Bad Influence

by Desmond Harding

  “No, no.” She heard the phone being answered. “Bram, darling. I knew you would call. Don’t bother to say anything. I’ll make everything up to you when...” She stopped.

  “Miss Kelloway, this is Nigel Waugh. I’ve called to let you know that, as from now, we will no longer need the services of your company. If you would send us a closing account...”

  “Pardon?”

  “I said Norton-Hunter no longer wants you handling its public relations.”

  “Bram Norsteadt would never allow this to happen. Let me speak to him.”

  “That’s impossible. Mr Norsteadt no longer works for this company. I am the new chief executive.”

  “Oh no.”

  “Oh yes,” he said. “Don’t say you’re surprised – not after last night.”

  “I see.”

  “Don’t worry. We won’t be without public relations help. Your brother will be looking after us,” he said. But by then, she was hardly listening.

  In a soft, almost tender voice, she asked Raymond to come in again. “Do me a favour, please. Draft a letter to the Association of Public Relations Practitioners.”

  “Saying what?”

  “That I will not be attending the meeting of their ethical committee. Instead of defending myself against their ridiculous charges...” She paused. “They can have my resignation.”

  Raymond and Will stared at her. “Are you sure about this, Bonnie?” Will asked. She nodded silently.

  After what had happened, Bonnie wanted Roger to drive her home early. She sat in the back of the car exhausted, hardly noticing the afternoon traffic. Only when the car was close to her house did she see the white Mercedes.

  “Is that Bram’s car?” she asked.

  “Could be.”

  Bonnie was so delighted she almost told Roger to speed up. A few yards ahead, a car pulled away from a parking spot. Roger braked. The car, a blue Mini, driven by an elderly woman, started a three-point turn in the road.

  “Oh, get out of the way,” Bonnie said. The car stalled. “Come on, move it.”

  “She’ll be gone in a second.”

  “I’ll get out here.”

  “We’re almost there, Miss Kelloway.”

  “Don’t worry, it’s okay.” She left the car, shouting, “See you in the morning.” And ran the last few yards.

  She peered into the Mercedes. It was Norsteadt’s. Scattered across the rear seat was a bag of toffees. He was supposed to have stopped eating those. Don’t say that he’s gone back to his old ways, Bonnie thought.

  As Bonnie put her key in the lock, it swung open. “Bram, you should be more careful.”

  She dropped her briefcase on the hall table and called out, “Darling, where are you?” There was no answer. In the kitchen, in the sitting-room, in all the ground-floor rooms – no sign.

  She heard a bump. And then another. It seemed to come from overhead. Bonnie smiled and spun round. She ran up the stairs, taking them two at a time.

  “Bram, I heard what happened today. I’m so terribly sorry,” she said from the landing. She pushed open the bedroom door. “If there’s any way I can make it up to you...” she said to the empty room.

  She was about to try somewhere else when she heard the thump again, coming from the walk-in cupboard. The door swung open and Norsteadt backed out, pulling a suitcase.

  “You’re early,” he said nervously. “I wanted to have this finished before you came back.” He threw the suitcase on the bed and opened it. For the first time Bonnie saw another case, already locked and strapped up, standing in the corner.

  From the chest of drawers, Norsteadt grabbed a pile of shirts and took them to the bed. Beside them he dropped a handful of ties, socks and underwear.

  “What’s happening?”

  “I thought that was obvious.”

  “But you don’t need all these clothes for a couple of days away.”

  Norsteadt crossed to a wardrobe and took down an armful of suits.

  “You’ll need those when you come back.”

  “Bonnie, I’m not coming back.”

  “Don’t be silly, there’s so much to do. We have to start planning your new career.”

  “Leave my career alone. It’s because of you, I’m in this mess,” he snapped. He gave the drawers and cupboards a final check to make sure nothing was left.

  “What will you do?”

  “I’ve got a new business,” he said. “Actually, it’s an established company which needs a new sense of order and direction.”

  “Do I know it?”

  Norsteadt didn’t answer. He snapped shut the case and tugged tight the two securing straps. “We... I mean, I was thinking, the baby: would you let me adopt it?”

  She placed her hands around each side of her stomach. “Bram, how could you?”

  “Think about it,” he said and bumped down the stairs, a case in each hand. Bonnie trailed after him.

  In the street, Norsteadt heaved the first case into the car boot. He was about to lift the second when she grabbed the handle. “We can start again. Everything will be all right. You’ll see. We’ll raise the baby together.”

  “Let go,” Norsteadt said.

  “Do you need any help, Bram?” The voice came from behind Bonnie. She turned. Margaret Norsteadt was getting out of the car.

  “Oh, I see,” she said. “Returning to the bosom of the family. And my baby would make it all complete.”

  “It’s not like that,”

  “You only borrowed my husband, Miss Kelloway. There was no chance of you keeping him,” Margaret said.

  Norsteadt had never seen Bonnie look quite the way she did at that moment. The skin around her cheeks and eyes was dragged back in some way – and he didn’t like it. He was surprised; he had always regarded her as a pretty woman.

  “Well, well. You’ll certainly enjoy him a lot more than when I took him on. You should feel grateful to me for that.”

  To Norsteadt she seemed almost snarling. “Enough, Bonnie,” he said.

  “Had to teach him a lot. But he’s quite good now.”

  “Bonnie.”

  “Get him to do that trick with his tongue. You’ll like that. When he finds the right spot, it really is quite delightful.”

  “Shut up.”

  Bonnie could see that Margaret was uncomfortable at even the thought of that sort of thing, but she had no intention of giving up. She stood back and looked Margaret up and down. “You’re getting on, but I suppose your bits are in working order – well, most of them.” She put out her tongue and vibrated it quickly through her parted lips, making a wet slurping noise. “I’m sure you’ll enjoy it.”

  Margaret turned to Norsteadt, “Can we go?”

  “Of course, he’ll want you to return the compliment. What he really likes is...”

  “You’re disgusting.”

  “So is your husband, when he wants to be.”

  Norsteadt threw the last case into the car and slammed down the boot lid. “That’s it. I was hoping to find a way of avoiding this. But you’ve said too much.”

  He came round to the driver’s door. “I want repayment of the loan I made to Kelloway and Bains.”

  Bonnie stopped. “I don’t have that kind of money. Ty Spielvogel’s operation is having big problems and...” She paused. “Anyway, the loan is with Norton-Hunter and you don’t work there any more.”

  “I now own the debt. It was part of my severance deal. And if you don’t come up with the cash – I’ll own your company. You have till noon, the day after tomorrow.”

  Bonnie started to panic. “You can’t do that.”

  “Watch me.” He opened the car door. “Remember, midday Thursday.”

  “Just like Giles Denny,” she spat.

  “Not quite. I never made a fool of myself with him.”

  “You can’t do this,” she repeated.

  Norsteadt got in the car and started the engine.

  “You can’t do this,” she shouted as he drove
off. “Come back and talk to me. This is not right.” Kicking off her shoes she ran after the car. “I warn you, Bram Norsteadt. Take my company and you’ll regret it.” Bonnie was now bellowing at the rear of the fast-disappearing car.

  Back inside her house, she made two phone calls. First was to Gretchen Kaplan, who ran a small healthcare public relations consultancy that Bonnie had always wanted to buy. Whether or not Kaplan believed her when Bonnie claimed to be phoning on behalf of a friend was of no interest.

  The second was to the number that Kaplan had found in her contacts book. “Yes,” the caring voice on the phone said, “we can see you tomorrow morning.”

  Forty Two

  It was a minor surgical event, happening thousands of times a year. Despite that, Bonnie was told she ought to be accompanied. So Will, ever-loving Will, drove her to Eastbourne for the nine o’clock start. By four in the afternoon they were on their way home again.

  During the hour-long consultation the day before, it had been suggested that because of her age, she ought to take a few days’ rest. And that as a result of what was about to happen to her, she might not... well, feel herself. Sometimes the event brought a wonderful sense of release; other times the feeling could be altogether different. There was also the usual warning about lifting anything heavy.

  On the journey back she didn’t say much. Just something about being even, and starting again. Will put it down to the effect of the general anaesthetic.

  The next morning Bonnie was convinced she felt fine. Maybe a little sorry for herself, but that would pass once she got back to work. She took especial care with her appearance. The new suit from... what’s his name... blast. Anyway, the new pink one would create the right effect.

  Bonnie didn’t recognise the coat tossed across the back of the easy chair in her office. Nor the Mulberry briefcase on the floor. And then there were all those papers and reports scattered across her desk.

  “Glad you’re here,” Angela Nasco came in carrying a bundle of papers and dropped into her chair. “Bram wants you to clear your desk.”

  “Don’t be silly. This is my office.”

  “Not any longer.”

  Bonnie was bewildered. “What?”

  “Would you take your personal things out of here? To make room for the new chairman.”

  “Who’s that?”

  Nasco looked up from a report she was studying. “Me. Nigel Waugh chopped me moments after they kicked Bram out. So the darling man offered me this job.”

  Bonnie ran her fingers through her hair.

  “Are you all right? You look sort of strange.”

  “Don’t worry. I’ll get over it,” she said. “This is my company. I own it.”

  “Bram said something about an unpaid loan.”

  “But I’ve...”

  “Bonnie, that’s something you’ll have to take up with Mr Norsteadt.”

  “Yes. I’ll have to see Bram.”

  “That’s right.”

  Bonnie started again. “You see...”

  “What went on between the two of you is personal. I have a job to do here.” Nasco pointed to half a dozen empty boxes in the corner. “I had those sent up. You might want to use them to take away your things.”

  “Do you mind if I stay a while?”

  “Bram said you were to go as soon as possible. But what the hell.” Nasco picked up a stack of papers. “Look, I’ve got this meeting. It could last the rest of the morning, so take your time.”

  Bonnie nodded slowly and cast her eyes round the room, not knowing where to start.

  “By the way, do you have the keys to the office safe?” Nasco asked.

  Bonnie picked up her briefcase. “Should be here.” Her fingers found them almost immediately, but then let them fall again. “Funny, I could have sworn... Must be at home.”

  “If you can get them sent round, it would be a great help.” Nasco said and left.

  Immediately she had gone, Bonnie fished out the safe keys and twirled them around her index finger.

  When Nasco returned, Bonnie had finished packing. “You can either keep or bin what’s left. Please yourself.”

  Bonnie put her arms around a large box. “That looks heavy. Let me help.”

  “Don’t bother.” Bonnie heaved it to her chest... and immediately dropped it. “Ahhhh.” She collapsed to her knees and crawled to the settee. She sat doubled up, clutching her stomach. “Christ, I’m bleeding again.”

  “Bonnie, you look terrible.”

  “So would you... after an abortion.”

  Nasco helped Bonnie into Will’s car. “Forget about the boxes till you’re better. We’ll look after them,” she said. “Stay with her, Will.”

  Suddenly, Bonnie became agitated, swivelling her head to the left, then the right, and back to the left again. “My briefcase, where’s my case?”

  “Here it is,” Nasco said, putting it under her arm.

  Bonnie looked over her shoulder through the rear window of Will’s car, waiting for Nasco to disappear.

  “Forget home. We’re going to find Mr Bram Norsteadt and get him to change his mind.” She hunched herself up in the front seat and hugged her briefcase to her chest. She was still in pain, but that didn’t matter.

  “Is this a good idea?”

  “I picked that girl up from the gutter, I’m not handing my company to her on a plate,” Bonnie said. “Bet he’s been giving her one.”

  “Where to?”

  Bonnie brooded for a moment. “He could be in one of three pubs. Try the Admiral Codrington, the Antelope and the Grenadier – in that order. You see, I even had to show him the smart places to drink.”

  *

  “Where to now?” Will asked, as Bonnie left the third pub.

  “Try Harry’s Bar. He occasionally eats there.”

  Will looked at his watch. “At four in the afternoon?”

  “Just go there.”

  Still no luck.

  “Bonnie, we’ve been chasing this man over London for most of the afternoon. Give it up.”

  Bonnie wasn’t listening. “He can’t really have gone back to her.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Bonnie dialled Norsteadt’s mobile but it went straight to voicemail. She tried his home number. That went to voicemail too.

  She hugged the briefcase to her stomach again. “I’m sure both of them are there,” she said. “Laughing at me. I know it. Take me to Beaconsfield.”

  “This is getting silly.”

  “I’ll direct you.”

  It was nearly 6.30 when Will stopped his car outside Norsteadt’s house. It was dark, but lights were on in the front of the house. Bonnie pointed to the white Mercedes parked close to the garage. “Told you he was here.”

  Bonnie grabbed her briefcase and stomped up the drive. Although the house was set back from the road, Will could see her hammering on the door.

  Bonnie banged again, and then again. It was impossible for anybody inside the house to pretend they hadn’t heard.

  The door opened and Margaret came out. “What do you want, Bonnie?”

  “Is Bram here?”

  “That’s no concern of yours.”

  “I want to see him.”

  “He doesn’t want to see you.”

  “I’m staying here.” She sat down on the gravel drive, cross-legged.

  “I’ll call the police.”

  “Go ahead,” Bonnie said. “I’m not moving till he has the guts to come out and face me.”

  From her briefcase, Bonnie took a bundle of press cuttings. They were all stories of Norsteadt and his rise to power. She placed them neatly in front of her. Then, one by one, tore them to bits.

  Norsteadt waited in the sitting-room. Margaret said, “I think she means it. You’d better go and talk to her.”

  Outside, Norsteadt stood with his hands on his hips. “What do you want, Bonnie?”

  “Came to show you something.” She stood and turned sideways. Running her han
d down her now flattened stomach, she said, “Look, all gone.”

  Norsteadt’s mouth dropped open, but there was no immediate sound. In a very quiet voice he finally managed, “What do you want?”

  “You stole my company. And I want it back.”

  “No, Bonnie.” He turned to go back in the house.

  “Don’t turn away from me.”

  He kept walking.

  “Stop.”

  “It’s over for you,” he said.

  “You’re only half right,” she shouted. “It is over, but not for me. I created you. And now I’ll destroy you.”

  Over his shoulder Norsteadt said, “You are the most ridiculous woman I have ever...”

  *

  When Will described what happened later, all he remembered was Bonnie taking something silver from her briefcase. At first he couldn’t make it out.

  The Colt .45 revolver of the old Wild West was notoriously inaccurate and feats of marksmanship claimed for those days were liable to exaggeration. Not so a modern pistol, particularly the Smith and Wesson .357 Magnum, that Bonnie Kelloway held in her hand. The one she had confiscated from her Texas oilman client, Cyrus Tylzack. The one that had been in her office safe waiting to be reclaimed by its owner.

  The first bullet didn’t miss. It smashed into the centre of Norsteadt’s spine, hardly a hair’s breadth from where she aimed. Neither did the second, third nor fourth.

  The fifth and sixth shots were easier. Because by then, Bram Norsteadt was lying on the ground, quite still.

  Margaret ran from the house screaming. Bonnie swung the pistol towards her, but as she squeezed the trigger again and again, all that could now be heard was the click, click, clicking as the hammer fell uselessly against the already spent cartridges.

  Forty Three

  Finian and Nathan were working in Bonnie’s office. The two men were trying to sort out the mess at Kelloway and Bains and salvage what they could of the business. Angela Nasco had vanished days before.

  Margaret Norsteadt came in, dressed in black. Both men rose to their feet. Finian, both hands outstretched, came round the desk to meet her. “I’m so terribly sorry,”

  “Don’t blame yourself,” She touched his hand.

  “If I hadn’t...”