Duncan Gillingham was typing furiously. He was, at that moment in time, a very happy man indeed.
When he’d gone into that record shop in Little Clarendon Street he’d had no idea what he might find, but a quick look around had told him that the most likely candidate to have crossed Dr Ryder and Trudy’s radar was the rather good-looking shop assistant.
It hadn’t been any great hardship to get chatting to her in a friendly sort of way as she’d helped him negotiate the stacks of pop records to hit the charts recently. He carefully expressed no interest in The Highwaymen’s religious ditty, ‘Michael (Row the Boat)’ but admitted to rather being an admirer of Helen Shapiro, who’d just had a hit recently with ‘Walkin’ Back to Happiness.’
Naturally, he’d then told her how much better looking she was than Helen Shapiro, and did she sing too?
Alas, the lady did not.
But the moment he’d finally managed to wangle her name from her, he knew he’d hit the jackpot.
Naturally, during the course of his vendetta, he’d researched Kenneth Wilcox’s former employees vigorously, paying especial attention to the pretty women who made up his secretarial staff, and so the name of Angela Calver wasn’t new to him.
But he’d been having difficulties tracking her down. Firstly, she’d moved rooming houses after leaving Wilcox’s employ, leaving no forwarding address and he’d also struck out when he’d searched for her amongst the secretarial bureaux and agencies. And now he knew why. She had changed careers as well residences.
As they flirted over the 45’s, it hadn’t taken him long to get some of her life story out of her, but she was a sharp little thing, and had soon realised that this wasn’t just the usual run-of-the-mill attempted pick up that she was probably used to. When she’d challenged him outright about why he was so interested in her past, he had hesitated to tell her the truth, but only for a moment.
Normally, when delicately fishing for information from a potentially hostile witness, the last thing he would ever do was to admit to being a reporter. But something about Angela Calver’s sharp, keen eyes and hard but curious stare told him that she was no shrinking violet.
So he had taken a chance and introduced himself. And once again, he knew it was truly his lucky day, because she admitted that she had read all the articles he’d written about the Thomas Hughes affair, and far from being wary or upset about his veiled attacks on Kenneth Wilcox, had started to smile instead.
From that point on, two things had very quickly become apparent. Firstly, she had indeed been another victim of that creep’s libido, and, far more importantly, was now very much the woman scorned. But she was no innocent, unlike his sister, who had fallen for all the man’s lies and charms and promises, and then found herself in an impossible situation.
No, Angela Calver was a much more hard-headed proposition all together. This much quickly became apparent, when, after persuading her to snatch a quick cup of coffee with him at a nearby café, she’d made it clear that she expected to be paid (and paid well) for her information.
At first, this had made him incredibly wary. For a start, Sir Basil didn’t like paying for information, even if the Tribune’s editor had a much more pragmatic point of view about such things. Then there was always the question about just how much veracity could be attached to information that had been bought and paid for. It was not, after all, unheard of for people to say exactly what they thought a hot and eager reporter wanted to hear, and to hell with the truth.
But again, the lucky streak that had started for him when he’d walked into the record shop continued. Because whilst Angela was not willing to be portrayed in print for all to see as a secretary who had fallen prey to a lascivious boss (and who could blame her for that?) she had something even better to offer.
Something far more substantial, in fact, than a list of accusations concerning sexual advances and abuses of power that Wilcox might have been able to shrug off as female hysteria.
No, Angela, bless her, had hard evidence in her possession of something far more devastating. And for a price, she was willing to share it.
From the café, she’d taken him for a short walk down Walton Street, where she now lived, and from her room overlooking Worcester College, had produced an envelope of carbon copies of certain financial transactions.
It turned out that the excess cash that Wilcox had claimed was due to a ‘legacy’ from his ‘late aunt’ had, in fact, been no such thing. Rather, it could be put down to the clever and systematic accumulation of money illegally skimmed off taxes due to Her Majesty’s Inland Revenue.
According to Angela Calver, she had begun to suspect some sort of chicanery not long after starting work there, and her curiosity had led her to investigating her boss’s desk after hours. As an honest and good citizen, she naturally didn’t approve of such goings on, and had taken to making carbon copies of the irregularities in his books. Luckily, she had worked for a firm of accountants before going to Wilcox, and she knew what she was seeing.
Reading between the lines though, Duncan was convinced that she’d only started looking through her boss’s drawers when it became clear that their fling was coming to an end. And, naturally, a girl had to look after herself.
He wondered if Angela had originally intended to blackmail Wilcox – either into continuing their affair, or for money to help her fund her lifestyle after he’d grown tired of her.
But since she was willing to sell Duncan the evidence, rather than keep it and make use of it, for some reason she had obviously not gone down that particular route.
As he continued to type the article that would finally smash Kenneth Wilcox’s cosy, hypocritical little world once and for all, he wondered again why Angela had sat on the evidence all these months instead of using it.
Perhaps she still had some residue of feelings for the man? Maybe she hoped they could get back together? Far more likely, perhaps she simply hadn’t quite had the guts to go through with it. It was one thing to get something on a treacherous lover, and feel all vindicated and smug. But it was quite another to take that irrevocable leap into the sordid role of blackmailer.
Whatever the reason, she had certainly been happy enough to take advantage of his offer to buy the proof for a one-off (and very generous) payment – and why not? Not only would she benefit financially from it in a perfectly legal way, but she’d also get her revenge on the feckless Wilcox as well, and all without any risk to herself.
The article finally finished, Duncan sat back and read it through, then happily tapped on his editor’s door. Regardless of whether or not the Thomas Hughes affair had been a crime or an accident, he’d achieved his goal – the ruination of the man who’d wrecked his sister’s life.
With his ‘source’ and documentary proof to back her up, the editor congratulated him heartily on his scoop, and agreed to lead with it that evening. The story would be dynamite, for if there was one thing the Tribune’s working-class readers liked, it was to read about greedy and corrupt middle class bosses getting their just desserts.
The tax inspectors too, would swoop down on Wilcox like avenging furies. With a bit of luck, Duncan thought vindictively, he’d not only have to pay a massive fine that would wipe him out financially, but he might also get to serve some time in prison as well.
That would learn the baby-killing, sex-mad bastard! He couldn’t wait for Lily to see the paper tonight and know that Wilcox would finally have to pay for what he’d done to her. In fact, he would leave early and let her know just what was about to happen.
Going back to his desk, and grinning in triumph, he sat back on his chair and contemplated just how sweet life was. The only fly in the ointment for Duncan now was the memory of the look that Trudy Loveday had given him earlier on in the café, and he felt the smile slowly fall off his face. He began to fidget moodily in his chair.
Of course, it was a shame to lose her. He’d had high hopes of spending some nice times with Trudy before gently letting her down. The challenge of discovering the real woman behind the police uniform had been truly piquant, of course, but there had been something more to it than that. The sweet anticipation of them becoming lovers had been steadily growing in him ever since he’d first seen her at the bus stop. That combination of innocence and asperity had been particularly delicious. It annoyed him considerably that he would have to give up the pleasure of the chase and the ultimate reward.
He cursed Clement Ryder roundly for his interference.
Then he began to wonder. Was the situation really beyond salvaging? All right, it would take some doing, but was it totally impossible that he might yet talk her around? Oh, he’d have to wait a good while and let the dust settle. Right now, as the fulminating look in her eyes had told him, she was as mad as a hornet.
But time had a way of dulling outrage. And women, he knew from experience, had a way of letting themselves be fooled, if they wanted it enough. He was confident that she had been attracted to him. All he had to do was plant a seed of doubt in her mind, and let it grow.
To accomplish this, there were several options he could choose from. He could always deny the engagement – it wasn’t official yet after all. He could simply say that the rumours of his attachment had been greatly exaggerated. The problem with that was, she might just have the gumption to call on Glenda and ask her outright how things stood – and that would never do!
He could possibly appeal to her sense of justice by coming up with some yarn about how Glenda had used her power as Sir Basil’s daughter to make his life difficult. He hadn’t wanted to start going out with her, but he was in an impossible situation. It didn’t do to say no to the boss’s daughter, did it? And then Glenda began to take their dates far too seriously. He only ever intended to keep on her good side, but she misinterpreted what was happening, and suddenly he found out that everyone was thinking of them as a ‘couple.’ And now he found himself in the unenviable position of either having to throw her over (and almost certainly lose his job) or play along in the hopes that Glenda would get bored and find some other victim to latch on to.
Would Trudy fall for that? It was possible, he thought hopefully. For all her choice of difficult career, there was something kind and vulnerable in those big brown eyes of hers.
Yes, Duncan thought, flushed with his run of good luck and high on having finally brought down his enemy. He’d give it a bloody good go.
He wasn’t about to give up his pursuit of a certain lady police officer just yet.
With that, he got up and drove to the hair salon to see his sister.
Lily was busy putting a blue rinse to some old lady’s hair, when she saw Duncan’s car pull up outside the window, before he got out and peered in.
Just one look at his radiant face had her heart accelerating in fear and alarm – and something else.
‘This solution needs ten more minutes to set, Mrs Wilkins. I’ll be right back,’ she murmured to her customer, who was too busy reading a woman’s magazine to care.
Outside, Duncan grinned at her and said, ‘hop in. It’s warmer in the car.’
Lily, feeling her shoulders begin to ache with tension, slipped in and looked at her brother fearfully. ‘What’s happened? Are you all right?’ she whispered.
Duncan smiled grimly. ‘Oh, I’m just great. I’ve just written the best article of my life.’
Lily frowned. ‘Is that all? When I saw your face just now …’ She trailed off, as that same look of glee, relief and satisfaction crossed his face. ‘Oh Dunc, what have you done?’ she wailed.
‘I’ve done it, sis. For you,’ Duncan said simply. ‘I’ve brought the bastard down!’
Lily didn’t need to ask who he was talking about. Instead, she simply looked at him, stunned. ‘But how?’ Kenneth Wilcox had always seemed so untouchable. A man of relative wealth and far more power than a simple working-class girl like her could hope to compete with. For months now she’d felt helpless and worthless, haunted by her decisions and simply unable to move on, or even contemplate any possible kind of worthwhile future.
Something inside her had died when Kenneth had been so brutal towards her, making it so scornfully clear that he didn’t value their child anything like he valued his own reputation, and the continuation of his easy, comfortable life.
He’d made her feel worthless and all the time with that knowing look in his eye that made it clear that she could do nothing but go along with it, or be left with the scandal of a child out of wedlock, and the financial ruin that came with it.
‘You weren’t the first, Lily,’ Duncan said softly. ‘He did it with other girls too. But one of them … well, let’s just say, she was a bit more hard-headed than most. She got the goods on him. And tonight, you’ll be able to read all about in the papers. He’s been fiddling his taxes.’
Lily blinked. Taxes? For some reason, that struck her as funny. The man ruined lives, was willing to toss aside his own child as if it were nothing, and he was going to suffer because he’d been cheating the tax man?
Wildly, she began to laugh. And then, just as wildly, she began to cry.
Wordlessly, Duncan Gillingham reached across and held her awkwardly in his arms. ‘It’s OK, sis,’ he said gruffly. ‘It’s all over now. Don’t think about him any more. He got what he deserved. You can get on with your life, now. Yeah?’
Wordlessly, Lily nodded. But she wondered. Would it really be that simple? Was life ever that simple?