The Temptation Page 11

  Dorothy sat down, pulled out a packet of cigarettes and matches from her pocket and lit up. ‘You honestly think Revie will get the better of Frank? If they arrest him, they’ll have to take Laurel in as an accessory. Come on, Mabel, pull yourself together. This is a terrible situation, but no need to make it worse.’

  Mabel plonked a plate of biscuits on the table, her face pinched and unhappy. ‘I didn’t have any time to make a cake, you’ll have to make do with shop bought biscuits.’

  ‘I don’t mind,’ Laurel said, ‘I like shortbread.’ Mabel glowered and she realised she’d said the wrong thing.

  ‘I’ll have to have more money for the housekeeping if prices keep going up,’ Mabel moaned.

  ‘Are you doing anything tonight, Laurel?’ Dorothy asked.

  Laurel raised her eyebrows. Now what? ‘Nothing, except to wait for Frank to come back from Leiston police station.’

  Dorothy sipped her tea, then took a long pull on her cigarette. ‘I’m going into Aldeburgh. There’s a meeting at the Jubilee Hall about the possibility of building another nuclear power station. Easterspring’s only been going for five years, so it will be ages before they start to build a new one, but they want to ease the way for the next phase. Would you like to come with me? I want to see the director, Dr Luxton, and hear what he’s got to say.’

  It wasn’t something Laurel felt strongly about, but perhaps she should. It would get her out of the house and away from moaning Mabel, and possibly another embarrassing scene when Stuart got back. ‘Yes, I’ll come with you. What time’s the meeting?’

  ‘Seven o clock.’ Dorothy glanced at the kitchen clock. ‘We could leave soon and have a bite at The Cross Keys before it starts.’

  ‘Along with all the other people who’ve decided to do the same,’ Mabel muttered.

  ‘Mabel, what’s the matter with you?’ Dorothy asked. ‘Is it Stuart?’

  Mabel slumped in her seat. ‘I think he’s fed up with me.’

  Laurel stopped herself from saying, I’m not surprised. ‘Why do you think that?’ Dorothy asked, patting Mabel’s hand.

  Mabel breathed in deeply. ‘Someone told me they’d seen him in The White Lion, in Southwold, having a drink with a woman. They said they seemed thick with each other. I can’t blame him, I haven’t been very nice lately, have I?’

  Laurel grasped her other hand. ‘Oh, Mabel, that was Ann Fenner he was with, the Pembertons’ housekeeper. He was only questioning her about David. I’m sure Stuart loves you, but you’ve been giving him a hard time.’

  Mabel’s chin dropped, a tear sliding down her cheek. ‘I didn’t realise it was her, but they said he was enjoying himself; they were eating fish and chips.’

  Dorothy glanced at Laurel; they both bit their lips.

  ‘Why don’t you come with us to Aldeburgh? The meeting might be boring, but we’ll have a meal first, and you’ll see lots of your old customers. They’ll all tell you your daughter-in-law’s batter’s good, but not as good as yours,’ Dorothy said.

  Mabel blinked. ‘What’s on the telly tonight?’

  Dorothy consulted the Radio Times. ‘The Virginian followed by Eric Sykes.’

  ‘Do come, Mabel. You can tell me who everyone is,’ Laurel said.

  Mabel smiled at them. ‘Thanks. I think I will. But what about Frank and … Stuart when they come back? What will they have for their supper?’

  Laurel sniffed. ‘They’re big boys, they can fend for themselves; also, Stuart might appreciate you more if you’re not here, absence makes etc. etc.’

  ‘Right, it’s settled. I’ll leave a note for them.’

  ‘We could call in at Leiston police station and see if we can rescue Frank,’ Laurel said. Why had Revie wanted to see him again? They’d both made detailed statements yesterday.

  Dorothy shook her head. ‘Frank will do it his way. I bet he’s got that Inspector Revie on board by now.’

  ‘We’ll hear all about it later, or tomorrow morning. Right, ten minutes to get ready, then off we go. I’ll drive,’ Laurel said.

  Laurel, Dorothy and Mabel walked the short distance from the Cross Keys to the Jubilee Hall, both in Crabbe Street. The narrow street, close to the sea front, was crammed with people waiting to get into the meeting. They joined the queue, which because of the meagre pavement, spilled onto the road.

  ‘Lovely old building,’ Mabel said. ‘I like it better than that Snape Malting, that’s too far away from the town.’

  ‘They’ve made a good job of rebuilding the concert hall after it burnt down last year. Such a shame,’ Dorothy said.

  ‘They still have concerts here during the music festival, don’t they?’ Laurel asked.

  ‘They certainly do, but I hear Mr Britten isn’t too well,’ Dorothy said.

  ‘He’s never looked strong, poor man,’ Mabel replied.

  Laurel was surprised by the spaciousness of the hall with its deep stage and orchestra pit built underneath it. The rows of metal and leatherette chairs began to fill up.

  ‘Let’s get on the front row,’ Dorothy whispered. ‘Sometimes these science boffins aren’t very good public speakers. We want to hear what’s going on.’

  Laurel led the way and they bagged seats in the centre of the first row.

  Dorothy wriggled. ‘The seats are as uncomfortable as I remember.’

  On the deep stage was a long table, with a microphone, glasses and a jug of water and three chairs.

  Mabel got up. ‘Just going to have a few words with some people I know. Don’t let anyone pinch my seat.’

  ‘I thought that was Stuart’s prerogative,’ Laurel said. She received a playful tap round the ear from Mabel.

  ‘It’s good to see her looking like her old self,’ Dorothy said. ‘Something is bothering her, I don’t think it’s anything to do with Stuart, not directly, I think she’s worried about something, but she can’t, or doesn’t want to, talk about it. Stuart is as puzzled as anyone. I do hope they can sort it out, for their sakes and the agency’s. I’d be so upset if one or both left.’

  Laurel’s stomach tightened. ‘You don’t think it would come to that? I really need everyone at the moment; I know I’m being lily-livered and logically I know I’m not responsible for the Harrops’ dying, but —’

  Dorothy squeezed her hand. ‘You coped magnificently with Nicholson. Have faith in yourself. We’ve all got faith in you.’

  Those few words lightened her spirits. She must push thoughts of inadequacy behind her and concentrate on the search for David Pemberton and possibly, if the Harrops’ deaths were suspicious, finding out what happened to them and who did it.

  Mabel came back to her seat as three men mounted the stage and took up their positions in front of the now silent audience. The man in the middle stood up and took hold of the microphone. ‘Welcome to the meeting.’ He introduced himself as a Suffolk County Councillor, acting as chair; he introduced the man on his right, the director of Easterbrook Power Station, Dr Luxton, and the man on his left as the Deputy Director.

  Dr Luxton was a tall thin man, balding with a Plantagenet face; he gazed at the audience through owl-like glasses and wore a green tweed suit, white shirt and plain brown tie.

  A boffin, looks and all, thought Laurel. He didn’t look well; there were shadows under his eyes, and the corner of his right eye regularly twitched.

  ‘How long has he been at Easterspring?’ she asked Dorothy.

  ‘Came when it was commissioned in 1966.’

  The County Councillor waffled on about the prosperity the building of Easterspring had brought to Leiston and the surrounding area, how it had saved the town and how by the end of its life it would have generated enough electricity to power England and Wales for six months.

  ‘Which six months was that?’ Mabel asked in a whisper, ‘April to September?’

  Laurel suppressed a laugh.

  ‘Dr Luxton will now speak on the work of the power station and the future of atomic energy in England and in this part of th
e country in particular,’ the County Councillor said, passing the microphone to Luxton.

  Luxton unfolded his body and leant towards the audience.

  Terrible posture, Laurel thought. He looked nervous for a man with such power and responsibility; his eyes were shifting from side to side as if he was looking for someone in particular. Then he seemed to get a grip of himself and spoke in a pleasant cultured voice about the work of the station.

  He briefly mentioned the history of nuclear power, the role of the British Nuclear Design and Construction, backed by English Electric, Babcock and Wilcox and Taylor Woodrow, in the building of the plant, and then baffled everyone with details about total generating capacity, the rate of oxidation of internal reactor-core components, and steam produced by boilers and turbogenerators.

  Laurel’s concentration drifted; she wished they’d sat a bit farther back so she could look round and see if she knew anyone in the audience.

  ‘Although it will be many years before we need to replace this power station —’ Luxton stopped speaking. He was staring towards the back of the hall, his mouth open in mid-sentence.

  Laurel turned, directing her gaze in the direction of Luxton’s stare. A few people were standing at the back of the hall, obviously latecomers. One person stood out, she’d seen his face before: seen it on paper, the drawing of the headmaster of Chillingworth School. Ralph Gabriel Baron.

  ‘Dorothy, look who’s at the back of the hall,’ she whispered.

  Luxton had regained his composure and was talking about a new power station to be built next to the present one, to be called Easterspring 2, an advanced gas-cooled reactor.

  Dorothy craned her neck. ‘You mean Mr Tucker, the art gallery owner?’

  ‘No. No. Which one is he?’

  ‘Look he’s waving to me now. Nice man, always in a good humour. Oh, yes, I see who you mean. My word, that boy got him off to a T.’

  ‘Oh, dear, he’s fainting!’

  Mabel’s words made Laurel and Dorothy turn back to the stage. Luxton had collapsed across the table, the microphone fell to the floor, and loud metallic sounds reverberated round the hall. The chairman tried to pull Luxton into his seat whilst the Deputy Director retrieved the microphone.

  Laurel didn’t think; years of dealing with physical crises on the playing field, in the gym or the school playground, sent her towards where she was needed. She got up and went onto the stage. ‘Can I help?’ She didn’t wait for the chairman’s reply. She managed to lower the ungainly body of Luxton onto the stage floor and placed him in the recovery position. He was surprisingly light for his height: skin and bone. She loosened his tie and checked he was breathing. His breaths were shallow and his face pale, filmed with sweat. Could be a panic attack. He’d seemed nervous at the beginning of the meeting, then he’d settled down, but when he’d seen Baron he’d lost control. What was needed was a paper bag.

  ‘Ask if anyone in the audience has a paper bag,’ she ordered the chairman.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Just do it.’

  The chairman turned to the Deputy Director. ‘You heard what the lady said, ask the audience.’ The noise from the floor was increasing, some people were making for the door, some were coming up to the stage, their expressions either concerned or curious.

  ‘Oh, for goodness sake.’ Laurel grabbed the microphone. ‘Has anyone got a paper bag? Sounds mad, I know, but I need one.’

  Mabel rummaged in her handbag, and produced a brown paper bag full of something. She came to the stage and handed it to Laurel. ‘I brought some bread for the seagulls, forgot to give it to them.’

  Laurel gave her the thumbs up, tipped the stale bread onto the stage floor and placed the bag over Luxton’s mouth and nose. ‘Take some deep breaths,’ she whispered in his ear, hoping blood was returning to his brain and he would come to shortly.

  A tall, dark-haired, good looking man, carrying a doctor’s bag came onto the stage.

  ‘Thank heavens,’ the chairman said.

  The doctor looked at Luxton and Laurel. ‘Panic attack?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘You a medic?’

  ‘No. Former head of PE.’

  The doctor nodded. ‘Girls?’

  Laurel nodded, still holding the bag to Luxton’s face.

  ‘Plenty of experience then,’ the doctor said.

  Laurel eyeballed him. ‘He’s coming to.’

  Luxton groaned, then retched. Laurel and the doctor helped him to sit up.

  ‘Let’s get the poor man out of the limelight. This is embarrassing for him,’ Laurel said.

  ‘You,’ the doctor addressed the chairman. ‘Take his right arm, and you,’ pointing to the Deputy Director, ‘get a chair for him in the wings.’

  Laurel decided she’d try to get into this doctor’s practice. She hadn’t signed up with one and was constantly nagged by Dorothy to get herself fixed up.

  Luxton had recovered sufficiently to stagger, with help, out of the range of the audience.

  ‘Sit down, man,’ the doctor ordered. He pushed Luxton’s head down between his knees. ‘You’ll feel better soon.’

  The chairman scuttled back to the stage. ‘Ladies and gentlemen.’ He was speaking into the microphone. ‘Please be seated. Dr Luxton has recovered but is unable to continue his talk. However, the Deputy Director …’

  The man’s an idiot, Laurel thought.

  ‘Will continue the talk.’

  Laurel looked at the doctor who was taking Luxton’s pulse. He raised his eyebrows as if he agreed with her estimation of the chairman’s capabilities.

  ‘Not too bad. Can you talk?’ he asked Luxton.

  Luxton nodded. ‘Yes. Thank you. Both of you. I don’t know what happened. I’ve never fainted before.’

  ‘How will you get home?’ Laurel asked.

  ‘I live in Thorpeness. My deputy can drive me home.’

  ‘Is there anyone there?’ the doctor asked.

  Luxton gulped. ‘No, I live alone.’

  It figures, thought Laurel, only a bachelor would wear such a horrible suit.

  The doctor frowned. ‘In that case, I think we need to get you to hospital. I don’t want you by yourself in case you have another attack. Or have you a friend who could stay with you tonight? Tomorrow you need to get a full check-up. I don’t think it’s serious, but better safe than sorry.’

  ‘Perhaps your deputy could stay with you?’ Laurel asked.

  Luxton’s face crumpled. ‘No. He’s got a family. I don’t think he’d want to do that.’

  The doctor looked at Laurel. ‘You OK to stay with him? I’ll see the deputy, sounds as if the meeting’s packing up, and I’ll get him some water.’

  ‘There’s some on the table.’

  The doctor shook his head. ‘You’d have thought the chairman would have brought the poor chap a glass by now!’ He stalked off.

  Laurel put her arm round Luxton’s shoulders. He flinched. ‘Are you all right now, Dr Luxton?’ She slowly withdrew her arm.

  He leant back against the back of the chair. ‘Yes, thank you. Did you come to my rescue when I fainted? I saw you sitting on the front row. What’s your name?’

  ‘Laurel Bowman. I used to be a PE teacher, so I’ve got some knowledge of first aid. Luckily someone got hold of a doctor.’

  ‘Don’t you teach now?’

  ‘No.’ She didn’t feel like elaborating. His breathing was becoming shallow again. ‘Dr Luxton, take some slow deep breaths. Try not to get worked up if you can.’ He looked round and his right eye started twitching. He looked frightened, as though whatever had brought on the attack was returning to his mind.

  ‘Can I help you? Something is bothering you and making you feel unwell. Perhaps if you told someone, they might be able to help you sort out the problem. Sometimes when you talk to someone about what’s worrying you, it immediately shrinks in size and you find you can deal with it.’ It was like talking to a fourth year who was convinced life was over because
they had a spot on the end of their nose, or her best friend had gone off with the boy she fancied.

  He looked at her as though he was longing to tell her, his mouth trembling and tears filming his eyes. ‘I can’t tell anyone. If I told you, you’d wish you hadn’t helped me, you’d hate me so much you’d wish I’d died. I wish I was dead.’

  Good heavens. She must tell the doctor and make sure the Deputy Director understood how serious this was; he seemed unstable, delusional. What had he done to make him feel like this?

  ‘Please don’t feel like that. Whatever it is I’m sure you can put it right. Try to get some rest. Are your parents still alive? There’s nothing like going home and being spoilt for a few days.’ She knew she was offering platitudes and from the look on his face, nothing she’d said was getting through.

  The doctor came back with the Deputy Director. ‘Come along, Dr Luxton, you’re going home with your colleague. I’ll come with you to his car.’

  As the two scientists left the stage, Dr Luxton leaning on his deputy, Laurel called the doctor back and told him what Luxton had said.

  ‘I’ll have a word with his friend, tell him not to leave him by himself. I’ll make an appointment to see him tomorrow if his own doctor can’t fit him in.’

  Laurel shook his hand. ‘Thanks. By the way, have you got room for another customer? I haven’t signed up with a practice yet.’ No use being a shy violet.

  ‘Delighted … Miss?’ he said, glancing at her left hand.

  ‘Laurel Bowman.’

  ‘Oliver Neave. So, you’re the Laurel Bowman, who sorted out Nicholson?’

  ‘I’m afraid so.’

  ‘Welcome to our practice. Although perhaps it’d be better if you had my partner, Dr Scott, as your doctor.’

  Laurel’s shoulders sagged. She’d obviously made a poor impression. Then she saw the twinkle in his eyes and the friendly smile. ‘Of course, if you think that’d be best.’

  ‘I do. Now I’d better catch up with Dr Luxton, before he’s whisked off. Goodnight and thank you for your prompt and kindly actions.’

  Laurel went back to the hall. Dorothy and Mabel were waiting for her and talking to them was the man Dorothy had said was Mr Tucker, the owner of the art gallery. She’d often looked in the windows of his gallery, it was on the same side of the High Street as Nancy’s house, towards the post office. It was up-market, with painting and sculptures tastefully arranged; the prices well beyond her.