by Frank Smith
Paul made a face as he turned away. There was nothing to be gained by going over old ground again. Charles had his own agenda, and there was nothing he could say that would change his brother’s mind. He raised his glass against the light from the window. ‘Lovely colour,’ he said appreciatively, and downed half of it in one gulp. He grinned as he saw his brother wince. ‘Good stuff, Charles,’ he said. ‘Gets the old blood circulating. Why don’t you have some yourself?’
‘I try to keep it for special occasions,’ Charles said tersely, ‘so go easy on it, will you? He waved a hand in the general direction of the two leather chairs beside the window. ‘So, what brings you down here at this time of year? I would have thought this would be a busy season for you.’
‘It is,’ said Paul absently as he twirled the glass in his fingers. His face became serious. ‘The fact is, I need a loan,’ he said baldly, then held up his hand as he saw the look on his brother’s face. ‘I know what you’re going to say, but just hear me out, Charles. It’s not like the other times. This really is a loan. I’ll be able to pay you back in a few weeks, a couple of months at the outside, but I do need it now to tide me over. As I said, it will only be for a short time, I promise. I’ll pay you back.’
Charles let out a long sigh and shook his head. ‘The same way you’ve paid me back before?’ he said. ‘Oh, no, Paul, I don’t think so. I’m not lending you a penny. The well’s gone dry as far as you’re concerned.’
Paul eyed his brother stonily over the top of his glass. ‘I could go to prison if I don’t have the money by mid-week,’ he said tightly. ‘Is that what you want?’ He swallowed the rest of his drink.
Charles shook his head. ‘You can cut the dramatics, Paul. You seem to forget we’ve been through this many times, and I’m not falling for yet another of your stories.’
‘I mean it, Charles.’ Paul leaned forward and spoke earnestly. ‘Look, I know I’ve been a damned fool before, and I don’t blame you for not trusting me, but it is serious this time, and it’s not my fault.’ He hesitated for a moment, then drew a deep breath and plunged ahead. ‘There was this opportunity to go into a joint venture with a friend – well, a friend of a friend, actually – and it was just too good an opportunity to miss. But I didn’t have quite enough money, so I – well I borrowed it from the firm.’ He hurried on as he saw the look on his brother’s face. ‘Believe me, Charles, it is going to pay off. It’s just that it’s taking longer than expected. A few more weeks, perhaps, but it will pay off, and when it does you’ll get your money back with interest, and we’ll both be laughing. In fact it’s more of an investment than a loan.’
Charles eyed his brother coldly. ‘You borrowed money from the firm you work for?’ he said icily. ‘I don’t believe that story for a minute.’
‘It’s true! The point is, I thought I had plenty of time to put it back and no one would have been the wiser, but I just found out we’re to have an audit next week. We had one less than a year ago so that was the last thing I expected when I took the money, but we’ve changed accounting firms, and they insist on doing a complete audit before they take over.’
‘As they should,’ Charles said coldly, ‘assuming that what you say is true. But it isn’t, is it, Paul? You don’t take a large sum of money out of a firm such as the one you work for, then casually slip it back again, so I’m assuming it’s gambling again, and they want their money. But this time you are on your own, Paul. I mean it. You got yourself into this mess and you can dig yourself out or take the consequences.’ He rose to his feet. ‘You’re welcome to stay on for the weekend, of course, but I mean what I say. You will get no more money from me, and that’s final.’
Paul scrambled to his feet. ‘Take the consequences?’ he exclaimed. ‘That’s all very well for you to say, but I’m telling the truth; I did borrow it from the firm and I could go to prison. Is that what you want? The Bromley name dragged through the mud . . . again?’
Charles eyed his brother coldly. ‘Don’t you dare try using that argument to cover your own folly,’ he said. ‘I don’t believe your story, and I’m not going to lend you any money, and there is nothing you can do or say that will change my mind. So find another way. You could start by selling that fancy car out there.’
Paul shook his head impatiently. ‘It’s not mine. It belongs to a friend. I sold mine last week, so you have to help me, Charles. I need at least twenty thousand pounds by next Tuesday.’
Charles stared at his brother. ‘At least twenty thousand pounds?’ he challenged. ‘For God’s sake, Paul, how much is this debt of yours?’
Paul grimaced guiltily. ‘Close to forty grand,’ he muttered almost inaudibly. ‘But I have managed to raise roughly half of it, so all I need from you is twenty, although, to be honest, twenty-five would be better.’
‘To be honest?’ Charles echoed contemptuously. ‘I don’t think you know the meaning of that word, Paul, and I meant what I said. You’re wasting your breath, because I couldn’t lend you the money even if I wanted to. I don’t have it. In fact it looks as if I will have to sell the land next to top farm if I’m to keep things going, so don’t come asking me for money.’
‘You’re selling . . .?’ Paul rolled his eyes heavenward and shook his head in despair. ‘To pour more money into this place,’ he said scathingly. ‘More good money after bad.’ He looked around. ‘It’s a bloody mausoleum, for Christ’s sake. It’s a bottomless pit and it isn’t worth it. The maintenance alone . . . the heating . . . Where has all the money gone, Charles? You got God knows how much money when Helen died. Are you telling me that’s gone as well?’ His eyes narrowed. ‘Don’t tell me that you’re going through Margaret’s money as well?’
‘Of course not, and I wouldn’t take it if she offered it. This house, this estate is my responsibility and mine alone, as you well know. As far as your problems are concerned, it might be better if you did spend some time in jail. It might jolt a little sense into your head.’
‘But—’
The sound of the telephone on the desk interrupted whatever Paul was about to say, but when Charles moved to pick it up, Paul grabbed his arm. ‘Never mind the bloody phone,’ he grated. ‘I’m telling you, Charles, I have to have that money.’
Charles shook his brother’s hand off and picked up the phone.
Paul stalked to the cabinet, grabbed the bottle and poured himself another drink. Grim-faced, he turned to renew the argument as Charles put the phone down, but something in his brother’s eyes stopped him.
‘I have to go,’ Charles said. ‘That was Sergeant Maddox in Clunbridge. He says Toni was involved in an accident. She’d been drinking, lost control of the car and hit a child. The child has been taken to hospital in serious condition and may not live. Maddox says Toni will be charged, but she refuses to talk to anyone unless I’m there with her.’
‘Toni? She’s here?’
‘She’s been living here for the past few weeks,’ Charles said as he moved toward the door.
‘Good God! And she actually asked for you? Not Margaret? And you’re going?’
‘I don’t think I have much choice, under the circumstances, but I suspect the only reason she is asking for me is because she thinks I may have some influence with the police.’
Paul gave a grudging nod. ‘I suppose you must,’ he said, ‘but we do have to talk about this as soon as you get back, because I must have—’
Charles swung round to face his brother. ‘You still don’t understand, do you, Paul?’ he said harshly. ‘This conversation is over. You are on your own. You are not getting any more money from me, not now, not ever. Understand? And if you intend to stay, you’d better tell Mrs Lodge, so she knows how many there will be for dinner.’
Paul Bromley’s eyes were like stones as they followed his brother’s retreating figure down the hall. He could feel a cold, hard knot forming in the pit of his stomach. He’d been so sure that Charles would cave; he’d always come through before, but there was something differen
t about his brother this time. Something . . . He raised the glass to his lips, then tipped his head back and drained it.
Neither of them spoke as they made their way to the car. Toni shrugged off Charles’s guiding hand as she got in and slumped down in her seat. He closed the door, then walked around and got in the other side.
‘All right, Toni, you’re out, at least for tonight,’ he said quietly. ‘Though why Sergeant Maddox agreed to release you into my custody, considering your condition and your performance in there, I don’t know. Do you have any idea how much trouble you’re in? Tracy Nash may die because of your stupidity. Don’t you have any feelings for her? Or for her parents?’
Toni shivered and wrapped her arms around herself. ‘Of course I do,’ she said sulkily. ‘But it was an accident. The accelerator jammed.’
It was all he could do to hold his anger in. ‘Accident?’ he said thinly. ‘With a blood-alcohol level more than three times the legal limit? The police have an eye-witness who is prepared to swear that you were going far too fast when you came across the bridge and tried to make the turn into Silver Street, and the damage to your mother’s car will bear that out. Do you realize that you could be charged under Section Three A of the Road Traffic Act Nineteen Ninety-Eight? Causing death by careless driving while under the influence of drink or drugs?’
Toni rolled her eyes as she looked away. Trust Charles to quote chapter and verse, but that was the least of her worries right now, because all she could think about was the loss of the envelope Simon had given her. She’d had the presence of mind to take it from her handbag and slide it under the seat before the police arrived on the scene, but it hadn’t occurred to her that they would impound the car. She couldn’t go on, not after this. She would have to ring Simon. Business or not, he would have to help her.
‘Are you listening to me, Toni?’
‘I said I was sorry,’ she said truculently. ‘What else can I say, for Christ’s sake! You make it sound as if I hit the kid deliberately. All right, so maybe I was going a bit too fast; maybe I did have a bit too much to drink, but with good reason after . . .’
She stopped herself just in time.
‘After what?’ Charles demanded as he started the car. ‘Because somehow I don’t think saying you’re sorry will satisfy the child’s parents. And I don’t know how I’m going to break this to your mother. As for your hopes of persuading her to release the money your father left in trust for you, I think you can kiss that goodbye – unless it’s used for your defence.’
‘You don’t have to tell my mother anything,’ the girl shot back. ‘That’s between me and her. And as for the trust, it’s none of your business.’
Charles bit back the reply that rose to his lips. There was no point in arguing with Toni. There never had been. As for how Margaret would feel about all this, he hated to think. She still clung to the illusion that her daughter was trying hard to change and was truly sorry for the damage she’d done to both their lives.
Charles had never believed in Toni’s supposed change of heart. Admittedly, she’d put on quite a show at the beginning, and Margaret so desperately wanted to believe that her daughter had come to her senses and wanted to make amends for what she’d done, but he wasn’t convinced. He’d been tempted to speak out many times, but remained silent, because he knew that Toni would be quick to point out that he was trying to drive a wedge between her and her mother, and it proved that she’d been right about his motives all along.
He cast a sidelong a glance at her. She was a pretty girl – or she would be if she would wipe that sullen look off her face. Twenty-three years old. Good features framed by auburn hair, wide-set eyes, straight nose. Took after her mother there, but the stubborn set of the jaw must come from her father’s side, as did her mercurial disposition.
Toni sensed his eyes on her and turned to face him. ‘I meant it when I said I’ll tell mother,’ she said sharply. ‘I don’t want you to tell her. Just leave me alone when we get there and let me clean up first. Then I’ll tell her. OK?’
Charles drew in a long breath and let it out again. ‘Very well,’ he said, ‘but just be careful how you—’
‘I don’t need any lessons from you about how to talk to my own mother, thank you very much,’ she cut in sharply. ‘So you can forget the lecture, Charles.’
Grim-faced, he concentrated on his driving. There were days when he could have cheerfully strangled Toni Halliday, and this was definitely one of them.
They continued the drive in silence. A blustery wind and dark, fast-moving clouds threatened more rain, but the sun broke through just as they reached the manor. Charles had intended to drive around the side of the house to let Toni out at the side door so she could go up to her room by the back stairs, but when he saw the black BMW sitting beside the front door, he changed his mind.
‘I hope this doesn’t mean your mother has had another of her bad turns,’ he said anxiously as he pulled in beside the other car.
Toni gave a derisive snort. ‘If she ever had one at all,’ she said callously. ‘More likely it’s one of Dr Lockwood’s “just popped in to see how you are” visits. A very attentive chap is Dr Lockwood, especially to my mother. Or perhaps you hadn’t noticed, Charles?’ She cast a sly glance in his direction. ‘Funny, but I can’t think of any other doctor who makes house calls without actually being called, can you?’
‘You don’t know what you’re talking about,’ he said brusquely. ‘Steven Lockwood is a dedicated doctor, as was his father before him, and I value his opinion. He is very concerned about your mother, as am I. As you should be, if you actually cared,’ he added savagely.
‘Oh, but I do care, Charles,’ she said as they got out of the car. ‘And I don’t doubt for a minute that he’s dedicated. In fact, I’m told that all his women patients really like him, and I must admit he’s not bad looking for a man in his forties. Considering what else is on offer around here, he can take my temperature anytime.’
‘Now you are being ridiculous,’ he said. ‘The Lockwoods have been friends of the family for years, and Steven is . . .’ He stopped in mid-sentence. Toni had walked away and was halfway up the steps to the front door.
Charles stood there for a moment, breathing deeply. Something was going to have to be done about that girl, because they couldn’t go on like this. She would appear in court tomorrow, but he didn’t doubt for a moment that she’d be bailed, and that could mean they would be stuck with her for months before her case came to trial. He brushed past Lockwood’s car, then stopped to look at it. Steven was dedicated; he cared for his patients – and not just the female ones as Toni had implied. That was ridiculous. Even so, Toni’s words lingered inside his head as he made his way up the steps and entered the house.
TWO
Bob Thorsen rose stiffly from his chair and switched off the television set. He tamped fresh tobacco into the bowl of his pipe and tried to tell himself again that there was nothing to be concerned about, but the sound of rain beating hard against the window did nothing to allay his fears. It wasn’t like the major to be this late, no matter what the weather, and he’d never keep old Toby out in weather like this if he could help it.
On the other hand, he was more than likely tucked up nice and snug with that woman in her caravan at the top end of the lane, while he waited out the storm. But he might at least have phoned. Thorsen would have phoned himself, but her number was ex-directory. A tight smile flickered across his craggy features. Be a bit of a shock for the major if he did get through, because he was quite sure that the man thought no one knew about his visits to the caravan.
He returned to his chair and picked up the paper and tried to read, but he couldn’t settle. Almost ten thirty. The major would know that he’d be worried about Toby, so why hadn’t he rung? Besides, he was never this late on a Thursday.
The telephone rang. Ah! That would be him now. Thorsen heaved himself out of the chair and picked up the phone.
‘Mr Thorsen?’
He recognized the voice immediately. The high, querulous tones, reflecting pain rather than age, belonged to Harriett Farnsworth, the major’s wife.
‘That’s right, Mrs Farnsworth.’
‘I’m sorry to trouble you, but I wondered if the major is with you?’
She always called him that. Never by his name. ‘Sorry, Mrs Farnsworth,’ he replied, ‘but I haven’t seen him since he left here with Toby just after seven.’
‘He’s terribly late, don’t you think, Mr Thorsen?’
‘I was just thinking the same thing myself, Mrs Farnsworth. But I’m sure he’s all right. He’s probably taken shelter somewhere and he’ll be along as soon as the rain eases off.’
‘There’s only the manor, Mr Thorsen, but I doubt if he’d have stopped there. Besides, it’s Thursday, and he never misses Days of Glory. It’s not like him at all, is it, Mr Thorsen?’
She was expressing nothing more than his own uneasy feelings. The major was a man of rigid habits.
‘They said on the wireless that the storm had brought trees down,’ she went on. ‘They didn’t say where, but . . .’
Thorsen sighed. ‘Perhaps I should take a walk up the hill,’ he said grudgingly. ‘I suppose he could have taken shelter in the stables behind the manor.’
‘Oh, would you, Mr Thorsen?’ There was a world of relief in her voice. ‘I’d be terribly grateful.’
Thorsen hung up the phone and began to don his rain gear. He poked a blackened finger into the bowl of his pipe to make sure that it was out before laying it aside, then picked up a heavy torch and opened the door. The wind tugged at it as he pulled it closed before making his way down the short path, where he stopped to make sure the wooden gate was firmly latched before setting off up Manor Lane.
Thorsen had walked the lane so often that he hardly needed a torch to tell him where he was. Even so, it was reassuring to see the beam pick out the rear entrance to the stable yard behind the manor. He plodded on until he came abreast of a wooden door set in the wall. On the other side of the wall, across the gravelled drive that led to the stables, was the side entrance to the manor.