Authors: Frederic Lindsay
23 Jill
SATURDAY,
OCTOBER
6TH
It
was
parked
on
a
double
yellow
line,
but
Murray
had
remarked
before
that
the
bigger
the
car
the
less
chance
of
a
parking
ticket
in
this
city.
He
recognised
the
chauffeur,
sitting
in
a
familiar
pose
with
his
head
tilted
forward
as
if
reading
a
book,
and
ran
up
the
stairs
expecting
to
find
Heathers
at
the
door
of
the
flat
or
on
his
way
back
down.
The
door
of
the
flat
was
unlocked
as
he
had
left
it,
not
wanting
to
give
Irene
an
excuse
for
going
away
again
if
she
did
come;
and
so,
even
inside,
he
still
thought
he
would
find
him
waiting.
He
walked
from
the
back
room
and
through
the
lobby
to
the
room
he
used
as
an
office.
Puzzled,
he
went
to
the
window
and
inclined
his
head
trying
to
see
if
the
car
was
still
there.
Behind
him
there
came
a
deferential
double
knock
and
a
discreet
clearing
of
the
throat.
'I
hope
I
didn't
give
you
a
fright,
sir.
The
door
was
open,
sir.'
Out
of
the
car,
the
chauffeur
was
smaller
than
he
had
looked
at
the
wheel.
The
uniform
was
cut
to
emphasise
the
breadth
of
his
shoulders,
but
it
could
do
nothing
about
the
shortness
of
his
legs.
Cap
in
hand,
he
fitted
anybody's
idea
of
a
servant.
'I
didn't
think,
sir,
you'd
mind
me
coming
in,
sir.'
The
tough
nasal
Moirhill
drawl
sounded
to
Murray
uncannily
like
Blair
Heathers'
tone.
'Where's
your
boss?'
'Oh,
he
wouldn't
be
here
himself,
sir.
He's
a
busy
man
.
He wanted
you
to
get
this,
though,
right
away,
sir.'
The
little
respectful
word,
gargled
far
back
in
his
throat
as
'sir',
was
being
repeated
too
often.
He
held
the
envelope
but
did
not
come
forward,
making
Murray
cross
the
room
to
take
it
from
him.
There
was
a
single
sheet
of
paper
inside:
“Following
our
discussion
of
14
September,
an
arrangement
was
made.
That
arrangement
is
terminated
.”
'It
isn't
signed,'
Murray
said.
'The
thing
is
you've
been
making
a
nuisance
of
yourself
.
Going
to
see
the
wrong
people,
sir.
At
the
wrong
time,
like.
A
time
of
grief,
sir.'
All
round,
visiting
Leo
was
turning
out
to
have
been
a
mistake.
He
spread
the
envelope
with
two
fingers
and
looked
inside.
'Where's
the
cheque?'
'There
was
a
complaint
from
the
bereaved.
And
then
the
police
lifted
you,
and
you
shot
off
your
mouth
to
them.
It
really
wasn't
what
was
wanted,
sir.'
'You're
quite
a
talker
yourself,'
Murray
said
quietly.
'Tell
your
boss
I
expect
to
get
paid
up
till
this
date.
I'll
send
him
a
note
of
my
expenses.'
The
chauffeur
looked
at
him
wisely.
'You
do
that,'
he
said.
'Only
I've
a
feeling
Mr
Heathers
has
told
the
police
you
weren't
working
for
him
at
all.
I
can't
see
him
bunging
you
any
more
money
...
sir.'
And
the
grin
that
had
been
struggling
to
escape
from
the
start,
came
out
as
he
retreated.
It
wasn't
a
conscious
decision
to
go
after
him
.
Lightly,
as
if carried,
his
body
went
forward
on
a
reflex
of
anger
so
fast
that
the
chauffeur
reaching
to
open
the
outer
door
had
no
chance
to
defend
himself.
He
caught
the
man
by
the
back
of
the
neck
and
lifting
him
like
a
doll
ground
his
mouth
and
nose
against
the
boards
nailed
across
the
broken
panels.
At
his
desk,
he
took
a
bundle
of bills
out
of
their
clip
and
spread them
out.
Staring
at
them
with
unseeing
eyes,
he
kept
hearing
the
sound
of
feet
stumbling
away
down
the
stone
flights.
Nobody
owned
him.
Without
anybody's
help,
he
had
stopped
himself
drinking.
Among
men
who
cursed
as
casually
as
breathing
,
he made
a
fetish
of
being
clean-mouthed
.
Above
all,
he
had
learned
to
control
his
temper.
Lose
that
.
..
When
he
looked
up,
there
was
no
way
of
telling
how
long
Irene
had
been
watching
him.