A Little Bit on the Side (33 page)

Four years of judiciously expanding his practice in the business community, whilst at the same time retaining its rustic base, saw Noddy flourishing to such an extent that he took on a partner, and together they moved the base of their operations into Barlow, where the opportunities for further expansion were seen to be proliferating on the back of commercial growth in the ‘you’ve never had it so good’ years. In Barlow with the same determination to further his career and social standing that he had shown throughout, and despite the inherent disadvantage of his flat feet on the golf course, he procured membership of the local club, which had a reputation for being rather select, and sent off his application for membership of the Rotary Club. And in Barlow, ‘Noddy’ was no more: there he was spoken of as Mr Davenport by the world at large, and Maurice by his familiars.

At home in Barton, after nine years basking in the reflected glory of her son’s renaissance, Mrs Davenport Snr went to join her dear, departed Albert in the graveyard of St Matthew’s, and Noddy lived on alone in the house that Albert had worked himself to death to pay for.

Devoted to his widowed mother while she was alive, Noddy, throughout the years following his triumphal return from Wolverton, seemed to have been unaware that more than one of the unmarried women of the village, who would have joined enthusiastically in mocking him when he was young, now regarded him as an eminently suitable catch. And with his mother dead, and Noddy a property owner with a flourishing practice in nearby Barlow, his appeal to those women was compounded. Of this, however, he remained seemingly ignorant, content to cook, wash and clean for himself, and pass a couple of evenings a week in the Shagger where the drinks were usually on his grateful clients, and Noddy seldom had to put his hand in his own pocket.

Seen within the community as an exemplar for steady, devoted application to business and a sober, no-nonsense life-style (or as Jimmy said, as a bloody, dull dog) Noddy shattered all such preconceptions within a year of his mother’s death. Leaving the affairs of the practice in the hands of his partner and a locum, and giving little notice of his intentions within the village, Noddy embarked on a solitary pilgrimage to Greece.

There, following in the steps his Bateson tutor had taken in the years before the war, he relived the Athenian Golden Age as well as time and his financial resources would allow him. At the end of three months he returned leaner, suntanned, dreamy-eyed and with a Grecian beauty on his arm that he introduced as Mrs Davenport. Sceptics of the legality of the union were silenced by the knock-down argument that they had to be married or she wouldn’t be allowed to stay in the country.

Golden-haired, blue-eyed, of slender waist and with long shapely legs, Marilita Davenport (nee Kanakaredes) was a light-skinned exception to the Mediterranean norm, and a beauty. The consensus of opinion within the village was that she had to be at least ten, possibly fifteen years younger than Noddy.

‘But what does a woman like that see in someone like Noddy?’ asked Charlie Genner in the Shagger.

‘She sees escape from the shambles that’s been Greece since the end of the war,’ said Jimmy. ‘She sees security, a successful business man and the prospect of a life that she could only dream of in the Piraeus. If you think Noddy’s lucky, so is she, and good luck to her.’

Jack’s social acquaintance of Noddy and his wife was confined to the dozen or so occasions when they met at the Shagger or village functions in the two years after he and Kate settled on the hill. By then Marilita had worked so hard at her English that she was left with little more to indicate her origin than a rather fetching catch to an already huskily seductive voice, and Jack was intrigued to note the confidence she showed in a society that must still have been in many ways alien to her. She struck him as shrewd, personable and sexually extremely alluring. Did Noddy really make the most of that, he asked himself.

Their two years’ acquaintance was brought to an end when Noddy sold his old home in the village, and moved into Barlow to a house which he saw as better reflecting his improved circumstances. There, for a couple of years, he took every opportunity of furthering his social and business connections, and began to set out his stall for a seat on the town council. At the end of his first year in Barlow he made one return to the village for New Year in the Shagger, and joined with the others in visiting the grave of his parents in what was to be the last of the churchyard vigils, but from then on the village saw him no more.

A couple of years after their move to Barlow, Noddy and Marilita returned from a social function at the Golf Club, enjoyed a final nightcap together, and while Noddy watched a little late night television, Marilita completed what Noddy regarded as her unduly elaborate preparations for bed. Joining her half-an-hour later he kissed her goodnight, went to sleep, and never woke up. At a stroke and totally unexpectedly Marilita, still a youthful thirty-three year old, was left a widow.

‘A serious, but undetected heart condition,’ said the coroner.

‘Just like his father before him,’ they said in the village when the news reached them. And both in Barton and Barlow there were a few mature, but unattached gentlemen who indulged themselves in the thought that in due course, when things had settled down, Marilita might be looking for a companion.

Noddy with his customary foresight in life had put in place provisions which ensured that after his death Marilita inherited the house free of any mortgage. She would also be in receipt of a modest annuity in perpetuity, and she received in addition the lump sum due under the partnership agreement for Noddy’s share of the practice. On these funds Marilita would have to manage through her long years of widowhood. Surprisingly composed and competent in the face of such a blow, she took such advice as seemed to her to be sensible, and rejected much that wasn’t.

For forty days, following the Greek tradition, she honoured Noddy’s memory by wearing black and eschewing all social gatherings except for the Sunday services at All Saints.’ Then, putting her widow’s weeds aside, she accepted all the invitations that came her way, and as she was popular both with the men and the women they were many. She was seen again at the Golf Club and Rotary functions, accepted invitations to sit on some of the ladies’ committees, and so allowed herself to be absorbed into a Barlow society which, in a favoured retirement town, was already rich with widows. To the disappointment of the unattached gentlemen, however, she declined to entertain any further permanent relationship.

In the seven years that had elapsed since Noddy’s premature decease Jack had seen nothing and heard little of the attractive widow, until he saw her name again a few weeks before he departed for his week in Venice with Josie. Ned Potter, a junior inspector, had been transferred out without replacement, and Jack had taken a hand in disposing of a share of some low-grade hack work he had left unfinished.

In working his way through this Jack had come across a newly opened file for Mrs Marilita Davenport from which he could see that following Noddy’s death, his widow had apparently slipped below the revenue radar. There was nothing particularly surprising in that, as the annuity she received and such income as arose from the investment of her lump sum would not have given rise to any liability to tax.

In recent years, however, information slips had been received from banks showing that she had been in receipt of increasing amounts of interest on deposit accounts. General arrears of work meant that these had been allowed to accumulate, until eventually Ned Potter had made enquiries, asked to see her deposit account books and then the bank statements for her current account. So surprised had he been when he examined these that he had written asking her to call in to see him. His letter had been ignored, as had two follow-ups.

Such was the state of play in Mrs Davenport’s affairs when Jack took them up and issued a letter couched in such terms as to elicit a response. A meeting was agreed, and now shortly after his return from Venice Jack sat waiting for Mrs Davenport’s arrival.

‘Mrs Davenport, sir,’ said Jack’s secretary showing her into his office.

She was a little taller than Jack remembered. Slightly thicker in the waist and fuller in the bosom too, but if anything it suited her. Still the same open beauty though that dazzled all the men when Noddy first brought her back to Barton, even if the first delicate bloom of youth had faded. She must now be what, late thirties or thereabouts. Such were the thoughts that flitted through his mind as he stepped forward to meet her and offer her a chair.

She gave no hint that she recognised him, and waited until he’d returned to the seat on his side of the desk before slowly crossing her legs. It was discreetly done, but not without exposing rather more thigh than might have been necessary. Knowing the effectiveness of the Barlow gossip mill Jack wondered whether she knew of his affair with Josie, and whether there might have been a subtle signal there. That was the effect of his time with Josie, he decided: his first thoughts were of sex. And then he realised that it was the first time in his career that he had found himself conducting an interview alone with a sexually attractive woman. It was an intriguing experience. Assuming his professional persona, he turned to the matter in hand.

‘You may remember Mrs Davenport, that when Mr Potter asked you to call he suggested that you might like to bring an advisor with you, but you come alone.’

‘I do Mr Manning.’

‘And you’re quite content to proceed with this meeting without any other guidance.’

‘Oh yes, quite content. In fact, as it might touch on confidential and rather intimate matters, I much prefer it that way. I’m quite sure you will proceed absolutely fairly and take no advantage of me.’

Jack thought that an odd expression to use, and wondered what he was supposed to make of it. It also crossed his mind that it might be prudent for him to ask another member of staff to sit in with him for the rest of the meeting, but there was too much loss of face in that idea for him to pursue it further. He did though feel that before proceeding it might seem strange if he didn’t mention the fact that they had met before, and that he had known and had dealings with her late husband.

‘You may remember that I met you and the late Mr Davenport a few times while you were living in Barton, and of course I had business dealings with your husband on several occasions.’

‘Oh yes, I remember you very well Mr Manning, and Mrs Manning, and you mustn’t let the fact that we once met socially inhibit you in any way in your enquiries.’

Dear God, he thought, she’s being cheeky and putting me at my ease. But he couldn’t help admiring her confident composure and the seductively husky voice that he remembered so well. So far the interview was certainly not proceeding by the book.

‘Well I’d like in due course to turn to the details disclosed by your current bank account for the three years that I have before me, but first of all could I ask how you supported yourself in the earlier years following the death of your husband?’

‘How do you mean, supported myself?’ She re-crossed her legs with perhaps a little less discretion than before: a hint perhaps that in that department at least, she could hardly be more satisfactorily supported.

Think eyes not thighs damn you, hissed his other self, but even the eyes were a problem: limpid blue, perhaps slightly amused, and deeply alluring. He recalled Kate’s comment that he really didn’t know how to respond to women very well.

‘I mean where did the money come from that you lived on. You have a large house to keep up, you run a car, and I can see that you dress very well.’

‘Why thank you Mr Manning, you’re very kind.’

Oh this was getting out of hand. He hadn’t intended a compliment at all, but fortunately she continued.

‘Well how can I best put this … For most of the years since Maurice died I’ve been in receipt of little testimonials from appreciative friends.’

‘Little testimonials from appreciative friends?’ Even as he repeated her words his heart sank. He couldn’t believe he’d made such a stupid blunder.

‘I just said that.’ That’s what she’d reply, bound to, and then the whole bloody interview would topple over into an Eric and Ernie comedy exchange. But fortunately she didn’t.

‘Yes, from gentleman friends who enjoy my company, and like to leave me little gifts to show their appreciation.’

Now Jack could see with utter clarity just where this was going, and he was casting about for a way in which he might press forward in the most neutral of terms, when she continued.

‘You must understand what I mean surely Mr Manning. You’re a mature gentleman, and all gentleman have their physical desires don’t they? And so do the ladies, and if they find one another pleasant and attractive, well ….’

‘Well they pleasure one another!’ Things were getting so far into the surreal now, that Jack felt he might as well finish the sentence for her and be damned. He resisted the temptation, but in his increasing desperation and embarrassment, reverted to the sort of conventional response which he might have adopted had she just told him that she lived on betting winnings: which was just as witless.

‘And you can produce evidence of that, can you?’

She smiled and re-arranged her legs yet again.

‘Mr Manning, I’m finding it rather stuffy in here. Do you think you could open a window, and let me have a glass of water from your decanter?’

He poured her some water, and walked to the window with the feeling that somehow the meeting wasn’t proceeding quite as he had intended.

‘Thank you, that’s so much better,’ she said. ‘As for providing evidence, I really think that with the best will in the world it can’t be done. You surely can’t be suggesting that I should go to one of my friends, perhaps a married man, and ask him to let me have signed statement that on a certain night he slept with me, and subsequently made me a gift? And why should I be asked to provide evidence Mr Manning? I’m not running a business.’