In The Soup

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Book excerpt

Chapter One - Ask and it will be given

Above the stately doors of the Courtney family Bank in the old market town of Burnham, the following engraved text can be seen, welcoming customers as they enter the premises: ‘Ask and it will be given to you; seek, and you will find; knock, and it will be opened to you.’ Matthew, Chapter 7, verse 7.

The late Lord Courtney, who founded the bank, meant this to refer to normal opening hours, but Foxey Fred and his gang couldn’t wait for such formalities. After his abortive attempt to swindle the villagers in the nearby coastal resort of Snuggleton near the Sea with his dodgy development scheme and his subsequent failure to recoup his losses by relieving Ed Newman, a visiting American security expert, of the contents of his safe, Foxy Fred was in urgent need of putting his plan ‘B’ into operation – namely, relieving his Lordship’s customers of their hard earned cash.

He squinted up at the clock and rubbed his hands with satisfaction. This time nothing could go wrong, he told himself, his beady eyes gleaming with anticipation. At last he could get his own back on that damn shop boy William Bridge for scuppering his plans. Thanks to Bernie and his backhanders, he was now safely inside the Bank, making sure everything was going to run exactly as he planned. Luckily, everyone would be either in the pubs, it being Saturday night, or at home watching the box, so they had the place to themselves.

Clive would be arriving with the getaway car at any moment, bringing Jed, his faithful safebreaker and his sidekick, Smudge, ready to bust the safe when he gave the word. Mavis, his scatterbrained wife, would stay safely out of the way in the car where she could do no harm, standing by to act the part of a courting couple with Clive, in case any passer-by became suspicious.

Everything had been worked out to the last detail. All he wanted now was that magic ingredient every self-respecting burglar needs to ensure the success of his business venture, viz, a supply of dynamite to open the safe, or as it is known in the trade – soup.

The air in the bank was already tense with expectancy. But as the seconds ticked by with no sound of the getaway car, his irritation at the delay began to be felt. Catching a muttered hint of what was to come, his fixer Bernie clutched at his arm nervously, already beginning to regret his involvement in the enterprise.

“Dynamite? What do you want that for? Are you mad – d’you want to blow the place up?”

Fred shook his hand off impatiently, wishing he’d never got involved with Bernie in the first place. But now that he was, he had to do the best with what was available, and restrained himself.

“Calm down, Bernie. Everything’s going to be all right. You’ll get your cut all right – dammit, it’s costing me enough getting into this place, as you should know.”

He spoke sourly with bitter feeling. After losing a big slice of his money to the man in question in wasted bribes after their previous attempt to get his dubious housing scheme passed by the council ended in failure, he didn’t want a repeat of the anguish it had caused.

“Wait a minute, Fred,” said Bernie, starting at the sound of voices outside, “you promised to pay me in advance. After all the trouble I’ve taken to get the pass keys you can’t go back on your word. It was a gentlemen’s agreement.” His voice rose in injured outrage.

But Foxey, who wouldn’t know what a gentlemen’s agreement was, unless it was photographed, signed and witnessed by one of his shady solicitors, wasn’t listening. “Listen, that’s them now.”

Reassured that his plan seemed to be back on track again, he spoke feverishly, while his eyes strayed towards the entrance, willing the others to appear.

“Now, there’s nothing to worry about. Once we get the dynamite…I mean soup,” he corrected himself hastily, “you’ll be able to have the biggest blow-out this one-eyed town has ever seen. When I say ‘blow-out’,” he laughed nervously, wiping his forehead, “I mean ‘spending money’ of course - more than you’ll ever need”- or deserve, he added to himself, beneath his breath.

“But ‘dynamite’ – why do we need dynamite,” Bernie repeated, his voice rising an octave, “when we’ve got the keys?”

“Sshh, that’s only to get into the vault, thick head - we’ve still got the big one to bust.”

“You mean you’re going to use dynamite to open that thing?” Bernie’s eyes opened in widening horror as he took in the murky outline of the safe in the background.

“Calm down,” Foxey cautioned, then relaxed as a head appeared at the entrance. “It’s all perfectly safe, once it’s treated – as long as you don’t throw it around too much,” he joked, hiding his apprehension.

“Ah, there you are. Where have you been, lads?” His remark was directed at Clive, his smooth talking assistant, who hurried across, anxious to report - for once almost at a loss for words.

“Just coming, there’s been a bit of a hold-up. Your missus couldn’t find the soup.”

“Couldn’t find it?” Foxey swore. “I told her – it’s in the flask in the boot, where we put it, dumb head.”

“Nothing to do with me, boss.” Clive backed defensively and gulped. “Ask her yourself – here she is.”

A worried face appeared at the door, and Mavis scurried over towards them, clutching a shopping bag.

“The soup – where is it, and where’s Jed?” Foxey hissed.

“Let’s see, where did I put it? I know it’s in here somewhere,” she said, getting all flustered as she rummaged inside her bag, “where could it be?”

“Watch it, careful how you handle it,” Foxey warned fearfully, as various articles started spilling out of the bag, causing the others to retreat at the rising note of panic in his voice.

“Ah, here it is.” With a note of triumph, Mavis held up a can with a flourish. “Sorry, I couldn’t find that silly old special soup you wanted, so I got tomato instead. Now, where did I put the can opener?”

“Tomato…tomato? What are you talking about – where’s the flask, the one with the red ribbon I told you about?” howled Foxey, unable to believe his ears.

“Oh, that one,” beamed Mavis. “I knew you’d be wanting a hot drink afterwards, so I got Smudge to put it under the bonnet to warm it up – such a nice lad, do anything for me, he would. Ah,” as she started turning the can opener, “this should do the trick.”

“You got him to warm it up under the bonnet…” breathed Foxey faintly, his face drained of colour. “Is he… still there?”

“Oh yes,” said Mavis brightly. “I got Jed to move some old drunk round the corner, while Smudge looked after the soup. Such a nice lad, he deserves to go up in the world, he really does. That reminds me, that drink should be hotting up nicely by now.”

The rest of her remark was lost in a vivid orange flash outside that lit up the windows of the august establishment, bursting the heavy doors wide open, and causing the soup to spray out in all directions, drenching Foxey and Bernie from head to foot, as the force of the blast lifted them off their feet.

“Oh dear,” Mavis whimpered, dabbing helplessly at the dripping mess, “what did you put in that drink?”

Chapter Two - A complete blank

Unaware of the dramatic events unfolding elsewhere, ‘that damned shop boy’, as Foxey Fred had described him so colourfully, was stretched flat out fast asleep in his bed, after returning in the early hours from a party to promote his book, in the fervent hope that it would be accepted for publication.

William’s last thought before drifting off was a vague recollection of handing out drinks to Sally’s brother, Lance, and to his agent, Jenny something or other, and being introduced to her publisher friend Sammy, or was it Hammy? He knew there was something he needed to do before anything else, and that was to find out from Jenny what she thought of his book. It was the one thought that dogged him all evening. He must have spent hours looking for her, and winced at the trouble he’d caused stumbling over couples and asking them if they knew where she was. He still remembered sitting on someone’s lap by mistake, and her boyfriend, who looked like a hefty prize fighter, being cut up about it and threatening to take him outside and rough him up.

After that, for some reason, he seemed to attract a succession of girls, all finding some excuse for getting his telephone number and a date.

In desperation, he had given a fictitious number and hoped for the best. But it didn’t always work, and he shuddered at the problem he had in shaking off one of them – what was her name, Fiona something or other? He only hoped she didn’t get his number from Lance, or one of the others. The thought that Sally might get to hear about it sent shudders down his spine.

He never did find out what happened to Jenny, or Lance for that matter. It was all very well Lance promising to fix that promotion do for him, and it was jolly good of him to do so. But I did tell him not to do me any favours, he reflected, even if he was Sally’s brother. But the way things went, he was still none the wiser about finding that agent of his at the end of the evening, by which time some of the crowd were starting to leave. If only he could have had a chat with Jenny, and been able to sort it all out. All he wanted was her honest opinion, and he was quite prepared to accept it, whatever she said. But at that point, it all got a bit hazy. His brow furrowed in an effort to concentrate on the event, and what happened after that. As far as he could remember, the wine began to flow, and he lost count of the number of drinks thrust upon him…until it all ended up in a complete blank.

The phone rang shrilly at his side, and he focussed a bleary eye on it, hoping it would go away. After a while it stopped.

Heaving a sigh of relief, he stretched out and let his mind wander over some of the recent events that had changed his life for the better - all because Ed Newman had decided to come over from the States and pep up the UK end of his security business.

After initially putting his trust in Foxey Fred after landing a hefty order for his security equipment, Ed seemed to think it was all William’s doing getting rid of that crook, he mused sleepily, bless his heart. If Ed hadn’t told me where that burglar alarm was in his strong room that afternoon, Foxey and his gang might have got away with all that money of his, and nobody would have been able to stop them. Luckily, I was able to set it off as they were about to get their hands on it, and got trampled on when they made a bolt for the exit - and I’ve still got the bruises to prove it, he thought ruefully.

And because I managed to film that meeting of theirs earlier on while I was hidden in Fred’s office, and found out all about their shady development scheme, we managed to scupper their plans that would have ruined the village. And what was even more amazing, good old Ed came up trumps afterwards and invested a great big dollop of money in Uncle’s village shop, and left me in charge to run it while Uncle Albert got married.

He never thought it would happen. What with financial troubles at the shop and threats from Foxey Fred, he thought Uncle Albert would never have plucked up the courage to propose to old Hettie next door. But luckily it all ended happily, with Hettie finally getting Uncle to get down to it after all those years of waiting. That reminds me, he remembered, they should be back from their honeymoon by now – I must find out what he intends to do now he’s got all those worries about the shop’s future off his shoulders – and I wonder what Hettie is going to do about her pig farm she’s always been batty about?

He sighed. It’s all right for some. If only he could get that book of his published. Then he brightened up as he considered the prospects before him. Who would have thought Sally’s brother, Lance, would turn out to be a scout for a publisher? What a stroke of luck that was. If he could only pull it off, there would be nothing to stop him marrying Sally now. That would show them, and make Lady C sit up. He revelled in the memory of Sally nestling in his arms as he recovered in hospital after his last encounter with Foxy Fred’s lot, vowing she’d never doubt him again where girls were concerned. He snuggled down more comfortably in bed at the thought. It had been a narrow squeak, though. Every time he remembered how narrowly he had evaded falling into the clutches of Ed’s man-eating daughter, Veronica, before she fell for Sally’s brother, Lance, and the lure of his title, he came out in a cold sweat.

That reminds me, he thought drowsily, I must have a word with Lance and find out what happened at the party after I passed out.

Interrupting his daydream, the insistent ringing of the telephone brought him out of his coma, and he reached out a hand, hoping his caller might have the answer.

“Hello?” he managed, “is that Lance?”

“No, it’s me.”

Recognising a feminine voice, he brightened at the thought that it might be his agent. “Jenny?”

“No, Sybil.”

“Sybil?” he repeated drowsily, “Sybil who?”

“You remember - I used to be Mr Foxey’s receptionist.”

“Oh, ah.” He became guarded, thankful Sally wasn’t there to hear their conversation and start asking awkward questions - like the last time she caught them in a close embrace when he was recovering in hospital - an event that had taken a lot of explaining away, despite his innocence.

“Listen, it’s about the bank.”

“Bank…what bank? You mean river bank?” He searched through his mind, wondering what she was talking about, and getting confused. He couldn’t think of any local rivers or river banks existing in the area – not that he was an authority on the subject. His musing was interrupted by a fresh flow at the other end.

“No,” her voice growing agitated, “not that sort of bank. There’s been a raid.”

William felt it was time to take a firm hand. “Don’t be silly, the war’s over. All the air raids are finished. Even I know that.”

There was a sharp intake of breath at the other end, as his caller counted up to ten. “No, I keep telling you, there’s been a break-in at the bank – the Courtney Bank. I should know, I work there, but I can’t get hold of anyone in the family to let them know. I thought you’d be able to help.”

William’s jaw dropped in disbelief. “You mean Sir Henry’s Bank – Sally’s father?”

“Yes, someone’s gone and blown a whopping great hole in the entrance, and nobody’s allowed anywhere near it!”

William gulped at the thought as to how Sir Henry would react to the news.

Anticipating his next question, Sybil confided, “They didn’t manage to get away with anything, that’s what’s so funny.” She broke out in a wave of giggles. “There’s just an empty can – and soup all over the place.”

“Soup?” said William, mystified. Now he was completely lost.

“Yes, you’ll never guess. The police are looking for a bunch of redheaded bank robbers and they can’t get hold of anyone in the family to break the news about the raid.”

Something stirred in William’s memory. “Of course, I know why. Sir Henry’s been away this weekend – I’ll ring Sally right away. Thanks for letting me know.”

“That’s that, then. Must go – my boyfriend’s waiting. Ta-ra.”

Mechanically replacing the phone, William felt a pang of sympathy for Sir Henry in his present financial state, before picking it up again, and ringing Sally to break the news.

“A raid at the bank?” she echoed bemused. “The police are hunting for who, did you say? Redheaded bank robbers? Someone must have been pulling your leg. Who told you that?”

Aware that he was about to put his foot in it if he wasn’t careful, William temporised. “Ah… I believe it was someone at the bank.”

As she digested the news, Sally’s voice took on a note of incredulity. “But they must be mad. Dad’s hardly got a bean to his name right now, what with all his overheads. They’re out of their mind. Must be someone with a grudge.”

“You don’t think,” said William casting his mind back, “it could be anything to do with Foxey Fred and his crowd?”

He heard her gasp at the other end. “I hope not – that’s all we need. Look, leave it with me. I’ll ring Dad. But be careful darling, if it is him. You know how much that wretched man hates you and he’s capable of doing anything. And don’t forget you’re renting the building that used to be his office – you know, where they found that tunnel leading to Ed’s safe. He might try to get in there again.”

“I doubt it.” William dismissed the idea. “He wouldn’t dare to show his face after what happened last time.”

“Well, just be careful – promise?”

“I promise,” agreed William, relieved at the thought that he had steered her off the touchy subject of Sybil for the moment. She was one of the girls Sally objected to – just because he had to deliver some security alarms to Foxey in an attempt to find out more about him.

At her words, he had an instant reminder of his last terrifying confrontation with Foxey Fred while he was recuperating in hospital afterwards, when the madman had fired point blank at him in a final desperate attempt at revenge before fleeing. Then the vision faded with the reassuring feeling that he was no longer around to worry them anymore.

Just as he was about to replace the receiver, she added, “By the way, darling, how did you get on with your book? I’m dying to hear about it.”

“Er, I’ll let you know…haven’t got time to tell you about it now. I’m still trying to catch up with things.”

“Okay boss, but promise you won’t stir until I manage to find out what happened?”

“Cross my heart,” obeyed William.

A smothered laugh floated over the wire. “I’d love to see Ma’s face when I tell them – she’ll have a fit. Oh, and make sure you didn’t bring back anyone else from that party of yours – I’ll be over to check up on you. Bye, love.”

William took a quick look around to reassure himself that he was alone before replacing the phone, and wiped his forehead. Just as well he wasn’t still staying with his Aunt Ethel. She’d have been banging on the door at the crack of dawn, wanting to know why he wasn’t up. I shouldn’t say that, he reflected ruefully. Actually, she’d been a brick, looking after him all that time, and keeping him in order ever since his parents died in that car accident. She hadn’t asked for a penny in rent – at least he’d been able to put that right as soon as he was made manager at the village shop. If only she would leave him alone about his socks, though. She was always on at him, ringing him up just as he was leaving for work. The more he thought about it, the more he came to the conclusion that he’d better get up smartish before she remembered.

Meanwhile, in their imposing bedroom at Courtney Towers, Lady Courtney was consulting her watch impatiently. “Where is that wretched girl? Ah, there you are, Mary. Put it down there. No, not there, silly – that’s my engagement diary – give it to me before you ruin it.”

Obediently, Mary juggled with the tray with one hand, whilst hurriedly searching for the diary on the bedside cupboard with the other – and only just managed with a supreme effort to stop it all sliding off and ending in disaster.

Lady Courtney heaved herself up like a whale emerging from the depths, dragging the bedclothes off her husband in doing so. “Oh, here, I’ll do it. Can’t you do anything right?”

Settling the tray down, the maid stood uncertainly at attention. “Will that be all, my lady?”

“Yes, yes, go and run my bath, will you. And see it’s not too hot this time,” she said dismissively. Turning majestically at the sound of a quiet groan by her side she said, “Oh, there you are, Henry, I thought you’d never wake up. What were you doing last night after we got back, when I wanted you? Here am I left with the responsibilities of trying to keep pace with all our social engagements, and all you do is go and bury yourself in those wretched accounts of yours. I thought I’d never get to sleep – you’ve got no consideration.”

Her husband blinked after waking from a particularly scary nightmare where he was being pursued by a crowd of creditors, and felt around as he tried to recapture what was left of the bedclothes, without success.

“I was hoping to make some sense of all those never ending expenses that have been piling up ever since you took on all that extra staff of yours. We can’t afford it - you know we can’t,” he added, trying in vain to get her to listen.

“Nonsense. Now that our Lance is going to marry dear Veronica, we have to live up to our new position in society – surely, even you can realise that.”

“But why do we need a butler, a lady’s maid, I don’t know how many footmen, and three cooks for a start? And on top of all that – a valet?” He spoke the word as if the thought soiled his lips. “We were doing perfectly well with what we had, but no, you had to go and get rid of them all. Why, when there’s no reason for it?”

“Do I have to spell it out?” She regarded him wearily, like a headmistress explaining the facts of life to an especially backward pupil. “Really, Henry, you are being particularly dense this morning. Your eldest son, Lance, if you remember, is getting married to Veronica, the daughter of Ed-ward Newman, my dear friend from America who is opening up a new branch of his security business over here so we have to create a good impression.”

“But that doesn’t mean we’ve got to take on all that staff – I can’t even put on a tie without Jenkins popping up from nowhere, and telling me I’m doing it all wrong.”

“Well, in that case, you probably are. Now, don’t bother me with trifles,” she said, consulting her diary. “Let me see, I’ve got a fitting at eleven, and lunch with Ed-ward to discuss who we should invite to the cocktail party, and what with the wedding reception and the going away presents, dear me, I shall never fit it all in at this rate.”

“But it’s not for months yet – why all the rush?”

“Because we want to make sure there’s not a last minute hitch. You know what Veronica is – such a headstrong gel, liable to change her mind at the slightest excuse. You remember how she allowed herself to be led astray by that wretched William Bridge boy at one time. Of course, I blame it all on him,” she added impatiently, as her husband opened his mouth to protest.

“Steady on, Margery, she’s not likely to change her mind now she knows Lance will come into the title.”

Lady Courtney drew herself up haughtily. “That’s got nothing to do with it, as well you know. That’s the last thought that entered my mind. Naturally, I am delighted the union will enable Lance to be able to live in a more fitting style than he has been accustomed to up to now, particularly when Ed-ward has promised to settle such a nice little dowry on them when she marries.”

“Nice little dowry?” hooted her husband in disbelief. “I seem to remember you told me he was going to make it £50,000, as a starter!”

“Sshh! You make it sound like some sordid commercial transaction. We don’t want everyone to hear about it – especially not the servants bandying it about.”

The telephone bell rang shrilly. “Answer that, Henry, while I have my bath. I’m rushed for time as it is.”

“Right.” He hoisted himself up with an effort, and picked up the phone. “Sir Henry, har….whas’ that? Sally? Is that you…what’s that you said? Someone’s raided the bank – what! You don’t mean our bank? Oh my God!”

“Do hurry up with that call, Henry, I’ve got to get on to the caterers about the party, and it’s already nine o’clock. You’ve no idea of the stress I’m under.”

Sir Henry lowered the phone, and looked up pale-faced. “Do be quiet for a minute, Margery. Sally tells me there’s been a break-in at the bank…don’t you understand? That’s our bank - the Courtney Bank!”

“Don’t be silly, Henry. It can’t be ours she’s talking about– she’s got it all mixed up. Let me speak to her.”

He waved her away. “What’s that? The place is full of soup? What kind of soup, for heaven’s sake?” With increasing bewilderment, he asked feebly, “For a moment, I could have sworn you said tomato – you are joking, aren’t you?”

“Oh, do give it to me, you silly man. The girl’s talking nonsense.”

Sir Henry looked up, bemused. “All she knows is, the police are looking for a group of redheaded bank robbers.”

“Never mind what colour they are – what about our money?” she demanded. “What am I going to tell the Ladies Forum Committee?”

“Tchah,” he snorted. “Tell them they can…” the words trembled on his lips. “No, not you, Sally, thanks for letting me know.” He replaced the receiver as if in a trance, then as he made for the door still in his pyjamas, he added in a surprising burst of mutiny, “You can tell them what you like. I must get down there and find out what’s happened.”

“What? Oh my God. Well, put some trousers on,” she wailed, “What will the neighbours say? We don’t want you mistaken for one of those bank robbers.”