Revengement

by Stan Mason

  ‘That’s not the reason for my call, Mr. Roach. It says that you and your wife were wearing yellow oilskins. Is that correct?’

  ‘Yes... we were wearing them that evening.’

  ‘Well the strangest thing happened a few days ago. A lorry driver, a customer of the bank, came to see me. He had a kind of fit in the office claiming that he could see yellow. Then he told me he’d knocked down a woman and killed her. I asked him if he’d gone to the police but he hadn’t. Naturally, in his state of mind it was best left alone but having read the article about you I’ve had second thoughts.’

  ‘What’s the name of this man?’ asked Charles bluntly.

  ‘James Purdy. The problem is he’s handed over the key to his property for us to repossess. I don’t think anyone will be able to find him.’

  ‘Thank you for that information, Mr. Williams. I employed a private detective to help me find the man who killed my wife. He rang me just now to say that his name was James Purdy. It confirms that he was the culprit. When I come to London next time I’ll look you up. Maybe we can have lunch together.’

  ‘You’re welcome at any time,’ concluded Williams. ‘I’ll look forward to it.’

  Charles replaced the receiver and stared out of the window. All the pieces were falling into place but he felt disinclined to do anything about it. If he told the police about Purdy, they would arrest the man, there would be a trial, and, at best, he would be disqualified from driving and have to pay a fine, or do a hundred hours of community service. It would do nothing more than reawaken his grief for his late wife. Not only that but the man had a wife. Roger Melford had told him so. Perhaps he had a family as well. They would all suffer hardship. In his heart he knew that Jennifer wouldn’t have wanted to cause that kind of suffering.

  In a short while, Erica Wild came bounding into the office again holding a fax message in her hand. ‘Here it is!’ she exclaimed brightly. ‘The fax from Bill Johnson of the North Continental American Bank. He’s sending a letter by airmail as well.’ She handed him the sheet of paper cheerfully. ‘If I was a betting person, I’d say it looks like Scintillant’s going to get that loan.’

  The banker looked at her briefly for a few moments in exultation. ‘I wouldn’t read anyone’s faxes if I were you!’ he chided with amusement. ‘It all depends on our illustrious Mr. Fulton but there’s a possibility you could be right.’

  After lunch, Charles went to the office of the General Manager and sat down in the comfortable chair opposite him. ‘I want to talk to you about Rhona Paphos and Scintillant,’ he began boldly.

  ‘Ah, yes,’ returned Fulton with recognition showing in his eyes as he placed the tips of his fingers together in front of him. ‘You turned down the application because you were convince that the Certificate of Deposit wasn’t authentic. That was your submission I I remember correctly.’

  Charles put on his most sheepish look and shrugged his shoulders aimlessly as though riddled with embarrassment. ‘I don’t quite know how to say this, sir,’ he went on humbly, ‘but I was under great stress following the death of my wife... imagining all kinds of things. I even thought that she was communicating with me from up there.’ He even aimed a finger upwards to the ceiling as if to emphasis his point.

  ‘You did say something like that,’ sighed the other man. ‘You claimed she told you it was a fraud. I have to admit I was extremely sceptical.’

  ‘Well, as I said, I was under emotional stress. Now, I’m glad to say, I can redress the injustice. I’ve contacted the New York bank to check the authenticity of the document and I’ve received a fax message to say that it’s all in order. The New York bank’s sending a letter of confirmation by airmail.’

  He passed the fax message over to the General Manager who read it carefully. ‘It doesn’t seem that everything’s in order,’ he remarked slowly. ‘I’ll put it to the Central Committee for them to grant the loan.!’

  ‘Rhona Paphos is holding a small party in Plymouth in a few weeks’ time,’ he lied to gain the advantage until approval of the loan was finally granted. . ‘She wants you to attend. Nothing lavish mind you. She also mentioned her villa in Calpe in Spain. She says you can stay there for a month if you like and there’ll always be a crate of Spanish wine waiting for you.’

  The senior banker’s face lit up as he leaned forward with interest. ‘That sounds splendid!’ he retorted joyfully. ‘You’ve done a good job, Roach! A good job!’

  ‘Miss Paphos is an extremely generous woman. She’s arranging for the company account to be transferred to us and she’ll allow us to handle her business worldwide. It’s a win-win situation so I think you ought to fast-track the loan through.’

  Fulton sat back in his chair thoughtfully. ‘There’s a meeting of the Committee tomorrow morning. Can you get all the paperwork through to me by then. If you can, we’ll have approval by lunchtime. It can’t be fast-tracked any quicker than that.’

  ‘You can be certain all the paperwork will be on your desk tomorrow morning first thing. It’s an opportunity we cannot miss.’ The junior manager rose and went to the door.

  ‘By the way,’ continued Fulton as a parting shot. ‘No one’s to know about the villa. It’s one of the perks but no one else is to know. Is that understood?’

  Charles left the room shaking his head from side to side. He never knew how anyone could have promoted Fulton to the high position that he held at the bank. There were a number of case where people were misfits in their appointments and the tendency was to promote them to get rid of them from the branch or division. Promotion was a far better option than a transfer. But how far could one deal with problems in such a way? Surely not to the level of General Manager! Yet it had happened with David Fulton!

  ***

  Jim Purdy took five-and-a-half hours to get to Cornwall. He left the vehicle in a car park and found a barber shop. After getting a shave and a haircut, he felt quite refreshed and preened himself in the mirror. He reckoned that he hadn’t looked that good in months., his features having been improved by the hot towels placed on his face before and after he was shaved. He left the shop and walked around the town. Freedom meant he could do anything he wanted. Most of all was the ability to spend time doing absolutely nothing. He couldn’t remember the name of the poet William Henry Davies but he recalled the lines taught to him at school. ‘What is this life so full of care, we have no time to stand and stare!’ It was quite true. At the beginning of every decade or at arriving at specific ages, such as thirty, forty, fifty or sixty, people were reminded how fast their lives were flitting away. It was a fact! On such occasions, they realised that they were faced with a multitude of different problems and that there was little time or inclination to stand and stare. He went to the local reference library to examine the area newspaper on microfilm and found the article relating to the accident in which he had been involved. Then he searched the Voting Register to determine the address of the widower by the name of Charles Roach. That was the easy part. Now he had to face the man to explain what had happened on that fateful night. He would have to tell him that she had appeared to him and had spoken to him, advising him to return to Cornwall to see her husband.

  He drove to the road which led to the residential housing estate. It all looked so different in the light of day. He stopped the vehicle allowed the incident of that night to pass through his mind. After inhaling and exhaling a number of times, he walked into the estate searching to the banker’s bungalow. When he found it, he stood outside hesitantly, wondering whether he should forgo the experience. After all, he though to himself, he who fights and runs away, lives to fight another day! But then the words of Jennifer Roach came to mind. ’If you want to be free you’ll have to go to Cornwall to see my husband. Then I promise you that you won’t have to deal with me any more.’

  He rang the doorbell and waited nervously stamping his feet on the groun
d in the cold but there was no reply. He rang the doorbell again with the same result. However this time the next-door neighbour emerged from her home.

  ’Looking for Mr. Roach!’ puffed Purdy as he caught sight of the woman.

  ’He’s at work. Won’t be back until later on,’ she told him. ‘Do you want to leave a message?’

  ‘No,’ he replied. ‘No message. I’ll call again.’

  ‘I’ll tell him you called. We’re on a Neighbourhood Watch system here,’ she warned, in case he was a burglar with designs on breaking into the banker’s bungalow. ‘We keep a watch on everyone who comes and goes. You can’t be too careful these days.’

  ‘True,’ he repeated dumbly. ‘You can’t be too careful.’ He pulled himself up to his full height and turned to walk back to the main road. He had focussed his mind on the meeting all the way from London to Cornwall but now that it had failed to take place he was totally deflated. He wondered whether he could pluck up enough courage to return to the banker’s home again. Roach would have to come home eventually. He spent some considerable time in a local café ostensibly in a state of suspended animation, waiting for the hammer to fall. At worst, the banker might be so vengeful that the truck driver would end the night in a police cell somewhere in the depths of an obscure country jail. He mused that it wasn’t such a bad idea. He would be fed, watered and accommodated costing him nothing. In addition, he had nowhere to go in particular... only time would tell!

  ***

  Charles left the office at three-fifteen and returned home fifteen minutes later just as Rhona Paphos arrived there.

  ‘This isn’t anything like your mansion in Tala village,’ he told here with an element of amusement in his voice.

  She laughed, removed her coat and sat delicately on the settee, He poured out two glasses of drink before handing one to her and then sat down beside her to explain his plan. ‘If you don’t know what my decision’s going to be from Mama then you’ve probably already guessed. I’m going to resign from the bank and accept the appointment with Scintillant...’

  ‘Oh, Charles!’ she interrupted excitedly. ‘I’m so delighted. This is indeed a time for celebration!’ She raised her glass towards him before reaching out to take hold of his arm.

  ‘But that’s not all,’ he went on eagerly. ‘Before the final curtain comes down on my career with the bank, I want to be certain that the application for half a million pounds is approved. My General Manager will be attending the meeting of the Central Committee tomorrow morning with the fax message from Bill Johnson stating that the Certificate of Deposit is authentic. By lunchtime we ought to know that the loan’s been approved. I want everything to be watertight before I tender my resignation. Is that okay with you?’

  She stared at him in awe her lovely face breaking into a beaming smile. Then she leaned forward and kissed him on the lips. ‘I knew I had faith in you.’ she managed to say with euphoria. ‘You are the man! You are definitely the man!’ She paused to think for a moment. ‘What about David Fulton?’ Why is he so keen to play his part in this?’

  ‘Ah, I dangled a carrot in front of his nose,’ returned the banker shrewdly. ‘He thinks he’s going to one of your parties in Plymouth in a few weeks time as well as a month’s holiday at your villa in Calpe. He can‘t wait to get the loan through to benefit from a tax-free holiday.’ She burst into laughter and the echoes rippled throughout the room. ‘So, having told you all that, what do you think?’

  She stared at him lovingly. ‘I think you’re wonderful. I know I made the right choice offering you the appointment. There was never any doubt. Together we can do anything... anything! I love you, Charles Roach and we‘re going to be very successful.. Just wait until Mama hears about it!’

  At that moment the doorbell rang. The banker answered to find himself face to face with the truck driver who killed his wife.

  ‘I’m Jim Purdy. You don’t know me but I’d like to talk to you.’

  ‘I know you, Mr. Purdy,’ responded the banker calmly. ‘You’re the man who killed my wife.’

  The truck driver looked started and he stepped back a pace in astonishment. ‘You know it was me?’ he gasped as Charles beckoned him to enter. They walked into the lounge where Rhona Paphos was sitting.

  ‘Can we talk privately,’ begged Purdy staring uneasily at the woman.

  ‘Miss Paphos knows all about it,’ related the banker. ‘Anything you have to say can he said in front of her.’

  The truck driver moved to the sideboard on which rested a number of framed photographs of Charles and his late wife. ‘That’s the woman!’ he exclaimed with a serious expression on his face, pointing to one of the photographs. ‘She’s the one in London... in yellow oilskins!’

  ‘London?’ echoed Roach in surprise. ‘What are you talking about. She was run down a short distance from here!’

  ‘When I got back to London, she was waiting for me there. She rolled back the hood of her oilskins and I saw her face.’ He pointed again at the photographs. ‘That was the woman I saw. It’s the same one. And then she started talking to me. I could hear her voice speaking to me in my head.’ His chest heaved irregularly with emotion and he paused to correct his breathing. ‘You probably think I’m crazy but she told me to come back here to see you or I’d never be free of her.’ He stopped to stare at Rhona. The woman was sitting with her back straight and her head held high, her mouth had fallen open and she had closed her eyes. ‘What’s the matter with her?’ asked Purdy.

  Charles placed the index finger of his right hand to his lip to indicate silence. ‘She’s a medium. I can only assume she’s received a message from Jennifer, my late wife.’

  They waited a full two minutes before Miss Paphos opened her eyes. ‘Jennifer’s delighted that you came to see Charles,’ she told the driver. Then she looked at the banker and bit her lower lip. ‘She’s says you must stay in this bungalow until you don’t have to any more.’

  ‘That’s a pretty cryptic message,’ he returned. ‘What does it mean?’

  ‘I have to tell you to accept this advice,’ she went on. The tone of her voice made him consider the order was imperative.

  Purdy turned towards Rhona in despair. ‘Can you tell her I’m really sorry. I never meant to harm her let alone kill her. A dog ran across the road in front of the lorry and I swerved skidding in the ice and snow. The wing caught her on the edge of the pavement. The only think I blame myself for is not stopping. I should have stopped but I didn’t. Can you tell her that, please!’

  ‘She already knows,’ answered the woman blandly.

  The truck driver’s face took on a look of desperation. He turned to the banker like a man with his head on the executioner’s block pleading with him to get on with it. ‘I suppose someone ought to inform the police,’ he muttered almost under his breath. ‘It’s all right with me. I mean I was the driver who hit her so I have to take the consequences.’

  ‘No!’ intervened Rhona sharply. ‘Jennifer said that on no account were the police to be involved. You’re free to go. You’ll be free from now on.’

  ‘If Jennifer said that, it goes for me too,’ added Roach.

  Purdy was overwhelmed by the generosity. ‘I think you’re all bloody marvellous!’ he commented with relief. ‘I thought you’d want to beat me up before handing me over to the police. I mean look how much I must have affected your life!’

  The banker gave him a wry smile and glanced at Rhona. ‘You could say that. My life has certainly changed.’

  ‘Well if that’s how it is,’ concluded the driver, ‘I’m off! All I can say is that I’m sorry for all the trouble I’ve caused.’

  He moved towards the door and held out his hand in a token of friendship. Charles retreated a couple of paces. ‘I don’t think I could shake the hand of the man who killed my wife.’

  Purdy nodded underst
anding the other man’s reluctance and he turned and left the bungalow to go back to his lorry. The outcome of the visit was far shorter than he expected and he certainly imagined the conclusion to be somewhat different.

  Charles closed the front door and returned to the lounge. ‘What was that all about, Rhona?’ he asked innocently.

  She smiled at him wistfully. ‘Jennifer’s still here but not for long. Maybe for just a few minutes more. What concerns me is what she intends to do.’

  The banker stared at her seriously. ‘In Cyprus, your mother said that she was saving all her energy for a final effort. You know what it is, don’t you?’

  ‘She told me but she made me promise not to tell you. She said that you’d soon find out. Very soon.’

  He puffed out his cheeks with annoyance. ‘It seems that mediums get all the information but they never tell anyone the important things at the right time.’

  ‘That’s because we’re dealing with two worlds. Jennifer will disappear for ever into her world in a few minutes time. She asked me again to buy you a yucca plant and add the words ‘Yuccas, Charlie, yucca!’ I think it’s her way of saying a final goodbye.’

  Charles paused to think for a moment. He had already lost his wife physically, now he was about to lose her spiritually. It was like seeing off a special friend at a railway station knowing that you would never see them again. However, it meant that she was going somewhere better in another world... or that fate would deem that she returned to be reincarnated to this one into another body. Love made fools of everyone. He recalled a man telling him once that love was letting the person you loved go free. If they came back, they would be yours for ever. If they didn’t, they never belonged to you in the first place.

  ***

  Purdy reached his vehicle, unlocked the door to the cabin, and climbed inside. He was free of everyone and everything now. His wife, the bank, the police and, more importantly, Jennifer Roach. It was entirely up to him to do what he liked and to go where he wanted. He decided to make his way to Devon before deciding on his future. He started the engine and drove off at speed... a knight of the road! Over the brow of the hill, he accelerated without realising that he was going too fast. All he could think of was making headway before it got too dark. A short distance ahead, at the point where he struck Jennifer Roach, an oil tanker was parked at the side of the road. It was practically full of fuel distributing central heating oil to one of the bungalows. Purdy was unaware that the flexible pipe which stretched from the tanker to a large tank at the rear of the bungalow suffered a small fracture. This allowed the fuel to leak from the pipe as it was pumped from the tanker, dripping sufficiently to create a small pool by in the gutter.