by Anne Baker
‘No, I don’t want coffee.’ Nigel threw himself down on the sofa. ‘Pa, Marcus has attacked Millie.’
His father didn’t seem to hear, he was already angry with Marcus. ‘I don’t know what Marcus is playing at, wanting his holiday on the spur of the moment, wanting to go chasing off after that wife of his. Do you know what he did this morning? He cooked all our rations, all the food we had in the house, for his own breakfast and then he didn’t eat it. Dando found a plateful of fried eggs congealing on the kitchen table. You can guess what my breakfast had to be, Dando had to warm up the food Marcus had left to make a sandwich for me. There was nothing else to eat in the house.’
‘Pa, he tried to strangle Millie. He caused an uproar in the office and then shot off like a bat out of hell.’
‘Strangle Millie? I’ve often felt like doing that myself. I’d like to strangle both of them.’
‘Please be serious, Pa. How can we run the business when he’s causing mayhem? I’m sick of him, he’s out of control.’
‘Well, there’s not much I can do about that,’ his father said. ‘I blame Elvira. Perhaps he’ll be better when he’s had his holiday.’
Nigel did not hold out much hope of that. He was no sooner back at his desk than Miss Lambert came in to let him know that two uniformed policemen had arrived. ‘Show them in,’ he said, thankful that the staff were now back at their desks and the office quiet.
The officers introduced themselves and showed him their identity cards. One took out a notebook.
The more senior of the two said, ‘We received a phone call from a member of your staff saying that your brother went berserk and showed extreme violence towards a Mrs Millie Maynard and would have killed her if another member of staff hadn’t intervened.’
Nigel played down the events as much as he could to protect his brother and avoid bad publicity for the business. The officers asked to speak to Billy so Nigel sent Miss Lambert to get him.
Billy appeared, looking dishevelled and angry. He was sweating and too agitated to tell the story clearly, swearing and stumbling over his words and showing his personal hatred of Marcus. He didn’t come over well.
They turned to Nigel and said, ‘And following this episode your brother ran out of the building and disappeared? Do you know where he could have gone?’
‘He’d arranged to take a fortnight’s holiday starting today and said he was going to see his wife.’ They asked for Elvira’s address. ‘She’s staying with her parents in Rochdale.’ He gave them the address. Then they wanted to talk to Millie so Nigel led them along the corridor to the lab.
Millie looked unusually white-faced and she still had vivid red marks on her neck. She made no fuss about what had happened and simply recounted what had taken place. Nigel was glad to see there wasn’t much the matter with her. As he was seeing the policemen out, it occurred to him that they had shown more concern for Millie than he had. To remedy that he said, ‘Perhaps I should ask the doctor to check her over, make sure she’s all right.’
‘I would,’ the senior one said.
As soon as he’d seen them off the premises, Nigel went back to his office to ring the doctor the company used for medicals and accidents. He practised on his own from a surgery at the end of the road and his wife acted as his receptionist.
She picked up the receiver. ‘He’s already on his way,’ she said. ‘A Mr Denis Knowles asked him to call and see Millie.’
That made Nigel scowl but he hoped the matter would now blow over, and as it was lunchtime he put on his coat and set off to the Sailor’s Return for a whisky to settle his nerves. However, as he was crossing the car park another police car pulled in and two different officers got out. Nigel’s first thought was that the police had started to hassle him. He strode up to them and said with icy politeness, ‘Can I help you?’
‘We’ve come about a Mr Marcus Maynard,’ he was told. ‘We understand he has relatives working in this business.’
‘Yes, I am his brother,’ he said shortly, worried now about what else Marcus had done.
‘Could we go inside? Somewhere—’
‘No,’ he was impatient, ‘I’m just on my way out.’
‘Oh. I’m afraid we have some bad news for you, Mr Maynard. Your brother has had an accident.’
He snorted with contempt; after what Marcus had done, he might have guessed. ‘I suppose he’s crashed his car.’
‘Yes, I’m afraid so, a bad accident.’
‘And he’s hurt?’
‘I’m sorry to tell you, Mr Maynard, that it was a fatal crash.’
Suddenly, Nigel was aware of the strength ebbing from his knees, he felt near to collapse. ‘What? He’s dead?’ He found that hard to believe. ‘Are you sure it’s him?’ The police officer put out a hand to steady him. ‘What’s happened?’
‘Yes, we’re sure it is him. He had his passport on him and there were documents in the car showing this firm’s letter heading.’
‘My brother was going to Rochdale. Why would he need his passport?’
‘We don’t know, sir, but it was in his pocket. To make quite sure, we would like you to identify him, but as I said, there isn’t much doubt.’
‘Right, then I might as well do that now,’ Nigel said.
‘Well, we thought tomorrow morning, sir. He’s only just been taken to the morgue.’
Nigel shuddered, he didn’t want to think about that; the inference was that they didn’t want him to see Marcus yet because he needed to be cleaned up and made presentable. ‘So where did this accident happen?’
‘In Regent Road in Bootle, some three miles or so from here. Do you know it?’
‘No, not really. Is it near the docks?’
‘Yes, near Huskisson Dock.’
‘Could you take me to see the place?’
The police officer was showing reluctance. ‘Well, we don’t really advise it.’
‘Take me please,’ he ordered.
The traffic was quite heavy but before long Nigel could see the large six-wheeler truck slewed across the road. The roof of the car was half under the front of the truck, squashed almost flat; the truck’s momentum had carried it several yards. The ice-blue paintwork or what was left of it was unmistakable, it was definitely Marcus’s Jaguar.
Nigel felt sick, hot acid rushed into his throat. ‘Was anybody else hurt?’
‘Not badly hurt, but the truck driver was taken to hospital. He was badly shocked. The officer opened his notebook and read: ‘The driver was shouting, “The bugger came straight for me. There was nothing I could do.” ’
Nigel closed his eyes and swallowed hard. ‘Oh God! Poor Marcus.’
Millie was feeling a little better by the time Geraldine brought the doctor to her desk. ‘Hello,’ she said. She knew him as she’d had dealings with him over the years. ‘I think I’ll be all right, there was no need to call you out.’
‘Well, as I’m here I might as well take a look at you,’ he told her. He shone a torch down her throat and examined her neck. ‘I think you’re right, Mrs Maynard. Your throat will be sore and your neck will look bruised for a while, but there’s no great damage done and nature will heal it.’
‘I tried to tell them,’ Millie said.
‘Take frequent hot drinks and a couple of aspirin to ease the pain.’
‘I think you should go home.’ Billy Sankey had not gone away. ‘You can’t possibly settle to work after that. I’ll take you. You’ve had enough for one day. Sylvie should come too to look after you.’
‘I don’t need looking after,’ Millie said. But she allowed him to drive her and Sylvie home. It had been an awful day, everybody had rallied round but she’d really missed Andrew and wished he’d been at work.
Nigel was back working in the office when his father rang him. ‘The police ar
e here asking questions about Marcus,’ he said. ‘They want to speak to you too. Can you come here now?’
This irritated Nigel. ‘For goodness sake! Marcus is dead, why can’t they leave us in peace?’
‘You’d better come,’ James told him, his voice serious. ‘It seems Marcus was up to all sorts of tricks. They think you and I could be involved too.’
‘What nonsense. What sort of tricks?’
‘Worse than anything I thought possible. I asked the police not to go to the office to question you, we don’t want this talked about. You had better come here.’
Nigel was angry. ‘They have no business to keep on at us like this,’ he retorted.
‘Come home now,’ James ordered.
Nigel went.
‘What is it?’ he asked when his father opened the front door to him.
‘Elvira has been arrested and is being questioned in the police station.’
Nigel was truly shocked when he heard what the police had to tell them and though he protested his innocence, he went voluntarily to the police station to be interrogated.
Chapter Thirty-One
The day following Marcus’s death was Denis’s last day at work. A few days after his twenty-first birthday he’d received his call-up papers. Sylvie told herself the fun was over and now she had to be brave. He’d been for his medical examination and been graded A1. He was told he’d be sent to Taunton to do his basic training.
‘Such a long way,’ Sylvie mourned to the girls at work. ‘I won’t be able to see him all the time he’s there.’
‘It’ll only be for six weeks,’ Connie told her briskly, ‘then he’ll be posted somewhere else. At least the war’s over and you don’t have to worry about him being injured or killed.’
A few weeks ago, Millie had asked Sylvie to help her buy a pewter tankard and have it engraved as a gift from William C. Maynard and Sons, and she had ready a certificate duly signed to prove he’d completed an apprenticeship with them.
Having decided it would be too dangerous to have a crowd in the lab, she’d asked Nigel if they might open up the boardroom during the afternoon tea break so the twenty-four office staff and the half dozen or so in the factory whose work brought them into contact with Denis, could say goodbye to him. She’d ordered three dozen assorted fancy cakes from Sayers to be delivered today, and sent out a general invitation.
Millie’s throat still hurt when she swallowed and her neck now looked worse than it had yesterday because the bruising had come out. Everybody was in a subdued frame of mind. Nobody was in any mood to enjoy a party. ‘But we’ll do it,’ Millie said, ‘we have to.’
They gathered in the boardroom at three o’clock, all looking rather glum, and Millie made her farewell speech to Denis, though she had to break off twice to clear her throat and take a mouthful of water. She made the presentation, wished him well on his National Service, and told him the company would welcome him back.
Only twenty of the cakes were eaten. Millie told the younger staff members to take the rest of them home.
On his first day back, Andrew had been in his office for only ten minutes and was thinking of going to the lab to see Millie when the door opened and she was there smiling diffidently at him. ‘Such a lot has happened while you’ve been away,’ she said. ‘I must bring you up to date. I really missed you last week.’
He had hoped she might be pleased to see him, but what she told him was a catalogue of work-related disasters. She hadn’t missed him in the way he’d missed her.
‘I was trying to talk to Marcus about that merger we discussed and he suddenly went berserk.’
‘Berserk? What d’you mean? He didn’t attack you?’
‘Yes, I thought he was going to kill me.’
‘Heavens, Millie, he’s dangerous! You can’t let him go on working here.’
She looked numb. ‘Marcus is dead,’ she said.
‘Dead?’ Andrew was astounded and he listened speechlessly as Millie told him how it had come about and all the harrowing details.
‘The staff can talk of nothing else. They’re all shocked at what has happened. I gave everybody time off to go to his funeral if they wanted to. When I saw Nigel and his father there, they both looked shattered, and Uncle James had visibly aged.’
Andrew felt shocked too. ‘We must put all that behind us now,’ he said, ‘and look to the future.’ It had all happened without him and had changed for ever the dynamics in the office.
‘Have you had a good holiday?’ she asked eventually.
‘Yes, restful. My mother is getting on in years and as you know she hasn’t been well. She enjoyed Bournemouth, and I think it’s done her good.’
‘What did you do?’
‘Nothing exciting, we strolled along the prom, sat in deckchairs listening to the band, and read. In the evenings we saw the shows on the pier.’ He’d have preferred to be out on the Downs hiking, or on the beach swimming. He’d wanted to be with Millie.
Millie was more beautiful than he remembered and he could hardly drag his gaze away. She had on a dress he hadn’t seen before, it was the colour of the sun. He wanted now to tell her how much he loved her, but that wasn’t what she wanted to hear. He pushed his hands deeper into his pockets so they wouldn’t reach out to touch her.
‘I’ve got to go,’ she said, ‘work is pressing.’ But she agreed to come back to eat her lunchtime sandwich with him, and he had to be satisfied with what little of her company he could get.
That afternoon Jeff Willis rang him and said, ‘Had a good holiday? I’ve got news for you. Could you bring Millie Maynard and come over to the Sailor’s Return for a drink at five o’clock? She asked me to do something for her.’
‘So she told me. What sort of news?’
‘Good news. She’ll be pleased.’
‘That’s a change. The news is bad here. OK, we’ll see you at five.’
Millie had not been in the lounge of the Sailor’s Return since that snowy day in the winter. Today it seemed dusty and close in the warmth of September.
She’d been disappointed in Andrew’s attitude earlier that morning, she’d really been looking forward to his return from holiday and she’d tried to tell him so, but he hadn’t seemed that interested.
When he’d come striding down the lab during the afternoon, she’d wondered if he’d had a change of heart. It turned out he had not, but all the same, she was intrigued when he told her about Jeff’s request.
Jeff’s presence seemed to fill the room, he always seemed larger than life. ‘I want to thank you, Millie.’ He shook her hand and patted her shoulder at the same time. ‘The information in that notebook of Marcus’s has proved invaluable in several ways. It has done wonders for my career. I’ve been given a much more interesting job. No longer do I have to round up drunken military personnel in the pubs and bars. I’m now a detective, rounding up real criminals, and you’re about to see a whole circle of fraudsters brought to justice. In future, the government will be able to get the true worth of any war surplus goods it still has to sell.’
‘That’s marvellous news,’ she said.
‘What about a drink to celebrate?’ Andrew suggested.
‘I’ve already tried,’ Jeff laughed. ‘Gin is off, whisky is off and the only beer is mild,’ his voice dropped an octave, ‘and I think that has been watered.’
A few days later, Millie had barely sat down at her desk when Tom Bedford, who was staid and never rushed, shot in with two newspapers folded to a story on the front page. ‘Millie,’ he said, putting them on her desk, ‘you ought to read these, all the national newspapers are carrying the story. Trust Marcus, this is going to throw a spanner in the works,’ and he hurried off.
She pulled the first newspaper in front of her. ‘Civilian and military police join forces to break large cri
minal ring,’ she read, and was immediately gripped by the story. It appeared that a large gang had been systematically stealing, or buying up at fraudulent giveaway prices, government war surplus equipment and selling it on to unfriendly foreign countries. ‘One of the accused, Marcus Maynard, was recently killed in a traffic accident. He was a member of the prominent Maynard family and Managing Director of William C. Maynard and Sons, a reputable Liverpool business established on 1870, making luxury toilet products. Fifteen other people have been charged, including Marcus Maynard’s wife, and are expected to appear in court today.’
A list of names followed that included Gregory Livingstone and Captain Clive Edward Armstrong and gave potted histories of each.
Millie straightened up in her chair. She was horrified but it did explain what Marcus had been doing when he wasn’t in the office. She read the other newspaper article and it said much the same thing. She leapt to her feet and headed for the boardroom. The corridors were full and the door to the general office was wide open.
Millie could see the staff gossiping in little groups and heard the whispered name of Marcus Maynard.
‘Is it true?’ she was asked.
‘I don’t know.’
Nigel had only just arrived and was opening his briefcase.
‘Have you seen this?’ she demanded, tossing the newspapers on his desk.
He wouldn’t meet her gaze and seemed mightily embarrassed. ‘Yes,’ he grunted.
‘What d’you make of it? Is it true?’
‘I’m afraid it is,’ he said through tight lips.
‘How long have you known about it? This is appallingly bad publicity for the company. Couldn’t be worse.’
‘Yes, I know, I’m sorry.’
That surprised her, Nigel always seemed to believe that his side of the family could do little wrong. ‘What are we going to do about it?’ she asked.