A Servant of the Company (4 page)

Hugo strolled into the sitting room and threw his coat on to a chair. ‘Hi darling, I was going to ring you to let you know that my business finished earlier than expected. Very successful too.’ He bent over, kissed her forehead and sat down beside her. ‘How’s your day been?’

‘Stay calm Carol, stay calm,’ she told herself. ‘Make a plan, make a plan, and don’t rush. Keep calm.’ Slowly a plan did move into place. She gripped her hands together for reassurance and turned towards Hugo. ‘No luck on the job front I’m afraid, but I have to keep trying. You look very tired Hugo. Your day must have been more tiring than mine, would you like me to run you a nice hot bath? It will relax you before bed.’ She added a sexy tone to her voice to avoid giving him any indication that he had been found out. Carol willed him to say, ‘Yes please Carol.’

He stretched his arms out in front of him. ‘That would be marvellous, and a whisky would be a treat too if you wouldn’t mind.’ He had spent a very tiring day making love to a titled lady with more money than sense. She had been a bit too demanding of his body, but the money she had promised to fund a nonexistent business had more than made up for that. It would take a week she had said. He could wait for that sort of money, he had patience in abundance.

He undressed in the bedroom while Carol finished running the bath water. She left the whisky on the side of the bath. Once he was in the bath she went straight to his jacket and took out his wallet. She could not believe the amount of money in it. Mostly £20 notes. Another thing which shocked her was the number of credit cards, as she examined them she noticed they all had different names on them. One she noted was for T.C. Jackson. No H. Biggs-Connaughton or even just Connaughton. There was no other evidence relating to ‘Hugo’. She was getting some money back, he was not getting away with it. Determination set in. She replaced the wallet minus the money and headed for the sitting room where she hid the notes under a cushion. Now for the next part of her plan. She strolled into the bathroom where he was laying back, sipping his whisky.

‘There was a strange visitor today, I hope he wasn’t thinking of breaking in. He was obviously pretending to look for someone. He gave a name I’ve never heard of, hang on I’ve written it down somewhere.’ She left the bathroom and went to the telephone table where she scribbled the name T.C. Jackson on the pad. Back in the bathroom she said, ‘Yes, here it is T.C. Jackson. There’s no one called Jackson in the flats that I know of. Do you think I should let the Police know?’

As soon as she had mentioned T.C. Jackson, he had reacted by sitting up immediately with a shocked look on his face. Carol pretended not to notice, and changing the subject asked him if he would like anything to eat. He must not see that she had found him out and now was terrified of him.

‘Not at the moment thanks Carol, I’ve still got a few things to do.’ He was out of the bath and dressed in record time. Soon he was in the bedroom collecting his mobile phone. He joined Carol and looking very concerned said, ‘Damn, I’ve got a text message to ring someone urgently, I should have checked it earlier. He returned to the bedroom, tapping numbers into the phone as he went. He spoke loudly so Carol could hear. ‘Do you mean I’ll have to travel tonight?’ There was a pause as he awaited a response. ‘For the whole week, well if it’s really necessary. With luck I might just make the midnight sleeper. See you in Edinburgh at nine in the morning. Bye.’ He turned to Carol, ‘Sorry love, I’ve got to dash, be away for a week or so. My fault for not checking messages. I’ll ring for a taxi to get me to the station, do you have a number handy?’

She didn’t offer to drive him to the station, and he didn’t ask. His concern was obviously to get away as soon as he could. Carol had the Yellow Pages open instantly and gave him the number of a well known company which he dialled using the house phone. ‘The driver will give three rings when he gets here, so I’ll just go down then. I must pack now and make sure I have enough to keep me going for the week.’ He disappeared into the bedroom, checked the bathroom and was soon standing in front of Carol with all he possessed packed in the suitcase and holdall.

Her legs were shaking, ‘Go for God’s sake, go,’ she said to herself, she couldn’t keep up this acting for much longer. He would suspect something and then who knows what might happen. The phone rang. One, two, three rings and stopped.

‘That’s it, must dash.’ He gave her a quick kiss on the cheek as he headed for the door. ‘I’ll give you a call from Edinburgh.’ And then he was gone.

She knew the calls concerning Edinburgh were a figment of his imagination, and he thought he had fooled her completely.

Watching from her window she saw the driver take Hugo’s case before driving off in the opposite direction from the station.

The relief she felt as she collapsed on to the sofa was overwhelming. Had it really happened? It was as though someone had written the script and she had acted it out. She must let Sonia know, she wasn’t sure Hugo wouldn’t come back when he discovered the money was missing from his wallet. Her call was answered immediately

‘Stay where you are, I’ll pick you up in ten minutes. You are staying here tonight. Don’t even think of refusing.’ With that said she replaced the handset.

Carol hurriedly packed an overnight bag and nervously waited for Sonia. It was a relief when she arrived and ten minutes later was safely at her friend’s house.

The taxi driver was delighted to have this fare on such a quiet night. Ten miles, twenty quid and the possibility of a return fare.

On arriving at the hotel, the driver was out of the cab as soon as it stopped. Taking Hugo’s case and holdall he went straight to the reception desk.

Glancing around the foyer, Hugo saw the board. ‘Four Seasons Hotel Welcomes New Designer Options Ltd.’ The receptionist appeared at the desk smiling a five star welcome. ‘I received an urgent call from my M.D. to be here for the meeting tomorrow.’ He pointed his finger towards the Welcome board. ‘Sorry I’m a late arrival, hope it doesn’t create problems.’ This was Hugo at his most charming. ‘Just let me pay this young man for his kindness.’ He turned to the taxi driver who was at least sixty. Taking out his wallet he was horrified to see the space where his money should be. ‘I’m so sorry, in my haste to get here, I’ve come without picking up any money.’ The driver shuffled uncomfortably. Hugo’s brain was in overdrive and he quickly regained his composure. Speaking to the receptionist, he asked her if she would kindly get the Duty Manager for him.

The young Manager was equally as courteous as his receptionist and having heard Hugo’s story, he immediately paid the taxi driver adding a tip at Hugo’s suggestion. ‘No problem at all Sir. Felicity will put it on to your room number. Have a pleasant stay.’ Smiling, he turned and left the reception area.

The driver was relieved, one minute he was expecting his fare then he was faced with an empty wallet. He was again a happy man. Smiling he turned to Hugo. ‘Thank you and goodnight Sir.’ His luck was in tonight, he might even get a fare on the way back. To himself he said, ‘Now that was a real gentleman.’

Hugo received his room number and card to open the door while a porter took his case and holdall to his room. Sitting on the bed he tried to retrace his movements for the day. ‘Surely Lady B wasn’t in the confidence trickery business,’ he asked himself. He would have sniffed that out, or was he just pushing his luck.

He then thought about his return to Carol’s flat. ‘No she wouldn’t have had a chance, and she would have to be a bloody good actress to behave as she had done. No, it wasn’t Carol.’ Lady B was in the frame. He was a bad loser even if it wasn’t his money.

It had been a bad day, never before had he been faced with two disasters one after the other. He would catch up with Lady B when she was least expecting it and then she would find out who was the loser, and it wasn’t going to be Hugo Biggs-Connaughton. He had lost his free accommodation with Carol, great sex and entrée to her bank account. Then there was the mysterious caller. In all probability a private investigator acting on behalf of one of his earlier victims, there had been so many. He could not relate back to the last time he had used the name T.C. Jackson or the victim at the time. He realised he had come to the end of his time with Carol, there was no going back unless he had a strong desire to change his address to H.M. Prison, Strangeways.

The next morning he thought he had better make a discreet exit from the hotel and leave New Designer Options to sort out the problems, but first he would enjoy a good breakfast. As always he slept well even though the day had ended badly. The following morning he made his plan over breakfast. When the Reception desk was busy with departing guests paying their bills, that would be the time to go, first he would find the next hotel which would have the pleasure of his company. The pay phone booth in the foyer had the Yellow Pages, this he picked up and headed for his room. As he waited for the lift, his attention was drawn to an extremely elegant lady booking in at the reception desk. ‘Interesting,’ he murmured and waited until she moved towards the lift before joining her. By the time the lift reached the eighth floor, he had arranged to have lunch with her. Plans for a quick exit could wait, there was money to be made.

Looking at his discharge book in disbelief, he was startled as Captain Rose barked, ‘Get him out of the barracks Sar’nt Major.’

There it was in bold letters, Unfit for Military Service. He had been tested for drugs after collapsing in the street, the results were positive. He might have got away with it when he denied all knowledge and said that drugs must have been put into his drink by someone else, unfortunately the Military Police had searched his room. How the ecstasy tablets got there was a mystery to him but they had found a box containing twenty. It was his box used for spare change, just another way to save as he had been doing since joining the Army. He had protested his innocence, but the only fingerprints on the box were his. Military Law was quite clear, and the only verdict was that which had been reached. His time in Afghanistan counted for nothing.

In his teens Steven Henderson had been a tearaway, although never charged by the Police they had cautioned him on a number of occasions. Frequently absent from school and twice excluded for bad behaviour did little to prepare him for the world of work. Leaving school at the age of sixteen, he had not gained one certificate. Full time employment was not on his agenda, but there were casual jobs where no questions were asked. The twilight world in which he existed had no time for Tax or National Insurance. It was cash in hand for some honest, but mainly dishonest effort. All he was interested in was beer money.

The problems Steve’s mother had with him, her only child, had played their part in the pain which showed on her face. Although not yet forty, she looked ten years older. He was verbally abusive towards her, but never physically violent. As far as he was concerned, this was the behaviour of his friends and acquaintances. It was normal. When he wanted to go out but had no money, he would demand it from his mother. Usually she would give him some of her meagre funds if she had any, just to get him out of the house. She had visited the school on a number of occasions with the hope that the teachers would help, but they had given up on him. When he and his friends finally left, there had been celebrations in the staff room. The problems they caused had disrupted lessons, affecting not only the teachers but also the few pupils eager to move on to higher education. He had the ability to do more, she was sure of that. In the early years, even without his father’s presence, he had been bright and inquisitive. She knew he could have benefited from an education even at that school. The Headmaster had done his best, telling her that her son was an intelligent boy who could easily have gone on to further education if he had applied himself with that aim in mind. Steven was however well on the way to self destruction.

His life began to change when his closest friend Darren died from a drug overdose. They had promised each other that they would never touch drugs as they continually saw acquaintances become addicts and the thought of ending up like them had no appeal. It was a shocked Steven who stood on his friend’s doorstep being told by Darren’s parents that he had been found dead on wasteland behind the school. He remembered saying something to Darren’s mother and her thanking him for his words. She had put her arms around him before he left but was understandably grief stricken and couldn’t say anything else. Trying to tell her that he had no idea Darren was using drugs would not help. Her son’s death was as much as she could cope with at that moment. When he arrived home he sat on the sofa thinking about his friend and the promise they had made to each other, and couldn’t believe how stupid Darren had been. The revelation hurt him more than anything had ever done before, his friend since starting school was gone forever. All that mattered when he heard the news was to get home, close the door behind him and hope the world outside would disappear. Not moving, he thought about the times he and Darren had been in trouble, how they had shared secrets and anything else they had. He had always been a true friend even though their escapades had left some people less than happy.

‘Stupid, stupid bastard,’ he shouted out in sheer frustration. ‘You promised you would never touch that stuff and now look where it’s got you. Dead, that’s bloody where.’

The house was silent apart from the whimpering coming from Steve’s contorted body. He had no idea what he could do, life would never be the same again. The rest of the group who hung around together was not worth anything, and he could not see himself joining them ever again. His only escape was the world inside the box in the corner of the room. Turning on the TV he lay back waiting for a picture to appear. The first vision that came on to the screen was Bob Geldof appealing for help to feed the starving people of Africa. It was an old recording, followed by a reporter updating the viewers on today’s situation. It hadn’t changed. There were interviews with voluntary workers from Britain and with some of the local inhabitants answering questions about their impoverished conditions with such dignity. Steve slowly sat up, he was interested and what was more, amazed at his interest. He continued to watch the programme. It was a different young man who sat down for a meal in the evening. Mrs. Henderson noticed immediately that his eyes were red, almost as if he had been crying, but did not mention her observation. The last thing she wanted after a hard day’s work was abuse from the son she loved, but didn’t like.

‘Darren’s dead,’ he blurted out. His body was shaking, and as he spoke he didn’t look at his mother but stared at the wall. ‘Silly bastard took drugs and it killed him. Why Darren? He promised he would never get into that. I just can’t believe it’s happened. We had plans for today all ready, and now look.’ The plans did involve stealing parcels from a delivery van while the driver’s back was turned, but he kept this information to himself. ‘He would have been eighteen next week and we were going to celebrate. Instead I’ll be going to his bloody funeral.’ Tears were just held back, and he had to control himself from breaking down completely. His mother hadn’t seen him so upset before, and the full force of maternal instinct came into play. ‘I’m so sorry son, he was a good friend wasn’t he.’ She put her arm around his shoulders to comfort him. When he finally stopped shaking, he rested his head against his mother’s arm. She suddenly had a small boy again, one who needed his mother in times of trouble. It had been years since this had happened, and she liked it and held him close to her.

‘Something else happened today,’ he looked at his mother to make sure she was listening. He just wanted her attention and hoped she would stay and listen to him. ‘I was watching something on TV and recorded it. Would you have a look at it with me?’

‘You know I’m not into head banging pop groups.’ He must be after something, she thought. After his meal, he would usually disappear without a word. She began to feel uneasy, the temporary return to the little boy stage in his life might be lost. His sadness had given her a moment of peace she hadn’t felt for years and she would hate to lose it.

‘Please mum, come and see this.’ She couldn’t remember the last time he had called her Mum, and the word ‘please’ had been absent from his vocabulary for years.

When she joined him, he moved to allow her to sit next to him on the sofa. She wondered whatever was coming next.

An African scene appeared, with small children with pot bellies and stick-like limbs, so weak they were unable to stand. ‘Look, look, have you ever seen anything like it,’ he said, clutching at his mother’s arm. ‘But it’s not only that, just wait and see what some people are doing to help. Bob Geldof’s on too.’

His mother could hardly believe her ears, was her son having regard for someone other than himself. She didn’t know what to say, usually anything she said was met with verbal abuse. Today, she felt it might be different. Probably the combination of Darren’s death and the TV programme had affected him, she could only speculate. She did know it was out of character. His head dropped forward, his hand reached for his mother and he dissolved into tears.

‘Why do people call us disadvantaged around here?’ he sobbed. ‘You don’t have to walk a mile to get water from a well, and then carry it home on your head, if there is any water when you get there. We get money for doing nothing and we are given a house for nothing. What’s disadvantaged about that? Those people in Africa are disadvantaged, and they are always smiling at the slightest thing.’

‘Never mind son.’ She held him close, running her fingers through his hair. Something had changed him, after all these years of misery, he was different. That was all she could think.

They sat together for some time before he spoke. His mother did not want to leave him alone. She was there for him, he might need her. Darren’s death had not only shocked him, he had changed, at least for the moment.

‘I’ve been thinking, so far I haven’t done anything with my life, not a bloody thing. There is a way, if you will agree to it.’ Looking directly into her eyes he was almost willing her to say yes.

Was this really her son speaking, she couldn’t recall when he had ever asked permission for anything. Had he been sniffing glue? He had done that when he was fourteen and the Police had brought him home, giving him a warning in her presence.

‘If I join the Army, I could do courses and get paid at the same time.’ He had come to a turning point in his young life but had no idea how to make the first move. His mind was working overtime, he had to do something, but didn’t know what. Darren and what had happened was on his mind as well as the scenes from the television programme. Steve had never felt so confused, but at the same time he had to make a decision which might give his life some purpose.

His mother was thinking too. The discipline would certainly do him good, and he would have to be respectful to his superiors or he would be in real trouble. She was warming to the idea. He would get home on leave, get paid regularly and hopefully learn to control himself.

‘I’ve an idea son. You know the Headmaster at school, well he told me that you could have made something of yourself if you had done a bit of work. Why don’t we go and talk to him for advice. I could ring up for an appointment.’ She waited for a reply, hoping he would agree. She had no idea what advice to give him, but the Headmaster might.

‘I can’t see him bothering about me, they were glad to see the back of most of us.’ He didn’t want to become depressed, but thought his mother’s suggestion was a good one. But would the Headmaster see him?

It had taken time before she made the call. The possibility of rejection which could come from her request replaced her usual day to day concerns. She need not have worried.

The Headmaster had been very courteous and had told her that he would be very pleased to give advice if he could. She tried to explain how Steven had changed, how the shock of his friend’s death had affected him, and about his wish to join the Army. Any doubt in his mind didn’t travel along the telephone line. If he couldn’t answer a question, he assured her that he would find someone who would be able to.

The meeting took place at school the following week. Steven had asked his mother to go with him which pleased her, and together they sat with the Headmaster. He had been welcoming, any feelings of mistrust were absent. Tea and biscuits were brought in and Steven began to relax as the Headmaster outlined what he thought would be the best avenue for him to take if the opportunity arose. He assured Steven that there would be excellent opportunities in the Army and the chance to make up for his lack of success at school.

‘Do you think I would be able to get some qualifications?’ Steven was on the edge of his chair looking directly at the Headmaster, the possibility of his life changing for the better was in his own hands. Something which had never entered his head before.

Assuring Steven that there would be good educational facilities in the Army, he stressed that to take advantage of them needed a tremendous amount of self discipline.

‘Do you think you have what it takes Steven?’ He had looked him in the eye as he spoke.

‘Yes sir, I’ve just got to succeed.’

The Headmaster smiled, the realisation that the young man sitting in front of him had come to the crossroads in life and was about to take the right route to achieving something. He suggested taking two GCSE subjects to begin with and then to gauge the next step himself, based on the results and the amount of time available
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‘You may remember that not too long ago your track record was to say the least, abysmal.’ The comments were not an accusation, just a statement of fact made in a fatherly way.

Steven did not take his eyes off the Headmaster. ‘I know now what I must have been like and I’m very sorry for the things I did. Now I have to start again, this time I won’t fail.’

The Headmaster smiled. ‘I have a feeling that you will succeed Steven, but it won’t be easy. Now, I have someone I would like you to meet.’ He pressed a button on his desk and a minute later there was a knock on the door.

‘I would like to introduce you to Major Reynolds who is not only a friend of mine but also an Army Recruitment Officer. I will leave you together and I’m sure the Major will give you all the information you will need to help you enjoy a military career. He shook hands with Mrs. Henderson and then Steven, wishing him success in the future. ‘Do keep in touch Steven, I would be pleased to hear of your progress.’

The Major had been thorough in his briefing, leaving no doubt in Steven’s mind that the going would be tough and the discipline hard. He didn’t add, ‘for someone like you,’ although he might have felt it. The Headmaster had of course given him details of Steven’s school record and advice on his background. On the positive side, he had been told that Steven was intelligent and with the challenges the Army would give him, he might rise to the occasion.