The Passenger Read online

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter One

  David Walker stood staring out of the window, his hands in his pockets. He made himself breathe deeply and slowly as he struggled to get his anger and irritation under control. He’d been losing his temper too often and too easily lately, bursting out and saying things which he regretted as soon as he had spoken. Deep down inside himself he knew what the cause of it was, but he dared not bring it to the surface and face it. He had gone on pretending that things were still as they had always been between him and Evelyn, that the odd little signs he had noticed really meant nothing.

  From up here in the office block he could look out over the whole area covered by the factory where Cavalier Toys were manufactured. It was one of the biggest toy factories in Europe and also an unusually attractive example of industrial architecture. The firm had moved from London when Guildfleet had been designated a development area and companies had been offered attractive inducements to establish premises there. After the cramped conditions in Hackney, the Trading Estate on the outskirts of the Buckinghamshire town seemed very spacious, allowing room for lawns and flowerbeds between the low buildings.

  He lit a cigarette and turned to face the man who was sitting behind the large executive desk placed at an angle across one corner of the office.

  “I’m sorry, Arthur. I didn’t mean to lose my temper.”

  “For heaven’s sake, David.” Arthur Eastwood made a gesture with his hand as if to wave the apology away. “You’re entitled to lose your temper once in a while.”

  “Once in a while is putting it mildly. I’m losing it far too often these days.”

  David Walker was ten years younger than his partner and was still two years on the right side of fifty. Though very different in a number of ways the two men had been a most effective team during the fifteen years since they had founded the firm in a small furniture factory whose owners had gone into liquidation. David was dark and still good-looking; he was careful about his appearance and bought his suits from a London tailor. Though unpredictable in his moods, it was he who produced the most original and novel ideas. Arthur Eastwood was more stolid and steady-going. He had a shrewd business mind and knew exactly how to put the brake on David’s enthusiasm. His style of dressing suited his appearance, which had something of the country squire about it. He favoured tweeds and liked to make his suits last till the seats became shiny and his elbows began to wear thin.

  Their most successful invention had been a toy known as The Walking Cavalier, an ingenious clockwork device representing a soldier of Charles I who could march with an extraordinarily life-like movement. In fact it had proved so successful that the firm had adopted the name Cavalier Toys. Various versions of the Cavalier adorned the Managing Director’s office; a version in solid silver stood on Arthur Eastwood’s desk.

  David left the window and moved towards his partner’s desk. “Well, where were we?”

  “You were just about to tell me to take a running jump,” Arthur said with a wry smile.

  “Not you — Stenhouse.”

  “What have you got against Jack?” Arthur looked up, wrinkling his eyes against the afternoon sunshine which was pouring into the room.

  “Nothing. I admire the little devil. He’s a bomb. But I just don’t want to finish up working for him.”

  “No one’s asking you to.” Arthur rose from his chair and came out from behind his desk. “You know the deal. They want to buy us out; the whole set up, lock, stock and barrel.”

  “Just like that.” David snapped his fingers and threw a glance at the factory beyond the windows.

  Arthur put a friendly hand on his shoulder. “Look, David, I know how you feel — but being sentimental about the firm won’t get us anywhere.”

  David gave a short laugh. “After fifteen years I’m finding it a little difficult not to be sentimental.”

  “I know, but we’ve got to face up to things. Be realistic.”

  “And you think selling out to Jack Stenhouse is being realistic?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “In spite of the fact that last year we made more money than we’ve ever made before?”

  “It’s not just a question of money!” Arthur said with exasperation. “I’m fifty-seven, in two months’ time I’ll be fifty-eight.”

  “What’s fifty-eight, for God’s sake? Your old man didn’t retire until he was seventy.”

  Arthur turned away and sat down in one of the easy chairs in front of his desk. “But he didn’t have a coronary when he was fifty-five, David,” he said quietly. There was an awkward pause before he asked: “Have you spoken to Evelyn about this?”

  “Good heavens, no! You know Evelyn. She’s not remotely interested in the business. She’d never even heard of Jack Stenhouse until I mentioned him at dinner the other night. And then she thought he was an actor.”

  Arthur gave a shrug. “She’s not far wrong. Well — you know how I feel. It’s up to you, David.”

  David stubbed out his half-smoked cigarette before replying. “When are we seeing Stenhouse again?”

  “Tomorrow morning; ten o’clock.”

  “Here?” David’s expression showed his surprise.

  “Yes. And I’ve promised him a decision — one way or the other.”

  “He’s certainly rushing things . . .”

  “To be fair,” Arthur pointed out, “this deal’s been on the cards for almost two years now.”

  “It’s a pity I didn’t let you have your own way five years ago when you wanted to go public . . .”

  Arthur laughed, but without bitterness. “Let’s face it, David — you never have let me have my own way!”

  “Perhaps it’s time I started.”

  “Eh?” Arthur glanced up at him, obviously surprised.

  David met his eye, his face serious and resigned. “We’ll accept their offer. We’ll give Stenhouse the go-ahead tomorrow morning.”

  “You mean that?” Arthur asked, trying not to show how relieved he was.

  “Yes.”

  “You won’t change your mind?”

  “No, Arthur,” David said, speaking with a seriousness which was unusual in him. “I won’t change my mind.”

  Arthur nodded and reached for a cigar from the silver box on the front of his desk. He was piercing it preparatory to lighting up when the connecting door which led to David’s office opened. Sue Denson came in warily. David’s voice, raised in protest, had been audible through the walls.

  David’s secretary was in her late twenties and attractive in a slightly severe way. Her dark costume was in good taste, but subdued. Even a quick glance showed that she was a young woman who knew her own mind. She still wore her wedding ring on her left hand and, even though her marriage had broken up, liked to be called Mrs. Denson.

  “Excuse me, Mr. Eastwood,” she said to the older man. “I know I’m interrupting but Mr. Royce is on the telephone. He wants to speak to Mr. Walker.”

  “Tell him I’m out,” David said curtly. “I’ll ‘phone him tomorrow morning. Oh — and ring Baker and cancel our appointment for this afternoon. I’m taking the rest of the day off, Sue.”

  Sue favoured him with a searching look, trying to guess the reason for such an uncharacteristic statement. “Aren’t you feeling well, Mr. Walker?”

  “I’ve got some shopping to do.” David turned towards Arthur, who was now enveloped in a cloud of rich cigar smoke. “I’ve just discovered I’ve got to buy a shawl and a pair of slippers.”

  It was, in fact, almost unheard of for David Walker to ‘take the rest of the day off’. One of the reasons for the firm’s prosperity was that the partners were always in their offi
ces before the workforce arrived and were still there after they left. It was a rule that one or other of them would go round the works at least once a day and talk to the men. As a result there had never been a strike at Cavalier Toys. Such results are not achieved without effort, but in his present mood David could not help feeling that it had all been wasted effort. What was the point of dedicating most of your waking hours to building up something and when you’ve achieved your aim just handing it over lock, stock and barrel to a complete outsider?

  The friendly greetings of the employees he met on his way to the car park only made him feel worse. He knew them all by name. How would they feel when they heard the news?

  He opened the door of the Bentley and slid behind the wheel. The security man on the gate raised the bar as the big car swung towards the exit, and raised a hand in salute as David turned out onto the road. But instead of heading towards the town centre he took the road leading to the residential district where his own house was. He just hoped that Evelyn would be at home. He had to unburden his feelings onto someone and she was really the only person who would understand how deeply he felt. She knew all too well how many evenings and weekends he had sacrific-xl in the interests of the firm.

  The drive only took five minutes. The big engine turned so effortlessly that it was practically inaudible as he turned in at the gate of Gameswood House. It was a solid brick building, built in the thirties, with enough trees in its grounds to shield it from the houses flanking it on either side.

  The avenue was short. David at once spotted the car which was parked outside his front door. It was an Austin Allegro with ‘L’ plates bearing the emblem ‘Norton School of Motoring’. David smiled as he stopped his car behind it. Evelyn had been trying for so long to pass her driving test that it had become a joke between them.

  The Bentley’s door closed with the dignified coach-built click which always gave him satisfaction. He was feeling in his pocket for his keys as he went up the steps to the front door. He was still smiling, thinking up some remark to tease Evelyn about the bill she was running up for driving lessons.

  He closed the door and as he turned his glance fell on the hall table. A man’s hat and a pair of leather driving-gloves had been placed on it. Assuming Evelyn and her instructor must be in the drawing-room — probably swotting up the Highway Code — he made for the door of the big front room. Before he reached it he heard a murmur of voices from upstairs. He checked, moved to the bottom of the staircase and was about to call up when the sound of a woman’s laugh froze him. It had to be Evelyn, but there was something odd about that laugh, at the same time girlish and sensual.

  A door had opened on the corridor above. He heard her say: “You’ll have to be patient, Roy. I’ll be back in a sec.”

  From the room beyond came the murmur of a man’s voice, the words indistinguishable. Then she came into view, still laughing as she looked over her shoulder at the bedroom doorway.

  “Don’t be silly, sweetie. You’ll just have to wait.”

  She was wearing a flimsy organza dressing-gown, transparent enough for him to see the curves of her naked body underneath it. She had tied the waist-belt hastily round her middle. Her golden hair was tousled and the lipstick round her mouth was smeared. But it was the strange excitement in her eyes which shook him most. They were alight with a fire which he had not seen for years.

  She had started to come down the stairs before she saw him. She stopped dead and then, with startling suddenness, all expression drained from her face. David shook his head, as if to clear it of a nightmare. For five terrible seconds they just stared at each other, while the whole of their life together crumbled silently round them.

  Then David turned away, his face twisting with grief and revulsion. He blundered towards the door, clumsily let himself out and disappeared.

  Arthur Eastwood went on listening to the ringing tone at the other end of the line long after he knew that there was going to be no reply. From across the office Jack Stenhouse was watching him impatiently, a frown on his confident, arrogant features. He was in his mid-forties and already going bald on top. As if to compensate, he had allowed his side-whiskers to grow well out onto his cheeks. They added to his tough, almost predatory appearance.

  “Still no reply.” Arthur replaced the receiver at last and pressed a button on his desk. “I’m terribly sorry about this, Jack. It’s most unlike David. Most mornings he’s in his office well before I am. We have a sort of running joke about it.”

  “It must be wearing a little thin.” Stenhouse looked pointedly at his watch. “I’m sorry, Arthur — I’ll have to be making a move.”

  “Yes, of course. You’re a very busy man these days, I realise that.” Arthur stood up as Stenhouse picked up his coat and hat from one of the upright chairs.

  “It’s a pity your partner doesn’t.”

  The door from David’s office had opened to admit a worried-looking Sue Denson. “Any news, Sue?” Arthur asked her.

  “No, I’m afraid not.”

  Something about her hesitant manner made Arthur glance sharply at her. “Have you spoken to Despatch?”

  “Yes. They haven’t seen Walker since yesterday morning.”

  “All right, Sue. Keep ringing his home — there’s bound to be a reply sooner or later.”

  Sue nodded. She seemed thankful to escape back into David’s office. Arthur helped Stenhouse into his coat, an expensive affair with a fur collar and scarlet silk lining.

  “There’s nothing to worry about, Jack. He’s made his mind up, and once David . . .”

  “I’m not worried, my dear fellow, not in the slightest,” Stenhouse said, somehow making the reassurance sound like a threat.

  “I’ll get David to give you a ring, the moment he comes in.”

  “Yes, do that. I’m leaving for New York on Saturday morning. If I haven’t heard from him by Thursday morning you can forget the whole thing.” Stenhouse’s manner had become distant as he offered his hand.

  Arthur put a hand on his arm in an attempt at a friendly gesture. “I’ll come down to the car with you.”

  The door had scarcely closed behind them when David walked through from his own office. His face was haggard and depressed. It was obvious that he had not shaved and his usually immaculate suit looked as if he had slept in it. He was followed by a deeply concerned Sue.

  “Thank you, Sue. I just couldn’t have faced them.”

  “Can I get you anything, Mr. Walker?”

  “No, no, I don’t want anything at the moment.”

  “Janet’s making some coffee,” Sue said, in the voice of a mother coaxing a reluctant child. “Let me get you a cup . . .”

  David rubbed his hands over his eyes. “All right, Sue, I’ll have some coffee. And get me a call to Ditchford. A personal call to a Mr. Parker, Ditchford 278.”

  “Ditchford 278.”

  “Yes. It’s in Cumberland, near Penrith.”

  Sue hesitated, as if she was about to say something, then tightened her lips and returned to her office.

  David walked listlessly over to the window. Looking down he saw Arthur and Jack Stenhouse emerge from the building and move towards the car park. Stenhouse was striding ahead, Arthur almost having to run to keep up with him. In the car park the door of a mauve Rolls-Royce Corniche opened and a uniformed chauffeur stepped out. He was holding the door of the rear compartment as Stenhouse arrived. Arthur was still talking as the burly man climbed into his car. He put out a hand and slammed the door, cutting Arthur’s sentence off before he had completed it. Arthur was left standing dejectedly as the big saloon glided away. As he turned back towards the office block he suddenly saw David’s unmistakable green Bentley. He glanced up towards the window and began to hurry back.

  When Arthur burst into his office David was standing beside the desk, the telephone in his hand. Eastwood stamped to the window, fuming.

  “I’m not sure what time I’ll arrive,” David was saying, “probably about five
o’clock. No, I’m driving up . . . What? I’ll tell you when I see you, Uncle.”

  Arthur had hardly been able to contain his annoyance. As the receiver was replaced he rounded on his partner. “David, where the hell have you been? Stenhouse waited almost an hour!”

  “I know . . . I’m sorry, Arthur.”

  David’s voice had been very tense. Arthur stared at him, noting the unshaven face, the crumpled clothes. “What the devil happened?”

  “I — I just couldn’t face Jack Stenhouse — not this morning.”

  “Have you changed your mind?”

  “Ehmm?” David had hardly heard the question. His thoughts were far away.

  “About the deal?” Arthur said impatiently.

  “No, no.” David’s voice was still vague. “I haven’t changed my mind.”

  Arthur moved towards him, his anger changing to concern. “David, what the hell’s happened?”

  Abruptly David sat down and put his head in his hands. Arthur waited and after a moment he looked up again. “Do you know a man called Roy Norton?”

  “Yes. He runs a driving school. Tallish chap, good-looking.” “That’s him. Well, I met the gentleman — somewhat unexpectedly, I’m afraid — yesterday afternoon.”

  “Well?” Arthur asked, still not getting the drift of David’s remarks.

  “Evelyn introduced us,” David said in a flat, unemotional voice.

  “Evelyn . . .?”

  “Yes.”

  “Yesterday afternoon?”

  “That’s right.”

  Only then did Arthur realise what his partner was trying to tell him. “Oh, my God,” he said softly. “David, I’m sorry.”

  “But not surprised?” Arthur glanced away, dodging the question. “Not surprised, Arthur? The little bitch! The mean, cheap, despicable little bitch! I could have killed her!”

  David’s voice had risen to near hysteria. Arthur did not like to see a man lose control of himself. He turned towards the window as David once again buried his head in his hands.

  “What happened?”

  “There were so many things I wanted to say to both of them, but . . .”