by John Creasey
‘He didn’t say one thing or the other.’
‘Mother!’ Priscilla called, from her bedroom. ‘Is that you? I’ll be down in a minute.’
‘All right, ‘Silla,’ Kate called, and added to Gideon: ‘I bet Malcolm is doing his homework and looking at the television at the same time, that boy will never get on if we can’t make him concentrate. You let them in, I’ll make sure that the coast is clear.’
‘Kate, don’t you think you . . .’
‘I’ll come in after a quarter of an hour,’ said Kate, as the footsteps stopped outside, and then sounded again on the path leading to the front door.
Kate went along to the kitchen, while Matthew, who had a key, stood hesitating on the front doorstep. There was a whisper of voices before the key sounded in the lock. Gideon put on the light of the front room, with its shiny mahogany furniture, its deep settee and rather formal comfort, and went in. He thrust his right hand into his pocket and smoothed the bowl of his pipe much as he would at the office when he was expecting a difficult interview. Then Matthew came in, and said in a muted voice:
‘I’ll just see where they are.’
‘All right,’ whispered Helen.
‘I’m in here, Matthew,’ Gideon said, and failed completely to keep the harsh note out of his voice. It was going to be very difficult to keep a balance in this situation, and he reminded himself that he had to be objective and rational, and that nothing must be done in haste. ‘Come in, the pair of you,’ he went on.
Matthew came in first, looked at his father very straightly, and then stood aside for Helen. She also stared straight at Gideon, but went pink as she did so; Matthew had two red spots against the pallor of his cheeks. Matthew looked much more spick and span than usual, Helen was made up as for an occasion, wearing a very pale lipstick, just then in vogue. As Matthew closed the door, she moved towards Gideon, only a little hesitantly. She had certainly matured. The loose coat which draped from her shoulders and fell open at the front showed her small waist, rounded hips, and that beautifully shaped, provocative little bosom. She was a pretty thing, too, in a rather unusual way, with a heart-shaped face, a slightly snub nose, and rounded blue eyes.
‘Hallo, Helen,’ Gideon said.
‘Mr. Gideon, I hope you won’t mind if I say something first,’ said Helen. ‘I’ve been thinking of it ever since Matt and I decided that we ought both to come and face you together.’
‘Carry on,’ conceded Gideon.
‘Thank you,’ Helen said, with gravity far beyond her years. She had lost the flush, and was even more pale than Matthew. Her skin was very clear and without blemish, rather as if it were transparent. ‘It’s just this, Mr. Gideon. It was just as much my fault as Matthew’s, and I am a year older.’
‘Hmm,’ grunted Gideon. ‘I daresay you’re right - sit down, do - and even I know that it takes two to create a situation like this.’ He looked across at Matthew, who was standing stiffly, not quite at attention. Helen sat down.
‘How old are you, Helen?’
That gained a moment or two.
‘Nearly twenty,’ Helen answered. ‘And I have thought about this, Mr. Gideon. I am old enough to know what it all implies.’
‘Yes,’ said Gideon. ‘Yes, obviously you are.’ He glanced at his son. Are you, Matthew?’
‘I think so, sir.’ Matthew hadn’t called him ‘sir’ for years.
‘I gather that you’ve some idea that in spite of this, you don’t feel obliged to get married,’ Gideon said. Aren’t you overdoing the cynical attitude?’
‘I don’t think so,’ answered Helen quickly; whether Matthew liked it or not, he was going to have this interview managed for him. ‘The point is, Mr. Gideon, that everyone knows these days that there couldn’t be a worse start for a marriage than to be under an obligation, or to be burdened with a baby almost from the beginning. It isn’t what people would say and think, it isn’t even what my - my parents would think.’ She faltered for the first time. ‘It’s that it would probably ruin our lives. And at the moment, I can’t think of anyone I would like to marry less than Matthew. I think he feels the same about me.’
‘We - we feel we’ve got to chalk it up against experience,’ Matthew blurted out.
Gideon said heavily: ‘Oh, you do, do you?’ He looked straight at his son, and he would never know that he looked exactly as he often did with a man in front of him at his office - one already charged or about to be charged with some serious offence. His voice grew deeper, rougher. ‘It’s as simple as that, is it? Chalk it up to experience. Let me tell you, young man, that you’ve let Helen down, you’ve betrayed the trust of her parents, you’ve let your mother down with a hell of a bang, and you’ve made me feel thoroughly ashamed of my own flesh and blood. I didn’t ever think that would happen.’ He saw Helen open her mouth, and waved her to silence. Matthew was standing absolutely still, eyes burning, the two spots vivid on his cheeks. ‘Don’t you let me hear any more glib talk about chalking it up to experience. Apart from getting Helen into a lot of trouble and creating problems that might affect her for the rest of her life, you’ve behaved like a skunk. What do you think you’ve got reproductive glands for? To behave like a farmyard animal? You can help to create children, you can make a girl or a woman conceive, but man, woman and sex carry a hell of a lot more responsibility than you seem to think. A man’s responsibility, and in some ways the biggest responsibility any man can carry. And no one else can help carry it for you. You’ll make or mar your own life and you’ll make and mar Helen’s. I’m not going to rub it in any more than I have to, but if I hear any more talk or see any indication that you take it lightly or ‘chalk it up to experience’ I’ll give you the hiding of your life.’ Gideon wiped his forehead, because he was suddenly warm; but he felt much better than when the interview had started. ‘Now come and sit down and start thinking about this like an adult, not a boy. As for you, Helen, you’re going to hear all about it from your parents before long, and there’s just one thing I want from you.’
Matthew didn’t move, but his eyes were shinier than ever, and he was clenching and unclenching his hands.
‘What . . . what is that, Mr. Gideon?’ Helen made herself ask.
‘I want to know how I can help,’ Gideon said. ‘I’m more sorry than I can say that it’s happened, but it has happened and it’s partly my fault for not keeping a stricter eye on Matthew. Now, what can I do?’
He was startled when the door opened and Kate came in; startled because quite suddenly Helen’s face began to pucker up, and she began to cry. Kate went straight across to her. Matthew was biting his lips. The music from the television seemed to be from another world.
‘If . . if . . if only you’d break the news to my mother and father,’ Helen said, a few minutes later. ‘I just can’t tell them myself, I’d rather die.’
‘Why, hallo, George,’ said Ted Miall, standing with his back to the hall of the house which was identical with Gideon’s, except that it was in need of decorating and there were no signs of the improvements such as Gideon had carried out. ‘Come in, do. You’re just in time for a cup of tea. Jane’s putting the kettle on.’ He closed the door on Gideon, and led the way along the hall towards the kitchen, then said suddenly: ‘Or would you rather have a word in the front room? I can easily . . .’
‘Who is it, Ted?’ called Mrs. Miall.
‘It’s George Gideon. George . . .’
‘I don’t know whether either of you has any idea what I’ve come about,’ said Gideon, as Mrs. Miall hurried along, ‘but I hope you’re not going to throw me out.’ He looked at the pair, both in the early fifties, a little faded, a little careworn, a little thin-faced, rather earnest and solemn and very sober people. ‘If someone were coming to me with the same story I’d like Kate to be present, and I hope you will agree, Jane.’ He wanted to get it over. ‘The truth is . . .’
‘So it was Matthew,’ Jane Miall said, in a dead-sounding voice.
‘What . . .’ beg
an her husband, squeakily.
‘That’s what you’ve come about, George, isn’t it?’ asked Mrs. Miall. ‘Matthew and our Helen. Ted, I told you that I didn’t like the signs with Helen. I didn’t like the way she went off her food in the morning, and . . .’
‘Good gracious,’ Miall said, and the trite exclamation irritated Gideon. ‘Matthew.’
‘You’d better come and sit down,’ Jane Miall said. ‘It’s no use standing in the hall like this, and I want a cup of tea.’
As they went towards the kitchen, Miall said in a stronger voice: ‘Are you telling me that your son has taken advantage of my daughter, and - and put her with child?’
‘I wish it weren’t so, Ted,’ Gideon said, ‘but it is.’
‘Why, it’s outrageous! It . . .’
‘Teddy, it wasn’t George,’ protested Jane Miall, and Gideon looked at her in fresh understanding and appreciation. They went into a bleak, bare living-room-cum-kitchen, where an open fire sent out a fierce, roasting heat.
‘Sit down, George,’ Mrs. Miall said. ‘Who told you - or did you or Kate find out?’
Gideon began to talk.
Ted Miall said very little, and that little was almost comical; he certainly knew all the stock phrases. But Gideon felt a stirring of hope that his wife would show real understanding and realise that the youngsters had never needed help and guidance as they did now. A censorious attitude might easily drive them into doing something silly, perhaps dangerous. Gideon sipped tea, while Miall let his get cold in his cup. It was stiflingly hot, and the fire seemed to grow fiercer. When Gideon had finished, it was Miall who said:
‘Well, there’s only one possible solution. They must get married as soon as they can. There is no reason why they shouldn’t have the banns called and be married within three weeks, there are plenty of premature babies. There’s no need for a special licence. My goodness, if they’d waited much longer before telling us, everyone would have known! We’ve lived here eighteen years, and in all that time nothing like this has ever happened to one of my family.’
‘Ted,’ Gideon said, very heavily, ‘they don’t want to get married.’
‘They don’t what?’
‘George, I think it would be better if you were to go and fetch Helen,’ said Jane Miall. ‘Then when we’ve had a talk with her, we can discuss it again in the morning. Tell Helen she needn’t worry, though.’
‘You can tell Helen and you can tell your son that they haven’t any choice,’ declared Miall, angrily. ‘They’ve got to get married at the earliest possible moment. Your son’s got to do the right thing by my daughter, and the sooner he makes up his mind to it the better.’
He glared into Gideon’s eyes, a smaller, frailer man, the kind of man Gideon could make two of, but there was a strength in him which Gideon saw and understood; a stubbornness which he had known and feared. ‘And I shall expect you to bring all the necessary pressure to bear on your son,’ Miall went on. ‘He’s betrayed our trust, that’s what he’s done. If I had my way, I would give him a thorough thrashing.’
‘I know how you feel,’ Gideon said.
‘George, will you bring Helen home?’ asked Jane Miall.
Gideon went out of the house slowly, leaving the door ajar, hearing Miall talking the moment he thought that it was safe from being overheard. ‘I don’t care what you say, they’ll have to do right by our child . . .’
Kate was at the gate.
Gideon gave her the drift of what had passed between him and the Mialls, and she nodded thoughtfully, and said:
‘It’s about what we’d expect. Leave Helen to me now, George.’
He was only too glad to obey, and followed her into the house and the front room, where Helen and Matthew were sitting stiffly on either side of the fireplace with its big overmantel mirror. Helen jumped up.
‘How did they take it?’ she burst out.
‘Helen, I think you’ve got to make up your mind to a trying few days,’ Kate said. ‘Your father is very upset, and your mother deeply hurt, of course. You’ll have to be extremely patient, especially with your father. When he’s talking, no matter how much you disagree with what he says, you’ve got to remember that it is you and Matthew, not your mother and father, who are responsible for the situation. You will have to be very, very humble.’
‘I . . I know,’ Helen said huskily. ‘I will be.’
‘I’ll come back with you,’ Kate offered, and a few minutes later, Matthew was left alone with his father. By now it was obvious that Priscilla and Malcolm were aware that something exceptional was up, and Gideon wondered whether it would be wiser to tell the whole family; at least it would stop whispering and prying. He must talk to Kate about that.
‘Well, son,’ he said gruffly.
‘I . . I didn’t mean that ch-ch-chalk it up the way it sounded,’ Matthew muttered. ‘I do realise what a heel I’ve been, Dad. I do really. Do you think Mr. Miall will insist on us getting married right away?’
‘I think we’ll all have to spend a few days thinking it out and trying to make sure what’s best,’ Gideon said. ‘You’ll have to wear sackcloth and ashes for a while, anyhow. Tell me this: is Helen the first girl you’ve known in this way?’
‘Good lord, yes!’
‘Did anything lead up to it, apart from having too much to drink on New Year’s Eve?’
‘You mean, did anything happen between Helen and me before that? Well, no,’ answered Matthew, and he flushed. ‘As a matter of fact, Dad, I first thought of Helen as a - as a woman, if you see what I mean, when we were out in a party at Maidenhead in September. You remember, there was a very hot week-end, and a dozen of us went. I’d never really noticed Helen before, not - not her body, I mean. I’d noticed plenty of other women and like most chaps made a few jokes about vital statistics, but Helen was wearing a bikini. Everyone made a joke about it, but she was a bit embarrassed, and told me afterwards that she hadn’t realised it was so small. She’d bought it last year, and - well, she’d got bigger. Somehow from then on I was interested in her. We went to the pictures now and again, and the tennis club dances. But there wasn’t anything serious, until New Year’s Eve. Well, New Year’s Day really.’
‘All right, son,’ Gideon said gruffly. ‘I’ll do all I can to help work this thing out the best way.’ He admitted that he was stalling even himself, but that was what he most wanted; to be able to consider the situation when it was possible to feel calm, when the shock effect had gone.
As he spoke, the telephone bell rang. He glanced at his watch, saw that it was nearly half past eleven, and hoped that this wasn’t a call that would take him out. The last thing he wanted was to leave Kate on her own tonight.
It was KL Division.
‘Information at the Yard asked me to call you, sir,’ the man said. ‘They said you’d left instructions to be informed about Mrs. Manson.’
‘Yes?’
‘A Dr. Forbeson has just reported to the Division, sir, and says that he doesn’t think there is very much one can do for Mrs. Manson for the time being. She’s still very violent. Quite off her rocker, sir, if you know what I mean.’
‘I know what you mean,’ Gideon said heavily. ‘All right, thanks. What about Manson?’
‘He’s taking it on the chin,’ the man answered. ‘Apparently he’s staying with some neighbours. You knew that Briggs made a full confession, didn’t you?’
‘Yes,’ said Gideon. ‘All right, thanks.’ He rang off, and immediately dialled the Yard, aware that Matthew was alone in the front room, and in the kitchen Priscilla and Malcolm were whispering.
‘What kind of a night is it?’ Gideon inquired of the Information Officer who answered:
‘Pretty quiet,’ said Information. ‘Five drunks in Piccadilly started a fight but they’re all cooling their heels, now. There was a fire over at Canning Town, but it was put out before it spread much. A jeweller’s window in . . .’
‘All right, thanks,’ said Gideon, for he heard Kate comi
ng in. He watched her closing the door, and thought of the screaming woman at the warehouse, and the probability that she had been driven insane. He thought of the fire which had been put out, and found himself thinking again of the eight victims of the fire at Lambeth. Eight, remember, and tonight he had hardly given them a thought. There was one consolation: he could be sure that Lucky Margetson had.
Kate beckoned, Gideon went with her into the front room, where Matthew was sitting on an upright chair, his eyes still feverishly bright. Kate closed the door briskly, and said:
‘Mrs. Miall will help Helen all she can, and we’ll all feel better when we’ve slept on it. I told Priscilla that there was some talk of the two of you wanting to get married, and that will satisfy her and everyone else. It would be quite enough to cause a family upheaval. Don’t snap at them if they ask questions, Matthew, just try to laugh it off. Don’t you agree, George?’
‘Absolutely,’ Gideon said. He had never appreciated his wife so much.
Tony Harrison was thinking about his wife, too, at that very moment, and he was talking to himself.
‘I could make her take them myself,’ he said. ‘I could stand over her while she took them, force them down her neck if necessary. My God, that’s it! I’ll wait until she starts moaning about not sleeping, and . . .’
His thoughts broke suddenly, and he stood very still. Then he said in a soft voice:
‘No I won’t. I’ll mix a dozen sleeping tablets in some hot rum, she won’t know there’s anything wrong with the flavour. The very first chance I get.’
He put his right hand to his pocket, and touched a box of sleeping tablets which the doctor had prescribed for his wife a few months ago, just after Tim had left for the army. Two at night at the very most, the doctor had warned.
Everyone knew how unhappy Pamela had been because the kids had left home. No one would really be surprised that she killed herself.
11 WEEK OF ANXIETY
When Gideon reached his office next morning, Saturday, Joe Bell was there with a pile of reports in front of him, and a bigger pile already stood on Gideon’s desk. They said, ‘’Morning, Joe, ‘’Morning George,’ and Gideon took off his coat and draped it over a chair, then mechanically pulled his tie loose. He stared at the pile of reports as he sat in front of the desk, and said: