No Friend of Mine 1.0

by Lilian Peake

  She didn’t answer. How could she? She could not be certain of Phil Pollard’s innocence any more than he could.

  ‘I think,’ he went on, ‘that it can’t be ruled out that you might even be in league with him.’ He leaned forward to take her hand, but she snatched it away. ‘I’m sorry, Elise, but I had to say it.’

  Again she was silent. ‘I’ve come to these conclusions because of your initial objections to the development of the area…’

  ‘And you think I’m now living a life of crime, carrying out a series of thefts calculated to hinder and even stop that development?’

  ‘Not you personally, Elise, but Phil Pollard and his associates, with your support and encouragement.’

  She began to cry again, she couldn’t help it. That he should think so badly of her, that he should know so little about her he thought her capable of doing such a thing…

  And yet she could not really defend herself because she could not be sure of Phil Pollard.

  She stood up, prepared to leave. ‘Why don’t you go to the police and have me arrested as you once threatened? They’ll get the truth out of me, won’t they? With your connivance!’

  A hard look narrowed his eyes and she realised that her stubborn attitude was incriminating her more and more. But there was nothing she could do about it. She was trapped in a web of her own making.

  ‘I’ll take you home,’ he said curdy, but she ran from the hut and was off the estate and well on her way before he could stop her.

  In the days that followed, she reverted to her old anti-social ways. She shut herself in her room and sought consolation in listening to music, clamping her headphones firmly on her head and excluding the whole world. But it didn’t seem to work any more. Its powers of providing solace and escape were waning. Thoughts of Lester kept intruding, turning the music into a meaningless jumble of sounds, a collection of discordant phrases.

  One evening, a few days before Easter, Roland called her to the telephone. ‘A man,’ he said, handing her the receiver.

  She hoped it was Lester asking her to work for him again, but it was Howard.

  ‘Tomorrow evening,’ he said, I If the weather’s fine, we could go for a run in the car.’

  There he was again, assuming she was his for the asking. But she put down her irritation like a mother dealing with a fretful child and reluctantly agreed.

  He would call for her, he said, arranging everything with businesslike efficiency, at seven prompt. She half expected him to say that he would confirm the appointment in writing, but rang off hurriedly before her sense of humour got the better of her.

  Idly, she put on another record and automatically adjusted the headphones. But her mind wandered back to Lester and she decided she had had enough music for that evening. Nevertheless, she heard the record through to the end and as she listened, her sensitive ear detected a fault in the equipment. It seemed to have developed an unpleasant hum and she grew impatient and snatched off the headphones. Even her escape into music was denied her now. The record player had let her down.

  She told Phil Pollard next day.

  ‘A loud hum, did you say? Could be a loose connection somewhere. Bring it into the shop this evening and I’ll have a look at it for you.’

  ‘Not this evening, Mr. Pollard.’

  ‘Why?’ he asked sharply. ‘Got a date?’

  She looked uncomfortable. ‘Yes.’

  ‘Who with? That Lester Kings?’

  She laughed. ‘Good heavens, no. Someone else.’

  ‘Is it-‘ he stopped, hardly able to get the word out, ‘serious?’

  ‘I don’t know. I - I don’t think so.’

  ‘Oh.’ His voice was gruff. ‘Well, bring it in tomorrow evening, then.’ She said she would.

  ‘Did I hear you say,’ Clare said later, ‘that you were going out tonight? Is it with that Howard Beale Lester was telling us about?’

  She made a face. ‘The same.’

  ‘But if you don’t like him, dearie, why torture yourself by going out with him?’

  ‘Because I can’t honestly think of any reason why I shouldn’t. I know it sounds silly, but - -‘

  ‘You’re lonely. All right, but don’t try to relieve your loneliness by getting involved with someone you can’t stand. It might be a devil of a job getting uninvolved, dear. Some men won’t take “no” for an answer, not even if you push them backwards out of the front door while you’re saying it. I’ve a feeling your Howard might be one of them.’

  ‘He’s not “my” Howard, Clare.’

  ‘Then say “no” now, Elise, and end it.’

  Elise thought of Clare’s advice when Howard called for her that evening. He urged her into the car and whisked her out into the countryside. All the way he uttered platitudes and banalities, saying tritely that ‘spring was a lovely time of year’ and making facetious remarks about ‘young men’s fancies’ and looking at her slyly as he said it.

  How could she ‘end’ it? There seemed to be something inevitable about it, like a rowing boat being swept out of control towards a roaring weir. This man beside her had every intention of making her the hostess in his house, the companion of his leisure-time activities, his partner at official functions and last of all, his wife and the mother of the children he planned to have. His determination was such that events were pulling her towards her ultimate destiny and she would soon go plunging helplessly over the edge.

  He turned into a deserted country lane and pulled off on to the verge. ‘I think it’s time,’ he said, ‘we discussed our future. We are both aware of the reason for our acquaintance,’ she was pleased he had not desecrated the word ‘friendship’ by using it, ‘we both want a marriage partner and we both want companionship. I suggest,’ he turned sideways and looked at her with less interest than a businessman would look at a girl who was applying for the post of his secretary, ‘that we become engaged for a trial period, then get married. I also suggest that we do all this in the shortest possible time. I need a housekeeper and a wife,’ she noted his order of priority, ‘and you need someone to look after you and provide for - you as you get older. What do you say?’

  What could she say? Clare had said, ‘say “no” and end it.’

  ‘Well, I - I’m not sure …’ What was the matter with her? This was not saying ‘no’. ‘I don’t think - -‘

  ‘Don’t think I’m giving you long enough? But I thought you were as eager as I was to find a life partner, a suitable life partner. There’s surely no need for me to reveal my finances, to spell out the security I could offer you, the comforts, the status…’

  She wanted to scream, ‘What about love?’ but she merely said, ‘You don’t want a definite answer now, do you? I’d like to think about it for a few days - ‘

  He sighed. ‘All right, if you want to play coy. But I must make it quite clear that I’m not prepared to wait long.’ He started the engine. ‘Tell you what, next time we meet, I’ll take you to see my house. Then you’ll have concrete evidence of the excellence of my way of life.’

  When he took her home he followed her into the house. She offered him coffee, but he refused it. Under the light in the hall, he caught her shoulders and kissed her. She found his lips as loathsome as before and had to exercise the greatest self-control to stop herself pushing him away. As she saw him out, Lester came down the stairs, saying sarcastically,

  ‘A touching scene! Elise bids her boyfriend a passionate goodnight. Lucky man!’

  ‘What are you doing here?’ she demanded, sick at heart.

  ‘I came for the express purpose of spying on your love life,’ he said grinning. ‘What else? All my motives are evil, according to you.’

  ‘Oh, shut up,’ she muttered, and went into the kitchen to make her father’s cup of tea.

  He followed and stood in the doorway. ‘I owe you a new jacket.’

  ‘You know that’s not true.’

  ‘All right, I’ll start again. I’m going to buy you a new jacket.�
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  ‘No, thank you.’

  ‘Now,’ he went on as though she had not spoken, ‘when shall we get it?’ ‘“We”?’

  ‘Yes, we. Since I’m paying for it, I want to see what I’m spending my money on. Unless,’ and innuendo coloured his tone, ‘you want me to give you an open cheque such as a man might - er - give his mistress?’

  She flushed at his deliberate insult and turned her face away. ‘Tomorrow afternoon?’ she asked dully.

  ‘Yes, provided you don’t object to my accompanying you in working clothes.’

  ‘Not in the least. Will you pick me up or - ?’

  ‘Yes, I’ll pick you up,’ he said, and went out grinning.

  She was ready when he called. He didn’t get out of the van, he just sat and hooted. She ran out and he leaned across and opened the door for her.

  ‘Keeps her appointment to the very second,’ he commented sardonically. ‘What more could Howard want in a wife?’

  ‘Isn’t that why you introduced us?’ she snapped back. ‘Because you considered us ideally suited?’

  ‘That,’ he said, glancing over his shoulder and pulling away from the kerb, ‘is putting it a little strongly, but there’s no doubt that he’s in a position to give a woman everything she could possibly want.’

  ‘Except one vital thing.’

  He pulled up at the traffic lights and stared ahead. ‘You’re not talking about love again? If so, forget it. It’s a myth.’

  She edged away from him irritably. ‘Are you going to marry him?’ ‘I - I don’t know.’

  His head came round. ‘You don’t mean you’re actually considering it after all you’ve said about him?’ He waited for a reply, but none came. ‘So it seems that money, security, creature comforts - everything in fact that you’ve so scornfully dismissed - they’ve conquered after all?

  The lights changed and he drove on.

  ‘It’s not that,’ she said slowly, ‘it’s - oh, it doesn’t matter.’

  ‘It’s what? His bulldozing technique?’

  She shrugged. How could she tell him that it frightened her to go out with Howard because he seemed to have some power over her, drawing her after him like the Pied Piper drew the children?

  ‘Go on, Elise.’ His voice was surprisingly gentle. ‘I’m listening.’

  She shook her head. ‘You’re the last person I could pour out my heart to.’

  ‘Thanks for that.’ Now his voice was sharp. ‘Anyway, I don’t see why not. You’ve known me long enough.’

  ‘What difference does that make? You still laugh at me, you never take me seriously.’

  ‘That, my sweet Elise,’ his hand came down and covered hers as it rested on her knee, ‘is where you’re wrong. I take you very seriously, especially when you tell me you hate me.’

  Her eyes stared despondently at the fashion stores and supermarkets they were passing.

  ‘While I remember,’ Lester broke into her thoughts, ‘I’d be glad of some help in the office tomorrow. Could you oblige? I’m going north in a couple of days, as you know, and I’d like to get my work up to date before I go.’

  Her heart jerked with pleasure. It was the request she had been waiting for. ‘Yes, I’ll help you.’

  ‘Good. I’ll see you there. Be ready for a couple of hours’ hard work. Now, where are we buying this jacket?’

  ‘I thought of trying Wilfred Frenley’s shop. He usually has a good selection.’

  ‘Old man Frenley? Is he still in business? He should have retired long ago. He’s almost in my grandfather’s generation.’ He looked thoughtful as he reversed into a parking space. ‘Wasn’t he one of those who joined your protest meeting that day in the woods?’

  ‘Your memory’s a bit too good.’

  ‘Isn’t it?’ he joked. ‘Come on, get out.’ He gave her a push that was none too gentle and she scrambled out of the van.

  ‘This,’ he said, as he walked beside her to the car park, ‘should be an interesting encounter.’

  She said, looking up at him anxiously, ‘Don’t say anything to him about it, Lester.’

  He merely patted her on the shoulder and smiled. He followed her into the shop. It was dim inside, as if the proprietor was economising on electricity. Lester shaded his eyes ironically as though shielding them from a dazzling light. The counter was brown and wooden. There were no modern fitments and the atmosphere was such that the twentieth century might not yet have arrived. But the stock was surprisingly up to date, the quality good and the choice wide.

  Lester leaned on his elbow against the counter, crossing his booted legs nonchalantly and drumming his fingers restlessly on the wooden surface. Elise left his side and found the rack displaying the type of jacket she wanted. She flipped her hand along them looking for her size.

  ‘Yes, sir,’ murmured a low-pitched, obsequious voice from the shadows, ‘what can I do for you?’

  Lester indicated Elise with a movement of his hand. ‘The lady wants a jacket.’

  Wilfred Frenley, rotund in shape and shrewd in judgment, moved ponderously round the counter and asked Elise what she required. The sweep of his arm included the entire contents of the shop. ‘Help yourself, my dear, help yourself. Try on as many as you like. All the garments are priced.’

  ‘Since I’m paying, Elise,’ Lester said, ‘there’s no need to go for the cheapest. Get the best. Otherwise Howard might disown you.’

  She gave him a look, but he grinned and leaned back against a pillar, arms folded, legs crossed, as though prepared for a long wait. There were no other customers.

  ‘Tell me, Mr. Frenley,’ Lester said, the light of battle in his eyes, ‘what do you think of the new Kings’ estate going up where Dawes Hall woods used to be?’

  Mr. Frenley carefully and quite unnecessarily rearranged some boxes of handkerchiefs displayed on the counter. His eyes, astute and discerning, flickered over Lester’s working clothes.

  ‘You’ve come from there, sir? You’re connected with the firm?’

  ‘Er - yes. I’m directing operations.’

  Wilf Frenley’s eyes searched his face. ‘You wouldn’t be Mr. Kings’ grandson, would you?’ Then his face broke into a broad smile. ‘Of course you are. I remember you when you were a lad. Bit of a scamp you were, too, if I remember rightly. Always climbing those trees and getting into trouble with your mother.’ His smile faded.

  Lester guessed the reason and followed it up. ‘Pity,’ he commented, leading the old man on, ‘we had to cut them down, wasn’t it?’

  ‘Ah, it was now.’ His tone was cautious. He turned a professional eye on Elise, who was pulling on an anorak. ‘But,’ his smile reappeared, ‘I was only saying to my good lady the other day what a good job you were making of it.’

  Elise pulled the fastener up to her neck and asked Lester to move away from the pillar. ‘You’re covering up the mirror.’

  He lifted himself upright and looked her over. ‘Red. I like that. The colour suits you. Brightens you up, gives you a certain - something. Are you having it?’

  She answered uncertainly, ‘It’s a bit expensive.’ ‘I told you, it doesn’t matter.’ He drew out his wallet. ‘Do you mind, Lester, if I looked at some trousers while I’m here? I need a new pair.’

  ‘Red,’ he asked hopefully, ‘to go with the jacket?’ ‘There are the trousers, miss,’ Mr. Frenley said. ‘There’s red among them. They’d make a nice outfit, as the gentleman says.’

  Lester turned back to the old man. ‘So you think we’re making a good job of the building?’ ‘Well, there’s good estates and bad, you know. Now yours is good.’ He warmed to his subject. ‘First, the houses, they’re good quality, you can see that at a glance. Better than your old grandfather used to build in the old days, if I may say so.’

  Lester nodded. ‘I’ve seen to that.’

  ‘Another thing, they’re spaced well apart. You’ve saved some trees, too.’

  ‘And we intend planting some more, to replace the diseased elms we had
to cut down.’

  He turned briefly to see if Elise had heard and smiled at the surprise in her eyes.

  ‘So you think, Mr. Frenley,’ he went on, ‘that all in all the estate blends in with its surroundings? That, of course, is why we employed an architect in the first place. He planned the entire estate, and told us how many houses we could comfortably fit in without spoiling the look of the area.’

  Mr. Frenley nodded. ‘Something else we noticed - you’ve respected people’s privacy. The estate’s screened from the road. There’s an estate a few miles away from here that you might call garish. It sticks out a mile from its surroundings. The houses are ugly-looking and put you off. But inside, I’m told, they’re good. So you can’t tell by appearances, can you?’

  ‘No, just as you can’t judge a woman by her looks.’ Lester turned. ‘Isn’t that right, Elise?’

  She ignored his provocation and stood in front of the mirror holding a pair of trousers against herself.

  ‘Well, Mr. Frenley,’ Lester returned to the old man, ‘it’s nice to know you don’t object to the building site any more. But there’s someone who does and I wish I knew who it was.’

  ‘Yes, I saw from the local paper you were having trouble with thieves and pilferers.’

  Trust Lester, Elise thought angrily, replacing the trousers and searching for a pair that would fit her, to try to lead the old man on to giving him some clues.

  ‘I remember,’ Mr. Frenley was saying, ‘a group of noisy youngsters at the meeting that day.’

  ‘Yes,’ Lester answered grimly, ‘my grandfather had good reason to remember them, too. After the meeting they broke the office windows at his house.’ Mr. Frenley tutted and Lester fiddled with a discarded price tag. ‘You - er - think it could be them - with someone bribing them, perhaps?’

  Now he’s putting words into the man’s mouth, Elise thought, glaring at Lester’s broad, uncaring back. She went to the counter and held out a pair of trousers.

  ‘You could be right,’ Mr. Frenley mumbled, ‘you could be right.’ He took the trousers from Elise. ‘These, miss? Red, to match the jacket. You’ve made the right choice.’