Plender (25 page)

But there was one advantage. At least I’d be able to get past the front door.

I parked my car and walked up the steps. The men on the door knew me, and we nodded to each other.

The hall was packed. I looked around for Kate but I couldn’t see any sign of her. I didn’t want to go too far into the house in case I ran into her father. Luckily I saw Negus, Dixon’s head man, making his way towards the study, so I pushed my way through the crowd and caught up with him.

“Negus,” I said, “where’s Mrs. Knott?”

“Mrs. Knott?” he said, giving me a look he’d been wanting to give me for a long time. “I’m afraid I’ve no idea.”

“All right,” I said. “You’ve got your instructions. But I know you don’t want a scene right here and now you’d better tell me. Where is she?”

“Mrs. Knott is out,” he said.

“Come on,” I said. “I know she’s here.”

“She is staying here temporarily, sir,” he said. “But at present I know for a fact Mrs. Knott happens to be out. I believe she has taken the children down to the river. I’m afraid I don’t know when to expect her back.”

I gave him a long look. He wasn’t lying. Kate would want to spend as little time as possible at this party, this year.

“And now, sir, if you’ll excuse me?”

He walked off. Straight to tell Dixon I was here, of course. Well, sod him. I was here and I was staying until Kate got back.

I walked over to the trestle table and asked for a large scotch.

PLENDER

The letter was dated the twelfth of April, 1959.

Dear Peter,

How can I put into words all I want to say? I was so full of different thoughts and feelings after I left you tonight, some wonderful, some frightening, all of them tugging my mind in different directions.

What happened tonight was so incredibly marvellous that I’m just incapable of describing how I feel. The words “I love you” just aren’t enough. And yet I’m scared. Scared that what happened might change things between us. Not the way that I feel, but the way that you think. You might be worried in case, now that it’s happened, I might be different towards you; you see, I know all of your fears.

But, my love, I’ll never change towards you. I love you too much. You have to believe that. Nothing will change. Except perhaps for the better. But how can things possibly get better when they’re the way they are now?

I love you.

Kate

I put this letter down on the dressing tabletop, along with the others.

KNOTT

I watched Kate walk through the crowd towards me, but she didn’t look at me. When she got to me, she asked the barman to give her a drink. She took a sip and then she said, “I thought you might do this.”

“Kate,” I said. “Let’s not talk here.”

“This is the best place
to
talk,” she said.

“Not for what I want to say.”

“I don’t want to hear what you’ve got to say.”

“You must listen to me,” I said, swaying into the table and rocking it a little.

“God, must you always get like this?”

The roar of the party swept into my ears.

“Kate . . .”

“Peter,” she said, “I want you to listen to me. I’m going to say something to you and then I’m going to walk away. If you do anything, I’ve talked to my father, and he’ll have you put out.”

“I’ve seen him already,” I said. “He’s just loving this. He’s waited for this to happen since the day we got married.”

She brushed a strand of hair from her forehead.

“Peter, are you going to listen?”

I didn’t say anything.

“I’m leaving you,” she said.

I looked her in the face. Everything else blurred into the background.

“What I mean is, I want a divorce. I don’t want to go on living with you anymore.”

I shook my head.

“No,” I said. “You don’t mean what you’re saying.”

“I do mean it, Peter.”

“You can’t.”

She didn’t answer.

“Not now,” I said. “You can’t leave me now.”

“Why not now?” she said.

I shook my head.

“Quite,” she said, and walked away.

“Kate,” I said, but I knew she couldn’t hear me. I pushed through the crowd in the direction she’d gone. She was nowhere to be seen. I got as far as the staircase. Then I gave up. What was the use? Drunk as I was, I knew she meant it. And I knew there was nothing I could say or do to change her mind. I was too sick and empty even to try.

I sat down on the stairs. Christ, what was I going to do now?

I sat there for a while, watching the party sway back and forth across my vision. I had no inclination to move, to do anything. It was as if moving would jolt my senses and rearrange my nervous system into its proper order, and allow the pain to start seeping back.

Then somebody came and sat next to me.

“Enjoying it?” said a voice.

I turned my head slightly.

“The party,” said the man. “Enjoying the party?”

I didn’t say anything.

“You’re Mark’s son-in-law, aren’t you?”

I took a proper look at the man. Silver hair, swept back from the forehead. Leather sports jacket. Bright cravat. Just like the picture . . .

“My name’s Froy,” he said, holding out his hand. “I’m a close associate of Mark’s.”

. . . Plender had given me.

Froy?

I looked into his face.

The silver hair. The eyes. The mouth, and smile on it. The grip of his hand.

I shuddered. Sickness welled up inside me.

Still he held my hand.

“We’ve never met before, but I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Get away,” I said.

He released my hand and stared at me.

“What on earth’s the matter?”

The pressure finally burst through.

I caught hold of the man by his cravat and began to shake him as hard as I could. The man’s drink slipped from his fingers and suddenly the party went totally quiet and the only sound was the smashing of Froy’s glass as it hit the floor. The only sound except for my screaming. I was only vaguely aware of the words that were pouring out of my mouth, words about Kate and Eileen and Plender and Peggy. Then I sensed a movement behind me so I threw Froy to the floor and jumped away from the movement and charged my way through the stunned crowd, calling Plender’s name as I ran.

PLENDER

By nine o’clock I was beginning to worry a bit. I knew he’d got a lot of work on, but then he’d said he’d be home early, home in time to have a meal before we went out. I’d phoned the studio a couple of times in the last hour or so but there’d been no reply. Where the bloody hell was he? I didn’t like it when I didn’t know where he was. Those were the times that were most dangerous for me—the times he was most likely to do something stupid.

I lit another cigarette and went into the main bedroom and looked it over. Only someone with my experience could ever tell I’d virtually turned it upside down. But it had all been a waste of time; I’d been through every drawer and cupboard in the house and I hadn’t turned up anything with Kate Knott’s maiden name on it.

I went into the kitchen and made another cup of coffee.

Where the hell was Knott?

KNOTT

Dawn light drifted in through the hotel window. I lay on the bed, my back leaning on the pillows I’d propped against the wall. I’d been like that for the last seventeen or eighteen hours. I didn’t want to move and at the same time I didn’t want to do anything else. I’d drunk the best part of a bottle of scotch but I’d gone beyond drunkenness and even sleep wouldn’t come. I’d just lay there, letting the events of the past week unfold in my brain like a flower in a time lapse film. All the pain had gone now and all I was left with was a numb feeling of despair.

But at least I’d come to a decision.

PLENDER

At two thirty on Sunday afternoon I left Knott’s house and drove back to my digs. There was no point in me staying there any longer. I’d keep ringing the house at regular intervals until he showed up. If he showed up. But there was nothing else I could do. I just had to wait. But if he walked into the nearest police station I was well covered; my story was watertight. What I’d intended springing on Kate Knott I could spring on the police. The fact that I’d discovered that Knott had been having an affair with a girl who was now missing by finding some discovered pictures of her in his studio would go down very well. Knott’s counter-charge that I’d got rid of the body for him without even being asked to do it would sound like so much wishful thinking. There was only the bit about taking his car that seemed the slightest bit dubious. But that would seem crazy enough just to be true. It had been good enough for Kate Knott it would be good enough for the Boys in Blue.

But, anyway, for Christ’s sake, he wasn’t
going
to walk into any police station. When it came right down to it, he was too fond of himself to do anything like that.

On the way into my digs I picked the latest tape on Froy from the letter box and took it up to my room with me. I closed the door behind me and took my coat and my jacket off and hung them up and pulled on a thick sweater and lit the gas fire.

Then I made myself a cup of coffee and put the tape on the machine and lay down on my bed with a cigarette and my coffee and listened to the tape.

KNOTT

I went home first, just in case he was still there. At least that’s what I told myself. His car was no longer in the drive, but I went into the house just the same. I went into every room, and stood quietly in each one for a while, taking in all the details you never normally notice—the overturned bottle of scent on Kate’s dressing table, the old teddy on top of the wardrobe in the kids’ room, the old newspapers Kate kept stacked down the side of the sink unit. I took in everything, calmly, but each item made the weight in my stomach a little heavier; but I
did
remain calm, because I knew that to be otherwise would make the exercise meaningless. After I’d done that I went to one of the photo albums and picked out a shot of us all, one that a sea-front photographer had taken at Scarborough. I put it in my pocket and started to leave the house.

I’d got as far as the hall when the phone began to ring. I stood there for a moment, wondering whether or not to answer it. And then I thought that it might be Plender so I went back into the study and picked up the receiver.

It was Kate.

“Peter?” she said.

“Yes.”

There was a silence. Then she said, “I wondered what had happened to you. If you were all right.”

God. I thought, not now. Not now I’ve made my decision.

I said, “I’m fine.”

She didn’t say anything.

“I’m sorry about yesterday,” I said.

“Listen, Peter,” she said. “I’ve been talking to Daddy. He knows Plender. Knows of him, I mean. So does the man you hit. They wanted to know what connection you had with him. I told them what had happened, how you met, and they seemed concerned. I couldn’t make out why, quite. But Daddy wants to talk to you. He thinks it’s important that you should talk to him. So do I. I think something’s wrong. Because of Plender.”

“Kate . . ...”

“Peter, I want to come back.”

I couldn’t speak.

“I want to help. Whatever it is. But look, talk to Daddy first. He’s here now. Then—”

I put the phone down and stood there for a long time, just listening to the silence of the house.

PLENDER

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Even after I’d played the tape a third time.

There were the usual ringing tones, then the receiver was lifted and Froy’s voice said, “Brown speaking.”

“Have you any news?” said the voice of the leader.

“We’ve put a watch on his flat but as yet he hasn’t turned up.”

“And his office?”

“The same.”

There was a silence. Then the leader said, “I wish I knew exactly what’s been going on.”

“So do I, sir. Whatever it is, I’m afraid we have to assume that it’s dangerous to the Movement.”

“Quite. I’ve got as much from my daughter this afternoon as I possibly can without making her suspicious, but there’s nothing much to add to what she said while you were here. They made contact a week or so ago; he’s been to the house twice, once at her invitation over this divorce business, and that’s it.”

“We’ll find out anything else there is to know when we question him, sir.”

“Of course. But whatever it is, he’s finished. This is too close to me. We’ll have to get rid of him.”

“Yes,” said Froy. “You see I can’t help thinking the worst, as I’ve said. Blackmail’s his trade, and I’m very much afraid your son-in-law may be on his books.”

“If he ever discovered the connection between my son- in-law and myself . . .”

“I know.”

“So what do you intend to do?”

“Nothing till tomorrow. The people to pick him up don’t get back from the meeting until late tomorrow afternoon. But I’ll get on to them as soon as they return.”

“Phone me as soon as you have anything.”

“I will, sir.”

Then the line went dead. I switched off the machine.

I’d already checked about the man outside.

I sat on the edge of my bed, trying to take it in, but the thoughts in my mind refused to be organised into any kind of shape. The only thing constant in my mind was the repetition of the word ‘finished’.

It was over. The whole thing. I was finished. I’d finished myself.

I stood up.

This was where I needed all my self discipline; I’d made plans to cover this kind of a situation. I had to pull myself together and accept what had happened, however sick it was making me. Otherwise I wouldn’t be finished; I’d be dead. I put my hold-all on the bed and then I opened the safe and took out my money and my photostats and put them in the bottom of the bag and covered them with a few clothes. I took my gun and holster out of my drawer and put the gun on the bed and began to strap on my holster.

There was a knock on the door. I didn’t move.

“Mr. Plender,” came Mrs. Fourness’s voice. “There’s somebody to see you.”

I didn’t answer.

I heard her mumble something to whoever it was and then she said, “It’s a Mr. Knott. Are you at home?”