Murder... Now and Then (30 page)

They hadn't been invited to the wedding; he had half expected that they might be, because he had met Judy's father twice since the engagement party; by accident the first time, and by arrangement the second, when John Russell, who determinedly avoided being known as Jack, had suggested that he might like to join him in a day's fishing.

Lloyd was no fisherman, but he had got on well with John Russell, and they had ended the day in a pub, sampling malt whiskies, at Lloyd's suggestion. John had told him the date of the wedding; Lloyd had hoped that that didn't mean he and Barbara were invited, and as it turned out, they hadn't been. In fact, Lloyd had the impression that her father knew the situation; perhaps Judy had confided in him, and perhaps the fishing expedition had been a gentle warning-off. Or perhaps he was just curious to see what sort of man his daughter had fallen for, that she was prepared to marry someone else altogether to avoid the temptation.

Lloyd had got tickets for the Cup Final; he returned the favour by asking Judys father if he would like to go, and they had another date to look forward to. He sighed. He was having a great deal more success with her father than he had ever had with her. He hoped her father knew that.

The lights went up; bearded people with frameless spectacles started discussing what they had just seen. Paper cups of tea were included in the price of membership; Lloyd went to get one, not because he wanted one, but because he didn't want to run the risk of being called upon to have an in-depth discussion on a film he really hadn't been watching.

Biscuits, too, he noticed. He reached out for the last Penguin, and his hand collided with that of someone else on a similar quest. He smiled at the girl. ‘You have it,' he said.

‘Oh, I think you saw it first,' she said.

‘No, no,' he said. You take it. I can't say I have any real desire for a Penguin biscuit. I was just taking it because it was there, really.'

She laughed. ‘So was I,' she said. ‘ Shall we leave it for someone who really needs it?'

He laughed too.

‘Well,' she said. ‘ What did you think?' She nodded her head towards the blank screen.

Oh, God. Lloyd had to own up. ‘ I'm afraid I stopped watching after about half an hour,' he said. ‘I may even have dropped off.'

‘Oh, good! I thought I was the only one. To be quite honest,' she said, ‘I only joined because I thought I might get to know people.' She looked round a little warily. ‘I'm not really sure I want to,' she said.

‘Oh, I hope that doesn't extend to me,' he said. ‘Are you new to the area too?'

‘Yes. Are you?'

‘We moved here about three months ago,' he said. ‘I thought I was interested in films,' he added. ‘ But I think I probably like what you might call movies, rather than films.' He sipped his tea, which had achieved a tastelessness unrivalled even by water.

‘What do you do?' she asked.

‘Policeman,' he said.

‘Oh, that's interesting,' she said. ‘Can I ask what sort?'

‘Detective Inspector,' he said, still quite proud of the rank. ‘And you?'

‘I'm a violinist,' she said.

Lloyd's eyebrows rose. He had expected, male chauvinist and untutored backwoods Welshman that he was, that she would say she was a secretary. ‘Are you really? It's my turn to ask what sort.'

‘Oh, I'm no virtuoso,' she said. ‘Just a rank and file player. BBC Symphony Orchestra.'

The lights flashed, and went down, and they looked at one another.

‘There's no law says we have to watch the other one,' Lloyd said.

‘You should know.'

‘Would you … would you like to go for a drink, or a coffee or something?'he asked.

‘Yes, please,' she said.

Victor looked at Anna's wardrobe, and closed his eyes, shaking his head in disbelief.

‘I don't want to take much of what I've got here,' she said.

‘Get your coat on. We're going shopping.' He sighed. ‘ I take it you have some idea of how normal people dress?'

‘Yes,' she said, insulted. ‘I've got one or two good things. I wore this to that hotel.'

She reached in and took out an outfit that wasn't at all in bad taste, but it was cheap; it had market stall written all over it.

‘All right' he said. ‘Put that on. You can choose what clothes you want, but if I don't like them, you don't get them. Understood?'

She smiled. ‘Fine,' she said, and went into the other room.

He looked round the little flat in which she no longer entertained customers, and could see why she had taken him up on his offer. Most of the stuff was the landlord's, anyway, and what little was hers had seen much better days, doubtless in someone else's possession. He hadn't been sure, despite the inducements on offer, that she had been going to accept. Anna was a great deal brighter than most of the people he had to deal with, and he had thought that she might lack against the idea of serfdom, which was, of course, what it was.

But Anna loathed the life she had been leading. Strange men hour after hour, night after night, any one of whom might turn nasty. People like Bannister taking liberties with her, rousing the quick temper that got her into trouble if she wasn't careful, and had got her into trouble with Holyoak himself more than once. But he could subdue her quickly enough; if she was coming to Holland, she had to be put to good use, and the intelligence that produced the temper would be working for him. His business associate had been more than happy with her, Victor could teach her to look and sound expensive, which would add to her value.

‘The agency has located Catherine,' he told her when she came out, looking presentable at last.

‘Oh, good,' she said, with very real relief. She had been in real trouble about that, and she knew it. Had it been possible, Victor would have abandoned the idea of taking her with him, because of that lapse. But what had been an option had become a necessity, and Victor had always made virtues out of necessities. He would with Anna; she would be very careful not to let him down again.

Anna lived and had always lived in a world where violence lurked round every corner, and she wanted out. He was offering her a life with a veneer finish of glamour, and protection from everyone but him. All she had to do to ensure that he wasn't a threat was what she was told.

He and Anna got into the car; the driver pulled smoothly away from the kerb, and the car wound its way through the rundown streets, through more popular territory, with trees and burglar alarms, and out into the busy traffic, heading towards the sorts of shops that Anna had only ever dreamed about. Victor wanted to be certain of Anna's loyalty, and offering her a total contrast from her previous existence was the best way to be certain.

She took a cigarette from her bag; Victor plucked it from her fingers, wound down the window, and threw it out. ‘When you go to Holland, it will be a whole new life,' he said. ‘For a start, no swearing – and no smoking.'

‘I couldn't survive without cigarettes,' she said, dipping into the packet for another.

‘Stop the car,' he said quietly, and the car stopped immediately, in the middle of the street. Car horns sounded, a taxi driver gesticulated with one hand while pumping the horn with the other. Victor just looked at Anna, while the cacophony grew louder. He let the noise outside grow as her eyes widened with apprehension; he didn't speak.

The noise was deafening as the traffic ground to a halt for the length of the street two policemen were crossing the road through the immobile vehicles, heading for the Daimler. Anna looked at the cigarettes, and then at him. She handed them to him, and he dropped them out of the window.

‘OK,' he told the driver, and the car moved off again just as the police were arriving. The taxi driver overtook them, shouting obscenities. Victor closed the window, and settled back.

He had got Bannister to do what he wanted by the use of violence, and the threat of even greater violence to come if he didn't do as he was told. But that would be no good with Anna; he had known that from the moment he had threatened her over the business about Wilkes. Bannister wasn't frightened of pain; he had a quite proper respect for it which Victor had considerably reinforced. But violence appalled Anna; it frightened her much too much, and frightened people couldn't function properly.

The threat of losing the security he was offering, the protection, the
freedom
from fear – that was what he had realized would work with her. He had given her a brief taste of that freedom over the last few weeks, and she desperately wanted to hang on to it. The alternative was known, and hated, and she would do anything to avoid it. The idea of going back to it thoroughly alarmed her; it didn't render her witless.

By the time he deposited her back at the flat, he was the possessor of several hundreds of pounds' worth of women's clothing, which would be packed up and sent ahead.

‘Wear that when we travel,' he said, pointing to what she was wearing.

She nodded.

‘And hang on to it,' he said. ‘ Because if you ever let me down again, you'll need it.'

Anna understood the position.

‘That was really good,' said Max, as he put his knife and fork neatly together, and picked up the ice-cold Coke that Zelda had produced for him to wash down his meal. He didn't really like fizzy soft drinks any more than he liked alcohol, but be wouldn't have dreamed of refusing.

He had been working for Zelda for almost three months now; he had never worked for a woman, and so far, he had found it just as pleasant as any of the other things he did with women. She was friendly and open, if she needed advice she asked for it, and if she thought he needed advice, she gave it. It was a close working relationship; it had been Jimmy who had done what he was doing, and they had run the business together. Now she was running it with Max instead, but the closeness was still there.

He smiled. ‘And it was really good of you to invite me,' he said. ‘Or I'd have had to go hungry again.'

She looked at him with not a little scepticism. ‘Are you really incapable of making yourself a meal, Max?' she asked.

He drank some Coke, and wiped away the froth. ‘ Well – I could produce something,' he said. ‘But if I sound plaintive enough other people make much nicer things for me.' He grinned. ‘It was Geraldine who was feeding me on evening-class nights,' he said. ‘But she's got to do all the evening surgeries now that Charles is on the campaign trail.'

Zelda laughed, and got up from the table. ‘ Charles campaigning for the Conservatives,' she said. ‘Whatever next? I don't think Geraldine will ever forgive him.' She took away the plates. ‘It's nice to have someone to cook for again,' she said as she went into the kitchen. ‘Even if Charles does think I killed Jimmy,' she added, her voice suddenly light and tearful.

Max got up and followed her into the kitchen. ‘I'm sure he thinks nothing of the sort,' he said.

‘He said his diet killed him,' she said. ‘It's just food. Ordinary food. Meat and potatoes. If you've been working all day, you need something substantial—' She blinked quickly.

‘Hey, come on,' said Max, taking the plates from her and putting them down. ‘Come and sit down. You mustn't let Charles upset you – he's just got a bee in his bonnet about this fitness thing.'

He led her into the sitting room, and sat with her on the sofa. ‘Now,' he said. ‘Charles would be horrified if he thought he'd made you think that. You know he would.'

‘What else am I supposed to think? He goes on about diet and fatty foods killing Jimmy – I'm the one who gave him them!'

‘No,' said Max. ‘He just thinks that people should perhaps look at the way they treat their bodies, that's all. Lack of exercise, smoking, working too hard – it's not just diet.'

‘I always gave him the best of everything,' she said.

‘I'm sure you did. And I don't think Charles would be talking about what he ate at home,' he added. ‘He'd be talking about grabbing hamburgers and stuff like that while he was working.'

‘Yes,' she said, her voice small. ‘He did do that. He'd stay at work long after I'd left. And then he'd come home and say he'd eaten.'

‘Well, there you are,' Max said. ‘That's the sort of thing he means. Poor Charles – he'd hate to think he'd made you feel responsible.'

She gave him a little smile. ‘Oh, Max, I am sorry,' she said. ‘Going on about Jimmy. It's just that – I suppose it was just … well, having you here. It just … reminded me, I suppose.'

‘Would you rather I went?' asked Max.

‘Oh, no.' Her hand covered his. ‘No. Please – I'd like you to stay.' And she looked at him.

He knew that look. He wasn't sure what it was he did to women. It really wasn't at all calculated, though people like Charles thought it had to be, and didn't believe him when he protested his innocence. It seemed to Max that when he was between extra-marital attachments, he must have some sort of aura or something that lent him desirability. He had no idea what it was, but he was very glad of it. And perhaps he could stop thinking about Catherine.

She had phoned him at work, saying that she had to talk to him. He hadn't the heart, or the willpower, to refuse to see her, and his valiant attempts to forget her had been sabotaged. He was seeing her on Thursday, and had been thinking of nothing else since she had called. Perhaps Zelda would help; she was lonely, missing Jimmy. She needed someone too.

He was kissing her, reaching for her as naturally and as casually as other men might reach for a drink or a cigar. The kiss was returned, and, of course, it didn't stop there.

And now, at her suggestion, they were in bed. But the shift of scene from the clothed excitement of the sitting room to the clinical nakedness of the bedroom had made Zelda uncomfortable; Max could see that. She was going to go through with it, of course, but that wasn't Max's style at all. She should enjoy it as much as he did, or in his opinion it was a waste of one of the world's great pleasures, and better abandoned.