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It had been half an hour since Reece had left, and after deciding that he couldn't have noticed her briefcase when he'd returned to the car she had decided to stop crying over spilt milk and get on with the mountain of paperwork she'd been putting off for days. She could attack the Vance job tomorrow, when she'd retrieved the briefcase. Mitch and the others were out at a special reception in the City so she had at least three hours to work in peace, apart from the odd interruption of the phone.
'Yes?' She smiled politely even as the hairs on the back of her neck rose in protest. There was something menacing about these two, although she couldn't have described exactly what.
'Miriam Bennett, co-partner with Mitch Bennett of Bennett and Bennett?' It could have been a comedy routine, but there was nothing funny about the looks on the two men's faces as they moved to stand in front of her, their stance aggressive.
'Yes.' She wasn't smiling now. 'What can I do for you?'
'It's not what you can do for us, sweetheart, more a little matter of what you can do for Mr Gregory. You do remember Mr Gregory, I presume?' The one who seemed to be spokesman smiled thinly, showing blackened teeth stained with nicotine.
Miriam tried to keep the distaste out of her voice as she replied carefully, standing up as she did so, 'If you mean Mr Gregory of Tamer's Garage then yes, I do. My brother and I bought the firm's vans there just over a year ago.'
'That's right, sweetheart.' He nodded to the other man with a leering grin. 'I told you she would be co-operative, didn't I, Fergus? Now then…' He turned to her again. 'I believe Mr Gregory wrote to you a few days ago explaining the position you're now in, but you've been a very naughty girl; you haven't replied to him, have you?'
'I understand our solicitor has.' Miriam looked straight into the broad face as she spoke, squaring her shoulders. Bully boys. She might have guessed.
When Mitch had bought the two vans from Turner's she had thought the hire-purchase conditions a little steep, but Mitch had insisted that the vans were ideal for what they wanted and in good condition so she had gone along with the deal despite her misgivings.
And then a letter had arrived a few days ago declaring that they were behind with their repayments and informing them that the vehicles would be repossessed within the week. She had immediately questioned Mitch, who had shamefacedly drawn out of his coat pocket a stack of envelopes that he had forgotten to post the month before, but when she had phoned Turner's to explain the mistake the secretary had been less than helpful, insisting that the machinery to repossess had been set in motion and that there was nothing they could do about it.
Her solicitor had been more forthright.
'Turner's?' He had stared aghast at their faces and then back at the letter. 'You didn't go to Turners, Mitch? That man Gregory has had more brushes with the Old Bill than I've had hot dinners, and only just operates within the law now. Let's have your agreement.'
He had run cursory eyes over the paper and nodded with a deep sigh. 'He can do it—legally, that is—but it's a stinking agreement with the odds stacked in his favour. Do you realise that you only have to be one week late, according to this, and they can repossess? And you have to repay the rest of what you owe?'
'You're joking.' Miriam had turned to Mitch slowly. 'Didn't you read it, Mitch?'
'I read a sample agreement he had in the office, but it wasn't like tins one.' Mitch had raised tortured eyes to hers. 'And when I signed after the deal was agreed I just assumed everything was OK. I didn't check it.' He'd run a shaking hand over his face. 'So there's nothing we can do?'
'Certainly there is.' Their solicitor had brightened at Mitch's explanation. 'First thing, I'll send a letter explaining we're not happy with the repossession and why, and stating that if it goes to court you'll testify accordingly. Old Gregory might back down at that; he's trying to keep a low profile these days. If that doesn't work we'll think again.' He'd smiled comfortingly. 'He might decide you're two little fish who aren't worth the trouble you could cause and leave it at that.'
But he hadn't.
Miriam took a deep breath and spoke firmly. 'You know your boss pulled a fast one on my brother, don't you?'
'Nothing to do with us, sweetheart.' The man shrugged carelessly. 'We're here to pick up the vans.'
'You're not having them.' She glared at the pockmarked face furiously. 'My brother isn't here anyway.'
'All by yourself?' He turned to the other man again and smiled slowly. 'She's all by herself, Fergus; now ain't that a shame?'
The other man nodded, running his dark little eyes over Miriam's figure. 'For her, maybe.' His
eyes narrowed on her breasts before moving slowly upwards. 'Yeh, for her.'
'You don't frighten me,' Miriam lied tightly. 'Your Mr Gregory is a crook—'
'Now I'd watch your mouth, sweetheart, 'cos that's slander,' the first man cut in abruptly. 'An' Mr Gregory only wants what's legal. Your brother signed and he was over twenty-one; the rest's history.'
'We'll take it to court,' Miriam said angrily. 'Our solicitor said—'
'You don't want to take no notice of them solicitors, sweetheart.' Now the mean face was really nasty. 'And Mr Gregory don't like no courts and such like. If you behave you'll be all right; we'll leave you alone. You talk about courts, though, and we'll have to show you how things really are in the big, bad world. It'd be a shame if this lot was torched one night, wouldn't it…?' He sighed loudly. 'Or if that nice brother of yours had a little accident that left him in a wheelchair? Funny old world out there, love; you never know what's going to happen next.'
'Get out of here.' She was shaking, and furious with herself that they could see it.
'We'll just leave a little something on account first, to show you that we mean business.' As the one called Fergus moved towards her, his intention plain, she backed towards the wall, glancing at the first man appealingly.
He shook his head at her, laughing as his partner reached her side. 'He's an animal, sweetheart; I'd play along with him if I was you. No point in spoiling that pretty face of yours.'
