Revengement

by Stan Mason

  It took him five minutes to get to the depot. As he got into his truck and unlocked the door, the depot manager emerged with a dour expression on his face.

  ‘You really cocked it up this time, driver!’ he scowled. ‘First in the queue, fourth in the line for unloading. What the hell happened to you?’

  Purdy climbed into the cabin of his truck and slammed the door. He was now riddled with panic. It wouldn’t be long before the police came to the depot to search for him. If he didn’t get away now, there was no hope in him escaping the long arms of the law. To the astonishment of the depot manager, he started the engine and drove off without waiting to be unloaded. If he could get to the motorway and drive in a southerly direction as fast as he could, he could then veer off and take the side roads through the villages and countryside to avoid being caught. It was only then he realised that he had nowhere to hear for. He couldn’t get back into his home and, in any case, he didn’t particularly want to return to London. His mind cleared as he began to assess his position. The depot manager would tell the police that he took the load from Consolidated Stores who would advise them of his address. One thing was certain, they would send out an ‘all points bulletin’ to try to arrest him. He had once been told by a very sage person that when one faced an impossible situation, it was necessary to turn it on its head. With that wisdom in mind, he recognised that the only sensible way to escape was not to drive south but to go north. Then he could change his number plates and try to disguise his lorry. Then they would never be able to find him. If he did that, he could make a new life for himself in Scotland. Better still, why not dump the truck and find himself a motor car.

  He followed his instincts to the letter, turning his truck around and driving northwards until reaching a small town some distance from Manchester. There was not a policeman or a police car in sight. He prowled around the outskirts of the town until finding an old house with a shed. Inside, was a rusty old car too badly damaged to be taken on the road again. He removed the number plates and exchanged them with those on the front and rear of his lorry. Then he found a hardware shop and bought a couple of tins of red paint and some paintbrushes. He painted some outrageous designs on the exterior of hi truck until it was unrecognisable as the vehicle in which he had arrived. The disguise was complete!

  He spent half-an-hour in a café trying to determine his next step. He remembered a film where the candidate for election to become a senator was contested hotly by a good-looking, fast-taking salesman. After winning the election, his agent noticed that he was absent from the celebration party. He found him worrying himself sick in one of the bedrooms. When the agent asked him the problem, he said: ‘I spent six months campaigning to win the election. Now I’m there, what do I do?’ Purdy felt that he was in exactly the same position. He had won his freedom... now what was he supposed to do? He didn’t really want to start a new life in the north. Everything he had planned with Katy Morrell had turned sour. His best bet was to return to Brenda in London. Although she was a rough diamond, she would show far more interest in him than Katy Morrell even if her quality of affection was peculiar at times. But then one couldn’t have everything in life. He climbed into his truck, replenished the vehicle with fuel from a nearby garage, and started the journey back. He could spent the evening with Brenda and hope that she would take him home to her place. After that, que sera, sera!... what will be, will be! In his muddled mind, he failed to recognise that the police would soon be able to track him down at Consolidated Stores!

  When he arrived at the London depot, he walked up to the counter and leaned heavily on it. The only person there was Sally.

  ‘She’s not on for another half hour,’ she told him casually. ‘Not for another friggin’ half hour.’

  Purdy nodded gratefully and stared at her. ‘You seem to be a very nice young lady,’ he ventured. ‘Why do you always have to swear?’

  ‘Because I friggin-well have to, that’s why!’ she retorted quickly. ‘And if I were you, I’d get the friggin hell out of here!’

  ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘They ‘phoned through from the northern depot to say you hadn’t delivered your load. I told them you wouldn’t be that stupid but it seems I was wrong. No one takes a load all the way to Manchester and then brings it back here for the fun of it. What happened?’

  He shrugged his shoulders sheepishly. ‘There was a problem. An emergency. I had to get back here right away. I’ll sort it out with Brenda.’

  ‘I wouldn’t friggin’ do that if I was you,’ she continued, looking at him over the top of the computer. ‘Her boyfriend knows all about you and he’s coming over to sort you out.’

  Purdy stared at her dumbly with a strange expression on his face. ‘She said she wanted to see me.’ he claimed.

  ‘That was about a lorry load to Newcastle.’

  His face turned into dismay at the revelation. ‘Who told her boyfriend about me?’ he went on.

  ‘I friggin’ did,’ she admitted frankly. ‘Brenda’s my friend and she always gets herself in too deep with men. She puts up a tough front but she’s really as soft as butter. She’s got a heart of gold. All the men take advantage of her... and I always have to get her out of trouble.’

  ‘And what about the genuine people in her life... like me? You shouldn’t interfere in other people’s lives!’

  ‘Genuine my eye! You’re no more genuine than my cat and he’s only friendly when it comes to feeding time. Anyway, the boyfriend who she lives with is a foot taller than you and he’s a professional wrestler. I wouldn’t like to be in your shoes when he gets here.’

  The truck driver became angry at her impertinence. He felt like giving her a piece of his mind but then considered it to be pointless. At that moment, two Alsatian dogs could be heard barking outside growling menacingly.

  ’What the hell’s going on here?’ demanded Purdy with an element of fear creeping into his voice. ’Who’s dogs are these?’

  ’The management advised us to get guard dogs,’ came the reply. ‘You know what Michael’s done. He’s gone and let them off their friggin’ leads!’ She picked up the telephone receiver on her desk and dialled a single-digit number. ‘Get these friggin’ dogs under control before they do some friggin’ damage!’ She slammed the receiver down before the man at the other ned of the line had a chance to answer and turned to the truck driver. ’So there you are, squire! If you take my advice you’d better scarper before Brenda and her boyfriend get here’.

  He stared at her suddenly trying to make up his mind what to do. Before he could do anything, the dogs began to yelp as Michael took control of them. He entered the office still holding the dogs and stared at the truck driver solemnly.

  ‘You do know that Brenda’s boyfriend’s coming to sort you out,’ he said, showing an element of concern. ‘What do you want me to do with your load, only it should be in Manchester? You’d better tell me!’

  ‘Oh, shut up!’ snapped Purdy angrily, stepping sideways as the dog snarled at him showing their teeth. He stalked past there slowly and made for his truck, climbing into the cabin, starting the engine and driving off. Honour was the better part of valour! Michael followed him with the doges which growled and pulled at their leashes as he left.

  Purdy took the first road leading south. He dwelt on the last words that Jennifer had spoken to him when he was packing his holdall to leave home. ‘You’re not free of me yet,’ she had told him. ‘If you want to be free, go to Cornwall to see my husband. Then I promise you won’t have to deal with me any more.’ Here words echoed around and around in his head. He now knew exactly what he had to do!

  Chapter Fifteen

  Charles sat at his desk in his office at Sovereign Bank and yawned loudly. The flight from Cyprus brought back the fatigue which he thought he had conquered. Following Rhona Paphos’s proposition, there was so much more to think about. He had to
admit that it was a great opportunity to spread his wings in the big wide world but banking was the only profession in which he was confident. Although it was staid and unexciting, there were reasonable long-term prospects for him in terms of promotion. When Jennifer was alive, he would not have hesitated to turn down the proposition. A high-flying executive in the jewellery business would not have been of interest. But her death had changed everything. He now viewed banking to be mundane and tiresome involving the system, the rules, the people and the decisions. He felt that a robot could accomplish seventy-five per cent of the work. Indeed, with the rapid advance of technology, it was common knowledge that the staff would be reduced year by year. In favour of intelligent computers and direct banking. With some foresight, and an element of bad luck, his career could come to an end with a machine telling him that he had been made redundant. As a banker, with few other talents, he might never be able to find another job again. Whereas if he joined Scintillant, he would be in a position of power, able to travel the world and carry out his tasks in the companionship of a very beautiful woman. He would also obtain shares in the company and possibly increase his wealth considerably if everything went to plan. Clearly, Rhona Paphos had asked her mother what his decision would be. He didn’t really know whether she could tell her that. But there was something that Mama had told him which stuck in his mind. She said she know more about what was to happen but because, with that knowledge, he might change the future. Therefore although Mama probably knew that he would accept the appointment with Scintillant, Charles could still reverse the decision if he wanted to do so. The concept fitted in well with the point Jennifer had made to him... that everyone had their own personality... their own individuality. At the end of the day, despite what everyone believed to be right, including Rhona... he had the last word and could change the direction of his life if he so wished at any time. Jennifer had told him that everyone’s destiny was written in the heavens. On that premise, each individual followed the path but deviated from it according to the personal decisions they made during their lives. When they did that there was pain and suffering before they got back on the right track. He yawned loudly again, realising with contained excitement that he had found the solution to all his problems. It had been there all the time but it had to be recognised. The main barrier affecting any decision with regard to his future was the fear of failing as an executive of Scintillant. He might tour banks and financial institutions to discover that they were loth to lend money to the company. Where would that leave him. If that happened, he would fall flat on his face in a very short time and find himself out of a job. However there was David Fulton . The General Manager was the key to the enigma.

  Charles picked up the telephone and dialled a single-digit number. ‘Erica,’ he uttered into the mouthpiece, ‘will you come in for a moment. I have something important for you to do.’

  His assistant bounded into the room a few moments later with a pencil and pad in her hand. ‘You rang, Milord!’ she said in deep tones, imitating a butler in an old-fashioned movie sometimes shown at a late hour on television.

  ‘Yes!’ he riposted, ignoring her amusing grin. ‘There are three important things I want you to do right away.

  ‘The impossible can be done immediately,’ she offered freely. ‘Miracles take a little longer.’

  ‘First, I want you to contact Rhona Paphos and ask her to ring me as soon as possible. Erica Wild began to scribble quickly on her pad with a serious expression on her face. It had become patently obvious that this was no time for making jokes. Her boss was serious... very serious! Second, I want you to contact a man by the name of Bill Johnson at the North Continental Bank in New York. Ring him personally and tell him that we must have confirmation that the Certificate of Deposit held by Scintillant is genuine in writing. I want initial confirmation by fax and a letter to follow.’ His assistant glanced at her wristwatch with concern. ‘I’m not keeping you, am I,‘ ’ he rattled sarcastically.’ I mean if you’ve something better to do, don’t let me keep you!’

  ‘It’s not that,’ she explained. New York’s five hours behind us. It’s five o’clock in the morning there. I’ll have to contact Mr. Johnson a little later.’

  Charles grimaced at having to take her to task. ‘Good point,’ he managed to say. ‘I must apologise. The trip back from Cypurs seems to have exhausted me. I’m seeing shadows that aren’t there. The third item relates to a meeting between David Fulton and myself this afternoon. But I must get that confirmation from Bill Johnson first!’

  Erica Wild completed her notes and nodded. Get it, got it, good! Leave it with me!’ she said succinctly, wheeling about and disappearing from the office at speed.

  The banker started to work on a pile of papers prepared for him by his assistant but his eyes flashed over the words and the figurers without seeing them. He had only one idea in mind... to grant the loan application for half a million pounds to Scintillant. He had to be certain that it was in place and drawn down so that the bank would be unable to rescind its decision and so could not renege on the deal. After that, he would resign from the bank and take up his new appointment. He felt now that fate was too influential for him to make a decision It had to be made for him by some indefinable power. It must have been written in his destiny somewhere in Heaven.

  Of the three tasks he set for his assistant, the toughest one would be to contact Rhona. Bill Johnson would fax the message to the bank once he arrived at his office in New York and received the communication. David Fulton was always at meetings during the mornings so he would be unavailable until the afternoon anyway. However although Rhona had travelled back with him from Cyprus, he was uncertain whether she would be available.

  Fifteen minutes later, Erica Wild bounced back into his office breathlessly. ‘All set,’ she told him. ‘I left a message with Bill Johnson in New York but I’ll page him again in a couple of hours. I actually rang his home and woke him up so he knows what he has to do. Mr. Fulton can see you just after lunch... at two thirty. He’s out at three o’clock so your meeting will have to be short. Miss Paphos is the fly in the ointment but her office is paging her now. She should contact you soon.’

  As she finished the message, the telephone rang and Charles picked up the receiver and put it to his ear. A smile broke out all over his face. ‘Rhona!’ he greeted warmly. ‘I’m glad I managed to get hold of you.’ He waved his hand towards his assistant as a gesture of gratitude which also told her to leave the office. ‘Is it possible you can meet me at my home later today... after three-thirty? And bring that Certificate of Deposit with you.’

  ‘I’ll be there,’ she replied. ‘What’s it all about>‘

  ‘I’m surprised you don’t know. Didn’t Mama tell you? Look, I can’t talk now but I’ll give you a clue. I’ve just contacted Bill Johnson in New York. I’ll tell you all about it later.’

  He hung up the receiver and smiled to himself. He was very keen to prove to her that he was not just an ordinary banker. There was much more to him than that! Suddenly he felt a surge of excitement run through his body. He was about to start a new adventure to alter his life. The vicar wasn’t such a fool after all. He had advised him to change his work or at least the pattern of it and its location. Well all that was in place now! He looked around his office with a degree of contempt. It was old, ancient, atavistic, a monument of the past. He would soon be rid of it for something much more pleasant and modern.

  Shortly afterwards, the telephone rang. The caller was Roger Melford, the private detective.

  ‘Mr. Roach,’ he informed him modestly. ‘We’ve had a bit of luck. I focussed the investigation on a number of depots in London and the south. In fact I narrowed it down to eighteen lorries which fell into the net. Some of them spend much of their time travelling to the Continent and it’s come down to one person... one lorry. A man by the name of James Purdy in London. I’ve tried to contact him by telephone seve
ral times but there’s no answer. I’ve even had someone go round to his house but he doesn’t seem to be there. His wife’s waiting for him to come home. James Purdy’s the name. He’s the man!’

  ‘So what do we do now?’ asked the banker lamely.

  ‘I guess that’s up to you. I’ll let you have a copy of all the details. In the meantime, I’ll get my agent to keep a watch on the house to catch him on his return. He’s bound to come home sooner or later.’

  ‘I’ll look forward to receiving the details,’ returned Charles before replacing the receiver. James Purdy! The name meant nothing to him. Nor should it have done. An element of anxiety built up within him making him feel that he should have pursued the matter. What could he possibly say to the man? Nothing pleasant would pass on an issue of this severity. They would resent each other strongly and resort to making savage threats alleging that for one reason or another it was the other man’s fault for Jennifer’s death. Act in haste, repent at leisure was the axiom. At the end of it all, nothing would bring Jennifer back. It suddenly him to realise that, before he travelled to Cyprus, he intended to contact the detective to cancel the investigation but it had slipped his mind in the flurry. The telephone rang again. This time it was Williams, the manager of one of Sovereign Bank’s branches in London.

  ‘Mr. Roach,’ he began. ‘We’ve never met. I’m Arthur Williams at the East Ham branch of the bank. I’ve just been reading the latest issue of the Bank’s Magazine and there’s an article about you in it. It says that your wife was involved in an unfortunate road accident.’

  ‘We get our copy a day after you receive yours in London,’ returned Charles misinterpreting the reason for the call. ‘But thank you for your condolences anyway. It’s kind of you to take the trouble to ring me.’