Trouble Brewing (15 page)

‘There's . . . there's other things as well, Larry,' she said.

‘Jaggard you mean?' He pursed his lips. ‘I grant it's tough on him, but there's nothing I can do about it. Now that I've got you again, I'm damned if I'm going to step aside in his favour.' He put his hand under her chin and turned her face towards him. ‘Not unless you want me to.'

‘No,' she said. Jack caught the hesitation in her voice. ‘I don't want you to go again.'

‘Talking of going,' said Jack, ‘I think I better be off myself.'

Anne picked up her handbag. ‘I think I'll go as well, Pat.' There was an unspoken question in her voice.

Pat stood up. ‘I'll see you to the door. You stay there, Larry. I'll be back in a minute.'

She saw them into the hall.

‘Pat,' said Anne quietly. ‘Will you be all right?'

Pat put her hand to her mouth. ‘To be honest, I just don't know.' She was silent for a few moments. ‘You must think I'm crazy,' she said passionately. ‘All I ever wanted was Larry and now he's here I don't know what to
do
.'

Jack took her hand between his, meeting her worried eyes. ‘Take your time. It's too important not to. It's your life. It's not a straight choice between them. You may decide you'd be happier on your own.' He would have said more, but the doorbell rang.

Fields came into the hall and walked towards them with a steady tread. ‘We'd better let him answer it,' said Pat quietly, with the glimmer of a smile. ‘Otherwise he'll think I'm trying to do him out of a job.'

Fields opened the door. Outside stood Gregory Jaggard. With a feeling of apprehension, Jack realized he was not quite sober.

‘Hello, Fields. Is Mrs . . . Is my . . .' He shook his head impatiently. ‘Damnit, you know who I mean. Is she . . .' He caught sight of Pat in the hallway and breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Pat! Thank God you're here.' He walked into the hall. ‘Anne! Nice to see you again. Just off, are you? Hello, Haldean. I believe I owe you an apology for last night.'

‘Don't mention it,' said Jack.

‘No? Well, thanks, anyway. Pat, we've got to get all this . . .'

‘Larry's here,' she broke in.

His face hardened. ‘Is he, by Jove?'

‘Yes, I am,' said Tyrell from up the hall. He had come out of the room and was leaning against the doorframe. ‘Any reason why I shouldn't be with my wife?'

‘For goodness sake, let's go back in the room,' said Pat, with an agonized glance at Fields, whose fascinated eyes belied his impassive face. ‘We can't possibly talk out here.' She caught Jack's eye in a desperate request and, together with Anne, he followed her back into the morning room.

‘Now,' she said when, much to Fields' disappointment, she had shut the door firmly behind them. ‘What is it, Greg?'

He passed a hand over his forehead. ‘I wanted to see you. I called at the house but you weren't there. I tormented myself last night with the thought you were in a hotel somewhere. If I'd known you were here I'd have . . .'

‘This is only a temporary arrangement,' put in Tyrell, smoothly. ‘My wife and I, will, of course, be moving shortly.'

Jaggard flinched. ‘Pat, please listen to me. You can't do this. All he's after is your money. That has to be the reason why he's come back after so long.'

‘And all you're worried about is the chance I'll get it,' drawled Tyrell.

Jaggard turned to face him, looking at him properly for the first time. ‘You keep out of this.'

Tyrell smiled warily. ‘You'd like that, wouldn't you? Well, you'd better get this into your head. I'm here and I'm stopping here and there isn't a thing you can do about it.' He came closer, balancing on the balls of his feet. ‘Now run along and play.' He waved his hand in front of his face. ‘And next time you call on a lady, don't drink so much first.'

‘No!' shouted Pat as Jaggard's face flushed.

She darted towards the two men, but before she could reach them, Jaggard's fist shot out. Tyrell avoided the blow easily and landed one in return. Pat and Anne, their faces white, looked on in shocked horror as Jaggard stumbled backwards across the room, staggering into the mantelpiece. His foot caught the fire irons as he fell, sending brush, shovel, tongs and poker clattering into the silence.

Tyrell walked across the room and stood over him. ‘Get out.'

Jaggard, sprawled on the hearth, shook his head in mute defiance.

Tyrell stooped down, so his face was inches away from Jaggard's. ‘I said get out. My wife doesn't want to see you again.'

Jack saw the moment it happened. A murderous glaze came into Jaggard's eyes as he reached for the poker beside him. At that instant he was capable of anything.

Jaggard scrambled to his feet with the steel-shafted poker raised to strike.

‘Stop!' screamed Pat and Anne together.

With the cries of the two women loud in his ears, Jack hurled himself between Jaggard and Tyrell. The poker thudded down, catching him on the upper arm.

Furious with pain, Jack wrenched the poker from Jaggard's hand, threw it across the room, then grabbed hold of Jaggard's shoulder. ‘Stop it, you
bloody
fool! You'll murder him at this rate.'

Jaggard shook off Jack's restraining hand. Ignoring Jack completely, he stood rigidly still, glaring at Tyrell. ‘I'm going to kill you,' he said, very softly.

‘You?' Tyrell laughed. ‘You terrify me. You're rotten with drink and good living. You'd had it your own way for far too long. I've been told all about you. You never cared for Pat. The only reason you want her now is to waste her money on your lousy cars. Well, Pat's mine and the money's mine, so you can damn well whistle for it.'

‘The money isn't yours,' said Jack, curtly. Red hot needles of pain were lancing up his numbed arm and he was reining in his temper with an effort.

Both men turned to stare at him.

‘What d'you mean?' asked Tyrell.

‘The money,' said Jack shortly. ‘The money from the bloody trust. Jaggard keeps his share.'

Tyrell's voice cracked in disbelief. ‘Who says so?'

‘The law says so. Now if you two have finished trying to kill each other, I think we should all leave.'

Tyrell recovered himself with an effort. ‘Pat? Do you want me to go?'

‘Please. It'd be better if you did.' She rang the bell to save further discussion, and, rather subdued, the three men, shepherded by the two women, walked into the hall.

Jack was conscious of an absurd feeling of anticlimax as Fields helped them into their coats. His arm was on fire and it was a very necessary help as far as he was concerned.

Once out of the house, Jaggard walked away without another word. With an expressive look at Jack, Anne crossed the square.

Furious with himself for having blurted out the information about the trust, Jack strode down Neville Square. He stopped and turned as he heard running footsteps behind him. It was Laurence Tyrell. ‘Haldean! Wait a moment, will you?'

‘What is it?' asked Jack abruptly. His arm was very sore.

‘I want to say thanks.' Tyrell brushed away the hair which had tumbled into his eyes. ‘Pat was upset and I had to see she was all right, but wanted to tell you I really am grateful. If that lunatic had managed his party trick with the poker I'd be a goner by now. I'm surprised he didn't break your arm.'

‘Oh . . . Well, that's all right.' Jack met Tyrell's eyes. ‘Why on earth did you provoke him like that?'

‘He annoyed me with his filthy insinuation I was only after Pat's money. She's my wife, not his. He's going to have to get used to the fact that the good times have ended.'

‘So you don't want the money?'

Tyrell drew his breath in. ‘Of course I do. Why shouldn't I? I've as much use for money as any man, but I'm damned if he's going to tell me that's all I care about. As far as I'm concerned Jaggard's a past chapter in Pat's life. I'm not going to let him pester her any longer.'

‘As long as this trust's in operation he's going to have to pester her to some degree.'

Tyrell looked at him with eyes that were suddenly hard. ‘You were very pat with that bit of law. I hope you haven't been checking up on me.'

‘Of course I've checked up on you,' said Jack, wearily. ‘God damnit, man, you appear from nowhere years after everyone believed you were dead. What d'you expect us to do? Clap?'

‘I expect you to keep your nose out of my business,' said Tyrell quickly, then stopped. ‘Look, Haldean, I don't want to quarrel, because I owe you one. I wish you could find out what happened to Helston. It'd put Pat out of her misery and sort out this damned legal rigmarole we seem to have got enmeshed in. I loath the idea of Jaggard having any say in Pat's money. The quicker it's sorted out the better, but I'm blowed if I'm having you or anyone else snooping around. It's going to be hard enough for Pat as it is. I'm no fool. It's obvious that she's going to need some time to get used to things. It won't help if you're watching my every move. You do get me, don't you?'

‘Oh yes,' said Jack evenly. ‘I get you.'

Tyrell nodded and turned away, walking swiftly back to the house.

That, thought Jack, as he watched him go, could be a dangerous man. He was certainly a very determined one. He rubbed his arm ruefully. On the other hand, if that poker had got home he would now be the chief witness in a murder trial. It would be a damn sight better for Jaggard if he laid off any more strong-arm tactics. He wasn't sure who would come off worse.

‘A
t least,' said Bill, ‘the coroner managed to stop the jury pinning it on Mark Helston.' It was early on Wednesday evening, the day of the inquest on Ariel Valdez, and Bill Rackham and Meredith Smith had taken up Jack's invitation to come back to his rooms. ‘Honestly,' he continued, relaxing gratefully into a shabby leather armchair, ‘when you think of the petty-fogging rules and regulations we have to obey giving evidence, it's shocking what members of the public will believe without any proof to back it up.'

‘I've never been to an inquest before,' said Meredith Smith. ‘It's not a bit like a trial. I mean, the coroner can't actually do anything, can he? I can't really see the point of it all.'

‘An inquest is supposed to establish the facts of a case,' said Jack, pulling the cork from a quart bottle of Bass. ‘Beer all right for you both? Move those papers off the sofa, Merry, and park yourself there.'

Meredith Smith swept the pile of newspapers to the floor and took the glass from Jack. ‘Take this afternoon,' said Meredith, warming to his theme. ‘We all know Valdez was murdered by a person or persons unknown. I can't see why we have to go and sit in a stuffy room with all my relatives trying to look sorry when they're told as much.'

Jack grinned. ‘At least the verdict
was
murder by person or persons unknown. I thought old Mr Hunt was going to assault the foreman of the jury for the pointed remarks he made about the coincidence of Helston's disappearance and Valdez's death. You could hear the inverted commas in the chap's voice.' He gravely regarded the head on his beer. ‘I can't blame him, though. After all, it's what we thought ourselves.'

‘It's an idea we considered,' corrected Bill. ‘It's a far cry from seeing the possibility to saying that's what happened. Inquests can be useful, though. From my point of view, I got to have a look at this Laurence Tyrell who's caused all the rumpus and, at the very least, we got to hear Frederick Hunt's story again. He stuck to his guns about the quarrel between Helston and Valdez, didn't he? According to him, Helston didn't like Latins and that was that.'

‘And Patricia Tyrell-as-was-Jaggard contradicted him. It was all very polite and so on, but she didn't agree. I'm inclined to believe her. And yes, before you tell me again, I know that's just her opinion. Dickens of a lot of reporters around, weren't there?'

‘All with their cameras pointed at Pat and Laurence Tyrell,' said Meredith. ‘It's not hard to guess whose picture's going to be on the front of the newspapers tomorrow. Ever since the
Messenger
ran the story about Tyrell's reappearance there's been a constant stream of press-hounds at Neville Square asking for interviews. What beats me is how they got hold of the story.'

He rummaged in the newspapers beside the sofa. ‘Look at this.
War Hero's Return From The Grave. A Wife Who Despaired. Husband's Dilemma.
Columns of the stuff. How on earth do they know? I'm damn sure she didn't tell them. H.R.H. nearly went pop. He wondered if you'd said anything, Jack, but I told him . . .' He broke off and gazed at his friend accusingly. ‘Why are you looking like a stuffed frog? You
didn't
, did you?'

‘Of course I didn't,' said Jack impatiently. ‘It's just – well – you know Jaggard's living at the club at the moment? I bumped into him there after he'd done his trick with the poker. He started on a long, involved apology and was what you might call unguarded in his speech. Ernie Stanhope of the
Messenger
was sitting at a nearby table. His ears were flapping so hard they were causing a draught. I saw Stanhope and tried to choke him off, but it was like stopping a steam train. As I left, Jaggard was pouring out his heart to Stanhope, helped by whisky, and Stanhope was looking like a child on Christmas morning.'

Meredith Smith whistled. ‘It's just as well Pat doesn't know. She'd hand Tyrell the poker herself next time. It beats me how that Jaggard feller ever drives a car, let alone makes them. He seems to spend all of his time half cut.'

Jack shook his head. ‘You're being unfair. He's not really a lush. He's been stone cold sober for the last few days and he's been working flat out down at the track. He's got a race coming up at the weekend.'