North Prospect

North Prospect

Tales of Suspense

VANTAGE  BOOKS

2012

A
selection of five short stories:

North Prospect

Assumptions…al-Qaida?
‘Nothing is as it first seems…’

Lost and Found in Sacramento

The Woman who died Twice

The Affair

Published by Vantage Books

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Copyright © Les Lunt

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North Prospect

Assumptions . . . al-Qaida? “Nothing is as it first seems”

Lost and Found in Sacramento

The Woman who died Twice

The Affair

North Prospect

It’s rather sad. When I first married Sue she was quite slim, fun to be with, someone who enjoyed walking in the countryside. In fact when we first got together we actually went camping, amongst other things. North Wales was the obvious venue; a lot of mountain walks and rock climbing. As I was a young lieutenant in the Royal Marines, recently commissioned at Lympstone, leave was a rare luxury so having places to go was important. At just an hour’s drive across from Chester where Sue lived, and not too far from where she was studying to be a teacher, North Wales was the perfect place for our courtship…such an unusual word these days. 

   As a student teacher she was obliged to take classes which were normally unpopular with the rest of the staff and she would often take the girls from her class for P.E or games. Sometimes we went running together, (she was marathon capable that’s for sure). Now, when I am home on leave, I am wishing that she wasn’t there.   I know that when I return from the Centre  she will have spent most of the afternoon on her computer, on-line shopping, spending her mother’s money like there was no tomorrow. Or she might be watching afternoon television or listening to Radio 2, which seems to be a favourite pastime as well.  Of course, the most serious complaint I have is that she eats too much. She loves her boxes of chocolates, which is why she now weighs in at fourteen and a half stone. I find it a little embarrassing when the other ladies join us in the Mess.

   A little over a year ago, Sue inherited two and a half million pounds from her mother, plus a house in west London and a cottage in Devon. The cottage in Devon is useful as it isn’t too far from Lympstone where my main base is, but it is just as likely I could be in Plymouth, or at another base. Sue has no other living relatives; no sisters, no brothers, no aunts, so that in the event of her sad demise I should be her sole beneficiary. Therefore I have a vested interest in her eating. I smile as I wrap another box of Monk Bar Exclusive handmade chocolates (sold at a very reasonable £26. 55 a box) or, as a really special treat, for Easter I will give her a large box of Brent-Cartier, purchased via a friend of course, from one of the world’s most famous chocolatiers in Chelsea.

   When Sue’s mother died, suddenly and unexpectedly, there had to be a post mortem. The cause of death? Myocardial infarction. Apparently, heart disease might run in the family. My my, what a strange world we live in, but hey...there is a slight problem. I am temporarily attached to 42 Commando, Royal Marines, based near Plymouth, that’s all I am prepared to say, and despite the fact that I only have five months to run after a six year engagement, I am soon to be posted. We are off again to Lashkar Gah and, to be honest, the posting comes at a very bad time for me.  

   My very close friend, and you can read what you like into that, is a doctor stationed at Lympstone, the Royal Marines Commando Training Centre in Devon. She’s Royal Navy. Most people forget that the Corps, that is, the Royal Marines, comes under the Admiralty, not the Army. Now, my C.O. has asked me to extend my commission: it seems I am good at my job. I can say no more on that or what I actually do, but suffice to say that the money on offer bears no comparison to what lies at home.

  Myself and Dr. Carrie Howarth or, more correctly, Lieutenant Carrie Howarth, aged 26 and a graduate of Liverpool School of Medicine, have been secretly seeing each other for about eighteen months now and during that time we have been quietly ‘evaluating’ my dear wife’s wealth. (And health).

   The cottage in Devon was the biggest surprise; more than half a million pounds! For a cottage! Well, I say cottage, it’s a sixteenth century Devon Long House, thatched, with a huge paddock and stables, set in twelve acres of prime grazing. It even has the quintessential stream running through one of the fields. It’s beautiful. I keep my horses there. Speaking of horses, (I shouldn’t say this should I?)  Sue only travels down when she feels the need to see me. I guess she’s still in love with me.

   The thought that I might actually kill someone, someone who wasn’t out to kill me, is a little worrisome. I say that because I have had to kill in the past. It’s not a pleasant thing to do. The first time was out on patrol in Northern Ireland. Despite the Good Friday Peace Agreement, we, that is my troop, engaged in a fire fight with the Real IRA. Two of my Marines were wounded and my sergeant, Tommy Burns, escaped with his life only thanks to the skill of an RAF helicopter pilot and a medic on board. We might easily have lost him. I am glad to say that Tommy is now fully recovered and back with the troop and will be coming along to Lashkar Gah. I am so glad; a good sergeant is worth his weight in pure platinum. As for the Real IRA boys, all I can say is, two didn’t make it. It was a fair fight. In Afghanistan, working from a compound, it won’t be. IEDs all over the place and children used as suicide bombers… it’s sickening. I keep reminding myself, only five little months to go, that’s all and then…

   Now you might think it logical that, since I am her only living relative, naturally I would expect to be the sole beneficiary of my wife’s will. Not necessarily so. You see, Sue loves animals. Donkeys in particular.  Of course I have a copy of her will and I am
one
of the beneficiaries. You might even consider thirty-five thousand a year for life a seriously generous amount. But as to
principal
beneficiary, that honour goes to the Polperro Donkey Sanctuary in Cornwall. The amount I receive compared with the donkeys of Polperro is, frankly, peanuts.

   I had really great news recently from Sue. (I was on a training exercise abroad). She told me she had been suffering, (I like that word), from acute pains in her chest. I saw my boss and was able to take a week’s leave to take Sue to a leading Chester cardiologist. After a series of scans, including an MRI, it transpired that two of Sue’s main cardiac arteries were blocked. The cardiologist told me quietly that they call the main artery the ‘widow- maker’, or presumably, in the case of women, the widower- maker!  I like that. The consultant suggested that Sue have a couple of stents put in and of course she readily agreed. I was keen as well. I mean, operations can go seriously wrong.  I had tried to push for a by-pass since I gather that is even more dangerous.

   In the event, Sue was only kept in the clinic for two days. Being a private clinic there was obviously no rush to have her leave, after all they were making a shed- load of money (my money). Sue left the clinic looking really awful. I knew she wasn’t feeling too well because she refused the Belgian chocolates I had bought her. For a while I was really worried that she had decided to go on a diet of some sorts. Imagine! No chocolates! But, my luck was in and, two days later, she was hail and hearty, eating greedily from a large box of Cadbury’s Milk Tray.

   The really good news that came along that week was that Sue still had chest pains despite the two stents. I immediately suggested a by-pass operation, but the consultant said it was too risky because of her overall physical condition and that it was normal to have a little pain. He gave her a small spray of Glycerine Trinitrate which was to be administered orally when she got chest pains. Thankfully, Sue rejected the spray, saying people would think she had bad breath. The consultant then gave her a prescription for some patches, which she places on her arm each morning to alleviate the angina.

   I had a shock when I took Sue back to her house in Chester. She said she was thinking of selling up and moving into the cottage in Devon, to be nearer to me. How romantic, except that I could hardly agree to this plan as Carrie had partially moved in and we were living as man and wife. It would be a bit awkward if Sue joined us…well, it would be a disaster wouldn’t it? So, we had to have a plan.

   We decided, that is, Carrie and I decided the house in North London would have to go. When I suggested this to Sue she readily agreed and, I’m pleased to say, with some enthusiasm, she even said she’d accompany me to the estate agents office in Hendon. That trip quickly realised an offer of £650,000. I encouraged her to accept it. The sooner the cash was in the bank the better.

   To be on the safe side, Carrie moved back into the officers’ residential block and I took up sole residence at the cottage, commuting the short distance to the Training Centre every day. This proved to be a good move as one morning, without warning, Sue suddenly turned up in a taxi. She had travelled to Exeter St David’s station from Chester and got the small local Exmouth train to Exton.

   I immediately noticed that Sue had lost weight and, most importantly, I could find no evidence of chocolate intake. Disaster loomed! To my surprise, she said she’d like to dine out and that she had already called The Old Red Lion pub in Exeter. Thank heavens she hadn’t called the Well House Inn, for only two days before Carrie and I had dined out there with a few brother officers and their wives. (What a party!)

  Suddenly I had an idea. We had to be pro-active in these matters. I met Carrie in the Mess ante-room. It was there that we devised a plan that would free us both with, of course, a little over three million pounds plus a couple of properties. But, we had two major, major, problems. Firstly, Sue was still alive. And secondly the will. How could I possibly change the will without Sue knowing?  It was Carrie, (oh clever, clever Carrie), who came up with the solution. 

   Being in the Services gave me a certain amount of freedom. Sue had decided to return to Chester to conclude the sale of the house. I was able to convince her that I was needed on base. In reality Carrie and I had a week’s leave which we took in Spain. We drove separately to Gatwick: she had booked the flight, the hotel and the hire car on her credit card.

   Looking back, I suppose I should have noticed. But I am jumping ahead of myself. We landed at Alicante and drove down to Gandia beach. Our hotel, ‘The Bayren’, overlooked the beach and, being right on the sea front, we could either swim or meander along the promenade and eat out in one of the many sea front restaurants.

 We returned looking sun-tanned and perhaps a little too confident. On reflection I should have been more careful: however, for the present, everything went well.

   I found Sue back at the cottage and, thankfully, she had not tried to reach me on base. She is well aware of the nature of my work and that I am not ‘on call’ as it were, like civilian workers   Down to work: Carrie had done her homework well. I had ‘borrowed’ several samples of Sue’s official letters and Carrie had, by now, perfected my wife’s signature. I certainly could not tell the difference. The original will had been drawn up in Chester by a firm of solicitors by the name of Rankin, Rankin and Constance. I remember Sue telling me that the young lawyer who had prepared the will had been very ill and I know it came as a shock to her when he left the firm soon afterwards. I do believe she was rather attracted to him.

   The firm of Alexander, Hayman and Cubit, Solicitors, have an office in a Georgian block of buildings that miraculously escaped the bombing of Plymouth in World War Two. Known as The Crescent, it houses mainly lawyers and architects although recently dentists have somehow crept in.  No doubt estate agents will be next.