Plender

by Ted Lewis

  I scrambled the phone towards me and dialed Plender’s home number.

  At first I thought he must be out because there was no answer for a long time but then I heard his voice say, “Brian Plender speaking.”

  “It’s Peter,” I said. “Are you busy?”

  “Peter, old mate,” he said. “What’s on your mind?”

  “Are you busy?”

  “Not particularly. Why?”

  “I wondered if I could see you.”

  “Problems?”

  He’d find out sooner or later so I said, “It’s Kate. She’s gone.”

  There was a slight pause before he said, “Gone? Where?”

  “To her father’s. She’s gone to her father’s for a few days.”

  “So what’s so terrible about that?”

  “She may not come back.”

  There was an even longer pause this time.

  “Well,” he said, “I feel for you, mate, I really do. I mean, she’s a bit of all right, is old Kate. Sorry to see her go. But I can’t quite see what I can do about it.”

  “No,” I said, “what I mean is, I’m alone.”

  “And?”

  “And I wanted . . . to be with someone.”

  “So you phoned your old mate, Brian.”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Nice to know you feel you can,” he said.

  “Can you see me?”

  “Sure. Where?”

  “I don’t know. I don’t want to go anywhere.”

  “Well, that makes things a bit difficult, then, doesn’t it?”

  “What I mean is, could you come over? To my place?”

  “You want me to come to your place?”

  “Yes. I’d like you to. We could have a drink, talk . . .”

  “Sounds like a nice idea,” he said. “Yes, I’ll do that. What time shall I come over?”

  “Can you come now?”

  “Well, I don’t know. I can be there by about nine, if you like.”

  “Yes,” I said. “Nine. Or earlier, if you can.”

  I put the phone down and got up and drew the curtains and switched on the television. Then I poured a drink and sat on the settee and stared at the screen until I heard Plender’s car turn into the drive.

  I hurried to the front door and opened it and watched him stroll towards me, into the light. He smiled at me as he got to the door.

  “I’m glad you could come,” I said.

  He walked past me and into the lounge without speaking.

  I made him a drink and we sat down opposite each other.

  “So you’ve got the place to yourself,” he said.

  I nodded.

  “Yes,” I said. “I didn’t expect anything like this.”

  “Never can tell with women,” he said. “One minute one thing, the next another. Inconsistent.”

  “I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

  “Just carry on living. She’ll be back.”

  “She won’t. I know it.”

  “No, she’ll be back. I know women. She won’t want to chuck all this out of the window.”

  I stood up and went to the cocktail cabinet and brought the bottles over to the table.

  “I had to phone,” I said. “I can’t be on my own right now.”

  “How come?”

  I stared at him.

  “But you must know why,” I said.

  “Oh,” he said. “Yes. Yes, see what you mean. You’re . . . er . . . you’re getting a bit jumpy, are you?”

  I nodded.

  “You should take my advice,” he said. “Forget it. Nothing’s going to happen.”

  “I can’t forget. I keep thinking about her. About the girl.” Plender didn’t say anything.

  “Look,” I said. “I know you’ve said you won’t tell me, but I must know, it keeps praying on my mind. Maybe I’ll feel better if I know what you did.”

  Plender smiled and shook his head.

  “Just tell me what you did with her. You don’t have to tell me where.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Is she . . . did you bury her?”

  Plender smiled again and took a drink.

  “What do you think I did with her? Just left her lying around somewhere so that somebody could trip over her?”

  I buried my face in my hands.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I don’t know.”

  “Well, all right,” he said, “I’ll tell you. She’s under the ground in a nice safe place. She’ll be well on the way of all flesh by now.”

  “Stop,” I said. “Don’t.”

  “You asked me,” he said. “I didn’t think it would make you feel any better.”

  “Just tell me everything’s going to be all right,” I said. “That’s all I want to know. That everything’s going to be all right.”

  “I keep telling you that, don’t I, mate?” he said. “But I just seem to be wasting my breath.”

  “I’m frightened,” I said. “You must realise that.”

  He nodded.

  “Yes, well,” he said, “why don’t we change the subject? Take your mind off it.”

  I didn’t say anything.

  “Tell you what,” he said. “I was only thinking about it the other day, actually. Remember that time old Pondy caught us scrumping in his orchard?”

  I nodded—a numbing sickness was spreading through my body.

  “Christ,” he said. “That was a laugh. Remember, I got caught and you and Dreevo . . .”

  PLENDER

  I woke up with the sun shining on my face. I opened my eyes and looked round the room. It looked even better by daylight. Beautiful in fact. Everything just so, everything designed and decorated to the last detail.

  I swung back the sheets and put on the dressing gown Knott had lent me. Even that seemed to blend with the décor of the room.

  I went into the corridor and looked in Knott’s room. He was still asleep. I went into the kitchen and made some coffee and took it into the lounge and sat down on the settee where I’d been with Knott’s wife.

  She was going to be sorry about what had happened on that day. The Knott and Froy thing would have to be sacrificed, of course. But I could afford to wait for Froy. I couldn’t wait for Kate. The memory was too recent. The only trouble was, I’d no idea where her father lived.

  The lounge door opened and Knott came in, still wearing his pyjamas.

  “Hail, smiling morn,” I said.

  Knott didn’t say anything. I indicated the coffee pot on the table.

  “Just made,” I said. “Grab a cup. You look as if you need some.”

  Knott went away and came back with a cup and poured himself some coffee.

  “So what’s the plan for today?” I said.

  “What?” Knott said.

  “The plan of action,” I said. “Is it work, or what?”

  “Oh, yes. It’s work. I have to go in to the studio.”

  “On a Saturday?”

  “Yes. We’re behind.”

  “Much to do?”

  “Yes.”

  I stretched out on the settee.

  “Well,” I said, “today’s the day I take things easy. Feet up and all that kind of thing. You’ll be working all day, will you?”

  He nodded.

  “What time will you be back?”

  He looked at me.

  “I was thinking,” I said, “if you’re likely to feel tonight the same way you did last night, then I may as well stick around. I’ve nothing to do this weekend. I mean, it’s up to you.”

  He looked away.

  “Brian,” he said. “Last nig
ht I . . .”

  “Say no more,” I said, getting up. “If you’ll be all right, then there’s no point in my hanging about then, is there?”

  I got as far as the door before he said, “No, I didn’t mean that. I’d like you to stay. I’d feel better if you did.”

  “That’s more like it,” I said. “Tell you what, when you come home tonight, why don’t we make a night of it? Put our suits on, go down the town and have a few drinks. Just like old days. Do you a power of good.”

  Knott didn’t answer.

  “What do you say?” I said.

  KNOTT

  I drove towards town but I wasn’t thinking about the traffic. My thoughts were full of the nightmare my life had become. Waiting for the worst to happen. My wife leaving me. Strung to Plender like a puppet. Going through each day carrying the weight of what had happened, turn-ing into a staring, crouching, joyless thing. My mind was bulging with the pressure that was inside me. When I got to the studio I began work straight away, trying to keep my thoughts as mechanical as my actions, but at eleven thirty, when I was taking a break and waiting for the kettle to boil the quietness of the studio began to creep in on me, and images of what had happened there began to take shape in the silence.

  I snapped off the switch of the kettle and walked into reception and put on my coat.

  I had to get Kate and my kids back.

  PLENDER

  Steam rose from the hot water. I nudged my foot against the hot water tap and shut it off. I lay there for a while, letting the sweat and the condensation roll off me. Then I bathed myself and dried myself and stood in front of the full-length wall-wide mirror and shaved myself with Knott’s electric razor.

  After I’d done that I put Knott’s dressing gown back on and went into the kitchen and made myself breakfast and read the paper. Then I lit a cigarette and began to search the house for something bearing Kate Knott’s maiden name, like a marriage certificate, so that I would be able to look up her father’s number in the phone book. I couldn’t rely on the possibility of her phoning Knott, here at the house. I was almost certain she wouldn’t be getting in touch with him other than by way of her lawyers. And what I had to tell her would make that certainty a fact.

  So I began to search. I could take my time, enjoy it. I had all day.

  KNOTT

  I’d forgotten what the date was.

  I stopped my car halfway up the drive that led to Mark Dixon’s and looked at all the cars parked outside his house. There must have been almost a hundred, many of them with chauffeurs. I closed my eyes. His bloody birthday. Why did it have to be his bloody birthday? Every year he did this, invited all his friends and his business associates and his business rivals to this party, an affair that started at noon and usually went on till the late afternoon or early evening. There were always three or four bars specially set up throughout the house and a buffet that never ran out. Kate and I were always expected to attend, to watch him play the benign industrialist, loved and admired by all.

  I swore. How could I talk to Kate now? How could I get her to listen to me? I knew Kate. She’d use the crowd to screen her, to allow her to walk away from me, secure in the knowledge that I’d never make a scene, not there.

  But there was one advantage. At least I’d be able to get past the front door.

  I parked my car and walked up the steps. The men on the door knew me, and we nodded to each other.

  The hall was packed. I looked around for Kate but I couldn’t see any sign of her. I didn’t want to go too far into the house in case I ran into her father. Luckily I saw Negus, Dixon’s head man, making his way towards the study, so I pushed my way through the crowd and caught up with him.

  “Negus,” I said, “where’s Mrs. Knott?”

  “Mrs. Knott?” he said, giving me a look he’d been wanting to give me for a long time. “I’m afraid I’ve no idea.”

  “All right,” I said. “You’ve got your instructions. But I know you don’t want a scene right here and now you’d better tell me. Where is she?”

  “Mrs. Knott is out,” he said.

  “Come on,” I said. “I know she’s here.”

  “She is staying here temporarily, sir,” he said. “But at present I know for a fact Mrs. Knott happens to be out. I believe she has taken the children down to the river. I’m afraid I don’t know when to expect her back.”

  I gave him a long look. He wasn’t lying. Kate would want to spend as little time as possible at this party, this year.

  “And now, sir, if you’ll excuse me?”

  He walked off. Straight to tell Dixon I was here, of course. Well, sod him. I was here and I was staying until Kate got back.

  I walked over to the trestle table and asked for a large scotch.

  PLENDER

  The letter was dated the twelfth of April, 1959.

  Dear Peter,

  How can I put into words all I want to say? I was so full of different thoughts and feelings after I left you tonight, some wonderful, some frightening, all of them tugging my mind in different directions.

  What happened tonight was so incredibly marvellous that I’m just incapable of describing how I feel. The words “I love you” just aren’t enough. And yet I’m scared. Scared that what happened might change things between us. Not the way that I feel, but the way that you think. You might be worried in case, now that it’s happened, I might be different towards you; you see, I know all of your fears.

  But, my love, I’ll never change towards you. I love you too much. You have to believe that. Nothing will change. Except perhaps for the better. But how can things possibly get better when they’re the way they are now?

  I love you.

  Kate

  I put this letter down on the dressing tabletop, along with the others.

  KNOTT

  I watched Kate walk through the crowd towards me, but she didn’t look at me. When she got to me, she asked the barman to give her a drink. She took a sip and then she said, “I thought you might do this.”

  “Kate,” I said. “Let’s not talk here.”

  “This is the best place to talk,” she said.

  “Not for what I want to say.”

  “I don’t want to hear what you’ve got to say.”

  “You must listen to me,” I said, swaying into the table and rocking it a little.

  “God, must you always get like this?”

  The roar of the party swept into my ears.

  “Kate . . .”

  “Peter,” she said, “I want you to listen to me. I’m going to say something to you and then I’m going to walk away. If you do anything, I’ve talked to my father, and he’ll have you put out.”

  “I’ve seen him already,” I said. “He’s just loving this. He’s waited for this to happen since the day we got married.”

  She brushed a strand of hair from her forehead.

  “Peter, are you going to listen?”

  I didn’t say anything.

  “I’m leaving you,” she said.

  I looked her in the face. Everything else blurred into the background.

  “What I mean is, I want a divorce. I don’t want to go on living with you anymore.”

  I shook my head.

  “No,” I said. “You don’t mean what you’re saying.”

  “I do mean it, Peter.”

  “You can’t.”

  She didn’t answer.

  “Not now,” I said. “You can’t leave me now.”

  “Why not now?” she said.

  I shook my head.

  “Quite,” she said, and walked away.

  “Kate,” I said, but I knew she couldn’t hear me. I pushed through the crowd in the direction she’d gone. She was nowhere to be seen. I got as far as the stairca
se. Then I gave up. What was the use? Drunk as I was, I knew she meant it. And I knew there was nothing I could say or do to change her mind. I was too sick and empty even to try.

  I sat down on the stairs. Christ, what was I going to do now?

  I sat there for a while, watching the party sway back and forth across my vision. I had no inclination to move, to do anything. It was as if moving would jolt my senses and rearrange my nervous system into its proper order, and allow the pain to start seeping back.

  Then somebody came and sat next to me.

  “Enjoying it?” said a voice.

  I turned my head slightly.

  “The party,” said the man. “Enjoying the party?”

  I didn’t say anything.

  “You’re Mark’s son-in-law, aren’t you?”

  I took a proper look at the man. Silver hair, swept back from the forehead. Leather sports jacket. Bright cravat. Just like the picture . . .

  “My name’s Froy,” he said, holding out his hand. “I’m a close associate of Mark’s.”

  . . . Plender had given me.

  Froy?

  I looked into his face.

  The silver hair. The eyes. The mouth, and smile on it. The grip of his hand.

  I shuddered. Sickness welled up inside me.

  Still he held my hand.

  “We’ve never met before, but I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  “Get away,” I said.

  He released my hand and stared at me.

  “What on earth’s the matter?”

  The pressure finally burst through.

  I caught hold of the man by his cravat and began to shake him as hard as I could. The man’s drink slipped from his fingers and suddenly the party went totally quiet and the only sound was the smashing of Froy’s glass as it hit the floor. The only sound except for my screaming. I was only vaguely aware of the words that were pouring out of my mouth, words about Kate and Eileen and Plender and Peggy. Then I sensed a movement behind me so I threw Froy to the floor and jumped away from the movement and charged my way through the stunned crowd, calling Plender’s name as I ran.

  PLENDER

  By nine o’clock I was beginning to worry a bit. I knew he’d got a lot of work on, but then he’d said he’d be home early, home in time to have a meal before we went out. I’d phoned the studio a couple of times in the last hour or so but there’d been no reply. Where the bloody hell was he? I didn’t like it when I didn’t know where he was. Those were the times that were most dangerous for me—the times he was most likely to do something stupid.