Wonderful Short Stories

by Stan Mason

  ‘It seems you have me over a barrel,’ he retorted sadly. I lend to those who need it but I have to protect myself from non-payment. You can’t blame me for that.’

  ‘No I don’t. But I do blame you for buying properties which are sold by people who cannot repay the loans. Loans on which it’s illegal to charge such high amounts of interest. I suggest that you contact your solicitor in the morning and make the necessary arrangements for transfer of the funds to me.’ She handed him an envelope. ‘All the details are contained in here. Good day to you, Gerald. Don’t lose any sleep over it. You have thirty-nine properties left, all of which are providing you with a very handsome income.’

  And with that remark, she left the house and went directly to the room she had booked at the local inn. There were people who cheated others by mugging, distortion, theft and burglary because they needed the money. And there were others who cheated others because they were simply nasty evil people. Gerald Waterford was one such person and she was the only one who never let him get away with it.

  The arrangement was made one week later. Waterford handed over fifty thousand pounds from his bank account. In actual fact, he only owed her forty-five thousand but he was so enchanted by the woman that, in a moment of madness, he found it in himself to round it up to the higher figure. After all, what use was the money to him in reality. It was simply resting dormantly in his bank. On the other hand, Felicity had showed him a new way of life in the short time she had stayed with him. He reckoned that, despite her deceitful activities, she had been worth the extra five thousand. In fact, he continued to keep in touch with her... on a strictly platonic level of course, and she visits him at his house every so often. They were friends. and they will always be friends, in a strange sort of way. After all, he was moving on in years and when he passed on there was no one else to whom he could leave his estate!

  Justification

  On the spur of the moment one July, when the weather had temporarily turned sour in Britain, I decided to go to Gatwick Airport and buy an airline ticket so that I could take a quiet holiday on an Italian island in the Tyrrhenian Sea. It was called Elba. I had been there once before so it was no surprise for me to relax again the wonderful beaches and to enjoy the blazing hot sun at the Hotel Le Acacie in a tiny little place called Naregno. The hotel was fortunate enough to have its own beach a few yards away to the rear which had a short broadwalk made of wood leading out twenty yards into the sea. From there I could take the ferry to the main town... which was really little more than a small village... Portoferraio. The main feature there was a large informal prison staring out grimly over the water. It was not the last resort for evil criminals because the worst sinners were sent to an island some distance out to sea from which there was no escape. However, every so often, one might be fortunate, or unfortunate, to land at Portoferraio on the ferry and see the prisoners who had been shipped there, secured by heavy metal chains which hung between both wrists and both feet. They were evil-looking devils who hadn’t shaven for days staring solemnly at the passers-by before being admitted into the depths of that forbidding penitentiary.

  It was at Naregno that I met Sam Peck. He was a clean-shaven man, thirty-two years old, although he looked younger, with dark black hair, dark eyes, a short nose and a square chin. Although he appeared quite ugly to me, the incongruous nature of his visage quite clearly appealed to members of the opposite sex for he was staying at the hotel on holiday enjoying his sixth honeymoon. I fancied that eventually he intended to apply to the editors of the Guinness Book of Records for the title of the person who had married most women throughout his life. I had no idea what the record was at the time, but Mr. Peck was clearly going to try and exceed it. From my point of view, the worst thing about his situation was the way he bragged about his latest marriage.

  ‘This is my sixth marriage, you know,’ he boasted one evening at dinner as we were about to start eating. ‘And I’m only thirty-two years of age. How’s that for a score?’

  Instead of showing surprise, which I’m sure he expected, I looked at him dolefully across the table considering it was my misfortune to have the couple sitting at my table. ‘Really?’ I replied, without showing any emotion. ‘You are indeed a most unfortunate man to have failed on all five occasions. I presume you now have a season ticket at the divorce courts?’

  He roared with laughter, completely amused by my sardonic comment. ‘That’s a good one!’ he roared. ‘I must remember it. A season ticket for the divorce courts. Huh! I like it! But you’re wrong when you say I failed. Quite the contrary. All my marriages were successful in their own way.’

  I knew it was in my best interests to keep my mouth shut and simply dine with them quietly, conversing about other subjects of mutual interest to both of us. However, my curiosity managed to get the better of me and, in due course, I ventured forth unwisely. ‘May I ask how you come to have had five wives or is that a secret you intend to nurture for eternity.’

  He looked at his new wife and smiled broadly. ‘Not at all,’ hge responded frankly. ‘Grace won’t mind me saying this, I’m sure, will you, sweetie?’ She shook her head which I assumed was practically empty. Grace was a young slip of a girl about eighteen years of age, a recent product who, in my opinion had not long finished at school. She was a blonde bimbo with long bleached hair which reached down to her shoulders. Her young blue eyes gazed at her new lover and I wondered about her intelligence because she failed to contribute anything at all to the conversation, merely staring at the face of her husband continually with an expression of love and affection. ‘Let me say that I’ve been very unlucky in love throughout my life but I’ve never failed. I married the most beautiful of women, each one of which was devoted to me yet, as luck would have it, fate struck with a heavy hand.’

  ‘You make great play on the fact that they were devoted to you,’ I remarked sourly, ‘but did you actually love them?’

  ‘Aha!’ he retorted brazenly in a tone I really didn’t like. ‘That’s for me to know and for you to guess, my friend.’

  ‘Are you prepared to tell me how fate struck with a heavy hand, or would you prefer to discuss something else?’

  He glanced at the face of his adoring wife and kissed her on the lips which I considered quite rude at the dining table. ‘There’s nothing more I’d like to do than to talk about my five wives but I’m here on my honeymoon. It’s not fair to Grace. No, let’s talk about something else. He looked at his wife lovingly before turning to eat the food on the plate in front of him. ‘Although,’ he went on unsolicited, ‘I did have some rotten luck. You see, contrary to what you said before, I’ve never had to apply to the law courts for divorce.’

  He ended the discussion on his personal life at that point and I wondered what he meant. I reflected that perhaps I had misinterpreted his words. He probably employed a lawyer to deal with his divorces which was the reason why he never had to attend any divorce court. Equally, it may have been that none of the cases were defended by his wives. Yes, that had to be it! Or there may have been another reason. For example, he may have simply lived with the other five women and had never married them. They may have been his partners so that when they split up the relationships ended. However, in his own mind, he considered them to have been his wives. Alternatively, the solution may have been quite sinister because no one could earnestly marry six women in a space of about fifteen years legally. However, I cared not to think about the matter for the present in case I allowed my imagination to run away with me.

  On the second day, I continued to enjoy the holiday, sunning myself on the beach, occasionally tossing a short loaf of French bread into the sea to watch the sardines nibble at it from both sides so that it sailed like a boat across the water. At eleven fifteen, I took the ferry to Portoferraio and had a cup of coffee in the restaurant there, chatting with other tourists from different countries who had chosen to come to the resort. But I
became more and more annoyed with myself as my curiosity gradually began to get the better of me. I had to find out about Sam Peck’s wives. I couldn’t get it out of my mind. Did the mystery have a simple solution or was there something about it which might make my hair curl. I had to find out! I saw him returning to the hotel with his new bride on his arm in the evening and approached him out of the blue.

  ‘Hi, Sam!’ I greeted airily. ‘Fancy a few beers tonight with some man-to-man conversation?’

  ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ he returned reluctantly, which I read to be a downright refusal. ‘Grace and I, well we’ve only been married for three days. We kind of like each other’s company at present and the bed’s very soft in our room. I don’t fancy leaving her alone. It’s our honeymoon, after all.’

  To my surprise, she perked up suddenly, pushing him away playfully. ‘Don’t worry about it, Sam,’ she told him candidly. ‘It’s okay by me. I could do with some rest this evening. I want to make a phone-call to my parents and do some reading. In any case all this resting on the beach and the afternoon in bed with you has made me feel rather tired. You go and have a drink with this gentleman. Have a night off for a change!’

  He toyed with the idea in his mind for a moment and then acceded. ‘Okay, honey’ he told her. ‘I owe you one.’ He turned to me almost reluctantly at having to leave his beloved wife. ‘I’ll see you in the bar after dinner.’

  The hotel arrangement was that the guests sat at whatever tables were available when they came down to dinner and I was delighted to dine with an elderly couple that evening. It was a relief not to be showered with talk about the six wives of Sam Peck, who tended to lord it like King Henry the Eighth, delivering a multitude of innuendoes about the heavy hand of fate. About an hour after dinner, I sat alone in the bar waiting for him. For a while I feared that he must have been there earlier and left having tired of waiting for me. However, he eventually emerged alone from the elevator and walked across the room towards me.

  ‘Sorry I’m late but you know what it’s like when you’re on honeymoon.’ He paused to reflect for a moment. ‘Unless, of course, you’re not married. Then you wouldn’t know.’

  I ignored answering his obvious question regarding my status and started the ball rolling. ‘What are you drinking?’ It was my clear intention to get him drunk.

  ‘Oh I’ll have a whisky,’ he replied amiably sitting on the bar stool next to me and taking a cigarette out of a pack which he lit with a gold lighter as I ordered two double whiskies. ‘Strange you should ask me to join you for a drink,’ he went on. ‘I thought we were like chalk and cheese.’

  ‘Opposites attract,’ I responded calmly. ‘In any case, I’m intrigued about your past marriages although I don’t wish to press the point. It’s your private business after all.’

  The bartender produced two glasses of whisky in very fair measure before Peck replied. ‘It’s no big secret,’ he related. ‘I don’t mind telling you now that Grace isn’t here.’

  ‘I’m all ears,’ I told him jubilant that he was about to spill the beans on his love affairs.

  ‘Ethel was my first wife. My first love, you might say. We met at a local dance when I was seventeen. She was absolutely gorgeous. Auburn hair, dark brown eyes, a lovely face, and a super figure you would die for. All the boys chased her. They were all after her. She was actually three years older than me but that didn’t matter. We hit it off tremendously right from the start. It was a real love match!’

  ‘I get the picture,’ I told him with interest. ‘Carry on!’

  ‘We had a honeymoon in Majorca. Self-catering admittedly but it was all we could afford. Then we went back to Icklesham in Kent and rented an apartment there. You see, I worked in a garage at Winchelsea which is only a few miles away. She had a job in a retail shop in Hastings, which is also fairly close by. And we lived there happily together for the best part of two years in perfect harmony.’

  ‘That sounds reasonable,’ I commented. ‘What happened then?’

  ‘You may well ask,’ he riposted screwing up his face.

  ‘I am asking?’ I returned, wondering why the man hesitated.

  ‘That’s the sixty-four thousand dollar question. She vanished. Simply disappeared. The police searched everywhere in a massive manhunt but she couldn’t be found. One suggestion was that she’d been transported as a slave to Saudi Arabia. They do that sort of thing you know. Streak women off there and keep them under close guard to serve the sheiks and their friends. But, in the end, the police gave up and no one’s seen hair or hide of her since.’

  ‘Hold on!’ I told him sharply. ‘If someone goes missing, their partners have to wait seven years before they can considered them dead.’

  ‘Yeh, that’s right,’ he responded eagerly, ‘but that’s only when they’re presumed to be dead. You can get a divorce for desertion pretty quickly these days. You don’t have to mess about wondering whether they’re dead or not. My story was that she’d run off with another man.’

  I nodded understanding the situation more clearly. As for myself, I had never considered the prospect of marriage and so had no reason to consider divorce or its proceedings. ‘And you never learned of her whereabouts... ever?’ I questioned.

  ‘Not to this very day. She just vanished off the face of the earth never to be seen again. The police have kept the file open but it’s no use. It’s as though she’s been spirited away by aliens to another world.’

  ‘Surely you don’t believe that!’ I scoffed.

  ‘I really don’t know what to believe,’ he returned with a smile on his face which made me believe he was insincere.

  ‘Despite your love for her, you married again soon after,’ I went on trying to winkle more out of him.

  ‘Yeh. I met Shirley. She was gorgeous. A beautiful blonde... a little bit like Grace, you know but a few years older. I met her at the police station during the investigation on Ethel. She was being charged as a prostitute but I tell you she was very much misunderstood. We got on like a house on fire. After living with each other for two months we got married. It was heaven because she was sexually motivated to the highest degree and she taught me a hell of a lot on that score.’ He paused to reflect for a moment.

  ‘What happened to her?’ I asked innocuously expecting a normal reply but I was to be surprised once again.

  ‘She disappeared. Just like Ethel, she vanished.’

  I began to view him with an element of suspicion as I ordered another round of doubles. ‘So she disappeared as well,’ I said dryly. ‘Just like Ethel.’

  ‘I know what you’re thinking,’ he responded quickly, ‘but I can tell you it had nothing to do with me.’

  ‘I doubt whether the police thought the same,’ I retorted, suspecting the man for doing away with the two women.

  ‘It was the start of another manhunt and a completely new investigation but they never found her. Eventually, the police dropped the matter but once again they kept the file open.’

  ‘And you’ve never seen her again either,’ I rattled, paying for the drinks as they came.

  ‘Never. Like Ethel, she vanished from the face of the earth,’ he related, showing little sign of remorse for either of the women whom he had once married.

  ‘I decided to move at that point,’ he confessed. ‘People were beginning to point the finger at me. I started to become quite uncomfortable whenever I walked down the street as they made clear their views. Who could blame me? I met Rebecca in the market place in Sudbury, Suffolk, where I moved to. She was a ginger nut all right. Ginger all over. And she had the most beautiful green eyes I’d ever seen. Was it any wonder I fell in love with her at first sight.’

  ‘Tell me honestly,’ I progressed calmly. ‘I’m at a loss to understand how you can fall in love with three women in a period of, say, four or five years.’

  ‘It
’s because, like the song, I fall in love too easily.’ He drank his drink all the way down and I ordered another one.

  ‘Go on,’ I urged, becoming more interested as time went on. It was fascinating to listen to him relate his story.

  ‘Ginger was fantastic. She was good as a housewife and good in bed. I could wish for nothing better. We both loved each other and we were extremely happy. Extremely happy!’

  ‘Don’t tell me she disappeared as well,’ I cut in sharply.

  ‘Well, the answer to that is yes and no,’ he continued. ‘After a year of marriage she left me for another man and they both emigrated to Canada.’

  ‘To Canada,’ I echoed. ‘How awful. But you said you were both so happy. How could that happen?’

  ‘She fancied him more than me. She worked in a betting office and he worked there too. They simply fell in love with each other. They went off to Canada together.’

  ‘Well at least you had proof of your innocence this time. The records would show she had left.’

  ‘That would be the assumption,’ he responded, ‘but you’d be wrong. The police couldn’t find her. I reckon that she and her boyfriend changed their name and they lived somewhere in the Canadian outback. You know, in a tiny town well out of harm’s way. Anyway, they eventually stopped looking for them.’

  ‘I presume they were looking for her to allow you to clear your name,’ I argued.

  ‘That’s right. I’d already lost two wives. They were pretty suspicious of me, although I don’t know whether the Sudbury police actually read the file at Hastings.’

  ‘But Ginger’s name had to be registered with the emigration authority of Canada. I mean they were going out there so they had to have a record.’

  ‘Well that’s just it,’ he related confidentially. ‘They never actually found her name on the list. There were many couples emigrating at that time but she hadn’t registered in her own name. I told you I reckoned they changed their names.’