Polly's War (46 page)

‘Does it matter?’ Lucy wanted to know.

‘It does, aye,’ Minnie put in, feeling suddenly hot under the collar at what Hubert might do if he ever found out who’d set him up. ‘He’s not a man to cross isn’t Hubert Clarke. Let’s hang fire a bit, eh? Then happen you’d consider a new partner for Pride Carpets, Polly, when you do get going again.’

Polly frowned. ‘New partner? Who would you have in mind?’

‘Me. You don’t have to pay me back. Think of it as an investment. As a matter of fact I could put in a bit more, match what you won off Hubert, pound for pound. I was left quite comfortable by my lady employer and it’s built up over the years.’

Polly was smiling long before she’d finished. ‘Welcome aboard,’ she said and would have hugged the old woman had Minnie not waved her off, claiming she didn’t hold with such soft nonsense and offered Polly a pear drop instead.

The silence from Councillor Hubert Clarke was disturbing. Benny prowled high and low but no word reached him on the streets of Hubert having been stung for a lot of money for watches and jewellery that had turned out to be not half as good as he’d expected. He hadn’t even found Ron. ‘We’ve hit him in his pocket, where it hurts most and he’s that mad he’s keeping the shame of it to himself. He must be livid that he didn’t think to check every box before purchasing. But then he never let us check stock in advance either, did he?’

Polly said, ‘He rarely waited for us to even order it. Wouldn’t he just deliver without a by-you-leave, and then refuse to take it back.’

‘Yet we’ve only wounded him,’ Benny moaned. 'He’ll recover, drat him.’

This thought sobered them all, then Lucy remembered something. ‘He doesn’t like paying tax. Joanna Clarke told me so.’

‘Nobody likes paying taxes, m’cushla.’

‘No, but we pay up all the same, Mam. How do we know Hubert does? He pays cash for goods, with no invoices. So how can anyone prove what he’s bought where or from whom, certainly not the tax people and Hubert isn’t going to tell them, is he? Joanna said he had an accountant, a Colin Wilnshaw, and it was his task to make sure that Hubert paid as little tax as possible. He also has a woman friend, Myra somebody or other who lives near …’ Her mind went blank. ‘Oh, lord, I can’t remember.’

‘Try. Think hard.’ They were all keenly interested now, sitting on the edges of their seats. If Hubert was evading taxes, then they might have a stronger weapon over him than they’d ever dreamed possible.

‘
Slate Wharf
.’

Chapter Twenty-Nine

It took no time at all to persuade young Ron that it was long past time for him to seek his fortune elsewhere. Benny marvelled at his own self-restraint as he placed the rail ticket in Ron’s grimy paw and personally escorted him to Liverpool Road Station. The ticket was to London, one way, and in a fit of generosity Benny gave him a fiver to help him on his way.

He even extracted from him a telling amount of information on what he was responsible for, and what he wasn’t.

It was amazing really how grateful the little weasel was as Benny stood on the platform and watched him climb aboard. Anyone would think he’d expected much worse from his sister’s widowed husband. He even managed a little wave as the train shunted out of the station. Benny went straight to the gents to wash his hands the minute the train had vanished in a cloud of blue smoke.

His next call was upon Myra who seemed only too willing to allow him into her home, simply because she liked the look of him: big brawny sort of chap, young, good-looking and with masculinity oozing from every pore was the way she’d describe him. Benny couldn’t help but smile at her teasing. No wonder Hubert had found her fascinating. She was still attractive and alluring for all she was well over the hill in Benny’s opinion. She coyly informed him that he was exactly the sort of feller she wouldn’t mind seeing a bit more of. And despite their forty year age difference, Benny could see she wasn’t joking.

The cramped parlour into which he was shown with its shaded pink lamps, cherubic statuettes and
chaise longue
draped in some sort of animal fur made him feel slightly nauseous. Benny accepted the drink she offered him but left it untouched on a marble-topped table.

He wondered how to set about the task, whether to be upfront and honest or side-track the issue by asking her about friends in high places, hoping to find out something that way. In the event she forestalled him by seeming to guess what it was he required.

‘You’re Belinda’s chap, aren’t you?’ she asked, bright blue eyes moist with sympathy. ‘She was a lovely lass. Not appreciated by that family of hers and although we never met, I liked and admired her.’

Benny felt a lump come into his throat and it took several moments before he could respond. He still ached for her. There wasn’t a moment in his day when he didn’t miss her. Sometimes the pain was so bad he thought he’d go mad. At other times, he was acutely aware of her presence, as if she standing right beside him, and it comforted him.

‘I loved her very much,’ he told Myra. ‘I’d’ve done anything to save her.’

‘I dare say you would, lad. I told Hubert no good would come of trying to evict the pair of you but would he listen?’ She snorted her disgust then sipped at a violent green liqueur. ‘Always thought he knew best did our Hubert. I’ve seen him only once or twice since she - since you lost your lovely lass, but it weren’t the same. I couldn’t feel for a man who was so hard on his daughter. I’ve two children of my own, so I know what I’m talking about. There’s nothing more precious.’ She stood up and swept an armful of photographs from the mantelpiece to show to Benny. He dutifully admired her son, her two daughters and her several grandchildren, a family in whom she clearly showed substantial pride.

‘You’re not still with him then.’

‘Heck, no. Heartless old sod. I hope he gets what he deserves.’ It was all plain sailing after that. She gave him facts and figures, dates, companies he’d deliberately made insolvent, even the combination of his safe where he kept his ill-gotten gains that the tax man knew nothing of, hidden in his study at Potato Wharf. Myra knew all of this because Hubert was apparently loquacious in his cups. And plainly indiscreet.

‘Some pillow talk that must have been,’ Benny laughed as he later related this tale to the others.

Minnie’s eyes gleamed while Lucy simply remarked, ‘We’ve got him.’

As ever, Polly was more practical. ‘Fetch pen and paper, Minnie. We’ve a letter to write. We’ll address it “To whom it may concern” and begin “With reference to the business affairs of Councillor Hubert Clarke...”’

Tom arrived at the school early, as he’d promised himself that he would. The children’s teacher was uncertain at first about letting them go but when Tom pointed out that they both had a dental appointment, she relented. Attention to good teeth hygiene had always been one of Miss Bell's hobby horses and, really, the school dental service left a great deal to be desired. She applauded Mr Shackleton for his care, but then hadn’t he suffered himself in the war so was it any wonder if he wished to spare his children the agony of the school dentist?

Sean was so excited when he saw his dad that he didn’t notice his sister’s more reticent attitude. ‘Have you come to take us back to Aunty Minnie’s?’ she asked in her quiet little voice, so like Lucy’s own.

‘No, your mam’s asked me to fetch you home wi’ me. She’s already there, making your tea.’

‘Sausages?’ Sean wanted to know, bouncing up and down. ‘Are we having sausages?’ Sarah Jane still felt unsure and began to back away, saying she’d left her lunch box in her desk. In her young mind she felt a sudden urge for someone in authority, even Miss Bell, her teacher whom she didn’t usually care for much at all, to know that she wasn’t really going to a dentist, or even to Minnie Hopkin’s house but back home with her dad. It seemed somehow important that she told someone.

‘Don’t be daft,’ Tom said, taking a firm hold of her arm. ‘You won’t need it.’

‘I will. To put me lunch in ready for tomorrow.’

‘We can find you another box,’ Tom insisted and maintaining his grip on both children, he marched them out of the school yard and through a maze of streets in the direction of Liverpool Road.

Hubert moved restlessly about his beloved conservatory, pinching out carnations in an effort to calm himself. He couldn’t recall ever feeling more angry in his entire life. The heat of his ire blurred his vision and left him gasping for breath. Reaching into the pocket of his waistcoat he took out one of his pills, the tightness in his chest having been growing for some days. From time to time he rubbed his arms which were also aching, no doubt from having carried all those dratted boxes out of the van. He wished now that he’d made Ron do the job, then he’d have someone other than himself to blame. But the boy seemed to have vanished off the face of the earth. Hubert hoped he was out collecting money. They’d need every penny after what he’d lost the other night.
 

He knew he’d been had, and he knew who by. The problem was that he couldn’t prove it.

When he’d opened the boxes of watches the following morning, rather late admittedly, due to a thick head, he’d stared in disbelief at the rusting, misshapen bits of metal for which he’d paid well over the odds in the mistaken belief he was buying top-notch merchandise. As for the pearls. Wear them in a rain shower and he suspected they’d instantly lose their sheen and turn back into the cheap paste they undoubtedly were. They might actually dissolve.

No doubt about it. He’d been done good and proper. Polly Pride and her contemptible family had taken their revenge.

The moment he’d realised, he’d stormed back into the house, red in the face and raging about injustice, shouting for Ron and how he’d see the whole lot of them at the bottom of the canal sooner than let them get away with it. Joanna had been so alarmed by the noise he was making, she’d come running from the kitchen, insisting he tell her what was wrong, and Hubert had blurted out the whole sorry tale.

But had she shown him the proper sympathy he deserved? Had she heck-as-like. She’d put back her head and laughed. It had been the most unladylike sound to come out of her mouth in a long while, not to mention the most disrespectful.

Now, several days later, with still no sign of his stupid son, she stood with her arms folded and informed him she was taking a leaf out of Polly’s book, and Benny’s, by starting again. ‘You remember Benny? He was married to our daughter once. Lovely boy, had we but realised it. Bit of a rough diamond but he’ll go far, I’m sure. I can tell that he’s already making good progress, despite the unexpected setbacks he suffered at the start.’ Her blue eyes, so like Belinda’s, were sparkling, as if entranced by her own wit.

‘What in damnation are you talking about, woman?’ Hubert asked, then demanded to know where his breakfast was, as he’d telephone calls to make, business matters to arrange, and a counterattack to plan. His wife was in a mood over something or other, though what exactly it was he couldn’t imagine, and cared even less. She brought him a pot of coffee and a round of toast.

‘Are you going out?’ he airily enquired, noticing her attire of a smart green coat and hat which he didn’t recall having seen before. Not that what his wife did with her time was of any great interest to him. ‘What about my eggs and bacon?’
 

‘Sorry darling, but you’ll have to get your own breakfast from now on. I’m off. I’ll send someone round for my luggage later. Oh, I almost forgot, this morning’s post.’ And she handed him a large brown envelope which he scarcely glanced at as she floated a kiss an inch above his brow.

‘Luggage? What luggage? Off where?’
 

As she swept out through the door he could’ve sworn she said she was running off with Colin Wilnshaw, but that couldn’t be right, could it? Colin was his accountant and absolutely essential to the security of Hubert’s affairs.

It was then that the telephone rang. Hubert snatched it up and listened in silence to the voice at the other end for some minutes before slamming down the receiver and at once starting to dial. ‘Get me Wilnshaw,’ he barked at the unfortunate secretary who answered.

‘I’m afraid he isn’t in, sir,’ she replied, in a quavering voice which, to his horror, sounded near to tears, having instantly recognised Councillor Clarke’s unmistakable tones. ‘He appears to have gone.’

‘
Gone
? Gone
where
? What are you prattling on about, woman?’

‘He’s left his wife and family, left the firm, taken everything and g-gone. Vanished. There’s not a thing of value left in the safe.’ Now she did burst into noisy blubbering tears but Hubert was no longer listening. He was tearing open the brown envelope which bore an official stamp, and roaring with rage at its contents before charging out of the house.

The man turned up his coat collar so that it almost met the brim of his trilby hat. Keeping as inconspicuous as possible beside the lamp post, he smiled to himself as he watched the Wolsley car roar into the yard and skid to a halt. He’d already seen the two officials go inside and guessed it meant they didn’t bring glad tidings of great joy for the occupant of this particular warehouse on Potato Wharf.

 
The family had done well. Their plan, whatever it might have been, seemed to be working. Hubert Clarke, he suspected, was about to get his just desserts, and not before time. He’d never seen him in such a rage as when he’d stumbled out of the car, slamming the door far harder than usual and storming into his warehouse.