Now was the time to take as much as he could as quickly as he could. He must get it out of the account he’d set up in the name of Alistair Jackson too. He had to assume that the money could be traced through the bank’s records as coming from the Bristow’s account.
To muddy the waters and make his access to the money safer, he opened another account, in the name of Arthur Worboys, at yet another bank. Then he started drawing out large sums in cash from Alistair Jackson’s account and paying it into that of Arthur Worboys. He meant to make it as difficult as possible for anybody to find out how it had been done, or to be able to make any connection with the name Leo Hardman.
He knew that if Walter Bristow discovered the money was missing and reported it to the police, the fraud squad would be called in.
Chloe knew that her mother was putting on a brave face and trying hard to appear her normal self. Before she went to work, she took breakfast up to her in bed, but after that, Helen got dressed and ate her other meals with the family. She said she was feeling better. Chloe had seen her laugh and play with the children, and that seemed a good omen.
Yes, Mum’s hair had gone, but she’d been fitted with a wig, chosen to suit the shape of her face, and it didn’t look too obviously false. She’d also been measured for a special bra, to hide the fact that she’d had one breast removed. Her bustling energy had not returned, and Chloe suspected that underneath, these things distressed her as much as ever. Mum used to do the cooking and run the house, but now she couldn’t even garden. That made Chloe’s heart go out to her. All the housework was falling on the rest of the family.
‘I feel guilty,’ Chloe told Rex. ‘I go off to work every morning and leave Aunt Goldie to cope with my children as well as all the extra work Mum’s illness makes.’
Rex’s sympathetic eyes looked into hers. ‘Do you want to stop work and look after your mum?’ he asked.
‘Of course I do, I feel I should.’ Chloe covered her face with her hands. ‘But I talked Uncle Walter into giving me this job, and now that I’ve been there long enough to make myself useful, I don’t want to walk out on him. I think he’s got enough worries about the business at the moment.’
‘Then your other alternative is to get some household help.’
‘A cleaner, you mean?’
‘Yes, but you need someone to give all-round help.’
‘A mother’s help? Does any girl want that sort of work these days?’
‘You need a capable woman, not a young girl. I might know just the person . . .’
‘Rex! That would be marvellous.’
‘I’ve had a gardener working for me for years, and he told me the other day that his wife is looking for a job. She’s worked as a cook-general for an old man for ages, but he’s just gone into a home. She’s a motherly sort of person, has brought up five children of her own, but they’re all grown up now. She’s a cheery sort.’
‘She sounds ideal. I would feel happier if there was another pair of hands here to help out. Rex, you always know the answer to everything.’
He laughed. ‘I wish that was true. I’ll try and bring Mrs Wilson round to see you and Goldie at the weekend.’
He brought her on Sunday morning while Chloe was trying to get a leg of lamb into the oven for Sunday lunch.
‘I’m Peggy,’ she said. She was stout and in her fifties, with a shock of iron-grey hair. ‘I’ve heard a lot about your garden; my hubby comes to work here sometimes. Here, let me give you a hand with those runner beans. Are they from your garden?’
Chloe took to her, and thought that if she came for five mornings a week, they’d be able to manage. Rex suggested five full days, nine to five.
‘Those are the hours Peggy’s looking for,’ he whispered, and manoeuvred her into agreeing. ‘I think you’ll suit each other.’
He swept Peggy out to the summerhouse to introduce her to Helen, Goldie and the children.
‘As it’s Sunday, why don’t I pour you ladies a glass of sherry to cement the bargain?’ he suggested. ‘Then I’ll run you home, Peggy.’
In the weeks that followed, Chloe felt she’d eased the burden on Aunt Goldie, who was coping better with the children. Peggy was running the house, helping to look after her mother and also preparing the evening meal for them so Chloe had less work too. She had only to serve it up when she came home from work.
Goldie told her that Peggy was kind to Helen and good with the children. They all began to rely on her, and she soon became almost one of the family.
A month or so later, Rex was delighted to find that Helen was looking much brighter. She was smiling and joining in family discussions in a way she hadn’t done for a long time. Her appetite had improved too. He took her for walks round the garden, and she never tired of seeing how it changed from one season to the next, but she was not all that steady on her feet when they got away from the paths.
‘I think you’re well enough to come out for a meal with me,’ he said. That brought a broad smile to her face. She suggested lunch, saying that she grew tired towards the end of the day.
They had lunch out twice a week for a while, though she couldn’t eat all that much, neither could she walk far.
‘It’ll take time to get you really well,’ he told her. ‘But you are getting stronger.’
He took her to the seaside or for little country drives. They ate in village pubs and Helen seemed to enjoy it. They progressed to early-evening meals at the garden centre, and from there to the bistro.
‘I’m so pleased,’ Rex told her, ‘that we’re getting back to our old ways.’ He thought Helen was enjoying life again. ‘How about coming to my place and staying the night with me?’ he asked.
She smiled, but she wouldn’t be rushed. ‘I’m pretty useless by bedtime,’ she said. ‘Too tired for anything. That’s why I like you to bring me home early.’
‘We’ll give you another week or two to get stronger,’ he said. ‘You’re improving all the time.’
He sensed that she didn’t want him to see her body, that she was shy about it, but he continued to invite her. Eventually she said, ‘You’ll find me off-putting. You won’t like my operation scars and bald head. You won’t see me as a lover any more.’
Rex was filled with compassion. ‘I will, Helen. Underneath you’re the same person.’
‘But mauled and cut about by illness.’
‘With the lights out, I wouldn’t see any of that. You could just go to sleep in my arms.’
She smiled. ‘I would like that.’
‘Tuesday,’ he told her. ‘I could bring something to eat from the garden centre and we could have it here. Would that be less tiring for you?’
She nodded. ‘I’m still having very early nights.’
‘That’s no problem. I go to bed early myself.’
He fetched her and served the meal he’d kept warm. She told him that Peggy had been preparing a stew for the rest of the family and that Lucy had taken the carrot tops with their green plumes and planted them back in the garden, thinking the bottom part would grow again.
‘Perhaps she’d be interested in having a little garden of her own.’ Rex laughed. ‘I’ll try and encourage it.’
It seemed almost like old times, though Helen wouldn’t take a glass of wine with the meal. At bedtime, he saw her take a new satin nightdress from her overnight bag, but she got into bed wearing her wig and the surgical bra.
‘I can’t bear to let anyone see.’ She clung to him, not far from tears. ‘I have to hide behind my props.’
‘You don’t have to hide from me,’ he told her. ‘You know that.’
In the past, Helen had always been keen on making love. Tonight, he would not have made the first move, but shyly she did. Rex felt very needy and on an emotional knife edge. Helen’s illness had swept up on them and advanced so quickly. He’d never been more passionate, over the top really. Afterwards he had the empty feeling that she’d done it to please him. That really she was no longer interested in sex.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
L
EO WAS PLEASED WHEN Mrs Parks told him she was about to take two weeks’ holiday. ‘Are you going away somewhere nice?’ he asked.
‘No.’ She was a decade or more older than the secretaries, a widow with three youngish children. ‘I’m going to have a rest. Well, as far as I can while the kids are off school.’
He’d been nervous of Mrs Parks to start with, knowing that she was in the best position to see through what he was doing. With time, he’d realised she was wrapped up in her children, and though the work she did was adequate, she was not the type to be curious or to give it more than minimum attention. All the same, her absence would give him some much-needed freedom. He knew she thought him fussy and rather odd.
Leo was inclined to grow more edgy as each month came to an end. At that time, Walter Bristow received bank statements for his business accounts. In addition, he required Leo to provide copies of some of the accounting documents he drew up. From these it would be possible for the boss to assess how his business was progressing.
To Leo, taking the documents to Mr Bristow’s office on the first day of the new month felt a bit like putting his head into the lion’s mouth. It couldn’t fail to draw Bristow’s attention to his figures. To start with he’d taken comfort that the audit had confirmed that all was correct. But the months were passing, and he was transferring more and more company money to accounts he controlled. He made sure he was ready to shrug off the persona of Francis Lovell Clitheroe at a moment’s notice, should it prove necessary.
At the beginning of August, he delivered his figures to Bristow, then went back to his office and waited with some trepidation for the boss’s reaction. It was a long wait. Just when he was thinking of locking his desk and going home, Mr Bristow came to his office to toss some papers, including the bank statements, on to his desk without comment. When he’d gone, Leo studied them and realised why. They’d made a bigger than average profit the month before and the healthy credit balance had hidden the sum he’d stolen.
He couldn’t believe his luck. He’d found the perfect company to employ Francis Clitheroe. At this level, he could probably work here for years and treble his salary with little danger of being found out. But it was nerve-racking. He’d stick to his original plan, take as much as he could as quickly as he could and get out.
The following weekend in his own bedsit, Leo created three more files in order to double the amount he could take each month. Having six fictitious companies did increase the risk, but he thought it was a risk worth taking.
Don Tyler, the buyer, would know the names of the companies from whom he ordered and might be expected to pick out any false ones amongst them. But his responsibilities ended when he’d checked what was being delivered against his orders. John Walsh, the production manager, used the supplies to manufacture the pet food and would possibly recognise some of the companies’ names. He might even prefer one company’s goods over another, but he didn’t have access to Francis Clitheroe’s accounts.
When Walter Bristow asked Leo when he wanted to take his two weeks’ holiday, he was taken by surprise and almost said he didn’t want any time off. The truth was, he was scared of leaving his fictitious files unguarded for a whole fortnight. But the boss had clearly never had an employee who didn’t want a holiday before.
Leo tried to cover it up. ‘Am I due for a holiday yet? I mean, I’ve only been working here since February.’
‘Of course.’ Bristow was showing more surprise. ‘You can take it any time during the year. Tom Cleary used to work out the wages, get everything ready and leave it to me to pay them at the end of each week.’
Leo shut up. He had the feeling he was making matters worse. Francis was paying the wages and salaries for the workforce; surely he’d know every rule pertaining to holidays?
The thought of taking a fortnight’s holiday himself sent shivery thrills up and down Leo’s spine. It would be marvellous to get away from here; he certainly needed a rest and the chance to calm his nerves. He would enjoy spending the time searching for the house in which he meant to spend his new life. He’d want it to be near the sea and a small town, perhaps in the Lake District or on the Cumbrian coast, a place where as yet he had no connection. It was to be a permanent bolt-hole, so he’d use his real name to buy it. He’d become an honest middle-class citizen and forget all the nerve-racking things he’d had to do to achieve it.
He reckoned the plan he’d worked out was first class, but at this stage it would be stupid to risk losing what he’d achieved by turning his back on it for a fortnight. He’d put off his holiday to the late autumn. By that time he’d be ready to close down his money-making scheme and never return.
‘I’m on holiday for the next two weeks,’ Mrs Parks reminded the secretaries one Wednesday afternoon as they were locking up in preparation for going home. ‘Only two more days at work.’
‘Oh no!’ Lydia Tomlin exclaimed. ‘Why didn’t you warn me sooner? It usually falls to my lot to keep your work up to date.’
‘I’ve been warning you for the last six weeks,’ she laughed. ‘You take no notice.’
Lydia groaned. ‘I can never remember what I’ll have to do. Show me again tomorrow.’
‘I could do it,’ Chloe offered. ‘I always worked in accounts until I came here. I quite enjoy figures.’
‘That’s marvellous,’ Lydia said. ‘I can’t add up for toffee.’
‘You can use my comptometer.’
‘Thanks a bundle,’ Lydia said. ‘You’ll have to show me again how that works.’
Chloe laughed. ‘Don’t worry, I used one all the time at Owen Owens. Show me tomorrow what it is I have to do, and if I can’t get through everything, Lydia can give me a hand with my work.’
The following week, Lydia came back from the accountant’s office and put some files on Chloe’s desk. ‘I’ve told Mr Clitheroe that you’ve offered to do Mrs Parks’s work, but he didn’t seem all that pleased.’
‘Oh dear, does that mean he doesn’t like me?’ Chloe laughed. ‘I did once douse him with water from my umbrella, but it was an accident.’
She quite enjoyed adding up the large columns of figures as Mr Clitheroe had specified. When she was confident the totals were correct, she took the files back to his office.