A Winter Bride (23 page)

Frank took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

‘The Inland Revenue are asking about you. They’ve written to you but haven’t had a reply.’

May nodded. The letter would probably be in the drawer with all the other unopened letters. She said she didn’t know why the taxman would want to write to her. She’d done nothing.

‘They want to know where you got the money to open a restaurant.’

‘Savings,’ said May.

‘Where did you keep these savings?’

‘None of your business.’

‘I’m your accountant. It
is
my business. Do you have a bank account you haven’t told me about?’

May shook her head. ‘Don’t use banks. I had the money in the cupboard.’

‘Please don’t tell me this money was undeclared earnings.’

‘Of course the earnings are undeclared. If I declared them the Inland Revenue would want them.’

‘Only a bit of them,’ said Frank.

‘A bit’s more than I’m prepared to let them have. I don’t believe in taxes.’

Frank said that nobody likes taxes. ‘Thing is,’ he said, ‘they want to know where the cash for all the building work came from. And they also want to know why you pay your staff and suppliers in cash. They want to see your accounts.’

‘Don’t have accounts. Keep everything up here.’ She tapped her head.

Frank sighed.

‘How does the taxman know about me?’

‘Someone must have told them. That’s usually the way of it. An anonymous phone call or letter.’

‘I’ve been betrayed?’

Frank nodded. ‘Someone has told them you renovated a restaurant using cash. A huge amount of cash.’

‘Who?’

‘I don’t know. That information is secret. They’ll never tell you.’

‘Betrayed,’ said May again. ‘And me just trying to make people happy. I provide good food. I sing to them. I employ people. What’s wrong with that?’

‘Nothing, except you’re doing it with money you haven’t declared to the Inland Revenue.’

‘I told you I don’t believe in taxes.’

‘It doesn’t matter. The law states you must pay them.’

‘What happens if I don’t?’

‘They’ll demand the money, plus interest, plus a fine and perhaps a jail sentence.’

‘What if I don’t have the money?

Frank looked round. ‘You have this house. You have all the stuff in it. They’ll sell it off and keep the money.’

‘I had a suspicion they might do that,’ said May. ‘It’s nasty. I work hard. I put my heart and soul into my restaurant and that’s what they do. I hate them all. And mostly I hate the person who shopped me.’

After Frank had left, May sat in the kitchen and stared out of the window. Wishes and curses tumbled through her. If only people would hang on and stop demanding cash all this would be sorted out. At the moment, since they’d stopped giving her credit, she was paying suppliers with the takings from the night before. This meant she hadn’t enough to pay her staff. Annie hadn’t been paid for weeks. No doubt she’d quit soon. Her piano player had told her he wouldn’t be coming back. Not that this mattered because the people who’d supplied the beautiful red piano were coming tomorrow to take it back. Should’ve paid for it, thought May. Nell hadn’t been paid for a long time, not that she knew. May had told her she’d paid the money into the running-away fund. Nell hadn’t checked, but then Nell wouldn’t. The girl’s a fool, May decided.

She slapped her palms on the table. No point in sitting here; there were things to do. She phoned the restaurant and told Annie to do the lunches today. ‘A few things have cropped up that I must attend to.’

Annie told her it wasn’t a problem but May detected a certain coldness in her voice.

After that, May packed her favourite handbags, shoes and jewellery in a box. She knew what was going to happen. Something she suspected weeks ago would happen when she’d stashed her crystal glasses at Johnny’s house. As she could not pay the taxman, sheriff’s officers would be appointed to come to the house and sell the furniture and pretty much everything else. Well, she could make sure there were some things they couldn’t get their hands on.

She drove round to Johnny’s house and dumped her goods in his hallway. She’d bring some more things tomorrow. Right now, she had to find some more money. Back home, a rake through the pockets of Harry’s coats and jackets brought her enough to buy half a tank of petrol.

She drove to the hospital. Johnny was sitting on his bed, dressed and waiting for her. ‘Where have you been?’

‘Busy,’ she said. ‘No matter, I’m here now.’ She picked up his case and headed for the door.

He followed on crutches, complaining that she was walking too fast.

‘Lots to do,’ she called.

She took him to her house, telling him it would be easier to keep an eye on him here. ‘You’ll be needing looking after.’ She brought him a sandwich and a glass of milk.

‘Milk?’ he said, holding up the glass in disgust.

‘I’m out of beer,’ she told him. ‘Besides, milk’s good for you. Good for the bones.’ She put her hand under his chin and lifted his face, considering it. ‘Not bad. They’ve done a good job on you.’ She ran her thumb along the scar on his cheek. ‘You’ll be marked for life, but it’s a fine scar. Gives you a bit of character. Before you used to look beautiful but—’ a bit thick, she was about to say, but stopped herself. ‘Now you look beautiful
and
interesting.’

He smiled and nodded. May noticed how easily he took the compliment, but then supposed he would: he was used to them. She bustled across the room, picked up a vase and a bowl and said she was going out. ‘Have to talk to Harry, and then I’m off to work. Got dinners to prepare for tonight.’

He asked why she was taking the vase and bowl with her.

‘I’ve been betrayed. Someone close has shopped me to the taxman. They’re wanting unpaid taxes that I can’t pay. Like as not, they’ll requisition the furniture and sell it off to get the money. I’m getting as much stuff out of here before that happens.’ She sighed. ‘I’ll be fined. I may get jail. Not that I’ll go.’ She slumped down on the sofa beside him. ‘Who would so such a thing? Who would betray me?’

Johnny said it could have been anybody. ‘Perhaps there was a reward. People will do anything for a reward.’ He stared ahead for a moment, turning this news over in his mind. ‘What about me? Will they come after me?’

May said it was a possibility.

‘And Alistair?’

‘Probably not,’ said May. ‘He’s got nothing to do with the business these days.’

‘Do you think it was him?’

‘What? Alistair? He’d never do such a thing. I have to go. Drink your milk and have a little sleep. Sleep and milk is what you need.’

As May drove to see Harry, she thought about Alistair. It couldn’t have been him, could it? No, she shook her head. Oh, he disapproved of the goings-on, but not that much. Still, the doubt had seeded in her mind.

Harry was in his office, sitting at his desk, looking pale.

May sat opposite him, folded her hands on her lap, and also looked pale.

Harry said, ‘Well, what do you think?’

‘I think we’re done for. The sky has fallen.’

‘Our solicitor phoned. I’m going to be charged.’

‘What with?’ exclaimed May.

‘You know what with. Selling dodgy cars. Turning back the mileage. Fiddling the books. God knows what else.’

‘What will happen to you?’

‘I’ll get bail till the case comes up. Then a huge fine. Prison, perhaps. Won’t be able to sell cars again. Then there’s the earnings I didn’t declare. A fine for that, too. Huge fine. And we’ve no money. I’ve had to close this place down. Told everyone this morning.’

‘Well, it looks like the tax man is doing a job on us,’ said May. ‘Frank came round and told me they want to know where I got the cash to start the restaurant.’

Harry sighed. He pulled some coins from his pocket, threw them on the desk along with a five pound note from his wallet. ‘This is what I’m reduced to.’

May said she was the same. ‘The electric and the phone will be cut off soon enough. It’s not right. We only turned back the clocks a little and covered some rust. Nothing much.’

‘We’ve been doing it for years and years. It’s a bit more than nothing much.’

‘The cars were lovely. All shiny. People drove out of the back lot happy. And maybe we didn’t declare all the money we made. But what did we do with it? We started a restaurant. Employed people to fix the building. And now we employ people to serve and prepare the food. We’re contributing to society. We’re making people happy. And that fifty thousand we kept from the government didn’t go to building nuclear bombs, so that should make people happy, too. I’ll say it again, we’ve done nothing wrong.’

‘It’s against the law to keep the facts of your earnings from the taxman. Simple as that.’

‘Well, the law’s wrong,’ May said. ‘People should get to keep the money they earn.’

Harry put his head in his hands. He felt sick. His life was filled with dread. He dreaded going to prison. He dreaded the scandal that would follow when the truth of his back lot activities came out. Mostly, he dreaded sitting in court watching May giving evidence in the dock. She’d be wearing a pink suit and all her jewellery. She’d be smelling of Chanel. No, she’d be reeking of Chanel; wafts of it would drift to the far reaches of the courtroom. Her face would be overly made up. She’d repeat what she’d just said, boldly admitting her guilt. Oh, how delighted the prosecutor would be.

He decided he’d have none of that circus. ‘Don’t worry,’ he said. ‘We’re not going to court. I’ll think of something.’

Slightly reassured, May drove to the restaurant. Lunch was over. Nell, Karen and Sylvie were sitting at a table discussing Rutherford’s In The City.

‘I’ve got it planned,’ Nell was saying. ‘I know exactly what it will be like. Plain white walls with huge posters in thin black frames. Wooden tables with a checked or crisp white cloth, lights hanging from the ceiling and a simple menu. It’ll be classy but not so classy as to frighten off people who don’t often eat out.’

Sylvie said it sounded lovely.

May breezed past thinking they sounded like a bunch of silly schoolgirls and noting how puffed Nell’s face looked. If she’s coming down with the flu, she shouldn’t be here.

Annie was in the kitchen ferociously chopping onions. May always marvelled at the speed Annie worked up; the knife was a blur. ‘You could cut your fingers off doing that,’ she said.

‘Always chop like this,’ Annie said, ‘My mother taught me.’

May asked how the lunches went.

‘Only a couple of tables. People passing by stopped for a bite to eat. Only three reservations tonight.’

‘We won’t be making our fortunes anytime soon,’ said May. ‘What happened? We used to have a full house every night.’

Annie said it was the way of things. ‘People are curious about a new place and give it a try. It takes time to build up some regulars.’

Actually, she thought the empty tables had a lot to do with the article that appeared in the local paper a few weeks ago. Miranda Cartwright-Jones wrote a regular column called ‘Where to Go at the Weekend’, recommending new restaurants, exhibitions and plays. This time, there had been an extra section – ‘Where Not to Go. Ever’ – and the only restaurant mentioned was Rutherford’s. She’d mentioned being berated for not eating her Chicken Kiev and being refused pudding.
It was like being loomed over by a bullying school dinner lady. The décor is hideous. And the chef apparently embarrasses the diners with a song. Perhaps she thinks music eases the digestion of her absurdly heavy food. So, don’t go to Rutherford’s, life’s too short for misery you actually have to pay for
.

Plainly May hadn’t seen this review and Annie had no intention of mentioning it to her. Instead she said, ‘Give it time. Maybe a year.’

I don’t have a year, May thought. She opened a bottle of wine, poured a glass and sat watching the wonder of Annie’s chopping and mulling over her suspicion that Alistair was the one who had betrayed her. The more she thought about it, the likelier it seemed. After all, he did know everything about her business, and he’d told the family he wanted no more to do with it.

‘I need to be seen as a fit and proper person,’ he’d said. ‘And some of the things that are going on at the back lot are not what a fit and proper person would do.’

I’m a fit and proper person, thought May. There has never been a fitter or properer person than me. She finished her drink and started work, preparing the dough for the small parsley and rosemary dumplings she would put in her stew, which was tonight’s special.

Annie stopped what she was doing when she heard what May was making. ‘Stew? People coming out to eat want something fancy, not stew. That’s what they’d have at home.’

‘It’s got wine in,’ said May, ‘and it’s good hearty food. That’s what people want. It’ll make them happy. That’s my job, making people happy.’

Annie sighed and continued her chopping.

May gazed down into her pot. Scents of garlic, onions and browning meat steamed up to her, bringing memories of stews past. They always reminded her of cold days. Her children coming home, blowing on their fingers, noses red, complaining about the chill outside. She’d stand in the kitchen chopping vegetables – celery, carrots and peppers – adding them to the pot, watching them mix with oil and the vegetables already in there and as she did, listening to Alistair and Johnny playing in the living room. They’d mock fight, speculate about their teachers, film heroes and pop stars, and then sit on the floor side-by-side, watching television. Sometimes she’d slip away from her cooking to watch them. She’d never known she could love so much.

Harry always accused her of preferring Johnny, but this wasn’t true. She knew Alistair would be all right. The people who go through their childhood being a little overshadowed by a brother or sister usually found a way to make their voices heard. Alistair was bright, he had a strong sense of right and wrong, he knew what he wanted. Offered a choice – a toy or a book, an apple or a pear, a biscuit or a cake – Alistair never had any trouble deciding what to pick. It was always the book, the pear and the cake. Johnny always hesitated, watched what Alistair did, and then copied him. May decided that the people who were fussed over, and told they were good-looking never thought to fight to have their voices heard. It barely crossed their minds that they had a voice.