Liverpool Love Song

by Anne Baker

  In the weeks that followed, Chloe felt she’d eased the burden on Aunt Goldie, who was coping better with the children. Peggy was running the house, helping to look after her mother and also preparing the evening meal for them so Chloe had less work too. She had only to serve it up when she came home from work.

  Goldie told her that Peggy was kind to Helen and good with the children. They all began to rely on her, and she soon became almost one of the family.

  A month or so later, Rex was delighted to find that Helen was looking much brighter. She was smiling and joining in family discussions in a way she hadn’t done for a long time. Her appetite had improved too. He took her for walks round the garden, and she never tired of seeing how it changed from one season to the next, but she was not all that steady on her feet when they got away from the paths.

  ‘I think you’re well enough to come out for a meal with me,’ he said. That brought a broad smile to her face. She suggested lunch, saying that she grew tired towards the end of the day.

  They had lunch out twice a week for a while, though she couldn’t eat all that much, neither could she walk far.

  ‘It’ll take time to get you really well,’ he told her. ‘But you are getting stronger.’

  He took her to the seaside or for little country drives. They ate in village pubs and Helen seemed to enjoy it. They progressed to early-evening meals at the garden centre, and from there to the bistro.

  ‘I’m so pleased,’ Rex told her, ‘that we’re getting back to our old ways.’ He thought Helen was enjoying life again. ‘How about coming to my place and staying the night with me?’ he asked.

  She smiled, but she wouldn’t be rushed. ‘I’m pretty useless by bedtime,’ she said. ‘Too tired for anything. That’s why I like you to bring me home early.’

  ‘We’ll give you another week or two to get stronger,’ he said. ‘You’re improving all the time.’

  He sensed that she didn’t want him to see her body, that she was shy about it, but he continued to invite her. Eventually she said, ‘You’ll find me off-putting. You won’t like my operation scars and bald head. You won’t see me as a lover any more.’

  Rex was filled with compassion. ‘I will, Helen. Underneath you’re the same person.’

  ‘But mauled and cut about by illness.’

  ‘With the lights out, I wouldn’t see any of that. You could just go to sleep in my arms.’

  She smiled. ‘I would like that.’

  ‘Tuesday,’ he told her. ‘I could bring something to eat from the garden centre and we could have it here. Would that be less tiring for you?’

  She nodded. ‘I’m still having very early nights.’

  ‘That’s no problem. I go to bed early myself.’

  He fetched her and served the meal he’d kept warm. She told him that Peggy had been preparing a stew for the rest of the family and that Lucy had taken the carrot tops with their green plumes and planted them back in the garden, thinking the bottom part would grow again.

  ‘Perhaps she’d be interested in having a little garden of her own.’ Rex laughed. ‘I’ll try and encourage it.’

  It seemed almost like old times, though Helen wouldn’t take a glass of wine with the meal. At bedtime, he saw her take a new satin nightdress from her overnight bag, but she got into bed wearing her wig and the surgical bra.

  ‘I can’t bear to let anyone see.’ She clung to him, not far from tears. ‘I have to hide behind my props.’

  ‘You don’t have to hide from me,’ he told her. ‘You know that.’

  In the past, Helen had always been keen on making love. Tonight, he would not have made the first move, but shyly she did. Rex felt very needy and on an emotional knife edge. Helen’s illness had swept up on them and advanced so quickly. He’d never been more passionate, over the top really. Afterwards he had the empty feeling that she’d done it to please him. That really she was no longer interested in sex.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  LEO WAS PLEASED WHEN Mrs Parks told him she was about to take two weeks’ holiday. ‘Are you going away somewhere nice?’ he asked.

  ‘No.’ She was a decade or more older than the secretaries, a widow with three youngish children. ‘I’m going to have a rest. Well, as far as I can while the kids are off school.’

  He’d been nervous of Mrs Parks to start with, knowing that she was in the best position to see through what he was doing. With time, he’d realised she was wrapped up in her children, and though the work she did was adequate, she was not the type to be curious or to give it more than minimum attention. All the same, her absence would give him some much-needed freedom. He knew she thought him fussy and rather odd.

  Leo was inclined to grow more edgy as each month came to an end. At that time, Walter Bristow received bank statements for his business accounts. In addition, he required Leo to provide copies of some of the accounting documents he drew up. From these it would be possible for the boss to assess how his business was progressing.

  To Leo, taking the documents to Mr Bristow’s office on the first day of the new month felt a bit like putting his head into the lion’s mouth. It couldn’t fail to draw Bristow’s attention to his figures. To start with he’d taken comfort that the audit had confirmed that all was correct. But the months were passing, and he was transferring more and more company money to accounts he controlled. He made sure he was ready to shrug off the persona of Francis Lovell Clitheroe at a moment’s notice, should it prove necessary.

  At the beginning of August, he delivered his figures to Bristow, then went back to his office and waited with some trepidation for the boss’s reaction. It was a long wait. Just when he was thinking of locking his desk and going home, Mr Bristow came to his office to toss some papers, including the bank statements, on to his desk without comment. When he’d gone, Leo studied them and realised why. They’d made a bigger than average profit the month before and the healthy credit balance had hidden the sum he’d stolen.

  He couldn’t believe his luck. He’d found the perfect company to employ Francis Clitheroe. At this level, he could probably work here for years and treble his salary with little danger of being found out. But it was nerve-racking. He’d stick to his original plan, take as much as he could as quickly as he could and get out.

  The following weekend in his own bedsit, Leo created three more files in order to double the amount he could take each month. Having six fictitious companies did increase the risk, but he thought it was a risk worth taking.

  Don Tyler, the buyer, would know the names of the companies from whom he ordered and might be expected to pick out any false ones amongst them. But his responsibilities ended when he’d checked what was being delivered against his orders. John Walsh, the production manager, used the supplies to manufacture the pet food and would possibly recognise some of the companies’ names. He might even prefer one company’s goods over another, but he didn’t have access to Francis Clitheroe’s accounts.

  When Walter Bristow asked Leo when he wanted to take his two weeks’ holiday, he was taken by surprise and almost said he didn’t want any time off. The truth was, he was scared of leaving his fictitious files unguarded for a whole fortnight. But the boss had clearly never had an employee who didn’t want a holiday before.

  Leo tried to cover it up. ‘Am I due for a holiday yet? I mean, I’ve only been working here since February.’

  ‘Of course.’ Bristow was showing more surprise. ‘You can take it any time during the year. Tom Cleary used to work out the wages, get everything ready and leave it to me to pay them at the end of each week.’

  Leo shut up. He had the feeling he was making matters worse. Francis was paying the wages and salaries for the workforce; surely he’d know every rule pertaining to holidays?

  The thought of taking a fortnight’s holiday himself sent shivery thrills up and down Leo’s spine. It would be marvellous to get away from here; he certainly needed a rest and the chance to calm his nerves. He would enjoy spending the time
searching for the house in which he meant to spend his new life. He’d want it to be near the sea and a small town, perhaps in the Lake District or on the Cumbrian coast, a place where as yet he had no connection. It was to be a permanent bolt-hole, so he’d use his real name to buy it. He’d become an honest middle-class citizen and forget all the nerve-racking things he’d had to do to achieve it.

  He reckoned the plan he’d worked out was first class, but at this stage it would be stupid to risk losing what he’d achieved by turning his back on it for a fortnight. He’d put off his holiday to the late autumn. By that time he’d be ready to close down his money-making scheme and never return.

  ‘I’m on holiday for the next two weeks,’ Mrs Parks reminded the secretaries one Wednesday afternoon as they were locking up in preparation for going home. ‘Only two more days at work.’

  ‘Oh no!’ Lydia Tomlin exclaimed. ‘Why didn’t you warn me sooner? It usually falls to my lot to keep your work up to date.’

  ‘I’ve been warning you for the last six weeks,’ she laughed. ‘You take no notice.’

  Lydia groaned. ‘I can never remember what I’ll have to do. Show me again tomorrow.’

  ‘I could do it,’ Chloe offered. ‘I always worked in accounts until I came here. I quite enjoy figures.’

  ‘That’s marvellous,’ Lydia said. ‘I can’t add up for toffee.’

  ‘You can use my comptometer.’

  ‘Thanks a bundle,’ Lydia said. ‘You’ll have to show me again how that works.’

  Chloe laughed. ‘Don’t worry, I used one all the time at Owen Owens. Show me tomorrow what it is I have to do, and if I can’t get through everything, Lydia can give me a hand with my work.’

  The following week, Lydia came back from the accountant’s office and put some files on Chloe’s desk. ‘I’ve told Mr Clitheroe that you’ve offered to do Mrs Parks’s work, but he didn’t seem all that pleased.’

  ‘Oh dear, does that mean he doesn’t like me?’ Chloe laughed. ‘I did once douse him with water from my umbrella, but it was an accident.’

  She quite enjoyed adding up the large columns of figures as Mr Clitheroe had specified. When she was confident the totals were correct, she took the files back to his office.

  ‘You’ve been very quick,’ he said.

  ‘I’m used to working with figures,’ she said.

  ‘Oh!’ His eyes behind his heavy glasses looked uneasy. ‘Can you spare the time from Mr Bristow’s work?’

  ‘He likes us to be flexible and help each other. He says that if one of us is off sick or something, then the work goes on seamlessly.’

  ‘I see.’ He opened the top file. ‘Where did you learn about accounting?’

  ‘Not accounting exactly. We were all taught bookkeeping at commercial college and I liked that better than the shorthand and typing. When I started work, it was for the Inland Revenue.’

  ‘Oh! Then you’ll be good at it.’ Chloe thought that that made him look even more uneasy. ‘Thank you, it’s kind of you to do it for me.’

  Leo could feel his stomach churning long after Chloe had left his office. Her beautiful lavender-blue eyes had looked askance at him. Had she noticed his anxiety? The last thing he needed was someone who was used to working with figures. And in particular one of Bristow’s relatives. She was stunningly beautiful; he couldn’t take his eyes off her face. There was nothing wrong with her body either. He’d just love to undress her and take her in his arms. The trouble was, she was quicker on the uptake than Mrs Parks, and he couldn’t afford to let her get close to his figures. She was a danger he’d not foreseen.

  The damn job was wearing him down, he knew he needed to pull himself together. He’d always been very careful about the figures he handed out for Mrs Parks to work on. They were pukka; there was nothing fraudulent in them.

  Leo returned to his bedsit late on Friday afternoon to find that his bank statement had arrived. The credit balance gave him great pleasure; never had he had money like this before. His salary was being paid in and he was taking out only enough to show some movement through the account. He had several times that amount in Alistair Jackson’s account, though he was drawing regular sums out of that. Some, he used to live on, but in addition he was building up cash in embarrassingly large amounts.

  He’d bought fish and chips and a couple of cans of beer to take home for his tea. He sat down to eat and gloat over his wealth. This was what made the nervous stress he was suffering worth while.

  He’d also brought an Evening Echo home with him, and when he opened it and saw advertised a specialist sale of silver in a Liverpool auction room, he felt quite excited. He was missing the collection of antique silver that he’d had to sell. He used to enjoy going to auctions and researching all he could about his pieces.

  It would be a good thing to start another collection, because it would lock his cash out of sight in silver. He could and should indulge himself by buying more. It would be safer than having an over-large bank balance that could draw attention to itself.

  The advertisement told him that the silver would go on public display in the saleroom for three days before the sale. He went in his lunch hour and was beguiled by the glittering array. He bought a catalogue and mooned over it for hours, longing to own it all. He went again to the preview on the following day to decide which pieces he liked most and what he was prepared to pay for them.

  There was the difficulty that the sale would take place during the working day, when he was expected to be at his desk. He immediately let it be known about the office that he had a nagging toothache, and then asked Mr Bristow if he might take an hour or so off on the afternoon of the sale to keep an appointment with his dentist. Old Bristow was quite sympathetic.

  Walter was tired when he got home from work. Joan was in the kitchen, scraping carrots for supper. Immediately she stopped to make him the gin and tonic he needed to unwind. She poured a glass of sherry for herself and followed him into the sitting room. It was part of their comfortable evening routine.

  ‘I’ve kept the local paper for you,’ she said. ‘Did you see there’s to be a big auction of silver tomorrow?’

  ‘No, I haven’t had time to open it this week.’

  Joan had folded it to the right page for him. ‘My goodness,’ he said. ‘They’ve got just about everything here. Some very good candlesticks.’

  ‘We did agree we’d get another pair if we could.’

  ‘We did.’

  ‘I’ll come with you if you want to go to the auction.’

  ‘I’ve never been to one before, but I could take an hour or so off.’ Walter knew that all collectors craved more, and he was no exception. And he had promised Joan some candlesticks. ‘We’ll go.’

  They arrived just before the sale started. Walter wanted to get a closer look at what was on offer. There was so much silver and it all glittered enticingly. There was an aura of expectation in the hall.

  ‘This is exciting,’ Joan whispered.

  ‘There are several pairs of candlesticks, and candelabras too.’

  Joan was nudging him. ‘There’s Adam Livingstone, Chloe’s boyfriend. We bought some lovely pieces from him.’

  ‘But he let her down. He’s never been near her or his children since she left him.’

  ‘For heaven’s sake, he’s seen us.’ Joan was tugging at Walter’s arm. ‘He’s coming over.’

  ‘Good afternoon, it’s Mr and Mrs Bristow, isn’t it? Are you pleased with the silver you bought from me?’

  Adam was smiling at them, not one whit abashed at what he’d done to Joan’s cousin. Walter was not in the habit of showing his displeasure. ‘Very pleased,’ he said, politely.

  ‘You’ve come to buy more?’

  ‘Yes, Joan would like a pair of candlesticks.’

  ‘I remember,’ he said. ‘I wasn’t able to find you any. There are several pairs here.’

  The sale of silver was due to begin at two o’clock, after the lunch break; other goods had bee
n auctioned off in the morning. Full of eager anticipation, Leo arrived before it started. He’d bought his previous collection of silver at auction and knew the drill. He registered as a buyer and was given his bidding paddle, with the number 234.

  Little thrills were bubbling through him as he hurried into the hall to view the silver again. He half expected to find it wasn’t as good as he remembered, but he was not disappointed. He couldn’t help his audible sigh of admiration.

  Within seconds, he had his catalogue out to consider again the prices he’d marked against the pieces he fancied. Leo was fascinated by and felt passionate about good-quality silver, whenever it had been made. What he saw before him would give him a better, more valuable collection than he’d had before.

  He’d timed his arrival well. The auctioneer was mounting the rostrum. He slid through the crowd and found a place at the back of the hall, where he could see who was bidding against him. His heart began to pound as the porter held aloft a pair of five-light Victorian candelabra.

  The buzz of conversation died down as the auctioneer started. ‘A fine pair of silver candelabra in the Adam style. Who will start me at a hundred pounds?’

  Leo had worked out how to get what he wanted at the best possible price. No point in taking risks to get the money only to throw it away by paying more than was necessary. He always waited for the bidding to begin, or until the auctioneer dropped his starting price.

  Concentrate, he told himself. He knew there’d be dealers here and he didn’t want to join a bidding fight and force the price up unnecessarily. One of the bidders dropped out, and then another. Leo held up his paddle. There was only one person against him now. He pressed on and felt a little jerk of triumph as the candlesticks were knocked down to him.

  He was bidding again for a pair of George IV wine coasters when he happened to glance at the person bidding against him. The shock made him freeze, although for a moment he wasn’t entirely sure. Then the man turned his head slightly so that he glimpsed the side of his face, and he felt his stomach turn over. Walter Bristow was here!