Going Up and Going Down (27 page)

After the first
couple of weeks of grieving for David, it crossed my mind, late one night, that
I hadn’t checked up on the greenhouse situation during that time. It was a
welcome distraction from my tears and gazing longingly at his picture. It would
give me something else to focus on the next day. It was the first thing I
planned to do the following morning, when David had gone out.

Yet again my
hands were shaking as I lifted the top section of plant pots, wondering if
there would be an envelope there or not. I didn’t really know how I should be
feeling when I found yet another envelope hidden there. I told myself that
feeling pleased was not appropriate. How could it be appropriate to be pleased
about the fact that Anthony was drug dealing? Yet, I couldn’t help smiling. The
reason I felt like smiling was because I fully intended that Anthony was
finally going to get his come-uppance, and soon.

When I returned
to the kitchen, I made a fresh pot of coffee and sat at the kitchen table. I
needed to get myself fully awake and do some serious thinking. Just a few weeks
back, it had occurred to me that if David had actually been at work, somebody
must have either come to the greenhouse to deliver and/or collect the
envelopes. Over the last few months my car had mostly been left in the drive as
I had been taking the tube to work. Maybe Anthony had told whoever it had been
who called, that I go out to work on the tube so they needn’t worry about the
Mazda in the drive. Also, over the last few weeks, even though I hadn’t been at
work, I had been going out most days, indulging in my walks of grief around the
city and its’ numerous parks.

I couldn’t take
my eyes off the record I had been keeping of the envelope deliveries and
collections. I was almost willing it to speak to me and point out to me exactly
what I was missing. I twiddled a pen around between my fingers and doodled a
border around the edges of the paper. I was transfixed, but nothing jumped out
at me. I asked myself what I knew. I knew the envelopes came and I knew the
envelopes went. That was all – only those two things! Somebody had to be coming
sometime soon for the envelope that was sat in the greenhouse. Oh, crap!

I shot up from
the kitchen table, made sure the back door was locked and tore through the
lounge and up the stairs like a lunatic.

I had suddenly
realised just how vulnerable I was sitting at the kitchen table, and without
net curtains or blinds to hide my presence from any visitor to our greenhouse.
With the conifer hedges between our house and our neighbours’ houses we’d never
thought it necessary. Still shaking, I sat on the bed for a while wondering
what I could do. Whilst I showered and dressed the only answer that I could
come up with was that it was down to me. I had to stay holed up in my bedroom,
a very slight gap in the vertical blinds and wait for whoever…for however long.
The thought filled me with dread.

Two months
after reading of David’s death, and the letter he had written just days before
he died, I picked up my mail to find another envelope, which I recognised
instantly to be from his solicitor’s office. I quickly tore into the letter
hoping to find yet another letter from David - something else he had written in
his final days. But I was disappointed to find there was no letter marked
‘Private and Confidential’ within the envelope this time.

No more words
of love penned by my man – there was nothing inside that I could add to my
treasures. I gave a loud sigh of disappointment and started reading the
correspondence from Bill Douglas asking me to make an appointment to see him, as
I was one of David’s beneficiaries. He had apparently left me something in his
will.

I started
wondering about his daughters. I felt sure they would have inherited
everything. I imagined that David, having been a shrewd businessman but also a
sensible father, would have been certain to make sure they never wanted for
anything. Even in the short time we had spent together I could almost guarantee
that there would be trust funds - they wouldn’t have access to vast amounts of
money until they reached thirty years old. I know he wanted them both to have a
career - to understand what it meant to work for a living. He didn’t want them
to be two rich bitches doing nothing but shop, take expensive holidays, attend
wild parties and take drugs. Nor did he want them to become alcoholics, who
perhaps once a year, would need to check in to The Priory for a drying out
session. I felt cold and I grabbed my dressing gown and put it around my
shoulders, though the house was warm. The time that David and I had spent together
could be measured in hours, I had provided a service to begin with and we fell
in love. It felt to me as if, whatever I inherited would be an increase in my
hourly rate. I felt cheap. I didn’t want David’s money, I wanted David.

Although I felt
very strongly about not wanting David’s money I badly wanted to meet Bill
Douglas. I was curious to know exactly what David had shared with him. I called
his office and made an appointment before going along to meet Bill. He turned
out to be a lovely and charming gentleman who, at almost seventy, still working
full-time in the practice. He shook my hand and then held it gently between
both of his whilst expressing his sadness at David’s death. He subsequently
enquired as to how I was coping. I found it difficult to find the words to
answer him and although I hadn’t cried over the last three weeks, the tears
were threatening.

Once our
pleasantries were out of the way the subject turned to David’s will. Bill
informed me that there would be a pro rata distribution from the current funds
available. David had left me a substantial amount and I was to receive an
interim payment of £500,000 for the time being, which Bill handed to me as we
spoke. I was struggling for words, and my hand was quivering as I stared at the
cheque.

“I…”

Bill looked at
me kindly and interrupted,

“David was
clearly, very much in love with you, Helen. We had many conversations in his
final weeks and he expressed to me his own personal grief for having to make
the decision to break off your relationship. I can see that you are still
hurting - it shows in your eyes, as it did with David. I do understand though -
his reasons for ending it. He told me how he wanted to spend his life with you,
and you with him. His cancer would have made those final weeks even more hell
had you been together – for both of you.”

I realised I
had started crying again only because Bill thrust a box of tissues at me that
had been sat on his desk. I felt that I was so used to crying that I wasn’t
always aware of my tears, until I found it difficult to see with the blurred
vision.

“David’s girls…”
I started, but he cut me off again,

“…are extremely
well provided for. This is David’s wish, Helen – that you have this money now,
the balance will be paid out at some future date, which can not be determined
at this moment in time. There are assets to be sold, mainly properties and
shares. The shares of course, will be sold when the bank’s financial expert
deems the FTSE prices more favourable.”

I didn’t wish
to hear about the money I didn’t want. My selfish grief demanded to know more
about David.

“Did you read
his, er…David’s letter to me, Mr…Bill?” I asked.

“I did, Helen.
David had always valued my opinion on…certain matters. He asked me to read the
letter, from the point of view of you…erm, the recipient, and he wanted me to
ascertain if his correspondence would leave you in no doubt as to his true
feelings for you – I assured him that the message was conveyed loud and clear.”

So David had
spoken openly to his solicitor about our relationship. I was at peace about his
love for me, and I had to make Bill aware of my feelings.

“Then please
understand this, Bill. I am now in no doubt whatsoever of David’s feelings for
me - how could I possibly be, after his letter? I loved David with all my
heart, therefore, I can not accept this cheque. Give it to charity or something.
What good is this money to me, without him?”

“He knew you
well, Helen. David predicted that you would be, in his words, troublesome,
about accepting the bequest. That is the reason behind my request for an
appointment with you. His instructions were clear – ‘do not let her out of your
office without the cheque, Bill. Do not let me down.’ I can not let you leave
the office unless you agree to take the cheque, Helen, or I shall have failed
to carry out my client’s last instruction. Please take it.”

I looked at him
and wondered how often he had to plead for someone to accept a cheque. I knew
David had always held him in very high regard, and deservedly so. I couldn’t
fail to notice Bill’s continued loyalty to his deceased client and his genuine
desire to fulfil, down to the last minute detail, everything that had been
asked of him. I folded up the cheque and placed it in my handbag.

“Thank you for
your loyalty to David and your kindness, Bill. You’ve given me the cheque. You
have carried out David’s instructions to the letter, so I will also thank you
on behalf of him. He regarded you as a personal friend.”

I was very
close to crying again. I had only met Bill for the first time today. A guy much
admired and respected by David, and this had been the first time I had
discussed our relationship with anyone. It had felt right to do so.

“There’s just
one more thing to mention, Helen. Catherine, David’s eldest daughter has told
me that she would like to get in touch with you, and hopefully meet you at some
point in the future - when she feels more able to talk about things. She asked
if it would be acceptable to write to you, if you don’t mind me giving her your
address, that is.”

My first
thoughts were, what if Anthony were to find her letter? I mumbled some excuse
that I would possibly be moving house.

“Can I give you
my mobile number to give her please, Bill? If she is a little apprehensive
about calling me herself, you could always call and we can make arrangements
through you. David wanted me to get to know his daughters and I will. I am sure
of it.”

Before I left
his office Bill shook my hand and said he would look forward to meeting me
again in the future. I smirked as I stepped out of the main entrance door and
into the street. I had a cheque in my handbag; but no intentions of ever paying
it into my bank.

The envelope
had been picked up just three days after I had discovered it, but I had been
wrong in thinking Anthony would be delivering it somewhere.

An Audi A5
convertible had pulled into the drive behind my car. I’d heard the car door
open, but because the car had pulled too close to the house, it was a bad angle
for me to get a decent look at the guy who had climbed out of it. Whilst he had
gone around to the back garden, I opened the blinds a little and took a picture
of the car with my mobile phone. (This was the only use my phone had had in
months – it was turned off most of the time, which allowed me to avoid the never
ending calls from my past clients, and Simon).

It had been
impossible to capture the registration number whilst the car had been parked in
the drive, but I had taken another shot once it had reversed out of the drive; the
driver facing forwards ready to cruise up the road. I felt chilled, but also
buoyed by the feeling that I was doing something positive.

I uploaded the
image from my mobile phone to my laptop, printed an image of the car and locked
it in my briefcase. I kept checking the greenhouse each day and carried on with
my log of the envelope activity. It had reached the stage where it was becoming
a very regular occurrence, with up to two envelopes appearing and disappearing
within the same week. I was growing increasingly worried though, something
wasn’t stacking up. I photographed each car as it drove away, then ten minutes
later, I ventured down to the greenhouse to find each envelope gone. No longer,
did I find any envelopes
appearing
after the presence of the strangers’
cars in our drive. The thought made me very uneasy but it had to be true –
somebody was depositing the envelopes during the night while we were asleep.
But then where was Anthony’s involvement in it all? Finally I had my answer –
he
was putting the envelopes in the greenhouse while I was sleeping.

I tried staying
awake at night, but the medication I was taking persisted in making me far too
drowsy to listen out for Anthony’s nocturnal activities.

A week passed
by with no greenhouse activity whatsoever, so I stopped hiding away in the
bedroom, although I still preferred to stay away from the kitchen during
daylight hours. In the middle of watching a chick flick one Thursday morning, I
jumped as a car door slammed in our drive. The vertical blinds were closed, so,
not having a good vantage point, I stayed away from the window. I had already
made sure the door was shut between the kitchen and the lounge, so I felt
fairly safe in the knowledge that nobody could see me. I turned the volume of
the TV to mute…and heard the tell-tale sound of our garage door opening…and
closing two minutes later.As I heard the vehicle reverse out of the drive, I
chanced a look out of the blinds - the Audi convertible again.

I felt as if I
was a complete wreck, I dashed through to the kitchen and poured myself a large
gin (with only the tiniest drop of tonic). I paced around the kitchen, puzzling
over the use of the garage. I had yet another question to ask myself, when did
any money change hands? It was at least thirty minutes before I decided to take
a look in the garage. I’d rarely set foot in the place since Anthony and I had
bought the house, but I scoured every inch of the place for the next twenty
minutes.

It was the last
place I looked, one of those large, rigid, folding tool-boxes. I felt like
vomiting as I opened it. I should have realised much sooner and wondered why it
was even there. Why would Anthony own a tool-box, he wouldn’t have known what
to do with any tools! In a plain brown box under the bottom section there must
have been about twenty of the envelopes, of the soft squishy powdery
substances! I had him!