Secrets on Saturday (35 page)

Several minutes elapsed, and Herbert was amused to hear from William’s breathing that he had in fact dozed off. As he listened to the birds outside, he tried hard to imagine normal life going on not a couple of miles from where they were holed up. Blackberry Gardens would be quiet. Nothing much happened there between the rush to work in the mornings and the return home in the evenings. Young Ben opposite would be looking for work and irritating his mother. That strange woman with the terriers would skulk about, peeping from behind net curtains. And those dogs! He had disliked them intensely, hated their barking which set off Spot … oh Lord, Spot … His eyes filled with tears, and he sniffed hard.

“You all right, Bert?” William had woken up, and heard sounds of distress.

“I’m all right. Still thinking, though.”

“Right-o. Tell me when I can speak.”

Herbert concentrated on the emergency plan, but his mind returned to the Gardens, and he wondered what had become of his house. It would be full of spiders and mice by now. Probably eaten everything edible. Which meant most things to mice. His fridge would be crawling. Still, nothing that couldn’t be put right when he got home. If he got home.

The emergency plan. Well, what was likely to happen? If Willy went down at night in pitch darkness it was unlikely that the watcher, or watchers, would spot him. Spot. There’d be no Spot to bark. He forced his mind back, and imagined the look of the cottage from a watcher’s point of view. If they—it would probably be them in the middle of the night—had a torch, they could shine it in at the windows. But they’d only do that if they suspected something. If Willy was as good a stalker as he said, he should get back upstairs safely. The most likely hiccup would be if Willy crashed into something in the dark, or slipped and fell. He might yell involuntarily. Those villains could break in easily, the two of them. So then what?

Herbert was sure that they’d have instructions to capture and not kill, and would force him and Willy back to wherever it was they’d been captive, and then Reg would carry out whatever he had in store for them. What was it, for God’s sake? The longer he kept them around Farnden, the more likely he was to be discovered. He had to ask Willy some difficult questions.

“You awake, Willy?”

“O’ course I am. Have you come up with anything?”

“Not yet. I need to know a bit more about things. D’ you mind if I ask you something a bit personal?”

“I told you most of it already. Still, fire away.”

“It’s about Reg Abthorpe. Where did he come from, and what does he really want with us?”

There was a long silence, and Herbert wondered if he’d gone too far. But he knew he was on the right track. This was the nub of it all. What was it between Willy and Reg?

“Willy?” There was no answer. Then a long sigh, and William began to speak. “It’s been kept quiet all these years,” he said. “Martha helped. It must have been like a knife in the back for her. Bert … promise you’ll never tell?”

“You can trust me, Willy. You know that.”

Willy coughed, then cleared his throat, and said in a
flat voice, “Reg is my son. His real name is Cox. And he’s after my money.”

“What! Your son? Then who was his mother?”

“I’ll never tell anyone that. And don’t try to guess. It’s my secret and it’ll go to the grave with me.”

Herbert’s thoughts were whizzing around. That certainly explained why Reg wanted Willy in his grasp; but why him, Herbert Everitt, innocent widower retired to the country? As if reading his thoughts, William said, “And not just my money. He’ll have his eye on yours. Blackmail, it’ll be. Co-operate, or we make you disappear for ever.”

“Just because I saw the badger-killers?”

“That’d have been the start of it. With me, he claims he is entitled to his inheritance. Wants me to change my will. I’ve stuck out so far, but I expect he’ll get my signature in the end. I’ve really ceased to care, Bert. Your idea of sharing your house, coasting peacefully to our end, seems fine to me. I’ve no other heirs that I know of, so he might as well have it.”

“No! Willy, no! He’s a crook! You have no idea what kind of crimes he’s responsible for. Don’t let him get away with it, for God’s sake! There’s two of us in this, and we’ll beat him yet.” Herbert had no idea how, but he had to keep Willy propped up at all costs, if there was any hope of either of them seeing Blackberry Gardens again.

W
HERE ON EARTH WAS
R
EG
? F
RANCES WAS BEGIN
ning to worry. Not on Reg’s behalf, but her own. Much as she hated him, she felt safer when he was in the house than when he was out of her sight, plotting and scheming with his crooked helpers. She did not trust any of them. It was getting dark, and she looked out of the front window, still from behind the net curtains, though since she had talked to Lois Meade she felt a little more confident. At least she wasn’t bearing the whole weight herself.

At first she thought the figure hurrying down the Gardens was him. But then she recognized the stooping, lanky figure. It was Shorty. He came straight into the driveway and round the back of the house. She went quickly to make sure the door was locked.

“Let me in, for Christ’s sake!” Shorty hissed through the keyhole. “There’s been a hitch!”

Frances reluctantly opened the door and let him in. He was pale and trembling. “There’s been an accident,” he said, slumping down on a kitchen chair.

“That’ll save us a deal of trouble, then,” said Frances calmly.

“No, he’s not dead! It was Everitt’s dog. Reg knows where the old men are, and we were guarding them in turns. It suits Reg to keep them there. He was watching on his own, and the dog got him on the ankle. A very nasty bite. He can hardly walk.”

“And the dog?” Frances knew the answer.

“Shot him, o’ course. Bloody little terrier. They’re the worst.” Shorty looked longingly at a whiskey bottle on the kitchen worktop.

“Forget it,” Frances said. “Where is he now?”

Shorty hesitated. He had little to lose now, and he was desperate that the plan should still succeed. “He’s at the farm, holed up in that barn he’s made into a garage. We told you. He made a good job of it. Nobody’d know.”

But I do, thought Frances. “Is he staying there?” she asked.

“No. He’s not too good. Needs proper looking after.”

“So he’s coming here? Suits us, doesn’t it?”

“He’s not coming to you,” Shorty said, shaking his head. “Doesn’t trust you, now he’s crippled. He’s got a place to go. Back to Mother. But don’t ask me any more. I’ve sworn to keep it secret, especially from you, Reg said.”

“It’s never stopped you blabbing before, and don’t forget I’ve still got the stuff.” Frances said. Shorty knew when he was over a barrel, and looked fearfully around the kitchen. He whispered a couple of words to her. She nodded, and said, “So you’d better take it and leave me out of it. You can get his gun when he’s conked-out there, and then carry on. What about his mother?”

“We’ll take care of her,” Shorty said carelessly.

Frances gave him the packet, opened the door and half-shoved him out of it. “Good luck, and I don’t want to see you again. Ever.”

It was completely dark now, except for a single street light in the Gardens, and after a while, Frances drew the curtains across, shutting out the night. Had she not, she would have seen a figure limping painfully along the Gardens in the direction of her house. As it was, she relaxed, and, looking forward to an evening of uninterrupted telly, she went towards the telephone to ring Lois Meade. But the terriers began to bark frantically, and then were suddenly quiet. Better take a look. As she opened the door of the outhouse where they were confined, the limping man came round the corner of the house and
before she could scream he had his clammy hand over her mouth.

B
EN
C
ULLEN HEARD A SINGLE SHOT
. H
E RAN DOWN
stairs to where his parents were watching television, but they said they’d heard nothing. He looked at the screen and saw cowboys racing across a sandy landscape, shooting as they went. That was probably it, then. His father turned down the sound, and they all listened. Silence, except for a randy cat on the prowl.

“It could have been one of those rook-scarers, Ben,” his mother said.

“Or a firework,” his father added. “Kids let them off all the year round these days. Any excuse, and it sounds like an air raid.”

“You’re too young to know what an air raid sounded like,” Ben scoffed. “Still, I expect you’re right. I’m off out. Meeting Floss.” His father turned up the sound, and was once more engrossed in the movie.

R
EG LIMPED ALONG TOWARDS THE HILL LEADING TO
the farmhouse. The pain in his ankle was agony. Shorty had dropped him off to go to Frances’ house, and they’d arranged to meet on the corner. Nelly would catch them up there. He hoped to God that the two idiots would be waiting, and had not decided to betray him after all. He’d had to cross their palms with more than silver to persuade them to help him. Now that he was so lame, they thought
they had the upper hand. Reg caressed the gun in his pocket. They’d soon find out how wrong they were.

A flashing light signalled that they were there. At least, one was. Shorty was on his own, and whispered, “Get in quickly, Reg. Nelly had a quick job to do. He’ll meet us there, where we’re going.”

“How?” Reg was irritated. He intended to finish the relationship once and for all, with both of them.

“Borrowed a bike. Won’t take him long.” Shorty helped Reg into the front seat, and shut the door. “We’ll go a different way round,” he said. “Just in case.”

“In case of what?” Reg said. He was sure they were up to something. Still, they were unlikely to turn down the large sum of money he had promised them at the end of the job. And the info he had on them still gave him power over them.

At last, after negotiating twisting lanes that Reg could have sworn he’d never seen before, they drew up outside his destination. “We’ll wait outside until Nelly gets here,” he said. That should fix them.

Shorty began to disagree, but felt the gun hard against his ribs. “Right, Reg,” he said, “you’re the boss.”

They waited in silence and darkness for a while, and then Shorty said, “Is your mother expecting you?”

“Shut up and don’t be so bloody ridiculous,” Reg said fiercely.

At this moment, Nelly arrived. He leaned into the car, and said to Shorty, “Job done.”

Reg said, “Get in the back, both of you.” Nelly began to splutter, until he saw the outline of Reg’s gun waving at him. He hopped quickly into the back seat, and Shorty followed him. His feeling of dread was justified. Nelly’s last thought was a prayer that someone would come from somewhere and rescue them. But nobody came.

I
VY
B
EASLEY LIFTED HER TELEPHONE AND DIALLED
Ellen Biggs. She had formed a habit of calling the old lady around bedtime, just to make sure she was all right
and did not need any help. Not that Ivy herself would dream of turning out, but she could alert Doris, who was always ready for anything.

There was no reply. Ivy tried again, in case she had dialled the wrong number. Still no reply. The old thing was deaf as a post, but she usually heard the telephone. She would not have gone to bed so early. She was quite a late bird, saying she did nothing all day to get tired. Ivy shook the telephone receiver in irritation. She dialled Doris, but there was no reply from her either. Then she remembered. Saturday was whist night, and they often stayed at the village hall until half past ten, gossiping and drinking tea. A wicked waste of time, in Ivy’s opinion. What should she do, then? She dialled again.

Lois was in her office, catching up on paperwork while Derek was at the pub, and answered the telephone immediately. “Miss Beasley! Is something the matter? Are you ill?”

“Calm down, Mrs. Meade,” Ivy replied. “Nothing wrong with me. No, it’s Ellen Biggs. I can’t get any reply from her. I always ring her about this time, just to check the silly old thing hasn’t fallen over and can’t get up. I tried Doris too, but she’s playing whist instead of staying at home like she should.”