The Price of Failure (12 page)

At the greengrocer's, he bought the largest bunch of grapes on display and two pounds of nectarines. The man who served him added an extra nectarine because he had become so good a customer. He returned to the car, drove the fifteen minutes to the hospital.

As he entered the ward, the sister stopped him and called him across to the desk. ‘Dr Calvin asked me to have a word with you.'

He suffered an all too familiar feeling. ‘My wife's bad?'

‘She has become unusually depressed and that's obviously worrying.' She spoke briskly, but not without a sense of sympathy. ‘Dr Calvin wonders if there's a particular reason why she might be under additional stress?'

‘None that I know of.' Then the bitter thought occurred to him that perhaps Gloria was subconsciously tuning into his emotional chaos. They had often been surprised to discover how the emotional state of one, even if carefully hidden, had affected that of the other.

‘You and she haven't recently had any sort of a disagreement?'

‘Of course not.' Perhaps it was the suddenly raised sense of guilt that made him say angrily: ‘What d'you take me for? You really think I'd come here and have a row with her in the state she's in?'

‘I'm certain you're not that kind of man, Mr Carr, but I had to ask.'

After a while, he said: ‘I'm sorry.'

‘Forget it … Dr Calvin says it's important to try to cheer her up.'

‘The quickest way of doing that would be…' He did not finish and ignored her look of questioning curiosity.

He was shocked by Gloria's appearance. He bent down and kissed her, handed her the bag of fruit. She did not bother to examine the contents before putting it on the table.

He sat on the edge of the bed and held her hand as he chatted. For most of the time she lay still, her hand limp, her eyes unfocused. In desperation, he began to talk about the nursery, a subject that usually animated her. He said he'd seen some wallpaper that was exactly what she'd always wanted …

She began to cry. Then she spoke in a rush, the words tripping into each other. The previous night, one of the other women in the ward had suffered a heart attack and had had to be rushed into intensive care; that was an omen. She was going to lose her child. He tried to make her understand how completely illogical such a belief must be, but she merely repeated herself, her voice becoming shriller. He switched the conversation, but for the rest of the visit was certain that her mind was not on what he was saying, but on her fears.

On his way out of the ward, he spoke to the sister again. ‘I've done what I can. Which adds up to nothing.'

‘You may have helped more than you realize, Mr Carr, just by letting her release her feelings.'

‘Can't you give her something stronger to help her depression?'

‘I'm afraid not, because of the baby.'

‘But she can't go on as she is.'

‘She may recover spontaneously. It sometimes happens that way.'

‘And if it doesn't?'

‘We never consider worst scenarios.' She studied him. ‘It can be an equal hell for those who are nearest. If you want my advice, you'll make certain you spend the rest of the evening with friends. Worrying can't change anything.'

Good advice was given to be ignored. He returned home, repeatedly cursed the malign fate which had them in its grip, and drank too much. The nurse should have added that drinking didn't change anything either.

17

On Monday morning, the mail included a large, fibre-reinforced brown envelope, addressed in childlike capitals. It was quite some time before he overcame his reluctance to open it. Inside were three thousand pounds, in used twenty and fifty pound notes. Payment for his betrayal.

Now there could be no ifs, buts, or maybes. He should report the receipt of this money to Hoskin. He could claim he knew nothing about it, had no idea why it had been sent to him, but Hoskin would immediately suspect it was bung, even though no attempt had been made to conceal it. He'd start digging and wouldn't stop until he knew all the answers.

Carr held the thick bundle of notes between thumb and forefinger. More cash than he had ever handled before. When he passed it on, few would think him any the less of a traitor; nothing would be gained, all would be lost. So where was the logic in doing something that ended in disaster…?

Four days to Christmas. Gloria had always known exactly what to give him for Christmas that would give him the greatest pleasure, while he had always had trouble thinking of a present for her. For once, that would not have been a problem if only … If only …

*   *   *

The nursing home was halfway up the hill, at the back of the ancient coastal town of Writstone; a large, rambling house, built for a man who had made a fortune from laxative pills when these had been considered a necessary part of every right-minded Christian's diet, it had been converted at considerable cost three years previously. It stood in grounds of just over an acre, most of which lay in front, or on the sea side, giving the impression of untrammelled space despite the surrounding housing. There was a small residential staff and a pool of part-time helpers.

Gloria's room faced south and offered a clear view of the Channel; when there was little or no haze, she could watch the passing ships through binoculars. With an imagination almost as quick and wide as her husband's, she imagined cargoes of ivory, apes, peacocks, sandalwood, cedarwood, and sweet white wine …

The door opened and Carr entered. ‘Merry Christmas, my darling.' She smiled with a warmth not often seen.

He crossed to the bed, kissed her, handed her a small package wrapped in gift paper and tied with gold-coloured string. ‘I'm afraid it's not very exciting.'

‘You've already given me the most wonderful present ever. And I haven't anything for you.'

‘I'll take a raincheck … How's junior?'

‘Very active. Had two bouts of kicking this morning.'

‘Then it's a he and he's in line for striker for Arsenal.' She had refused to be told the sex of the child in her womb because, he was certain, then it remained just that little fraction less of a person and so should she lose it, the loss would be that little fraction less defined.

‘I wish I could get him to take his practice a little less seriously.'

They laughed. Over the past three days, they had found themselves laughing over silly little things, as they had once often done.

She untied the string, unwrapped the paper. ‘Truffles! Those heavenly truffles that remind me of our honeymoon … You really are terrible, putting so much temptation in front of me.'

‘You'll get added pleasure every time you give way to it.'

‘You know the doctor said I still wasn't losing the weight I should.'

‘Doctors are professional killjoys because that's how they make people think they're doing them some good.' He moved the chair closer to the bed, sat.

She reached out to grip his hand and squeeze it affectionately, then offered him the box. After he'd helped himself, she put a truffle in her mouth. ‘They really are out of this world,' she said, as she swallowed. ‘For heaven's sake, put the box out of reach or I'll eat the lot.'

He moved it to the table.

‘Do you know what? I very nearly rang the building society yesterday to wish the manager as wonderful a Christmas as he's given me by letting you take out the second mortgage. He must be a very nice man.'

‘He is.'

‘When I'm back in circulation, I'm going to tell him face to face what it's meant to us.'

‘I'm afraid you won't get the chance. He told me that he was retiring at Christmas and moving up north because that's where he's from.'

‘What a pity. I'd so like to have said it.'

‘I'm sure he understood when I thanked him from both of us.'

‘It's wonderful to think there are still people like him around. Makes one realize that the world isn't as terrible a place as so many people try to make out.'

‘Cue for heavenly choir and fade out.'

‘If I weren't confined to bed, I'd hit you for that!'

He wondered what she'd do if ever she guessed the truth?

18

Because he'd had Christmas Day and Boxing Day off, Carr was on duty throughout Sunday. The day produced an average amount of crime, proving that not everyone had the holiday spirit; one hit-and-run, four driving under the influence, an attempted ram raid, a vicious mugging, four breaking and enterings, an affray leaving one of the men eyeballing death, a mare brutally injured, and an eleven-year-old girl who was missing with, as yet, no indication as to whether she had run away or been abducted. He arrived home three-quarters of an hour after he was due at the Wyatts' for supper. He quickly showered and changed into clean clothes and had opened the front door to leave when the phone rang. He hesitated. If he were delayed any further, it would make him over an hour late and that might well strain even Freda's long-suffering patience. But the caller might be Gloria who had insisted that for once he did not visit her, yet now wanted a quick word. He pushed the door shut, crossed the hall to the phone.

‘It's nice to know the money's helped to move your wife into a nursing home. Warms the heart to see it do so much good.'

The mockery added extra fear. ‘What do you want now?' he asked hoarsely. Belatedly, he remembered to check the Caller Display unit, then activate the alert unit.

‘To hear if your wife's better with the move.'

‘Leave her out of this.'

‘Like I said, she's part of it.'

‘I told you what you wanted to know.'

‘And now I'm hoping you'll be even kinder and find out something more.'

‘What?'

‘Why MacClearey's employing a private army.'

‘Who?'

‘Even if you are a copper, you must have heard of Little Boy Blue. Makes a million quid every time he opens his mouth.'

‘The pop singer?'

‘There, I knew you'd be quick on the uptake.'

‘What d'you mean, an army. He'll have a minder…'

‘But since he isn't royalty on a toe-sucking expedition, why's he got half a dozen minders?' The line went dead.

He replaced the receiver. Was the blackmailer planning a job that would involve MacClearey? The pop singer was very rich and had become a noted collector of Nurnberg Faience, a fact which had become publicly known after he'd bought two incredibly expensive pieces at auction. But the blackmailer must realize that his demand for information would raise the possibility that an attempt would be made to steal part or all of his collection. Was he banking on the fact that he – Carr – would not pass on the word because to do so would mean disaster? Yet even a worm could turn and so he couldn't be certain; he had to be a man who was always certain. So was there some hidden reason for wanting the information?

The phone rang. ‘Malicious Calls. That originated in a call box in Waterloo Station. Do you want exact identification of which box?'

‘Thanks, but there's no point.'

He replaced the receiver. He felt frightened, bitter, uncertain, and the last thing he wanted to do was to have to be sociable, but he had no option. He dare not do anything that might raise the beginning of a question in Wyatt's mind, and his own guilt left him scared that any unusual behaviour on his part might do that.

*   *   *

Freda let him into the house. ‘I'm terribly sorry to be so late,' he said.

‘No cause to worry, Mike. I'm an expert at slowing down the cooking when that's necessary. Go on through and have a drink with Sean and I'll get ready to dish, but first tell me, how's Gloria?'

‘Last night, she was really cheerful.'

‘Isn't that wonderful!'

‘Almost a miracle.'

‘I'm hoping to drop in and see her tomorrow morning. Presumably morning will be best since I don't suppose you can get to see her until the evenings?'

‘When she was in the hospital there was often something going on nearby which meant I could sneak in during the day for a couple of minutes, but Writstone's a law-abiding place and so I have to wait until I'm off duty.'

‘Then I'll make it the morning.' There was a sound from the kitchen. ‘Is that the cat on the table? If it is, I'll shove it in the oven!'

He smiled at the thought, went into the sitting room. Wyatt, wearing a sweater and ancient flannels, was sprawled out in one of the armchairs, watching television. He switched off the set with the remote control. ‘So you've finally made it.'

‘Sorry, Skipper, couldn't get away from the factory. Seems like everyone's been busy.'

‘It's all this talk about peace and goodwill. Gets the villains itchy.' He elbowed himself upright, stood. ‘So what'll it be – whisky, gin, lager, sherry, or tequila?'

‘Tequila doesn't sound your usual style.'

‘Bill and Evelyn's present. Don't let on to Freda, but I reckon someone gave it to them and they've passed it on. You'd like some of it?'

‘I'd prefer a G and T.'

‘No sense of adventure? If it goes on like this, I'll put it away and hand it on next Christmas to someone else.' He crossed to a tray on which were bottles and glasses. ‘Freda had a word with Gloria over the phone and says she sounds a different person.'

‘She is. She's back to how she used to be and you wouldn't think she'd ever had a depression.'

‘The mind's a funny thing and no mistake.' He returned and handed Carr a glass. ‘There's no extra charge for sitting.' He settled, picked up the half-empty tankard from the table by his side, raised it. ‘To Gloria. May her recovery be complete.'

They drank.

‘Freda says you managed to raise the wind by persuading the building society to change its mind. I reckon that puts you in a class on your own!'