Urge to Kill (1) (11 page)

‘Yes, yes,’ she replied wanting to be rid of him.

Clive smiled with satisfaction and rose. ‘I’ll arrange it Mother,’ he said, bending to plant the required kiss on her forehead.

Thoroughly pleased with himself, he manoeuvred the car into the midst of the morning rush hour traffic inching its way to work. His plans were laid and, as he went over them, he couldn’t see anything he had missed. He was determined not to make the slightest mistake this time. With each outing, he would get better and better until nothing could stop him.

While waiting for yet another traffic light, he compared his precarious feelings for Ben to this wonderful new feeling of power coursing through his body, making him feel like a god. By the time he reached work, he was convinced he did not need Ben and had resolved to avoid him as much as possible.

It was only at the end of a long and boring meeting that he allowed himself to do more than glance at Ben. Ben was in profile, talking to Mr Phelps, the accountant, and the light from the window highlighted his curly hair, reminding Clive of a statue of a Greek god he had seen on a trip to Rome. He had an impulse to go over and join in the conversation but stopped himself and made his way to the door instead. Ben wasn’t for him.

As he reached the door he sensed, rather than saw, that Ben was following him out.

Ben spoke before he could think of what to say. ‘Could hardly keep from nodding off. How about you?’

‘It was pretty dense wasn’t it?’ He tried to keep his voice light, although his heart was starting to thud so loudly he couldn’t hear his own words.

Ben stopped by the secretary’s desk and turned to face him. ‘Well, I’m sure going to need a drink after that. Meet up later?’

Despite everything inside trembling, Clive managed a quick ‘Yes,’ together with a brief smile. This seemed to satisfy Ben as he nodded and turned away after favouring Clive with that warm, vivid grin. Was it his imagination or did it seem different? The smile had reached Ben’s brown eyes, causing them to crinkle in the corners. That wasn’t a mere courtesy smile carelessly bestowed on a colleague.

For Clive, time seemed to stop, and he wasn’t aware that he had come to a halt until Phelps’s accounts ledger file dug him sharply in the back.

‘Come on, out of the way. Work to do, work to do,’ grumbled Phelps.

He tried hard to keep calm but the good intentions in his head seemed to be at war with his body. It was only a couple of mates having a drink after work, nothing heavy, nothing out of the ordinary. But he wanted more than that, longed for a physical closeness with Ben that he had never desired with anyone. Questions raced around his head. Should he forget about his plans and put all his energy into developing a relationship with Ben?

Suddenly, Clive was angry. Why had this come now when he had decided—was set on a course of action? Why was this traitorous heart sending out lies to confound and confuse him? He had managed twenty-nine years without the useless organ and had been happy. Hadn’t he?

He felt the need to strike out at someone, something. The nearest object was the waste bin beside the coffee machine, so he kicked out hard. His reward was the attention of every pair of eyes in the office. Clive tried to smile and pretend that he had knocked it over by accident, while acutely aware that hot, unfamiliar tears were welling up.

He crouched down to pick up the debris and to hide his display of emotion. Someone knelt besides him and he realised with horror that it was Anne.

‘Oh, Clive, you are a silly one. Here let me help.’

As she bent beside him, he wanted to scream at her to leave him alone. The urge to push her head into the waste bin was so strong, he knew he had to get away before the desire overcame his normal caution.

Using the excuse of coffee dregs on his hands, Clive stumbled, rather than walked, from the room to find solace in the washroom.

As he washed his hands and face, he became calmer. Leaving all thoughts of Ben aside, he realised that it was time to face the fact that Anne was becoming more than a nuisance.

Ever since the conference in Harrogate, she had simply assumed they were a pair and had begun leading the whole office into believing her. He wished he could shout at her, loudly and brutally, in front of them all that she repelled him so much that he would rather go out with a dead cod. However, for the moment, Anne had the upper hand due to accidently seeing the costumes in the boot of his car.

Getting the right costumes to highlight his statements had been his hardest task, and for days he racked his brains while crossing out idea after idea. It was really only by accident as he glanced through one of the papers left scattered about the staff room, that he spotted an advert in the event’s section for a huge sale of ex theatrical costumes in Birmingham. Taking care not to draw attention to himself, he scribbled down the details.

The sale was on the same day as the Harrogate conference and Clive began to see how he could make this work to his advantage. If he left early in the morning, as he had been planning to do anyway, it would take him less than an hour to get to Birmingham where he would have to wait another hour until the sale opened. Clive could make his selection and then head straight to Harrogate. He would only miss the opening rigmarole, which he knew was usually a waste of time anyway with all that concentration on getting to know your fellow attendees, whom you were not going to see or meet, hopefully, ever again.

On the day, as he waited for the sale to open, Clive debated whether to ring ahead to say he was stuck on the motorway. In this day of constant snarl-ups, it was always a valid excuse. Or, should he arrive late and only bring out his explanation if asked. If he arrived just before the coffee break and slid into the back, acting like he’d been there all the time, no one would probably take any notice. The delegates would all be dying for a coffee and a fag by then anyway. On balance, he decided against the call in case the police traced it or that someone remembered him calling.

Clive had parked the car around the corner from the sale and put on an old jacket and a flat checked cap his father had once worn, which, for some reason, his mother had decided to keep.

The cover story was that he was the producer of some amateur theatrical company and the next show in the village hall was going to require several of the chorus to look like little girls at a party. Clive had invented the name of the village and show, which he thought should be written by their own local playwright, Randolph de Winter, of course. However, despite his elaborate preparations, no one really listened or appeared interested.

A sullen young man served him ungraciously with a martyred air. Clive got the impression the young man felt he was acting beneath himself and that he was only filling in time until called to portray Romeo for The Royal Shakespeare Company. Though he was glad to take the cash Clive offered him for the several costumes he had managed to find from the numerous rails haphazardly crammed into the huge warehouse.

It had taken him a long time sort out what he needed and, as he rushed back to the car with his booty, he realised that he would have to drive at some speed to get to Harrogate before the coffee break. Clive consoled himself by thinking that it might be better to arrive at coffee time and slide quietly in, and by the fact that the costumes seemed perfect for his purpose.

He smiled at the merry dance he would be leading the police. They would be dashing off in more than one direction, unaware that he had been extremely careful with every prop used, leaving them nothing that led back to him.

The only niggling worry was dear Anne, but Clive thought he had that situation under control. Anne believed she was in love with Clive and he found that giving her a little taste of what she wanted seemed to work. This wasn’t an unusual situation in the office. Clive usually managed to offer the ladies his charmed attention and then use Mother as an excuse to keep his distance.

Anne started at En Jay’s some months before and had shown such determination in her pursuit of Clive that she was becoming something of a nuisance. At first, he was his most charming self and expected the silly girl to fall into place like the others. But the little thank you cards for a job well done, flowers or chocolates for her birthday, Clive could now see only served to give her false hope, although he had treated her no different than all the other female staff.

Perhaps she was inexperienced, and she certainly wasn’t attractive, or rather, she didn’t make the effort to gild the lily like the other females. Her skin had a pale, sallow dullness that she could have enlivened by the usual makeup tricks. While her hair was straight in the prevailing fashion, it did not suit her thin features and only served to accent her long face.

However, it was her manner he found most difficult. She had become proprietary when around him, and it was obvious that she had begun to believe there was something between them, and she became intent on letting everyone know.

Even though Clive watched the other girls in the office shaking their heads and quietly giving her advice, she persisted. That was her main trait—her persistence—and he had the feeling that it would get her or him into trouble, especially now that she had something to hold over him.

Clive arrived at the Harrogate conference just as the coffee break had finished and the delegates were shuffling unwillingly back to the conference room. Pleading motorway problems, he opted for sympathy, giving the woman instructor his most apologetic smile. She patted him on the arm, said he could take five minutes, get himself a cup of coffee, and recover from his ordeal before joining the rest of the group. He was just about to thank her when he heard
her
whiny voice.

‘Oh, Clive, thank goodness you have arrived safely. I was so worried in case you had had an accident. I told them it wasn’t like you at all. That you are the most utterly reliable person.’

He turned to face Anne while trying to wipe the shock from his face, aware that the instructor was only a couple of yards away. Anne came towards him and before he could stop her, she gave him a hug in thankfulness that he was safe. Clive was aware that this was Anne’s way of telling the instructor that she should keep her hands off, and it seemed to have the desired effect.

‘I’ll leave you in Anne’s capable hands then. See you in five.’

As the instructor left, he fought to compose his features into something resembling pleasure that he was going to have Anne’s company for the entire day.

‘This is a pleasant surprise. What on earth are you doing here?’

‘I talked Mr Hill into letting me come. I knew you would rather have company. It’s such a long way to come on your own. And, well, I thought it would be rather lovely if we had dinner on the way home. I’ve checked out some places and marked them on a map. Shall I show you at lunchtime?’

‘How did you get here?’ He tried to keep the roughness out of his voice, knowing it held dread that she was expecting Clive to drive her home. Her reply confirmed his fears.

‘I came by train. I did ring you several times last night but got no answer.’

She wouldn’t have reached him, even though she had managed to acquire his mobile number, since he always ignored her calls. He had to think fast.

‘I always go to
silent
in the evening. Mother thinks mobile phones are the work of the devil, sorry.’

‘I thought that might be it.’

‘Anyway, you are here now and it will be good sharing the day with you,’ Clive said, back on track. He would have to play her game today but he could see that she was becoming a problem.

Even with his late start, the day dragged endlessly on and he didn’t remember anything of the content. Anne insisted on sitting next to him, even when the instructor tried to divide everyone into different groups.

Lunch was a nightmare with Anne chattering on incessantly, enjoying her belief, and parading it front of everyone, that they were an item.

Clive was dreading the journey home and wondered if he could bring out his usual excuse of needing to get home to Mother. However, as they walked to the car, he realised that Anne was way ahead of him.

‘Will someone be with your Mother today?’

‘Yes, I have a housekeeper. Well, a sort of companion really for Mother.’

‘It must be a great comfort to have her there when you are away, like today.’

‘Yes.’

‘And to know you don’t have to rush back. I mean, after that terrible journey this morning you need to relax.’

He may have imagined it but she seemed to emphasise the words ‘terrible journey’ and he had the feeling she hadn’t believed him from the start. She had it all worked out, and he had to give her credit.

Stifling his excuses, Clive realised it would be best to suffer her for a few more hours. He decided to put a brave face on it and play along with her, just for now.

‘That’s true. Let’s enjoy our dinner. It will be such a nice change for me. Where would you like to go? You choose, Anne.’

He could tell this is what she wanted and she looked pleased as they made their way across the car park. As they approached the car, one of the men from the course stopped to talk to Clive. Anne had gone ahead to the car, so he clicked it open for her in case she didn’t want to wait. Normally he would have opened the door for her. Mother always insisted on good manners.

Finishing his conversation, he turned towards the car to see Anne opening the boot intending to stow her briefcase. By the time he got to her, it was too late, and she was gazing down at the costumes.

‘Oh.’

He closed the boot fast, grasping her arm to lead her around to the passenger side. He wanted to push her roughly inside, but instead waited patiently while she arranged herself, all the time thinking of how to explain the costumes, until he came up with, ‘Some show of Lizzie’s. I didn’t have time to drop them off to her.’

‘How exciting. What is the show and please say we can go and see it?’

‘No way. It’s just some scrappy thing they are doing at university.’

‘But surely you will be taking your mother?’