Little Fingers! (17 page)

And Sam? I
still cannot make Sam out. We do not gel, so we cannot really be
friends, yet she appears to have a need to connect with me, which
is strange. She has an established position in the village, and she
is entirely self-assured to the point of being rampant, so why
would she bother with me unless we hit a chord, which we don't, at
least as far as I can tell. Perhaps she experiences it differently.
Maybe for one reason or another, she either needs my approval or my
endorsement, but it is not at all obvious that she either needs
them or seeks them from anyone else.

Here is a bit
more background on Sam, Inspector.

From what I
have heard or can deduce (given that she is the most talked-about
personality in the village), everyone is agreed that she married
her husband, Tony, wholly for his money. She rarely spends time at
their home, preferring to hang around the Hall.

Tony is very
rich and surprisingly nice, but he lacks the spice that Sam needs.
He is not dangerous. He looks good, he does good deeds, he wants
children, he is kind to his fellow man, he is a bit boring.
However, according to rumour, there is a lot more to him than Sam
recognises, or would know how to recognise.

Tony spends
much of his time sitting at his desk working. He works constantly.
That is how he became rich, knowing how to buy and sell, and what
to buy and sell, at the right price, at the right time, in the
right location. He moves goods around the world from his desk in
Hanburgh, all at the touch of buttons. Few people have worked out
the financial benefits of the Internet better than Tony has. Few
people know as many of the relevant laws, and customs. He has a
knack for understanding markets, and how they ebb and
flow.

He is good
with people too. They like him, they trust him, they buy from him.
He knows what motivates them, partly because, as with everything
else, he does an enormous amount of research.

The one human
being not to be touched by him, it appears, is Sam. He does not
understand her at all, and she does little to help him find out
about her. Her calculation was cynical. She wanted the power, she
wanted his looks, she wanted his money. He is disposable, and she
treats him as if the sooner he disappears the better. It may take
some time. He is only fifty. He is fit. He works out and he runs,
and he swims. He is lean. He rarely drinks, barely eats. His
biggest risk is that his eyesight will go with the amount of time
he spends staring at a screen.

He knows about
Sam's flings. He lets them pass, although no-one knows what
recriminations there may be in private.

Sam, it is
said, has always been in a hurry throughout her life. When she was
three, she wanted to be ten. She wanted to get there ahead of
everyone else. At eleven she wanted to learn to drive, which she
did in the park of the Hall. At sixteen she wanted to marry a rich
man, and so she married Tony. At sixteen-and-a-half she wanted a
divorce, so long as it did not jeopardise her alimony. Her lawyer
advised her that she would get a great deal more if she waited a
few years and had some children.

“
What if I
say that it was all a mistake, and that I didn't understand the
nature of the commitment I was entering into?”

“
Well, your
husband is an older man and, it appears, exceedingly rich. These
two facts will predispose a court to be generous to you, especially
if you remember to cry,” replied her lawyer.

“
Oh yeah,”
said Sam. “I can do that.”

“
You will get
more if you wait a few years, though” repeated the
lawyer.

The reasons
Tony married Sam were not admirable either. He had come from
nowhere to make a lot of money importing/exporting. He was admired,
rich and lonely. He wanted a wife to keep him company, and a trophy
fitting to his status. A buxom young blonde from a wealthy family
living in a semi-stately home would do it.

For once, he
did not get what he bargained for. He got the wife to place on his
elbow at events, but he hardly saw her the rest of the time. She
turned out to be something of a home bird, but nowhere near his
home.

One day he was
sitting at the bar of the Hanburgh Arms sipping on a half pint of
Fosters. He was the only person in the place. He got chatting to
Brenda.

“
How is Sam?”
asked Brenda.

Tony would
usually have said “Fine, oh fine, thank you,” out of loyalty, a
desire to keep his private life private, and to hide his mistakes
from the world. However, this time, realising that Brenda was
well-apprised of the truth, he said “You are more likely to know
that than I am.”

“
Really?”

“
Yes,
really.”

“
That's a
shame.”

“
Yes. It
would be nice to see my wife occasionally.”

“
She will be
burnt out by twenty-five, that one.”

“
No age
nowadays,” nodded Tony.

“
You being
funny?”

“
It is the
only weapon you have left when you are fifty, and your wife is
running around with other men.”

“
You know
about that, do you?”

“
Yes, I know
about that. She tells me all about it. The ups and downs of Brian.
How he is so mean to her. What should I do in her position? She
treats me more like a father than a husband. I think it might shock
her to realise that she is married to me and that Brian is married
to Kate with four children, and very unlikely to leave
her.”

“
No, he would
never leave her. He knows a good thing when he sees one. He is just
in it for the ride.”

“
I wouldn't
know.”

“
You always
wonder why people are as they are. That girl has so much going for
her. An indulgent father, and loving and generous husband, from all
accounts……..”

“
That would
be me then………”

“
No money
worries, and she insists on rebelling against it all, knocking
about with Brian and Tom - I assume you know about him
too………”

“
Oh yes, I
know all about him……..”

“…
..and
simply refusing to settle down, have children, get a job, all the
normal things that everyone else does. It does make you wonder if
anything happened to her along the way somewhere. There is
obviously the fact that Freddy isn't really her father, then there
is the possibility that Jeff Berringer is - is any of this new to
you, Tony?”

“
No, I have
heard it all before……..”

“…
.. and
nobody would want Jeff as a father. I have heard rumours that he
may have made himself rather more than her father, if you know what
I mean.”

“
Not
entirely.”

“
You will
know that Jeff is partial to young girls.”

“
Yes, I have
heard that.”

“
Well, I have
heard it said that Sam is one of them.”

“
Even though
he may be her father?”

“
So it is
said.”

“
That is
disgusting.”

“
Yes, it
would be.”

“
Can't
something be done about him?”

“
No, he seems
to have immunity.”

“
We'll
see.”

According to
Charlie, who picks up on all the gossip that Brenda misses, Tony
subsequently confronted Sam with a demand to know what had happened
between her and Dr. Berringer. Sam blustered, astonished that
someone had briefed Tony on the subject (it must have been Brenda.
What the hell was she doing?), and off-balance that he
cared.

“
Is he your
real father?”

“
How would I
know?”

“
Did he take
advantage of you?”

“
How would I
know?”

“
That is
ridiculous!”

“
So are your
questions. It is none of your business. My past is my own, as is my
present. If you are not satisfied with what you are getting, buzz
off somewhere else. I am not stopping you.”

Rumour has it
that Tony plotted his revenge, and many business people will tell
you that Tony James' vengeance is usually sure.

* *
*

M. Picard is
at the door. It is a shock to see him. He has never attempted to
speak to us before. This time it is clear that he has every
intention of addressing us until he has an answer.

He marches
straight into the house, as I hold the door, and turns to confront
me.

“
Where is
she?”

“
Mary is
upstairs.”

“
I am not
talking about your girlfriend. I am asking about my
daughter.”

“
I know
nothing about your daughter.”

His hand whips
me across the face. I have never been hit before. As I stagger back
he announces that he is not here to waste his time. I stamp hard on
his foot, and he strikes me again.

“
I am going
to phone the police”.

“
Do
that.”

I pick up the
phone. He knocks it out of my hand, and hits me for a third time. I
could kill him, and seek the means to do so. I run to the kitchen,
and shake a knife at him. He corners me and I flash the blade at
his eye. It streaks blood down his cheek. For the first time he
stops. I am opposite him. He is calculating whether to lunge at me.
That will be the end of me, I can sense it. I can hear it - a
cumulus of expletives and misogyny. He darts forward. I carve a
second gash into his right cheek. He stands back, then turns and
leaves.

“
A father has
the right to know,” he declares over his shoulder. “And I will find
out. We will find out.”

“
And a woman
has a right to defend herself.”

He is
gone.

Except that he
returns as soon as it is dark, accompanied by many friends. Mary
and I watch them as they snake with flashlights up the driveway. We
are really scared, and for once this reunites us.

“
What do we
do?” she asks.

“
There is
little we can do,” I reply. “But I'll shoot the first person
through that door.”

“
Shoot?”

I show her my
revolver.

“
Where on
earth did that come from?”

“
Courtesy of
Sally Willows,” I reply.

“
You can't
use it. We will be arrested.”

“
We may have
no choice, otherwise we may be dead. These people think we murdered
their daughter, the daughter of their village.”

“
How can they
possibly believe that? I keep telling you, Alice simply walked out
on me.”

“
They do not
believe you, and you have not been doing much to convince
them.”

“
So this is
my fault is it?” So much for our new-found solidarity, it lasted
two minutes.

“
Is it
mine?”

“
In a
way.”

“
In what
way?”

“
If I had not
gone off with her, you would have done. I was not going to be left
alone here, penniless and humiliated.”

“
I had not
intention of running off with her.”

“
She said
that you begged her many times.”

“
The bitch!
That is absolutely ridiculous. No way, did I. She is far too young,
and far too volatile. I thought you were mad.”

“
I thought
you were scheming.”

“
That at
least explains something.”

“
Why would
she lie to me?”

“
She needed
to get away from people like those knocking on our door.” I
consider for a second. Shall we try hot oil?

“
Good
idea!”

We scamper to
the kitchen, and put the Extra Vierge on full heat in a
medium-sized saucepan, adding a second and a third
helping.

A window
smashes. I take a knife and slash at the hand trying to lift the
catch. It is removed with a curse. A second pane shatters. Mary
does the same, this time with a heavy steel hatchet. It does not
sever any fingers as they are withdrawn at lightening speed, but it
makes its point at is thuds into the wooden frame. There is a
frenetic discussion outside. They are going to burst in, from the
back and from the front simultaneously. We wedge substantial chairs
under both door handles and patrol the windows with blades poised
until the oil starts to spit.

The timing is
perfect. Just as they break both doors down, and emerge staggering
into the house, we hit them with the oil at waste height. There are
unmanly shrieks, and a total confusion as the leaders try to force
their way back against the flow. One of them briefly catches fire.
The burns must be savage, but we have kept any marks away from
their faces, except possibly for a rogue splash. That way their
fledgling lynch mob behaviour can remain their shameful secret.
One, then two of them see the gun in my hand, warn the others, and
they all run. Mary and I are abandoned to our little pigs
celebration. They won't be coming down the chimney.