The Knapthorne Conspiracy

by Malcolm Ballard

  “If we take this turn-off,” she said, pointing to the phone's screen, “that’s the one after next, it’ll take us onto what used to be the main road, before the motorway was here. I’m sure we’ll be able to find somewhere for a drink.” His hands felt moist on the steering wheel and his stomach was churning. Mentioning the pub had only been the excuse for getting off the motorway but, right at that moment, the prospect of a large scotch was too good to turn down. He had to try and act normally but with what was going on in his mind it was almost impossible.

  “You seem a bit quiet. Thinking about how to get my money, eh?” Barbara thought the remark quite funny and couldn’t help laughing. “Oh, come on Ben, lighten up! We’ve had some good times, haven’t we? It is only money, after all, lover. So why the long face?”

  “How come you’re such a bitch, Barbara?” As much as he had tried, Ben couldn’t stop his anger from coming to the surface. The humour left her face as she turned on him.

  “So I’m a bitch now, am I? Why’s that Ben? Because I’m ripping you off like you’re ripping the firm off? What’s it matter whether it’s fraud or blackmail, what’s the difference? We’re two of a kind, you and I, Ben Hollingsworth, whether you like it or not. And you’re hooked on sex as much as me! You should see yourself in action, in that video!” There was a look of triumph in her eyes as she sat back and Ben knew that she was right. Perhaps he was even worse because he was a solicitor, charged with upholding the law, and he couldn’t even make a success of that.

  “The only difference between you and me, Ben,” she went on, “is that I don’t have any illusions about myself. You haven’t got the guts to face up to what you are…” He shut out the words, the taunting accusations, as he listened to an inner voice, it’s words getting louder, yelling at him, telling him what to do. He would have to be strong, it said, he would have to take control. He knew what had to be done!

  “Shut up!” he yelled. Shut up!” Barbara turned to him, her lips moving but he couldn’t hear what she was saying because of the voice in his head. A sneering grin twisted her lips and he tore his eyes away, concentrating on the road. Ahead of them on the opposite side of the road, about 500 yards away, was a large pub. Even though they had left the motorway the volume of traffic was still quite heavy, much of it commercial, but if he timed it right there was a gap in the traffic coming up before the next lorry. The voice egged him on and he put his foot down. The grin left Barbara’s face, replaced by a look of surprise, then shock. Her lips were moving, she was screaming at him as shock turned to horror and she made a grab for the wheel. Ben saw his chance and the voice shouted its congratulations as he sped into the gap, driving the wrong way in the other lane, and hurtled straight towards the lorry at over ninety miles an hour.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Happy in his work, Paul Aristides was preparing the ingredients for making hummus. The smile on his face was not solely because of contentment with his lot but, for the most part, it was generated by thoughts of returning to his beloved Levkas, to see his ageing parents. England had been his home now for nearly twenty years but his heart was forever in the land of his birth and he returned there at least once a year. Sometimes he would take Pat but on the odd occasion he would go by himself to relive the old times with his male cronies. Sitting at his favourite taverna drinking ouzo as the sun set over the harbour was as close to heaven as you could get. In Paul’s mind anyway. Especially when your wife was hundreds of miles away. He grinned at the thought, knowing that he would be leaving, by himself, in under two weeks. He was a lucky man indeed!

  “Nice to see someone enjoying their work.” He hadn’t seen the girl come in although the shop was empty. An expert on the female of the species, as was every Greek male, he quickly assessed her as being attractive, in a slightly mannish way, with an oval face and short, cropped blonde hair. Not shy this one, he thought, and not to be trusted. It was in the eyes. There was a lot to tell about people from their eyes, Paul was fond of saying.

  “Been in the area long?” What sort of question was that, he wondered. Most English people always mentioned the weather when they opened a conversation. It reinforced his thinking about the eyes.

  “Longer than I wish to remember,” he replied, affably. “You passing through?” he asked, kicking the ball back to her.

  “On my way to Salisbury,” she lied. Her boss, Kyle Lucas, had told her to sniff around simply using her initiative. She hadn’t liked to ask him why, he had been in such a foul mood yesterday after the weekend. Go to the village, drop the girl’s name into the pond and see what the ripples are like. Why am I asking, she had said to him and been told to come up with a believable excuse, that was what she was paid for. Shit, who did the bastard think he was? If she got the place at drama school, she’d be out of there, anyway. Foul-tempered prick.

  “What part of Greece you from?”

  “Northern Greece. Lefkada.” A nod and a smile indicated she knew it.

  “Levkas man. Hammond Innes. I’ve read the book.”

  “That was many years ago, now, I think.”

  “Still a good read, though. I’m Wendy Daniels, by the way.” A hand was offered, over the counter, the handshake firm and businesslike. He put her at early 20’s, no more. Strong-willed, too, at a guess. If he were twenty, thirty years younger would he have been interested? He laughed to himself but only the eyes sparkled in the still-handsome face. He had always been interested.

  “Paul Aristides. Nice to meet you. What do you do for a living, then, Wendy Daniels?”

  “I’m a clerk for a solicitor. I do all the hard work, they get the money, you know how it is!” It was a cover she had used before. Her flatmate worked for a legal firm and provided her with enough colourful anecdotes to give authenticity to the fabrication and make her feel comfortable with it. The legal aspect seemed to give it credibility somehow in people’s eyes. But Paul Aristides wasn’t convinced. He loved people. Loved serving them, dealing with them, talking to them. He loved the strangeness of people, the oddities about them and he liked to try and read people based on his vast experience. This one was not easy to read. Young and smart, yes. But not a solicitor’s clerk.

  “You do not look like solicitor’s clerk, Miss Wendy.” His reaction took her by surprise but she was not about to get drawn into a discussion about it.

  “Funny, a lot of people say that. Do you have any baklava? I really came in to find something sweet.” He nodded in confirmation, thinking that his suspicions had been confirmed

  “Made only yesterday. Just the one piece?”

  “That’ll be fine. Don’t want to spoil my lunch.”

  The sticky-sweet dessert was not on display at the counter and he had to go out the back to get it for her. When he returned, she was looking thoughtful.

  “Do you know if there is a family by the name of Flint around here?” His cheerful expression didn’t change.

  “It is possible. I have heard the name.”

  “The address I have for them is Market Street, but that was some years ago. Would you know if they’re still there?” The Greek shook his head.

  “I’m sorry! The name I know but I could not tell you where they live.” As he spoke he was carefully wrapping her purchase. When he handed it across, she watched his face intently.

  “There are three of them I believe, two sisters, Ruth and Cora and a brother, Alfred. Are they all living here now?” If anything, the Greek’s smile grew broader.

  “I am not best person to ask these things, Miss Wendy. My wife is the one to talk to but she is away. I think you should go to Market Street. Be careful with the baklava, it is very fresh.” He took the money she was offering, rung the item up and handed her the change. “Why do you ask about these questions?”

  “A business matter, that’s all. I have to speak to one of them.” There had been nothing in the exchange to arouse her suspicions. A cool customer, this Greek, she conceded. “I’ll take your advice then. How do I get to Market
Street?”

  Having had no intention of going anywhere near Market Street, Wendy Daniels sat in her car eating the baklava while she pondered her next move. Finding evidence of Ruth Flint’s existence had been easy. Simply a matter of flicking through the registry records a few years either side of Cora and Alfred’s birth dates. The idea had been Kyle’s, clever prat! But how to trace her now, that was the question? Licking the remaining honey from her fingers, she spotted the pub sign in the distance on the other side of the road and it seemed as good an idea as any to go and have half a bitter and get a feel for the lie of the land. Driving into the car park she was surprised to find it empty and suddenly wondered if, indeed, the pub was even open. It was still over an hour to mid-day. However, when she pushed on the door to the saloon bar it responded to her touch and she went in. Whatever she might have been expecting, the drab interior was a disappointment, the atmosphere striking her as redolent of a fusty old Dickensian school room rather than the welcoming environment of a village pub. The sight caused her to hesitate, in disbelief, still holding onto the open door. An incongruous twenty-first century clarion call invaded the silence as, like a baby crying for attention, her mobile beckoned with its shrill call. Wendy Daniels backed out as the two men sitting at the bar watched her disappear.

  “Danny!” From as far back as she could remember, the assertive young woman had disliked her given name. After reading Peter Pan, she had hated it and it wasn’t too long, courtesy of her schoolfriends, before she had been rechristened. She listened now as her boss’s voice barked instructions down the phone.

  “I see your mood’s improved then,” she answered, not at all fazed by his ill-humour, then grinned at his curt reply as he ended the short call.

  “If that’s not friggin’ typical, I don’t know what is! Only just got here and now the bastard wants me back! Shit, oh dear, I don’t believe it!” Aggressively she pushed at the door and marched back into the bar, determined to have her half of bitter first. The pound of flesh could wait. Samuel Handysides greeted her with a smile and a nod as she approached him at the bar.

  “Half a pint of your best bitter, please.”

  “You seemed positively anxious to ‘ave a drink, when you came in, I must say!” Samuel quipped. She smiled at his phrasing. Positively anxious, she liked that.

  “Oh,” she sighed, with gusto, “if you had a boss like mine, it’d drive you to drink too, I reckon.” Over Samuel’s shoulder she saw someone else enter the area behind the bar. A man struggling with a full crate which he lowered, with some difficulty, to the floor. His facial expression and bright sweater identified him as the man Kyle had described as Alfred Flint. Samuel placed her drink on the counter and she offered a five pound note in payment.

  “Nice place you got here,” she said, looking around her, as the landlord gave her the change. Although understated, her sarcasm couldn’t be missed.

  “We likes it,” one of the men drinking at the bar replied without turning to look at her. He was thirtyish, big verging on hulking, dressed in an old grey suit which showed shiny patches from age. The redness of his face was a testament to his regular drinking. “If you don’t, you don’t have to stay.”

  “Now, now, Reg,” Samuel joined the fray. “I’m sure the lady’s only having her little joke. Used to drinking in somewhere a bit different, I should think.”

  “Should’a stayed there, then,” Reg countered, pushing his empty glass forward. “Same again, Samuel.” By the look on Alfred Flint’s face she could see he wasn’t enjoying the exchange, obviously sensitive to the atmosphere and she didn’t want him to disappear.

  “Take no notice of me,” she said, by way of an apology. “The day hasn’t got off to a very good start.”

  “That’s ok, miss,” Samuel replied. “Whereabouts you from?” He asked the question as he took Reg’s empty glass to refill it.

  “Salisbury. Had to come out this way on business.”

  “Oh? What sort of business’d that be then?” the landlord asked. The open expression on his gnome-like face indicated that he was just passing the time of day. Over the years it had become second nature to find out what strangers were up to in the village. Just to be on the safe side.

  “Legal business. I’m looking for a family that lives here, in Knapthorne.” She drained half the glass at one swig looking over its rim at the landlord, watching his face.

  “Well, I knows just about everybody round ‘ere, so maybe I can ‘elp.” He placed the full glass in front of Reg and took the man’s money. “Who is it you’m a-lookin’ for?” He went to the till which was on the far side of Alfie, who was on his knees, facing her, stacking bottles from the crate onto one of the shelves. She looked directly into his eyes as she spoke.

  “The family name’s Flint. I believe there’s three of them. Cora, Ruth and Alfred.” The change in his expression was amazing to watch. It was as if someone had told him he’d just won the lottery. Like the weather had changed from dull and overcast to bright sunshine.

  “She knows about our Ruthy, Samuel. She knows where Ruthy is!” If the change in Alfred’s attitude had been amazing, it dulled in comparison to what she witnessed with Samuel.

  “Get upstairs, Alfie. Now!” The fierce command obviously took Alfie by surprise from the terrified look on his face as Samuel all but dragged him up by the collar, his face dark, his mood threatening.

  “But Samuel…” his small voice pleaded, then died away under Samuel’s withering look

  “Now!” He looked up at the young woman standing at the bar, his face contorted in anger and confusion.

  “I don’t know what you’m be a-wantin’ but Cora Flint’s out back. I’ll just go and fetch her.” His thoughts were racing in every direction as he headed for the kitchen, trying to imagine what the stranger could possibly want. Legal business? What sort of legal business? And why had she mentioned Ruth’s name? What was going on. Surely something wasn’t going to come out of the woodwork after all this time? Cora looked up as he came in.

  “There’s someone in the bar says they’re lookin’ for you.”

  “Lookin’ for me?” Cora replied, in disbelief. Samuel nodded.

  “Why would anyone be a-lookin’ for me?” The surprise on her face melted away and she began to look concerned.

  “Who is it, Samuel, do you know?”

  “A young lass, no more than twenty-summat. Never seen ‘er before in my life. Says it’s some legal business or other.” Cora didn’t like the sound of the word legal. Didn’t like it one little bit.

  “You go see ‘er for me, eh, Samuel. There’s a love. Find out what she wants first. Then I might think about comin’ out.” In a very apprehensive mood, Samuel made his way back to the bar but when he looked for the young woman she was nowhere to be seen. Wendy Daniels had gone.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Kyle’s visit had done Bella no favours at all. First of all she had stayed up, more asleep than awake, until gone two-o-clock, in case he had returned. On reflection, she had no idea what she would have done if he had. It was the thought of going to bed, falling asleep, only to have him banging at the door or worse. Having finally gone up to her room and got off to sleep she had been woken, seemingly only minutes later, by the now familiar events of her recurring dream. The cold, reliable precision of the adjacent glowing red digits gave her the bad news that it was 3.46am and she rolled over, plunging her face into the pillow with a groan. As the perspiration cooled on her skin an insistent, throbbing pain made itself known, somewhere behind her eyes. Then awareness of a dry, furry mouth accompanied by the sour taste of stale brandy brought a grimace to her face. With difficulty, she sat up and rested her head on her knees. “Kyle Lucas, if ever I see you again, you’ll pay for this!” she murmured.

  Feeling like a zombie, Bella had eventually surfaced on the Saturday just before 10am. It had taken several minutes in the shower for her to feel anything like approaching reasonable and the day had proceeded from thereon in a stat
e of slow motion. Even the cat had kept its distance, sensing that Bella was not her normal self. There were things she had wanted to do, like talk to Jane, phone her mother or clean the windows but she knew she was too fragile to undertake anything that involved either clear thinking or any strenuous activity. Even the thought of writing just produced a hollow laugh. Her eyes were too gritty to concentrate on the screen and her brain would not cope with the challenge. Not wishing her peace to be disturbed, she switched on the answerphone. The day slipped past and Bella tried to make sure it progressed as painlessly as possible. It was impossible to keep her thoughts from returning to the events of the previous evening and she couldn’t help but feel that she was lucky not too have been physically attacked by her visitor. Recalling the look on his face made her shiver, even now. How could someone change like that, she wondered. He seemed so strong, his personality that is, yet he had a considerate side to him too. But the unrestrained violence in his anger was frightening. As she started to think about it yet again she felt her eyes closing and was unable to fight off the urge to sleep. It was early evening when she awoke feeling a little disorientated and anxious at first but awareness of her surroundings slowly sunk in and calmness returned. She felt hungry, which Bella took as a good sign and even ventured to think that a glass of wine with a light meal might even do her good. The fact that her brain had cleared somewhat and the headache was easing led her to thinking about what Kyle had told her. So Cora had a sister? She had dismissed it at the time then forgotten about it completely with the disastrous events that had followed. But what if she asked her housekeeper about it, she wondered. It would be interesting to see Cora’s reaction, though it wasn’t difficult to picture the woman’s face. Ubix’s plaintive miaow distracted her, as she went to the fridge.