Take No Farewell - Retail (37 page)

Spencer was smirking in triumph. He could see he had me where he wanted me. ‘Bit of a shaker, isn’t it?’

‘What is your … reliable authority?’

‘You surely don’t expect me to identify him.’

‘Of course I do. This must be brought to the attention of the police.’

‘Not on, Staddon, simply not on.’

‘But it could make all the difference.’

‘Oh, I realize that. But I was told in the strictest confidence, by somebody who’s too interested in keeping his job to consider speaking up in court.’

‘Keeping his job? Good God, we’re talking about a woman’s life. Don’t you understand what this means?’

‘I understand, but I’m not sure you do. Suppose my … friend, let’s call him … did have a fit of honesty and came forward. He couldn’t exonerate Consuela. All Uncle Victor would have to do is either deny that the conversation ever took place or admit that it did, but deny that the ladies’ plans were mentioned in the course of it. My friend’s only reward would be dismissal. Uncle Victor doesn’t care to be crossed, as you must know.’

‘Your friend works for Victor?’

‘Self-evidently.’

‘And he took this telephone call?’

‘So he tells me.’

‘There aren’t many people it can be, then, are there? Danby. Gleasure. Noyce. That’s about the limit.’

‘It won’t help you to narrow the field.’

‘What about Grenville Peto, then? He’d know what he told Victor.’

‘Naturally, but if it was what I’m suggesting, he’d have said so by now, wouldn’t he? Unless, of course, he doesn’t want to help Consuela. Unless, perhaps, Victor’s squared him in some way. In that case, you won’t get anything out of him, will you?’

I slumped back in my chair. This ray of light was worse than the blackest despair. It glimmered but to deceive. The hope it conjured up was frail to the point of falseness. As Spencer well knew. ‘Did you tell Rodrigo this?’

‘No. Actually, the information hadn’t come my way when he stormed the city. You’re the first person I’ve shared it with. You should be flattered.’

‘Why
have
you shared it with me?’

‘Thought you ought to know. That’s all.’ But his flushed and gleeful expression put the lie to his words. He had another secret to spill from his hoard. ‘I’ve a sudden yen for some bubbly. What do you say?’

‘Not for me.’

‘Treat me, then.’ His eyes telegraphed the blatancy of his demand. If I pandered to his whim, he might be still more forthcoming. I signalled to the barman and ordered champagne. He bustled out to fetch it. ‘It’s amazing, you know,’ said Spencer, ‘how considerate people are – how eager to please – when they want something from you. Have you ever noticed that?’

‘It doesn’t apply to everybody.’

‘It applies to everybody I’ve met. You included. Happen to have a cigar about you?’

‘No.’

‘Well, be a good fellow and order one when the barman gets back. I’m partial to Havanas.’

The grin never left Spencer’s face as the champagne was opened and poured, a cigar delivered and lit for him. Then, when the barman had withdrawn, he raised his glass.

‘What shall we drink to, Staddon? Or should I say to whom? Consuela, perhaps?’

I said nothing. Only the thought that he might tell me something more of value restrained me from throwing the champagne in his face. As it was, my glass remained untouched on the table, whilst Spencer, with a shrug of the shoulders, drank to his own toast.

‘Not bad. Not bad at all.’ He leaned back in his chair and took a puff at his cigar. ‘This is the life, eh?’

‘If you have something else to say, I’d be grateful if you’d say it.’

‘Oh, sorry. Am I keeping you up? Well, the fact is, Staddon, I owe you an apology.’

‘For what?’

‘I may have spoken out of turn to our Brazilian friend, Rodrigo. Tongue ran away with me. You know how it is. A few drinks. A spot of reminiscence. Then, before you know what’s happening, you’ve let the cat out of the bag.’

‘I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.’

‘You and Consuela. I suggested to Rodrigo – well, more or less told him, actually – that you and she had had a fling a few years ago.’

I stared at him, as yet too amazed to be angry. ‘
You
told him?’

‘Ah, I see it’s as I feared. No doubt he had a word with you about it. Probably none too pleasant a word. No diplomat, our Rodrigo, I grant you. Well, I’m sorry if I landed you in it, I really am.’

‘But … What did you tell him? What
could
you tell him? You knew … You
know
nothing about it.’

Spencer grimaced theatrically and re-filled his glass.
‘I’m
afraid you’re labouring under another illusion there, Staddon. I have a quite distinct recollection from my youth – which I related to Rodrigo – of seeing you and Consuela in circumstances that left little doubt even in my inexperienced mind of how matters stood between you.’

‘What recollection?’

‘Are you sure you want to know? You could find it rather embarrassing.’

I leaned forward and fixed him with a stare. ‘Just tell me what you told Rodrigo.’

‘All right. If that’s how you want it.’ He grinned at me, entirely unabashed. ‘Cast your mind back to July, 1911. Remember that frightful cricket match at Mordiford? Purgatory from start to finish as far as I was concerned. Except I didn’t stay till the finish. I wandered off after lunch, while they were still bowling donkey-drops for Uncle Victor to hit for six. You’d disappeared by then as well, though I’d no idea where you’d gone. I wasn’t trying to spy on you, though maybe I would have if I’d had any inkling what I’d see. An education in itself for a young shaver like me, I don’t mind admitting.

‘I trailed up through the orchard to Clouds Frome and stopped about halfway along the pergola for a breather on one of those wrought-iron benches you’d dotted around the place. I was just sitting there, staring up at the sky and the rear of the house, counting how many fleecy bits of cloud I could see, when a curtain moved at an open window on the first floor. It was nothing more than a twitch that caught my eye, but when I looked up, what I saw meant I couldn’t have looked away again for all the chocolate in Bournville.

‘Consuela was standing at the window and she hadn’t a stitch on. I didn’t know what to think, except that she was lovelier than anything I’d ever seen before. Not that I need to describe her to you. You must remember it all well enough. As I watched, you appeared in the window next to her, as naked as she was. You kissed her and put your arms round her. By this time, I was transfixed, eyes bolting out of my
head.
I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. And you know what I saw, don’t you? You know what happened next.’

The day was recreated in my memory as Spencer spoke. The heat, the passion, the deceit: all the components stood sharp and incontrovertible in my mind. Yes, I knew what happened next. It was seared into my conscience, the joy of the moment erased by the suffering it had caused.

‘
You want me again?
’

‘
I want you always
.’

‘
Then you shall have me. Always
.’

I had thought nothing could make what I had done worse. It could not have been more selfish. It could not have been less honourable. Yet this latest, least welcome disclosure somehow succeeded. Spencer had seen us. He had peered up at us, watching eagerly as we touched and embraced, salivating with glee as we performed unconsciously for his benefit. And now, years later, he had turned what was merely unforgivable into something irredeemably sordid.

‘Rodrigo seemed shocked when I told him. I suppose we shouldn’t be surprised. You know what these Latin males are like. They roger every tart in sight, but expect their sisters to live like nuns. Mind you, I was shocked at the time. Precocious I may have been, but not
that
precocious. It was a real eye-opener to me. Of course, it doesn’t seem very extraordinary to me
now
. If I’d been your age then, I don’t suppose I could have kept my hands off her either. She’s always been a fine figure of a woman, our Consuela. There have been times in recent years, I’m bound to admit, when I’ve thought of giving her—’

‘You’ve said enough!’ A silence fell at the bar, broken only by an irritating cough. I lowered my voice. ‘You’ve made it all perfectly clear and no doubt you’ve enjoyed doing so. You think you’re very clever, don’t you? – meddling in other people’s affairs, pouring your little drops of poison into their minds.’

‘Poison, Staddon? An unfortunate choice of metaphor, I must say.’

‘I’ve heard as much from you as I can stomach. Now, clear out of here, would you?’

‘But I’ve not finished the bubbly yet.’ He reached out for the bottle and began to pour some into his glass. As he did so, I grabbed his wrist, so suddenly and tightly that the champagne missed its target and fizzed across the table. ‘Steady on!’ he cried.

Still grasping his wrist, I reached out with my other hand, plucked the cigar from his mouth and dropped it into his glass. With a tiny hiss, it was extinguished. He stared at me in open-mouthed amazement.

‘What the devil do you think you’re playing at?’

‘I’m not
playing
at anything. If you don’t leave now, I shan’t be answerable for the consequences.’

He stared at me a moment longer, then tossed his head dismissively, brushed at his jacket and stood up. ‘Well, if that’s the line you’re going to take …’

‘It is.’

‘The day may come, Staddon, when you regret making an enemy of me.’

‘I doubt it.’

‘Have it your own way. Meanwhile, I’ll bid you good night.’ With that, he strode from the bar.

I did not watch him go, but relaxed back slowly into my chair. The fire was burning down. I closed my eyes, as if by that alone I could wipe away the stain his words had left. But I could not. And, when I opened them, there were so many traces of his presence close at hand – the smeared glasses, the half-empty bottle, the pool of champagne, the floating remnant of his cigar, the pungent reek of it in the air about me – that I could almost see him still sitting opposite me, grinning maliciously, eager to recall all he knew or had guessed about me. Some sump of venom in the Caswell line had drained into Spencer’s vicious little mind and this was its result. He did not care who he hurt or why, whether Consuela hanged or was spared, whether his own sister lived or died. We were all the same to him:
fumbling
actors on a crudely lit stage. Whilst we lied and fought, he lounged in the stalls, laughing himself to drunken sleep.

Hermione had told me that Caswell & Co. board meetings always commenced at half past two and never lasted less than an hour. It was at half past three the following afternoon, therefore, that I crossed the yard of the cider-works and entered by the office door.

Mortimer’s secretary, Miss Palmer – whom I remembered from my previous visit – was younger and prettier than might have been expected, though heavy horn-rimmed spectacles gave her an air of earnestness. She looked up nervously from her typewriter as I entered her room and said: ‘Can I help you, sir?’ Evidently, she did not recognize me.

‘I want to speak to Victor Caswell.’

‘Oh. Well, I’m afraid he’s in the board meeting at present, sir.’ She nodded towards the firmly closed door on the far side of her office.

‘I know. I’ll wait, if I may.’

‘Oh. I see. Rightio, sir.’

I sat down on the only free chair in the room. Miss Palmer returned to her typing. Between letters, it was possible to hear a murmur of voices from the board-room, but who was speaking or what they were saying was indistinguishable. Ten minutes passed. Then Miss Palmer cleared her throat and said:

‘Are you sure you want to wait, sir?’

‘Quite, thank you.’

‘Only there’s no knowing when the meeting will end.’

‘When it does, I’ll be here.’

‘Oh. I see. Rightio, sir.’

Typing resumed. Four o’clock approached. Miss Palmer stifled a yawn and looked as if she would have paused for a cigarette if I had not been there. Then she abandoned typing and commenced filing correspondence in a cabinet near the door. Muffled voices could still be heard from the
board-room;
there was nothing to suggest the meeting was drawing to a close.

Thanks to the noise made by the filing-cabinet drawers when she pushed them shut, Miss Palmer failed to hear the door being opened behind her a few minutes later. Spencer Caswell slipped into the room from the corridor outside and grinned at the spectacle, which he clearly found inviting, of her bending down to reach the lowest drawers. He did not notice me and crept forward on tiptoe, his intentions by now obvious. At the last moment, I coughed.

‘Staddon!’ Spencer cried, as he spun round and saw me. ‘What the blazes are you doing here?’ It was pleasant for once to see him taken off guard. Miss Palmer, standing up to find him close behind her, started violently and blushed.

‘I’m here to see Victor.’

‘Uncle Victor?’ He straightened his hair, slouched across to the desk and propped himself against it, all the while re-assembling his composure. ‘Well, well. This will be a bigger surprise for him than it was for me.’

‘Possibly.’

‘I suppose you didn’t get past the gate at Clouds Frome. Decided to beard him here instead. That’s it, isn’t it? The question is: how did you know there was a board meeting? No need to ask, really. It was my babbling brook of an aunt, wasn’t it?’

‘I didn’t come here to speak to you,’ I replied in a measured tone. ‘And frankly, I’d prefer not to.’

‘Would you really? Well, we can’t all have what we—’

The board-room door opened behind me and, as it did so, Spencer sprang away from the desk and erased his sarcastic grin. I rose from my chair and turned to see Mortimer Caswell standing in the doorway, glaring suspiciously at his son. He seemed about to say something – a sharp rebuke if his expression was any clue. Then he noticed me.

‘Mr Staddon! What brings you here?’

‘Your brother. Is he in there?’

‘Victor? Why yes, but—’

His protests were useless. I was already pushing past him into the board-room. The long table that ran its length met my gaze. Gathered at the far end were Mortimer’s fellow directors, variously standing and sitting, closing files and extinguishing cigarettes, laughing and conversing as the meeting broke up. There were eight of them altogether and four of them were known to me: Hermione, who smiled faintly in my direction; Grenville Peto, whose place on the board of Caswell & Co. was a surprise I had no time to absorb; Arthur Quarton, the family’s and evidently the company’s solicitor; and Victor.