Free Gift Wrapped by Peter Turnbull Page A

springs to my mind when I think of an accountant and his choice of car,’ Yellich replied.
    â€˜No ... and as I said, it was not an image that the partners of Russell Square were wholly in favour of, but we had no control over that aspect of his life.’ Bellingham spoke thoughtfully and softly. ‘And, as I also said, he was efficient at his job ... quite a good team player as well. He seemed to be a popular member of staff.’
    â€˜I see. Well, thank you, Mr Bellingham.’ Yellich stood, as did Ventnor. ‘So, we’ll go and find your Mr March ... if we may?’
    â€˜Yes, I am sure we can allow you the use of one of our interview rooms. They might be found to be a little small – each one has four easy chairs around a low table – and perhaps a little cramped but I am sure they’ll suffice. We have four such rooms; there is almost always at least one that is vacant at any one time so that will give you privacy.’ Bellingham reached for the phone which sat on his desk and picked up the handset. ‘Carol ... can you connect me with Nigel March, please? Thank you.’ He cupped his hand over the phone. ‘I’ll take you to the interview room. I’m going to ask March to meet us there. I’ll introduce you to him, then I’ll leave you in peace and privacy.’
    â€˜This ...’ Tony Wenlock sat heavily in an armchair in the living room of his house, ‘this is a sobering time for our family, very sobering. I have had to take some time off work ... hate to do that ... it looks bad.’
    â€˜Yes, I ... we can imagine.’ Carmen Pharoah sat opposite Tony Wenlock in the second armchair. ‘It can’t be an easy time.’ She paused. ‘Can we ask, what is the nature of your employment, sir?’
    â€˜Surprisingly, you might think, I am an accountant.’ Tony Wenlock forced a smile. ‘Like father like son, but I went to university and I have a charter. I did that because I felt that it was what my father would have wanted. In the end I didn’t want to fall far from the tree. I was seventeen when he disappeared ... I was planning to read maths at university but then decided on accountancy when Dad vanished. I did that out of respect to my father.’
    â€˜That is quite a sensitive age,’ Carmen Pharoah observed. ‘Seventeen is a very difficult age to lose your father.’
    â€˜Yes, and it was all the more difficult because we didn’t know what had happened to him. That was the horrible part. All sorts of things run through your mind.’ Tony Wenlock wore a neatly trimmed beard and had, it seemed to Pharoah, good muscle tone, as if he was no stranger to the inside of a gymnasium. ‘You think, “Did he run away? Did he run from us? Were we to blame for him leaving like he did?” It’s the not knowing that really reaches you. In a sense if we had had a grave to visit then that would have been preferable because at least then we would have known what had happened to him.’ Tony Wenlock was dressed in a blue T-shirt and faded blue denim jeans, and he had moccasin slippers on his feet. His home was of the Victorian era, sparsely furnished with rugs on varnished floorboards rather than fitted carpets. A pile of children’s toys had been allowed to accumulate in the bay of the window. All were made of chunky plastic and brightly coloured. ‘But no age is good for that to happen: seven, seventeen, twenty-seven. No age. My brother was just fourteen and he took it particularly badly. I suddenly found myself having to be the strong one, the head of the household, pulling through and holding the family together.’
    â€˜Good for you.’ Carmen Pharoah smiled approvingly, then asked, ‘Mrs Wenlock – that is, your mother – told us that you and your brother blamed her for your father’s disappearance?’
    â€˜Oh, she would, that’s just the sort of thing that