Faith - Lesley Pearse [146]
They had just started on their second pints when Robbie Fielding came in.
Stuart had retained the memory of a big, muscular man with well-proportioned features and black, slicked-back hair, so it was something of a surprise to him that he recognized the wizened, white-haired, elderly man who had just walked in as Laura’s seducer.
Yet there was enough in Fielding’s expensive made-to-measure suit, the way his eyes scanned the entire bar, and a certain arrogance, to know it was him, even before he greeted the barmaid and Stuart heard his Geordie accent.
It was laughable really that he’d nursed hatred for this man for so many years, building him up in his mind to be rakishly good-looking and capable of going ten rounds with Mohammed Ali. In fact he was no taller than five eight, weighing perhaps thirteen stone. A beer paunch lolled over his belt, more loose flesh hung over his collar, and he wore thick glasses.
Stuart nudged David and smirked.
David glanced across at Fielding, then quickly looked away. ‘You must be joking,’ he said quietly. ‘He looks as if he’s off to a pensioners’ party.’
Fielding walked the entire length of the bar which ran right down the left-hand side of the place, and made for a specific chair with its back to the far wall. It was high-backed, of plain wood, with arms and a cushion on the seat. The barmaid poured him a glass of Scotch and took it over to him. They had a few words together, then she went back behind the bar.
It was plain this was Fielding’s customary routine. He now had an uninterrupted view of the whole bar, and he could watch the staff for any irregularities.
‘I’m going to the bog and then I’ll stop to talk to him as I come back,’ Stuart said. ‘If I manage to engage him in conversation, you come down after a couple of minutes. I’ll do the just-back-from-South-America bit to see my hometown, and buy him a drink.’
‘Be careful,’ David frowned.
Stuart grinned. ‘I can’t see him doing me much damage, can you?’
Stuart walked up the bar, paused momentarily by Fielding as if he was trying to place a face he knew, then went on to the toilets. As he came back, he stopped again by the old man. ‘I’ve just got who you are,’ he said with a wide grin. ‘You stole my girl twenty years ago.’
Fielding looked askance. ‘I did?’
‘Caledonian Hotel. Just before the New Year of ’75. I was mending one of the door locks and you came along the corridor with her. I could see what had been going on so I cleared off to London. I ought to shake your hand and thank you.’
Fielding frowned. Whether this was because he was trying to remember, or afraid to say anything that would incriminate him, Stuart couldn’t tell.
‘Laura Brannigan!’ Stuart said. ‘She was a barmaid at the Maybury Casino.’
Fielding was visibly shaken. He looked round the bar as if to see whether there was anyone there he could call on if trouble started. ‘There was nothing between us, she just worked for me,’ he said defensively.
‘Stuart Macgregor,’ Stuart said, holding out his hand. ‘She talked about you a lot in the time she worked at the casino. And I never forget a face, especially under circumstances like that.’
‘You’ve got it all wrong.’
‘No sweat,’ Stuart interrupted him. ‘It was a long time ago and entirely unimportant now, I just recognized you and felt I had to speak. I’ve only been back in town a couple of weeks and I keep running into people from the past. It’s weird, you think you’ve forgotten everything, then up someone pops and it all comes back. How are you doing? Still at the casino?’
Fielding shook the proffered hand but in a nervous, limp manner as if he didn’t know what else to do. ‘No, I left years ago. I own this place now.’
‘Never!’ Stuart exclaimed.