Goodmans of Glassford Street (8 page)

She began to feel more positive and cheerful. Yes, she was really looking forward to her visit.

‘You’re spoiling them, darling,’ Moira said. Sam Webster went on handing out notes to each of his daughters.

‘They work hard and deserve a bit of a reward now and again. Away and treat yourselves, girls.’

‘Thanks, Daddy.’ His daughters hugged and kissed him before hurrying off to examine all the windows of the Princes Square speciality and designer-label shops. They’d all enjoyed a good dinner in the downstairs courtyard and he and Moira had just been served with coffee.

They looked out on to a huge area with a brightly coloured floor and, overhead, was a clear glass roof. At one side stood a grand piano. Nobody was playing it at the moment but often there was a pianist there. People would lean from the upper galleries to look and listen. Sometimes there would be a group playing or a choir singing. The place had a great variety of restaurants as well as shops, and a wall of paintings and counters of silver and jewellery. You name it, Princes Square had it, and all at the luxury end of the market. To think that it had once been a dark, dirty lane with stables and offices and coach houses. Now even the outside on Buchanan Street was luxurious and impressive. Glass arched canopies contained within flowing wrought metalwork extended over the pavement. High on top of the building sat a huge silver peacock with its silver tail stretched wide, and hanging from the edge of the roof was a line of silver chandeliers.

Moira sighed. ‘I wish you didn’t need to keep going away down south. I hate it when you’re away from home. It’s not so bad when it’s just somewhere in Scotland where you can get back the same day, or the next morning.’

‘I hate it too, Moira, but it’s the nature of the job.’

She sighed again. ‘I know, but I can’t help hating it at times.’

Oh, didn’t he hate it at times too! The words ‘away down south’ immediately brought back all the worries and now horrors of South Castle-on-Sea. When Mrs Goodman announced she was coming with him, he had gone rigid with shock and horror. What on earth had possessed her – now of all times – to suddenly decide to go to South Castle-on-Sea? Things had been bad enough without her adding to the problem and complicating the situation even further. How on earth was he going to prevent her bumping into Viv? Or Viv seeing them? He could skulk around the back streets. Mrs Goodman would not. She would expect him to show her around all the best parts and Viv’s B. & B. was in the best part, on the seafront, looking right onto the pier. Indeed, Mrs Goodman would wonder why he didn’t book her in there. He had compromised by booking a couple of rooms in a good hotel on the seafront, but away at the other end from Viv’s place.

He was still in an agony of anxiety and suspense. In the end, he decided it might be best to write to Viv or phone her and tell her that he was coming with his boss on his next visit. He would not be staying in her place because, as he’d already made plain, their relationship was over and he thought it wiser in the circumstances to make a booking elsewhere.

Otherwise, if Viv did bump into him with Mrs Goodman, she might think he’d got another woman and be enraged. There was no telling what Viv was capable of. Mrs Goodman was older than him, but she was a nice-looking woman with her blonde hair and shapely figure. She didn’t look her age.

He phoned eventually and was much relieved to get Viv’s answering machine. Better that than having to have any sort of conversation with her.

The few days at work passed almost in a dream. Or a nightmare, to be more accurate. Moira noticed and said worriedly, ‘Sam, is there something wrong? You look so tense.’

‘Oh, I suppose it’s just the thought of the boss coming with me on this next trip. I’m not sure what her idea is. She says she just wants to meet the inventor but it feels as if she’s going to be watching my every move.’

‘I’m sure it’ll be just as she says, darling. Why should she want to watch your every move? You’re one of her most successful employees. She’s never had any complaints about you, has she?’

‘No.’

‘Well, then.’

‘It just doesn’t seem right.’

Moira gave him a comforting kiss. ‘Try to relax, Sam. Just do your job the same as usual. And it’s only for a few days, after all.’

He nodded. But he couldn’t relax. Who could, even if they had nothing to hide? Anybody would feel a bit tense and anxious with thoughts of the boss breathing down their neck from morning to night. Even just for a few days.

He even worried about Viv not getting the message he’d left on her answering machine. Often landladies went away in the winter. The summer was the busy time in all the seaside hotels and B. & B.s. In the winter, there was never much – if any – trade and so most landladies and hotel owners took a winter holiday abroad.

What if Viv had been away and didn’t get his message, and then saw him with Mrs Goodman? Bad enough to see him at all, but to see him with an attractive woman … But now he was being ridiculous. He knew it. Even if she’d been abroad, or away anywhere, Viv would still get the message. The first thing most people did on their return was play back their answering machine messages.

She could still pester him, though, or do something to purposely cause trouble. He cursed the day he’d walked into her B. & B. From the moment he’d arrived at the reception desk, she was on to him. She gave him every ‘come on’ signal in the book. She even came out with corny things like, ‘It’s not often I get such a tall, dark and handsome man in here looking for a bed.’

He had smiled. Otherwise he’d tried to ignore her unexpected behaviour. This wasn’t his normal reception in hotels. And anyway, he was tired after a long drive and just wanted a drink and to relax. He’d thought of Moira and the wonderfully relaxing atmosphere of their pretty little bungalow in respectable Bearsden. And he wished he was back there.

But there was no wishing a woman like Viv away. He had been flattered by her eager attention, of course, and he had succumbed to her charms. Idiot that he had been. He might have known that a woman like that was bound to cause trouble. Well, no use berating himself now. He’d just have to get on with it as best he could. After all, maybe Viv would accept his words as final and make no trouble at all. He couldn’t convince himself and when it came to the actual day of the journey to South Castle-on-Sea, he was stiff with apprehension.

Mrs Goodman noticed. ‘You’re unusually quiet, Mr Webster.’

‘Sorry, I’ve a lot on my mind at the moment.’

‘Is there anything I can do to help?’

‘No, it’s personal stuff. But thanks all the same. Now, where would you like to stop for coffee?’ He forced his voice to sound cheerful. ‘I know a nice place in Gretna. Is that too long to wait?’ He detailed a list of places he usually called at for coffee, lunch and afternoon tea.

Eventually Abi interrupted him. ‘Mr Webster, you don’t need to make conversation all the way to South Castle-on-Sea. I’d prefer it if you just concentrated on your driving.’

After that, he was thankfully silent, only exchanging a few pleasantries with her over coffee or a meal. The journey would have been fine if it hadn’t been for all his worries about Viv.

Once in South Castle-on-Sea, he saw Abi safely to her room in the tall, many-storeyed hotel. It was very different from Viv’s place. Viv’s was called The Floral because of the ring of flowers surrounding it from early summer right through till autumn. Even in winter it had an attractive splash of colour with potted plants. It was small but had an excellent location on the most popular and busiest part of the front. This hotel was away at the far end in a quiet area.

Mrs Goodman had suggested a walk after she’d unpacked, and asked if he’d accompany her. He struggled to look perfectly happy to do so. Soon, however, she was saying, ‘Why on earth are we going around all the quiet back streets?’

‘There are some nice shops and boutiques I thought you’d like to see.’

‘Most of them are shut.’

‘True, but now you’ll know where they are if you want to go out on your own tomorrow.’

‘For goodness’ sake, Mr Webster, I’ve just come from a shop. I want to walk along the front and enjoy the sea air and see all that’s going on on the pier.’

‘Of course.’

With a sinking heart, he changed direction. He began feverishly thinking and planning what he’d say and do if confronted by Viv. He kept praying that she was in Cyprus or Tenerife – anywhere but here. If she was here, however, and she was not outside, she could glance from one of her windows and see him. He cursed his six feet four. He could so easily be picked out in any crowd.

He steeled himself not to look over at The Floral as they reached it. He strolled on to the pier with Mrs Goodman at his side as if he were doing the most natural thing in the world.

Norman McKay was quaking inside but he was determined to go through with his plan. He had to now. He’d taken the plunge and booked Jenny into the clinic. Bills at the clinic were to be paid at the end of each month and the end of the month was not far away. He worked at the store as normal all day, although it seemed a miracle that he had managed to do so. Eventually, he collected several thousand pounds and, after he’d locked up as usual and with the money in his case, he left the shop by the back door. A narrow lane stretched along the back of the store. The back wall was of solid brick, with only a few lavatory windows at the very top. At one part, there was the back entrance. As well as stairs up to the departments, it had stairs going down to the basement, where dispatch was situated and the workshops of the electricians and joiners.

In an adjoining area just inside the door, two lines of bins were situated. There was never much rubbish to fill them, except perhaps some packaging materials, and dust from the cleaners’ hoovers, and occasionally some food such as sandwiches from the canteen that had gone past their sell-by date. More often than not, however, the less fussy canteen workers would take the ‘past their sell-by date’ stuff home. That was allowed, although dates were always checked at the door just to make sure that there was no fiddling going on.

The bins were emptied once a week and the bins were put out in the back lane the night before the bin men came. They came early in the morning, after he arrived. He started work before eight o’clock and he always heard the arrival of the bin lorry around eight-thirty.

On this occasion, after all the staff had left, he locked up but instead of leaving from the front door, he left by the back. He had often done this before when going to the bank. It was one of a variety of ways and times that was part of his safety plan. The bins were sitting out in the lane, ready for the arrival of the bin men next morning. He placed the caseful of money into one of the bins. Carefully he covered it with some wood shavings and discarded sandwiches. Then he walked some way along the lane and drew a deep breath to gather every vestige of courage he had, before crashing his brow against the store wall. Blood poured down his face but he managed to stem it with a large handkerchief he had ready. Then, staggering slightly, he forced himself along the lane until he emerged at the other end and walked rather unsteadily along the road towards the bank.

It was quite a distance away but thankfully the streets were not busy. Most people who worked in the area were on their way home. Keeping his head down and the handkerchief against his brow, he eventually hailed a taxi and asked to be taken to the nearest hospital. There, at casualty, he told them he had been attacked outside the bank by two men and the money had been stolen. He asked them to call the police.

After they had done various tests and put a dressing and bandage on his head, he was interviewed by the police before being taken home.

The bank was quite a distance from the lane and so he was confident that the police would not see the need to search or make enquiries there. Their attention would be in the area around the bank, he felt sure. Once he’d retrieved the money early in the morning, before the bin men or anyone else arrived, his plan would be complete. The now urgent necessity to pay the money had given him the desperation he needed to carry out such a plan. But he wanted to get rid of the money right away so that Jenny would be safe and be sure of getting the full course of treatment. He had told her he had been saving and had also received a bonus from work and at last had enough to cover the treatment.

He lay on his bed, feeling lonely without her. His head throbbed painfully. At the same time, he felt thankful and relieved that he’d managed to gather enough courage to carry out the plan. Perhaps one day he would be able, somehow, to pay the money back. It was a terrible thing to cheat the store, and therefore to cheat Mrs Goodman. But he’d had no choice. It had to be done.

After a restless night, he got up earlier than usual and hurried to the store. There he wasted no time in going to the bin to retrieve the money.

It wasn’t there.

He was so shocked he couldn’t move at first. Then he scrabbled among the sandwiches and paper and wood shavings. Still nothing. He tried the other bins in case he’d made a mistake about which bin he’d put the money in. But he knew he had not made a mistake. He was sweating now and trembling. He couldn’t understand it. The only thought that came to him was that some tramp must have come looking for food or something out of the bins. He should have thought of that, but never, in all his years at the store, had he seen or heard of any tramp in the area. Could it be that the police had searched here after all and they had found the money? But it couldn’t have been that. They would have let him know immediately.

Shock, fear, tears of disappointment and disbelief turned to fury. Whoever had done this – he’d find them and kill them. The money could have saved Jenny’s life. The doctor had warned him right from the start that she only had a few months left at the very most. It could be weeks, or even days. Alone in the dark, silent lane, he wept again. Then he heard the bin lorry in the distance. The bin men would soon be in the lane. With an effort, he forced himself back into the store. What was he going to do? He couldn’t get away with staging another robbery. He would have to think of something else. But at the same time, his fury at someone taking the money, denying Jenny her immediate chance of life, overruled everything else. If it meant trawling the streets of Glasgow every hour of every night, he’d find the bastard. He’d find him. He’d get the money back or whatever of it was left. And he’d kill the bastard. He’d kill him.