Free Mrs. Pargeter's Pound of Flesh by Simon Brett Page A

of Gary's Victorian values.
    'No, but if you did . . .' she persisted, 'what kind of work would your wife most want to keep secret from you?'
    'What, like what kind of work would she least want me to find out about?' queried Gary, who liked to be in possession of all the facts before committing himself to an opinion on anything.
    'That's it, yes.'
    'Anything illegal,' the chauffeur pronounced, without a moment's hesitation.
    Ah, the late Mr Pargeter had taught his protege well. It could have been her husband himself speaking. Mrs Pargeter reflected fondly, thinking back to the punctilious care with which he had kept her innocent almost of the fact that crime existed in this wicked world. 'What you don't know about, my dear,' had been one of his regular sayings, 'you're in no position to tell anyone else about.'
    Gary had clearly absorbed the same values. Mrs Pargeter could not help once again contemplating the wide influence her husband had exercised. All over the world were men and women, many of whom had taken a change of career direction in mid-life, who owed all their success to the training bestowed by the late Mr Pargeter.
    Gary was a good example. Her husband had discovered the boy at the age of sixteen in a young offenders' centre, where he had been committed for joy-riding. The late Mr Pargeter had taken the boy under his wing, gently showed him the pointlessness of random car-theft, and paid for him to have driving lessons. The boy had felt ready after one, but his mentor insisted on two full courses of lessons before Gary was allowed to take his test.
    The result, Mrs Pargeter mused as the limousine slid through the Surrey countryside, was the safest driver she had ever encountered.
    The late Mr Pargeter, philanthropic as ever, had also put the boy through Advanced Motorist's instruction, and paid for him to take courses in speed and skid-control (even going to the lengths of having him trained to cope with the additional weight-hazard of an armoured car).
    Then, when Gary was proficient, the late Mr Pargeter had been good enough to find work for him in his organization, work which tested the boy's skill to the full. His boss's confidence was never once shown to be misplaced. Gary's speed and repertoire of evasive manoeuvres had frequently saved other of the late Mr Pargeter's associates from the kind of accident that could have put them out of circulation for two or three years (or in some cases up to fifteen).
    When his boss died, Gary, after an appropriate period of mourning, had set up a driving business of his own with a more public profile than had been accorded to his previous work. Mrs Pargeter, always a great supporter of new business enterprise, had backed the venture from the start, booking Gary on every occasion that she might possibly need a driver.
    He had at first tried to refuse payment for his services, saying, 'After all, when I think how much I owe your late husband, it's the least I can do for his widow to –'
    But Mrs Pargeter had interrupted him firmly, insisting she always would pay for everything. 'Neither a lender nor a borrower be,' she had said, quoting another of the late Mr Pargeter's regular sayings (though he may perhaps have borrowed that one from someone else).
    So it was that she had organized Gary to drive her from Brotherton Hall to King's Cross, and to have the limousine on hand to return her after the meeting with Tom O'Brien.
    Gary who was used to ferrying Mrs Pargeter to more elegant venues than the greasy spoon, had been far too discreet to pass any comment.
    'No, but give me a bit more detail,' Mrs Pargeter insisted. 'What kind of job would your wife least like you to know what she was doing?'
    'Not absolutely clear what you mean, Mrs Pargeter.'
    'Well, for instance, would the worst thing you could find out be that . . . that she was on the game, for example?'
    'I wouldn't like that much,' Gary conceded judiciously, 'but that wouldn't be the worst.'
    'What would