Barry Maitland - The Marx Sisters

‘I don’t see the relevance of that,’ he said.

‘It would be expensive, wouldn’t it? That nice house in Chislehurst, the cars, the overseas trips, maybe some of the business. You’d lose quite a bit.’

Winter shook his head and shrugged. ‘I don’t know. It could all be worked out.’

‘You think your wife would be reasonable, do you?’

Winter looked queasy.

‘When did you suggest to your mother that she mortgage her house and lend you the money?’

For a moment Kathy thought Winter was going to pass out. His expression was stunned, his eyes unfocused. Then he recovered himself and gasped, shaking his head.

‘That… that was nothing to do with this. After I opened the fifth salon last year, I needed extra cash. It was just a suggestion to Mum, in passing. It wasn’t serious.’

‘Well, she seemed to have taken it very seriously. She was very worried about it.’

‘I… I didn’t know.’

‘Yes, well perhaps you’d know what had been worrying her lately?’

‘Lately?’

‘Yes. She was worried, depressed about something. For the past three or four months, maybe longer. She’d been getting antidepressants from the doctor.’

‘I had no idea. Really, I didn’t know. She never said.’

‘Maybe you’d been putting pressure on her to sell her house.’

‘Dear God, no.’ Winter bowed his head, his hands between his knees, palms together, and began to rock back and forward.

‘Come on, Mr Winter. You wanted her to sell the house, didn’t you?’

‘Yes, yes. I wanted her to get rid of that place. It was always needing maintenance. It needs rewiring. The roof needs complete reslating. I wanted her to get a nice little place on one level she could cope with. A modern flat with central heating. Maybe nearer to us. She had got a good offer. And her solicitor told me that everyone was selling up and leaving there. She would be left there in the middle of a building site. It was crazy.’

‘And did the agent for First Properties also tell you that if she didn’t sell soon, the place might end up being unsaleable?’

Winter looked at her with a mixture of grief and despair on his face.

‘Yes,’ he whispered, ‘he told me that.’

Winter was taken out to wait in another room while they interviewed Geraldine McArthur.

Brock got to his feet and stretched. He groaned. ‘Oh dear. I need a coffee before we get on to her. The things we have to do! I’m glad I had a decent breakfast this morning. I couldn’t have stood that on an empty stomach.’

‘You think I was too rough on him, sir?’

‘No, no. Exactly what he deserved, really. You wonder why he bothers, don’t you?’

‘How do you mean?’

‘Well, hauling himself off every Sunday afternoon to bed down with some woman whose every bump and wrinkle must be as familiar as his wife’s by this stage. I mean if he can’t even remember the next day whether she gave his dick a suck-sorry, Constable.’ The WPC in the corner smiled and stirred her coffee. ‘You can understand it at first, the excitement, the irresistible temptation, showing off in a big flashy car to some impressionable girl, but by this stage it must be getting a bit of a chore. And it’s going to cost him plenty, one way or another. Probably already has-that new kitchen, for instance.’

‘You think the wife knows?’

Brock shrugged. ‘I mean, I know I’m getting old, but where’s the point at this stage? I suppose the other woman must have her claws sunk deep into him.’ Kathy opened her mouth to object, but Brock carried on. ‘What do you reckon she’s like? Have to be a stunner, I suppose. Glamorous.’

‘That’s a bit of a stereotype, isn’t it?’ Kathy realized she sounded irritable.

‘Yes, maybe. “The other woman.” Could be an intelligent, sensible, attractive woman like… well, like you, Kathy.’ Brock ploughed on, relentless, pretending not to see the look on her face. ‘But unlikely. Why would such a woman go for a sleazy married man like Terry? Almost bound to be some glamorous, vain young thing. Hairdressing salon manageress. All hair and boobs. Let’s take a bet on it.’

Brock lost his bet. Ms Geraldine McArthur was older than Caroline Winter, and not nearly as striking. She had a wide mouth with a generous smile, and wore her dark brown hair in a plain straight bob. She was obviously very worried, but more self-possessed than Winter had been. She also had a better recollection than he had had of the detailed events of Sunday afternoon, which she related to Kathy without protest, and with some considerable, if embarrassed, dignity. Her account of the past tallied with his in every significant respect, although her version of the future seemed rather clearer than his.

‘Terry has been working out with his accountant how things can be settled with Caroline, his wife. It’s complicated, you see, with the loans outstanding for the businesses and the cars leased, and so on. It’s taking him a long time to work out just the best way to do it, so that everyone comes out of it all right. He wants to have that all worked out before he tells Caroline that he wants a divorce, to make it as painless as possible. I think he’s right about that. Only the accountant is being very slow.’

Kathy’s eyes narrowed.

‘His two girls are quite grown up now, so it shouldn’t be too hard on them. I have two boys, six and nine. My husband married again not long after we were divorced, and because he and his wife have a nice home with a garden for pets and so on, and good schools near by, we agreed that the boys would live with them. My flat isn’t really suitable. But when Terry and I get married, I shall apply for custody of the boys.’

‘I see.’

Kathy seemed temporarily lost for words. The rustle of writing in the corner stopped, and for a moment a heavy silence hung in the room.

‘Did you ever meet Terry’s mother, Ms McArthur?’ Brock asked at last.

‘No. I would have liked to. But it didn’t seem possible. She would have been very upset to learn that Terry’s marriage was a failure. Although I think we would have got on after she’d got over the divorce. She was very fond of Terry, and she would have seen how much in love we are. I think she was a generous person.’

‘In terms of money?’

‘Yes. I don’t think she had a lot, but she was very independent, and she was always buying things for Terry and his family. Terry used to complain about her being too generous.’

‘And did Terry ever talk about getting financial assistance from his mother-for his business, or to help with the divorce, for example?’

Geraldine McArthur frowned. ‘No, he never said anything about that.’

‘Or about the possibility of her selling her house?’

‘Yes, he did talk about how unsuitable it was for her, and how she should sell it. She was quite stubborn, I understand.’

From the window of Kathy’s office, Brock looked down on the figures of Winter and his girlfriend as they emerged on to the street. They spoke briefly and then parted, walking away in opposite directions.

‘It doesn’t really settle anything, though,’ Kathy said. ‘They could have been describing the Sunday before last. Say Winter left her after an hour or so, and went to call on his mother to have another go at persuading her to sell the house. He went in to 22 and found her fast asleep on her bed. Just looking at the cantankerous old bird snoring away there, he knew she’d never change her mind. She was going to sit it out and he’d see his quarter of a million crumble to dust. He’s fuming. He goes into the kitchen for a drink of water, and he sees a plastic bag. He’s seen warnings on the TV about how easy it is to suffocate by accident with a plastic bag. He takes it back into the bedroom and discovers that they’re right, it is easy. Then he goes back to New Cross.’