This Was a Man (The Clifton Chronicles 7)
“Like what?”
“To chair the company, cash, whatever he wants.”
“I’ll get in touch with him the moment I get home, and find out if he’s willing to help.”
“Thank you, Virginia. And of course there’ll be something in it for you.”
Once again, Mellor looked across the room at Nash, who he knew would be taking instructions as to where the second instalment should be delivered. Never the same place twice, and never the same person, Nash had already explained.
“But I’ll still need the ten thousand before Thursday,” Mellor said, turning back to Virginia. “And I can’t begin to tell you what the consequences could be if you fail.”
“How often are you allowed to make telephone calls?”
“Once a week, but I only get three minutes, and don’t forget the screws are listening to every word.”
“Call me on Tuesday afternoon, around five o’clock. I should have seen Knowles by then, and I’ll do everything in my power to persuade him.”
* * *
“It’s all set up for Thursday,” said Nash, when Mellor joined him in the yard.
“Where and when?” asked Mellor, unwilling to admit he didn’t have the money.
“Trafalgar Square, between the fountains, twelve o’clock.”
“Understood.”
“Will it be the same bag lady?”
“Yes,” said Mellor, hoping that Virginia had not only got the money, but would be willing to act as the intermediary once again.
Nash looked at him more closely. “I hope you’ve given some thought to the consequences of not coming up with the second half of the payment.”
“Not a problem,” said Mellor, who had thought of little else for the past week. He fell back and walked alone, wondering, praying, hoping, that Virginia had convinced Knowles to lend him the ten thousand. He checked his watch. In another five hours he’d know.
* * *
“Jim Knowles,” said a voice on the other end of the line.
“Jim, it’s Virginia Fenwick.”
“Virginia, how are you? It’s been a long time.”
“Too long. But I’m about to make up for it.”
“What do you have in mind?”
“I have a little proposition that you just might find interesting. I don’t suppose you’re free for lunch?”
* * *
Virginia was sitting by the phone at five p.m. on Tuesday, well aware that she only had three minutes in which to deliver her well-prepared script. She had written out several bullet points to make sure she didn’t miss anything of importance. When the phone rang, she picked it up immediately.
“7784.”
“Hello, my darling, it’s Priscilla. I thought I’d give you a call and see if you’re free for a spot of lunch on Thursday?”
“Not now,” said Virginia, slamming the receiver down. The phone rang again seconds later.