Generations of Love

by Wendy Pulford

  A particular entry which stood out for Alex was the receipt of a donation made about six months ago from an E. Sullivan. He had the odd feeling that the name meant something to him. He was on the point of leaving for the meeting when he realised where he had heard a similar name. Catherine’s mother’s maiden name was Sullivan, and her Christian name was Ellen… but it couldn’t be the same! Ellen Sullivan had died with her husband some ten years ago! Was it possible that in some way monies were still being used under that name? It might be, under some sort of fund, but then the money would have come in from another account designation… or were they using forgery? The point would need some further investigation.

  Alex gave Sir John a copy of his typed report, with an embarrassed apology for any errors, and then took him through it in detail.

  ‘I admit that some possibilities are just that and nothing more, but they might stand more investigation. Some, as you can see, are far more definite. I consider on balance that there are enough hard facts to be able to make a pretty good case.’

  ‘Yes, I can see that.’ Sir John appeared pleased. ‘I have a meeting on Wednesday with my senior officers and I intend putting the full report before the meeting. If it’s felt, in the light of the investigations, that any action needs to be taken, I wish to discuss it there and then.’

  ‘Sir John, I have to say that although the report indicates further action needs to be taken, we haven’t been able to answer the question as to who is part of the set-up and who isn’t. By putting this information out into the open it will serve to give advance warning to those involved, and the whole ring could melt away. I think we ought to bring Francis in on the matter again before anything is disclosed, and we should organise another meeting with him.’

  It was clear to Alex that Sir John was annoyed at his suggestion, but he had to try to get his point across. He was given a hard stare, but held his own gaze steady. Then, with a shrug of his shoulders, Sir John gave in.

  ‘Alright. Just for the moment, I will give notice to the meeting that certain enquiries have been made and are ongoing. The whole matter will be reported back as soon as possible.’

  ‘I still think, Sir John, that the enquiries should now be taken forward by others.’ Alex wanted to try once more to make his views on this point known.

  ‘No, my boy. You and your colleague have done sterling work and I feel you should stay with the matter for the time being.’

  Alex felt he was losing an uphill battle, and there was no more he could do.

  On the way back to his office Alex again encountered Assistant Commissioner Rankin who, this time, just nodded to him and passed on.

  Dougie was on the phone when Alex reached his office.

  ‘Seems as if there’s a flap on. Several of the Protection Squad are down with a stomach bug and they’re short-handed. We’ve been requested to assist. The Superintendent wants to see us. Foreign dignatory. Airport to meeting in Whitehall, back to airport.’

  ‘Right, we’d better see him then.’

  ‘How did it go?’

  ‘Oh we got pats on the back alright, but I’m worried about too much information getting out too soon. I’ll tell you about it later.’

  Over a cup of coffee when they were back in their room Alex outlined Sir John’s intentions.

  Dougie was annoyed. ‘The old fool. He could blow the whole thing!’

  ‘I tend to agree with you. I managed to make him water down his original intention and the meeting will be given nothing more than inferences of the type of enquiries that have been made with possible further action. Even that’s enough in my book. If anyone in that room is in on the whole thing they’re going to be on the alert and pull the plug.’

  ‘And all our hard work will have been for nothing. Bloody stupid if you ask me.’

  Coming to a decision, Alex picked up the phone.

  ‘I’m going to ring Francis and see if he can put a stop to it.’

  A strange voice answered, but as Francis had said it was a secure line, Alex left a full message and tried to convey the urgency. He put down the receiver and sighed.

  ‘Well, you can’t say that we haven’t done our best. I’m going to get off now. I have to draw my firearm as I’m on the first detail at the airport. Catherine will throw a fit if she spots it in the house tonight!’

  ‘Tuck it in your underpants, that’s what I’ve done in the past.’ Dougie then looked over at the other man and gave a knowing grin. ‘Maybe that’s not such a safe place as far as you’re concerned!’

  Alex stared at him for a moment, and then started to laugh. ‘You’ve got a wicked mind! I’ll see you.’ He left the room still chuckling.

  *

  Sir John Fraser felt pleased with himself. His last weeks as Commissioner would be a triumph if this operation could be brought to a conclusion. All the talk of unknown people in the shadows was all very well, but how deep did you dig, and how long would it take? If everyone known was rounded up now, other names might come out, and at the very least the heart of the operation would have been ripped out.

  There was a knock on the door and Rankin walked in. Fraser was never certain whether he liked the man. He seemed amiable enough, but there was something unnerving about him; a sense that he always had more than one motive for his actions. However, he had brought off one or two useful operations of late, and Fraser knew that he coveted the post of Commissioner. He was unconvinced, though, that Rankin was the right man.

  ‘Heard you’ve been seeing that Hartman fellow quite a bit. Saw him here earlier. He’s a high flyer alright. Something big on?’

  Fraser made a rash decision. He needed to top this man, in policing acumen as well as rank.

  ‘Yes, now you come to mention it, something pretty big indeed. Seems we have certain people wielding unlawful influence to the detriment of the country. Might be terrorism involvement too. Under my instructions, Hartman’s been digging around and has collected a lot of evidence. I intend to see it’s acted upon.’

  Rankin’s eyes narrowed. ‘Well now! Do we know any names?’

  Fraser, now regretting his outburst, decided not to mention any. ‘Oh, we have several, don’t you worry. I’ll be bringing it up at the meeting tomorrow.’

  Rankin smiled at him. ‘Well, John, you seem to be going out with a bang. I’ve a nice bottle of port in my room. Suppose we celebrate with a small glass?’

  Fraser enjoyed the drink, but Rankin enjoyed it even more, although he didn’t taste a drop. Within a few minutes he excused himself, saying he had to make an important phone call. He made his way back to his office, stopping on the way to speak to Sir John’s secretary.

  *

  Lionel Franklin stood at the pay phone in The Grosvenor. There was no one around. He dialled a number.

  ‘Geoffrey? I heard from Hamilton that the banking matters are in place and you’ve been provided with paperwork… Good. Now, I need you to get in touch with Clarke, there have been unexpected developments.’ He explained on for a few minutes, giving precise details. ‘Yes… yes, I said both tonight! Remind him that it must be done as instructed, no deviation. This is important.’

  He put down the phone, went to the bar and ordered a brandy. He smiled to himself. Aubrey had sanctioned the first part of tonight’s events with great reluctance, even more so the second, and if he’d known the exact instructions given he’d have been horrified and vetoed it; but he didn’t know, did he!

  *

  Catherine was surprised to see Alex home. He’d been working late over the last few days, finalising a report of some sort. It was nice to have him home in time to join in Peter’s bath time.

  The little boy was already growing and Alex cradled him on his lap, pink and sweet-smelling, while Catherine tidied the bathroom. It was then time for his feed. She sat on the bed, propped up with pillows, and Alex lay next to her, as usual j
ust taking in the scene.

  After dinner, with Peter contented and asleep, they settled down on the settee in the front room, the red glow of firelight their only illumination.

  ‘I’m going to have to leave earlier tomorrow morning.’ Alex nestled his cheek against the soft brown hair.

  Catherine looked up at him and smiled. ‘Are you suggesting its bedtime by any chance?’

  ‘Depends what’s on the television I suppose,’ he replied, trying, and failing, to appear nonchalant. ‘I thought there was something good on tonight.’

  ‘Oh, there might be, but not on the television.’

  He took her hand in his, rubbing his thumb over her soft palm. ‘Are you propositioning me by any chance?’ His gaze was very direct.

  ‘Would you mind?’

  The look between them became more intense.

  ‘I wouldn’t mind in the least. I like taking my wife to bed, feeling her body next to mine, knowing that she wants me as much as I want her. May I kiss you, Mrs Hartman?’

  As usual, she could feel the excitement building inside her. He brought her hand up to his mouth, kissed the inside of her wrist against her pulse and then lowered it again, and just smiled at her. With frustration, she recognised he was playing the game he did so well, toying with her emotions until she couldn’t bear it any longer. He always knew just when she reached that point, and it excited her even more.

  ‘Alex!’ Her whisper was more like a moan.

  CHAPTER 24

  Drawn into the warm circle of his arms, Catherine put her lips against his throat.

  ‘Hush, my sweet. We have all night ahead of us.’

  He turned her face up to him, and with his eyes on her mouth, brought his head down to hers, capturing her parting lips.

  Oh, how she loved this man. He had brought so many wonderful things into her life, always showing her the greatest care and consideration. When she could, she murmured, ‘I love you Alex.’

  ‘I love you too, my darling, and I’m going to spend the rest of the night showing you just how much,’ he whispered, and she found herself picked up in his arms. As he carried her upstairs, his mouth continued to plant soft, quick kisses on hers.

  Later in the night, Peter woke. Alex heard him crying and looked at Catherine nestled in his arms, still fast asleep. He smiled to himself. He had worn her out! How wonderful it had been, though. He felt more contented now than he had ever done in his life.

  On his way home, he had made a decision. Tomorrow he would tell Catherine his secret. Whatever the outcome, he must deal with it. The worry of not knowing her reaction was worse than trying to anticipate the aftermath. Given her recent comments, he hoped that all would be well. Over these last weeks, watching his wife and child together, he couldn’t countenance an existence without them.

  Unfolding his arms from around her he slipped out of bed. He wouldn’t wake her – just yet!

  Peter wasn’t sure whether he wanted to sleep or feed, and halfway through his bottle Alex decided to try putting him down to sleep again. With a clean nappy he went off like a lamb, and Alex turned off the light and climbed back into bed.

  ‘Is Peter awake?’ Catherine murmured, still half-asleep. Alex put his cold hands on her warm body, and chuckled when she gasped. ‘You beast, that’s unkind. You’ve woken me up now.’

  ‘That was my intention,’ he murmured into her throat. ‘Our son has been fed and is fast asleep again. He shouldn’t need any attention until the morning. I’m afraid, though, that I’ll need some before that.’

  He could see Catherine’s eyes glittering at him in the faint light coming from the window. He felt her body melt against his. ‘Whatever my husband wishes,’ he heard her whisper.

  Their emotion soared as each tried to convey to the other the depth of their feelings, and they climbed to heights never reached before. She was so beautiful, and he loved her so much, was his last thought before sleep claimed them both, and they lay together in peaceful dreams.

  *

  Sir John Fraser was regretting his decision to attend the charity meeting that night. He had begun to feel unwell during the afternoon and, he now realised, should have gone straight home. He had also decided to drive himself. Another bad move! The slight dizziness he was experiencing was not the best thing when in charge of a vehicle. However, the traffic out to Bracknell was light, and now he was in the country he would be home in a few minutes. His wife preferred him not to stay in London. He would have a word with his specialist tomorrow. Perhaps this new medication didn’t suit him. Shouldn’t have had that glass of port with Rankin, either, he thought.

  Anxious to be home, he increased his speed a little. He looked in his rear view mirror as the headlights of a car coming up behind caught his attention. It seemed to be coming fast; too fast for these country roads. Wouldn’t he love to be in a police vehicle and be able to book this idiot!

  Just a mile or so to go now, he thought with relief, increasing his speed further to stay ahead. The lights behind him, however, were beginning to have a strange effect on his eyes. He needed to concentrate now, as there were one or two tight bends coming up, and the land fell away at the side into a line of trees. Why didn’t this clown behind him overtake?

  Then, as they were coming up to a tight bend, the car began to do just that! The fool, he thought, turning his head as the car started to pass. He felt a slight bump as they touched. What on earth…! The wheel was wrenched out of his hands, and he scrabbled to regain control. His heart was in his mouth as he tried to recall the advice police drivers had given him years before. He began to panic, as his efforts were in vain and the car veered off the road, careering down the embankment and straight towards the trees.

  As it hit, and turned over, he felt a sickening pain in his head where it had impacted with the door pillar, and then to his horror he smelt the stench of fuel and saw the first small flames lick up from the bonnet. He could feel himself slipping into unconsciousness, and in desperation, struggled to open the door. Whatever he did, it just wouldn’t budge, and through his rising panic he could now hear the noise of the flames. He also thought he heard a scream.

  *

  The dark-coloured saloon had slowed to a stop and the occupant smiled as, in his rear view mirror, he saw flames begin to light up the night. It had gone well, Fowler thought, considering the short notice and lack of certainty. No further action needed. He drove away at speed, with the smile still lingering.

  *

  It was about one-thirty when a car turned into Church Road, doused its headlights, and glided to a stop outside a house. A dark figure got out and moved to the front door. The man extracted a brand new key, and with care inserted it in the lock. As it turned he let out his breath, realising that the latch wasn’t down. The door moved inward. He’d been warned about a safety chain, but there was nothing. He couldn’t believe his luck! It had saved a more risky entry by the French windows at the back of the property, although that would have proved no obstacle to him, and no one would have been any the wiser.

  Once in the hall, he located the statue on the small table. As instructed, he picked it up in his gloved hand and made his way up the stairs. He reached the door of the front bedroom and eased it open. Two figures were lying in the bed and he started to cross toward them.

  *

  Alex was dreaming, but that dream was disturbed. He opened his eyes. Some sixth sense had warned him that something was wrong. He looked over his shoulder and saw a dark figure by the door. A burglar! With an oath he released himself from Catherine’s arms, and leapt out of bed. The other man had the advantage. He raised his arm and Alex felt a heavy blow on his left temple. The pain seared through his head. His mind and body went numb, and as darkness crept up on him he heard Catherine cry out his name.

  *

  Fowler saw that the woman was now awake, and heard her cry out. Noise he did no
t want! She was struggling to free herself from the bedclothes. He reached the bed and tried to hold the soft body still. This was one part of tonight’s operation about which he had felt some strange unease. The man was police, and was fair game. This woman was something different, with her baby sleeping in another room. She was struggling underneath him, and he increased his weight. He could see her eyes looking up at him, and knew when she realised what was to come and lay still. A look of such unutterable sadness came over her face, the green eyes swamped in tears, that for once in his life he was unnerved. But he had to finish it. In the one single act of mercy Harry Fowler had ever shown another person, he hit the woman on the jaw and knocked her out. He reached for the pillow.

  When it was over, he checked to see if the prone, naked figure on the floor was still unconscious. There was no sign of movement, and he wasn’t surprised. With his gloved hand he retrieved the statue, taking care not to transfer any blood to himself. He placed it in the woman’s lifeless right hand and then let it drop to the floor.

  Now for the rest of his instructions. He left the bedroom and went downstairs into the back room. He pulled out an envelope from his inside pocket and scattered the printed pages it contained over the table and floor. It was done. He must leave. He went back into the hall and had reached the front door when a sound made him turn. He looked up and saw a pale figure at the bend of the stairs, and the gun pointing at him!

  *

  Alex came to and tried to move. Something was wrong with his limbs, they felt weak and sluggish, and when he moved the pain in his head crashed into him like a wave. He had to lie back again and recover. But he couldn’t stay here, there was an intruder in the house, and he had to protect Catherine and Peter.

  Ignoring the searing pain, he struggled to his feet. He was finding it difficult to see and he could feel blood running down his face. He just made out Catherine’s figure lying on the bed. She must have fainted. He dare not stop to check on her, his first thought was to tackle the intruder. His gun! Where was it? Then he remembered. He took a while to fumble open the bedside drawer, but with relief felt his hand on the cold metal. With a muffled groan he lurched to the bedroom door. The pain in his head was so intense that the movement almost defeated him, but the fear for his family pushed him on. He stumbled down the first few stairs and stood swaying on the half landing.