I Remember You

by Martin Edwards

  ‘We meet again.’

  ‘Harry! There’s no escaping you. Did you speak to Sophie?’

  ‘Yes. And Nick Folley.’

  ‘He’s back, is he?’ Baz shook his head. ‘Like I said - you shouldn’t push your luck with Nick.’

  ‘He didn’t lay a hand on me.’

  ‘You don’t understand. He’s mixed up with some dangerous people.’

  ‘You don’t mean Dermot McCray, do you?’ Harry asked on the off-chance.

  ‘Who?’ Baz’s face was a blank.

  ‘An Irishman, a builder. He has connections with Merseycredit as well.’

  ‘The name means nothing to me.’

  Harry believed him. ‘So who are these dangerous people?’

  ‘Listen, forget I said a word. There are things Nick is mixed up with that I’d rather not know about.’

  ‘And Sophie, is she also mixed up - ’

  ‘Hello,’ said Penny Newland in his ear. Her voice was sour with disapproval. ‘Are you still playing the detective?’

  ‘’Fraid so.’

  ‘It won’t do any good, you know.’

  ‘Neither will your leaving our guests on their own,’ said Baz.

  She touched his hand. ‘Sorry, love, but I’ve had as much of them as I can take for the time being. They don’t seem able to talk about anything other than how rich they are. I’ve been told at least four times how much tonight’s beanfeast is setting them back. In the end, I decided to escape to the loo.’

  ‘It’s Stuart Graham-Brown that you’re with, isn’t it?’ asked Harry.

  ‘Yes, and his wife,’ said Baz. ‘Do you know Stuart?’

  So Rosemary was here with her husband. Harry felt suddenly nervous. He took a deep breath, aware the time had come for him to face up to his two clients and find out exactly what game they were playing.

  ‘I’ve never met him,’ he said, ‘but somehow I seem to have heard a great deal about him.’

  ‘I’ll introduce you if you like,’ offered the disc jockey. ‘Can I get you a drink first?’

  Harry refused, though he had seldom needed one more; this encounter called for a clear mind.

  The wine bar was emptying as the last few customers decided they could extend their lunch hours no further. Baz led the way towards a table in the far corner of the room.

  Sitting behind it were Stuart Graham-Brown and the hard-faced blonde from Tobacco Court.

  Harry didn’t understand. Where was Rosemary?

  ‘What’s up?’ asked Baz. ‘Have you seen a ghost?’

  ‘No. But - perhaps I have misidentified one.’

  ‘I don’t follow you.’

  Harry pointed to Stuart Graham-Brown’s companion. ‘Tell me her name,’ he whispered urgently.

  Baz’s eyebrows rose. ‘I can do better than that, my friend.’ He waved to Graham-Brown and the woman and ushered Harry up to their table. ‘Let me introduce you,’ he said, slipping smoothly into his radio persona. ‘This is Harry Devlin, he’s a solicitor for his sins. Harry, meet Stuart Graham-Brown of Merseycredit. And this is his partner in business and life - the lovely Rosemary.’

  The blonde woman smiled. Close up, Harry could see that she was older than he had realised. The cut of her outfit flattered her figure and although her make-up was liberally applied, the lines round her eyes needed another shot of collagen.

  ‘Good to meet you,’ she said. Stuart Graham-Brown nodded. Like his wife, he exuded the confidence that comes with cash in the bank. They would be the perfect bloody clients, Harry thought, if only we acted for them. Of course, neither had betrayed a flicker of recognition at the mention of his name.

  Harry shook hands. Rosemary’s grip was strong. She wore even more jewellery than mascara and the cluster of rings on her fingers felt like a rich woman’s knuckledusters. He coughed to cover his confusion. For a moment he clutched at the idea that the Graham-Browns might have embarked on an elaborate charade: perhaps his original surmise was right and the blonde was indeed merely Stuart’s lover, not his wife. But no sooner had the thought occurred to him than he realised its absurdity. The truth was plain.

  ‘I gather you’ve hired Baz’s services to make your Hallowe’en party go with a swing,’ he said in a hollow voice.

  ‘It’s going to be a marvellous night for Merseycredit,’ said Graham-Brown. ‘Come along yourself - we’d be glad to see you. We work mainly with accountants, but it’s always good to have a lawyer or two on the team. Never know when I might need your services!’ He spoke with the exuberance characteristic of a certain kind of businessman. His manner put Harry in mind of John de Lorean with an East End accent.

  ‘Appropriate dress, mind,’ said Rosemary, wagging her finger. ‘Hallowe’en costumes are compulsory. The theme is “ghouls just wanna have fun”.’

  ‘So the two of you are in partnership together?’

  Graham-Brown took his wife’s arm. ‘We’ve been together ten years now,’ he said. ‘I couldn’t have made it without Rosemary.’

  The complacent tone made Harry want to cringe. But needing to know more, he forced himself into a bonhomie he thought laughably false but which they seemed to take at face value.

  ‘I saw your stand at the exhibition over at Empire Hall the other day. Good to see a local firm doing so well.’

  ‘Glad to make a contribution to the city’s economy,’ said Graham-Brown. ‘Can’t claim to be a native, but we relocated from London during the eighties and we’ve lived in Formby ever since.’

  ‘You feel settled there?’ asked Harry, just to make sure.

  ‘Love it. We’re at the top end of Crow’s Nest Lane, not far from the nature reserve.’

  ‘Pleasant place to bring up children, I should imagine. Do you have any kids?’

  ‘Just one,’ said the woman. ‘A little girl. Eighteen months.’

  ‘You’ll never believe this,’ said the proud father, pretending to wince, ‘but Rosemary insisted on calling her Rainbow.’

  ‘You have a nanny to look after her, I suppose,’ asked Harry, who had rapidly been putting two and two together.

  ‘Yes,’ said the real Rosemary. ‘I hated the idea of becoming a hausfrau. I’d always been a career woman and it was only when that old biological clock started ticking louder that I thought if we were going to have a family, we’d better get a move on. But after she was born, I found counting the minutes between nappy changes and feeding times was no substitute for the kick you get from sealing a deal in the office. So in the end we found a girl, and we’ve been very fortunate with her, haven’t we, Stu?’

  ‘Debbie’s very reliable,’ confirmed her husband. He winked at the other two men. ‘Looks terrific, too.’

  ‘Sounds like the perfect arrangement,’ said Baz, not trying too hard to stifle a yawn.

  ‘It suits us,’ said Graham-Brown.

  Wait till you get home one night and find a strange family sitting in front of your fire and in proud possession of your title deeds, thought Harry. If that doesn’t wipe the smile off your face, nothing will.

  Aloud, he said, ‘Pleasure to meet you. And thanks for the invite - I’ll do my best to get along. But now I must be off. There’s someone I desperately need to see.’

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Harry walked back rapidly to Fenwick Court, still trying to absorb the news that the woman he had thought of as Rosemary - the elegant wife of a rich man - was in reality a young Scouse girl on the make. A nanny with crime on her mind, for God’s sake!

  From his office he retrieved the deeds giving title to Crow’s Nest House: the papers which Debbie, as he must now think of her, had seen as the passport to a new life.

  ‘Mrs Graham-Brown must have been on the phone half a dozen times since you left,’ Suzanne told him as he headed for the door
. ‘I said don’t blame me, I haven’t a clue when he’ll be back. I’m only the poor receptionist, no one tells me anything. If you ask me, she’s on the point of taking her business elsewhere and then what will Mr Crusoe say?’

  ‘Good riddance, if he has any sense,’ said Harry. ‘Listen, I may be out for the rest of the afternoon.’

  ‘What if Mrs Graham-Brown...’

  Harry rapped the bundle of deeds against the reception desk.

  ‘I’m going to sort her out. Never fear.’

  On his way to Formby, he kept cursing his failure to see through Debbie’s scam. All the oddities in her behaviour, from their first chance encounter in the waiting room at Fenwick Court, finally made sense: her air of nervous excitement; her desire to use a solicitors’ firm not associated with commercial work or Merseycredit; her anxiety to speed the transaction to its end; her refusal to involve her husband and her insistence on contacting Harry rather than waiting for his call or letters. All the pieces fitted only one pattern.

  During the day, with Stuart and Rosemary out at Exchange Precinct, she had had the run of the house and, somehow, she’d gained access to the title deeds. The rest was simple, given the eager co-operation of professional advisers equally susceptible to a pretty face and a fat fee.

  As he pulled up outside Crow’s Nest House, he felt as though he were being watched. She’s bound to be petrified, he thought. Having to live with the Graham-Browns, knowing she was about to cheat them out of house and home, and suffering the trauma of the Ambroses’ default. In a moment of insight, he imagined her tension, her frantic longing to have the whole business over and done.

  He strode up the path and rang the bell. She must have been waiting on the other side of the oak door, for she opened it within seconds. He hardly had time to take in her expression of relief before she burst into a torrent of words.

  ‘Harry, it’s you! Where have you been? I’ve been ringing your office every half hour. Your girl didn’t have the faintest idea where you were. But thank God you’ve come. This threat that the Ambroses are going to pull out - they can’t do that, can they? I’ve been beside myself since I saw you this morning. What they’re doing is immoral! Surely we must be able to do something to force them to honour their side of the bargain?’

  He swallowed hard. ‘Do you really think you would be able to honour your side of the bargain, Debbie?’

  Her jaw dropped as she absorbed the impact of his use of her name. It seemed to hit her like a physical blow knocking the breath out of her, making her gasp for air. Harry stood and watched with his hands in his pockets. On his way over here he had rehearsed phrases of sardonic reproach, but now they seemed irrelevant. Her face had turned the colour of chalk.

  ‘Shall we talk inside?’

  She nodded dumbly and led him into the sitting room. Her whole bearing had changed in a matter of seconds; as she sat in the same chair which she had occupied on his earlier visit here, she seemed to have shrunk. No longer was she the lady of the house, entertaining her trusted man of business - she was a servant, a paid help with ideas above her station.

  ‘How much do you know?’

  ‘Enough.’

  ‘Since when?’

  ‘Less than an hour ago. I was introduced to Stuart Graham-Brown and his wife. Rosemary herself.’

  ‘Oh God! What did you tell them?’

  ‘Nothing. I couldn’t believe either my eyes or my ears, if you want to know the truth. But all the information I need is only a phone call to Merseycredit away, so I hope you’ll make life easier by telling me the whole story.’

  She gazed at the ceiling, clearly summoning strength, and ran both hands through her hair.

  ‘I don’t know where to begin.’

  ‘Start with yourself,’ he suggested. ‘Who you are, where you came from...’

  She mustered a ragged smile. ‘There’s not enough material for a This Is Your Life. I’ve never been anywhere or done anything. My name’s Debbie Warrington and I’m the eldest kid in a family of eight. I’ve lived in Liverpool all my life. I like children and I always wanted to be a nanny, but this is the fifth family I’ve worked for since I left school and I’m ready for something new.’

  ‘In Puerto Banus?’

  ‘Why not? I went there on holiday in the summer, not long after I’d started working here. I’d gone to Marbella with a girlfriend. We were determined to live it up, have a bit of sun and sex. She works in a bacon factory out in Halewood and I’d been dancing attendance on Rainbow, who’s a right little madam, so we were dying for a break.’ She sighed, as if mourning an irretrievable past. ‘In a bar we met these two lads from Liverpool, they’ve settled permanently in Spain. I think they were in trouble with the law here, but neither of us wanted to ask too many questions. Anyway, Phil, that’s my feller, kept telling me about all the money you can make in the south of Spain. He reckoned if I started selling time-shares, there are so many dozy punters, I’d make a fortune.’

  And he might be right, Harry thought, remembering the leopardskin lady from Empire Hall.

  ‘Phil was keen for me to stay out there, but I couldn’t make the break just like that. I needed to think about it back in England. Anyway, a few more weeks working for the Graham-Browns convinced me I’d be mad to spend the rest of my life flogging my guts out for a pittance. Even a saint could get sick of drying tears and wiping a baby’s bum.’

  As if on cue, Rainbow began to bleat in her playpen next door. Debbie groaned, half-rose to her feet, then subsided.

  ‘So when did you hit on the idea of selling this house?’

  ‘I’d already decided I wanted out before I went on holiday. Stuart’s a crook, if you ask me.’

  ‘You have moral objections to working for him?’

  ‘No need to be sarky. No, but I bet he’s up to all sorts of fiddles. What really bugs me is that he acts as if I wasn’t there.’

  ‘You resent him for not fancying you?’

  ‘Listen, I’m not looking to be groped by the man of the house! I’ve had my share of that from so-called respectable husbands and fathers in my other jobs, I can promise you. No, what I hate is that he simply takes no notice. He’s a millionaire and I’m just a slave.’

  ‘And Rosemary?’

  ‘What a bitch! You’d think she owns me body and soul. She married Stuart for his money, that’s all she cares about. She was his PA before she got her claws into him. But to answer you, I’d already decided I wanted to escape from Merseyside in any case - see a bit of the world while I was still young.’

  Someone else who wanted to get away, Harry thought, like the girl on the desk at Radio Liverpool. Why didn’t they share his love for the city of their birth? Why couldn’t they see beyond the fog and the dirt?

  ‘So I said to myself, give Spain a chance, why don’t you? Things might work out with Phil and the timeshares, and if they didn’t, I could try something else. I was all set to hand in my notice when that fence at the back blew down in those gales we had a few weeks ago. Stuart wanted to know if he could sue someone - he seems to get off on tax dodges and litigation. So he got the title deeds out of the bureau in his study. I happened to be passing by the door at the time.’

  ‘Convenient. What I can’t understand is why the deeds were here. Someone streetwise like Stuart would want the tax relief on a mortgage, so the deeds should be locked up in the safe deposit of some financial institution.’

  Debbie shrugged. ‘Don’t ask me! You’re the lawyer. Although I do know there was some stuff about a loan from Merseycredit.’

  Mystery solved. It must be cosy for Stuart, borrowing money from his own business. Better than a bank or building society, any day.

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘The key to the bureau was on a ring. Luckily, he keeps it in the pocket of an old coat he hangs in the hall cupboard. When I
got the idea about selling the house...’

  ‘Yes, how did that flash of inspiration strike you?’

  ‘I remembered a remark Phil once made, about the money you could make from selling something you didn’t have. Much easier than parting with something of your own.’

  Phil sounded like a chap who would always keep the lawyers in business. Harry shook his head. ‘So the rest was easy. Take the title deeds, find yourself an estate agent and a buyer who wasn’t in a chain, offer the place at a cut price to secure a speedy sale, then hey presto!’

  ‘It seems so simple when you put it like that,’ she said. ‘Believe me, I’ve died a thousand deaths during the past few weeks. It was no problem coming into town to see you - Mum has a council house down the road in Maghull. She was willing to look after Rainbow with no questions asked. But I could never be certain when the Ambroses or their surveyor came here that bloody Rosemary wouldn’t decide to take an early dart home. I had this nightmare that she would come back and find someone peering under her floorboards or sticking a knife in the putty of her window frames. Thank Christ the woman gets off on working in the city.’

  ‘I see why you said you were ex-directory: to cut out the risk of gaff-blowing phone calls at night, when the owners were at home.’

  ‘Right. I’m not saying there weren’t perks. Rosemary has better taste in clothes than in men. She’s not much bigger than me, she’s got the midriff bulge under control. I loved wearing her things whenever I went into town to see the estate agent or you. At last I knew what it felt like to be rich.’ She smiled. ‘Believe me, changing your identity gives you a taste of freedom. It’s a fresh beginning, a way to put the past behind you and start a new life. But all the same I was scared of putting a foot wrong. The fear of being found out ate away at me. Tell you the truth, I reckoned I was earning my profit.’

  ‘And you were even able to bestow a little largesse, so far as professional fees were concerned.’

  She gave him a sly look. ‘You must admit, knowing Merseycredit would pay the bill made you willing to give me top priority.’

  ‘That wasn’t just because of the costs.’