All Passion Spent by Bergotte (read more books .txt) 📖

said Bill. “What’s he done wrong?” asked Betty. “’E’s costing me a bloody fortune, that’s what, or ’e wuz…” “Children do, don’t they?” “’E ’int no child, ’e’s grown up ’int ’e? ’E should’ve left school when ’e was sixteen and got a job, loike oi did… ’cept I was fifteen,” said Bill, firmly. “Education is a good thing, I’ve always thought.” “Not when you’re old enuff to werk. Oi’m not werkin’ so as ’e can sit around at school. Anyhow, oi threw ’im out. ’E’s gone.” “Where’s he gone?” asked Harvey. “Dunno, don’t care! Bath, oi think.”

Such was the thinking of Mr William Bentley. Whether his philosophy sprang from the commercial heritage of Bristol, the reader may be left to judge. Mrs Bentley was convinced that her husband was a ‘rough diamond’. She had wanted her son Tommy to go to university if he could. Bristol, after all, boasted two universities. When she had learned the views of Mr Bentley, after they were married, she had been upset, but had accepted his ruling without question. When Tommy had been rejected and had left home she had not accepted his ruling, but had kept her feelings to herself. Bill had thought of Tommy as coming between him and his wife. Tommy’s removal to another place would ensure his place in her affections once again.

However, over the previous months Bill had begun to perceive, very dimly, that his wife’s feelings for him were no longer ones of love and affection. These had been supplanted by those of fear and loathing. He had been surprised to learn, when it finally dawned on him that she had turned against him. He made no effort to seek any kind of reconciliation, but took refuge in the local pub and in doing as much overtime as possible when the opportunities arose. He worked as a driver for Harvey’s Sherry, delivering Bristol Milk and Bristol Cream to hotels, restaurants and pubs all over the West Country.

“Are you going in to work this afternoon?” asked Betty. “Oi should think oi am. Oi’ll be on my way pretty soon,” replied Bill. “And what about you Harvey, are you at work this afternoon?” asked Betty. “Nope, it’s my day off,” replied Harvey, rising from his bar stool, “though I shall be doing a bit of D.I.Y. I’m putting a new roof on the garden shed. That’ll take me all afternoon.” With these words he departed. Betty emerged from behind the bar. She began collecting empty glasses from tables in the public bar and then went through to the lounge bar, repeating the process. Bill bade farewell to the barmaid, got off his stool awkwardly and made his way out to the car park.


CHAPTER TWELVE

Thursday, October 26: afternoon

On Thursday afternoon Paul stayed at home. He had gone into the city in the morning to do nothing in particular, go to the bank, buy a newspaper and drink coffee in a favourite haunt of his. He wanted the time to think. He had decided to confront Bella at last with his suspicions. And by the time he had returned she had guessed what lay in store, but it still came as a shock at lunchtime, when he asked her point blank, across the dining room table, “Are you having an affair with Michael?” “Well, there’s nothing sexual in it but I have been seeing him.”
“Without Rita’s knowledge?”
“Yes. She knows nothing about it.”
“When you told the police that you were meeting me last Saturday it was really Michael you were meeting wasn’t it?”
“Yes,” she replied dryly, “I was going to tell him what the outcome of my meeting with my mother was.”
“And we will never know, now.”
“No, we won’t.”
“So, what has gone wrong between us?”
“The fact is, you are never here.”
“So, it’s all my fault?”
“No, not entirely,” said Bella, “but we are not as we were. As I see it, we both fell for each other when we first met and a very physical relationship ensued. Now you are away from home a great deal and I know you consort with other women.”
“They are work colleagues!”

“It may all be innocent. But I have been stuck with my mother in a designer’s studio. I meet mostly, only other females. Michael is really no more than a friend as well as being my brother-in-law.”
“At present, perhaps… but it is not going to stay like that is it?”
“I don’t know. I’m really not thinking about it at the moment. I’ve too many other things to think about.”
“Why were you meeting your mother last Saturday?”
“Right, I’ll tell you. She knew I was seeing Michael and she wanted to stop it.”
“How?”
“Well, at first she tried to talk me out of it, but on Saturday she wanted an answer to an ultimatum she had given me earlier on.”
“And what was that?”
“If I did not co-operate with her wishes she would cut me out of her will.”
“Vindictive woman,” said Paul, much to Bella’s amazement.
“If she had lived a normal life I wouldn’t inherit for years and years and I don’t know whether she is all that wealthy,” commented Bella.
“Of course she is. She has all the money left to her by her former husband and all the money left by my father. That’s a considerable sum,” replied Paul.
“But I thought it would be divided between the four of us.”
“I don’t know. I would not bank on it. Are you in love with Michael?”
“No, I’m not in love with him. He is someone I can talk to though.”
“Do you feel sorry for him and want to mother him, or do you want to seduce him?”
“I don’t want either. But I haven’t thought about it much. He enjoys my company, I know that and I enjoy being with him.”
“Do you love me at all Bella?”
“I don’t suppose so. I know I’m not being the loyal wife at the moment.”
“Will you be the loyal wife in the future?”
“You make it sound as if I am playing a game. However, much depends on you and your response to our situation.”
“Why does it depend on me?”

“If you want me you will have to win me back. You will have to start showing me some affection. You will have to think about me and not just yourself. At present you never consider what I would like to do. You assume that I will fit in with your plans and do what you want,” replied Bella.
“But most of the time you don’t seem to know what you want.”
“I do, but I’m afraid to voice my ideas because they might conflict with yours.”
“You… afraid?”
“Well, perhaps that’s the wrong word. I feel I’m treading on eggshells for fear of upsetting you…”
“Fear again.”
“I’m no longer afraid, anyway. I’m no longer going to be bullied or intimidated by you. I have a right to some happiness as well as you.”
“Are you unhappy?”
“Yes, but you haven’t noticed. I am desperately unhappy sometimes. I don’t want to be taken for granted,” intoned Bella.
“I’ve never been aware that I take you for granted.”
“That’s the trouble isn’t it? You’re not aware.”
“Where do we go from here?”
“We first need to get over this business with my mother and organise a funeral. I doubt if Michael and Rita are going to do anything about it.”
“It’s the inquest tomorrow, so the body should be released by now. We should be able to go ahead with funeral arrangements.”

“I’ll get on to it,” said Bella.
“Why did you lie to the police about being with me last Saturday?” asked Paul.
“I don’t know. It gave me some breathing space until you came home.”
“I told them the truth, you know.”
“I thought you would.”
“So, they’re going to be chasing you soon.”
“They already have. Detective Sergeant Rossi came round this morning. In fact she’s only just left.”
“What did you say?”
“I’ll told her the truth. I’m sure she understood why I lied.”
“She probably did,” said Paul. Isabella told her husband of the news brought to her by Anna Rossi of Tommy Matheson’s involvement in Saturday’s murder. Paul said he thought Matheson was the most likely suspect. He retired to his study where he spent the rest of the afternoon making phone calls and sending emails.

After leaving the home of Isabella Fellingham, Anna Rossi drove out to Phil Dickinson’s place of work. She spent some time looking at the cars in the garage forecourt, imagining herself to be the proud owner of a new vehicle. Her attention was drawn to a Subaru Impreza Sti Type RA-S, standing in a corner of the garage forecourt, the same make and model that Dickinson was driving when he struck down Laura Fellingham. She opened the driver’s door and sat behind the wheel. She wondered what speed he was doing when he hit the victim. She also wondered why he never stopped.
A man’s voice interrupted her reverie. “Nice motor that,” said the man. “Yes,” replied Anna. “I can do you a good deal on your old car, if you want to part-exchange and nought per cent finance on the new car.” “I’m not looking for a new car, I phoned earlier, I’ve come to see the sales manager,” said Anna, showing her warrant card. “Oh, I see,” said the man, whom Anna took to be one of Dickinson’s colleagues in the sales department. “That’s Mr Buckley, I’ll take you to him.” “Thank you,” Anna followed the man into the showroom office where he introduced her to the manager.

Once again Anna showed her credentials. She began by asking Ted Buckley how good Mr Dickinson was at his job. Buckley said he was a satisfactory salesman most of the time. Sometimes he did things, which were sailing close to the wind. When told of his hit and run escapade, Buckley was not surprised. “Does he have a drink problem?” “Not that I’m aware of,” maintained the manager, “he does like a drink, though, I am aware of that.” “Was the car that he was driving very damaged?” “No, not a great deal. Just one panel that needed replacing.” “Could I see the car?” “Yes, the work is all done. It looks as good as new, but I can show you what was damaged. We may still have the old panel.”

“How well does Mr Dickinson get on with other people?” “Oh, he’s fine.” “Have you any paperwork on him concerning his taking up employment here?” Buckley rose from his chair, crossed to the other side of the office and extracted some a beige folder from a filing cabinet; this he handed to Anna. Inside she found a C.V., two testimonials and a reference from a former employer. [Mr Dickinson worked for me for eighteen months. I found him thoroughly reliable and have no hesitation in recommending him to you.] She closed the folder and handed it back. “Could I see the car now?” she asked. “Yes, certainly, if you would like to come this way. We’ll go to the service department and pick up the car keys.”

They arrived at the locked compound where the once damaged car was kept. Buckley opened up and pointed out the car that Dickinson was driving on that fateful Saturday night. He showed her the panel that had now been replaced and managed to track down the old dented one. “I’d like to take this with me, please.” “That’s fine,” said Buckley, “I’ll have one of the men put it in your car if you give me the keys.” Anna reached