The Hit-and-Run Man Page 8

  Pauline's face brightened considerably. Although known locally as the park, that was not really what it was. It was a section of woodland cut into two by a fast-running stream, a spot Pauline loved. She had only been once or twice before with David, but went often on her own, particularly in the summer.

  “Don't you have to go back to work?” she asked.

  David shrugged. “I'll ring in; tell them I've been stricken by a mystery illness during lunch.”

  Watching him walk away to make the telephone call, Pauline sat back and relaxed for the first time that day. Somehow she couldn't see Howard telephoning the office in the middle of the day to feign sickness so that he could be with her. But then that was probably a reflection of why her husband had risen to be a senior executive while David would never be more than a senior clerk in a sales department. And she did enjoy the lifestyle Howard's position afforded.

  Leaving her Metro on the pub car park, she joined David in his car for the short, ten-minute drive to the local beauty spot. Even the harshness of winter couldn't dim the appeal this place held for Pauline. There were enough evergreens surrounding the stream to neutralise the stark effect of the bare, outstretched, twisted branches on the trees that shed their load through the autumn days.

  They walked for a while on the carpet of rotting, yellow leaves that covered the banks, past the little wooden tea hut that in summer would be open, back to the rickety wooden bridge that spanned the fast-flowing water. Standing on the creaky boards, watching the stream rush past below her, spray lightly brushing her face, the fresh breeze biting into her cheeks, here was a peace so complete she could put her worries behind her. They belonged to another world, an ugly world, far removed from the beauty around her.

  “Feeling better now?” asked David. He had moved so close to her, their bodies were faintly touching.

  She turned her face to his. “This was just what I needed. I don't know what I would do without you sometimes.”

  She had plenty of time to avoid the kiss. He lowered his head slowly, as though expecting her to turn away. But at that moment in time, at that place, the tranquillity disturbed only by the soothing sound of rushing water, the real world left behind, kissing David seemed the most natural thing to do.

  For Pauline it was not a sexual kiss. It was more a search for comfort and reassurance, as a troubled child would look to a mother's arms for solace. Not until David slightly increased the pressure on her lips, gently easing open her mouth, did the full implication of what she was doing hit her. Breaking off the kiss, she violently pushed herself away from David's grasp.

  “That was stupid,” she cried loudly. “Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!”

  The anger was with herself for what she considered a moment of weakness. Knowing how David truly felt about her, she should not have allowed herself a moment of such vulnerability. The last thing she needed at the moment was an affair. She was sure the answer to her problems didn't lie between another man's sheets. Her wish was for her marriage to survive, though, if she were honest with herself, it was impossible to say if this was because she loved her husband or desperately wanted to preserve the way of life she had become used to.

  For the second time in a matter of hours Pauline found herself travelling in a car with a man in complete silence. This time she blamed herself. Had she not taken that extra bit of care getting ready that morning? Had she not put on the pale blue dress that she knew David liked? Howard's behaviour had evoked feelings of neglect and rejection, so that she had looked to David in her need to be aware again of her appeal as a woman. She had only wanted to see it in his eyes, though, feel it in his presence, never going so far as a kiss. She was a parasite, she decided, drawing strength off this man's deepest feelings. It would probably be best if she never saw him again.

  After dropping Pauline back at the pub car park, David returned to his office, much to the surprise of colleagues who were under the impression he had been struck by a sudden attack of violent diarrhoea during the lunch hour.

  Back at his desk, he picked up the telephone and spoke to Angela on the switchboard.

  “Does Ross Hankin still work at our Spanish agency?”

  “To the best of my knowledge; in Madrid.”

  “See if you can get him for me, will you?”

  “It'll take a few minutes. I'll call you back.”

  Returning the receiver to the telephone, David leaned back in his chair, contemplating the afternoon's events. The kiss had surprised him, never having come remotely close to that before. She had always been a brick wall to his advances and propositions. He closed his eyes and recalled the touch of her lips on his, the closeness of her body. For a few fleeting seconds on that bridge the agonisingly unattainable had suddenly seemed wildly attainable. He had tasted the fruit and it was as sweet as he had imagined. Now he had to pick the tree clean.

  The ring of the telephone broke into his thoughts. Russ Hankin had worked with David for many years before moving to Spain, during which time they had become good friends.

  After exchanging pleasantries, David came to the point.

  “Tell me, Russ, do you have such things as private detectives out there?”

  “Of course we do,” answered the voice from Spain. “Believe it or not, we even have electricity and running water out here too.”

  David laughed. “All right, I take your point. I want you to hire a detective for me. Personal, not business, so have the bill sent to me direct. This is what I want him to check out for me.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Throughout his working life, Jason G Henderson, Managing Director of Impact Publicity Services, had rigidly believed there was no greater folly than to get involved with a female office colleague. Invariably, such relationships ended only in marriage or heartache and he wasn't sure which was the most painful.

  His own unhappy, ten-year marriage had come to a sudden end some twenty years before, when his wife collapsed one afternoon while shopping in Oxford Street, dying three hours later in hospital without coming out of the coma. Doctors had found a massive brain tumour that had lain dormant for years, undetected. Sooner or later it was going to activate and take her life. Her fate had been inevitable.

  In spite of knowing how callous and cruel the thought was, Henderson couldn't help wishing it had been sooner. For him it had come as nothing but a great relief, a heavy burden removed from his shoulders. Pushed into marriage by family pressure in what was considered a 'proper' match, they were, in fact, the epitome of incompatibility. Their tastes opposite on virtually every facet of their lives, they agreed on nothing, argued about everything. Her fiery temper frequently led to wild tantrums when she would smash crockery, ornaments or anything else she was able to lay her hands on. These rages were frightening and so intense Henderson always felt she was capable of killing when consumed by them. After her death he had asked the doctors if the dormant tumour could have had any effect on her mental state, but none seemed to be able to come to a definite conclusion.

  That they continued in a marriage, when it would have made sense to have parted years before, was due entirely to the enormous pressure within their social circle at that time. For their class separation and divorce was unthinkable. So he suffered until fate took a hand, snuffing out a life only a few weeks away from the completion of its thirty-first year.

  In nearly twenty-years since then, he had had little to do with the opposite sex. Much embittered by his wretched marital experience, he had been content to live out a bachelor existence, needing to please only himself, answerable to no-one.

  He was sure his self-imposed discipline regarding office relationships had gone a long way to preserving his independence. Into his fifties and looking every minute his age, he hardly gave it a thought now, sure that temptation was well and truly behind him. Events proved such complacency ill-founded. But when she arrived on the scene, who would have guessed Devina would be the one to prove him wrong?

  Certainly Henderson had never encount
ered anyone like her in a working environment and that was not meant in a complimentary way. If the decision had been his, her appearance alone would have lost her the job, irrespective of her capabilities or qualifications. Group Personnel, however, had told him he was old-fashioned and out-of-touch. Given the chance, he felt Group Personnel would replace him with some long-haired trendy in baggy jumper, jeans and trainers! The modern image, they would say.

  Devina, Henderson had checked, was nineteen years of age and, though not much over five feet tall, would certainly not go unnoticed. She wore tight tops, tight leather mini-skirts that bordered on the indecent together with, usually, fishnet tights. Her lipstick, always matching her finger and toe nail varnish, came in a variety of shades of purple, black and very dark red. To Henderson her hair looked as though it hadn't seen a comb for a week, yet he was assured it took more than an hour every morning to achieve that look.

  Jason Henderson found it all curiously sexless. It was too blatant, too obvious. All of which made subsequent events all the more surprising.

  The morning his secretary went down with influenza, it left him with a problem. Summoning Howard Greenfield to his office, he paused to reflect how much he had come to rely on Howard since the slight heart attack three years previously. The fact that he was in hospital only a few days and away from the office for about six weeks did not, the doctors had said, entitle him to just shrug off the attack. Take it as a warning, they had advised; ease up or face the possibility of more serious consequences. That was why he allowed Greenfield to take most of the creative and client liaison responsibilities off his shoulders, leaving him to deal solely with the administrative running of the company.

  “Howard, I've got a problem,” declared Henderson. “As you know, Marje has gone down with flu and the Group Chairman has called an emergency board meeting at the Metropole in Brighton.”

  Greenfield raised his eyebrows. “What's that all about?”

  “Officially the marked decline in Group profitability, as revealed in the latest trading figures.”

  “That doesn't apply to us surely. I would have thought our profits were up.”

  “They are, but the Group does carry some lame ducks, unfortunately.” Henderson began to smile. “I shouldn't read too much into it, Howard. It's really just an excuse for a large-scale executive booze-up; a night out with the boys. Nevertheless, I do like to keep an accurate record of such meetings and it would appear that, next to Marjorie, young Devina has the fastest shorthand speed. Over a hundred words a minute, would you believe, and the certificates to prove it. What's your impression, Howard?”

  Greenfield sat back in his chair. “I can well believe her shorthand speed. She seems to be very good at her job.”

  “You say that as though there's an unmentioned 'but'.”

  Greenfield shrugged. “Her appearance is a little startling, Jason, to say the least.”

  “I know,” Henderson sighed. “I wasn't very keen, but Group Personnel thought it would up-date our image. Image is very much the in-thing at the moment. We have to present a modern image, whatever that is, to the client”

  “It may please some; not all though.”

  “Try telling that to those weirdoes with their sociology degrees that have taken over Group Personnel. They seem to think if you have long, straggly hair, dress and look generally scruffy or outrageous, then you must be a genius.”

  Greenfield laughed. “I think that's a slight exaggeration.”

  Getting up from his chair, Henderson walked over to the window, looking out aimlessly at the traffic passing by.

  “Maybe so, but times do seem to have changed such a lot in this business since we started, Howard. I feel sometimes I'm being left behind.”

  “Don't despair, Jason. It's just one of the drawbacks of getting older.”

  Henderson turned and smiled. “Yes, I suppose you could be right. I am sounding off a bit, aren't I?”

  “Spit it all out, it's good for you.”

  “Yes, and you are a good listener, Howard.” Henderson returned to his desk. “Anyway, back to the business in hand. You think Devina could stand in for Marje at this meeting?”

  “After twenty years of Marjorie she'll probably come as a bit of a shock to your colleagues, but I don't doubt she is capable.”

  “She may not wish to come, of course. It will mean a stop-over.”

  “I can't see that being a problem. Night out at a five-star hotel? I would think she would jump at the chance.”

  She did, too. The board meeting went exactly as Henderson had predicted. After a brief, unproductive exchange of views, there was a mass adjournment to the lounge bar. While providing something of a distraction to some of the directors, Devina appeared to have no problems recording the discussion.

  No longer keen, since his illness, on excessive alcohol, Henderson excused himself and his stand-in secretary from the proceedings shortly after eleven. He was tired and ready for bed. Devina accompanied him to the second floor, where they departed to their separate rooms.

  After relaxing in a piping hot bath, he put on his striped, cotton pyjamas and was about to pull back the covers when there was a knock on the door.

  “Who is it?” Henderson was undoubtedly cautious at that time of night.

  “Devina.”

  “Devina? Are you all right?”

  “Sure, I'm okay. Just let me in please.”

  Convinced there must be something wrong, Henderson quickly slipped on his plain, brown dressing gown and opened the door. Devina swept in, a full-length kimono-style dressing gown, flaunting vivid, colourful designs, wrapped around her. From the way her body moved within the silky, clinging material, it was obvious she was wearing nothing beneath it. For the first time she evoked a physical reaction within him.

  “I'm sorry, I'm being silly, I know,” she said ruefully.

  “Not at all. What is it?”

  “It's just hotel rooms. Especially when they are as big as these are. I find them such lonely places.” She looked deep into Henderson's eyes. “Don't you?”

  He shut the door and locked it.

  Jason Henderson couldn't fathom out why he had broken his long-standing rule for this girl, still not out of her teens, who had hovered around the office in tight mini-skirts and fishnet tights without inducing any sexual reaction in him. In the dim light of a bedside lamp, he lay back pondering with concern his lapse. He should have been stronger, sent her away. Now he could foresee only problems. Where did it go from here? Devina slept soundly, her naked shoulders just showing above the covers. The dazzling kimono lay draped across the lower half of the bed.

  What were her motives? He was more than thirty years older than she and looked his age, if not older. Could she really find him sexually attractive? Perhaps she thought sleeping with the Managing Director would further her career. That was where his problems could really begin. He cursed his moment of indiscretion.

  Not that it hadn't been a pleasant experience. He had long forgotten the vigour and urgency of the lovemaking of youth, the consuming eagerness of those early years of awakening and discovery. But it had left him exhausted. Even now he was having trouble getting his breath. His pulse was still racing, seemingly throbbing through his whole body.

  Closing his eyes, he looked to sleep to recover his strength and relieve his anxieties. He never opened his eyes again. The physical exertion had proved too much for his imperfect heart. Devina slept on, unaware that death was now her bed-mate.

  Chapter Twelve

  David Maddocks shook his head in disbelief at the report, submitted most efficiently in English, from the Spanish private investigations agency. So it really was true. Though the information was sparse, it was surely conclusive.

  A young woman had collected Howard Greenfield in the early evening. He had not returned to his hotel until close to daybreak. Only a few hours later the same woman had picked him up again.

  It still left a lot unexplained. Why was he still acting str
angely, as Pauline had indicated? A two-day fling in a foreign city might induce an immediate feeling of guilt, but surely he would have recovered to some degree by now. Of course, it could be more than a two-day fling. But if it was someone he knew in London and the trip abroad had been used as an opportunity to be together, why had they not spent the night in the same hotel room?

  The agency had been unable to trace anything of Greenfield's movements in Barcelona, save his business appointments, which were hardly a secret anyway. In view of there being no immediate prospect of progress in this direction, they felt, according to the covering letter accompanying the report, it was unfair to continue to take his money.

  David was unhappy the trail had petered out. There was so much still unanswered. However, while not the stuff private eye movies are made of, he had to admire their honesty. In truth, it had been the barrel of a gun pointed at a head, rather than integrity that had persuaded the agency to terminate their enquiries.

  The telephone at the other end of the line rang on and on. David was about to give up when Pauline answered.

  “Pauline, it's David.”

  Her sigh was loud enough to be clearly heard down the telephone line.

  “David, please leave me alone. I don't want you to ring me.”

  “I think we should meet. I have something to show you that may have some bearing on Howard's behaviour.”

  “Tell me over the phone.”

  “I don't think I should. It's something you should see for yourself.”

  “Then forget it, David.” She was adamant. “I think seeing you would be very unwise. I've got more than I can handle with Howard at the moment. I don't need any more problems.”

  “No change with Howard then.”

  “Worse, if anything.” After a pause, she added, “Look David, you're a nice guy and the last thing I want is to hurt you, but please leave me alone. Don't spoil the friendship we had by becoming a nuisance and making me hate you for it.”

  Before he could answer she had replaced the receiver. Slipping the report back into its envelope, he dropped it into the top drawer of his desk. He could wait. He was sure now his moment would come.