A New Dawn Rising

by Michael Joseph

  'And who are you?' the angry man asked Sam aggressively.

  Sam felt the heckles rise on his neck. Who was this arsehole?

  'I tell you what, mate,' he replied evenly. 'You talk to me properly and I'll give you a polite answer.'

  The man was speechless for a moment. Sam supposed he was a gaffer of some kind and not accustomed to people talking back to him in such a way.

  'I'm Dave Starkey, the foreman,' the man huffed pompously. 'Not that it's any of your business. Now, what are you doing here?'

  Sam told him. Once again, the reaction he got was one of bewilderment.

  'A driver?' yelled Starkey indignantly. 'What the hell is the man playing at?'

  Starkey didn't hang around for an answer. He was already marching off in the direction of Carl's office, presumably for words with his boss. Sam watched him go thoughtfully. Was Bill Seymour arguing with Carl over the same thing? He could understand why these people felt repulsed. They had seen work colleagues lose their jobs, and now the man responsible was paying out for the luxury of a personal driver. It looked bad. They didn't know the real reason for Sam being hired, and Carl was unlikely to be sharing it with them.

  It appeared Sam had unwillingly walked into a sensitive situation and he didn't appreciate it one bit.

  Chapter 9

  Sam headed back through the factory intent on speaking with Carl. However, word seemed to have already spread amongst the workers and a general unease had infiltrated the atmosphere. Sam was aware of people staring at him as he walked by. Others whispered to each other and pointed in his direction. Then a shout went up from somewhere, followed by another. Suddenly, he was the sole focus of hundreds of mistrusting eyes. A sea of resentful faces leered at him. A hand tugged at his sleeve.

  Sam turned to face the young blonde lad he had spoken to in the loading bay.

  'C'mon mate,' he said to Sam earnestly, 'let's get you out of here.'

  Sam went to argue his innocence but realised it would do no good. He couldn't satisfy their sense of injustice. The wrath of these people could only be extinguished by the words of their boss. He reluctantly allowed himself to be ushered out of the building with jeers and catcalls ringing in his ears.

  ***

  Sam leaned against the Jag, oblivious to the cold air nipping at him. He was fuming. Jimmy, the lad who may well have rescued him from a lynching, had gone back inside. With a sympathetic smile, he had told Sam not to take it personally. He had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Jimmy had overheard the way Sam had talked back to Starkey earlier. He told Sam anyone who stood up to that bully was a decent bloke.

  When Carl came out a few minutes later, Sam's anger had subsided a few degrees. He still gave Carl both barrels, though.

  'What was all that about, Carl? Letting me walk around telling them I was your new driver when you'd just sacked a load of their mates?'

  Carl looked sheepish.

  'Sam, what can I say? I hold my hands up.'

  He did as well, high into the air.

  'I hadn't thought it through properly...how they'd react...'

  Sam looked at him. With his hands held up in submission, Carl resembled a sad puppy awaiting execution. Sam found it impossible to stay angry at him.

  'Too bloody right, you didn't. Now, put your hands down, Carl. You're embarrassing me even more, if that's possible.'

  ***

  'So, did they have a good moan at you?' asked Sam. 'That's one unhappy group of people you've got back there.'

  He had changed his mind about packing the job in but only because of the money. Now, having gladly left the factory in his wake, he was driving Carl to a meeting in Ashbury, a town twenty miles out of Bursleigh. A conference for local business owners.

  'Yeah, they had their say,' replied Carl, absent-mindedly flicking through some paperwork. 'I told them I'd talk to the entire workforce in the morning. I'll smooth things over. Tell them you're working voluntarily or something. My contribution to the unemployed.'

  Sam laughed despite himself. Carl Renshaw had some brass. An unerring ability to bounce back and turn things to his advantage. One more hard-nosed trait that had helped him to success.

  'That's if any of them return tomorrow,' said Sam mischievously.

  'Sam, business has its ups and downs,' explained Carl, all chirpy again. 'Right now, things are a bit slow, but it's nothing to worry about. I've been here before. It'll pick up again. When it does, those people laid off will get their jobs back. In the meantime, the rest of them need the money too badly to cause a fuss.'

  Don't we all, mused Sam.

  Chapter 10

  In the warmth of the foyer, Sam watched a young man outside struggle in vain with his umbrella. An almighty gust of wind suddenly took hold of it and blew it inside out in spectacular fashion. The man stared at his wrecked umbrella, threw it in the nearest bin and stomped off in disgust.

  Sam stretched out his legs and turned his attention back to the newspaper he had picked up off the table. He gave it a cursory glance. The meeting had been going on for two and a half hours. Carl had told him it shouldn't run over three hours. Sam yawned. Another thirty minutes. He tried to quell his complete and utter boredom by consoling himself this was the life, sitting around drinking tea for a living. It took him back to the slow shifts on the force. Another lifetime ago.

  The entrance door was pushed open and a blast of cold air entered the foyer. A woman in a grey business suit hastily smoothed down her bedraggled hair and looked over in Sam's direction. Noting the settee opposite him was free, she strode over and sank gratefully into the chair.

  'Christ, that wind!' she exclaimed, folding her arms and gazing at him. 'It's a nightmare!'

  Sam told her it was indeed. He yawned again. The woman looked at him with some pity.

  'Have you been sat here all this time waiting for them?' she asked, nodding in the direction of the closed meeting-room doors.

  'Yeah, and it's taking long enough,' replied Sam, glad for once to have the distraction of some company. Not a single person had entered the foyer for two hours. Even the receptionist had long disappeared.

  'You won't catch me sitting around for hours on end,' his new companion remarked haughtily. 'I've been into town and done some shopping.'

  'You're a driver as well?'

  Carrie Smith introduced herself, curtly informing Sam she was most certainly not a driver. She was the personal assistant to Colin Doyle, chairman and owner of Minstrel Clothing.

  'Who's doing the driving for Mr Doyle today, then?' Sam teased, having seen Carrie drop car keys into her handbag as she came through the door.

  Carrie crossed her legs and pretended to look offended.

  'Okay, I'm a personal assistant who does a bit of driving sometimes.'

  Sam looked at her but said nothing.

  'Okay, the games up!' she said, with a hint of a smile. 'A lot of driving ever since the chauffeur caught whatever horrible illness he's got.' Carrie glanced at her wristwatch. 'The meeting shouldn't take much longer, as long as Mr Doyle doesn't get into another row with Mr Renshaw.'

  Sam's ears pricked up.

  'Mr Renshaw?' he asked. 'Carl Renshaw, from DR Garments?'

  'That's him. Mr Doyle can't stand the man. Anyway, who are you waiting for?'

  Sam grinned at her.

  'What's so funny?' she asked.

  Then the penny dropped.

  'You're here with Mr Renshaw?'

  Sam nodded. Carrie's jaw dropped open. She placed her hand over her mouth.

  'Oh, no!' she cried, looking horrified. 'How embarrassing!'

  Sam tried to keep a straight face. They stared at each other for a few seconds, then both burst out laughing.

  'I really shouldn't have said that,' Carrie squealed, wiping tears from her eyes. 'Sorry.'

  'Hey, I'm his driver, not his mother. I couldn't care less.'

  This started Carrie off giggling again.

  'Seriously,' said Sam. 'What's the pro
blem between the two of them?'

  Carrie told him she wasn't totally sure. DR Garments and Minstrel Clothing were in the same trade, so their respective owners were naturally direct business rivals. However, Carrie thought it was more personal than that.

  'They just don't seem to like each other.' she said. 'Mr Doyle seems to have more of a problem, which is strange as you'd have thought Mr Renshaw would be the one with more reason to-'

  'I don't understand,' interrupted Sam.

  Carrie pursed her lips.

  'What I mean,' she said, 'is Minstrel Clothing has only been going for five years. I've been with them for the last two, whereas Mr Renshaw's business was around long before that. I would have thought he's lost a fair few orders to Minstrel over the last few years.'

  'What did they row about last time?'

  'Oh, dirty tricks, undercutting each other, they always find some reason-'

  The doors of the meeting-room suddenly burst open. Sam and Carrie both stood up. They watched Carl stumble out and almost lose his footing. A man charged out in his wake and prodded Carl forcefully in the chest. Sam looked sideways at Carrie, who rolled her eyes and nodded back knowingly at him.

  'Carl Renshaw, you are without doubt the most despicable...underhand...pathetic man I've ever had the misfortune to come across!'

  'Get lost, Doyle! You're no angel yourself!'

  Colin Doyle pulled his fist back, fully intent on swinging for Carl. Sam dived in and grabbed Doyle's arm before he could unleash the punch. Carl looked on, shaken.

  'Come on, Mr Doyle,' implored Sam, pulling him away. A crowd of suits had gathered, stunned to see such high-profile figures behaving this way. 'Whatever's going on between you two, a punch up in public isn't the best way to settle it.'

  Sam watched Doyle carefully, ready for any sudden move. Doyle was a lot younger than Carl and in better shape. Sam had no doubt he was capable of doing serious damage to Carl if the two were ever to have a fistfight.

  Doyle looked at Sam properly for the first time. He went to say something to him but thought better of it. Instead, he shrugged himself free of Sam's grip and pointed angrily at Carl.

  'Renshaw, one day I am going to get you! That's a promise!'

  With one final, vitriolic sneer, Doyle turned on his heels and stormed out. Carrie shrugged hopelessly at Sam and followed her boss out. Sam shook his head in disbelief and turned his attention back to Carl, who was casually brushing down his suit and already regaining his composure. Sam shook his head. These weren't the type of confrontations he had anticipated. He had prepared himself for shadowy anarchists, not irate factory workers and raging business rivals.

  Chapter 11

  Carl decided to call it a day at four in the afternoon. Thankfully, there had been no further drama since the altercation with Colin Doyle. Carl had steadfastly refused to talk about his business rival, despite Sam's gentle prompts. Accepting Carl wasn't going to open up, Sam dropped him off at one appointment after another throughout the day, watching with relief every time his new boss re-appeared unscathed. Perhaps it had just been a freakishly bad morning. Carl certainly didn't seemed affected.

  On the journey home, Carl took yet another phone call. Most of his time in the car had been spent either leafing through paperwork in preparation for the next meeting or engaged in conversation on the phone. Sam had listened as business deals were rubber-stamped, orders confirmed and meetings arranged, all accomplished by Carl at bewildering speed. The man was an inexhaustible bundle of energy and enthusiasm.

  However, Sam noticed there were calls that Carl ignored. He had no way of knowing if they were all from the same caller because Carl would glance at his phone and dismissively cut short the ring tone. He went to do the same again on this occasion, but after checking the time, reluctantly took the call. Sam presumed he wanted to get it out the way before he returned home.

  'Yes?'

  Carl's greeting was cold and unfriendly, at odds with the bubbly, jocular personality Sam had witnessed all day. Sam glanced across at him. Carl was staring straight ahead with his phone pressed hard to his ear, listening intently. He didn't look happy.

  'I told you this morning that I'll get it to you as soon-'

  Carl stopped talking. It seemed he was being forced to listen. Sam could feel the frustration radiating off his passenger. He was reminded of the phone call Carl had taken earlier in the car park. Was that the conversation he was referring to now?

  'Bellamy, don't you-'

  Sam watched Carl look in disgust at his phone. He had been cut off.

  'Nobody's got any patience any more,' muttered Carl, to himself more than Sam.

  Sam stayed tight-lipped and concentrated on the road. He had overheard many of Carl's business conversations today and that hadn't sounded like one. Not a conventional one, at least. Like the call he had heard in the car park, it had a sinister vibe to it. Carl's language and tone had been all wrong.

  ***

  They pulled up in front of the house. Peter Canning was over by the trees, leisurely raking up stray leaves. He stopped to look over at the Jag. Sam put the handbrake on and welcomed the sight of his Capri a few feet away. It had been a challenging day. A new car. New routes. Not to mention heated confrontations and odd phone calls. But no sign of the activist threat Carl had been so concerned about. That reminded him...

  'Carl, I wanted to-'

  Carl's phone rang yet again, rattling about in the empty compartment next to the gear stick. Carl had dropped it there with disdain after the last call. Sam looked down at it. He couldn't miss the flashing screen.

  Unknown number.

  Carl reached across, picked it up and held it in front of him. He gazed at the phone for so long Sam didn't think he was going to answer it. Eventually, Carl indicated he was taking the call outside and got out of the car. Sam watched him walk back up the drive with the phone pressed to his ear.

  Sam continued to stare after him, nonplussed.

  Why had Carl felt the need to go out of earshot? If the unknown caller was a militant activist, then surely Sam should have access to the conversation? He had been hired to protect Carl, and an essential part of that remit was to take on board any evidence.

  Sam got out of the car and waited.

  Carl had walked so far up the driveway he had disappeared from view. Sam continued to wait by the car, grateful the wind had dropped to a gentle breeze. He heard Jenny and Katie shouting to each other in the back garden. He looked up, his eye caught by a figure appearing in one of the bedroom windows. Molly was gazing out, staring thoughtfully up the driveway. Was she watching her husband? Sam couldn't tell if she could see him from the window. She looked down, noticed Sam and gave him a friendly wave.

  Moments later, she re-appeared at the front door.

  'Hello, Sam,' she said, walking down the steps. She was wearing a long thick sweater and dark blue jeans. Watching her approach, Sam thought her high cheekbones and wavy, shoulder-length hair gave her the look of an old-fashioned film actress.

  'Hello, Molly. How are you?'

  She smiled at him.

  'I'm good, Sam. Just waiting for my husband to come in.'

  She looked over to where Peter Canning was standing. He was leaning idly on his rake, watching them both with interest. Molly turned back to Sam, a look of distaste on her face.

  'That man gives me the creeps,' she hissed. 'Always watching us, and yet he hardly ever says a word.'

  Sam looked over at him this time. Peter hurriedly put his head down and resumed his raking.

  'He must be good at his job, though,' said Sam, gazing around the neat lawn. 'He keeps this place looking nice.'

  'Well, I can't argue with that,' admitted Molly begrudgingly, 'but I'd still rather have Arthur.'

  'Who's Arthur?'

  'Arthur?' sighed Molly wistfully. 'Arthur Bennett was our gardener before Peter. He was just about the sweetest man I've ever known.'

  'What happened to him?'

  'He retir
ed,' said Molly with a sad smile. 'He'd reached an age where a big place like this was too much for him. He'd been with us for years. Started just after we moved in here. I still go over and see him every now and then. He's got a lovely little red brick house on Boundary Road.'

  'Sounds like you miss him a lot,' said Sam, wondering what was taking Carl so long.

  'I do, Sam. He was lovely. The opposite to him over there. The ironic thing is it was Arthur who recommended Peter to us.'

  Molly shivered slightly and folded her arms in an effort to get warm. She gave Sam a hard stare.

  'Anyway, why has Carl gone all the way up the drive?' she asked.

  Sam hesitated. He wished he knew.

  'He'd taken a business call by the sound of it. I think he went up there to talk in private.'

  Molly eyed Sam with suspicion.

  'I swear that man is up to something,' she said under her breath. 'What have you two been doing today?'

  Alarm bells started ringing in Sam's head.

  'Oh, meetings, conferences, standard business stuff, I suppose...'

  Molly's eyes continued to burn into him.

  'Where have you-'

  She stopped herself, shook her head and looked away for a moment. Sam thought he saw a tear in her eye.

  'I'm going back in,' she said, sniffing slightly. 'It's getting too cold to wait out here.' Giving him a weak smile, she went back inside.

  Sam let out a big sigh.

  He decided to go and find Carl.

  ***

  Sam found him at the far end of the driveway, still with his phone to his ear. Carl appeared agitated, pacing up and down on the gravel. When he saw Sam approaching, he spoke hurriedly into the phone and ended the call.

  'Carl, why did you come up here?' asked Sam. 'Was that another threat?'

  Sam had seen Carl brush off all sorts today. Rows, staff mutinies, angry phone calls. Each time Carl had carried on regardless, his self-belief unwavering. Now, he looked as though he had seen a ghost. His face was ashen white. He stared at Sam with haunted eyes. Looked through him as though he wasn't there.

  'What did they say, Carl? More threats?'