Anything For a Quiet Life (11 page)

“A few dead rats for good measure,” said Landless. “It mightn’t have been so bad if they could have cleared it up, but someone seems to have taken a picture and sent it to the papers. I saw it myself. Nasty.”

“And what happened?”

“Seeing as how they had no further trouble I guess they took the hint and decided to buy everything from World Wide. They were fortunate in a way. Their customers were mostly day trippers and such who wouldn’t have heard the stories. They’ve survived. Same with the Fooderie. The Frenchman wasn’t so lucky.”

Jonas had heard about Monsieur Laurenceau. He had an upmarket French-style bistro and had built up an exclusive and faithful clientèle. Then had come that disastrous attack of food poisoning. Some of the victims had been very ill indeed. One old lady had nearly died.

“He couldn’t take it,” said Landless. “It was that old girl nearly croaking that finished him. He packed it up altogether.”

“So having got Brighton under control last summer I suppose they’re now extending the campaign.”

“Here and in Eastbourne.”

“Is there anything we can do?” said Maggs. “It’s hitting us all.”

“Not easy,” said Jonas. “What it comes closest to is demanding money with menaces. But they’re not asking for money, or not directly. And from what you tell me the menaces are fairly indirect, too. It seems to me that the real answer is to organise. If all the restaurants and all the hotels combined and said ‘No’, you’d hold them off.”

Maggs and Landless looked at each other. Maggs said, “Aneurin Williams,” and sighed.

Landless said, “That’s right,” but he said it without much enthusiasm.

Jonas knew about Aneurin Williams.

He was the proprietor of the Everdene Hotel, one of the largest in Shackleton. He was a Welshman and a reformer. He appeared to have a good deal of time to spare from running his hotel. He devoted it to crusading.

There had been the no-sport-on-Sundays crusade, which had been unpopular. The clean-up-the-cinemas crusade, which had had some support from the parents of young children and the keep-the-traffic-away-from-the-High-Street crusade which had been, as his critics pointed out, not entirely unselfish since the one-way system which he had proposed would have favoured his own hotel at the expense of his rivals. This had been stamped on by the police and had led to a clean-up-the police-force crusade.

“He’s not the man to take something like this lying down,” said Landless.

“Got busy already, has he?”

“We’ve had circulars from him, farmers and all. I brought one to show you.”

It was stirring stuff. Resist blackmail and intimidation. Englishmen won’t stand for bullying. Don’t listen to them, give them the toe of your boot.

At the foot there was an invitation (more a summons than an invitation, thought Jonas) to turn up for a mass meeting outside the Town Hall.

“This Saturday,” said Jonas. “I take it you’ll be going.”

“It should be quite a performance. You’ve got to hand it to him, he’s a rousing speaker.”

“All Welshmen have got the gift of the gab,” said Maggs.

Jonas thought he might go along himself. Aneurin Williams in full spate could be worth listening to. He said, “Okay. You’ve got your leader. Now all you have to do is stand behind him.”

Tea was a sociable gathering, normally held in Jonas’s room. Claire poured out. Sabrina came in from her room, protesting regularly that she had no time to waste. If there was any excitement in the offing, Sam came up from the basement to join in the fun. Jonas passed on to them what Maggs and Landless had told him.

“I’ve looked at the dates of the three incidents,” he said, “and I noticed that the trouble at the French restaurant was a fortnight
before
the others. I don’t know a lot about food poisoning, but it did seem to me that it would have been very difficult to get hold of the bacillus and introduce it into the food that Madame Laurenceau was cooking. I wondered whether FSP might have seen that the food poisoning was a good starting point for a campaign and built on it.”

“If that’s right,” said Sabrina, “isn’t it equally possible that the black beetles really were in the Fooderie store? I don’t trust these quick-service places.”

“The offal didn’t arrive of its own accord in that fish restaurant.”

“Might have been a crowd of boys who had a grudge against the proprietor.”

“No,” said Claire. “It’s a regular campaign. Those weren’t the only three incidents. The others weren’t quite so dramatic, that’s all. Customers getting up and shouting the odds about dirty plates, people refusing to eat what was put in front of them and throwing it on the floor. It doesn’t take much to give a restaurant a bad name.”

“It’s happening, all right,” agreed Sam. “And I know who’s doing it. Louie the Nose and his boys. Mostly they work on the racecourse. Did you hear about that jockey that doubled on them? Broke both his legs and dumped him in the stall with this horse. Then threw stones at the horse till he got really wild and finished the jock off. Crafty, you see. When they found the body they thought he must have gone into the stall and been attacked.”

“I don’t call it crafty,” said Claire. “I call it filthy.”

“Well, they’re not a nice crowd,” agreed Sam mildly.

“What I find it very difficult to believe,” said Sabrina, “is that a company like World Wide would employ these sort of tactics. They’re a huge international consortium. I believe the ultimate control is either German or American. Surely they’re much too big—”

“I thought about that,” said Jonas. “They
are
big
and
efficient. They operate on a regional basis. The lot that sells down here would be the South-Eastern Group. Now suppose this group had been doing rather badly in comparison with the other groups in this country. The local regional boss – I’ve met him and didn’t like him much – a man called Claude Schofield, he feels he’s for the chop unless he can organise a dramatic turn round. So he gets hold of the top man in FSP—”

“Carl Fredericks,” said Claire.

“A boyfriend of yours?” suggested Sabrina.

“Not on your nelly. He’s fifty and he’s got an expensive stomach and three chins. I think Jonas is right. And I’ll tell you why. Claude and Carl are golfing buddies. Suppose one day on the golf course Claude says to Carl: ‘Get your FSP reps busy selling my stuff and I’ll cut you in for a private commission. Say ten per cent on any increase in sales.’”

“You’re right about one thing,” said Jonas. “World Wide are the sort of big organisation who wouldn’t hesitate to sack a regional boss if his figures were bad.”

Claire said, “And that would be particularly unfortunate for Claude, as I heard – only a rumour, mind – that he’s been badly dipped lately at the races. If he couldn’t pay the bookies, he might find himself being trampled on by a racehorse.”

Jonas finished his tea. He said, “It’s an unpleasant business. I’m glad we’re not directly involved and I hope we shan’t be.”

On the following morning, which was a Friday, this hope was dashed with the arrival of Aneurin Williams. The first impression was a shock of white hair, bristling white eyebrows and a pair of light blue eyes. The next was an ensnaring Welsh tongue, the voice of an orator from the valleys. When Jonas understood what Mr Williams wanted him to do he said ‘No’ and went on saying it until he realised that he was making no impression on his visitor.

“It’s a simple thing. It just needs a man of your authority, Mr Pickett.”

“I don’t think—”

“None of the other lawyers in this town are of any use. Not the least use. It requires a man who speaks with authority.”

“I’m not sure—”

“All that is necessary is for you to explain the law to Chief Superintendent Whaley.”

“Suppose he doesn’t believe me?”

“He will believe the law, as expounded by you.”

“Just let me get this straight,” said Jonas. “The police have forbidden you to hold your meeting tomorrow.”

“They have purported so to do.”

“And you say they’ve no right to stop you.”

“It’s not I who say it. It’s the law. I have studied the decided cases. As, no doubt, you also will have done.”

“All right, I’ll have a word with my partner, who knows a lot more law than I do. If she supports you, I’ll speak to Whaley. Not that it’ll do a blind bit of good. The police have a lot of latitude in matters like this.”

With that, Aneurin Williams had to be content. He would have liked to have gone on talking, but Jonas was firm.

Sabrina, when consulted, said, “He’s right. In theory, that is. A public meeting can only be stopped by the authorities if they can show that there’s a likelihood of disorder resulting. The normal case is where one lot announce a meeting and their opponents promptly decide to hold a meeting in the next street.”

“Fascists and Communists.”

“That sort of thing. Of course there’s nothing like that here. But the police do have a pretty wide discretion and I can’t see the local bench opposing them.”

Jonas thought about the local bench and could only agree.

“I suppose I’d better have a word with Whaley. I warned Williams that it would do more harm than good. If I could have fixed it up quietly with Jack Queen, I might have got somewhere.”

Chief Superintendent Whaley was large, courageous, thick-skinned and obstinate. Like an articulate rhinoceros, said Claire, who had once danced with him at a tennis club social. His disapproval of Jonas dated back to the early days of Jonas’s arrival in Shackleton. He received him and listened to him with formidable politeness.

He said, “I know Claude Schofield. We get all our Christmas supplied from the World Wide stores in Brighton. I’ve often told him he ought to open a branch here.”

“I’m surprised he hasn’t,” agreed Jonas.

“This other man, Fredericks. I’ve never heard of him. Who is he?”

“Carl Fredericks runs Food Sales Promotion. It’s an advertising agency, with a lot of representatives who go round finding markets for their clients’ goods.”

“I see. And your idea is that Fredericks is getting a personal rake-off from Schofield and using some of it to pay for muscle to back up his salesmen.”

“It’s not my idea. It’s the idea of a number of hotel and restaurant owners who’ve had visits from these people.”

“And you say they’ve been threatened.”

“No,” said Jonas unhappily. “That’s just what they’re careful not to do. They simply drop hints. It’s what happened last year in Brighton that’s scaring people here.”

“Yes. I had a word with Chief Superintendent Maxted about that. There’s been some pressure-selling there, no doubt. He thinks it may have been exaggerated. In any event, Shackleton isn’t Brighton. We haven’t had any trouble here yet.”

“Not yet,” said Jonas. He could see that the rhinoceros was heading down a fixed track to a predetermined end and that no arguments were going to stop him.

“What we don’t want to do is to stir up trouble here before we’ve any cause to do so. That puts
us
in the wrong.”

“And you think that a public meeting to discuss the matter is going to cause trouble?”

“In the ordinary way, perhaps not. But we’ve had some experience of Mr Williams. You know him, I expect.”

“He’s elected himself as my client. That’s why I’m here.”

“I see.” Whaley looked at Jonas thoughtfully. “I’ve told him we can’t have the Saturday afternoon traffic in the High Street disrupted. It’s difficult enough to keep the traffic moving as it is. If he insists on holding the meeting in spite of my warning I shall get my men to disperse it. If Williams resists, they’ll have orders to bring him in. I hope they won’t have to arrest you, too, Mr Pickett.”

This was said without a smile.

“I hope so, too,” said Jonas. “I’ll go along now and tell my client what you’ve said. If this afternoon’s meeting is going to be cancelled, there isn’t a lot of time to do it.”

Jonas went straight round to the Everdene Hotel. As he went he was cursing Aneurin Williams and cursing him wholeheartedly. The last thing he wanted was a feud with the police. It did neither him nor his clients any good. He hoped, without much confidence, that the Welsh crusader would listen to reason.

He found a worried boy in the front desk at the hotel. The boy said, “Dad’s not here. He went out about half an hour ago.”

“Have you any idea where he went, or why?”

“He doesn’t tell me much. I think it was a telephone call he had. He said it was important.”

“Does he know that the police have put a stopper on his meeting?”

“Yes. He knew that. Whaley had been on to him earlier this morning. What he said, as he was going out, was that if everything went as he thought it would, there might be no need for a public meeting after all.”

Jonas thought about it. It didn’t make a great deal of sense. He said, “I’m going back to my office now. When your father turns up, ask him to give me a ring.”

The boy said, “You’re going to advise him to play along with the police – I hope.”

Jonas gathered that he didn’t approve of his father’s crusading. Jonas said, “I most certainly am.”

He waited patiently, first in his office and then in his flat, until past two o’clock, but the telephone remained silent. It meant missing his lunch, but this troubled him very little. He often ate nothing between breakfast and dinner.

At half past two he wandered down to the Town Hall. There were quite a few people collected round the steps, but Williams was not there and no one seemed to know what to do.

Hamlet without the Prince of Denmark, thought Jonas. Then Whaley appeared, pushing his way through the crowd. He climbed the steps. No need for a loudhailer. His booming voice carried quite clearly.

“I’ve told your organisers that if they persist in holding this meeting they will be breaking the law. There’s no objection to your meeting later, at a more suitable place. But not here and not now.”

Jonas wondered what would have happened if Williams had been there. As it was there was no real resistance. People started to drift away. Whaley came down and climbed back into the police car.