‘My driving licence, specifically. The registration documents on the Volvo. I’m going to part with it.’
Her eyes sparked. ‘And not before time...’ Then she caught her lower lip between her teeth. ‘Oh heavens, Cliff, I completely forgot. That terrible business...’
‘That’s why I’m parting with it.’
‘And not because it was always so unsuitable?’
‘You never did understand that car, did you Val. All it was, come down to it, was a gesture of independence.’
She leaned forward. For one second her hand rested on my arm. Perhaps she felt my abrupt muscle reaction, because she snatched it away.
‘Don’t you think I realised that?’ she demanded, looking past my left ear. ‘But how could it be, you idiot? You’d married me, and with me came the money and the position. I couldn’t help that. Now could I? You ought to have been prepared to take me as I was, not reject everything that came with me. It was an insult. The Volvo was an insult. And that’s the truth of it.’
‘It wasn’t quite like that.’
‘You could have had your independence, if you’d wanted that. I’d have got you a position on father’s board. Independence and freedom of movement.’
‘It wouldn’t have worked out that way.’
She drew in her breath with a small hiss, like an angry viper. But her voice was quiet. ‘Don’t you understand how you irritate people, Cliff? This stubborn, pig-headed self-reliance of yours. Nobody dares to offer you anything, you just about snap off their fingers. Now don’t use that expression with me, Cliff. This is your wife. Your ex-wife. I know you. Nobody can say a word about your high-and-mighty principles, when really they’re just petty and tiresome.’ She lifted her chin. Her bosom rose and fell as she took a very deep breath. ‘And there, that’s me being the charming hostess. Did you come here to be told off, Cliff, like a naughty little boy?’
‘Not really,’ I said placidly, though my heart and mind were racing. Once more I was facing a memory of myself as I’d not imagined I’d been. ‘And the documents I mentioned?’
She gave a small click of annoyance with her tongue. ‘If they were here, I’d have found them ages ago.’
‘It was just a possibility.’
‘Don’t go,’ she said quickly, though the small movement I’d made had not been towards leaving. ‘It could still be, you know, if you wanted it. Your independence. An executive position at the factory. I can control such things now.’
‘Thank you, Val. I do appreciate it. I’ll bear it in mind.’
She sighed. ‘Have you ever noticed that when you’ve made up your mind, and dug into your most stubborn mood, it’s then you go all polite and patient?’
‘I’ll have to watch it.’
‘Oh, you’re hopeless. Are you going to wait and say hello to Michael?’
‘D’you think I should?’
‘Why not? You’re just two for a pair. He thinks he’s independent.’
Her tiny smile was intended to be shared with me. We knew, she and I, that Michael Orton was no more independent of her than I’d been.
It was a point I’d been wondering about, Orton being able to retain his job, when the similar situation with me she’d found unacceptable. He, too, drove off to his office, and returned in the evening. But it wasn’t quite the same, was it? I mean, I’d had a job; he had a profession. More solid, more respectable. And, I suspect, there was the fact that he was Michael Orton. His more powerful personality would overbear her objections. Her position and influence would have to be subordinated to his. That could be where I’d failed. As Val had said, I was weak. She required forcefulness. Michael Orton could supply that.
‘But seriously,’ she said, ‘I do think he’d like to see you, and he’s due home early. We’re going out.’
One advantage a profession has over a job. You can work your own hours if you are your own boss.
‘Yes,’ I said, carrying on the thought. ‘I’d noticed his new office on the Square. Michael Orton Associates now. He’s doing well.’
I got to my feet. Laddie moved away, feathered tail weaving, believing this was going to turn out to be a walk. I laughed at him. ‘Can’t help you, old sport.’ I stretched my shoulders. ‘To tell you the truth, Val, I’m trying to reconstruct that last day, the day I got bounced. It’s completely gone from my mind.’
‘Oh,’ she said, not particularly sympathetic. ‘I’d have thought you’d want to forget it. Does it matter?’
‘I shan’t know till I remember.’ I grinned at her. ‘Shall I?’
‘But how could I help? We haven’t even spoken to each other for...how long?’
‘Years,’ I agreed. ‘It’s not that. There was something happened a week or ten days before that. Say around November the 6th.’
A polite lift of her eyebrows. She plucked them, I saw, in a softer line than before. ‘Does this involve me, Cliff?’
‘The decree absolute came through around that time.’
‘The twelfth.’
‘Yes. That gives you a fix.’
‘If I need what you call a fix. Certainly it does.’
‘Your life would be very full at that time. The second wedding coming up, and all that.’
‘What are you leading up to?’ she demanded suspiciously.
‘Michael had an assistant, Colin Rampton. He died at about the same time. An accident at the garage – Pool Street Motors.’ I waited. Enlightenment cleared her features.
‘I see now. I get what you mean. Yes, of course. Poor Michael had been training him to take over for the honeymoon, and the poor young man...something terrible happened.’
‘A car fell on him.’
Her lips moved with distaste. ‘Something unpleasant, yes. It put Michael in a terrible fix. A month before the honeymoon – we flew to Bermuda, you know.’
‘I didn’t know. Sounds very exciting.’
‘Not the way you say it.’
‘But you did manage to get away all right?’
‘Michael did what was necessary. Phoned around, or whatever. It meant his clients just had to wait. He was furious, I remember.’
‘Yes, of course he’d be. But he’d cope.’
‘And you wanted to know that?’
I shrugged. ‘Another piece in a jigsaw puzzle. I just wondered how he found time to sort out the books for Pool Street Motors for Clayton.’ At her expression I added: ‘Somebody sorted out something, and in a hurry. New account books appeared almost overnight. I just wondered why.’
‘Why not ask him?’ she said, a little sourly because she couldn’t understand what it was all about. ‘He’s here now.’
There was the crunch of gravel on the drive out front. She touched my arm, perhaps in warning. Laddie led us into the hall, but I noticed it was without enthusiasm. I heard his key in the front door and watched his shadow through the patterned glass. He walked in, eyes down.
‘Get down, boy,’ he said, though Laddie wasn’t getting up. He saw me, and stood there, swinging his bunch of keys at the end of the chain he kept them on. Then he slid them into his trouser pocket, put down his document case, and moved forward. Say this of him, he’d had no warning, only that there was a car outside, yet he took it in his stride.
‘Well, Clifford...It’s always good to see you. And how are you now?’
‘Very well, thank you.’
Neither of us made any significant move towards shaking hands. He stood there by the door, aware that I’d been about to leave and doing nothing to detain me. The silence was awkward, and Val, always with an ear to social nuances, spoke quickly, lightly.
‘Clifford was asking about that time, just before the wedding...you’ll remember, Michael...’
She stopped. I’d cleared my throat. I had no wish to ask Orton about it. He, without any change of features or gesture, had conveyed that the period in question was still very close to the forefront of his mind, and he did not wish to speak about it, either. Val was always keenly perceptive
. She gestured quickly.
‘But you don’t want to talk about that.’
This had lasted no more than a second, but it was enough for him. He gave an easy laugh and turned to hang up his light tweed topcoat. ‘Why don’t I? You do make mysteries, Val.’ He turned back, jerking down his cuffs, presenting a picture of the ideal, clean, beautifully-tailored, slim and confident executive.
‘It was nothing,’ I said quietly, making it sound nothing. ‘I was explaining that I’m suffering from a small loss of memory.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that.’ Head inclined, suggesting that confidences would always be respected. ‘Must be tiresome.’
‘Mostly that one day. The day of the assault.’
‘It happens, I hear, with concussion. I wish I could help.’
I glanced sideways at Val, who’d seemed poised to intervene. ‘Perhaps you can.’
‘Anything. Just ask.’
‘I’d rather like to see the books that Pool Street Motors were keeping at that time. They’re all new ones now. I believe you’re holding the old ones.’
His eyes shut me out at once. Bleak, even resentful. ‘Sorry. Anything but that.’
I pretended not to notice the opposition, and smiled at Val, partly to prevent her from intervening, partly to give the impression that it wasn’t important. ‘It was just...you understand...that I thought seeing them again might bring something back.’
‘Unlikely.’
‘But a new set of accounts was opened,’ I said blandly.
‘The originals were appalling.’
‘And as the old ones are way out of date now, I thought you wouldn’t object.’
‘You must be quite mad,’ he said lightly. ‘There’s a question of ethics. My client’s accounts are confidential.’
‘Oh...come on.’
‘And you’re no longer an official of the...’
‘Then why be scared of me seeing them?’ I asked, smiling. He made an angry sound, and thrust past me. Val made a movement to follow him, but paused.
‘How dared you, Clifford!’ she said angrily. ‘You cheated me. That was not what you mentioned.’
‘Not cheated you. Not that. I said what came into my head, just as something to annoy him. Now Val...you know me. I simply love watching him stalk out like that.’
She pouted at me, but there was amusement in her eyes. She followed me into the drive. The light was going rapidly. She caught my arm, and I was aware that there’d been far too much physical contact. I paused, looking round at her.
‘That was a lie, wasn’t it?’ she asked softly. ‘Why did you come here, Cliff?’
‘To see you. To thank you for paying the garaging fees on the Volvo.’
She bit her lip and shook her head. I had a way of annoying her, too, but there was no pleasure in it. She’d always hated being thanked, believing that gratitude was in some way akin to condescension. Abruptly, she turned away and ran back into the house.
Orton, I saw, had not simply noticed the car, he’d opened the door and looked in. That he’d left it open was a gesture of contempt for what its driver might think. I got in and drove away. There’d been nothing inside to give him a clue.
I don’t remember the first half of the journey, down past the sumptuous dwellings with their expensive lawns and sculptured hedges. I’d swung on to the main road, three miles from town, when a hot, wet tongue probed my ear.
I drew into the side. Laddie, panting with delight and self-congratulation, was sitting on the seat behind me.
‘Oh, damn you,’ I said to him, aware that I’d have to face a return to Woodstock Heights. He adored praise, and the tongue licked out again. I looked over my shoulder to see whether I could make a U-turn, and Orton’s Rover 3500 came tearing past with a whine.
One thing I knew; he wasn’t going back for his document case. I set off after him, wondering what had provoked his hurried return to town. I took it steadily. He could only be heading to his office.
The town has a large and imposing main square, all solid dignity imparted by the old honey-stone buildings that surround it. But when they’d knocked down the old Hippodrome they’d put up a twenty-storey glass and concrete monstrosity. In this, Orton now had his business premises.
I parked in Reed Street, but couldn’t see his car anywhere. It would’ve been the obvious place. Locking Laddie inside, I walked along to his office block. There was still activity in the lobby. I strolled over to the indicator board: Michael Orton Associates, floor twelve. In a corner was a reception desk, manned by a uniformed attendant. I asked him to call through to Orton’s office. It rang out without answer. He shook his head.
‘They’ve gone home, sir.’
I nodded, and walked the lobby for a few minutes, and had just decided to drive back to Val’s place when he walked in through the swing doors. Seeing me, he stopped. I walked up to him. We stood looking at each other, me prepared to be polite.
‘What’s all this about?’ he demanded. His voice was quiet, but there was a snap in it.
‘I guessed you were heading here. You passed me on the road.’
‘So I passed you.’
‘In a hurry.’
‘Get out of my way, Summers. I am in a hurry.’
‘I hope you’re not thinking of destroying them. There’s a statutory period that records have to be kept.’
‘Are you trying to be funny?’ He looked across at the desk. I wondered whether he was thinking of having me thrown out. Then he modified his voice. ‘Look...I’m sorry if that assault affected you. You’re not acting rationally, Clifford, and you must realise that yourself. I had business, something I forgot. Val’s waiting...’
‘But you took time out to call somewhere else.’
‘Damn you and your inquisitions,’ he snapped. ‘Let me pass.’
I stepped aside. ‘Where are you parked?’
‘Now look...’
‘I’ve got something for you to take back. I’ll wait by your car.’
‘What? What could you have...’
‘Your dog. You forgot to close my car door, and he jumped inside.’
‘To hell with the bloody thing!’ he snapped. Then he thrust past me and headed with long angry strides to the lift.
I found his Rover three cars from mine. I was waiting beside it when he arrived, Laddie sitting on the pavement beside me.
He unlocked his car without a word, tossing a brown paper parcel on to the passenger’s seat. He opened up the rear door, but Laddie didn’t move. I said: ‘Up, boy.’ Laddie jumped inside. Orton slammed doors, and was away with a grand, tyre-whining swing into the flow of traffic.
I guessed that the place he’d called at on the way would have been Pool Street Motors. I drove round there, but it was dark and silent and deserted. Shrugging, I used their forecourt to swing round, and headed back towards the park.
Twice I’d seen Orton swinging his set of keys on its chain. It had reminded me of something. I still had the three keys I’d taken from the Volvo’s ignition lock. One of them fitted the side door to the Social Security office.
10
The office car park was always left open, the building being too far from the shopping centre to attract the general public. In the old days I’d have driven inside, parked openly, walked into the building, flooding it with light, and given it not a second thought. Now I left the car on the park perimeter road and walked across in the shadows. Slipping the key in the lock, I felt like a crook. I did not dare to touch a light switch, but this was March, after the winter period when blinds would be lowered against draughts, and before the sun was too strong. All the blinds were raised. The streetlights would be sufficient.
I had a yearning to do two things, discover the address of Charlie Graham, if it was on record, and get another look at the file on George Peters. I knew there wasn’t much chance, unless the normal security arrangements had been slack.
Downstairs in the main Benefits sections most of the records were in smal
l drawers, themselves in cabinets. Each block of drawers should have been secured by a lockable bar that came down the front. All the bars were in place. I found the drawer containing Ga to Gr. The bar was secure. The chance had been slim. His General Benefit Unit would have been in there only if Charlie Graham had made a claim at some time. My weakest screwdriver in the car would have broken that bar away, but I shrank from actual damage.
I walked upstairs, and along to Contributions Section. Here, in the large drawer cabinets, would be kept the file for George Peters. Each cabinet had its own lock, set simply by thumb-pressing the cylinder home. Sometimes they’re left open. What burglar would search here? This one did. The cabinet was locked.
Experience told me that a set of keys would be lying in the supervisor’s drawer, this probably unlocked. I’d have made a lousy lawbreaker; my thought was that to open that desk drawer would be an intrusion.
Disappointed, I turned away, and the lights snapped on. My nerves jerked.
‘I might have guessed,’ she said, on an indrawn breath.
‘You didn’t know?’
‘I saw movement through the windows. The odds were it was you.’
‘For God’s sake!’ I shouted. ‘You walked in here not knowing? It could’ve been somebody violent.’
‘It is somebody violent,’ Nicola said.
Then we looked at each other, and laughed. I lifted my shoulders. ‘I still had my key.’
‘You are a fool, Cliff,’ she said, striding past me. ‘I could have done what you wanted. And gladly.’
‘That was the reason,’ I said quietly.
She slammed the desk drawer, the bunch of keys in her hand. ‘You knew darned well the keys were here.’
‘I’ve got no right...’
‘Well...I have.’ She stopped in front of me. ‘D’you think you can afford these paltry principles?’
‘The snag is...’ I grinned ‘...I don’t know whether I’ve got any, paltry or not, so I’m playing safe.’
‘Yes,’ she said. ‘I see.’ But she obviously didn’t. ‘I suppose you want the George Peters file again?’
I nodded. She unlocked the cabinet marked: Pa – Pz. Somebody’s idea of a joke, that was.
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