Collection of Short Stories

Collection of Short Stories

  By Carol Taylor

  Copyright 2011 Carol Taylor

  ***

  Collection of Short Stories

  By Carol Taylor

  The Chauffeur

  Every Man’s Dream

  War!

  Love is Blind

  If Looks Could Kill

  The Experiment

  The Reluctant Millionaire

  Leanne is Jealous

  Terri Hates Dishes

  When Shari Didn’t Come Home

  The Chauffeur

  Even though the questions had ceased, James knew they weren’t finished with him. He put his head in his hands in weariness. No matter how many times he told them, they asked the same questions over and over again.

  ‘How long have you worked for Mr. Lorimer?’

  ‘Two and a ‘alf years, sir.’

  ‘What did you do before that?’

  ‘I were a cab driver in London. That’s why Mr. Lorimer ‘ired me. I know London like t’ back of me ‘and.’

  ‘When did you last see Mrs. Lorimer and her daughter?’

  ‘At three-thirty when I dropped ‘em off at t’ front of ‘arrods’

  ‘What did she say to you?’

  ‘Please wait for us James. We’ll only be ‘alf an ‘our.’

  ‘Where did you wait?’

  ‘I told you’

  ‘Never mind the cheek. Where did you wait?’

  ‘Around t’ corner first, then when the ‘alf ‘our was up, right outside at t’ same place I dropped ‘er off.’

  ‘When she didn’t come out, what did you do?’

  ‘I drove back and parked for another ‘our. She ‘ad ‘er cell phone and I knew she would call me when she were finished shopping.’

  ‘Weren’t you worried when she didn’t return as planned?’ they accused him

  ‘Puh-lease,’ he’d begged sarcastically, ‘a woman, shoppin’!?’

  They nodded, conceding the point.

  ‘What did you do after the hour was up?’

  ‘I went inside ta see if I could find ‘er.’

  ‘And that’s when you called her husband?’

  ‘Yeah,’ James replied wearily, ‘You already know that.’

  They ignored him. Kidnapping was serious business and James, the family chauffeur, was in the thick of it, having been the last person to see Mrs. Katy Lorimer and two-year-old Jenny alive. James had been interrogated for over two hours while Charles Lorimer had been pacing the living room floor of his Hyde Park mansion where search headquarters had been set up. Handsome, powerful, the king of oil drilling in the North Sea, he was the perfect candidate for a ransom note. It had simply said, “I have Katy and Jenny and unless ten million in small bills (thats nothing over £100 in case yer stupid) is put in a briefcase and brought to the quayside at 10 pm sharp two days from today, you’ll never see her again (‘her’ had been crossed off and ‘them’ was written above it). Any police bozo and they each get a bullet without no more talk.’ It was done in crude handwriting and attached to the note was a ring Katy had been wearing as proof of the abduction.

  Used to emergencies on the oilrigs, Charles hadn’t wasted a moment. Knowing the kidnappers demand would take time; he’d called his bank and ordered the briefcase and money. Scotland Yard tried to talk him out of giving in to the demands but Charles was not a man to be deterred from whatever he set his mind to.

  James watched him out of the corner of his eye. He looked like a madman—tense, angry, and dangerous. The kidnappers would get no mercy from him, that was for sure! The detectives and inspectors were alternately barking orders and whispering in small groups, while Mr. Lorimer strode endlessly back and forth across the room.

 

  “Well!?” he would demand from time to time in a superior, ‘what-are-you-doing-about-it-you-bumbling-fools voice.

  “We’re doing all we can, sir” they would soothe in their best bedside manner. But what could they do? They’d analyzed the handwriting, the paper, the scanty fingerprints. With only a badly written note to go on, they could only hope the kidnapper would call. They’d naturally set up a recording station complete with an earphone-clad operator practically embedded in it. Every time the phone rang, the entire room ceased its rumbling and listened. Invariably it turned out to be mother, or a friend or a business call, and the loud outlet of disappointment was audible. The murmuring always continued immediately afterwards as Mr. Lorimer either waved the caller away or, at times, (mother for instance) took the call and hastily finished it.

  Other detectives were working on Harrod’s store personnel. Yes, they’d seen Mrs. Lorimer and Jenny. Yes, she’d purchased a new dress for Jenny. Yes, they’d seen her go out the front door but no one knew where she’d gone. They assumed she was waiting for her limo. No, they hadn’t seen anyone following her but in a busy store, of course it was possible.

  When this latest report got back to the Lorimer mansion, James was on the hotseat again.

 

  ‘How could Mrs. Lorimer have left Harrod’s and you didn’t see her?’ they wanted to know.

  ‘I told you; I were parked ‘round t’ corner. She ‘adn’t told me ta watch for ‘er. She knew I’d pick ‘er up right outside t’ front door so she didn’t have ta have Jenny out in t’ cold. She only had ta call.’

  ‘Why would Mrs. Lorimer have gone anywhere without you?’

  ‘’ow would I know?’ James replied angrily. He was exhausted from this continual bombardment.

  They softened their approach. ‘Do you have any idea of where she might have gone?’

  ‘None,’ he said quickly but then paused. They sensed it immediately and huddled close like vultures watching the last throb of a dying heart. ‘I just remembered. On t’ way ta Harrod’s we passed some double-decker buses and Jenny were beggin’ her mum ta go on one,’ he offered somewhat gingerly. ‘I suppose Mrs. Lorimer might ‘ave gotten on one fer her daughter’s sake.’

  ‘Possible,’ they’d agreed, nodding grabbing on to any clue that would alleviate the ineffectual waiting. They radioed the detectives downtown instructing them to interview all double-decker bus drivers driving from 3:30 to 10:00pm.

  Mr. Lorimer had looked a little more hopeful at that, and the entrenched detectives dismissed James for awhile as though he were being given time off for good behavior. Naturally, he was to be available for more questioning. He’d nodded gratefully and had slunk away to the kitchen to get a much-deserved glass of brandy, answer the saucer-eyed servant’s questions and scurry upstairs with a ham sandwich and a beer.

 

  At leisure now to think about his own affairs, he let his mind wander to the beloved girl waiting for him to retire and allowed himself a happy smile. He pitied Mr. Lorimer in his loss, shuddering to think how awful it must be not to know the whereabouts of the one you love—if Charles really loved Katy and little Jenny but that wasn’t his concern. Still James pondered the thought for a while as he often had since coming to work for them. But Charles certainly had shown genuine concern for his wife and daughter and hadn’t waited a moment to come up with the ten million to try to get her back. ‘Well,; thought James, ‘A good thing! It doesn’t matter what the police think,’ he thought, ‘One shouldn’t play games with kidnappers.’ For once he was in full agreement with Mr. Lorimer.

  But James didn’t really want to think about Mr. Lorimer and all his troubles right now. He’d been doing that for hours. He wanted to think about his ladylove. When could he be certain of seeing her again? He counted the hours and sighed. He’d been told not to leave the house until further notice. Tomorrow night the ransom would be pa
id and hopefully, that would be the end of it. And so, he let himself indulge in a much-needed nap as he dreamed about his own precious love and the retirement he had been working on for so long for the two of them.

  Though an operator stood by the phones all through the night—and Mr. Lorimer too—nothing happened. As the appointed time for the ransom approached, Mr. Lorimer insisted that he and James deliver the briefcase without any interference from the police. The police pleaded to be backup at a discreet distance but Charles had adamantly refused. And he was not a man to argue with.

  At precisely ten pm, James pulled up to the appointed destination on the Thames quayside. Appearing out of the shadows, a short man wearing a balaclava and hooded parka stood on the dock near a neat little cruiser with its motor running. As James and Charles watched, he uncovered the bundle he was carrying in one arm and revealed the face of two-year old Jenny. Both men jumped a little when they saw a gun pointing at her head. She could have been asleep or drugged for the man shouted in a strained obviously false voice to ‘bring the briefcase to the edge of the walkway,’ and Jenny didn’t even stir.

  “I wish you’d let me bring a gun, sir,” James whispered. Charles shook his head impatiently and grabbed the briefcase from the seat. He walked slowly forward, not taking his eyes off the small man. He was a very short man and it incensed Charles to be held at bay by such a poor excuse for his sex. Still watching him warily, Charles set the briefcase down and backed away carefully.

  The hooded kidnapper waited till Charles was back across the street, then quickly picked up the briefcase and backed himself into the little cruiser. He disappeared into the cabin and Charles started to move forward. James put a restraining hand on his arm and reminded him of the gun. In a moment, the little man returned, dragging two bundles out onto the gangway. One was a great deal smaller than the other and they looked horrifyingly like bodies. “’Ere’s yer precious cargo” shouted the man in his put-on voice as he darted back into the cabin and roared off into the night. It was foggy and dark and he seemed to be gone in a flash.

  Charles and James made the quayside in record time and, quickly as they could, cut the ropes on the heavy canvas bags. There was no movement of any kind. However it was not because Charles’ wife and daughter’s corpses were inside, as feared, but because the bags were stuffed with foam pillows and bricks. “****** ****,” Charles cursed, kicking the bags viciously. He ran back to the car and phoned the police, describing the boat and the man aboard. In moments, the coast guard and every police boat in the vicinity was on the water. Within 15 minutes, the little craft had been spotted and boarded. Charles breathed a sigh of relief but it was short lived. The boat was empty. An elderly woman living on a nearby houseboat told them she’d seen a short man with a duffle bag and briefcase get off, climb aboard a large motor boat and leave but she saw no woman and child and she had no better description of the boat than that it was white and big—which described just about every boat in the bay.

  The ensuing search was one of the largest of its kind, with scuba divers combing every inch of the bay’s muddy bottom. One of Katy’s shoes and a bedraggled teddy that could have been Jenny’s eventually washed up on shore and, after six months searching, Scotland Yard regretfully closed its files on the Lorimer kidnapping.

  Though it was perhaps bad timing for Charles, it was just two months after the kidnapping that James handed in his notice. His hard work for an early retirement had paid off and he could finally be with his love. He was not unfeeling for Charles’ predicament and had given him three recommendations of chauffeur friends he felt were his equal. A small bonus from Charles, a sincere thank you, and James was on his way to the south of France for the happy reunion.

  When he arrived at the expensive chateau overlooking the French Riviera, his petite amour ran to meet him with tears of joy. Many kisses and hugs later, he disengaged himself and dug around in his luggage. “Look what I brought!” he laughed victoriously, and held up the Dom Perignon purchased with some of the bonus from Charles.

  “You certainly have a lot of cheek,” she cried laughing, “Celebrating with that man’s money! But I’ll bet you ten million dollars that a little two-year-old girl would like to celebrate with us!” Katy said, eyes shining, “Jenny, wake up honey. Your new daddy’s here!”