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Not Just for Christmas Ch. 14-16

By: Alwaysraining



GCSE General Certificate of Secondary Education. Exams taken at sixteen years of age.

'Tube': London Underground Railway.

'Keening': (Scots) crying or weeping.

'Bairn': (Scots) child. 

'The Nick': Prison, or Police Station.

'Bint': Derogatory term for young woman.

'Mobile': Cell Phone

*****

Chapter Fourteen

In February, an advertisement arrived at Mike's office announcing an electronics trade exhibition in Brighton to be held in April. Rosemary suggested they take a stall. Bernard could set it up for Mike and Mike could swan around, press the flesh and answer questions about their service and research.

The family went to Scotland for Easter and they stayed for Easter week. It was a relaxing time for everyone, especially Siobhán who was preparing for her GCSEs. They returned the weekend after, and Mike went to Brighton on the following Sunday.

Mike was a fool, he admitted as much to himself. He should have taken a couple of staff, because the week was totally exhausting, but despite all the frenetic activity he managed to do a good turn for someone, and neglect to do something else, which cost him dearly.

He phoned Claire and children on the first three nights, and since there was nothing he could tell them about his work there, and he was in any case dead beat, he listened while they told him about their day. On the Thursday he could not get through, and though he tried on Friday morning, again he got the answer-phone.

After lunch on Friday, however, he was on his way home. It was a long journey from Brighton by train, nearly four hours, arriving at Manchester at 6:30pm after two changes including a crossing of London by tube. He arrived home after seven, utterly exhausted.

He had looked forward all the way home to Claire's welcoming arms but he was disappointed. He entered the hallway to a quiet house. The children were not at home. He put his bags down and went to the kitchen. No one. He put the kettle on to boil and went into the living room.

Claire was sitting on the sofa. She looked haggard and upset.

"What-?" was all he managed to utter before she started in on him.

"You heartless, lying, cheating, bastard," she began, the tears wetting her cheeks anew. "How could you do that?"

"Do what?" he inquired, totally puzzled. This was not the welcome he needed; he was all in after an exhausting week.

"Don't give me that! You know what I'm talking about. Shagging your blonde bimbo," she snarled. "You fucking hypocrite, all that cant about how faithful you always were, all those protestations of love, that my scars meant nothing. All that shit about never needing a pretty girl now you had me. You low, fucking, lying pig."

He said nothing. He had not a clue what she meant. She glowered at him, hugging her knees to her chest, taking his silence to mean guilt.

"Trying to find some lame excuse?" she taunted him. "Oh darling it didn't mean anything! Oh darling I love only you. Oh darling it was only sex! You're pathetic."

He remained silent, still trying to make sense of her outburst, but she was on a roll.

"You betrayed me, the children and our marriage. You've destroyed any trust I had in you. Your stuff is in your old room until I decide what I'm going to do. God! If only I'd not sold the house! This marriage is over, Mike. I can't live with a cheating bastard."

She lapsed into silence herself. He'd had time to think, and now he thought he knew what she was talking about. His first impulse was to try to explain; his second to feel affronted that she had no trust in him, nor was she going to give him a chance to defend himself. The second impulse won; Mike could be an obstinate bugger.

"Have you quite finished?" he growled. She simply stared at him, eyes full of hatred, which provoked him further. Then he had an idea.

"Where are the children?" he asked with some aggression.

"Julie's taken them for the evening," she said malevolently. "I've explained to the girls what you've done. I'd thank you to keep away from them."

That was too much. The implication about the children was obvious, and devastated him.

"That's low even for you!" he retorted, "and I think you've just gone beyond my ability to forgive. When the truth comes out and you're begging me to take you back, don't expect me to agree. Someone's been filling your mind with lies. How could you poison the children against me without hearing my side? Have you never thought there may be an explanation for this?"

"I don't need anything from you!" she shouted. "I've got all the evidence I need, and you won't wriggle out of this: I won't listen to your lies. Keep yourself separate from us. Get your own meals. Understand?"

He felt suddenly deflated. The woman he loved more than his life had no trust in him, no belief that he could be innocent. He couldn't live with that.

"What I understand is that you are making a big, big mistake," he said quietly. "This is your last chance. Are you going to listen to me?"

For a brief moment she looked uncertain. Then her face hardened. "Why don't you pack some things and just get out of our lives?" she said. "There's nothing you can say that'll make any difference."

"OK," he snapped, "you had your chance. I'm leaving."

It was obstinacy on his part, he could easily have told her what happened at the conference, but he was bitter and angry that she didn't want to give him a hearing and had turned the children against him. What Ryan must be making of this he couldn't imagine. 

He took his bags upstairs and unpacked. Then repacked with fresh clothes. He rang Tom. Tom was surprised - again, but like the good friend he was, he offered a room for as long as Mike needed it.

"What's happened?" Tom asked after giving him beans on toast, and settling him in the guest room.

"Someone has maliciously poisoned Claire against me," he said morosely. 

"Again? I don't understand," Tom countered. "How could anyone do that? She wouldn't listen to a word against you."

"I thought that until tonight," he replied. "Tonight she wouldn't hear a word from me! And she told me to keep away from the children, and you know what she was implying by that!"

"I still don't understand; it's not like her at all."

"That's the point! I didn't know what she was on about, then the penny dropped. Someone must have seen me with a woman at the trade fair."

"A woman?"

"Let me begin at the beginning. You know I was running round like a headless chicken before the fair, getting our stuff together? Well, just as I was finally ready to leave for the train, I got a phone call from Rosemary who told me that one of our girls, Ingrid Pearson, had just got a message that her grandmother was very ill, in fact she was dying. Well, the grandmother lived in Brighton where I was going and would I let her go, give her compassionate leave of absence?

"Well, what could I say? I volunteered to buy her train fare and go down with her. When we got there she said there was no room for her at home because a lot of relatives had arrived, so I took her to the hotel and got her a room. Someone must have seen us there.

"I gave her dinner, and on Monday she went off to visit the family and her grandmother. I was busy at the fair. Bernard our fitter had been down there and put up all the equipment but the two of us were rushed all day. He was a brilliant support.

"I was coming out of the restaurant, when Ingrid came in through the front door. She was in tears, and naturally I went to her and she cried on my shoulder. I put my arms round her, got her key and took her to her room. We sat and Ingrid told me the old lady had died. She reminisced about the good times they had with her and how loving she was.

"I left the room at midnight, called her on the hotel phone and invited her for breakfast before she went off to see the family. Then I crashed.

"We had breakfast together in the mornings and last night we had dinner and a drink in the bar. Then today I was coming home and she was staying on for the funeral on Monday morning.

"Tom," he added, "I think some evil minded sod has told Claire I was with a woman down there. I can't think of any other explanation."

"And she won't listen to you?" he asked sympathetically. "Sounds extreme: the girl could have been anyone."

"Wouldn't hear a word," Mike said disconsolately. "Said she had hard evidence. I can't think what that could be."

"Why don't you ask Julie next door?" Tom suggested. "Claire might have told her more."

Mike thought that was a good idea, and with that they retired to bed. Once safely tucked up, it struck Mike that he'd ruined Tom's Friday night out.

After a troubled night, Tom urged him to phone Julie.

After he identified himself Julie reproved him.

"Mike I'm surprised you have the nerve to phone me after what you've done to Claire."

"Julie please," he begged. "I don't know exactly what I'm accused of. I think someone's poisoned her mind against me."

"Oh Mike," she sounded patient and reproving. "I've seen the photographs. You know what you've done."

"Photo's?" he exclaimed. "What photo's?"

"Photo's of you with a blonde girl in Brighton. You always used to go for blondes, didn't you?"

"Only because Tom prefers brunettes." he responded, "and you know all that stopped when Claire came into my life."

"Clearly not," she said, "from what I saw."

"Julie," he said, exasperated, "I was helping a girl out with a problem. She was upset. I listened to her, gave her dinner. That's all."

"Mike," she sighed, "The photo's don't lie. In some of them there was a lot more going on than having dinner."

"Then they're fakes!" he insisted, annoyed, "but since I wasn't given the chance to see them, I can't really comment. Look, you know me, we've been neighbours for years and years. I'm asking you to believe me, at least until I've seen this so-called evidence."

"Well, Mike," she said, though clearly not convinced, "you've always been straight with me. I'll reserve judgement."

"Thanks Julie."

He relayed the information to Tom, who as always came straight to the point.

"Someone's out to get you," he said. "Photo's? So there has to be a photographer. Did you see anyone taking photographs while you were there?"

"Anyone?" Mike laughed dryly. "There were plenty of photographers there, working for newspapers from all over the place. The BBC did a piece, and ITN."

"It would have to be someone local to us. See anyone you recognised?"

"No," Mike said. "You should have seen the crowds! No chance."

"Hmm." 

Tom was thoughtful. Mike could tell Tom had an idea, but Tom said nothing more.

"What I can't understand Tom," he added in the silence that followed, "is that nothing happened. All right. I walked her into the hotel. I sorted her room key with reception. We had dinner, for God's sake Tom, she was upset. 

"Then when she came back in tears, I comforted her, in the lobby Tom! Full view, nothing secretive. Then another dinner. Yes, I spent some time in her room while she talked, but I remember the curtains were totally closed. So what was on public display was open to misinterpretation but it would have begged an explanation, not the certainty Claire displayed. I don't understand her reaction."

"Well," he said, "until we see the photographs we won't know."

"I'm not going near her," Mike was vehement. "I've done nothing wrong; she's condemned me without trial, showing me the evidence or listening to my explanation. I've no time for that sort of behaviour. She can divorce me if she wants."

"And of course it's nothing to do with the fact that she doesn't believe you!" he laughed sagely. Then he added, "but she might talk to me."

"If you find anything out don't tell her," Mike cautioned grimly. "When we get to the bottom of this I want that pleasure."

Tom nodded and left immediately with a wide grin, but returned an hour later with a much more thoughtful and solemn expression.

"What?" Mike asked as he sat down.

"She showed me the photos. I told her nothing as you asked, but we've got trouble."

"So?" Mike urged. "What do they show?"

"Someone's definitely out to destroy your marriage," he began. "The photo's show everything you told me about. Someone was following you taking those pictures. 

"But that's not all. There are photo's of two different women. I assume the girl in the public photo's is this Ingrid girl. 

"But there are explicit sex photo's of you with another blonde: it's Bryony! You can't see Bryony's face clearly enough to recognise her but there's a small birthmark on the inside cheek of her bum. Good photo of you, all of you, and the bum - very clear!"

Mike sat there dumbfounded. 

"How?" He eventually stammered. 

"You're not the only one to shag Bryony," he laughed. "I did her up the rear - she loves that. You wouldn't notice it from what you were clearly doing with her, at least from what the photo's show you doing - comfortable position for eating her out by the way, must try that!" He laughed.

"No not that, you idiot," Mike grinned. "How did they get the Bryony photos at all?"

"Taken through a hotel window, telephoto lens. High quality camera and lens. "

"But?"

"Yes, I know. I'll bet those pictures are from when we went out together and I got Sharon. That was the only time you nearly shagged Bryony, unless you've been holding out on me?"

"No," Mike replied. "Only the once and as you say, I didn't shag her. Gave her the touch-tour and then oral but she fell asleep on me and I didn't feel like it next morning. I never noticed any birth mark. You remember she misunderstood who I was in love with, thought it was Cheryl, caused all that trouble in hospital."

"So you took her to the Majestic Hotel, your usual seduction room?" he grinned. Mike nodded.

"There's the Clarence across the street," Tom remembered. "That's where they took the photo's from!"

"But who?" Mike wondered out loud. "Why suddenly decide to photograph me 'in flagrante' with Bryony? It was consensual sex between two single adults, and a long time ago."

"I don't know," Tom replied, "but Claire showed me two other things. A brief note appended to them, though I know that was bogus. It talked about you having sex with the girl as if there were only one in the pictures. Mind you, Ingrid and Bryony are very alike; could be twin sisters, and Bryony's face is not clear - her head was thrown back."

"Yes, you're right," Mike said. "Hair's same honey blond shade but different lengths, at least from what I remember of Bryony."

"This note said something like, 'Pictures of your husband with my whore of a fiancée, thought you might like them.' The note was computer printed, not hand written, and of course it was anonymous."

Tom made coffee and both men thought about it.

"How d'you feel about Claire, now you know how convincing the so called 'evidence' was?" Tom asked tentatively

"I understand how she feels, but not giving me a chance, that hurts. I never gave her any reason to doubt me and yet, the first time there's a question she condemns me. And to tell me to keep away from the children, as if I was some sort of a paedophile!" 

"I think she's still carrying damage from that bastard ex-husband of hers, not to say her facial scars. She's very insecure about her looks I think," Tom opined. "If you love her you'll take that into account. She's still damaged as far as I can see."

"I hope I can forgive her, but what she's done hurts, and worries me. If I do forgive, she's going to suffer a little for this. I couldn't stand it if it happened again."

"Umm," Tom said, clearly unconvinced. Then he sat up.

"Yes!" he cried. "Can you remember that night with Bryony and Sharon?"

"Vaguely, we were in our favourite club if I remember rightly."

"Remember who I saw, albeit briefly?"

Mike thought hard, but nothing came.

"Cheryl!" Tom said triumphantly. "It was just before she came to see you. You said she knew about Claire living with you before she visited. I wonder if she got the photo's to show Claire, warn her off; show her what a philanderer you were, but never got the chance what with Siobhán threatening her an' all."

"Hang on," exclaimed Mike. "I think I remember when Cheryl came that first time, she actually asked me did I have a good time with Bryony! She even mentioned the Majestic and my 'usual' room. How did she know?"

He thought for a moment and was then puzzled again.

"But how would she get the photos?" he asked. "Cheryl must have been on a night out like we were, and we don't carry precision cameras round with us. Mobile phones couldn't get pictures as clear as you say they were, showing birthmarks!"

"But who was she fucking at the time, as well as Bob I mean?" Tom said smugly.

Light dawned on Mike. 

"That bloody photographer Steven from the paper! Now he might just have had a camera if they were returning from a story or doing a thing on clubbing. 

"The cow! I always knew she hadn't finished with Claire and me. Claire was all forgiving, we had our first major row about Cheryl coming to apologise after the honeymoon. I said Cheryl had another motive, but Claire wouldn't have it."

"Wouldn't be difficult for them to get a room in the Clarence," Tom remarked, "Very lax, their staff, from what I hear, the receptionist gets a backhander and they get an empty room across the street."

"Oh I'm going to enjoy this!" Mike crowed. "Claire finds out the truth about me and I know she'll be mortified! Then she finds that Cheryl caused all this suffering and tried to destroy the marriage. Oh Yes!"

Tom grinned but Mike could see he had reservations. Tom was a kind man; he did not like people suffering for any reason. He did not voice his misgivings to Mike; he knew better than that.

"When d'you want to sort things with Claire?" Tom asked.

"The sooner the better, but I want Ingrid and Bryony with me. Ingrid's got the funeral on Monday, but she'll be back that evening. If we can reach them both, Monday evening would be good."

It worked out well. Bryony was contacted on Sunday and she was upset at the news she had been photographed having sex, and more so at the trouble it had caused. 

Mike called Ingrid from the office mid-afternoon on the Monday as she returned on the train and she in turn was appalled and promised to join the party. He gave her Tom's address.

The girls went with Tom in his car and Mike went in his. The girls thought he was going to stay after the truth was known. However Mike's plan was different. Tom was in on it, and Mike had warned Rosemary that he would keep in touch by phone and email.

They arrived at the house as a foursome, Tom thinking he ought to come as well, to mitigate any problems caused by Mike arriving with two blondes.

Mike rang the bell and then let everyone in. Siobhán appeared and stopped in surprise.

"Siobhán," Mike said gently, "please get your mother."

At this Claire came through the living room door.

"Mike!" she said aggressively, "I told you to keep away. And who are-?"

"Shut up!" Mike barked. "Those photo's. I want to see them, and so do these two ladies, since they appear on them!"

"They?" she wondered out loud, and then hardening she snapped, "Come to the study."

They stood as she extracted the photos from the filing cabinet. It seemed they were numbered, and she laid them out on the desk in that order. Mike said nothing and the other three also looked at them.

Claire's aggressiveness surfaced again. "Well? Clear enough, don't you think? Which of you got dumped by her fiancé for this little excursion?"

No one spoke, but Tom bent forward and rearranged the photos. Bryony's on top row and Ingrid's on the bottom.

"That's the order," he said. 

"These," Tom pointed to Bryony's, "were taken that night when Mike and you fell out about you coming home late. They were of Bryony here, see the birthmark? I can vouch for that, or she'll show it to you if you insist. They were taken from the Clarence Hotel, across the street from the Majestic Hotel where Mike and Bryony were. She can also prove she was not in Brighton last week: she's been at work.


Not Just for Christmas Ch. 14-16



"These," he said, gesturing to those of Ingrid, "were taken in Brighton last week."

Claire's face lost its angry look, to be replaced by one of puzzlement and indecision.

Ingrid spoke for the first time. "I'm new to Mike's firm. My grandmother was taken seriously ill in Brighton and Mike was already going, and you know how generous he is to people in trouble. He paid for my train journey and the hotel; our house is small and it was full.

"This one is of us arriving at the hotel and Mike checking me in. This one, Mike bought me dinner. This one, my grandmother had died and I was upset, he was hugging me in the foyer of the hotel. This one he was helping me to my room; this one of us entering my room where he stayed and listened while I talked about her. This one must be him leaving the room, I kept him for at least an hour. He was very patient.

And by the way, I've not got a birthmark, and I'll show you my bum if you want proof. Those top photo's are not of me."

"Neither Ingrid nor Bryony are or have ever been engaged," stated Tom, "and since Bryony could not have been in Brighton that note is a fake as well. I'll add a few more details as to who might have set you up."

At this point there was a silence. Claire had her back to Mike, intent on what Tom was saying and watching the two blonde beauties in front of her as she tried to make sense of the new information, so much at odds with that of which she had been so certain. So Mike was able to slip out quietly and drive away.

He drove north towards the family home. He was going to take another week's holiday. He had phoned his mother and told her the whole story. She tut-tutted, and promised to tell Claire he would be there but to leave him alone and that he would phone her at the end of the week.

He wondered what his mother would actually say to her. She wasn't known for reticence but she was always kind.

It was very late when he got to the ancestral home, and he was whacked. His mother took one look and hugged him. Just what he needed. She said nothing about the situation but offered tea and supper which he enjoyed. His dad came in, patted his shoulder and left. That meant a lot to Mike, his dad was a man of few words. 

Eventually, Mike capitulated. "Has-"

"Yes," Mam said, "she has. The poor bairn was very upset, keening awa' while I gave your message. She knows exactly what she's done, she told me in great detail. Silly girl! She's desperate to know if she's lost you."

"What did you tell her?" he asked, worried. "You didn't say I was going back?"

"Aren't you?"

"I don't know. She said and implied some pretty terrible things."

"I said that since you hadn't arrived yet, I didn't know what you thought. Was that right?"

"Yes, Mam, that was right." 

He smiled at this woman who had always been his rock and his pillow, if the two can be compatible.

His parents were very good, keeping off the topic of Claire, though it was a real presence between them. Word got round the family and he was treated to advice, ranging from divorce to returning to her. He suffered it but it did not clarify his state of mind.

Catherine, always the older sister, in a long transatlantic phone call simply told him to take his time. "You'll know what to do in time, don't commit yourself until that moment arrives."

It was by far the best advice he'd been given and he told her she was a very wise woman, much to her discomfort and embarrassment.

Mike kept in touch with Rosemary each morning and evening and worked on the emails she sent him, even phoning some existing clients while Rosemary fielded the after effects of the exhibition which were greater than he had expected. 

Claire had been good enough to wait without trying to contact him further. After three days, he decided to visit Callum O'Shaughnessy. Callum was an old friend from university days, now a lawyer and advocate in Edinburgh. They had somewhat lost touch over the years but he thought Callum might be able to clarify his position and offer some really impartial advice. Callum was delighted to hear from him and invited him to stay with him and his wife.

Before Mike left, his dad made his only comment about the situation. It was brief. "Stewarts keep their word, Michael. You said 'for better or worse'. She's a bonny lass, and spirited." Then he patted Mike's shoulder,

Callum's wife, Bridie, was a star. She made him feel at home, kept out of the way while Callum and he were talking but made one contribution just before Mike left.

Over the first day of his two day stay, he told Callum the story of his life with Claire and Callum listened without comment, nodding and encouraging him. Then that evening, over a number of different malt whiskies he began to ask questions. Mike couldn't see where the questions were going. To his surprise, Callum didn't centre on Claire's accusations but on the time she was in hospital and afterwards.

"What upset you most was her refusal to talk about it and then her silence?"

"I tried and tried to get her to respond but she wouldn't."

"Later, you said, she told you that it was to stop her giving in and allowing you back. She did it according to her lights in your own interest, Yes?"

"Yes but at the time I was in the dark and felt frustrated that she wouldn't discuss things."

"People told you things about her that made you suspect something was going on - she was seeing someone else?"

"That's right! That's when I assumed she was having sex with that tow-rag Bob."

"You believed what you were told because she didn't talk to you?"

"Yes. If she'd just answered one of my emails, told me what was really going on."

"You saw them at a club?"

"I lost it and called her things that were untrue and hurtful. I was so angry, I didn't realise I should talk to her until later, when I'd calmed down, but the next day she had her breakdown."

"So, she didn't tell you what was happening. You listened to other people. You misunderstood the situation. You lost your temper and were very angry, saying things you later regretted. Right?"

"Yes, that's it."

Silence. He poured Mike another dram, who added a dash of water. Mike wondered where this was going.

Then Callum dropped him in it. "When you phoned home from Brighton, did you tell Claire about Ingrid?"

"Well, no, I was so busy and it didn't seem important." 

Callum simply sat back and let the silence speak.

Then it hit Mike. 

"Oh God!" he mouthed.

"Aye," Callum said.

Mike was not stupid. He could see the parallel; the hurtful and ill advised comments he had made because she did not talk. The fact that he never mentioned Ingrid must have cemented his 'infidelity' in her mind, and so she made her own hurtful and ill-advised comments.

Callum smiled, and changed the subject to his collection of malts. Mission accomplished.

The next day, Saturday, as he was leaving, Bridie made her only comment as she hugged him goodbye, "Talk is cheap, Mike, but silence is golden, very expensive!" 

He was flabbergasted: insight, the reversal of the usual meaning of the aphorism, and total economy. 

"Thanks Bridie," he said humbly, "I need to remember that."

- 

When Mike arrived at the ancestral home quite late on, his mother came out to meet him.

"Don't be angry Son," she said with a worried frown. "Claire's here with the bairns."

"That's OK Mam," he said soothingly.

"She went to the lounge when she saw your car," she volunteered. The lounge was the room for formal events. It was the largest room among large rooms, where they had big parties.

"Fine," he said.

As soon as he was inside the door he was assaulted by three young folk hugging him enthusiastically. He could not remember who said what but the gist of it all was they were pleased to see him and they had missed him, Mum was sorry, please come home. He felt overcome. He'd missed them so much - so much that it surprised him; it was a comfortable feeling to have them all in his arms again.

"Mum's in the lounge," said Siobhán as they disengaged themselves. "She's so sorry Dad."

He said nothing but left her with a smile and entered the lounge.

Claire was standing by the fireplace. She looked very apprehensive, almost scared. He stood inside the door and closed it behind him.

"Mike, I..." and she stopped as if lost for words. He waited his face impassive.

"I don't know how..." she began and then stopped again.

"Let's sit down," he said gently and was rewarded with a puzzled glance. 

She sat in an armchair and he sat on the large sofa next to it and next to her and turned towards her.

"OK," he said. "Start again."

"I'm so sorry," she began again and the tears came. She took a handkerchief and wiped her eyes.

"Yes. So you should be. I told you that you would come back begging. I told you what would happen when you did. You said some terrible things, but the worst was accusing me of being a paedophile."

"What?" she gasped, "I never-"

"'Keep away from the children,' you said. How can you make amends for that?"

"Oh, Mike," she pleaded. "I was so angry, you know I'd never think you were like that."

"It was said. How can you unsay it?"

"Please, forgive me?" she became frantic. "That evidence was so compelling. I never thought it was malicious. You must see that!"

"Yes, of course I see that! But you wouldn't give me half a chance to explain; let's face it, you didn't even show me the evidence. You have no real faith in me, no real trust. Did I ever give you cause to doubt me?"

"No," she said quietly, "Never."

"So that puts your lack of trust in me in perspective doesn't it? I can't live with someone who has so little trust that they won't talk to me before condemning me."

Now there was silence. He let it grow, and mature. He had made his complaint and told her how badly he had been hurt. Now it was time to go forward.

He spoke again. 

"I went to see two old friends of mine in Edinburgh, Callum and Bridie - you might remember them from the wedding. If it hadn't been for them there's a small chance I might have divorced you after I got back home. They spoke some sense to me, but really all Callum did was to ask questions."

Claire looked at him, puzzled, then with dawning hope in her eyes.

"You remember when I found you with Bob at that club?" he asked. It was almost a rhetorical question; she would hardly be able to forget it.

She nodded, "But we've been through that-"

"Listen," he cut in. "Humour me. You remember some of the things I said to you and about you? How vicious they were?"

She nodded again and a look of uncertainty began to form on her face.

"Why did I react like that?" he asked.

"Because you were in love with me; you wouldn't have felt so hurt otherwise."

"Yes, but why else?"

"Well, someone told you I'd been sleeping with him, but I hadn't, Mike!"

"Exactly. I thought you had lied to me and cheated because of what I'd heard. Because you weren't talking to me. I was livid with rage, and I accused you in most insulting terms of lying and cheating, of stringing me along."

"Well, yes-" She was struggling along with this trying to make sense of where he was going.

"Yes," he interrupted. "Don't you see? Can't you see the parallel with what you did to me?"

Light dawned in her eyes, "Someone told me that you'd slept with another woman. And I thought you had lied and cheated. And I lost my temper like you did."

"Why did you react like that, so strongly?" he asked.

She smiled and didn't hesitate, "Because I am so in love with you, I couldn't bear it."

"But more because I didn't mention Ingrid when I phoned you?"

"Well, yes. the photos came by post on Wednesday and you'd said nothing."

So," he asked. "Don't we really need to work on communication?"

She nodded. "We were both so angry because we love each other so much."

"Well?"

"Well what?" she asked, her eyes shining.

"Well, it's easy to forgive someone's love!" 

He got up and pulled her to her feet and they fell into a clinch. They pressed against each other as if to get inside each other. She cried and he blinked back some tears as well. 

They kissed, and kissed, and kissed. Then they fell apart and looked at each other, laughing. He got out his handkerchief and he wiped her face. Then arm in arm they walked out into the rest of the house. 

Outside the door of the room was a small crowd, Mike's parents and the children. They looked anxious until they saw the two of them with arms round each other and then their relief was palpable. Dad smiled and turned away. Mam did what she did best and hugged them breathless, while the two girls danced around them and Siobhán began to cry, grinning through her tears at her own emotional outburst. Ryan grabbed Mike's leg, and he lifted the boy up. Then it was the turn of the children have a group hug. All was restored.

That night they stood by the bed and faced each other.

"We're so stupid!" she said smiling and gazing into his eyes.

"We're learning to live together," he replied, loving her loving look. "Bridie said very little but at the end she said something I liked, something I thought very wise. She said 'Talk is cheap but silence is golden, often too expensive'."

"I promise I'll talk before jumping to conclusions," she said.

"You promised never to lock me out of our bedroom," he reproached her.

She had the grace to look embarrassed but then smiled wickedly. "I might have moved all your stuff out but I never locked the door!"

He had to admire her pedantry and said so. She giggled. It was wonderful to hear after all the angst. He realised it had only been a week since he got back from Brighton; it seemed like months and he wanted her. As she slowly lifted the hem of her tee shirt and as her hips swayed, it was clear she wanted him as well. 

He undressed rapidly, but she continued slowly to become naked. She fell back on the bed, her legs wide-spread inviting his gaze on her readiness, until she pulled him into her. Her eyes were wild and she was panting; there were no words but it was clear what she wanted. He wanted it too.

They rutted. It was hard and violent but not in an angry way. It was slaking a thirst. He felt the gathering, but could not hold back and with a grunt he squirted his semen into her, and was relieved she then lost control and orgasmed hard and silently.

"Make love to me?" she asked once they had recovered and again were lying back. She reached for his cock and stroked it gently until it grew to fullness. Once again she spread her legs wide, showing her sex, wet with their emissions before leading him into her again.

He did what she asked, stroking slowly and gently, as she rose and fell to meet his thrusts. "You're forgiven!" he whispered as he continued to love her. 

She nodded, but still looked troubled. Her reaction had an effect and he softened inside her. She touched his cheek and looked wonderingly at him, and he lay gently on her for a while, before rolling off. It did not matter that neither of them came; the unspoken words that their gentle love-making shared were enough for now.

They held each other entwined and fell asleep. As he fell into the abyss, he wondered at her troubled expression, and he realised there was unfinished business. It would wait.

Chapter Fifteen

They returned home the next day in convoy, and once again Siobhán travelled in the quieter car, this time with Mike. They went in the morning to avoid the worst of the Sunday traffic, and to avoid the traffic jams of the next day, the bank holiday Monday, so their departure was hectic. No time to talk further.

Once arrived they unpacked, ate and packed the youngsters off to bed. Siobhán went to her room to finish her homework ready for the next school day, so she could spend the Bank Holiday revising.

Mike and Claire were tired and went to bed, and after a hurried cuddle and kiss fell asleep. Monday was taken up with household preparations for school the next day, and after the children were bedded down, Mike began to sort his papers out ready for his return to work, while Claire tidied up and went to bed early, saying she was tired.

So from Tuesday normal life returned to its daily grind. 

For Mike in particular a week from hell began. He realised that his absence the previous week was self-indulgent and fool-hardy at the worst possible time. He berated himself for neglecting his work. Doing a token amount in Troon was not enough.

Rosemary had been inundated with enquiries arising from the week in Brighton. Companies wanted to discuss orders, have meetings to discuss contracts in addition to the mixed general enquiries. Rosemary had fielded them, had been able to make tentative arrangements for meetings and to explain to some other companies whether bespoke products were feasible. 

There were meetings already arranged for him, email and Skype discussions to be held, and meetings with his sales and research departments. Two orders had already been placed. It meant that his followup paperwork, piles of which arrived on his desk, had to be done each evening at home.

He tended to be abstracted at the evening meal, and then had to disappear for the evening, pausing only to read stories and put children to bed. Claire would come to the office and kiss him goodnight before going off to bed. He fell into bed very late, usually finding that Claire was already asleep.

He had explained the situation to Claire, who had shrugged her shoulders and replied that since she was largely to blame for the situation she could hardly complain.

By Friday he was once again on top of everything, and was congratulated by a relieved Rosemary who had worked every bit as hard as he had. 

So on Friday night he was exhausted, and when Claire and he went to bed together, they only kissed and cuddled before he felt asleep in the middle of some intimate stroking.

On Saturday morning he strove to rectify matters, and they made love at some length. It was then that he again felt something was not quite right. He could not put his finger on it, but there was something about her responses, her smile. Did she avoid looking into his eyes as he stroked in and out of her, and brought her to her climax. No, she did look, there was love there, but something else, a reticence. 

She came to his arms as they come down from their orgasms, and they kissed as usual, but again, did her kisses end a fraction before he was ready to stop? He wondered about it all day.

That night she came naked to bed as usual, as he waited for her, admiring her firm body and gentle curves. She climbed in and after a perfunctory kiss, she picked up her book and began to read. 

He began to run fingers over her body and legs, over her breasts, and down into the hollow between her thighs, which were together. Usually, when he did that, her legs would fall open to allow access, but not this night. He pushed a little.

"Give me a few minutes," she said, "I'm nearly at the end of this."

He pulled away and turned over away from her, annoyed that after so long apart and after the crisis of the previous week she was rejecting him. 

"Suit yourself," he grunted.

She did not react and he fell asleep before she finished her book.

He was in a bad mood when he awoke, and rolled out of bed before anyone was awake. He put on his running kit and went for a run, returning an hour later to find Claire up and dressed. She turned her head and look at him, then continued to prepare a hot breakfast. She said nothing and neither did he.

Again this was strange. If he left the bed to go for a run, she would usually still be in her dressing gown, ready to return to bed with him after his shower. Now he was worried.

He showered and dressed, by which time, the two younger children were downstairs ready for breakfast. He sat at the table and ate, saying nothing, except to answer if either of the children spoke to him. Claire chatted with the them but said nothing to him.




Not Just for Christmas Ch. 14-16



Once the girls had left the table Mike stood, and as he left the table, threw a comment over his shoulder.

"Yes, I had a good run, thanks for asking," he said sarcastically.

"What does that mean?" she asked.

"It means you rejected my approach last night, then when I got in from my run, instead of being in your dressing gown you're fully dressed, and you've said nothing to me all morning. What's the matter, Claire? What's going on?"

She looked tired even though it was morning, and the word that came to Mike was 'defeated'.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I just seem to have run out of steam. I have a lot to say to you, but now isn't the time. I've done a lot of thinking this week while you've been buried in your work."

"But why the silence?"

"I was afraid to open my mouth, in case I said the wrong thing or too much. Tonight, Mike, after they've all gone to bed. OK?"

"Sounds ominous," he said.

"Can you wait?"

"No choice, have I?"

"It's best."

The day passed, a normal Sunday. In fact Siobhán spent most of the day revising, emerging for food and a little conversation (on her phone to her friends). It was raining all day, so Mike played some board games with the younger ones and a couple of their friends who came round.

Mike cooked Sunday dinner, and Claire made a fruit salad for dessert. Mike tried to read a novel but couldn't concentrate. Claire was acting mysteriously and he suspected he would not like what she would have to say.

Eventually the younger ones were in bed asleep, and Siobhán had retired for the night. Mike was sitting in the living room, when Claire came in. She sat in an armchair rather than next to him on the sofa.

"I don't think this is going to work out, Mike," she said, glancing at him.

"I'm sorry? What isn't going to work?"

"Us, Mike." 

She sighed and looked defeated as she had earlier.

"Claire, why? You know I love you, and you said you loved me at Mam and Dad's place, so much so that you lost it when you thought I was cheating."

"That's just it, I lost it. I said things to you that I can't forgive myself for. I as much as called you a paedophile! How can I have a place here with you after that? It must have been lurking in my subconscious. I feel so ashamed I feel I can't stay with you. I'm finding it hard to face you here as it is. You were so loving the other night, so passionate, I just feel completely unworthy."

"But Claire-"

"And another thing," she was not finished. "You were right about me trusting you. When something goes wrong I show by what I say and do that I don't trust you. You can't want me to stay as your wife when it's clear I don't trust you enough. Mike, I never gave you a chance!"

A sense of real fear swept through him. He panicked.

"Claire, please don't do this! Please just spend some time talking and thinking about it. Most of our problems have happened because we acted too hastily or spoke too soon. Don't make the same mistake again. Think about it: practically all our problems have been caused by the malevolence of others. We've been set up time and again and each time we've recovered. I need you so badly Claire."

"You needed me so much you just went off when you proved me wrong. You said it was the end of our marriage. You did, didn't you?"

He hesitated. "I went off to think, and I missed you every minute I was away. I didn't realise till I went how much I've come to depend on you, how much I need you and love you. And as far as saying it was the end of the marriage, you told me to get out and said it was the end before I did. We both did our usual thing of saying more than we meant. Please don't leave me."

"Mike darling," she said, her tone more measured, "I meant it at the time. That's the trouble."

"But we were set up!" he urged. "If it had been true you would have been completely right. It would have been the end. You were right to react the way you did. You said the other night, you were so angry because you loved me so much. Love me now! Stay. Work it out with me. Please my darling!"

"If I had showed you the photos," she said with resignation, "you could have told me, but I was so sure. You understand Mike, I was certain!"

"You were set up Claire!" he was almost shouting. "Tom only realised about the photos because he had been with Bryony a number of times and knew about her tattoo, birthmark, whatever. I might have recognised the scene but I didn't know about the birthmark. Don't throw away what we've got, please?"

"That's just it," she said sadly. "I'm not sure what we've got."

"Promise me you'll think about it and take your time? Talk with me some more?"

"Well," she said smiling at him sadly, "that's the least I can do."

"Just remember," he said as a parting shot, "if we split up, whoever did this has won. This is exactly what they wanted."

She looked surprised at that. It shocked her a little, he thought. He hoped so.

"Mike?" she asked, "Would you be upset if I asked if we don't have sex for a while, just while I try to work this out in my head?" She hurried on, "If you insist on sleeping with me, I don't mind, I'm not shutting you out, I just need..."

"That's OK," he said gently, though it wasn't. She smiled gratefully and stood. He did the same and she came to him and they hugged, and he kissed her forehead. She made a little satisfied noise, then went to the bedroom. She was either asleep or pretending when he followed a while later.

The next morning he was up early to get to work. This was not to avoid Claire or the children, but simply to get ahead of things on what Mike knew would be another packed week. Rosemary had said she would be in early as well.

He ate a plain breakfast of muesli and tea. Then he wrote her a note.

Dearest Claire

I've gone to work. I need to catch up on things there. See you tonight.

All my love 

Mike

It was a sunny morning and the drive was very pleasant, though his feelings countered the beauty of the morning. There was a deep sense of depression and a fatalism about it.

A motorbike passed him at speed, but he hardly noticed it. Someone late for work no doubt. He was glad that he was early this fine morning and did not have to rush.

His train of thought resumed. A second woman had married him and it seemed could no longer live with him, though this time there were three children to whom he had become completely attached as well; they even had his name! This time he resolved to fight for her before they parted. The first woman left out of selfishness. Once again, Claire was not leaving out of selfishness but out of love and a sense of unworthiness. He had to find a way of convincing her to stay. 

He was thus pre-occupied as he parked the car, so he did not look around as he walked to the door. He was about to key in the code when his world exploded in bright light and disappeared.

He returned to some sort of consciousness, though it was hazy and came and went. There were voices. He was being put in an ambulance, there were bright lights, then he came to long enough to realise he was in a bed and he was in a hospital. His only thought was Oh, bugger, not again!

There were voices as he lost consciousness again. They seemed familiar.

He next woke up in darkness. It was night and it was quiet. He stirred and immediately there was a movement by his bed. He then realised than someone was holding his hand.

"What?" he wondered out loud.

"It's all right, darling," and he knew it was Claire, but it puzzled him. He had forgotten he was in hospital. 

"But you aren't in bed," he said rather ludicrously.

"Darling," she said with the hint of a giggle, "you're in hospital. I need to get the nurse." 

She left the bedside. Then a nurse arrived and did what all nurses do, checked pulse, checked his eyes, an uncomfortable blinding light being shone into them, then blood pressure. He relaxed and let it happen. He was tired, he wanted to sleep, and he did. 

He was woken to a bright morning by a large nurse with dancing eyes and a wide smile. 

"Breakfast!" she announced.

"But... What... How?" He was not exactly coherent. Then he fastened on what he thought must have been a dream. 

"Claire?"

"Your wife has been here all night, darling," she said. "She's gone to get the children ready for school and let your Personal Assistant go. She'll be back."

Breakfast was cornflakes, a boiled egg and toast. And tea. He was hungry and ate. The nurse came back and was impressed.

"Good!" she smiled, and what a smile! "I think you're well on your way."

At last he wondered why he was there and why his head hurt.

"What happened?" he asked.

"Not sure," she said. "I think you were attacked by someone. You have a nasty abrasion to the back of your head. You wife knows more, and here she is!"

There was Claire, looking tired and pale but with a wide smile of relief.

"Thank God!" she exclaimed. "I thought I'd lost you."

She came over and gave him a smouldering kiss. When she straightened he asked the question again.

"What's happened?"

"What do you remember?"

"Well, I think I got out of the car at the office and then I woke up here."

She looked serious. 

"You were attacked. The CCTV recorded it. Some biker in a crash helmet crept up behind you and hit you with a baseball bat. You dropped and then he dropped the bat and got out a knife. It took him a while, because he was wearing leathers, once he got it out, you could see it flash in the early sun. Then Rosemary arrived in her car and he ran off. She heard a motorbike start and roar off, but did not see it."

Claire began to be upset. 

"I think he was going to kill you. He wanted you dead. Thank God for Rosemary, she said she had arranged to be there to help you so she was early as well. Otherwise..." and her eyes filled with tears.

It was then that her decision to separate came back to his mind. He felt confused. If she was set on leaving why was she so upset?

She must have seen his expression change and inferred that he had remembered their situation.

"Mike," she said seriously, "I'm sorry for what I said on Sunday night. I was wrong. I had already reconsidered after you said that if we separated, whoever was doing these things had won. I waited for you to come to bed, but you took so long, I fell asleep. 

"You are right. I do love you very much and if you think you can cope with my temper and ill-advised words, I'll try to control myself. I want with all my heart to stay with you. I just didn't feel it was fair on you to have to undergo my temper tantrums."

"You've no idea what a relief that is. I don't know if I could have coped with you leaving me. It's happened before, you know - twice!" 

She took his meaning immediately and hugged him once more.

Of course the police arrived and took his statement which amounted to about three lines of handwriting. The young policewoman asked him if there was anyone who had a grudge against him or wished him ill. He thought back to their history, but couldn't think of anyone relevant. 

"Cheryl," said Claire. "It could be her."

"It was definitely a man who hit you," said the officer.

"Cheryl has friends," Mike said. 

The young officer said they would ask Cheryl some questions, got her details from them, as much as they knew, and left.

Mike was allowed home the following day, Thursday, once it was clear he had suffered no permanent cranial injury and was not concussed. 

Claire fussed around him, making him sit in the living room and rest, but watching her busying herself round the kitchen, bending to the lower cupboards and stretching to the high ones, all the time showing her shape and her curves in different and arousing ways, did nothing for his relaxation. Instead he began to feel the need for a certain sort of exercise. 

He felt fine, and decided on a fiendish plan. He laughed to himself. Then composed his face.

"Oh, darling!" he groaned, bringing her hotfoot from the kitchen, "I think I need to lie down."

"Oh, let me help you!" and, all concern, she supported him as he shambled up the stairs and into the bedroom.

"I think I'd be better in bed," he moaned, and with a worried look, she helped him out of his shirt, undid his shoes and took them off, followed by his socks. Then, as he sat hunched over, concealing his rampant erection, she undid his trousers.

"Stand up, my love," she crooned, as she hooked her fingers on his waistband, beginning to pull the trousers and his boxers down. Then his state became obvious.

"What the-?" was all she managed.

"Aha, me beauty!" he shouted. "Now you are in my power, I shall 'ave me way with yer!"

She squealed and fought until he let her wrestle him onto the bed, laughing all the while. 

"Now who has the power?" she gloated as she sat astride him, much to his enjoyment.

"You have," he surrendered. "Do what you want with me!"

She grinned, pulled off her shirt and unclasped her bra, but since she was straddling him and her skirt had ridden up, she could not remove her knickers, but pulled the gusset to one side and sank down on him.

"Oh, be gentle!" he squealed, falsetto. 

Her grin became more evil and she was anything but gentle. She took her pleasure on him with a wild look in her eyes, her hair flying about her face and her breasts bouncing. 

Soon the grin disappeared and was replaced by that look of concentration. Then she came; she fell forward and lay atop him gasping for air. Then lifted herself off, stood and stripped, before climbing next to him and lying down on her back, her legs wide as a blatant invitation to him. He gazed at her engorged inflamed vulva then covered her, drove himself deep and then took his own pleasure on her, while she encouraged him with grunts and groans interspersed with vulgar entreaties to more intense activity on his part.

Afterwards they lay together, on their backs, side by side, gazing at the ceiling. 

"I love being on top," she said into the air.

"I love you being there, less work for me!"

She rolled over him and punched him playfully. 

"Lazy boy!" she scolded, then fell back.

"You know," she reflected, "Gary and I never played like this. I think it was always about his power over me. Just like he would never let me be on top. You've no idea how lovely it was to hear you to say I had you in my power."

"I think you enslaved me that Christmas Eve," he said gently, "I don't want ever to be free."

She said nothing, but pulled him to her for a kiss, which continued for some time, her hand drifting to his cock until there was enough response from him for them to make love again, which they did gently at much greater length. Then it was time for her to go and collect the children from school.

When the young ones arrived he knew they were overjoyed to see him: Ginny squealed as girls do, and Ryan shouted as boys do. A shout he could understand, but he wondered where girls learned to squeal. 

Both children hugged him briefly and, satisfied he was back, disappeared to do what children of their ages do. When Siobhán arrived she was more restrained. 

"Oh, Dad, you're back. Good."

She bent over his chair and kissed his cheek, then disappeared in her turn to do her homework.

Another disruption had been negotiated, but in his mind and in Claire's was the nagging worry that their troubles were far from over. The attacker had escaped to attack again, and they had no knowledge of who the perpetrator might be, or where he might strike next.

Mike remarked, however, that while the other assaults on their union tended to split them apart, this time they had been splitting and the faceless biker brought them together using a baseball bat. Claire agreed but neither of them laughed.

Next morning Mike was out of bed early, before Claire or the children were awake. He intended to get back into work. He knew the staff were capable of keeping the ship sailing, but he was the captain and while he knew he was something of a control freak, it didn't stop him being one. In any case Rosemary had been labouring under a heavy burden as he absented himself, or was absented by others. 

He was finishing his cereal when Claire rushed into the kitchen. 

"What are you doing?" she cried, worry all over her face.

"Eating my breakfast," he said ingenuously. He should have known it would not wash with her.

"You know what I mean," she said sternly. "You were going to sneak off to work, weren't you?"

He looked at her and knew he was caught. She knew it as well.

"Mike," she said, "please don't. How about one more day at home. With me?" 

The smile she gave was a promise of a reward if he did as he was told. She was in her dressing gown and it sort of came undone as she said it. She was wearing her sexiest baby-doll, no knickers. He knew at that moment that he was staying at home and so did she. She poured herself some tea and sat with him while she drank it.

"Mike, he could be waiting for you at work you know. He obviously knew you often get in early. You have to think about safety." 

"Now I think of it," he said, "I think that biker was watching the house on Tuesday morning. I think he overtook me as I was on my way to work so he could lie in wait for me. But you're right, he could be watching out for me again."

"So you'll stay at home?" 

He nodded.

He could see she was deadly serious. He knew she was right, though he doubted the assassin would return so soon. He did not think the man would believe he was up to working after the blow to the head he had given him.

She disappeared to get the children up for school and then to take the younger ones there. Siobhán caught her bus.

When Claire returned in her raincoat and carrying a dripping umbrella since it had been raining hard, he watched as she opened the umbrella in the utility room and left it to dry. Then she came into the living room and making sure he was still watching her, she unbuttoned the coat and let it fall to the floor. She was stark naked. She had taken the children to school with nothing on under her coat!

"One up on you at the wedding!" was all she managed, and her laugh was quickly silenced.

An hour later, he picked up his clothes from the living room floor, got a cloth to wipe down his wife's privates and the dampened leather sofa, kissed her soundly and sent her off to dress. 

"I have to take my green dress to the cleaners," she shouted from the bathroom as he dressed again. "Want to come?"

"Am I allowed to use the computer while you're gone?" he asked mischievously.

"No way!" she said firmly as she came out of the bathroom naked, drying her hair on a towel; it did wonders for her breasts and his erection. "You're coming with me!" 

"I hope so!" he rejoined. 

"Later, boy, later!" she giggled, catching his innuendo, and a view of the bulge in his pants.

He knew then that he was going shopping with her instead, she was so beautiful he would do whatever she wanted him to.

So they went into town. It turned out that taking the dress to the cleaners was a sort of prelude to prolonged window shopping. He tagged along behind her as she assessed the goods on offer in the department stores. At eleven he suggested they get a coffee, and they went to one of the coffee houses, and got their lattes and a sinful cake each.

Claire was in the process of demolishing the sweet confection she had chosen, making suitably ecstatic noises as she did so: it was a chocolate cake after all, when she stopped in mid-chew and her face clouded in anger.

"What's up?" asked Mike who had his back to the door. 

"Cheryl," came the reply, "and a photographer."

Mike was worried. Claire had the look. It was the look she had when she locked the bedroom door, and when she told him to keep away from the children, you get the picture. But, he thought, this was a town centre coffee house, not the place for a shouting match.




Not Just for Christmas Ch. 14-16



"Claire," he pleaded, "please don't make a scene here. We can meet her somewhere more private."

She relaxed. "OK, don't worry. I won't shout and scream, but I do want a word. Come with me."

Cheryl and her friend got their coffees and found a table which fortunately was a table for four. Claire took her coffee and cake, and Mike followed with his.

"Mind if I join you?" Claire said, sitting down without waiting for a reply. 

Cheryl looked surprised. Mike studied her face and there was no sign of guilt or fear there, only surprise and even a smile. Mike sat on the only remaining chair. The photographer was baffled; he smiled at them and sipped his coffee.

"Hi Claire, Mike," Cheryl said, continuing to smile cheerfully. "What can we do you for?"

Mike could see that Cheryl's smile annoyed Claire: 'the look' was returning.

"Why can't you leave us alone?" Claire asked her.

"I'm sorry?" Cheryl's smile disappeared and she looked really puzzled.

"You know what I mean," Claire snarled. "I can't believe I fell for that phoney apology when we got back from honeymoon. Mike said you were playing games and I defended you!"

"I haven't the foggiest idea what you're talking about," said Cheryl beginning to get annoyed in her turn. 

Mike realised she really hadn't. He placed a hand on Claire's arm, and she glanced questioningly at him.

"Cheryl," Mike said quietly, "someone tried to frame me. Someone sent a collection of photographs and a note to Claire accusing me of having a fling with another woman. The aim was to try to break us up. After what happened before we got married we wondered if you had anything to do with it. I can see you don't know what we're talking about."

Cheryl smiled. "Well, Mike, you could always read me. I remember when I was cheating on you, you knew. You're right, I don't know anything about any photographs. And Claire, I really meant what I said. I missed my chance and made a balls-up of my relationship with Mike."

Mike turned to the photographer. "Great article on our display in Brighton; you take the photos? Very flattering of Ingrid!"

The man looked a little flustered. 

"No," he replied. "Steven was down there anyway and took the chance to photo your firm's stand. Glad you liked it."

"All good publicity," Mike joked, "and we didn't have to pay for it; that's the best sort."

Claire looked a little sullen as they left them to their coffee. They returned to their table.

"Claire," Mike said firmly. "Cheryl really doesn't have a clue about it. I know her and I can tell when she's lying; she lied for a couple of years while we were married you know."

She was disappointed. "It means we're no further forward."

"I wouldn't say that. We know Steven the photographer was down there. I'd be willing to bet he took the photos of Ingrid and me. When we get Cheryl alone, without her attendant photographer, there's the little question of the photos of Bryony and me. I'm sure she was in on that. I'll bet Steven took those photos as well. And there's something else."

She waited.

"The police haven't been to see Cheryl yet or she would have said so."

"So?"

"So I suspect she'll be in touch when she does hear and then I can get her for the other photos."

Claire smiled. "You're a lot more devious that I am. I really should keep my mouth shut and leave things to you."

"No comment," was Mike's smiling reply, which was in fact a comment and merited an elbow in his ribs, which he had to admit was richly deserved.

Over the evening meal with the children, a habit Claire and Mike wanted to maintain as long as possible, Claire suggested that she would invite Julie round for a girls' night in, and would Mike welcome a night out with Tom on the town. Mike wondered whether Tom would welcome a drinking partner who was no longer in the market for picking up totty. 

As it turned out, Tom said he felt like a woman-free weekend and a fairly early night, so they agreed to meet at a more local pub rather than the usual club in the city.

It proved fortuitous. No sooner were they ensconced at their table, than Cheryl waltzed in with her friends Ann and Dara. They got their drinks and found a table and were at once deep in conversation. It was a while before Cheryl noticed Tom and Mike.

Immediately she left her friends and came over. As she arrived Mike gestured to the empty chair and she sat down.

"What's all this about you being attacked?" she said, launching in straight to the point. "The police came to the paper asking questions about it, as if I'd know!"

"Don't you?" Mike asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Mike, you know I love you," she said, exasperated. "Why should I want to attack you?"

"You made a pretty good job of it with Gary," he retorted. 

"Please, Mike, I never expected him to attack her and you were incidental when you intervened with Siobhán. I wouldn't want you to suffer harm."

Mike nodded and then attacked. "OK, Cheryl. Let's consider some photos."

She looked puzzled.

"Go back a bit," he said patiently. "Before Claire and I married, Tom and I were in the usual club in town. I was with Bryony, and Tom with Sharon. Tom saw you with a photographer, I think it was Steven, and later I took Bryony to my favourite room at the Majestic Hotel. You know it, we used it often enough before we married. 

"I think you and Steven got a room across the street and took some photos of Bryony and me having sex." 

Mike stopped and waited for her to deny it. She didn't and her face showed she remembered.

"Why, Cheryl? Why go to that trouble? Fun? Porn sideline for Steven?"

She sighed. 

"All right, Mike," she said dolefully. "I knew Claire was with you before I came round that day asking for a bed - your bed. I suspected that you and she were lovers and by then I wanted you back. I hoped I could find something to turn her off you. I had the photos with me when I visited you but never got a chance to show her them. But I don't understand what this has to do with your attack."

"Neither do I, but those photos came with a note which tried to frame me as an unfaithful husband. So perhaps you could work out how they came to be used that way. I'd be grateful."

As they walked home, Tom was thinking. "Those photos could only come from Cheryl, directly or indirectly. Right?"

"Right." Mike agreed.

"So that means, apart from her, anyone who lives with Cheryl, or Steven the photographer."

"Right." Mike repeated.

"Is Bob still with her?" Tom asked.

"I don't think so," Mike said thoughtfully. "She only went with him to push him towards Claire."

"Hmm," he replied, obviously unconvinced.

Mike wondered if Cheryl would come up with Bob's or any other names, or if she'd get back to him at all.

- 

The children were by now well trained in Saturday morning behaviour. Siobhán kept a watching brief over the two younger ones while Claire and Mike 'had a lie in'. That Saturday their 'lie in' was truncated at the moment when his penis was at the entrance to nirvana and about to knock and enter.

"Dad! Mum!" Siobhán's yell would wake the dead or wilt the ardour. "It's the police."

He was about to shout that they were not doing anything illegal when Claire's elbow dissuaded him.

They struggled into loose clothing and made their way downstairs. There, with a wide knowing grin which chanted, 'I know what you're doing!' was the young policewoman.

They all sat in the living room.

"I have to tell you how the investigation into your attempted murder is progressing." She sat and opened her file, taking out a sheet of paper.

"I'm afraid that actually there isn't much to tell you," she said, now looking apologetic. "The baseball bat he hit you with has no fingerprints on it. Thankfully no one touched it until we arrived, but professional hit-men don't leave prints, and there's no DNA evidence on it either, apart from yours, so we're not really any further forward. Now if the pictures from your CCTV were clearer? But very few are high definition and he was wearing a crash helmet. If it were a full-face helmet even the CCTV would be useless. So there we are."

Her mention of pictures triggered something in Mike's mind.

"A few weeks ago," he said as she was putting everything away, "someone tried to break up our marriage by sending faked photos of me with another woman. I wonder if the two incidents are connected. Might there be fingerprints on the photos?"

The policewoman nodded. "We can test them, though anyone you know who's touched them will need to be eliminated. Of course it won't get us nearer to the assault, unless one of the owners of the prints confesses to organising it or even carrying it out. That's highly unlikely."

Mike got one photo from each set and gave them to her. She asked for a list of people who had touched the photos, and he gave her Tom, Claire and himself. He also told her that Steven's and Cheryl's prints may be on them as well.

When the policewoman had left, Mike phoned Cheryl to alert her to the police interest in the photos and the need for her to be eliminated and also Steven. Mike asked if anyone else might have touched them, but she reckoned they were the only two, since the Bryony pictures were digital photos on glossy printer paper.

Later that day they traipsed down to the Nick and had their prints taken. Cheryl and Steven had already been, the newspaper offices being a few yards from the police station.

It was Monday when Mike received a call at work from their tame policewoman. 

It turned out that the Bryony photo had all the prints except Cheryl's, and the Brighton one did not have Cheryl's or Tom's. He remembered that Tom had only moved the Bryony photos into the new order for Claire. Steven's were on both sets. That was interesting. 

In addition there was another set of prints on both photos. She was not allowed to say whether the police knew to whom they belonged, because of the Data Protection Act.

He sat and thought. So Cheryl was telling the truth; she did not know about the Brighton photos. That left Steven. He had taken both sets it seemed. Did Cheryl know that? He phoned her mobile.

"Cheryl, the police have been on. Your prints weren't on the Bryony photo nor on the other one."

"Other one?" she asked. "What other one?"

"Thanks," he said. "I didn't think you knew about the other photos. There were some of me in Brighton with Ingrid, who's one of my work colleagues, all in public places, but could be seen as incriminating. Your prints were not on them but Steven's were on both sets."

She paused then, "The bastard!" 

"Cheryl, hang about; don't blow this open yet. Listen, Steven took both sets but he's got no reason to undermine my marriage to Claire, has he?"

"No. He really doesn't know you. He took the Bryony ones because he was trying to get into my pants."

Mike bit his tongue to prevent him asking if the photographer was successful.

He continued instead. "So someone else is involved who's probably paid Steven for the Brighton ones, and if Steven knew what the pictures were for he might have remembered the others: more cash for him. Let's face it, the Bryony pictures are more incriminating by far. There is another set of fingerprints on both sets. Is there anyone else who might want to get their hands on the photos? Do me or Claire damage?"

Silence.

"The only one I can think of is Gary," she said reflectively. "He hates you for taking 'his' woman, but he's safely out of the picture in Strangeways Nick, if they haven't moved him somewhere else."

"Thanks Cheryl," Mike said. "Can I ask you not to say anything to Steven for now? I don't want him covering his tracks."

"The least I can do," she said, and he could have sworn there was an air of wistfulness in her reply. "By the way, Steven hangs out at the Rose and Crown."

Mike was starting to revise his opinion of Cheryl. When she met him for the first time she was very young, nineteen, and he knew she was interested in him for his money and the lifestyle it could bring. 

There was lust there, and he thought love as well, though it was a shallow thing. She was really too young to settle down. Now she'd been knocked around a bit she was different. Perhaps they could be friends after all.

- 

In an ironic twist, Claire was now convinced Cheryl was behind the photos and perhaps even the attack, while Mike was more inclined to believe his ex. had nothing to do with it. He was sure that at least she wouldn't have wanted him dead. That was not Cheryl.

Tom and Mike drank at the Rose and Crown that night, and the following nights. It was not until Friday that Steven turned up. Claire had been getting annoyed at Mike's continual boozy evenings out.

They allowed Steven to settle down at a table, he and the woman he was with, and then wandered over.

"Hello, Steven," Mike said coldly. "D'you know me?"

He looked surprised and began to shake his head.

"Well," Mike said with some aggression, "I'm surprised at that. You've taken enough photos of me, some of them in the nude."

Then the penny dropped and he had the decency to look guilty and perhaps a little bit scared. Tom could look quite threatening and he was standing at Mike's shoulder.

The man was not saying anything, so Mike continued.

"Steven, you've caused me a lot of trouble and I think you could be in the market for a conspiracy charge. It was good of you to give your fingerprints 'for elimination purposes'."

"Don't get you," he tried to bluster. "I don't know nothing about no photos."

Mike mentally counted the negatives and it came out right (two negatives make a positive but he used three. OK, so Mike was a bit a pedant). He knew Steven was trying to tell Mike he knew nothing.

"Oh dear!" Mike exhaled, "and there was I thinking you were going to be helpful. OK, Steven. How does accessory to attempted murder strike you?"

"What?" he croaked. It was a bluff but Mike had got through to him.

"Someone attacked me, baseball bat then knife. He was disturbed."

"You're lying," Steven perked up. "We'd have heard about an attack like that."

"No," Mike said doggedly, "it's still under wraps, though the police have been to the paper asking Cheryl about it. We don't want to hurt you," and here he was telling a blatant lie, "but you can avoid the conspiracy charge by giving us a little information."

"What d'you want to know?"

"Who commissioned you to take the photos of me and a certain young woman in Brighton?" Mike asked with as evil a smile as he could manage.

"Brighton?" he asked. Then he saw Mike's expression and 'remembered'. 

"Oh Brighton! You mean that bit of totty you were screwing. Got you into trouble?"

"Listen, toe-rag, someone booked you to take them. Who?"

"You know Bob French?"

Bingo!

"Yes," Mike said quietly and with menace. "I know Bob. And the other photos, he paid you for those as well?"

Steven nodded, "Bob knew I was going to Brighton, and that you were as well, don't ask me how. He asked me to try to get some photos of you that could be misunderstood, you know, if you were chatting with some pretty bint on your stall, photoshopped to put you in a bedroom.

"When I saw you with that blonde tart it was a gift from heaven. Then I remembered who you were and I that I still had the ones Cheryl had me take. Those were quite fruity, so I thought he could use them as well. He paid a lot extra for those."

For a second time, Mike thought he might have ruined the chances of a fun night for his victim. The woman Steven was with looked at him with distaste and as Mike and Tom left, she was leaving his table, deaf to his entreaties.

"Well," said Tom, "we can be pretty certain who's the owner of the other fingerprints."

It made sense. Mike thought he had definitely got up Bob's nose when he took Claire from him. Knowing the man, Mike could see him trying to break up the marriage. Bob had been living with Cheryl, and Steven probably told him about Brighton which gave Bob his chance.

However Tom thought that Bob wanting Mike dead was taking things a little too far. Bob couldn't be the author of that attack. Tom thought that it looked as if Mike's assassin was an expert. Nevertheless he told Mike they should tackle Bob about the photos.

Claire was pleased that they'd found out who had tried to subvert the marriage, but like Tom, she did not think Bob had it in him to murder anyone. However she still thought that Cheryl was behind what Bob did. They agreed to differ; they were getting better at that.

Claire also told him in measured tones that he had neglected his family in the daily beery quest for answers and the weekend belonged to his children. Who was he to disagree?

As it happened, Claire's injunction to stay with her and their children seemed in the event to be a plea to spend more time with her alone. Siobhán was away from lunchtime on Saturday at a sleepover with a girlfriend in her old neighbourhood, safe now that Gary was behind bars, and the other two were at two different parties on the Saturday afternoon.

The pair of lovers were where they most liked to be, naked in bed that afternoon after a strenuous sexual work out, thoroughly satisfied in every way.

"Mike?"

"Yes?"

"I'd like to go off the pill. I want your baby."

He didn't know what to say. He'd been so wrapped up in the problems they'd faced over the previous year that he'd not given having a child a thought; after all, he had a ready-made family.

"Mike?" Claire asked, worried at his lack of response.

"Sorry, it's a bit sudden. Sort of came out of the blue." 

Then he realised it was what Claire desperately needed to set the seal on their relationship. The younger children brought her pain and suffering from Gary, so now she needed to feel the opposite from Mike with another child. 

Mike had always wanted his own child as well. Perhaps it would also be a boy. He needed reinforcements in this heavily female household, not that any of the females were individually heavy!

"Sweetheart, are you sure you want this? I mean we've been through so much and this attempt on my life is not resolved. What if they are successful?"

"If that happened," she said resolutely, "I would have something, someone, to remind me of you. Yes I want this, but only if you want it as well."

"Yes, my darling," he said, "I would love it if you had our baby."

Another milestone or was it only another step? It felt like a milestone. Anyway, Claire hugged and kissed him and initiated another round of lovemaking as if they were already embarking on the task of extending the family. Mike was not grumbling about that; he was absolutely sure they needed as much practice as possible as he spewed his seed into her clasping vagina for the second time that afternoon.

On Sunday evening Mike begged a hour to visit his friends at the Home, and Siobhán asked if she could go as well. Claire looked doubtful but nodded.

Siobhán was a revelation to Mike. She immersed herself in the place and rapidly made friends with those residents who were open to her, which turned out to be most of them. She noted the two who were dissociated and sat and talked with them even though there was no reaction. 

She told Mike on the way home that she remembered when Claire had her mini-breakdown. She then wondered out loud whether she might go in for medicine, and he told her that she certainly had the intelligence for it but would need the highest grades, especially in sciences. She nodded.

Claire came to the study later that evening after they'd put the young ones to bed and done their part-reading with them. She looked contented and happy. She told him of her conversation with Siobhán and how happy she was that her daughter had such compassion on those less fortunate. They hugged and there was a peacefulness about the evening together. Life was good.




Not Just for Christmas Ch. 14-16



Chapter Sixteen

Everything changes; nothing stays the same. Tom rang Mike at work on Monday morning. 

Where he got his information from, Mike didn't know and never found out; he put it down to Tom's women friends of whom there were many. That was another puzzle: Tom never committed to any of them but they seemed to forgive him that quite easily. 

Tom said he knew where Bob would be at eleven thirty, or rather he knew from where Bob would be coming at about that time. He opined that even if Bob had been warned by Steven their interception there would come as a surprise.

Mike was beginning to worry about his repeated absences from work. Rosemary pooh-poohed his concerns, saying that she was coping, and from what he saw when he caught up with things at the works, she was more than coping, she was running things easily and with vision. She definitely needed a rise.

Tom picked him up and drove him there. 'There' was the house of one of Bob's regular married women. They saw his car, parked a distance away from the house, and positioned themselves to intercept him before he reached it. Tom got in the back of the car.

The gigolo exited the premises looking flushed; Mike thought Bob must be getting a little old for all that sexual activity. Bob certainly looked tired and he wasn't paying much attention to his surroundings. Mike threw his door wide and Bob actually bumped into it. Tom was behind him as Mike greeted him.

"Hello Bob," Mike said with a grim smile. "We have to talk. You've been a naughty boy."

His first response was to run but as he started in surprise, Tom jabbed a finger in his back.

"I advise you to keep very still," Tom growled. Bob froze. An old trick; Tom was surprised it worked at all.

"Get in the car," Mike ordered, and Bob did so, sliding into the backseat. Tom followed.

"Now Bob," Mike said, "you're likely to be in trouble with the police soon but you're in bigger shit with me."

"What?" he said looking extremely nervous.

"We know everything," said Tom. "Everything. You and your minion were very, very careless. Fingerprints, Bob, fingerprints. Yours are all over the photos, and your man's are on the baseball bat." It was a lie, but Bob wouldn't know that. He clearly didn't.

"So, Bob," Mike continued, "you can confess everything to us, and tell us why you did it, or all kinds of shit is going to fall on you. The Police don't know whose fingerprints were on the photos yet, but they will be calling on you, unless..."

Bob started. "How d'you know they're mine?"

"Steven talked. Explain why you're trying to destroy my marriage and even kill me. I did nothing to you. I was with Claire long before you came on the scene."

"It's not me," he said.

"That's a load of shite!" Mike barked. "Your fingerprints!"

"No," Bob said hastily, "not me, Gary."

"He's doing time," said Tom. "Try another lie."

Bob became animated. "No listen, Gary got to hear that I'd been seeing Claire. He's got friends outside. I got a call. Gary's got a mobile inside. He told me his friends would 'see to me' unless I broke you up. Then I got a visit from a couple of really big blokes. They told me I had a month to sort you out. It was you or me."

"You know Gary?" Mike asked him. "How?"

"I was doing a couple of small jobs for Gary's boss. Gary was there, you know he was his boss's PA? We chatted about the job. Used to go for the odd drink. That's when I saw his lady, I mean your lady, Claire. "

"I don't suppose we should ask about the 'work' you were doing," Tom said wryly. Bob did not answer. 

"The two who came to warn me," Bob said, ignoring his implication. "They work for the same bloke."

"Who is?" Tom and Mike chorused.

Bob was silent, no doubt wondering if telling them would be painful for him in the future. They waited, and in time he realised that he had to tell them. 

"Stockton Import/Export. The owner is Josiah Stockton, you know him?"

"Of him," Mike said, making a mental note to see if Stewart Research and Development had used the company. He knew nothing about the firm or about the man.

"OK," said Tom. "That brings us to the second matter. The attempted murder."

"What?" Bob looked genuinely puzzled. "Murder?"

"Come on, Bob," Tom said testily. "Your attempt to break up his marriage failed so you went to plan B. Who did you pay to attack Mike?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," said Bob, looking desperate. "I told Gary the photos didn't work and he told me to tell the two apes that when they visited me next. So I did. Come on Mike, I may be a pussy hound but I'm no murderer!"

Tom looked at Mike, and Mike looked at Tom. He nodded and Mike did the same.

"OK," Mike said. "But if we find-"

"You won't," Bob assured them. "I wouldn't do that. In any case I got punished enough for failing to break you up and for trying it on with Gary's, er, your wife."

They waited.

"Those apes know how to really hurt you without leaving any marks," he said, wincing at the memory. "At least not many. I still ache weeks later."

Tom got out and Bob scuttled off to his car and drove away.

"You know what this means," said Tom, glancing at Mike. "You're not out of the wood yet. Whoever is doing Gary's work could try again." 

Mike called the policewoman assigned to his case and told her all that Bob had told him. She thanked him and told him she would keep Mike as informed as she was allowed by law.

Then nothing. Mike was expecting an angry Bob accusing him of 'shopping' him to the police, but heard nothing. After a fortnight, Mike phoned the policewoman again.

"I have problems telling you everything we know, because of legal constraints," she told him. "I can tell you we did interview him and his fingerprints were on the photos. There's nothing to link him to the attack on you, and since he's committed no crime, we couldn't hold him."

"But he fingered those two Neanderthals who punished him. The connection seemed pretty clear to us."

"All I can say is that when we interviewed him he said he knew nothing about two heavies, or about Gary Sonter. Even if he's lying, there's no evidence linking them, so there's nothing we can do. I'm sorry. We can't call in every big man working for Stockton's; we've no evidence to go on, and we're sure they'll simply deny everything. Sorry.

"Oh," she said as an afterthought, "Sonter no longer has a mobile - at least for a while. No doubt he'll come by another one eventually." She laughed.

- 

As far as Mike could see, Tom and he had reached a dead end. If there was no link between Bob and the assassin they were sunk. They were now sure that Gary was behind this and that he was using his connections to attack Mike from behind bars. It was unnerving that Gary could reach Mike and therefore possibly Claire and the children from prison. How long would they be looking over their shoulders waiting for the next attack to come?

There was no proof but the danger was real. Mike went home and told Claire what had transpired. She looked apprehensive. 

"Gary would never tell me what job he was in," she said, "but I think it was import/export. I met his boss once. Short little fellow and very nice to talk to, but I felt nervous around him. Flirted a bit with me I remember. It was at a Christmas party. There were some strange people there."

"Strange? How?"

She responded thoughtfully. "They were all supposed to be business people, office or sales folk, you know? But I don't know, I think it was how some of them were dressed. Everyone wore suits but some of them looked uncomfortable; their suits didn't quite fit, you know what I mean."

"Any of them look like wrestlers?" he asked.

"Yes," her eyes lit up. "There were a few really big men with shaved heads and ill-fitting suits."

"Well, it seems that there is a link between Bob and Gary, and this involves two blokes who work for our Mr. Josiah Stockton. Bob said the heavies worked him over when he failed to break us up. They were acting on Gary's orders."

"You aren't going to-"

"See Mr. Stockton? I think I might have to."

"But-"

"We can't go on indefinitely looking over our shoulders, waiting for the next attack to come. The next one could be fatal."

"I don't like it, Mike, I think Stockton is dangerous. You may do more harm than good."

"I'll do some research on him and his company first, don't worry. I'm not rushing there."

At this she became agitated. "Don't, please. I don't like it. I don't think Gary's business was completely kosher. Go to the police, don't do this on your own."

"The police can't do anything because there's not enough evidence even to interview them or Stockton himself. Claire, we need to get to the bottom of this, otherwise we'll be on edge for the rest of our lives."

She shrugged and looked resigned and there they left it.

Mike got Rosemary to research Stockton Import/Export and she found it seemed to be a well run company that Mike's company had used from time to time. He asked around other owners or managers of other companies, and while all said the import/export work Stockton did was clean and efficient, there were suspicions that Josiah had other interests on the fringe of legality, where he made the big money. 

Mike knew all the more keenly that he needed to tread carefully. He spent a long time working out his approach to the man. 

Once again Tom was a star. He called in a favour from a friend who did investigations for insurance companies. He reported that Mr. Josiah Stockton was a loving family man who doted on his wife and children. 

Mike realised that some of the worst, most ruthless and most violent gang leaders were 'loving family men'. Gary's treatment of Claire would be unacceptable to the man. That would be his way in.

In the end he assembled his material and phoned Stockton's. He identified himself and asked to see Josiah. To his surprise he was able to make an appointment and the next day he arrived at their offices. Against everything they had agreed, he did not tell Claire where he was going.

From what he had heard he expected a dingy office over a grubby warehouse, but the building was smart and modern. Stockton's offices were on the second floor and after signing in, Mike made his way up the stairs.

On entering and announcing himself, he was immediately shown into the office of Josiah Stockton. It was clean and sparse. Josiah came round his desk and extended a hand, and after introductions gestured to armchairs round a coffee table.

The man was as Claire had described him. He came up to Mike's shoulder. He was very well dressed and his suit was clearly expensive. He was balding and there were streaks of grey among the dark brown, but he had made no attempt to cover either sign of ageing. He had a ready smile, but Mike thought his eyes were cold.

"Now, Mr Stewart," he began, "I don't mince my words. It appears that my Personal Assistant is in prison because of you. When you made your appointment, I thought it would a good opportunity to find out what sort of a man steals a happily married man's wife, breaks up a loving family and drives him to the madness of trying to kill her? Gary being put away has messed up things here badly for me."

"Well, Mr Stockton," Mike said, putting his briefcase on the coffee table and opening it, "I need to clear up some misapprehensions you have. Best done by telling you a little history of what's happened. A year last Christmas, on Christmas Eve, I was walking through the town along the back street that runs parallel to the High Street. I remember it clearly. It was afternoon and it was pouring with rain."

"I fail to see what this has to do with anything," Stockton interrupted.

"Please bear with me. This is the best way to clear things up."

He shrugged and sat back, a sure sign he was ready to reject Mike's story.

"I was accosted by Claire's fourteen year old daughter. She was facially bruised and frightened. I asked about her family and she led me to a covered area where the bins were at the back of Boots the Chemist. Claire was there sitting on a large suitcase with Ryan in her arms and Virginia by her side. They were wet through. Claire had been beaten up quite badly. 

Mike delved into his case. "Here. These are photos of her injuries." 

He passed the photos of Claire. Stockton looked at them and his face became grim.

"Gary's work?" he asked but did not need an answer. "So?"

"Shania had bruises as well, here." He passed the second set to Stockton. "Shania said Gary had been beating Claire for years. That particular day was worse than usual and Shania had been kicked and punched for trying to intervene - you can see the bruising.

"I couldn't leave them there, freezing cold and wet on Christmas Eve. So I took them home. I've a large house, and it allows for individual privacy."

"Gary said you were having an affair," Stockton said.

"She said Sonter kept her short of money, and didn't let her out of the house unless it was with him. He'd got her pregnant when she was in Sixth Form and she never completed her education. So I gave her a job as my housekeeper."

"With benefits?" his lip curled in a sneer.

"Without benefits," snapped Mike. "She was an emotional wreck. I kept well clear of her in emotional terms. I put her through College for the exams she missed at school, and paid for her driving lessons and test. She was free to leave at any time. She didn't.

"The kids started calling me Dad, and Claire didn't stop them."

"But you married her," he said, "So you must have got together as more than employer and employee before then."

"It was after the Decree Nisi," Mike replied. "The children hinted she loved me, and I knew I loved her, but never wanted to cross the line with her. They sort of pushed us together. We had one date and a few weeks later Gary attacked Claire and then went looking for Shania."

"Heard about that on the news," Stockton said and for the first time he smiled. "You were quite the hero, I remember. I wouldn't have taken Gary on if he had a knife."

Mike delved again, and produced some stills from the CCTV footage. 

"He cut Claire and stabbed her. He even cut her face to make her ugly. It was touch and go whether she lived."

Josiah Stockton, looked at the photos and his face reddened in anger but his voice remained calm. "I wouldn't have thought that of him, but he obviously lost it when the divorce went through."

There was a brief silence.

Then Stockton spoke again. "Well. Mr Stewart, you've certainly given me a new picture of my assistant. I would never have thought he was like that. But you didn't come here to tell me your life story; what can I do for you?"

"I don't really know, to be truthful," said Mike. "Since we married, there have been two attempts to separate us. The first one was with faked photographs of me with another woman. That failed, and shortly afterwards I was attacked outside my office. The assailant knocked me out and was about to use a knife on me when my assistant arrived for work and he ran off. He was a biker, wore a full face helmet and leathers. He was a big man, according to my assistant who surprised him."

"So what's it to do with me?" Stockton asked.

"That's what I've come to find out," Mike said.

"I can't see what-"

"Let me finish," said Mike quietly, "and I'll tell you why I've come to you."

Stockton smiled and nodded.

"After Claire recovered enough from the attack she thought she was too ugly for me, and did not want to face my pity as she called it. So she took her family back to the marital home. While there she was visited by a Robert French, who wanted to date her. 

"When she returned to me after refusing him and telling him I was the one she wanted, I suspected him of taking revenge. His fingerprints were on the photographs that were made to incriminate me, but when I and my friend 'talked' to him-"

Here Stockton laughed, taking the meaning of 'talked' as Mike meant it.

"He told us that two very large men arrived at his house and told him that Gary had heard he'd been seeing Claire. Gary knew we had married and told Bob, through these two, to break up the marriage. So Bob tried the photos, which failed, though it nearly came to divorce.

"Bob French contacted Gary and told him of his failure and later the two large men returned and beat him up. Shortly after that I was attacked by, in my secretary's words, a very bulky man in a crash helmet and dark leathers and boots.

"Bob French said that on an occasion when he visited Gary at your warehouse, he had seen the two who attacked him, so it seems they work for you. I don't know, but I suspect one of them attacked me. No proof, no prints on the baseball bat that he clobbered me with but it does seem they know Gary Sonter well, so I suspect he is behind all this. 

"My wife Claire and I want to settle down with our family and live normal lives. Sonter threatened to kill the whole family but only managed to get to Claire. At the moment I think it's not only I, but the whole family who are in danger, and we are looking over our shoulders all the time wondering what's coming next."

"You should go to the police," said Stockton.

"I have. Not enough evidence, and French wouldn't tell them anything - he has too much respect for Gary's long arm and for the blokes who 'punished' him."

Josiah Stockton stared at Mike for a few moments. At length he let out a sigh. Mike could not tell if it were annoyance or disgust. Then he spoke.

"Mr Michael Stewart, you are a diplomatic man. I suspect you know more about me than you let on, and that there is more to your life story with Claire than you have told me. I remember Claire. She was a very beautiful young woman. She came to one of our parties with her then husband. I think I spent rather too much time with her because I was in trouble with my wife when everyone had gone!"

He laughed at the memory, then became very serious.

"I know you speak the truth about what happened, because it would be too easy for me to find out if you were lying about the matter. I assure you I knew nothing about Gary's home life or about his abuse of his lovely wife and daughter. I do know who among my staff were Gary's closest friends and again I think you are right in your suppositions, though you didn't hear me say any such thing."

He paused and gave Mike a meaningful look, who nodded.

"You may know that this little import/export enterprise of mine is a small part of my business dealings. I have contacts in important places and I can get things done that others can't. I would like to ask you to go home and have a good life with your new family and to trust me that you will not be bothered again. You do understand what I'm saying?"

Mike knew at that moment he was dealing with a very dangerous man; a man of quiet power and secret influence. He suspected that many of Josiah Stockton's dealings were illegal or very close to illegal. 

He nodded. "Thank you Mr Stockton, I'm glad I can leave things in your hands."

"Good day, Mr Stewart." It was said with a smile and a handshake. The smile was warm but the eyes were still cold.

Mike went back to work feeling relief. He knew deep down that Josiah Stockton would take appropriate action and that his troubles were over, though he had no idea what such action might be. Rosemary saw it, and showed her relief.

"I'm glad it's over," she said, which amazed him.

He thought back over the two years and realised how much she had done and how she had played a key role in the worst of the crises. On the spur of the moment he offered her a large rise and what amounted to a partnership in the firm. Once again she was the voice of reason. He should talk to Claire before signing away part of the firm's profits.

Claire was all in favour. It was only justice, she said, but when Mike went back to Rosemary next day, she refused a partnership, but accepted his insistence on a large pay rise.