‘Yes, look, I’ll be with you...’ Vernon of the clipboard put the palm of his hand over the telephone and began to turn towards the newcomer, and while neither of them was looking my way I stepped backwards out of their line of sight.
Paul Young.
My mind seemed stuck; my body of lead.
To reach the outside world I would have to go past the office section and with all that glass around Paul Young would be sure to see me. He might not have taken particular note of me on that Monday morning in the Silver Moondance Saloon but he’d certainly thought of me a good deal since. The assistant assistant would have told him who I was. He’d sent the thieves to my shop with his list. He must know how that sortie had ended. He must also know it hadn’t achieved its main purpose. I thought that if he saw me now he would know me, and the idea of that filled me with numbing, muscle-paralysing fright.
Neither Vernon nor Paul Young at that exact moment seemed to be moving, but impelled no doubt by the atavistic burrowing instincts of the hunted and trapped I sought in that brightly-lit warehouse for a dark place to hide.
There were no soft nooks or crannies, just solid blocks and columns of cases of drink. There were narrow spaces between some of the blocks into which I could squeeze... and where anyone glancing in as they walked past would easily see me.
Down the far end, I thought in panicky fashion. They might not go right down there.
But I’d have to get there, and at any second, any second... It was too far. Something else... something fast...
I climbed.
I climbed the highest and most extensive stack, which happened to be of non-vintage champagne. I lay flat on my stomach along the top of it, at the back against the wall. The ceiling was eighteen inches above my head. The cases stretched beyond my feet at one end and beyond my head at the other. I co aid see nothing but cardboard. No floor. No people. My heart bounced around like a rubber ball and I wanted to shut my eyes on the ostrich principle that if I didn’t look I wouldn’t be seen.
Consultancy did not include getting too close to Paul Young.
What a hollow bloody laugh.
If he found me on top of the champagne it would be a crocodile job for sure. Did he take plaster of Paris with him always in his Rolls?
Why hadn’t I run for it? If I’d run, he might not have caught me. I ought simply to have sprinted. It would have been better. There were people around... I’d have been safe. And now here I was, marooned eight feet up on a liquid mountain and feeling more frightened than I’d ever been in my life.
They left the office and came into the main storeroom. I clenched my teeth and sweated.
If they searched for me... if they knew I was there... they would certainly find me.
‘I’m not satisfied. I want to see for myself.’
It was Paul Young’s own hard voice, full of aggressive determination and so close that he might have been speaking to me directly. I tried not to tremble... not to rustle against the cardboard... not to breathe.
‘But I’ve told you...’ the clipboard man said.
‘I don’t give a sod what you’ve told me. You’re a twisty bastard, Vernon. You’d lie as soon as spit. I’ve warned you twice and I don’t trust you. By my reckoning you should still have twenty-four cases of scotch left here and I’ve written down on this list how much you should have under each label. And I’m telling you, Vernon, you’d better show me just that much because if I find you’ve been selling any more on your own account and pocketing the proceeds, you’re out.’
Vernon said sullenly, ‘Your list won’t be up to date. I sold a lot to that wine bar in Oxford.’
‘How many labels?’ Paul Young asked sharply.
‘Two.’
That’d better be right. You can show me the invoices.’
Vernon said combatively, ‘You make selling them too difficult, not letting more than two go to each place. No one ever says they’re the same. How many complaints have we had, tell me that? Your brother’s been selling all six for years and no one’s ever said they aren’t what’s on the labels.’
Paul Young said heavily, ‘Someone must have complained, otherwise why was that snooping wine-merchant there tasting everything and telling the police? I’m not risking all six together any more, not for anyone. If you want to stay in business, Vernon, you’ll do what I tell you and don’t you forget it. Now let’s check on the stocks, and you’d better not have been cheating me, Vernon, you’d better not.’
‘It’s all down the far end,’ Vernon said glumly, and their voices faded and became less distinct as they moved away down the long room.
At the far end... and I’d have gone down there to hide, if I’d had time. Great God Almighty...
I wondered if they would see my feet. I thought of escape but knew my first movement would alert them. I thought that if the worst came to the worst I could defend myself by throwing champagne bottles. Champagne bottles were reinforced because if they broke they were like mini-grenades exploding with gas into cutting knives of glass. Flying glass was lethal, which people tended to forget because of actors crashing out harmlessly through windows in television sagas: but that fictional glass was made of sugar to safeguard the stuntmen... and little children had been killed by dropping fizzy-drink bottles... and I’d fight with champagne if I had to.
They were down at the far end for several minutes, their voices still muffled. When they came back, nothing between them had improved.
‘You had all the Silver Moondance scotch back here,’ Paul Young said furiously. ‘I brought it myself. What have you done with it?’
Silence from Vernon.
‘I put a red circle on every box from there when Zarac and I loaded it. You didn’t notice that, I suppose? I didn’t trust you, Vernon. I was sodding right not to trust you. You’ve been useful to me, I’m not saying different. But you’re not the only stores manager who can shuffle a bit of paper. You’re greedy and you’re not safe. The party’s over, Vernon. You’re short a total of twenty-eight cases by my reckoning and I won’t have people steal from me. You’ve had a fair cut. Very fair. But enough’s enough. We’re through. I’ll remove the rest of my stock tomorrow afternoon in one of the vans, and you’ll be here with the keys of this place to see to it.’
With defensive anger and no caution at all Vernon said explosively, ‘If you break with me I’ll see you regret it.’
There was a small intense silence, then in a deadly voice Paul Young said, ‘The last person who threatened me in that way was Zarac.’
Vernon made no reply. I felt my own hairs rising, my breath stifling, my skin chilling to cold.
I had heard too much.
If I’d been at risk before, it was now redoubled. And it wasn’t just the threat of death that terrified, but the manner of it... the nightmare of a soft white bandage over one’s nose and mouth, turning to rock, choking off breath... coming my way if Paul Young knew what I’d heard... or so it seemed to me, lying in fear, trying to prevent tremor or twitch from creaking through the unstable columns of boxes.
Vernon must have known what had become of Zarac. He made no reply at all, nor did Paul Young find it necessary to spell out his meaning at more length. I heard his strong gritty footsteps move away towards the doorway to the office, and after them, hesitant, shuffling, the footfalls of Vernon.
I heard Vernon’s voice saying loudly, angrily, ‘What are you doing? I told you not to bring that lot in until I was ready,’ and with the sublime disrespect for orders shown by a certain type of British workman the two men in brown overalls pushed their fork-lift truck resolutely past him into the warehouse.
I couldn’t see them, but I heard them plainly. One of them said truculently, ‘Time and a half or no time and a half, we knock off at twelve-thirty, and if this isn’t unloaded by then we’ll take it back with us. We can’t ponce about waiting for your private ‘phone calls.’