Florence looked at her hands and then raised her lined, careworn face. Penny and Victoria had met her a few months earlier in Liverpool when she had been living in a suburban bedsit and struggling to make ends meet on a tiny pension. Her face had filled out since then, Penny realized, taking years off her appearance. Being with Mrs. Lloyd in her safe, comfortable home must seem as if she’d landed in the lap of luxury.
“You and Mrs. Lloyd hadn’t known each other very long or very well before you moved in, had you?” Penny asked gently.
“No. But we were getting along just fine until he came along. We had our routine and I was happy to take on the cooking and do what I could around the place. Making sure everything runs smoothly, like. I’ve settled in now and I want to go on living there,” Florence said. “I gave up my place, such as it was, in Liverpool to move here. I’ll never find another place now at the rent I was paying at my old place.”
Penny sighed and touched Florence on the arm.
“I’m sorry, but Victoria will be wondering what’s happened to me. I had better get back to our guests.”
“Yes, you better had,” agreed Florence.
“Right. Well, Florence, you know where to find me if you want to talk some more. In the meantime, I don’t know what to tell you. It is Mrs. Lloyd’s money, after all, and she can do with it what she likes.” She brightened. “But if it’s any help to you, the flat over the manicure shop will be vacant in a day or two when Victoria moves out.” Florence gave her a dark look. “No, well, I suppose not.”
Penny stood up and opened the door.
“But you’ve certainly given me something to think about, Florence,” Penny said as the two women prepared to rejoin the party. Penny found the conversation unsettling, but she wasn’t sure why. Perhaps something Florence had said didn’t ring true or maybe it was something she didn’t say. But whatever it was, like a wisp of chimney smoke carried away on a wintry wind, it eluded her. And she had to get back to her guests.
Nine
“Are you quite sure you want to do this, Mrs. Lloyd?” asked Huw Bowen. “It’s a lot of money.”
“I’m perfectly well aware of how much it is, thank you, Huw,” replied Mrs. Lloyd stiffly. “And yes, I wish to transfer twenty thousand pounds from my savings account into the joint account Harry and I are opening today. And he’s depositing a cheque for the same amount.” She looked at Harry, who held up a small piece of blue paper, and then back at Bowen. “Now, then, where do we sign?”
Bowen took the cheque from Harry and examined it carefully. “This is drawn on an American bank and it is not certified,” he said, clipping it to the inside of a beige file folder that contained two or three documents. Looking at Mrs. Lloyd, he said carefully, “You will need to allow thirty days for this cheque to clear. You do understand that you will not have access to this money for that time. It will be as if the money isn’t there.”
“Oh, we’re not going to be spending it,” Mrs. Lloyd replied. “Not as such. Harry will be investing it when the right opportunity comes along.”
Bowen took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. He wished there was something he could do to stop Mrs. Lloyd from going ahead with this scheme, and although he hoped he was wrong, he feared that she would pay a very high price for her involvement with this man, who had struck him the minute he clapped eyes on him at the bridge game on that frosty November night as being completely untrustworthy.
“Well, with this account, then, Mrs. Lloyd”-he tapped the documents on his desk-“let’s set it up so that a withdrawal will require both of your signatures. I strongly recommend that you do that.”
As Mrs. Lloyd hesitated, Saunders smiled at her and gave his head the tiniest shake.
“No, we’ll have it so that either of us can access the funds,” Mrs. Lloyd said. “It’ll be easier and faster that way. Harry’s business ventures are very demanding and sometimes he has to travel.”
Bowen put his glasses back on. “I wonder if I might just have a quick word with you in private, Mrs. Lloyd.” He gave Saunders a pointed look and then, pursing his lips slightly and folding his hands on his desk, turned his gaze back to Mrs. Lloyd. She met his eyes with a look of resolved indignation.
“You know, Huw, I’m starting to think you’re afraid that Harry’s going to do so much better as my financial advisor that you’ll find yourself out of the job.” She sat back in her chair and folded her arms.
Suppressing a sigh, Bowen pushed a piece of paper across the desk to Mrs. Lloyd and offered her a pen.
“Very well. If you’ll just sign here, please.”
Saunders gave him a muted look that Bowen would come to think of later as triumph mixed with a generous swirl of contempt.
“Right, well, that’s that, then,” said Mrs. Lloyd as she stood up and pulled on her gloves. She jammed the fingers of one hand down between the fingers of the other and then turned around for her heavy wool coat that Saunders had hung on the rack in the corner of Bowen’s office. He removed Mrs. Lloyd’s coat, helped her on with it, and then returned to the rack for his own. He hesitated for a moment seeing two green anoraks but realizing quickly that the top one must be his, lifted it off the rack and put it on. He put his hands in the pockets and pulled out a pair of black gloves.
“Well, then,” said Bowen, as he opened the door for them. “Good luck,” he said neutrally and then, with a little more emphasis directed to Mrs. Lloyd, “Do call me if you have any questions or if, ah, any problems arise.”
“Oh, we’re not anticipating any problems, are we, Harry?” Mrs. Lloyd replied.
A minute later they were standing in the town square outside the bank. The sky had turned a pewter colour and dark clouds rested sullenly on the hilltops.
“I’m so excited, Harry,” Mrs. Lloyd said. “I just know our investments are going to do really well.”
“Of course they will, Evelyn.”
“There’s just one thing that’s bothering me, though. I’m having second thoughts about that joint signing business. It might have been a good idea, just to keep everything…”
“Now, Evelyn,” Saunders said with a smooth smile, inclining his head toward her, “either you trust me or you don’t. You do trust me, don’t you?”
“Yes, of course I do, Harry.”
He gave her a broad, boyish grin, and then as it faded, he consulted his watch. “Now then, will you let me take you to lunch to celebrate our new partnership? I thought perhaps the hotel. Some nice cream of leek soup to warm us up. I know you like that. What do you say?”
Mrs. Lloyd touched his sleeve, then tucked her arm through his, as they began walking in the direction of the Red Dragon Hotel.
“I have a better idea, Harry. Florence is going to Liverpool this afternoon, so why don’t you come round for dinner this evening. She’ll have left something nice.” Mrs. Lloyd gave his arm a friendly little squeeze. “And she’ll be stopping in Liverpool for the weekend, so you won’t have to rush off.”
“That sounds delightful, Evelyn,” Harry replied. “What time would you like me?”
“Well, let’s say about seven. We’ll have a lovely evening. Oh, I have so been looking forward to this!”
“Oh, me too, Evelyn, me too.” He gave her a little peck on the cheek and then stood back. “Well, only another hour or so and the markets will be open in New York, so I’d best be off. Let’s hope there are some good mutual funds available at fire sale prices!”
Mrs. Lloyd laughed and set off for the short walk home. Saunders watched her until she turned the corner, and then he started walking slowly in the other direction.
“Only me!” Mrs. Lloyd called out as she pushed open her front door. Noticing Florence’s battered, old-fashioned suitcase in the hall, she smiled to herself as she pulled off her gloves, stuffed them in the pocket of her coat, and draped the coat over a chair. After a moment she picked up the coat and hung it in the hall closet her late husband Arthur had had put in a few years before he died.