Generations of Love

by Wendy Pulford

  He smiled around the room, inferring that they were all men of the world. It made him feel sick, but it had to be done.

  ‘She was mugged a little while ago. It was quite rewarding to play the concerned, comforting lover.’

  ‘Good, is she?’

  Peter turned and stared at Duncan Hamilton. The man must be in his forties, he thought, and looked as if he enjoyed the privileged life his father’s inheritance had given him. There was a particular look in his eyes now, and Peter could well believe Dougie’s story.

  ‘I’ve no complaints.’

  ‘Mmm. Might be worth meeting her?’

  Over my dead body thought Peter, but he just smiled in reply. ‘We’ll have to see.’

  ‘Come now, Duncan,’ Franklin admonished Hamilton with a smile. ‘Young Peter here might not be in your same line of, er… entertainment.’

  Peter’s rising distaste for this sort of talk grew as he recalled the feel of Christa’s hair against his skin, and its smell, clean and fresh. The idea of her involved with this man was sickening. He had an urge to blurt out his true thoughts, but a sudden alarm went off inside him. Was this how his father had been goaded all those years ago? If so, that was bait he must not rise to. Would there be more?

  As if on cue, Franklin changed the subject yet again. ‘Oh, by the way, Peter, I hate to bring this up but I’m hearing rumours of some villain or other saying he had something to do with the events surrounding your parents.’

  ‘Yes, that’s right, Lionel. Someone seems to have made a supposed confession and then died a few hours later. The police have told me they are making some enquiries, but it’s all such a long time ago now, the matter’s pretty irrelevant to me. I’ve other things on my mind now.’

  That was almost the truth; but not in the way these men thought he meant! He glanced at his watch. He knew he couldn’t keep this up for much longer.

  ‘I think I’ll have to go, Lionel, if you don’t mind. I still have to prepare for a meeting tomorrow. I squeezed you in tonight at short notice.’

  ‘Yes, of course, my boy. Nice of you to come for a little chat. You get off now and we’ll see you again soon, eh?’

  *

  Villiers returned to his seat after refilling his glass.

  ‘What possessed you to go so far tonight, Lionel? You told him too much! You said you’re still not sure of him.’

  ‘It’s a calculated risk, Geoffrey. Oh, I’m aware he’s meeting the Ravens and Hartman’s previous colleague, but what do they know? We destroyed all the evidence years ago. His attitude tonight indicates that he might just be amenable to joining us. It sounds as if the lure of money is beginning to sway him. Think how convenient it would be to take our venture on into the future, with his new contacts, and the possibility of more financial profits.

  ‘At times, however, I do still sense a lack of conviction in him, which is why I didn’t answer all his questions. Questions which have come at a quite coincidental time, it seems to me.’

  ‘Get Clarke to rough him up, warn him to keep his mouth shut.’ Duncan Hamilton’s voice held a distinct relish.

  ‘Oh no, Duncan, I have a much better idea.’

  *

  Outside the Grosvenor Club, two sets of watchers made further notes.

  *

  As the same technician divested Peter of all his equipment, Dougie clapped him on the shoulder and grinned at him.

  ‘Brilliant job. So near to getting the cherry on the cake, eh? What we have learnt will be useful to Watson and his people. I’ll get off round to him now. You’d better head for home, you look dead beat.’

  Peter paid off the taxi and let himself into his quiet flat. There was no way he could face taking Sarah’s car and driving to Christa tonight. He felt unable to even cope with a phone call to her. He was drained of all emotion, and very tired.

  He was also hungry, he realised. Sarah would have something she had baked tucked away, he was sure. He went up the stairs and saw a light in the kitchen. He knew Sarah and Jerry were out tonight at a function, and Amy was with friends, so who was in the house apart from him? He found Rob sitting at the kitchen table, munching a sandwich and reading a newspaper. He looked up as Peter entered.

  ‘Hi, old son. Had an evening free, so I thought I’d pop round, but found the place like the Mary Celeste.’ He looked closer. ‘Are you OK? You look a bit frazzled?’

  Peter slumped down in a chair opposite him. ‘I’ve been given the third degree by Franklin and chums. I’ve been in spy mode. It’s a bit wearing.’ He looked around, then eyed Rob’s sandwich. ‘I’m starving.’

  ‘Say no more, salvation is at hand! Chef McIntyre to the rescue. Here, have this to be going on with.’ He passed over his other untouched sandwich. ‘I’ll make some more. Mum’s also bound to have some fruit cake here somewhere. I’ll make some coffee too, OK?’

  Peter began to relax. It all seemed so normal again, sitting here in the familiar kitchen with this loveable lunatic, now sporting Sarah’s frilly apron, creating culinary havoc. Why couldn’t life be as uncomplicated as this all the time? He sighed.

  A plate of doorstep sandwiches with a questionable selection of fillings was thrust in front of him, together with what seemed like half a large fruit cake. Sarah was going to go crazy when she found out!

  ‘Coffee coming up.’ And with a flourish Chef McIntyre relinquished his role for the evening.

  Peter knew he was being observed as he chewed away, but felt disinclined to make conversation.

  ‘It’s for a good cause, you know.’

  The quiet comment when it came was not what he had expected. He looked up at Rob, and saw his serious face and concerned eyes.

  ‘I know you’re going through it a bit at the moment, but if it means we can get these SOBs, your Dad would be proud of you. I know Mum and Dad are impressed by how you’re handling this.’

  Peter pushed his now empty plate away. ‘I know how my father felt, Rob. They started to talk about Christa tonight and I had to join in and make some… comments. I hated it, but there was nothing I could do. All good local colour.’

  Rob banged his fist on the table. ‘That’s as big a reason to get these monsters as I’ve heard. What I’d give to get three or four of the lads and pay them a visit. Just hang in there, Pete. Remember, if you need me for a chat, just whistle.’

  ‘Yes, I know, Rob. Thanks.’

  Peter took out his phone which showed one missed message from Christa. He sent a one-line text saying that he was OK and he would be in touch.

  ‘I’d better get off to bed. Are you going or staying?’

  ‘I was going, but I’d better clear up here first, I think.’ Rob grimaced, looking around the untidy mess of the kitchen. ‘Or else I’ll be on latrine duty for a month!’

  Despite himself Peter began to laugh. He turned back at the door. ‘Thanks Rob, you’re a brick.’

  They both knew what was meant, and Peter received a wink in return.

  As the door closed, Rob stood still for a moment, his face serious again. Then, with a shake of his head, he started cleaning up.

  CHAPTER 29

  Out of the blue, two days later, Peter took a call at work from Dougie.

  ‘It’s about to happen! Watson’s with two of the bosses at the moment, who he knows are clean. He’s briefing them on the situation and organising manpower for some raids. To avoid any warning being passed on he’s insisting nothing is to be known by the people taking part as to their targets, until the last minute.

  ‘At ten o’clock tomorrow night, his own team will go and arrest “Mr P”. “F” will be picked up at the same time. Other teams will be waiting to go for the other two. Steps are in place to make it impossible for them to have any means of contacting each other. We’ll also pick up one or two others who appear to be on the fringes, and we’ve been told to grab
“JC” again.

  ‘There’ll be days of interviewing to unravel this lot. I understand you’ll be asked to give a statement as well, Peter.’

  ‘What can I tell them they don’t already know, Dougie?’

  ‘It’s just for the record, lad. Keeping things neat and tidy. We’re getting somewhere at last, Peter. Feels good, doesn’t it?’

  Peter was not so sure. He had settled into a kind of lethargy over the last day or two, but still felt something had been left undone.

  In his room that night, he realised what it was. He was still a coward, for all his James Bond antics. He had never confronted Lionel Franklin about his parents and the lies told to him. He wanted to see the man’s face as he revealed that he knew everything. He was sure his father would have done so, given the chance. Once Franklin was in custody, he might never be given the opportunity to talk to him in private again.

  He made up his mind. He would see Franklin just before the police were due to pick him up. There was no way he would disclose what was about to happen, but he decided not to tell anyone his plan in case they tried to stop him; even arrest him! No, he would keep quiet – this was personal.

  *

  Franklin gazed into his empty glass with a troubled look on his face. His conversation with Bonetti had been disappointing, to say the least. Not quite a flat refusal to his proposition, but near enough. In his previous dealings with the man, he knew him to be hard and unemotional, but today he had sensed something else behind the few curt phrases, something worrying and more ominous. His suggestion to sell the half-share of the Grosvenor Club, he was told, would of course be discussed, but the likelihood of it being accepted was slight. If the answer was a rejection, he would have to reconsider matters. He would put Villiers on notice anyway, just in case it was agreed.

  Also, Aubrey Potter was being a nuisance. Instead of offering his latest information out to the highest bidder, Aubrey had been in touch with those wretched Irish people again, despite his objection. This time they indicated only mild interest, and Aubrey was disappointed at the figure offered. For his part, he found himself relieved, not relishing the prospect of being involved with them again. In the past he had felt in total control, but now, after that Glasgow episode, he was a little unsure.

  Aubrey, like a fool, had continued to press them and this time they wanted a face-to-face talk to negotiate. Not their normal method in the past, but of course new people were in charge now. Without his knowledge, Aubrey had agreed to a meeting, with Franklin as the go-between. A representative was due to come to the Club at nine-forty-five tonight. Franklin’s face became closed and hard. He would make it tough for them. They thought they held all the cards; but he had the information!

  The other problem was the Hartman thing. Villiers had told him Clarke had reported that the police were sniffing around for information and were not going to be put off. In the circumstances, Villiers insisted that they had to be sure of Peter Hartman. He needed to be warned about divulging details of their new-found relationship. Clarke passed on information that he had been with that girl again the other night. Randy little… just like his father! He should be giving all his attention to more important things.

  At that point, he made his decision. For once, he dismissed the idea of going down to the lobby to make his call, and picked up the receiver on his desk.

  *

  Peter had taken the chance that his great uncle would not have a visitor at the Club tonight. The desk clerk told him he appeared to be on an outside call in his suite, and Peter decided to go straight up. He had to watch the time. It was almost nine-thirty already.

  He knocked on the door and went in. Franklin was sitting at his desk, just replacing the receiver. Peter thought he seemed startled to see him, and not a little annoyed. Good! He sat himself down in one of the deep leather chairs in front of the desk.

  ‘What do you call this, young man, barging in without my permission? I haven’t time to speak to you now. I’m expecting a… business colleague at any moment. I’ll have to arrange to see you another time.’

  ‘What I have to discuss won’t take long. After our talk the other night I’ve decided I need answers to some questions. About things that took place a long time ago.’

  He was subjected to a frosty glare. ‘You said you weren’t interested in the past.’

  ‘I meant what I said, but on further thought it might be interesting to hear your view as to what happened.’

  Franklin relaxed back into his chair. ‘I take it you’re referring to your father. I know you’ve been talking to a former colleague of his.’ Peter could not help his start of surprise, and saw a look of amusement come over the other man’s face. ‘Oh yes, Peter, you’ve been watched. I know about your visits to the Ravens too. Perhaps you need to do some explaining. I remain a little unconvinced by your recent protestations of interest in our… group. Maybe you need to consider that it would be wise to keep us amenable.’

  His blue eyes were now flat and lifeless, devoid of any expression, and for a moment Peter felt a shiver of fear run down his back.

  Franklin continued speaking. ‘As I believe you tried to find out the other night, Aubrey Potter was the original architect of our… little plans. All those years ago, he thought someone was poking around, asking questions. Then through a contact we were informed of a special enquiry headed up by your father. Rather a coincidence, as he’d been involved a few weeks before in a security matter to do with my household. We became a little suspicious about this. At the same time, one of our other contacts in a manufacturing firm informed us of enquiries being made, also by your father, relating to a little problem that had occurred a year or two before. We knew then that there was definite interest in our affairs, and we had to take steps. Aubrey curtailed his activities, and I waited for the right moment to put plans into action which I had been… considering… for a while.’

  Peter had by now collected himself again and found his voice. ‘And just what were these plans?’

  A hard, malevolent look came over Franklin’s face. He leant forward and spoke with such venom that Peter jerked back in his chair, startled.

  ‘Your father thought he was so clever, but he was a fool, allowing himself to become blinded with pious indignation about insinuations regarding him and your mother. He swallowed the bait whole. He didn’t realise that a paper he signed, in a fit of temper, gave me not just the means for ruination of his career, but also the way in which I could bring matters to their inevitable conclusion. The death of his wife.’

  Peter sat immobile, pinned down by that mesmerising stare and those dreadful words.

  ‘I planned it all, every step, and Clarke’s man should have carried it out to perfection. I wanted your father broken. His career ruined, and languishing in prison for a crime he knew he hadn’t committed. The wife he professed to care for so much, now dead, and also knowing that I was in control of you, his precious son. I wanted to see him on his knees.

  ‘He’d spoilt all my plans for Catherine, coming into our house with his good looks and charm, taking her away from the path I’d planned for her. I’d groomed her to make a good marriage, for either money or influence; something that could have been useful to us. Instead he filled her head with stupid romantic notions, and she failed me. She failed me, do you hear!’ His voice had risen, his lips curling back revealing his teeth in something like a snarl. ‘She had to pay. Just like her mother.’

  Peter listened in horror at the pure hatred coming through the words. Then Franklin was mumbling, half to himself.

  ‘Ellen was my girl. She came over to Cambridge to be with me, then Richard took her, and she turned her back on me. She influenced him in his career, away from the ideas we had discussed in our group with Helsenburg. They both failed me. I couldn’t let it go unpunished, could I?’

  Peter’s mind was racing. So that was the tipping point he had discus
sed with Christa. The loss of Catherine’s mother to Richard, his own brother. It was pure evil, disposing of people because they failed to follow a plan set down for them by another.

  He could feel the raw emotion boiling up in him now. He jumped to his feet, leaning forward over the desk, staring down into the cold blue eyes.

  ‘How dare you believe your ideas are so right, and have to be obeyed! People are entitled to make their own way in the world, with their own plans, not ones imposed by others. You were free to go on attempting to achieve your own particular goals if you wished. Your actions were pure vengeance. You took away the innocent dreams of the future for my parents and robbed me of my chance of knowing them. In doing so, and letting me believe all those lies about them for so many years, my own view of relationships became damaged, and you just stood by, knowing the truth all the time.’

  He felt desperate to leave, to be out in the fresh air, away from all these warped and twisted ideas. He looked at his watch. It was nearly nine-forty-five. Potter would be picked up at any moment; and all the rest, including this sick and evil man sitting in front of him. He stood up straight and stared at Franklin, his grey eyes steady.

  ‘As you appear to have guessed, I have also been playing a game. But one, I think, with better ideals. I have the evidence to bring you and your partners to justice. For my part, what you have done to our family is unforgivable, and I intend to make you pay for every life you have ruined by your actions.’

  ‘Evidence! All you have is talk and supposition, nothing more. Who will they believe anyway: a Judge, an upholder of the law, or the son of a crooked police officer and a murderer!’

  With his emotions at bursting point Peter opened his mouth to denounce the man he had once thought of as important in his life, letting him know that his father’s evidence still existed, and just what was about to happen. However, he was interrupted when Franklin slammed his fist down onto the desk.

  ‘You’re the same as all the others, it seems! Every one of you, dismissing all my years of planning.’ His voice was harsh and raw. ‘Well, perhaps after tonight you might reflect on what will turn out to be an ineffectual course of action. You remember the Canadian girl, the one you profess not to like so much, but whom you seem to spend the night with so often? It wouldn’t do to have someone like her, a journalist, poking around in our affairs, and I could sense she didn’t like me. She could do the same sort of damage as others in the past, and I couldn’t allow that. Maybe, tonight, once again a big city will prove to be a dangerous place for young females.’