A case of Mistaken Identity (cont’d). Part 3.

The next day Samuel Williams, in an attempt to continue the illusion of work, got up , dressed with care and left the house at 7:30am sharp. Mary was still a shape under the covers, burrowed into them for warmth and barely responding to Samuel’s terse goodbye. it was her daily pattern not to rouse herself from sleep until at least 9 o’clock when the house and the outside world would seem warmer and more welcoming.

To continue the lie, in the very remote chance Mary had  deviated from routine and decided to monitor his progress from the bedroom window, Samuel walked briskly on and turned into the lane that would lead him to the rail station. However, instead of waiting on platform 3 as he usually did, he ducked into the stations greasy spoon cafe. He took a cursory glance around and shuddered. The smell of oil and sweat hung heavy in the air and the formica furnishings redolent with the customary sheen of grease seemed to suggest it had seen better days.

However this morning Samuel could not afford to be fussy. Mary was already becoming suspicious, he could tell, he was just grateful she had been preoccupied with their neighbours when he had come home unexpectedly early. Grateful her absence had made him rethink his course of action.

He sat down at a corner table and signalled to the depressed looking waitress for a pot of tea. She brought it over and attempted to engage him in a conversation about the weather but seeing she was getting nowhere and a tip would not be forthcoming, reluctantly made her way back behind the counter. Samuel added enough sugar to the doubtful looking slop to dilute its acrid taste and pulled a cheap looking mobile from his suit pocket. He switched on his wi-fi hotspot and pulled up Google looking for information on no 50 Plympton Terrace.  He waited and refreshed the page of search results. It didn’t bring up anything beneficial. There was a 3 bedroom house for sale in the same road but that was all.

He sipped his tea and thought. Somehow these people had found out the biggest secret of his life so far. They obviously had some realm of influence and some cash behind them to front an authentic looking business. He wished he had paid more attention to his surroundings on his last visit. He could see no alternative but to retrace his steps and hope that somehow he could con the woman into betraying her confidences.

That same afternoon, after putting some affairs in order, Samuel Williams went back to no 50 Plympton Terrace and gave a sharp press of the doorbell. As before there was no answer. He brushed aside the rotten wisteria, located the intercom and buzzed insistently on its button. Just silence again. It didn’t appear to be heard by any one at all in the depths of the house.

He went through the whole rigmarole again. Lifting open the letterbox he shouted for assistance into the abandoned looking stairwell. After 10 minutes of this scenario he was soaked through as the heavens had decided to open and getting increasingly irate. He was nonplussed. Whoever these people were or had said they were they were not here now. It didn’t look as if they had ever been there. In fact if he hadn’t still got their letter in his shirt pocket he might have begun to believe he had imagined the whole thing.

He thought he would go and mull things over in the Library. It was close by, he would be able to use their Reference section undisturbed and waste their internet usage instead.

Till next time.

This is a continuation of the story of Samuel Williams, A case of Mistaken Identity and is the 3rd part of his story. However it’s late, I’ve only just managed to get on the computer and I’m tired so will make the unusual step of finishing this post tomorrow. Otherwise it won’t be worth reading!

NaBloPoMo.

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