34
Rulers of an Empire
The clod of earth thumped against the coffin lid, the hollow sound like that of someone kicking against a door, he thought. The next handful of dirt tossed into the grave sounded like rice being dropped onto an open umbrella. It fascinated him. He had been like this all morning – no real emotion, no sadness, just a series of vacuous observations, almost as if he weren’t part of the events taking place around him. Some kind of heavenly spirit sent down to observe the comings and goings of earthly mortals.
For Vince Moody this was his first funeral. A rite of passage he could tick off his list. He’d been to weddings and christenings and this was the final piece of the trilogy. Poor Laura. He didn’t have to attend, of course. He wasn’t family. He never really knew her and she never knew him. Their lives had only brushed by each other for brief moments in the Empire cinema. Ships in the night, and all that. But he was over Laura Leach now, thankfully. It had been a passing phase, a temporary madness from which he’d recovered, and Edith had been crucial in helping him down the recovery road.
Edith was standing beside him, looking down at Laura’s coffin. He thought she looked even more beautiful dressed in black, with her hair tied up into an elegant knot, not unlike Audrey Hepburn from certain angles. She moved her hand closer to his and he felt her cold fingers enmesh with his. Their breath came out in clouds to mingle, become one, breath that drifted gossamer-like over the open grave. She’d been eager to attend the funeral, and he’d no idea why. Perhaps she wanted to make sure she was gone from their lives, see it with her own eyes; eyes which were curiously moist, he thought.
Laura had been found dead in the stream near Devereux Towers. She’d taken her own life a few weeks after she’d told the police everything. No foul play suspected, they said. She was depressed, on medication, had been for years. She’d been in Bartholomew Place for a long time. Inevitable, was a word someone used. Maybe it was, maybe it wasn’t. In her will she’d left all her money to a children’s home somewhere, which Vince thought was very thoughtful of her. Devereux Towers was up for sale and already a prospective buyer was interested in turning it into a hotel. But he couldn’t dredge up a single ounce of the feelings he once had for Laura. Why was that? Surely there should be something he could let her have, a last tear, a final tiny morsel from his heart? But no, not a single thing could he release for her, and maybe it was because Edith had become the centre of his attentions now; she soaked up everything he had like a black hole swallows up light.
Before the funeral service in church, Edith had told him how handsome he looked. She openly admired his new haircut, his new shirt, his new suit. How different he looked, she said. A real change had come over him, and it was a change for the good. He was manager now and looked the part, too.
His promotion had come as a surprise to him. It was, in part, recognition of his long service with the cinema, his positive actions on the night of the flood when his manager was asleep and drunk in his office – actions Edith had been all too eager to embellish when interviewed by the bigwigs from HQ. But of course they also needed someone to replace the thoroughly disgraced Martin Caldwell, a safe pair of hands. They wanted to lay the memory of Martin Caldwell to rest as quickly as they tumbled earth into Laura’s grave.
The police arrested Caldwell within a day or two of the flood and the discovery of the two bodies in the well. They charged him with their murder. The evidence was clear – pregnant Monica had been blackmailing him – Vince had told the police as much, told them all he knew. And they found his missing Oscar statuette in the well, its base dented from where it had caved Monica’s skull in before he disposed of her body. And the other body, the man’s, this belonged to the guy whom Caldwell was living in fear of. Caldwell’s sordid past came flooding out as quickly as the water did from the well; how he’d used the fire-axe by the door to finish-off Felix before dumping him in the well too. They say he wasn’t dead when he was pushed in, but that he drowned. The fire-axe was also found in the well. The thing was, Caldwell might have evaded detection hadn’t a botched attempt to frame Laura for the murder of Felix’s girlfriend sealed his fate. The man who broke into Devereux Towers with the intention of planting the murder weapon, confessed everything to the police.
Caldwell denied everything, very convincingly, but the evidence against him was overwhelming. They had motivations, they had murder weapons, they had bags of evidence from interviews with Empire employees, and now Martin Caldwell was about to serve a life sentence for committing three murders. Who’d have thought it?
Poor Laura; she’d suffered so much at their scheming hands, had no idea what she was involved in, what part she was to play. And now she was dead, just like Ophelia, said Edith. Vince had no idea who Ophelia was, but didn’t say anything so as not to betray his ignorance. But he ought to forget Laura now, because Edith and he were together now, a couple, a unit; they were soul-mates. They even whispered tentatively of marriage in a year or two. In the meantime Vince was taking driving lessons, and by the end of the New Year he hoped to have passed his driving test. There was a lovely MGB-GT he had set his sights on. A beauty, only a year old. As manager of the Empire he could afford to take out a bank loan now. By Christmas he’d be driving around Somerset in his very own sports car. Who’d have thought that, too? Even his mum and dad started to smile at him when they spoke, and finally began to say encouraging things about him to other people.
HQ had suggested that once Monica’s body had been released for burial Vince should attend the funeral. He didn’t have to, they said, not really, but now he was manager he had obligations. She had been an employee. He should show his face, for outward appearances if nothing else. After all, it had been a tragic affair, and no one deserved to get murdered, not even Monica. Buy a wreath, on behalf of the company. Not too expensive though, because budgets were tight, what with the planned refurbishment and all. So he’d get to go to his second funeral soon.
Vince looked up. There was no one else stood around the grave but the vicar, Edith and himself. Not one relation to mourn Laura’s passing. Standing some distance away he saw Leonard Kimble. He had his hands in his pockets, shoulders hunched against the bitter cold. And he was smiling, which Vince thought a little odd. Smiling at Edith and him. Kimble gave a quick wave and then walked away. What was he doing here? Was that business or personal, thought Vince.
Edith and Vince walked back to the Empire. It was currently closed because of the refurbishment. Builders were coming in the next day to cap off the old well with concrete and re-concrete the entire basement floor as part of the planned changes. Vince also had a couple of interviews to carry out with prospective new projectionists. HQ thought it best if fresh faces were brought in. a clean slate. Vince had argued the case that he should have a deputy manager and had managed to shoehorn Edith into the new role, making the most of her brave actions and utter commitment to the Empire on the night of the flood. HQ agreed with scarce a bat of an eyelid. He guessed they were simply glad to get things moving along and get back to normal.
That afternoon, Edith and Vince informed a young man that he was to become the new projectionist when the cinema reopened for business.
‘The future’s going to be big for the Empire,’ Vince said to him. ‘We’ve got great plans for the place – more screens, more X-rated films in an evening, more bums on seats, securing your future and mine…’
Edith smiled openly at Vince’s newfound confidence.
‘You and I, we’re going to make this place special,’ she said when the new projectionist had left.
‘We are,’ he agreed, kissing her and never failing to marvel at how cushion-soft her full lips were. ‘It belongs to us now. We’re rulers of an Empire!’
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