Plender (20 page)

“I’m surprised,” I said.

“Surprised?”

“That you like him.”

“Why?”

“I didn’t think he’d be your type.”

This was what she wanted.

“What do you mean?” she said.

“What I say. I’m surprised how you took to him.”

“Yes, but I don’t really understand you. Why shouldn’t I take to him?”

“Well to begin with, what you said before you met him. About the car.”

I chewed my steak and listened to myself, sounding calm and precise and normal. Why didn’t I break down in front of her, the way I had done in front of Plender? Why was I strong now?

“That was before I met him. Before I really knew anything about him.”

“And what do you know now that changes your opinion?”

Kate leant back in her chair, settling to her triumph.

“You don’t like it, do you?” she said.

“Don’t like what?”

“You don’t like me feeling sorry for Plender.”

“Why shouldn’t I like that?”

“Because you think he’s a little shit, the way you did at school. And you don’t like my thinking differently. It’s a kind of threat to you.”

“A threat?”

“Oh, come on,” she said. “You can’t bear it when anybody disagrees with you. Anybody who isn’t with you is agin you. Like a child. You’ve always been like that.”

“I see.”

“Oh God. And now the I’ve-been-hurt-but-I-insist-on- being-dignified bit.”

I put my knife and fork down on my plate.

“I’m right, though,” said Kate. “You put that poor bastard through the mangle at school and now that I say I like him it reminds you of what a rotten bastard
you
were, and you don’t like that, and so you get all paranoid about it.”

“You’re being stupid,” I said.

“I have to be, don’t I? Otherwise why should I disagree with you?”

I got up from the dining table.

“I’m going in the lounge,” I said.

“Of course,” said Kate.

The phone rang as I was walking through.

It was Plender.

“Hello, mate,” he said. “How’s things?”

“Fine,” I said. “I’m fine.”

“Feeling better than you did this morning?”

“Yes,” I said.

“Good. I was hoping you would be because I’m in a bit of a spot. You’d never credit it but I’ve been let down again.”

“Let down?”

“Yes. There’s a client of mine I’d arranged to have met only the laddie who was supposed to meet him has gone and got himself into a spot of bother.”

“What do you want?”

“I know it’s a bit of a bind but I wondered if you’d pop along and do the honours. It shouldn’t take more than an hour. You’ll be back home again by eleven. I’d do it myself but I’m already tied up.”

“Look,” I said, trying to sound sane and reasonable, as if it
was
just an ordinary favour I was being asked. “It’s very difficult . . .”

“All you have to do is meet him then drive him to an address I’ll give you and then leave him on the doorstep.”

I could hear Kate moving about in the dining room.

“Are you sure?” I said.

“How do you mean?”

“Are you sure that’s all?”

“Of course that’s all.”

“Listen,” I said, “you’ve got to stop phoning me here. I can’t tell Kate it’s you all the time or she’ll wonder why.”

“And she’ll wonder why if you
don’t
tell her it’s me,” he said. “I get the picture. Not to worry. I shan’t do it again, not for this kind of reason, anyway. It’s just unfortunate the way it’s turned out, the fact I’ve been let down twice since I bumped into you. Honestly, if I could get somebody else, I would. Anyway tonight you’ve got a built in excuse for the wife. Why I phoned, I mean. Tell her I was thanking you both for such a delightful evening.”

“Yes,” I said.

“All right?”

“Yes.”

“Fine. So if you can be at Peggy’s Bar at nine thirty . . ..”

I couldn’t believe what he was saying.

“Where?” I said.

“Peggy’s Bar. Why, what’s up?”

“What are you trying to do?”

“I don’t quite follow you.”

“Peggy’s Bar. You know I can’t go there.”

“Why not?”

I closed my eyes.

“God,” I said. “Listen. Just listen. You know how I feel. You must know. How can I walk in there knowing what I know. Remembering Saturday. Knowing about . . ..”

I couldn’t say the name.

“You mean thinking I killed Peggy?”

I didn’t say anything.

“But I didn’t.”

All right, I thought. I can’t explain my real reasons. You won’t let me. You don’t want to understand. I’ll take it at your level.

“The police might not think it was suicide,” I said. “They might be watching the place.”

“Not a chance,” he said. “They’re well satisfied. I can tell you that for nothing.”

I wanted to cry.

“But I can’t go back there,” I said. “I can’t.”

“Just put it at the back of your mind,” he said. “You’ll be as right as rain.”

I couldn’t find any more words.

“Peter?” he said. “You all right?”

“Tell me who I’m to meet,” I said.

“That’s the spirit,” he said. “And I promise, this is definitely the last time.”

PLENDER

At quarter to ten I dialed Knott’s number. After a little while the receiver at the other end was lifted and I heard Kate Knott’s voice give their phone number.

“Hello,” I said. “Is that Kate?”

“Yes,” she said, not recognising my voice over the phone.

“It’s Brian here,” I said. “Brian Plender. Is Peter there?”

“No,” she said. “He’s gone out for a drink.”

“Not to worry,” I said, “it’s you I ought to speak to really. I was only phoning to say thanks for last night. It was really great.”

There was a pause while she remembered what Knott had told her earlier.

“Oh,” she said. “I see. Well, that’s nice of you, Brian. I’ll tell Peter you called.”

“Is anything wrong?” I said.

“No,” she said. “Nothing. I was dozing when you phoned. I’m not properly awake yet.”

“Trust me,” I said. “I never dreamt you’d be in bed. I’m terribly sorry.”

“No, I wasn’t in bed. I just fell asleep in the chair. Please don’t worry. Actually I’m glad you woke me up.”

“That’s all right, then.”

I waited.

“Brian?” she said.

“Yes?”

“I know this sounds a stupid question, but. . . you didn’t phone earlier, did you?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You didn’t phone Peter? Earlier?”

“No,” I said. “Why?”

“It doesn’t matter,” she said.

“What makes you think I phoned earlier?”

“Nothing,” she said. “Just something Peter said.”

I pretended to let the penny drop and began to play the faithful friend doing a swift cover-up job.

“Well, I did try and get him at work this morning, as a matter of fact, but he was out and I had to leave a message. That’s probably what he was talking about.”

“No,” she said, coldly, choosing not to be let off the hook. “No, it was definitely this evening he meant. About an hour ago.”

“Well one of you must be mixed up,” I said. “Because I’m sure it would have been this morning he was on about.”

“Peter answered the phone an hour ago. I asked him who it was and he said it was you, phoning to thank us for last night. He was most specific.”

It was going better than I’d hoped.

“Well, I wonder why on earth he should say that?” I said, letting the false innocence in my voice be thin enough to let her hear the suspicion underneath.

“Do you?” she said.

I allowed a small pause before I said, “Look, I know this is none of my business . . . but somehow I seemed to have dropped Peter in it. I’m terribly sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” she said. “It’s not your fault.”

“No, I know,” I said, “but Peter’s a mate of mine. I don’t know what this is about, but I now feel terrible. If I hadn’t have phoned, then this wouldn’t have happened.”

“It would, I’m afraid,” she said. “Sooner or later.”

“Oh,” I said. “Bad as that.”

She didn’t answer.

“Look,” I said. “I know this may sound . . . I don’t know . . . anyway, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell Peter. That I phoned, I mean.” I pretended to search for words. “What I mean is, whatever happens, I don’t want him thinking I was the one to drop him in the cart. I know it sounds stupid, but . . ..”

“No, I won’t tell him,” she said. “It doesn’t actually hinge on this phone call.”

“Thanks,” I said.

There was a silence. Then I said, “I know I only met you last night, but you being Peter’s wife, and me knowing him from way back . . . what I’m trying to say is, if there’s anything you feel you want to talk over at any time, if you feel you could use some help, advice, anything like that, well, you can always give me a ring. As I say, I know last night was the first time we met, but, you know, it’s up to you. If you feel you can, then just pick up the phone. I’d like to help, if you felt that I could.”

KNOTT

I walked into Peggy’s Bar. It was packed. What had happened to Peggy must have been good for business. But I was glad that the bar was crowded. The less like it had been on Saturday the better. Wastes of emptiness would only make my memories worse, and they were bad enough even away from this place.

I pushed my way through to the bar and bought a drink, a large whisky, and went and stood near the third alcove along, the way I’d been told to. Except that wasn’t quite right, I’d been told to sit down there, in the alcove, but all the alcoves were packed, four to a bench seat. So I stood near the third alcove along and waited for Mr. Reed to appear. Businessman. Middle forties. Thin on top. Cavalry moustache. Carrying a copy of
Mayfair
magazine. He’d be expecting to meet a girl called Lesley, and Lesley’s friend, Camille, Plender had said. They all expected to meet the girls in the bar, but there was always an intermediary, just to make sure.

I concentrated on the people in the bar, using them to obstruct the bar itself, so that the décor wouldn’t bring back the events of Saturday night. But everywhere I looked, it was myself and Eileen that I saw, going through the motions of our date. But by now, I was coming to a kind of acceptance of my dreadful memories, so that now the dreadfulness was dull and aching in my stomach, instead of attacking my brain and stinging me with panic. It was as if my nerve ends had been cauterised so that I couldn’t feel pain anymore, but at the same time, if I were to put my hands in the fire, the memory of pain would pulse slowly through my body. The worst thoughts I had now concerned the future, the worst of all being when was I ever going to feel something other than guilt and fear. Would I ever be able to laugh without the memory of what had happened rising up in my throat? Would I ever wake up in the morning without my first thoughts being of Eileen’s dead face? When would there be an evening without my dreading a phone call from Plender?

There was a movement near the alcove. A man paused, surprised, then moved on quickly. It was Reed, I was sure. I watched him for a moment or two. He looked back at the booth, just to make sure he hadn’t made a mistake. Then he looked round the bar and I was able to have a good look at his face. He was as Plender had described him, but beneath his Gannex coat I could see the knot of a gaily coloured cravat and his trousers didn’t belong to a business suit. He turned a full circle and made uneasily for the bar.

I waited for him to order his drink then I threaded my way through the tables and stood next to him at the bar. I ordered another drink for myself and pretended to be looking at people on either side of Reed, while in fact most of the time I was watching his face. He was sweating but his skin wasn’t flushed; it was very pale and white, the colour of ice cream. His eyes flicked towards the door each time someone new came into the bar, and each time he took a sip of his drink when he looked away again.

It was a strange feeling, standing next to a man who didn’t know you, yet knowing exactly why he was there and what you were going to say to him, knowing that he would be off his guard when you spoke, surprised. Perhaps a little frightened.

He caught me looking at him, then looked away quickly. I saw in his glance exactly what he was thinking; I was trying to pick him up. It made me smile a grim smile. Me, of all people. In this place, of all places.

I said to him, “Mr. Reed?”

He looked at me, startled into blankness. He didn’t speak.

“Mr. Reed?” I said again.

He looked me up and down, drawing away from me slightly.

“Are you waiting for Lesley and Camille?”

“Who
are
you?” he said.

“It’s all right,” I said. “I’m here on their behalf.”

“Who are you?”

“You are Mr. Reed? The Mr. Reed who replied to the magazine?”

He didn’t answer.

“Don’t worry,” I said. “I’m from the magazine, not the police station.”

I listened to myself talking. I sounded like a different person.

He still didn’t say anything.

“The thing is,” I said, “it’s always done this way. To protect our advertisers. On both sides.”

“Why wasn’t I told in the letter?”

“We don’t like to make our advertisers unduly nervous. We don’t like them to feel even the suggestion that a small fraction of our advertisers may not be genuine, not at that stage.”

“What about now?”

“I’m sure that within half an hour you’ll be convinced that there’s no need for nervousness. As will the two clients you’re making contact with.”

There was relief in the way I was talking. By being businesslike and calm I was able to get away from myself for a short while.

I wondered if Plender did it this way. And I wondered what he’d think of my own approach.

“Well it’s very worrying when you’re not expecting anything like this,” he said, looking about him as if to make sure there were no more surprises looming close by.

“I can understand that,” I said. “But the sooner we get on our way the better you’ll feel.”

“On
our
way.”

“I’m just an intermediary,” I said. “I take you to the house and then I leave you.”

“Why don’t you just give me the address?”