The Devil in Disguise (13 page)

Harry laughed. ‘I'd expect nothing less of political animals.'

‘Believe me, the Tories won't be the target. In any group of people, the enemy within is always the real danger. The committee may have no time for the Matthew Cullinans of this world, but the people they really hate are the comrades who cross their paths on their own territory.'

‘Why don't you tell me more?' Harry asked gently.

She took another sip from her drink. ‘My father was a strong-minded man. He spoke his mind, didn't care who he upset if he believed he was right. It's not a recipe for popularity. One fine day, when I was still at school, his manager sacked him. It was a terrible disgrace. Nothing personal, mind. All the bar staff went. Money had gone missing and no-one could prove who had taken it. So the committee decided it was safest to dismiss the whole bunch of them.'

‘Employers still do that.'

‘And it's no fairer now than it was then,' Kim said fiercely. ‘My father suffered from that act of cowardice for the rest of his life. Oh, he found other work. He was good at the job, no-one could deny that, and he didn't mind long hours. But his heart was never in it afterwards. He'd been accused of stealing and nothing could ever be the same again. Even the blow to his pride didn't hurt as much as the frustration of having done nothing wrong, yet being punished at least as much as the true culprit. Whoever that was.'

‘Agatha Christie called it an ordeal by innocence.'

‘A good way of putting it.' Kim gave a bleak smile. ‘I

never thought of your beloved Dame Agatha as a social commentator.'

‘She never tried to be. That's the whole point. But I didn't mean to distract you. What happened to your father?'

‘They broke him. He had a heart attack when I was sixteen. At least it was a quick end. But he was only fifty-three. Such a waste.'

‘I'm sorry.'

She touched his hand. ‘Ever since then, I've felt a kind of personal responsibility to make sure that things are put right.'

‘You feel you owe it to your father?'

‘Exactly - but it's an impossible task. For every miscarriage that can be rectified, a dozen others pass unnoticed. However hard MOJO tries. And that's something else I need to put in the balance: even if I take this job in London, what are the chances that I will manage to make any difference? Is it simple vanity that makes me think I can?'

They finished their drinks in silence, while the sound of Gene Pitney drifted across the room. He was singing ‘True Love Never Runs Smooth'.

‘Too right, Gene,' Harry muttered.

‘Sorry. I didn't catch that.'

‘Nothing.' Besides, was what he felt really love? Harry could not be sure; perhaps he should take that as proof that it was not. He cared for Kim, cared deeply. But it was not the same as the love he had felt for Liz. ‘Let me buy you another drink and then we'll find a seat next door before the show begins.'

As they left, he couldn't help noticing the latest on the television screen. One of the boxers was sprawled across the canvas; his right eye was closed and blood was leaking from a cut on his temple. The referee had raised the victor's arm aloft. Someone had switched up the volume and the commentator was talking about another triumph for the champion.

By the time they were settled in the concert room, a compère had appeared on the stage and started cracking politically incorrect jokes that would have had the chic socialists of Hampstead and Islington retching into their vodka and limes. A story about a bad-tempered barmaid and three Irishmen with a speech impediment had even Harry cringing. But the regulars loved it. Especially when the compère confessed that he came from Kirkby. A place so rough, he said, that the first prize in the local pub quiz was an alibi for two for a fortnight. But it was better than Wigan, a parochial town, where a kebab was no more than a meat pie on a stick.

The daughter of one of the committee members made a brief onslaught upon the greatest hits of Shirley Bassey before the Great Timothy was at last introduced. Tim Aldred strode out on to the stage kitted out in top hat and tails and brandishing his wand as if he were conducting at the Last Night of the Proms. The top hat was slightly askew, the jacket carelessly buttoned. Harry's heart sank: Tim might be able to get away with an act that had been out of date in the fifties when entertaining the Darby and Joans. A Labour Club, even on a charity night, was a different proposition. There was a ripple of applause, but plenty of people in the audience kept talking as Tim started his patter. When he asked for a volunteer, a youth in an ill-fitting suit who had evidently taken advantage of the all-day drinking laws put up his hand. After Tim chose a meek woman with acne to assist him, the drunk started shouting abuse until a heavy in a dicky bow put a menacing hand on his shoulder.

‘Nice suit, young man,' Tim said. ‘Got it in a car boot sale, did you?'

The youth bellowed something unintelligible. Tim shook his head sadly. ‘Now I've heard everything - a dyslexic heckler.'

It began to dawn on Harry that the Great Timothy had little in common with the Tim Aldred he thought he knew. He had a nice line in self-mockery and an unexpectedly quick wit. And he was good, very good, at conjuring. In truth, there was nothing unexpected in the tricks that he performed. Bits of nonsense with playing cards, silk handkerchiefs and a ten-pound note were followed by a sequence in which he invited his helper to bind his wrists with rope and then tie him to a chair. The knots seemed elaborate and impenetrable, but with a shrug of the shoulders he freed himself and took a bow. He sent the woman back to her seat, and then called her back to recover the bracelet which he had discovered inside the crown of his top hat. For a finale, he lay on the stage and covered himself in a huge black cloak. A drum rolled and gradually it seemed that he was levitating above the ground.

By now, the audience's chatter had died away. Even the drunk was quiet. When the Great Timothy landed back on terra firma, shrugged off the cloak and took a bow, the applause was hearty and prolonged. As the curtain fell, Harry turned to look at Kim. To his surprise, her brow was furrowed.

‘Penny for them.'

She started guiltily. ‘Oh, it's nothing. Nothing.'

Disco lights began to flash and the thud of dance music echoed around the room. He said, ‘Shall we escape next door?'

‘Good idea.'

‘So what did you think of the Great Timothy?' he asked after he had replenished their glasses.

‘I recognise him from somewhere. It will bug me until I remember.'

‘Let me know when it comes back to you. In the meantime, how do you rate his act?'

‘Fun,' she said. ‘Simple stuff compared to the illusions you see on the box, but he put it over well.'

Harry nodded. ‘“It's the way you tell 'em.” I must admit I hadn't expected him to be such an accomplished performer. I couldn't help thinking back to when I was a kid. Magic fascinated me. I seem to remember that at the age of nine, it was my ambition to become a conjuror.'

‘Seriously?'

‘Seriously. My parents even bought me a magic set. As I recall, it contained a simple version of the rope trick Tim performed. Trouble was, I kept forgetting to make sure that the cord went the right way around my wrists. Result: I was trussed up without a hope of making an escape. Houdini must have been spinning in his grave.'

She laughed. ‘So you decided on mature reflection to concentrate your efforts on hocus-pocus in the Liverpool magistrates'?'

‘The only spells they understand involve a couple of years inside. Ah, here's the Great Timothy in person! Good to see you. This is Kim Lawrence. Kim, meet the star of tonight's show.'

Tim Aldred smiled. ‘Enjoy it?'

‘Wonderful. You're wasted at children's parties.'

‘You think so? I promise you, compared to a dozen eight-year-olds, performing in front of this lot is child's play. All the same, a pint of bitter will do no harm.'

‘I haven't been to a magic show since I was a kid,' Kim said after Harry returned from the bar. ‘And I loved it.'

Tim nodded. A dreamy look came into his eyes. ‘I got the bug myself when I was nine or ten. A boy I knew had a birthday party with an old man pulling rabbits out of a hat. The whole class was invited. Most of the lads weren't impressed; television had spoiled them. But I was entranced and went straight to the local library so I could borrow every book they had on magic. I felt that if I kept people entertained, they would accept me. I learned to play the piano as well. Same reason. Sounds pathetic, I realise that, but I'd always been a bit of a loner, an odd one out. Still am, I suppose.'

‘You've always worked in show business?' she asked.

‘Heavens, that's too glamorous a name for it. And the answer is no. Perhaps I lacked the courage of my convictions. I let my mother persuade me that I needed a proper job. The only time in my life I didn't do as she said was when I married young. Of course, I should have listened to Mum. Soon I had not only a wife, but two little girls and a mortgage to cope with. I spent too long working for a firm of ship repairers before I saw the light.'

‘You gave up your job?'

‘It gave me up,' he said uneasily. ‘Fewer vessels on the river; those that remained were better built, less in need of our services. I finished up on the dole. By then my wife had long since run off with someone she worked with, and taken our daughters down to Slough with her fancy man. And my mother had died.' He paused, as if casting his mind back to the past. ‘Eventually, I realised that for the first time in my life, I was able to please myself. So I became a magician and occasional pub pianist. And I love it, believe me, I love it.'

Kim said, ‘One thing has been bothering me all evening. Have you and I ever met before?'

Tim studied her face, as if seeing her for the first time. ‘I'm sure I would have remembered,' he said. No question, Harry thought. His smile was anxious.

‘It's only that... oh, never mind.'

‘I'm a very ordinary-looking chap,' he said. ‘I expect you've confused me with someone else. Anyway, I'm glad that the two of you were able to make it. Thanks for coming.'

Harry said, ‘At least tonight we don't have to plough through a pile of minutes or discuss the latest appeals for funds.'

‘Thank God. It can be wearisome.'

‘And Luke worked so hard on behalf of the Trust, his suicide is bound to throw an additional burden on the remaining trustees.' Harry paused. ‘I suppose it
was
suicide?'

Tim started. ‘What do you mean? You think it was an accident?'

‘Not necessarily. As you demonstrated on stage, appearances can be deceptive.'

‘That was entirely different. Personally, I've always thought that Luke killed himself.'

‘But why? He was a successful man. Well-respected, in good health as far as anyone knew, not short of money. His death is inexplicable.'

Tim shrugged. ‘Inexplicable things happen all the time. As for the Trust, well, Luke's death is a serious blow. But thank God we have Frances Silverwood. She's as sound as Luke - and a marvellous person. We're lucky to have her.'

‘I agree. And then there's Matthew Cullinan.'

‘I'm sure he's very capable,' Tim said stiffly. ‘But I must say - this is just between you and me - I find him rather patronising.'

‘I don't expect Roy will allow him to get on his high horse too often. He has a flair for bringing people like that down to size.' When Tim grunted in response, Harry added quickly, ‘Don't you agree?'

‘I must be honest with you. As far as I'm concerned, Frances and Luke have been carrying the Trust for a long time. Frankly, Roy couldn't care less about managing the investments or checking out applications for funding. It takes up too much valuable drinking time. Besides, it's not his money, so he's not bothered. We'd be bankrupt tomorrow if it were left to him. In fact, as far as I can see, we are close to the precipice right now.' He leaned forward. ‘I think it's time for a few hard questions to be put to our so-called treasurer. Gervase Kavanaugh endowed the Trust generously. Charles was always supportive. What I'd like to know is: where did all the money go?'

Harry said quietly, ‘Where do you think it went?'

‘How should I know? I'm no accountant.' Tim hesitated. ‘But as you found out yourself the other day, I take a professional interest in the watches people wear. Look, Harry. I know you act for Roy Milburn and I don't expect you to comment on this. But you might like to ask yourself one thing. Your client spends half his time in an alcoholic haze and isn't exactly a high earner. So how did he afford the new Rolex he was wearing at Luke's funeral?'

Chapter 11

By noon the next day, Harry was starting to think that he too qualified for membership of the Magic Circle. Roy Milburn had been banned from driving, but his fine had been affordable and, even though this was his second over-the-limit offence, there had been no prison sentence. Inside the courtroom, Roy had been neat and respectable in his wool and polyester suit - nothing too flash - and had bowed his head in remorse as the prosecution recounted his misdeeds. No-one but himself had been hurt in the crash and he was the very model of a sadder and wiser man. Harry's plea in mitigation had gone like a dream. It was a great escape: the heroes of Colditz would have been envious.

Once they were outside the court building, Roy punched the air and let out a roar of delight. Davey Damnation paused in the middle of a diatribe about Jezebel seducing her servants to commit fornication and pointed a bony finger.

‘And when the thousand years are expired, Satan shall be loosed out of his prison!'

‘What about time off for bad behaviour?' Roy asked cheerily.

The brimstone and treacle man glared at him and moved forward, arms aloft, as if to strike a blow. But Roy simply whooped with laughter and tossed a twenty-pound note into Davey's upturned hat, threw an arm around Harry's shoulder and began to limp along the street.