Carruthers' Demise, Chapters two and three (standard:drama, 3510 words) [2/24] show all parts
Author: Brian Cross	Added: Mar 21 2011	Views/Reads: 2694/2297	Part vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Carruthers' wife, a best selling novelist as just suffered rejection. They take a short holiday as a pick-me-up, but all is not getting off to a good start.

Click here to read the first 75 lines of the story

main points of my new best seller...' 

‘I repeat – that's why I came.' 

Carruthers narrowly held back from remarking on Casey's attitude. It was
unusual for her to derive such pleasure from somebody else's 
misfortune; at least that was how it appeared to him. 

He glanced around the small study, everything neat and tidy, the
wall-to-wall bookcase full of neatly filed books; her desk as orderly 
as he could remember seeing it. But that was part of a growing puzzle 
because things were just too ship-shape. Her computer was switched off 
on her desk; no sign of writing materials and not a manuscript or 
folder in sight. 

‘Well, I'm waiting, Casey.' Carruthers drummed his fingers, hunched
forward. ‘I've...' 

‘I know, I know – you're in a rush, your time is limited.' Casey gave a
reproachful smile. ‘I anticipated as much – don't look so tense. I 
thought it better that I run through the storyline verbally rather than 
delay you with a skeleton outline...' 

Carruthers forced a smile, shook his head in disbelief. ‘But you could
have accomplished that on the phone...' 

Casey chewed her lip, the corners of her mouth downturned. ‘What, and
risk Chelsey's interference? I don't think so.' Casey swung away from 
the desk, moving her solid, shapely frame closer to him. ‘Anyway, this 
is how it goes – my story revolves around an unholy trinity. By which I 
mean three unscrupulous individuals who manipulate people for their own 
ends; all individual and self focused characters in their own right and 
yet tied together by their own cunning and greed. 

‘As the story unfolds, increasingly they find their dishonesty doesn't
pay; they double-cross one another, none of them profiting, and they 
end up victims of their own deceit.' 

Carruthers sat back, fingering his chin. ‘Okay, intriguing as far as it
goes, though at present it doesn't stretch a whole distance. This 
Stapleton – I assume he's the night in shining armour?' 

‘Oh no. Far from it.' Casey's face soured momentarily before her dark
eyes shone. ‘But there is a hero out to set the world to rights.' 

‘Okay.' Carruthers got to his feet, gripped Casey's shoulder. ‘But I'd
like to take your framework for the book – if I might take a copy with 
me?' 

‘Oh what – and spoil your break Marty? No, I wouldn't dream of it; what
can you be thinking of? I'm just so glad you came and that I could run 
through the basics with you. Is there anything I can get you or are you 
in too much of a hurry?' 

Carruthers phone rang and he answered to the rising tone of Chelsey's
voice. ‘I trust you're not going to be a whole lot longer, Martin, 
because if you are...' 

‘No, of  course not; as a matter of fact I'm on my way.' 

‘Got to go,' Carruthers mouthed to Casey, a hand over the mouthpiece.
‘Duty calls, but I like what I've heard. Show me the works – I'll call 
you when I get back.' 

Carruthers was aware of a raspy reply, although there was a
light-hearted punch on the arm from Casey. He felt a pang of guilt that 
he'd cut her short but he'd fulfilled his obligation, and when the 
chips were down Chelsey always came first. 

Chapter Three 

Carruthers arrived home to find that Chelsey's mood hadn't improved one
bit. In fact it had taken a significant step downhill. It wasn't so 
much what she was saying rather than the manner in which she was 
acting. Things flung rather than placed; voluminous sighs and the odd 
expletive thrown in for good measure. 

He'd half a mind to put the trip on hold, only the notion that their
break would restore his wife's equilibrium persuaded Carruthers 
otherwise. 

Chelsey's brother Adrian, whom she assured him knew much about the
tourist industry, along with everything else it seemed, had arranged a 
reservation for a week at a hotel close to the Forest centre. Having 
checked on line himself, Carruthers had to accept that the “Chequers 
Inn” seemed fine, set back from Lyndhurst village's main street it 
exuded a relaxed, Edwardian charm. 

Chelsey didn't say a lot on the journey down, she'd fallen into a
subdued and sullen mindset, and any conversation that Carruthers 
initiated had been met with a flat reply or incoherent murmur. As they 
reached the Lyndhurst turn-off however, she broached the subject that 
might have been the reason for that sullenness. 

‘Martin, perhaps if you were to approach Ambassador Press –  Simon
Penrose, the editor there, has been a long time admirer of my work. I 
know that for a fact.' 

Carruthers nodded, compressing his lips to seal off a caustic reply.
Penrose, he thought, had been a long time admirer of more than her 
work. He'd got touchy feely with her at a literary gathering only a few 
months back and to Carruthers' annoyance Chelsey hadn't seemed to mind 
at all. He chose his words carefully for fear of aggravating her.  
‘I'll make Penrose my first priority on our return, if that's what you 
want.' 

‘I've just a feeling Penrose won't turn me down, that's all.' 

‘No, I doubt that he will.' Carruthers was aware of Chelsey's eyes upon
him but at that moment his mobile phone rang and pulling over he 
checked the identity of the caller. Chelsey leaned across, her gaze on 
his phone. ‘Oh, now there's a surprise. Well Jennings can wait; we've a 
journey to complete.' Her lips developed that unpleasant curl. ‘Surely 
you've told her we're taking time out? Didn't you grant her a generous 
enough portion of your time this morning? I mean why it couldn't wait 
until you got back I really don't know, do you?' 

Carruthers compressed his lips, looked away into the thickening forest
and concealed his irritation. ‘I merely made use of the time at my 
disposal – and yes, she's well aware of our break.' 

‘Well, she doesn't seem to have got the message, or perhaps it's not a
business call?' 

Carruthers bit the bait, he couldn't stop himself.  He slammed his hand
on the wheel and turned on her. ‘Now if this is a sample of what I'm 
going to have to endure during this trip then I'm turning round and 
we're heading home.' 

Chelsey scowled, lofting her head. ‘Then my dear, you'll be heading home
without me. We've come this far, according to the signpost we're eight 
miles from our destination and I'm damned if I'm going back now. I'll 
walk if I have to, baggage and all.'  She unbelted, opened the 
passenger door. 

‘Oh for God's sake, Chelsey, spare me the dramatics. Now please put your
belt back on.' 

‘Then stop annoying me!' As Chelsey treated him to a fiery stare from
her blue eyes and slowly buckled up, Carruthers dropped his phone into 
his shirt pocket, pulling out of the lay-by just as it rang again. This 
time he didn't retrieve it, he kept on going fully aware of his wife's 
glare upon him. But this time he kept his composure, he didn't want 
confrontation now. If he'd have carried out his threat and turned for 
home, Chelsey would have got out at the first opportunity and walked. 
Her remark had been no idle one. 

Casey Jennings, whatever she wanted – had to wait. 

He drove on with Chelsey re-assuming her broody posture, his own mood
not improved by Casey's call. There was literary rivalry between the 
two and marked coolness whenever they crossed paths. At the moment 
Casey held the upper hand and Chelsey's stance in relation to her was 
little short of open hostility. Why Casey should choose to call when 
she might have guessed they were on the journey down intrigued and 
mystified him, but he would have thought that in so doing Casey would 
have realized that relations between the two could hardly have been 
improved. However she had the tendency to be somewhat forward at times 
and he attributed her call to that reason. 

Once established in “The Chequers,” and with Chelsey refreshing in the
bathroom, Carruthers made a hasty call. 

‘Casey,' he said in a hushed voice, ‘what is it? You might have known
we'd be on the road.' 

There was a pause before she spoke. ‘As a matter of fact, Marty, I
thought I might be in time to wish you a safe journey.' 

Carruthers clasped his neck with the palm of his hand, the bedroom was
stifling and the perspiration dampened his collar. ‘It's a bit late for 
that, I'm afraid. We arrived some fifteen minutes ago.' 

‘Oh I'm sorry,' she said, her voice as spirited as always. ‘It's just
that I've been working flat out on Stapleton's Demise – you know – a 
chapter a day keeps the agent at bay...' 

Carruthers grimaced, both at the hackneyed cliché and from his feeling
that the reverse was happening. He kept an eye on the bathroom as Casey 
continued, her tone dropping, ‘I really was sorry to learn Alex 
rejected Chelsey's new book, Marty. I hope she doesn't give you a hard 
time. You deserve a good break.' 

‘Try telling that to Chelsey.' Carruthers couldn't resist letting his
frustration vent. He heard movement in the bathroom. ‘Look, I'd better 
go. I'll let you know when we're back.' 

‘It's such a shame you have to be looking over your shoulder every time
you make a phone call, Marty – you have my sympathies – and of course 
my best wishes for a good time there.' 

‘Thanks. Bye Casey.' Carruthers terminated the call. Casey's remark had
struck a nerve. He stared out of the window watching the incessant 
traffic flow along the narrow high street which formed the pulsing 
heart of the New Forest capital. Sunlight reflecting from vehicle 
bonnets dazzled him momentarily and he turned to find Chelsey emerging 
from the bathroom, a towel draped around her otherwise naked body. 

‘Who was that I heard you talking to, Martin?' She flittered her free
hand towards him. ‘No, don't tell me, I'm sure I can fathom it out.' 

‘I was merely returning her call,' Carruthers retorted, cursing his
wife's acute hearing. 

‘Which was purely a personal one of course.' 

Carruthers smothered resentment that rose like acid in his throat, at
least he trod a faithful line, which was more than could be said of 
her, with her openly flirtatious manner at social functions, or any 
other gathering where she had the opportunity. 

‘You might at least have left your affairs behind.' 

Oh that hurt. That was pushing him too far. 

‘What am I supposed to make of that?' 

‘Anything you want, chum.' Chelsey scowled as she collected some jeans
and a blue top and flounced back into the bathroom. 

Carruthers could feel heat generating inside him and it wasn't
attributable to the warmth of the day. Chelsey was simmering again and 
he wasn't about to add ingredients to her pot. 

He headed downstairs and found the bar, elegantly Edwardian but sparsely
populated, he felt, when one considered the bustling nature of the 
village. He'd already noticed that its make up consisted of an 
assortment of pubs and restaurants, and supposed therefore, that 
competition was stiff. 

He found the barman, neatly attired in black waistcoat and matching
trousers to be of affable nature, and after tending to Carruthers' 
request for a long, cool lager, he enquired as to the nature of his 
stay. 

‘I'm down with my wife, from London,' Carruthers said, trying to
disguise his growing sense of despondency. We're taking a short break.' 
He changed the subject, ‘Quiet day for you today?' 

The barman nodded; a slim, fair haired man Carruthers adjudged to be in
his mid thirties, and named Robin Noades according to the 
identification tag attached to his lapel. 

‘Most of our clientele use us as a base for touring the forest,
particularly on a fine day like this – they'll return this evening, and 
if you're dining, you'll notice a difference.' 

‘I'm sure I will.' Carruthers took a long gulp from his drink, placed it
down and drew a deep breath. ‘I'm looking forward to sampling some 
fresh air,' he said, swelling his chest. ‘The wife and I are 
considering hiring a couple of bikes.' 

‘If you're looking to do some cycling, then this is the place to do it,'
Noades said, polishing a glass and placing it carefully above the bar. 
‘There's Ornamental Drive for instance, just a few minutes from here – 
outstanding woodland – giant Douglas firs, some of the tallest trees in 
the country and plenty of picnic areas to go with them. Great on a day 
like this.' Noades glanced through the window opposite. ‘I hope the 
weather holds up for you. The forecast is good.' 

Carruthers thought that Noades' enviably handsome features took on an
apologetic air. ‘I'm a bit of a nature buff as it happens.' 

‘I envy you that,' Carruthers said with sincerity. ‘Life in London moves
to quickly for my liking – at least these days.' He mopped droplets of 
sweat from his brow; the hotel, decent as it was relied on overhead 
propeller fans for cooling rather than air conditioning, probably, he 
supposed, because they fitted in with the Edwardian décor – 
unfortunately they weren't as efficient. 

Carruthers saw Noades' gaze switch sharply to his right, his eyes
widening as in breezed Chelsey, tall and stylish in her pale blue top 
and designer jeans. Her immaculate fair hair streamed down her 
shoulders and no longer was there any hint of fire in her sky blue 
eyes. 

‘I always know where to find him,' she said, a quick look at her husband
before her eyes connected and locked on to the barman. ‘He can track 
down alcohol the way a sniffer dog can drugs.' 

‘For goodness sake, Chelsey,' Carruthers muttered, turning away in
distaste, though neither Chelsey nor Noades seemed to have noticed his 
resentment. ‘A lemon soda for me,' she said, sliding gracefully onto a 
stall, ‘can't handle anything stronger this time of day.' 

Noades attended to her request, placing the glass before her. ‘Your
husband was mentioning cycling out,' Noades began, placing both 
forearms on the bar and leaning towards her. ‘I've been telling him of 
a nice area not far from here.' 

‘Has he really?' Chelsey raised her brows. ‘Sounds good by me, I'm
impressed. Whereabouts are we going?' 

‘Ornamental Drive, was it?' Carruthers glanced at Noades, receiving
confirmation. 

‘Well, lets's hope it's not too hilly, your legs will never cope. She
raised a finger, ‘And no mobile phones, okay? Even if we should happen 
to get lost. I'll snap it in half if I find one on you.' Chelsey was 
smiling but for a second there was intent in her eyes. ‘So where do we 
find this Ornamental Drive, Mr – ah...' Chelsey stretched across the 
bar, Carruthers thought a lot closer to Noades than she needed to, and 
fingered his badge. ‘I see your name's Robin, mind if I call you that?' 


‘Fine.' Noades shrugged, ‘I get called all sorts.'  But he seemed
pleased and a little too attentive, and perhaps realising as much he 
quickly met Carruthers' eyes. 

‘I'll draw you both a map of the area.' Noades disappeared for a moment
and returned with an A4 sheet of paper and a pencil. He placed it on 
the bar to attend to a customer before returning to them. ‘It's not too 
difficult really. Follow the one-way system through the village and 
then take the A 35, whereupon you keep going until you reach this 
point.' He stopped sketching and placed a dot on his rough map. 

Chelsey looked at the map and then glanced at Carruthers. ‘I'm game if
you are – why don't we start now?' 

‘Now?' Carruthers gaped. ‘It's a hot, sticky afternoon. Why not wait
until morning when we're fresher and cooler,' he said, glancing at 
Noades for support. 

But Noades simply smiled and shrugged. ‘If you'll excuse me....' He
moved along the bar and attended to a customer. 

‘Yes, now,' Chelsey swirled some soda around her mouth and swallowed,
‘after I've finished my drink that is.' She looked down on Carruthers' 
pint, two thirds empty. ‘And before you've had a chance to down 
another.' She prodded his arm. ‘You're consuming far too much of late.' 


‘This is supposed to be a break for us both, nothing wrong with the odd
pint.' Carruthers drew breath, looked into his wife's widening blue 
eyes. He fingered his throat; he felt the afternoon heat on it and 
concluded it couldn't be any hotter outside than it was in. He could 
see the frustration mounting as she looked away, her fingers tapping 
out an imaginary tune on the bar; he sensed Chelsey in flirting mode 
and sought the lesser of two evils. ‘Okay, give me fifteen minutes to 
change into more appropriate gear. You might want to change into 
something more practical yourself.' 

‘Nope, I'm fine as I am. I don't get as hot and sweaty as you Martin. Or
is it Marty?' 

Carruthers looked away, the temperature had just risen a degree but he
wasn't rising to her bait. 

‘No, I'll just wait down here while you change.' She sniffed. ‘I'm
surprised and a little disappointed that Adrian recommended this place, 
really. After all it's a bit stuffy, could do with a little 
modernization. It does have one redeeming factor, though. Chelsey 
sipped her drink, then leaning forward on her stool, placed both elbows 
on the bar and cupped her face in her hands. Carruthers followed her 
gaze, bit his lip. ‘I'll go and change, I won't be long.' 

He reached the door and looked back. Noades was already making his way
along the bar towards her. 


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