We arrive at the shop and my first task is to squirrel away the ten thousand pounds of used notes in the stockroom. Then, once the opening routine is completed, I set Clement up in the staffroom with my laptop, and introduce him to YouTube.
“There are millions of videos on here covering every subject you can imagine. It should keep you occupied for a few hours.”
“Every subject?”
“Pretty much. Let me show you.”
I quickly think of something which might hold his interest, and search for ‘Arsenal in the 1950s’. A whole raft of British Pathé videos pop up. I click the first one, something to do with a cup final, and the grainy black and white video begins.
Clement sits bolt upright and stares intently at the screen. “Bloody hell,” he murmurs.
“Do you want to try searching for something?”
“Yeah.”
It is at this point my tuition hits a brick wall. Clement claims he has never used a computer before, so even words like ‘cursor’ and ‘link’ are totally alien to him.
Then there’s Clement’s painstakingly slow keyboard strokes, administered with one finger — a whole different league of frustration.
“Have you never typed before?”
“Annie had a typewriter. Used that once.”
It soon becomes clear why I could never have been a teacher. After half-an-hour, my paper-thin patience is spent and I decide to leave him to it.
“Just give me a shout if you get stuck.”
“Will do.”
I return to the shop and he shouts for help five times within an hour. Why didn’t I just give him a book?
It’s a blessed relief when a grey-haired man in a suit walks in.
“Miss Baxter? I’m Howard Grant.”
“Nice to meet you, Howard, but please, call me Beth.”
I give Howard a guided tour of the shop, pointing out the various fixtures and fittings that will be included in the sale. The denim-clad giant in the staffroom takes a little more explaining.
“Excuse my friend, Howard. I’m just helping him to polish his IT skills.”
Clement nods at Howard. “Alright, mate.”
“Very well, thank you.”
I quickly escort Howard back into the shop and we go through the contract. He hands me a pen and points to where my signature is required.
I pause briefly, the significance of the moment not lost on me.
Just sign it, stupid.
The contract is signed and Howard snaps a few photos of the shop, both inside and out.
“I’ll have the sales particulars drawn up by Monday. I’ll email them over as soon as they’re ready.”
Howard departs with a reassuring smile and a handshake.
As soon as the door closes, I take a minute to reassure myself I’m doing the right thing.
“Who was that bloke?”
I spin around to find Clement standing in the doorway.
“Oh, him? He’s a commercial estate agent. I’ve put the shop up for sale.”
“What are you gonna do, for a job?”
“I’m…erm, going to concentrate on trying to write a book,” I reply hesitantly.
As soon as the words leave my mouth, I regret sharing them with Clement.
“Good for you, doll.”
It wasn’t the reaction I was expecting.
“No punchline?”
“Nah. You gotta do what makes you happy.”
“I appreciate that, Clement. It means a lot.”
“No worries. Can we have lunch now?”
With my stomach in knots, food is the last thing on my mind. I give Clement some money and point him in the direction of a sandwich shop.
By the time he returns, a handful of customers are browsing the aisles. He wanders straight through to the staffroom, lunch in hand.
If ever there was a time I needed the shop to be busy, today would be it. As the meeting with Sterling looms closer, I feel increasingly nervous, and I’m not sure why. I have his bloody money, and I’ll have Clement on hand if he threatens me again. The transaction should take no more than five minutes — his bogus contract will be torn up and I can get on with the rest of my life.
But I don’t trust him one iota. He’s already proven to be devious and dangerous so I’m taking nothing for granted.
As it happens, the gods are smiling on me today, and I’m kept occupied dealing with a steady stream of customers.
At three o’clock, I receive a call from the car dealer to say the Micra is ready, as is my cash. I put a sign in the window, stating we’ll be closed for the rest of the afternoon, and lock up.
Clement is still sitting in the staffroom, watching a black and white newsreel.
“I’ve got to go to the bank and pick up my new car. Are you coming?”
“Yeah. I’m going stir crazy in here.”
We head through the town to the bank and return to the shop with nine thousand pounds in cash. I stash it in the stockroom with the rest of the cash, hidden behind a pile of books even the most thorough of burglars would probably ignore.
The car dealer is only a few miles away and we arrive just before four o’clock. The man I spoke to on the phone, Bernard, introduces himself and leads us behind a portacabin where my new car is parked. He takes the keys for the Fiat and invites me to check the little red Micra over, and take it for a quick test drive.
Once Bernard disappears, I take the opportunity to walk around the Micra. I kick the tyres a few times, and turn the engine over.
“Do you know much about cars?” I ask Clement.
“A bit. Want me to check under the bonnet?”
“Please.”
It takes five minutes to find the bonnet catch, and thirty seconds for Clement to declare he doesn’t know what he’s looking at.
“Sorry, doll. It looks nothing like the engines I used to tinker with.”
“Never mind. Let’s take it out for a spin.”
Despite the fact it smells of cheap aftershave, and the upholstery has a few dubious stains, it’s not a bad little car. It lacks the character of the Fiat, and it’s travelled plenty more miles, but it should serve my needs for a year or two.
By the time we return to the car lot, Bernard is ready with a mountain of paperwork for me to complete.
Half an hour later, I am the proud owner of a Nissan Micra, and a bundle of fifty pound notes.
We arrive back at the shop half an hour before Sterling is due, and the moment I walk through the door, my nerves begin to jangle.
I thought I was doing a reasonable job of hiding my apprehension, but Clement can tell something isn’t right.
“Don’t worry, doll. It’ll be over soon.”
“I know, but I just can’t stand the man — he puts me on edge. The thought of being in the same room as him, even for just a few minutes, makes my skin crawl.”
“Don’t see him then. Let me handle it.”
It’s a tempting offer, but this is more about closure than control. I need to be completely sure Sterling is out of my life once and for all.
And if I’m honest, Clement’s propensity to handle confrontation with extreme violence does concern me. This could easily escalate if not handled properly, and I don’t want to risk anything going wrong at the last minute if Sterling goads him. After everything I’ve been through, I just want to draw a line under it.
“I appreciate the offer, Clement, but I have to see this through myself. I need to be totally sure it’s over.”
“Your call, doll. Shall I hang around out back, just in case?”
“I’d really appreciate that, thanks. Promise me you won’t come steaming in though, unless I call you for any reason.”
“I can’t even give him a quick slap?”
“God, I’d love you to, but no. Please, just stay in the staffroom.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll keep out of the way.”
I collect the cash from the stockroom, add the thousand Bernard gave me, and dro
p it into a carrier bag. It’s been a long, long time since there was so much cash in the shop. I stare into the bag at the pile of bundled notes, trying to stifle my anger. It riles me I have to give it all away for a debt that was never mine. I suppose I never paid for the ring or the car, but the ten thousand pounds for the gold really stings.
Easy come, easy go, I suppose.
Perhaps not so for Clement’s Zippo though.
With another fifteen minutes to kill, I put the kettle on and make myself a cup of camomile tea. Clement isn’t keen to give it a try so I make him a cup of builders tea. He then settles down to watch the 1971 cup final on the laptop.
“Sterling will be here in a minute so I’m going to go through to the shop.”
“Alright, doll.”
“And you promise to stay in here, and not interfere?”
“You know I don’t do promises, but don’t worry. I’ll stay put.”
I pat him on the shoulder and turn to walk into the shop.
I make it to the doorway when he calls after me.
“Doll.”
I turn around. “Yes.”
“Any trouble, you shout for me. Okay?”
“Okay.”
I close the door behind me and with the carrier bag in hand, trudge across to the front door and unlock it. I remove the sign and take refuge behind the counter.
I close my eyes and take a few deep breaths.
Ten minutes and this will all be over.
As I open my eyes, I catch a flash of red beyond the window. A huge car, a Bentley I think, pulls up to the kerb opposite the shop. A portly man in a grey suit gets out from behind the wheel and scuttles around to the other side of the car. He opens the rear door and virtually stands to attention.
An elderly man climbs out, adjusts his navy blazer, and nods at the portly man.
He turns, taps the roof of the car, and strides towards the shop.
I’ll give David Sterling one thing — he’s punctual.
43
“Evening, Miss Baxter. I trust you are well?”
Sterling closes the door behind him and looks around the shop. In his navy blazer, crisp white shirt, and yellow cravat, he looks no more threatening than the chairman of a bowls club committee. The look in this case, is absolutely deceiving.
He casually saunters up to the counter.
“How’s your mother?”
“None of your business,” I hiss.
“I had to visit the hospital again on Monday. You can probably guess who I was visiting.”
I glare back at him. “No.”
“My associates, Miss Baxter. Mr Black has been discharged, but I’m afraid Mr Blue will be in hospital for some time, and I suspect he’ll be walking with a stick for the rest of his life.”
“What a shame.”
“It is, and quite an inconvenience for me. Still, I’ve got other good men I can rely upon.”
He then turns his head and nods towards the window.
“See the two men in my car? Donald and Terence — both highly-respected, retired police officers with distinguished careers behind them. Donald is my driver, and Terence handles security for all my property investments.”
I look across at the Bentley. One of the two men is the portly driver but I can’t quite see the other, not that I really care.
“So what?”
“I don’t like taking chances, Miss Baxter. Would I be right in assuming the man who put my associates in hospital is nearby?”
I don’t answer, but I don’t have a particularly good poker face it seems.
“I thought as much. Well, assuming he is, you should know that Donald and Terence are watching, and they’d make excellent witnesses. If there is even the hint of violence, the police will be here in seconds and I’ll ensure the perpetrator is punished to the full extent of the law.”
“Whatever. Let’s just get this done.”
“That would suit me,” he says flatly.
I reach down, pick up the bag of cash from the floor, and place it on the counter.
“It’s all there, but I want that contract first.”
He slides his hand into the inside pocket of his blazer and extracts a folded piece of paper.
“You mean this?”
“Yes.”
“I’m more than happy to hand it over…”
He pauses and holds the contract in the air, tantalisingly close enough for me to grab.
“…to Mr Patterson.”
“Eh?”
“I said, Miss Baxter, I’m happy to hand it over to Mr Patterson.”
“Tough luck,” I snap. “He’s not here.”
“Where is he then?”
“How the hell should I know? That man is dead to me.”
“Oh dear. That is a shame.”
He slowly and deliberately tucks the contract back in his blazer pocket.
“It doesn’t look like we’re going to conclude our business then. I’ll get the memorandum of sale drawn up for the purchase of your property.”
“What? No. I’ve got the money, like you asked.”
“Clearly you weren’t paying attention, Miss Baxter. I wanted Mr Patterson to repay the debt — in person.”
“You never said that.”
“I’m sure I did. Perhaps you weren’t listening.”
My mind flashes back to the two previous encounters with Sterling. Did he mention Karl handing over the money? Surely if he had, I’d have picked up on it.
Whether he did or he didn’t, it’s now academic. The only thing that matters now is that he wants something I can’t give him — Karl.
The goalposts, which I thought were within shooting distance, are now several miles down the road.
“What difference does it make? I’ve got your money so give me the contract.”
He sidles up to the counter until there’s barely four feet between us.
“You stupid girl,” he says, his voice low. “Do you really think I give a damn about twenty poxy grand? Your fiancé was of much greater value to me when he was employed in the planning office. I want him back here, and behind that desk where he can influence my future developments.”
“But…I don’t know where he is. His phone has been disconnected.”
“Then you are in default. If Mr Patterson is not here to sign off the contract, it remains in force, irrespective of your efforts. And you know what that means?”
“I don’t care what it means. You can’t do this.”
“Oh, I think you’ll find I can. And I will.”
Desperation arrives and I seriously consider calling Clement in. I’m banging my head against a brick wall here, and I’m minded to damn the consequences and let Clement literally bang Sterling’s head against a brick wall.
The only thing stopping me is my own stubbornness. Maybe time for another tack?
“Please,” I beg. “Just take the money and leave me alone.”
He drums his fingers on the counter. Maybe my revised tack has worked.
“Tell you what I’m willing to do, as a gesture of goodwill. I’ll give you three days to find Mr Patterson and bring him to me. Do that and we can put this unpleasantness to bed.”
“I told you, I don’t know where he is. If he’s so important to you, why don’t you find him yourself?”
“You really are unbelievably thick,” he snipes. “Do you want me to spell it out for you?”
My blank expression suggests I do.
“You’re the only person he’s likely to come back for. You are my leverage, Miss Baxter.”
As much as it pains me to admit it, Karl was right. Well, partly. Sterling no doubt assumed I’d never get the money together, and I’d therefore concentrate my efforts on finding Karl. If he’d made that clear in the first place, I might have spent the last seven days trying to find my errant ex-fiancé, rather than the cash.
But knowing the true reason, and being able to do anything about it, are very different things.
“Thre
e days is bloody ridiculous,” I protest. “I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”
“It’s the only concession I’m prepared to make, Miss Baxter. Three days to find him or I buy your home for the price of my choosing.”
Clearly pleading didn’t work and my subservience is clouded out as a red mist descends.
“No. Fucking. Way.”
“I beg your pardon.”
“There is no way on God’s earth I am letting you take my home.”
He leans across the counter, the spotlights deepening the shadow along his scar.
“You listen to me young lady,” he snarls. “If I’m going to lose Patterson’s influence, I want sufficient compensation. You will sell your house and you will accept whatever price I damn well see fit. And because of your insolence, that price is now half the market value.”
“I’m not selling my home.”
“Then you leave me no other choice.”
He withdraws from the counter and pulls a mobile phone from his pocket. With needle-like fingers, he prods the screen a few times.
“You had your chance, Miss Baxter. I’m afraid your mother will now bear the consequences of your bloody-mindedness.”
“For God’s sake. Leave her out of this.”
He turns to me, his finger poised over the phone screen.
“I send this text message and your mother is as good as dead. Last chance — are you going to find Patterson or sell your home to me?”
I’m out of options.
“Clement!”
The door from the staffroom crashes open.
“You wanna repeat that?” Clement booms.
If Sterling is alarmed at Clement’s sudden appearance, he doesn’t show it. He casually slips his phone back in his pocket and turns to face him.
“Ahh, so you’re the man who put my associates in hospital?”
Clement doesn’t answer as he strides towards us, his fists balled tightly. He stops dead, about six feet short of Sterling. I breathe a sigh of relief his opening salvo isn’t administered with his fists.
“I assume you were eavesdropping?” Sterling says, matter-of-factly. “So, you’ll know I have witnesses, two former police officers, just twenty yards away. Touch me, and you’ll find yourself in the back of a police van pretty sharpish.”
Clement takes a step to his left, tilting his head slightly, as if weighing up his opponent.
Who Sent Clement? Page 37