Desperate Measures (15 page)
Paula lay awake for hours. Though she had hidden it from the others, she was still hurt by Cheryl’s remark. Oh, she wasn’t daft–she knew her voice sounded common, but Cheryl was the last person she’d expected to be judgemental.
Paula tossed and turned. She had grown close to Cheryl, had seen her as an older sister, and thought those feelings were returned. She’d been an idiot, a fool for seeing Cheryl and the others as a replacement family. How wrong she’d been, Paula decided, as with a groan she scrunched up her pillow, trying to fight the feelings of hurt and rejection that swamped her.
Oh Betty
, her mind cried.
Are you going to turn on me too?
It had been lovely to play the part of Betty’s daughter, if only for a short while, but now Paula’s eyes filled with tears. Her own mother had rejected her, hadn’t wanted her in her life, so why should Betty, a woman whose warmth and affection she craved, be any different? No, Betty wouldn’t want her either, and even though she’d given up the gin, Betty wouldn’t want someone so tainted and common in her life. Neither would Val, and once the last two plans had been carried out, it would be the last she saw of them. She’d be alone again, without friends or family, and somehow, some way, she’d have to stand on her own two feet.
With this thought, Paula felt a surge of determination. She would do it. Somehow she would do it. For a start, she’d be different at work–friendlier; maybe find a couple of mates. Then, when she had to say goodbye to Betty and the others, perhaps she wouldn’t feel totally alone.
The man picked up a brick, threw it with force. A window shattered, setting off an alarm in the damp, dark street. Clang, clang, clang. Now the noise intruded on Paula’s dream. It was her alarm clock, and groaning she reached out a hand, fumbling to turn it off. Bloody hell, she thought, as the dream receded, her memory of it fading as she threw back the blankets to get out of bed. She groggily put on her dressing gown, glad to find the bathroom free, and after having a wash she brushed her teeth before returning to her room to get ready for work.
A new day and a new start, Paula thought as she left her bedsit, determination in her stride as she headed for the bus stop. She didn’t have long to wait, and twenty minutes later Paula was walking into the factory, forcing a smile on her face as she went to the cloakroom. ‘Morning,’ she said to a few young women who were already there, unable to miss that their eyes widened with astonishment.
‘Err, yeah, good morning,’ one said, and Paula recognised her as the girl she’d once talked to at the bus stop.
The other two said nothing as they brushed past her, but Paula ignored the slight and swallowed her nervousness to say, ‘I think you live near me.’
‘Yeah, I’ve seen you waiting for a bus. I live near the bottom of Lavender Hill.’
‘I’m just around the corner from there.’
‘Paula, ain’t it? My name’s Greta.’
‘Yeah, that’s right, and I don’t know about you, Greta, but I fancy a fag before we start work. Have we got time?’
‘Have one of mine,’ Greta said, as they walked outside. ‘I know it’s only Tuesday, but roll on Friday.’
‘I couldn’t agree more. What are you up to this weekend?’
‘My bloke’s taking me dancing on Saturday night.’
‘That’s nice.’
It was time to start work and, as they stubbed out their cigarettes, Greta said, ‘Right, we’re off,’ and together they walked into the machine room.
‘I’m working with Keith this week.’
‘You’re lucky. I’m on machine four with Len and he’s a right miserable git. See you,’ Greta called as she moved away.
‘Yeah, see you,’ she called back, pleased that she had broken the ice, at least with one girl.
Keith grinned when he saw her. ‘Hello, sexy.’
For a moment Paula tensed, but then took a deep breath. ‘Morning, Keith. Nice day, ain’t it?’
‘It is now I’ve seen you.’
‘Yeah, and I bet you say that to all the girls,’ Paula said as she slipped onto her stool.
‘I only say it to the good–looking ones.’
Paula smiled. She didn’t want to give Keith ideas–didn’t want him to think she might be interested, but found that she enjoyed his friendly banter. ‘Are you ready to start the machine?’
‘Yes, boss,’ he said, lifting his hand in salute, and then machine after machine along the room sprang to life, the clatter as usual deafening.
Paula just had time to wave to Charlie, and then it was time to start work, her hands busy as she fed sheet after sheet of paper into the rollers.
Cheryl’s eyes widened when she walked into the ward and saw that Edna Sands’s bed was empty. Her heart sank. Though her injuries had been minor, tests had shown high blood pressure along with angina. She had been further weakened by malnutrition, and now, fearing the worst, Cheryl went to talk to Staff Nurse Trenton.
‘I see that Mrs Sands’s bed is empty.’
‘She died during the night,’ she said brusquely. ‘Now take over the trolley, please. Finish taking temperatures and blood pressures for these last three beds, and then prepare the ward for the doctor’s rounds.’
Cheryl took over as the staff nurse walked away and planted a smile on her face as she approached a patient. She tried to concentrate, but found that half her mind was on the patient, whilst the other half remained on Mrs Sands. If the elderly woman hadn’t been malnourished when admitted, if she’d had someone to care for her, she could have recovered from her fall.
For the rest of the morning Cheryl was so rushed off her feet that she didn’t have further time to think. During her lunch break she went first to the bank to pay in the cheque, and then hurried back to the staff canteen to queue for a sandwich and a drink. After finding a table she sat down with relief, kicking off her black, lace–up shoes to rub the soles of her feet.
Her thoughts drifted as she munched on a ham sandwich, from hoping that the cheque would clear so she could buy a flat, then on to Paula and the offer of furniture from someone she worked with. She had been awful to Paula and was swamped with guilt, yet she was still unable to stop that little voice of doubt. Had Paula led Ian Parker on? Had they put an innocent man in prison?
Val had been tense all morning, waiting for the call. When it finally came, her hand tightened around the receiver.
‘Good morning, I was given this number as Lady Parker Smythe’s solicitor and I’d like to speak to him please,’ said Trevor Riverton. Val glanced swiftly at Mr Warriner’s door, glad to see it closed as she said, ‘I’m afraid Mr Warriner won’t be in the office until Friday.’
‘I want to get in touch with Lady Margaret Parker Smythe. Can you give me her number?’
‘I’m not allowed to give information on clients.’
‘But Lady Smythe gave me this number. She told me to ring her solicitor if I sourced a painting by Dolchini.’
‘I’m only the receptionist. If you ring again on Friday, I’m sure Mr Warriner will be able to help you.’
‘Blast. All right, I’ll ring him then.’
Val exhaled with relief as she replaced the receiver. So far so good, but there was still the risk that he’d show the painting to an expert before the cheque cleared. The wait was going to be nerve–racking, but even worse for Cheryl. Please let it clear, please, Val willed.
Betty too was thinking about Trevor Riverton as she went about her work, but worrying about him was giving her a headache. She did her best to push her thoughts away, but the house was quiet, with just the faint noise of traffic from outside as she walked through the hall. Betty found herself wishing for company, for someone to talk to–someone to take her mind off the dealer and the thought of him turning up at her door. It was all right for Val to say she didn’t have anything to worry about, but it would still be an unpleasant confrontation and one she hoped she wouldn’t have to face.
‘Oh, for goodness’ sake, woman,’ she said, talking to herself. ‘Pull yourself together.’
Betty smiled at last. It came to something when she had to talk to herself, but nevertheless it eased her tension. In truth she had to admit that having to face Trevor Riverton again was nothing compared to the lies she’d told the police, or her nerves when she’d sat at court waiting to be called.
She wished the time away, anxious for Friday, because if the cheque cleared it would be a cause for celebration. And after all this worry and waiting, she was looking forward to that.
Once again she noticed the silence of the house. She’d love to find another job, a place where she could work with others. If only she was trained to do something meaningful like Cheryl, or work in an office like Val. ‘Stop dreaming,’ she said, talking out loud again and then chuckling at her silliness.
For the rest of the day Betty worked steadily, and though she had managed to stop worrying about the dealer, her thoughts had turned to Richard. She had an idea, a plan to bring him low, but hadn’t mentioned it to Val or the others yet. It had come to mind when talking to Anne about her plans for Christmas. She was sure it could work, but a lot would depend on either Paula or Cheryl. Not only that, she had no idea if they were going to work on her plan next. Val might want to go first. ‘Oh,’ she whispered, ‘please let it be my turn.’
The rest of the week was an anxious time, and on Friday morning Betty tapped on Val’s door before she left for work. ‘Val, I know Cheryl said the cheque hadn’t cleared yesterday. Will you ring me at work as soon as you hear anything?’
‘Yes, of course. Cheryl will ring me during her lunch break; but don’t worry, if the dealer calls to speak to Mr Warriner this morning, it means he still thinks the painting is genuine.’
‘Let’s hope when we meet up this evening, it’s to celebrate.’
‘I’m sure it will be,’ Val said, and then saying she’d better be off, Betty hurried away.
Val closed her door, and with twenty minutes to spare before she had to leave for the office, she poured herself another cup of tea. Once the dealer had spoken to Mr Warriner, he’d be on the alert, but surely it would be too late now to stop the cheque? It had to have cleared by now, Val thought as she finished her tea and left for work.
Half an hour later, Val was sitting at her desk, tense as she waited for Trevor Riverton’s call. There were a few letters to type and she tried to concentrate on her work, but her eyes kept straying to the clock.
Val took two calls, neither of them from the dealer, but at eleven o’clock the telephone rang again and her stomach lurched when she recognised Trevor Riverton’s voice.
‘Good morning. I’d like to speak to Mr Warriner.’
‘Who’s calling, please?’
‘Trevor Riverton.’
‘Just a moment, I’ll see if he’s free.’
Val tapped in his extension, ‘There’s a call for you, a gentleman called Trevor Riverton.’
‘All right, put him through.’
Val connected the call and then got up from her desk, sneaking to Mr Warriner’s door. It was closed and at first she could hear little, but then his voice began to rise with obvious impatience.
‘Now look, I’ve already told you, I’ve never heard of Lady Margaret Parker Smythe and she is
not
one of my clients.’
Val smiled as her employer’s voice went up another octave. ‘How should I know why you’ve been given my name and number?’
Oh, to be a fly on the wall and see Trevor Riverton’s face, Val thought as she went back to her desk. Now he knew what it felt like to be swindled and it served him right. She had only just sat down again when Mr Warriner’s door opened, her boss’s face livid as he marched into reception.
‘Val, if that man rings again, tell him I’ve no intention of taking his call.’
‘Is something wrong?’
‘He sounded like a madman. Went on and on about a Lady Parker Smythe and a painting he’d sourced for her. I kept telling him that she isn’t my client, but the man had the gall to virtually call me a liar.’
‘Perhaps he was given the wrong number?’ Val suggested.
‘Maybe, but as I said, if he rings again, don’t put him through. If he has the nerve to turn up here, tell him I’m out,’ and on that note Mr Warriner returned to his office.
On hearing his words, Val sat bolt upright in her chair. Oh God, she’d thought herself so clever, but there was one thing she hadn’t factored in and that was the dealer turning up at the office. She hadn’t given the man the address, but now realised that there was nothing to stop him finding it. All he had to do was to look up Mr Warriner’s name in the telephone book.
Oh what a stupid, stupid mistake. Trevor Riverton had rung at eleven and his conversation with Mr Warriner must surely have alerted him to the fact that something was wrong. He must be going frantic and yes, there was a real danger of him turning up here to confront Mr Warriner. If that happened–if he saw her face, she was in deep trouble. There was only one thing to do–she had to take time off; say she was sick and stay away until the danger had passed.
Val waited fifteen minutes before tapping on Mr Warriner’s door, and affecting a look of pain she placed a hand on the small of her back as she went in. ‘I’m sorry, Mr Warriner, but do you mind if I go home?’
‘Why? What’s wrong, Val?’
‘I was in the storeroom and balanced on a chair to put an old file onto the top shelf when I lost my footing. I managed to cling on, but I think I’ve pulled a muscle or something in my back.’
‘Oh dear. Yes, go on home, and as my wife always advises when my back is playing me up, make sure you lie on a hard, flat surface. If it isn’t any better tomorrow, perhaps you should see your doctor.’
‘Yes, yes, I will,’ Val said, bending slightly and still clutching her lower back as she walked out.
Val felt awful for lying to her boss. He was a lovely man and didn’t deserve it, but there was no way she could risk being around if Trevor Riverton showed up.
Betty looked anxiously at her watch. Val still hadn’t called. Had something gone wrong? But even if it had, she’d have let her know. If only she had Val’s work number, but without it there was nothing she could do but wait.
At last the call came. ‘Betty, sorry for the delay. Cheryl rang me at work and was told I’d had to go home, so then she rang me here and it’s good news.’
‘You’re home, but why?’
Betty frowned as she listened. She was thrilled that the cheque had cleared, but unable to believe that none of them had spotted the flaw in Val’s plan. Now Val was stuck at home and would have to remain there until she was in the clear. ‘Will you get sick pay?’
‘Yes, thank goodness.’
They said goodbye, but Betty was still a bit worried about the dealer coming back to her door. It was all right for Val, she could lie low, whereas she would have to face him.
For the rest of the afternoon, Betty pushed her worry to one side and now that Cheryl’s plan had been completed, she turned her mind to Richard. The more she went over her idea, the more certain she felt it would work. Anne had briefly met Paula, so at first she discounted her for the role, but as her daughter was going to be in Cornwall, it would be safe to use her, or Cheryl, but it depended on who volunteered. She pictured them both in her mind, imagining them playing the part, and felt that Paula would be the better choice. But was she still too fragile? Would it be too much for her?
Whichever girl played the role, Betty smiled as she envisaged the scene in her mind. It would be the ruin of Richard’s reputation–and with any luck it would bring about the end of his marriage too.
