Part 22 (1/2)

'I don't think I've had the pleasure,' the older man said, smiling sarcastically.

George straightened his coat and glared back. 'What's your game?' he growled, trying to compose himself.

'I might ask the same of you,' the man replied calmly, walking slowly towards George. 'It appears that you have been visiting Miss Martin on various occasions during the past few weeks. Tuesdays and Fridays, to be precise. You arrive at two-thirty in the afternoon and stay until around five o'clock. Later on one occasion.'

George swallowed drily and searched desperately for a way out of his predicament. 'That's right,' he said quickly, his eye catching the piano in the far corner of the room. 'I give 'er pianner lessons every Tuesdays and Fridays.'

The older man's face broke into a cruel smile and he looked down at the distressed figure of Rose. 'That's not what Miss Martin told me before you knocked on the door,' he said with measured relish. 'She told me you were her uncle who had lost his wife and was feeling lonely, and so you came round to have a nice little chat. Now which of these stories should I believe? Surely you're not both lying?'

Rose dabbed at her eyes with a small lace handkerchief and George stared helplessly at his tormentor.

'Norman, will you show our visitor to the piano? Perhaps we could be honoured with a brief demonstration of the gentleman's talents,' the older man said quietly.

The beefy young man took George by the arm and led him over to the piano.

'Are you familiar with Chopin's Nocturne in E-Flat?' the senior man said in a silky voice. 'Opus nine number two. Or maybe you'd like to entertain us with your interpretation of Liszt's Hungarian Fantasy.'

George looked down at the piano keys and then stared back dumbly.

'Perhaps you'd prefer to offer us a short medley of popular tunes,' the man said condescendingly.

George's mind was racing. He had lived by his wits all his life and suddenly he felt as if he was back in the days of his youth, cornered beneath the stinking arches with policemen closing in, their truncheons drawn ready to beat a lone young animal into submission. He could feel the blows again and the laughter as they walked off, leaving him b.l.o.o.d.y and barely alive.

George smiled thinly as he bent over the keyboard, and delicately tested the keys with his forefinger, his other hand resting on the top of the piano, inches away from a cut-gla.s.s vase. 'Pa.s.s us the music, will yer?' he said casually, pointing to the table.

For an instant the young man's attention was distracted and George knew that he could not hesitate. In one swipe he grabbed the heavy vase and smashed it with all the force he could muster full into the hoodlum's face. The young man dropped as though pole-axed and George wheeled, a snarl on his face as he closed on the older man.

'Don't you touch me!' he cried, backing away.

George made a grab for him and the man tumbled over Rose's legs and collapsed in a heap, his hands covering his head. George stood for a moment looking at Rose, wondering what he should do.

'Go!' she shouted. 'Just go.'

Beads of sweat were starting on his forehead as he hurried down the stairs and out into the street. He was still sweating profusely as he sat in the trap and let the horse have his head.

It was a quarter to five when Galloway drove his trap into the yard. He did not want to go home and face Nora's searching gaze, and as he sat watching the rising and falling of the gelding's flanks his thoughts were still racing. What would happen to Rose? he wondered. She would no doubt suffer a beating, but she would survive. She would gush tears and swear her loyalty, and maybe the excuse for a man who kept her would forgive her and shower more gifts upon her. He'd survive without Rose too - in fact he'd be better off. With Jake Mitch.e.l.l coming to fight for him and being a good earner, he wouldn't have to waste his money on that woman. He grinned smugly.

George crossed the yard and walked into the empty office. He sat down at his desk and reached for the whisky bottle, aware of the loud ticking noise from the clock. For a while he sat at his desk and then he swivelled around and stretched out his feet. He glanced up at the clock and noted that it was one minute to five o'clock. It was then that his eyes caught sight of the sealed envelope that was propped against the far desk. George felt a sudden sense of bewilderment and he frowned as he tore open the letter. As he read the few words written in a flowing script he groaned loudly and lifted his misted eyes to the ceiling. He was still staring up as if transfixed when William walked into the office.

'What's wrong?' the yard foreman asked in alarm.

George pa.s.sed the note over without a word and William slowly read the short message: Dear George, When you read this note my life will be over. Loneliness is a cross I could no longer bear. Only my work sustained me through the years. And now that's been taken away from me. Take heart, the books are in order and up to date. Just one last thought: value old friends. Without them life is empty, as I have sadly discovered.

Yours in eternity,

Horace Gallagher

'Oh my Gawd! The silly ole fool,' William breathed. 'Why? Why did 'e do it, George? Surely 'e could 'ave talked about what was troublin' 'im? We might 'ave bin able ter 'elp the poor bleeder.'

George shook his head. 'I doubt it. I doubt if anybody could. 'Orace was a private man. 'E kept 'imself to 'imself.'

William suddenly recalled the day Horace had warned him about Mitch.e.l.l. He must have been planning to take his own life then, he thought. He slumped down in Horace's desk chair and looked across at his employer's strained face. 'I can't understand what 'e said about bein' lonely. 'E 'ad a wife, didn't 'e, George?' he said in a puzzled voice.

The firm's owner made a pained grimace and nodded slowly. 'Yeah, 'Orace 'ad a wife, that much I do know. She left 'im more than twenty years ago.'

William picked up the note again and after studying it for a few moments he looked up at his boss. 'This bit about ”only my work sustained me”. Yer wasn't finkin' o' puttin' 'im off, was yer, George?' he asked, frowning.

Galloway shook his head vigorously. ''E was too valuable. 'Orace knew 'e 'ad nuffink ter worry about on that score.'

The two sat staring down at the floor in silence, then suddenly George got up and walked over to the corner of the room. He took down a ledger from the shelf and opened it on his desk. 'Come 'ere, Will,' he said after a few moments. 'Take a look at this.'

William studied the unfamiliar entries and looked in puzzlement at George. 'What is it? he asked.

'There's yer answer,' the firm's owner said positively. 'Jus' look at those entries. These are the latest ones. See 'ow they run inter the lines on the page? The earlier entries are much neater. 'E could 'ardly see what 'e was doin'. The poor bleeder used ter polish those gla.s.ses of 'is all the time. I thought it was just 'is nerves. That's what 'e meant when 'e said that bit about 'is work sustainin' 'im.'

'Yer mean ...'

'That's right, Will. 'Orace was goin' blind.'

Chapter Twenty-five.

The evening was stormy and unseasonably cold, and outside heavy rain was falling from the dark, ma.s.sed clouds that hung in the sky like a pall. Nora sat alone in the back kitchen, her slippered feet warming in front of the small open fire. The rocking-chair creaked rhythmically as she worked at tucking and tacking hems on a new pair of curtains, and she glanced up at the covered window every time she heard a loud roll of thunder. George had gone to his room soon after tea, saying he had some papers to look through, and Josephine was visiting her school friend in the house across the square. Nora welcomed the evening solitude as she threaded the needle in and out of the fabric. The last few weeks had been a very trying time for her. When she had gone to George's room that fateful night, full of fire and indignation and ready to face her lover down, she had ended up trying to console him over his accountant's sudden death, searching vainly for words of comfort until finally he fell into a drunken sleep.

Horace Gallagher's suicide seemed to have affected George more badly than Nora would have predicted. He was slipping back into his old ways, becoming morose for no reason and spending a lot of time alone, and he was drinking heavily again. It worried her that he had begun to use the trap for his evening pub meetings now. Often he would return from the yard or a pub with the gelding sweating and flecks of foam spattered along its flanks, having raced it along the cobbled streets and sometimes through traffic, and then Nora found herself fearing for his life. It was a small glimmer of comfort to her that she had stayed with him on that terrible night and tried to share his grief, and he had not shut himself up in his room away from her. He appeared to have forsaken his afternoon trips out lately too, and she guessed that whatever attachment he had formed was now over. Nora knew that she had neither youth nor beauty to offer, but she felt that the love she had shared with George had been genuine, growing slowly from a feeling of needing and being needed. She considered herself to be a practical woman, and tried to make herself believe that the depression afflicting George would pa.s.s and she would be able to draw him back to her and stop his dangerous drinking.

She started from her reverie as the front door opened and closed and she heard the sound of footsteps coming along the pa.s.sage. Geoffrey walked into the room, puffing loudly as he removed his sodden hat and coat and threw them over the back of a chair.

'It's raining cats and dogs out there, Nora,' he said, giving her a smile. 'Any tea in the pot?'

She made to get up but he waved her back. 'I'll get us some,' he said cheerfully, taking the teapot from off the hearth.

They sat facing each other beside the fire, Nora slowly rocking back and forth with the unfinished curtains across her lap and Geoffrey sitting forward in his chair, sipping his tea thoughtfully. Outside the storm was raging unabated. Thunderclaps broke the quietness of the room.

'The old man's asleep by the fire,' Geoffrey said. 'I looked in on him as I came in.'

''E's back on the drink, Geoff,' she said quietly. 'I'm worried about 'im.'

Geoffrey shrugged his shoulders. 'He's upset over Horace. It was a terrible shock to all of us but Father's taken it badly,' he remarked, staring into the fire. 'It's strange really. All the years Horace worked for us and we knew practically nothing about the man. He never socialised with Dad, at least not that I know of. All the time he was in the office, his head was bent over the ledgers. He kept them in tiptop order. He was always on hand with advice about money matters, and I suppose we came to see him as part of the furniture. He wasn't the sort of man you could have a casual conversation with.'

Nora nodded her head sadly. 'Yer farvver showed me the letter 'Orace left be'ind before 'e took it ter the police station. Loneliness is a terrible fing. I know what it's like.'

They were silent for a while, both staring into the fire, then Geoffrey frowned and stretched out his legs.