‘No, that’s not what I’m saying’ Jack Beauchamp clamps his cigar between his teeth and bends to pick up a small rubber ball, throwing it again for the excitable Jack Russell bounding in front of them on the path. ‘With your say so, I’m going with the story come hell or high water’ he says, holding the cigar in the fingers of his right hand as he claps a reassuring left to Kester’s shoulder. ‘But we need to time it right to have maximum impact. Timing is crucial, especially with what’s going on with your mother right now….. this assessment they’ve ordered’
‘The psychiatric reports?’ Kester looks sullen, walking with his hands in his trouser pockets, the yapping antics of the small dog doing nothing to lift his spirits.
‘Precisely. The results, whatever they turn out to be, can only work FOR us’ Jack says confidently, trying to cajole Kester from his mood. ‘But we need that decision first. We go too soon and we’re stuffed. Everything we say or do will mean little, everything that has gone before might just as well not have happened’
‘Thirty years worth?’ Kester disputes doubtfully.
‘There’s no logic in it but that’s the way it is. Most people are blinkered; they see what is now as far as news goes…it’s ephemeral…fleeting…unless you get them hooked’ Jack tries to sell him on the idea.
‘Lynn was right, she said she’d bloody well get away with it’
‘She won’t!’ Jack grunts. ‘No matter what, our story is going out there. I’m not saying we aren’t ever going to do this. We are… and soon… but I want to pitch it right’ He pockets the ball and calls the dog to heel. ’We need to have some bait on the hook as far as coverage is concerned’ he says as they continue their walk alongside the small ornamental lake. ‘That’s what I meant when I said people see what is now. Once we’ve got the lead in, we’re away!’
Passing beneath copper beech trees, a lawn spreads out in front of them as the path curves around the lake. Jack makes for one of several large stones set into the grass and sits down.
‘What would they be charging her with?’ he asks as Kester joins him. ‘Technically, now the truth’s come out, I don't suppose there was actually any assault, with a deadly weapon or otherwise’
‘I’m not sure. Probably something as pathetic as wasting police time or some such crap’ Kester growls despondently ‘A slap on the wrist and away you go’
‘It doesn’t matter’ Jack tries again to reassure him. ‘There’s interest. People have had their appetite whetted with her arrest’
‘So why can’t we publish now?’ Kester looks disinterestedly at the ball Jack offers to him.
‘The decision…the results’ Jack presses the ball into his hand and nods towards the dog, already yapping and bounding backwards and forwards in anticipation of having to retrieve it.
‘You’ve just said people are interested already’ Kester lobs the ball and the dog watches its arc before taking off after it.
‘Yes but we hit them with what we’ve got before the case is sorted and all we’d be doing is building her bloody defence for her…..If it comes to court, she uses the defence that the balance of her mind was affected …whatever the psychs say’
‘Because no sane person would do the things she did…so it follows that she wasn’t ‘herself’ when she did this either’ Kester says slowly, his eyes now showing some understanding.
‘You’ve got it’ Jack flicks the top of Kester’s arm with the back of his hand. ‘And I don’t think the police or the CPS are going to be that chuffed if we bugger up any case they might have against her either…so we wait’
‘Okay…’ Kester nods, bending unbidden to pick up the ball the dog has dropped at his feet. ‘So what happens once we’ve waited?’ He puts more energy into his throw and turns to Jack, looking more animated.
‘We have her’ Jack growls ‘whichever way things go’ He draws a deep breath and blows it out again through almost closed lips. ‘She pleads temporary insanity or some imbalance of her mind at the time and gets this slapped wrist you’re on about and we question how many periods of temporary insanity any one person can have before they are judged completely insane…’ he grimaces and gives a snort ‘Not in those words, of course…but our story will get people’s minds working in that direction’ he insists with a jabbing finger ‘And if the temporary insanity defence is NOT accepted because of what the psychs have said, then our story questions their judgement’
‘And if they say she is completely off her head and needs locking up?’ Kester queries. He throws the ball yet again and cracks a smile when the dog flips and rolls in its hurry to get to it.
‘Then the family angle is magic!’ Jack declares, slapping his hands on his thighs.
‘I wouldn’t call it that’ Kester turns sharply.
‘No…sorry, of course you wouldn’t’ Jack clears his throat, embarrassed at his own insensitivity. ‘But from a pressman’s point of view that would be everything we could ask for. It would serialise for weeks’
‘And then she’d be finished, no matter what’
‘Let’s hope so…that’s what we both want, right?’ Jack lights another cigar.
The Red House
Moreton Comely
Chapter Seventeen
Samms Plant Hire, Oatfield
‘I got a letter from that Bruno bloke’ Charlene dumps her bag on her desk and plonks herself down on her chair without taking her coat off.
‘You have? Well, that’s good, isn’t it?’ Ingrid says, frowning at Charlene’s disgruntled look.
‘I dunno, do I?’ Charlene swivels her chair from side to side.
‘What does it say…or shouldn’t I ask?’
‘He says what he’ll be passing next Wednesday and he thinks what it’d be a pleasure or summat if I say it’s alright for ‘im come t’see me. What does he think I am, the flipping queen?’ she huffs. ‘Who does he think he is, come t’that’
Ingrid sits back in her chair, surprised by Charlene’s mood. ‘I think he’s a young man who finds it very hard to put what he wants to say in a letter’
‘Why don’t he ring me up then?’ Charlene says truculently.
‘Has he got your number?’
‘No…but he could find it out, couldn’t he? We’re in the book’
‘Does he know what your last name is?’ Ingrid asks with a quirk of an eyebrow.
‘No….but he could ring me and ask me. He knows where I work don’t he? Nathan’s in the book an’ he knows what his name is….I think’
Ingrid smiles at her logic. ‘Do you want to see him again?’
Charlene swivels on her chair once more and heaves a sigh. ‘Ohhhh…I dunno. It’s not as though he’s not nice nor nothing…but he’s a bit….’
‘Bit what?’
‘A bit…. full on’ she admits eventually.
‘I thought you said that he didn’t…’
‘Oh no, he dint try nothin, that int what I meant’
‘What, then?’
‘He were a bit scary if you really want t’know’ Charlene tosses her head and gets up, turning to take off her coat and takes her time in hanging it on the rack while her flush subsides.
‘I thought he was being a perfect gentleman all evening?’ Ingrid questions.
‘Yeah….he was….’ Charlene turns from the rack, her head lowered. ‘Only..I could tell what he really liked me…not just liked…but really really liked…’ she mumbles ‘And I int never had nobody what treated me like I was that special before. Got me all confused. I just wanted t’run away’
‘I thought you said he was shy and nervous?’
Charlene looks up, her face still warm. ‘E were!….’ she blurts. ‘But only when he was talking t’me…Tha’s what I mean. He were getting in such a state….trying too hard…you know?’
‘I do’ Ingrid smiles as she gets up. ‘Do you think he might be better once he stops trying to make an impression and just acts naturally?’ she asks, perching on the corner of Charlene’s desk.
‘I dunno, do I?’ Charlene’s elbows thump against the desktop as she sits down and puts her chin in her hands.
‘Okay…so he was a bit full on…but was there anything you didn’t like about him?’
‘No….not really. E int bad looking….bit old fashioned like I said…but that don’t count for nothing really, does it? He’s a bit posh an’ all. Wha’s he want me for?’
‘What do you mean, what does he want you for?’
‘He’d get me t’ride horses and wear scarves on me head or summat if I were his girlfriend wouldn’t he?’ Charlene throws herself back in the chair with a sigh. ‘Drink me tea with me finger sticking out and everything’
Ingrid laughs. ‘I shouldn’t think so’
‘He would! Tha’s what posh people do…and I don’t talk right neither, not like he does. He wants a proper lady tha’s what I meant. I int a proper lady
‘Whatever you are, that’s what he liked’
‘Probably cos I’m common’ she scowls.
‘Charlene!’
‘He probably couldn’t get himself no posh girlfriend so he thinks someone like me int gonna say no’
‘Now you’re talking rubbish’
‘I int!’ Charlene disputes hotly. ‘I can’t think what else he’d want t’see me for’
‘Because he likes you’ Ingrid assures with a soft smile. ‘…likes you very much. You made an impression on him and he wants to see you again to…to..’
‘See? Even you don’t know!’ Charlene butts in when Ingrid hesitates.
Ingrid gives her a look of growing exasperation. ‘I was going to say to see if what he felt that night can be built on…to see if you and him could hit it off for real or if you got on well because you were at a party and you’d had a couple of drinks’
‘You mean he wants t’see what I’m like when I int drunk? I weren’t drunk an’ nor were he!’
‘Nooo….not drunk! I know you weren’t but everyone tends to be more relaxed in a party setting’
‘E weren’t!’
‘Then perhaps he wants to show you what he’s like when he IS relaxed!’ Ingrid throws her hands in the air and stands up. ‘I don’t know’
‘You think what I should say he can come then?’
‘That’s up to you’ Ingrid sighs wearily as she crosses the room, returning to her own desk.
‘I don’t want him coming to the house…’ Charlene mutters, having given it a few seconds thought. ‘You know what me mum were like when he sent them flowers’ she groans. ‘If he comes t’see me, she’ll be asking all sorts a stuff like he were going t’propose or summat….cos she’d have t’do that wouldn’t she….what wi’me dad not there no more?…They have to ask what their wotsits are like’
‘Sorry?’ Ingrid bites the inside of her lip, trying to keep her face straight as she sits down.
‘You know…them things about what their job is and what they’re gonna do later on’ Charlene’s brow furrows in concentration.
‘Prospects’ Ingrid says with a brief smile of relief.
‘Yeah…she’ll be asking ‘bout them. It’d be dead embarrassing’
‘Would you feel happier about meeting him somewhere else….a pub or something?’
‘Oh, I dunno’ Charlene sighs her indecision.
‘Don’t see him again if you’re not sure’ Ingrid picks up her pen to continue work on the time cards.
‘I need one a them things’ Charlene says against the whirr of her computer booting up.
‘What things?’
‘Them things what sits there and makes sure nothing happens…a chappie thing’
‘Chaperone’
‘No…can’t be one a them’ Her confused frown returns ‘…cos I int got to ess yet’
‘It’s spelt with a ‘c’ but it’s pronounced with an ‘s’’
‘Tha’s a bit daft int it?’ she huffs.
‘It’s French’
‘Oh….’ Charlene accepts reluctantly. ‘Wha’s it doing in me dictionary then?…It says what it’s English on the front’
‘We borrowed the word, I expect…. like ‘shampoo’…I think we got that from India’
‘Ohhh…. Is that allowed?’ Charlene poses the question with hushed uncertainty.
‘Anyway…’ Ingrid smoothes the page in the wages book flat and reaches for the calculator, deciding to avoid trying to explain. ‘You meant chaperone…someone to go with you?’
‘Yeah… He might be alright….but he might be wanting me t’think what he is but he int really….an’ it int much fun waiting on your own neither’
‘If you don’t want him to come to the house and have your mum there…that’s very sensible’ Ingrid remarks absently, her fingers flying over the keypad.
‘Yeah…’cept I int got one…none a me mates’d be any good…they’d prob’ly’ go off wi’someone an’ leave me on me own anyway’
Ingrid snorts ‘I’ll come. I could do with a night out’ she jokes.
Charlene beams with relief. ‘You will?’
Ingrid grimaces at being taken seriously then shrugs. ‘Yeah…why not? If I don’t frighten him off, nothing will’
