A Bottle of Plonk

by Jacquelynn Luben

  Helena felt the colour drain from her face. Her hands shook, as she picked up her bag. ‘I’m sorry for your trouble, Justin. I would have tried to help you, but I won’t be spoken to like that. Don’t ring. Don’t contact me. I don’t want to see you again.’

  ‘Look, Sis,’ whined Justin. ‘Don’t take umbrage. I was only joking.’

  ‘Not my idea of a joke,’ said Helena, biting her lips to stop the tears. ‘I mean what I say - stay out of my life.’

  She walked out of the bedroom, feeling her way down the stairs in almost total darkness.

  The ‘ding-dong’ of the chiming bell startled her. She heard Justin’s voice whisper hoarsely, ‘Don’t open it.’ She arrived in the hall and hesitated. Then the heavy thump of a shoulder hitting the door replaced the musical box tinkle and, even as she stood there, the latch gave way and the door flew open.

  The silhouette of the intruder was framed in the doorway, his face shadowed, his tall powerful frame blotting out the street lighting.

  ‘Justin Fresneau?’ came a smooth voice with a trace of a European accent.

  ‘He’s not in,’ she lied, trying to stop her voice shaking.

  Just behind her own car, in the quiet road, she could see the dark shape of another vehicle, a long car like a Mercedes and the outline of other figures inside it.

  The man extended his arm and took hold of her shoulder. She felt the grip of hard fingers. With his other hand, he took out a lighter and flicked it on and drew it up to her face. The light glinted on a large square ring on one of his fingers, and she felt the heat of the flame next to her cheek. She looked up at him and saw a sallow thin face with dark eyes and as she stared, reluctantly transfixed, like the prey of a snake, his pupils contracted to needle points in the sudden light.

  ‘Madame, I would advise you to speak the truth. One would not wish to hurt a beautiful lady, but I have my instructions.’ He snapped off the lighter and Helena exhaled in relief. In the darkness, he brought his face even nearer and his fingers tightened. ‘I have to collect some money from Mr Justin Fresneau. And, as you see, my companions have come too, in case Mr Fresneau shows reluctance in parting with this money. I regret, Madame, I cannot let you stand in my way.’

  The over polite words contrasted with the feel of his hand, almost on her throat.

  ‘What does he owe this money for?’ asked Helena, her heart thudding, but her voice in control.

  ‘I regret that Mr Fresneau has incurred debts at a certain club. A gentleman always pays his gambling debts, Madame. That is understood.’

  For the first time, he let his hand drop back to his side.

  ‘Look, it’s not Mr Fresneau’s fault. His wife is the one who built up the debts,’ said Helena, though she was sure that her statement would make no difference.

  ‘I regret you are mistaken, Madame. Mr Fresneau has been to the club a great deal. I have met him there myself, on many occasions.’

  Of course. How could she have been so stupid as to fall for Justin’s story? It was as full of holes as a fishing net and she was the fish who’d nearly got caught, once again. Nevertheless, it only increased the danger of Justin’s position.

  She had not totally believed him when he said he was in trouble. Now she was confronted with the truth of that statement, at least. For a moment the vision of her brother as a small boy, a boy like her own son John, flashed before her eyes.

  ‘How much money does Mr Fresneau owe this place?’ she asked.

  ‘I have been told to collect twelve hundred pounds, Madame,’ the man replied.

  Helena summoned up all her courage. ‘Look, I’m prepared to make you an offer. You can go in there and beat up Mr Fresneau and break up the happy home. But that won’t get your money back. Because he hasn’t got any. I can see you’re a business man. I’m prepared to give you a cheque for a thousand pounds, if you’ll call it a day at that.’

  The man hesitated.

  ‘We do not normally deal in cheques, Madame, in these circumstances. Mr Fresneau’s own cheques have not been honoured.’

  Helena stood very erect and looked taller than her five foot six.

  ‘You have my personal guarantee. I wouldn’t take the risk of your coming back and hurting him. I’ll make the cheque out to cash.’ She took her cheque book out of her bag. ‘Well, how about it?’

  He hesitated, then took the book from her, ignited the lighter once again and glanced down at the cheque book. The thin lips smiled slightly at the name ‘Fresneau’ and he shrugged in indifferent agreement.

  ‘A thousand pounds, Madame?’

  ‘Yes,’ replied Helena in a firm voice.

  Her hand shook slightly, as she started writing out the cheque by the glow from the lighter, once again held, like an unspoken threat, near to her flesh, the heat of the small flame almost singeing the hairs on her wrist.

  The cheque complete, he snapped out the lighter and turned to go.

  ‘Madame,’ he said, pausing and half turning back towards her.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Tell Mr Fresneau he is no longer welcome at the club.’

  He walked down the pathway to the long black car which waited, looking incongruous in the suburban street. Helena stood alone in the doorway. She glanced back to see her brother’s silhouette at the top of the stairs. Then she slammed the door and walked to her car.

  The answer-phone light was flashing when she got home. Lawrence’s cultured voice was on the tape.

  ‘Sorry you’re out, Helena. Gwen has gone away on a WI Conference - she’s the main representative. I should have let you know earlier. I would have liked to have seen you tonight.’

  His voice was warm and reassuring. Relief brought tears to her eyes. Wiping them away, she telephoned his number.

  ‘Lawrence, I’m so glad to hear your voice. Sorry I was out when you phoned. I had a little domestic problem. Come over as soon as you can, darling. I’ll put some champagne on ice and make us a snack.’

  She showered quickly, watching the swirling water disappear down the drain and imagining that Justin’s unsavoury world was being sucked away along with the bubbles.

  Then she busied herself with the preparations for Lawrence’s visit. She filled the table with inviting delicacies and found the promised bottle of champagne. Polished glasses glinted on the table and a vase of freesias exuded a light fragrance into the air.

  Helena studied her face in the mirror, wiped off most of her make-up and changed into an ivory satin negligee. She combed her hair into a casual style.

  ‘Bridal,’ she murmured to herself and sat back to wait for her man.

  Chapter 6: Crime and Punishment

  (Thursday early evening)

  The situation was getting desperate. Justin had paced the floor the whole day. One belligerent creditor had been satisfied, but what about the others?

  The trouble was, he couldn’t think straight. He had to have a plan of campaign. It wasn’t just about money, bankruptcy and all that. Now there were all these characters out to get him. Who knows what they’d do to him if he couldn’t pay his gambling debts?

  He’d sit down and have a drink. That would relax him and he’d be able to think clearly. There was that bottle of red wine Helena had left behind. It didn’t look too bad. No. It was stupidity. The problems would be blotted out for an hour or so, and then he’d be back to square one.

  He’d have to go and plead with Andrea. Surely, if she understood the danger he was in, she’d give in. He’d take the wine with him. It would give him a bit of dignity when he walked in on her parents, but he wouldn’t hesitate to use it as a weapon, if he had problems en route.

  He scoured the half empty wardrobe, shaking his clothes to see if any cash fell out. In one pair of trousers he heard the jingle of coins. The sound led him to the discovery of three pound coins and a fifty pence piece. It was enough at least for a taxi.

  With the telephone cut off, he had to undertake the risky walk to the main road. He sneaked along the pav
ement - not too fast, not too slow - all the while looking for suspicious strangers, threatening shadows. He kept the bottle at his side. He could hardly be accused of carrying an offensive weapon, taking some wine on a visit to his estranged wife and parents-in-law.

  He spotted a taxi and hailed it. Ten minutes later, he drew up at the small bungalow which he had visited many times, often with reluctance, in other circumstances.

  The chime of the bell was identical to that which Andrea had installed at their home.

  Andrea appeared at the door. She had a duster in her hand which looked out of place with the slim black skirt and white blouse she was wearing. She was lightly scented with lavender.

  Her face grew tense when she saw her husband, and he felt an involuntary stab of desire for her. She was the antithesis of everything he wanted in a woman, and yet he couldn’t help being attracted to her cool and trim good looks.

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘Just a little social visit. I miss my conjugal rights,’ he said, knowing, as the words left his mount, that they would antagonise her, but unable to help himself. He held out the wine, but she ignored the extended hand.

  ‘Don’t I get invited in, Doll?’ he said. ‘Where’s the welcome for the old man?’

  ‘I’d rather you didn’t come in, Justin. Say what you have to say and go.’

  ‘It’s cold out here. I’m in trouble, Andrea.’

  She had a soft heart – she’d always relented in the past.

  ‘I’m not sure,’ she said, biting her lip. ‘My parents …’

  He was getting impatient with her dithering. He pushed his way into the hall and, placing the bottle down on the hall table, grabbed hold of her arms and pulled her towards him. The duster dropped from her hand, and her body stiffened in terror, while her nails clawed at his face.

  ‘Bitch,’ he said. ‘As frigid as ever! Still suffering from rigor mortis. Sex doesn’t fit in with your clean-living existence, does it? I bet you’d rather dust the Dresden than have a romp in the hay.’

  She was shivering with fear. ‘What have you come for, Justin?’

  With an effort, he restrained himself, remembering how much he needed her co-operation.

  ‘Look, sorry, Doll. I wouldn’t really push myself on you, if you didn’t want it.’

  She looked unconvinced.

  ‘Well, not now we’re apart, anyway.’ He looked around. ‘Where are the old folk? Are they here?’

  ‘They’re upstairs. Just don’t touch me, or I’ll give them a call.’

  She never was a good liar. The house was too quiet. ‘They’re out, aren’t they? Naughty Andrea. Telling porkies.’

  She flushed. ‘If you must know, they’ve gone out for the evening, Justin. But I’m expecting someone soon. So you can just tell me what you want.’

  Desire surged up in him again.

  ‘You know what I want, Doll.’

  Again she recoiled. Again he checked himself.

  ‘Look, now we seem to be splitting up, I want my share of the house. All I want is for you to sign that you’re in agreement to the sale. I’ll give you your share as soon as the sale goes through.’

  ‘You must think I’m stupid, Justin. Do you think I’d fall for that? When you’ve gone through every penny we’ve ever possessed?’

  She took a small step back as she spoke and he moved a fraction forward, as if they were carrying out a slow motion dance routine. Justin took a squashed packet of cigarettes from his pocket and lit one. The nicotine steadied him. Aware of all he had to lose, he made an effort to subdue her fearfulness.

  ‘Look, Doll. Why don’t you grab a pew and we’ll talk this over calmly? How about a fag or a drink?’ He picked up the bottle of wine.

  She ignored both suggestions. ‘Sit down if you must, Justin. Though I don’t think there’s anything more to say.’

  She led the way into the living room and placed herself on the edge of an upright chair, her back to the open door, looking stiff and uncomfortable.

  The grandmother clock in the hall chimed a quarter before the hour.

  Justin spread himself out in a chintzy armchair, putting the wine down on the low coffee table in front of him and flicking ash into a Venetian glass ashtray.

  ‘All I want is my share of the house. That’s reasonable, isn’t it?’

  ‘Do you think I’m going to let you gamble away our house as well as everything else? I’m not signing anything without my solicitor present. Half that house is morally mine and I don’t believe you’d let me have half the proceeds. If you think I’m coming back to my parents without a penny of my own after eight years of marriage, you’re very much mistaken.’

  He let her make her little speech, then tried to sound reasonable.

  ‘Look, Doll, the problems I’ve had are temporary. I had good stock market investments. I’ve still got hunches. All I need is a bit of cash and a change in the economic climate.’

  ‘Justin, investment means having money in safe places. The bank; the building society. Putting money in risky things isn’t investing - it’s gambling.’

  For a moment she looked at him with an expression that was almost tender. Was she going to relent? But no. It was just a lecture.

  ‘I’d have stood by you if you’d joined Gamblers’ Anonymous, when I suggested it, when I realised. Maybe we could have worked something out. But you wouldn’t face the truth - you won’t ever learn. People go out to work to get money. There is no such thing as easy money.’

  She’d got to understand. He’d remind her of the good times.

  ‘You’re forgetting how great things were a few years ago. Remember the parties we used to go to - and the clubs. Remember the frocks you used to wear. It was the Stock Market problems that spoiled everything.’

  ‘Parties,’ she scoffed. ‘Excuses for poker games. Yes, I remember getting dressed up for trips to Casinos. I remember the high when you won. I remember how you used to take it out on me when you lost. I lived in dread of those parties. But, even then, I didn’t realise you were raiding our accounts to put money in high risk investments. And when we had nothing left, you were betting with money we hadn’t got.’

  ‘Well, you don’t look too bad on it. We never starved, did we?’

  ‘We never starved because I took on a cleaning job, while you were out gambling. Then when I got the cash, I went straight to the shops and bought food and paid other household expenses.’

  He laughed outright at that.

  ‘You! You took a cleaning job. Well, I never thought you had it in you. Scrubbing people’s floors. Cleaning other people’s loos. Unbelievable! I always thought you’d crept back to the old folks for a bit of cash.’

  ‘I had my pride. I had to be at rock bottom to come back here now. It’s not easy to hear, “I told you so.”’

  ‘So the parents warned you off, did they?’ laughed Justin bitterly.

  ‘They didn’t like your family at all, as a matter of fact,’ stated Andrea. ‘They said you were down-market people with up-market names. They thought that Helena was a slut and you were a scoundrel.’

  ‘Well, well. I never thought they were so astute,’ said Justin. ‘They really had us sussed out, didn’t they? So they didn’t think much of poor old Helena, either. Well, I can tell you, she doesn’t think much of you, particularly now she knows your reputation.’

  ‘My reputation?’ said Andrea colouring.

  ‘Yes, you’ll never be able to borrow from any of Helena’s rich friends - she thinks you’re a compulsive gambler.’

  Andrea just stared at him. ‘I’m not going to lose a lot of sleep over that.’

  Justin sensed he was losing the plot. He mustn’t get side-tracked.

  ‘Look, Doll, if we could just come back to my present problems. If we could dispose of the house, the money coming in would sort me out. It’s not just the investments that are causing me a headache - I’ve got some unpleasant types breathing down my neck. I think I might be in for some trouble.’


  ‘Justin - I don’t wish any harm to come to you. Goodness knows - I know what it’s like to feel afraid of being beaten up,’ she added, ‘but I am not signing away the house.’ The clock in the hall struck seven, and Andrea’s eyes turned to her watch. ‘And if you don’t mind, I’d like you to go now.’

  He caught the glance.

  ‘You’re waiting for someone.’

  ‘I said I was.’

  ‘You’ve got some fancy man coming, haven’t you? You cow, you don’t give a damn about me, because you’ve got someone else lined up. Some sugar daddy, like my whore of a sister.’

  Andrea said nothing. Her eyes showed fear at the recognition of a familiar look in his eyes.

  ‘You’ve been a naughty girl, haven’t you, Doll? You’ve been a bad wife. You know what happens to naughty girls, Andrea, don’t you? They get punished.’

  Andrea tried to slide the chair backwards away from him.

  He was aroused by her fear and her vulnerability. If he wasn’t going to get any cash out of her, then at least he’d enjoy giving her something she wouldn’t forget.

  ‘You know what I think, Doll. I think your boyfriend wouldn’t like you so much if you had a couple of black eyes. Perhaps you’d be glad to come back to me then and do as you’re told.’

  ‘Stay away from me, Justin,’ she said in a shaking voice.

  They both stood up together. He started towards her. She kicked over the coffee table into his path. The bottle and ashtray slid, undamaged, to the floor, but the table gave his shins a sharp rap which hurt, and he swore.

  He started to undo a metal ended belt. She backed away from him, retreating into the hall doorway behind her. He followed, swinging the belt through the air. The clasp caught her cheek a glancing blow, causing blood to run down the side of her face. He felt his own blood pounding through his veins. She screamed and ran the last few yards to the doorway, almost falling to the floor in her panic.