppose he was always a Tory, really. He just thought he was a socialist because Max was. At least Max is still on the side of the people.’
Zelda made a snort of contempt, something Geraldine had never been able to do. Zelda did it beautifully.
‘He really burnt his boats with you, didn’t he?’ said Geraldine.
‘Yes, he did.’ Zelda sipped her brandy.
It was the one subject on which Zelda could not be drawn; her legendary delight in gossip did not extend to talking about herself and Max. But from the moment Catherine had set foot in Stansfield, Max had become persona non grata with Zelda, and he had stayed that way.
‘He’s having a thing with Anna Worthing,’ she said, steering the subject away from herself. ‘If I’m any judge.’
Geraldine looked at her blankly. ‘Who’s Anna Worthing?’ she asked.
‘That woman that came over here from Holland – the one who was here to start off negotiations.’
‘Oh, her! But I thought she was supposed to be the big boss’s girlfriend.’
‘So they say. Tim says it’s all over the papers there – Holyoak’s famous everywhere but here, he says, and the papers have got hold of this story about him and Anna Worthing. They say it’s been going on for years – he had set her up in Amsterdam, and he only put her officially on the payroll when he moved his head office over here. Tim says she knows nothing about the job – she hasn’t even got an O-level to her name. That’s who the penthouse flat’s for – so they can slip up there after work. But Max has beaten him to it, if you ask me.’
Geraldine gave a little shrug. ‘He does seem very devoted to his wife,’ she said. ‘ I had to call in on her every day before they got the full-time nurse. And she wasn’t that bad, not then. She’s very sick now, though.’
‘Well, that’s just it. He’s famous for being devoted to his wife, amongst other things – he’s all for the family and honouring your obligations. Marriage vows are marriage vows, that sort of stuff. You don’t get involved with other women just because your wife can’t do anything for you. Tim says the newspaper stuff is getting quite juicy – they say Holyoak actually took Anna Worthing over there at the same time as his wife.’ She shrugged. ‘But perhaps his wife knows all about it,’ she said.
‘For what it’s worth,’ Geraldine said, ‘Charles doesn’t think she is Victor’s mistress, and he’s got to know him quite well over the past few weeks.’
‘Charles doesn’t think that Max screws around, and he’s known him for thirty years. You’ll forgive me if I don’t place much faith in what Charles thinks.’
Geraldine laughed. Zelda had had poor Max in bed with every woman to whom he had ever so much as said good morning, and Charles was quite convinced that he had entirely mended his ways since he had married Catherine. Somewhere about the middle of these two extremes was Geraldine’s guess.
‘What do you think of Holyoak?’ she asked Zelda.
‘I don’t really know him all that well,’ she said. ‘Tim’s done all the negotiation.’
