Be Careful What You Wish For: The Clifton Chronicles 4 (14 page)

Emma wasn’t sure whether to laugh or to kiss him, but the company secretary interrupted her thoughts. ‘Mr Hardcastle?’ Once again, everyone in the room turned their attention
to the one man no one knew anything about. ‘Would you be kind enough to let us know your decision, sir?’ Fisher scowled. Six all. If Susan had voted for him, Hardcastle’s vote
would have been irrelevant, but he still felt confident the Yorkshireman would back him.

Cedric Hardcastle took a handkerchief out of his top pocket, removed his glasses and polished them before he spoke. ‘I shall abstain, and allow the chairman, who knows both candidates far
better than I do, to decide who is the right person to succeed him.’

Susan Fisher pushed back her chair and slipped quietly out of the boardroom as the newly elected chairman took her place at the top of the table.

Everything had gone well so far. However, Susan knew that the next hour would be vital if she hoped to complete the rest of her plan. Alex hadn’t even commented when she’d offered to
drive him to the board meeting that morning so he could concentrate on his speech. What she hadn’t told him was that she wouldn’t be driving him back.

For some time, Susan had accepted that their marriage was a sham, and she couldn’t even remember when they’d last made love. She often wondered why she’d agreed to marry him in
the first place. Her mother’s constant reminder, ‘If you’re not careful, my girl, you’ll be left on the shelf,’ hadn’t helped. Still, she now intended to clear
everything off the shelves.

Alex Fisher was unable to concentrate on Emma’s acceptance speech, as he was still trying to work out how he would explain to Don Pedro that his wife had voted against
him.

Martinez had originally proposed that Diego and Luis represent him on the board, but Alex had persuaded him that if there was one thing that would frighten the directors more than the thought of
a female chairman, it would be the thought of a foreigner taking over the company.

He decided that he would simply tell Don Pedro that Emma had won the vote, and not mention the fact that his wife hadn’t supported him. He didn’t care to think about what would
happen if Don Pedro ever read the minutes.

Susan Fisher parked the car outside Arcadia Mansions, opened the front door with her latch key, took the lift to the third floor and let herself into the flat. She walked
quickly through to the bedroom, dropped on her knees and pulled two suitcases out from under the bed. She then began to empty one of the wardrobes of six dresses, two suits, several skirts and a
ball gown, which she wondered if she’d ever wear again. Next she pulled open the chest of drawers one drawer at a time, and took out her stockings, underwear, blouses and jumpers, which
almost filled the first suitcase.

When she got off her knees, her eyes settled on a water-colour of the Lake District that Alex had paid a little too much for when they were on their honeymoon. She was delighted to find that it
fitted neatly into the bottom of the second case. She then walked through to the bathroom and gathered up all her toiletries, a dressing gown and several towels, cramming them into every available
space left in the second suitcase.

There wasn’t a lot she wanted in the kitchen, other than the Wedgwood dinner service, a wedding present from Alex’s mother. She wrapped each piece carefully in pages from the
Daily Telegraph,
and placed them in two shopping bags she found under the sink.

She left the plain green tea set that she’d never really liked, not least because it had so many chips, and there was no room left in the second case. ‘Help,’ she said out
loud, once she realized there was still a lot more she intended to remove but both suitcases were already full.

Susan walked back into the bedroom, stood on a chair and pulled down Alex’s old school trunk from the top of the wardrobe. She dragged it out into the corridor, undid its straps and
continued with her mission. The drawing-room mantelpiece yielded a carriage clock which Alex claimed was a family heirloom and three photographs in silver frames. She removed the photographs and
tore them up, only packing the frames. She would have liked to take the television, but it was far too large and, in any case, her mother wouldn’t have approved.

Once the company secretary had closed the meeting, Alex didn’t join his fellow directors for lunch. He quickly left the boardroom without speaking to anyone, Peter Maynard
following in his wake. Alex had been given two envelopes by Don Pedro, each containing a thousand pounds. His wife certainly wouldn’t be getting the five hundred he’d promised her. Once
they were in the lift, Alex took one of the envelopes out of his pocket.

‘At least you kept your side of the bargain,’ he said, handing it across to Peter.

‘Thank you,’ said Maynard gratefully, pocketing the money. ‘But what came over Susan?’ he added as the lift door opened on the ground floor. Alex didn’t reply.

As the two men left Barrington House, Alex wasn’t surprised to see that his car was no longer in its usual place, but he was puzzled to find another car he didn’t recognize occupying
his parking space.

A young man carrying a Gladstone bag was standing by the front door of the car. The moment he spotted Alex, he began walking towards him.

Finally, exhausted by her efforts, Susan entered Alex’s study without knocking, not expecting to find anything worthwhile to add to her spoils: two more picture frames,
one silver, one leather, and a silver letter opener she’d given him for Christmas. But as it was only silver plated, she decided he could keep it.

Time was running out and she didn’t think it would be long before Alex returned, but just as she was about to leave, she spotted a thick envelope with her name scribbled across it. She
ripped it open and couldn’t believe her eyes. It contained the five hundred pounds Alex had promised her if she attended the board meeting and voted for him. She’d kept her side of the
bargain, well, half of it, so she slipped the money into her handbag, and smiled for the first time that day.

Susan closed the study door and quickly checked through the flat one more time. She’d forgotten something, but what was it? Oh yes, of course. She rushed back to the bedroom, opened the
smaller cupboard and smiled a second time when she saw the rows and rows of shoes left over from her modelling days. She took her time placing them all in the trunk. Just as she was about to close
the cupboard door, her eyes settled on a neat row of black leather shoes and brown brogues, all polished as if they were about to go on parade. She knew they were Alex’s pride and joy. All
hand made by Lobb of St James’s and, as he so often reminded her, they would last a lifetime.

Susan took the left shoe of each pair and dropped them into Alex’s old school trunk. She also took one right slipper, one right Wellington boot and one right gym shoe, before sitting on
the lid of the trunk and fastening the straps.

Finally she dragged the trunk, two suitcases and two shopping bags out on to the landing, and closed the door of a home she would never return to.

‘Major Alex Fisher?’

‘Yes.’

The young man handed him a long, buff-coloured envelope and said, ‘I’ve been instructed to give you this, sir.’ Without another word, he turned, walked back to his car and
drove off. The whole encounter was over in less than a minute.

A bemused Alex nervously ripped open the envelope and extracted a document of several pages. When he saw the words on the cover sheet,
Petition for divorce: Mrs Susan Fisher v. Major Alex
Fisher,
he felt his legs give way, and grasped Maynard’s arm for support.

‘What’s the problem, old chap?’

O
N THE TRAIN
journey back to London, Cedric Hardcastle thought once again about how he’d ended up attending the board meeting of a shipping
company in Bristol. It had all begun when he’d broken his leg.

For nearly forty-five years, Cedric had led what even his local vicar would have described as a blameless life. During that time, he’d built a reputation for probity, integrity and sound
judgement.

After leaving Huddersfield Grammar School at the age of fifteen, Cedric had joined his father at Farthings Bank, on the corner of the high street, where you couldn’t open an account unless
you were a Yorkshire man, born and bred. Every employee had drilled into them from their first day as a trainee the bank’s overriding philosophy:
Take care of the pennies, and the pounds
will take care of themselves
.