This Was a Man (The Clifton Chronicles 7)

Knowles looked disappointed, only too aware that Sloane was holding out for a larger sum. The same mistake he’d made when Hakim Bishara had bid for Farthings, and they’d ended up losing the deal. Knowles wasn’t going to allow him to make the same error a second time. After all, he considered Sorkin’s offer was more than enough, and there was no need to be greedy. Sloane’s biggest weakness.

“I think I’ll turn in,” Sloane said, rising slowly from his place, as he felt nothing more could be achieved that night. “Goodnight, Conrad. I’ll sleep on your offer. Perhaps we can talk again in the morning.”

“I’ll look forward to that,” said Sorkin, as Sloane made his way unsteadily toward the door.

Knowles made no attempt to join him, which annoyed Sloane, but he didn’t comment.

Sloane had to hold onto the railing as he slowly descended the companionway. He was glad to see the purser waiting for him on the lower deck because he wasn’t sure he’d be able to find his way back to his cabin. Perhaps he shouldn’t have drunk so much port on top of such excellent wines. But when would he ever again be offered a third, or was it a fourth, glass of Taylor’s 24?

He stumbled as his foot touched the bottom step, and the purser quickly came to his rescue, placing an arm gently around his shoulder. Sloane swayed toward the ship’s railing and leaned over the side, hoping he wouldn’t be sick, aware it would be reported back to Sorkin. After breathing in the fresh sea air he felt a little better. If he could just get back to his cabin and lie down, he was thinking, as two powerful arms circled his waist, and with one seamless movement he found himself being lifted into the air. He turned and tried to protest, only to see the purser smiling at him before unceremoniously dumping him overboard.

A moment later Sorkin appeared by the purser’s side. Neither of them spoke as the chairman of Mellor Travel disappeared below the waves for a third time.

“How did you know he couldn’t swim?”

“Inside information from the person who used to have your job,” Sorkin replied. As he turned away he added, “You’ll find your twenty thousand in Sloane’s cabin, under the bed.”

* * *

Nash bent down and tied up one of his shoelaces, the sign that Mellor should join him.

Mellor completed two more laps of the yard before he was by his side. He didn’t need the watching screws to become suspicious.

“Job’s done. No need to send any flowers to his funeral.”

“Why not?”

“He was buried at sea.” They walked a few more yards before Nash added, “We’ve kept our side of the bargain, now I expect you to keep yours.”

“Not a problem,” said Mellor, hoping Nash hadn’t noticed that he’d broken out in a cold sweat. He’d called his estate agent in Bristol a couple of weeks before, and discovered that his old flat on Broad Street still hadn’t been sold—not the easiest of markets, Mr. Carter had explained, but if he were to lower the price, he felt confident a deal could be done. Mellor lowered the price, and an offer had been forthcoming, but the buyer wasn’t willing to exchange until he’d seen the surveyor’s report—which wouldn’t be completed for another fortnight.

At least the Sloane problem had been dealt with. He would write to Knowles and ask him to make a prison visit as soon as possible. Surely he would fall in line now that Sloane was no longer around to call the tune.

A few more yards before he asked, “When and where?” He hoped he sounded confident.

“Next Thursday. I’ll let you know the details after Tracie’s visit on Sunday. Just be sure that nice Lady Virginia doesn’t forget to bring her Swan and Edgar bag with her.”

Mellor fell back and joined Sharp Johnny, who was as cheerful as ever, but then he only had nineteen days left to serve.

15

“I DON’T SUPPOSE you have ten thousand pounds you could spare?” said Mellor. Virginia wondered if he was joking until she saw the look of desperation in his eyes. “I have a short-term cash-flow problem,” he explained, “which can be resolved if only I’m given a little more time. But I need ten thousand quickly.” He glanced across the crowded room to where Nash was deep in conversation with his only ever guest. “Very quickly.”

Virginia thought about the £111,000 she still had in her current account, and smiled sweetly. “But no one knows better than you, Desmond, I’m as poor as a church mouse. My brother gives me an allowance of two thousand a month, which is barely enough to live on, and the only other income I’ve had recently was the small amount of money I received following the sale of your mother’s house. I suppose I could let you have a thousand, and possibly another thousand in a month’s time.”

“That’s good of you, Virginia, but it will be too late by then.”

“Do you have any assets you could put up as collateral?” Virginia asked. Familiar words she’d heard her bank manager use whenever she was overdrawn.

“My ex-wife ended up with our house in the country as part of the divorce settlement. I’ve put my flat in Bristol on the market. It’s worth about twenty thousand, and although someone has made an offer, contracts haven’t been exchanged.”

“What about Adrian Sloane? After all, it wouldn’t be a large amount to him.”

“That’s no longer possible,” said Mellor, without explanation.

“And Jim Knowles?”

Mellor thought for a moment. “I suppose Jim just might be willing to help if I put the flat up as collateral and there was something in it for him.”