by Roy Lewis
‘What do you mean?’ asked Peter sharply.
‘Eh? Well, you know, a sort of summary of recent transactions so I know what you’re all talking about when we go to the meeting together. If I’m to take over from you—’
‘Yes, yes.’ Peter ran his hand through his hair. ‘I’m sorry I jumped at you like that.’ Sainsby was still eyeing him carefully.
‘That’s all right, Peter. It’s all been a bit of a strain, I’m sure. First, well, Jeannette, then this man Sneed, and the attack upon you. What’s Inspector Crow doing about it all, anyway?’
‘Damn all, if you ask me.’
‘Still, suppose he knows his job. All right, Peter, let me have the file on Monday and we’ll go along together on Tuesday morning. I won’t meet you here; it’ll be more convenient if we drive out separately. I’ll see you there.’
He turned on his heel and started to march out of the room. Almost as an afterthought he added: ‘Seems like everyone is leaving now — you, Joan, me, and Stephen too in a sense. I was surprised to hear that Shirley Walker was leaving the area, though.’
‘What! Wait, John, what’s that you said? Shirley Walker? What do you mean — leaving; where’s she going?’
‘I thought you’d know — I mean—’ Sainsby was flustered. ‘She rang me yesterday and asked me to prepare a lease for her—’
‘A lease!’
‘That’s right. She’s going to let her house to a woman who lives close by. Three years, with an option to purchase. As far as I can gather, she intends leaving the district.’
‘But what about her job?’
‘Didn’t think to ask her.’
Peter thought furiously.
He spent a wretched weekend.
He tried to telephone Shirley again, twice, with no success. It was obvious that she had gone away for the weekend. He tried to stop thinking about her, and why she had said nothing to him, and what her reasons for leaving might be. When he did manage to thrust her to the back of his mind, it was only for the Gaines matter to intrude.
The meeting would be on Tuesday.
And John would want a memorandum. He sat gnawing at the problem for hours. If he told them everything there could be problems — perhaps not from Mrs Gaines so much as from Sam. The man had a streak of cupidity that might make things difficult. Even so . . .
And John. Peter would have to play it fair with John. He would have to lay it on the line, explain the whole series of transactions to him, describe in detail Peter’s part in the affair — and hope that John would see things the way he saw them, and not let too many cats out of the bag.
If it hadn’t been for Jeannette, none of this would have arisen . . .
On Sunday morning Peter took a long walk, outside the town. It was a clear, fresh morning and there were few people about on the stretch of heathland that he chose. The grass was sparkling and his shoes were quickly soaked. It was strange how catastrophically his life and his career had changed during the last few months. There had been a time when the thought of leaving would have been unthinkable, and now Jeannette was dead, fingers pointed at him in the streets, the partnership was being dissolved, and he was worrying himself to death over the Gaines trust.
And Shirley.
He lunched in a pub on the outskirts of the town: he seemed to eat out in a lot of pubs these days. When he got back to the house he had reached his decision. He would have to tell John everything.
He brought the typewriter down from Jeannette’s room and inserted a blank sheet of paper. It stared at him for fully five minutes before he touched the keys.
Dear John.
He was no typist, and one of the keys — the a — seemed to be damaged, and was sticking, which didn’t help. Even so, when he had finished there were four typewritten sheets of his explanation to John. He read them through quickly, felt dissatisfied at the way in which he had described his situation, thought briefly of rewriting the whole thing, and then quickly typed John’s name on envelope, thrust the sheets inside and sealed it.
He’d hand it to him in the office tomorrow.
The rest of the day he spent going through the Gaines papers. There were a large number of documents there which he had no intention of handing over: they represented days of work for him, and they would hardly be relevant to John’s trusteeship. Peter stored them away separately, and then read carefully right through the whole history of the Gaines holdings. It was familiar stuff — but it represented time to him, time well spent.
He had a great deal to lose — and so did the Gaines family, if the deal fell through at the last moment.
He tried to ring Shirley again on Monday morning, at her home, but there was no reply. After coffee in the office he rang the library, but a frosty chief librarian said that Miss Walker was working and personal calls were not allowed, unless they related to ‘family bereavement and such like.’ His call hardly fell into that category, so he rang off. He would have to attempt to intercept her after the library closed.
When he rang through to John’s office, Penny answered.
‘Mr John? No, he won’t be in this morning, Mr Marlin. I understand he has an appointment with Mr Gaines at Greygables for eleven, but I expect him this afternoon.’
‘All right, thank you, Penny. I’ll come up if you ring me the moment he comes in, please.’
‘Surely, Mr Marlin.’
Peter finally dealt with Mrs Davies and the question of possession of the house owned by her husband. He’d left her two months previously, and had recently attempted to sell it. She’d got wind of the sale and had come to Peter. He had already delayed longer than he should have done: the woman had three children, and was probably extremely worried about the whole thing. He drafted the letter and sent it down for typing. It was inconvenient having only one of the juniors for a secretary. Still, it was hardly worthwhile for the firm to employ another girl now, while Joan was away. John had said yesterday that Joan was leaving, but Peter had not yet heard anything official.
The day dragged on. At three-thirty he finished preparing the lease according to the instructions Shirley had given to John. He went up to John’s office.
‘Sorry, Mr Marlin,’ said Penny brightly. ‘He’s not back yet.’
‘I see. Look, Penny, when he does come in will you give him this note? I’ve got to go out now, but it’s possible that he’ll want to have a word with me about it so will you tell him that I’ll have taken the lease around to Miss Walker? And if he can’t get hold of me at home, he might try her number.’
‘Certainly.’ Penny smirked. Peter could almost see her mind racing away at the possibilities. He had no doubt that he had been the cause of a great deal of coffee gossip inside the office and out. It mattered little: it would soon be over.
He took the car from the customary side street parking spot and drove across town. This time he was lucky. He arrived at the library just two minutes before it was due to close, and waited for Shirley.
He stepped out of the car and stood there.
She caught sight of him almost immediately, and with a quick word she left the young woman to whom she was talking and came across to him. Her face was stiff.
‘Hallo, Peter,’ she said quietly.
‘Let’s go and have a cup of tea,’ he suggested. It was perhaps the greatest effort he had made in his life, but it reassured her and she softened. He suspected that she had been a little afraid of his reactions.
They took tea in a small restaurant in town. It was fairly crowded, but only one or two women appeared to recognise them. They had little to say to each other, beyond inanities concerning the weather, the library and the office. It was not until they were in the car, and almost at Shirley’s home that she broke the truce.
‘I imagine John Sainsby will have told you?’
Peter swung the car into the drive.
‘Yes. I took the work over from him, when he told me.’
‘Why?’
‘So that I’d have a reason,
and an excuse, for insisting upon seeing you again — at least once before you went. I’ve got the lease with me in the briefcase now.’
‘You expected me to refuse to see you?’
Peter shrugged, and killed the idling engine.
‘You hadn’t told me that you were thinking of leaving.’
She opened the car door and got out. ‘You’d better come inside, Peter.’ She led the way, fumbling in her handbag for the key. ‘The fact is that it all came up rather suddenly. Mrs Taylor, across the way there had . . . had heard about the difficulties at the library and since her son is shortly getting married she wondered whether I’d be leaving the area, and perhaps selling or leasing the house. It went on from there and was quickly settled.’
‘What about the difficulties at the library?’ Almost unconsciously, Shirley slung the coat she was carrying on top of the books she had dumped on a chair in the hallway. She led the way into the sitting-room. Reluctantly, she replied, ‘I finish there at the end of the month.’
‘But why?’
‘Why are you leaving your firm?’
‘Yes, but surely—’
‘My dear Peter, don’t be so naive. Can’t you imagine what a furore there was when . . . when Jeannette died? There had already been talk, and Potter’s remarks at the coroner’s inquest only hardened attitudes that had already been formed. The chief librarian had already had a word with me about our association, a long time before that.’
‘You’re not serious!’
‘I am, and so was he. He thought a member of his staff should be a very Caesar’s wife.’
Peter was silent for a moment. He sat down.
‘I’m sorry, Shirley,’ he said finally.’ She laughed, shortly.
‘Don’t be ridiculous. I’m all grown up, you know. I suppose I’d been half expecting it really, ever since I met you. I mean, after all, it was bound to have repercussions wasn’t it? You were a married man.’
Not any longer, he thought.
‘I tried to phone you over the weekend.’
‘I got a taxi to pick me up at the library on Friday. I stayed with a girl-friend in London. Hen talk. Crying on each other’s shoulder. She’s had man trouble too. It seems that none of the men she meets are attractive and single. I know what she means. It can be quite a problem for a girl.’
‘Shirley — I’m sorry about the way things have turned out. Truly sorry.’
‘You’ve said it. So now forget it. If it’s any consolation, I’m sorry too, but what the heck! It’s not the end of the world.’
Her breeziness failed to cover the obvious effort she was making to be cheerful. It depressed him. He fell silent. The last months had been mental agony for him: the pressures had been too numerous, and too heavy. He felt that he had become almost an automaton; he no longer really knew what was important and what was not. Gaines, Shirley, the firm, Jeannette . . . Jeannette. Time was when she would have come first in the list.
Shirley was staring at him. He forced a grin.
‘No, I don’t suppose it is the end of the world, is it?’
She didn’t react. She had fallen serious too.
‘Peter, you’re worried about something. God knows, we’ve both got enough to worry about with Jeannette’s death and its implications and then that poor Sneed, but there’s more, isn’t there?’
‘How do you mean?’
‘Is it Paul Jackson?’
‘I don’t understand.’
‘At the booking-office, with Inspector Crow, you told me that you’d recognised that man — and then you seemed to be sorry that you’d said it. And you’ve not mentioned it since — not that you’ve seen me since, but on the way back, I mean. What is there about Jackson?’
‘Oh . . . it’s nothing, Shirley. It’s, well, it concerns the Gaines trust.’
‘And it’s worrying you.’
Peter shrugged.
‘Yes, it is. I’ll be relinquishing the trusteeship now, of course: the new trust deed will appoint John Sainsby.’
‘But what difference does that make?’
‘It’s a long story,’ said Peter slowly. Too long, and too irrelevant to Shirley’s problems to bore her with it. Yet he felt the need to tell someone, someone he could trust, get the whole thing off his chest. He’d kept it bottled up — and Jackson . . . what the hell was Jackson up to? What had he been doing in the booking-hall? Was it mere coincidence that he’d been there? Surely he couldn’t have been concerned with that locker! It was absurd . . . there was no connection . . . and yet, why had he been so shifty, so evasive as to pretend not to see Peter and shy off like a startled colt?
‘Why don’t you tell me all about it?’ asked Shirley quietly. ‘It may help.’
Perhaps it would.
‘When William Gaines died he left a trust fund, largely comprising shares in Noble and Harris, the textile firm. There are three trustees now: me, Sam Gaines, who’s also a beneficiary, after his mother, and Byrne, the accountant. About two years ago I decided something had to be done about Noble and Harris . . .
‘You see, Shirley, a firm sometimes gets into difficulty by trying to meet a demand beyond its own resources. Good management can prevent it, but the directors of Noble and Harris are not good managers: they had expanded too fast, and although they couldn’t see the danger signs they really needed more capital to cover the dangers of non-liquidity — they’d relied on too much short-term borrowing, over-trading in relation to their own long-term capital.
‘They wouldn’t listen when I raised it at the annual general meeting and Byrne wouldn’t back me. I could see the Gaines shares would be going downhill. The only way they could avoid disaster would be to approach a financially stronger company with a view to sale or amalgamation.’
‘And they wouldn’t do it?’
‘They were completely hostile to the idea.’
Peter shrugged.
‘What could I do?’ he continued. ‘See the trust holdings become worthless? Sam Gaines was too thick to see what was happening, Byrne too old, the firm too obstructive in its attitudes to act. Then I met Paul Jackson. At one of Jeannette’s parties . . .’
‘What happened?’
‘Nothing at first. But I knew that he was a company man, and able to raise money with his connections in the City. So when I had worked out the plan and sweated months on the files I knew we could do it. Amalgamated Industries Ltd. was formed, with capital provided by Jackson, and an offer was made for the Noble and Harris shares. It was accepted by over ninety per cent of the shareholders at the general meeting — a close thing, mind, but it was accepted, and it’s now going through. The shareholders could take cash, or shares in Amalgamated Industries in return for their holdings.’
Shirley lit two cigarettes, passed him one, and tucked her legs under her as she sat in the chair opposite him.
‘But how does this give the trust an advantage?’
‘Jackson knows everything about Noble and Harris. He knows just what to do. He will pump some more capital into the firm — where it will payoff — and he will sell those assets of the firm which are a drag on its business. The resultant capital can be distributed: I’ve calculated that the value of the trust holding will rise considerably within the next two years.’
‘But that’s marvellous, Peter! I don’t see what you’re worried about! The Gaines family certainly can’t cavil about that — they stand to gain!’
Peter’s face was grim.
‘Sam suspects that there’s some fraudulent dealing going on.’
‘But that’s surely nonsense!’
‘I’m afraid,’ said Peter slowly, ‘that it’s not. At least, not entirely.’
Shirley stared at him with round eyes. One hand brushed back a dark strand of hair. ‘What you’ve told me — there’s no fiddle there, surely!’
‘It’s not exactly a fiddle,’ replied Peter uneasily. ‘But you see, Shirley, there might be trouble. I didn’t tell you the whole story. I said that Amalgamat
ed Industries will take over. I didn’t tell you that Amalgamated Industries is a holding company. And Paul Jackson is my nominee.’
Shirley swung her legs down, and leant forward.
‘You mean you own some shares in Amalgamated Industries!’
‘More than some,’ growled Peter. ‘I’ve used Paul as a nominee but I’ve got a big holding.’
‘And if the Gaines trust holding does well out of this, you also will do well. Personally.’
‘Exactly. And Sam Gaines will make something out of that.’ Peter drew nervously at the cigarette: he was briefly aware that Shirley’s lips had touched it. ‘But worse, if anything goes wrong — if Sam tries to pull back, I’m in trouble. You see, I didn’t have the money to float the holding company: Paul Jackson lent it to me.’
And at the booking-office he had tried to avoid me, thought Peter. Shirley was looking at him doubtfully.
‘But you’ve still done nothing which—’
‘At the very least,’ said Peter harshly, ‘it could be said I’ve acted unethically. And Sam Gaines will say it, I’ve no doubt, tomorrow. At the worst . . .’ He shrugged. ‘Anyway, I’ve told John all about it, in a letter today. I don’t really want to talk about it anymore, Shirley.’
‘I understand.’
She got up.
‘You want me to get the lease now?’ he asked miserably.
She shook her head. Her tone was decided.
‘No. To hell with the lease for the time being. I’m going to the bedroom Peter, to change. While I’m getting ready, I would suggest that you pour a drink for yourself. Then we shall sit down for an hour and play some restful music and then you are going to take me out for a drive, and a meal later, and to hell with everything and everyone.’ She paused, looking down at him. ‘Do you think that’s a good idea?’
‘I think it’s a marvellous idea.’
‘That’s it, then. But no strings, Peter. We’re doing this because we’ve been too miserable, too tense, too much under pressure, we like each other, and it’s time we took the occasion to relax. But it’s no more than that. You agree?’
‘I agree.’
And yet, when he searched through the records that Shirley had stacked in the corner of the room, he wondered. Did he agree? Was it as simple as that? Could it be as cool, and easy as that? There had been a time when such an attitude between them would have been an impossibility. Had they changed so much since then?