Keeping up Traditions

I would welcome any comments or thoughts about this short story, thanking you in advance. Adrian

Hitler had been defeated, Churchill had been proclaimed the nation's hero and a young shy sixteen year old Tony Watkins started his first job. A crisp white starched collar rubbed his neck until it was red and sore. A hand-me-down itchy tweed jacket, at least one size to big kept out the chilling autumn wind. Nervously Tony presented himself to the rotund ruddy cheeked Mr Barnes, the last third of accountants Barnes, Davies and Redwing. The other two thirds had perished in a bombing raid two years ago.

In the polished wood panel office Tony gratefully took his instructions, tea making, errands, filing, they were to be his primary tasks. If and only if he showed an aptitude for hard work, he might be taught some of the finer points of accountancy. Old Mr Barnes disappeared into a hazy orb of pipe smoke, as he lit his pipe, bellowing fumes out through the side of his mouth, "any questions boy?" He spoke between puffs, Tony replied in the negative with a quiet timid voice.

That scene had taken place forty nine years ago, yet Tony thought he could still detect the faint aroma of burning pipe tobacco lingering in his nostrils. A less nervous Tony stood now in a very different environment, all the dignified senior management offices constructed of glass and dark wood panels had long since gone, the floor area was now one open space comprising a field of desks, with a harvest of monitors and keyboards and it most definitely a no smoking area.

The other change he noticed was the lack of 'old faces', all the staff had become younger, often they referred to him as 'old Mr Watkins' such is the passing of time. Slowly he observed the landscape of the office, with all those young faces looking at him, anticipating his acceptance speech for the small gift they had purchased, upon the retirement of old faithful Mr Watkins, Office Manager,  the post he had held for forty five years.

He was glad to be going at long last. During his early years at the company he had shown promise to Mr Barnes. Long hours of study, expressing the correct views to the influential people around him, made Tony one of the rising stars at the firm, flourishing during the post war period. Then his mind became misty, shedding the years, recalling the night his career had been eclipsed by events that he should have controlled. Not allow them to asphyxiate his career; one simple error of judgement had haunted him over the years.

"Come on Tony, just a few words of wisdom.” Ken Barnes, grandson of the long deceased Mr Barnes, pulled Tony from his day dream. Words of wisdom had never been his forte, but he tried, tidying his last wisps of greying hair, a few stammering words fell from his lips bouncing across the office into the ears of the bored young executives. If any employees had been left, who knew the young Tony, they would have now seen a very different man.

Politely he thanked them, for the gift, for the sandwiches, for being supportive colleagues, although few of them knew Tony that well. Old Watkins always sat quietly at his desk, each day sifting through paper files as if he was in search of the Holy Grail. It was as he tried to make a weak joke at the expense the computer age that his eyes rested on a certain window to his left. An ordinary double glazed window of very little significance to anyone who passed it today. To Tony it was more than just an opening; he recalled the era when it had been a wooden sash cord window, his desk at one time had been beside the aperture from which you could look out onto the Great War memorial.

Once more his voice trailed away. Once again he was eighteen energetic and ambitious. Working late to impress, it was nearly ten o'clock at night, Tony was alone with a small brass electric lamp writing into heavy leather bound books. It was his usual practice to stay late on a Wednesday, his mother would be out at her sisters, so the young clerk would grab cod and chips on the way home. Everyone knew his routine, even Veronica, the wife of Mr Barnes.

He became aware of her presence that night when her distinctive perfume, preceded her entrance. Then her steps, her stilettos tapping a rhythmic pattern across the office towards him. He stood immediately greeting her with a respectful bow of his head. That night they just talked, their conversation inconsequential, to the young teenager her body language spoke volumes. Crossing and uncrossing her legs, adjusting the provocative seam on her stockings, leaning towards the young man, touching his hand, her intoxicating perfume washing over him, his pulsing heart, crashing against his ribs. She left, when she judged he was going to make a move towards her, hinting she might be back next week. Throwing her fox stoll over her shoulder, adjusting her wide brimmed hat, she swept out of the office. Tony watched, fantasized unable to  escape the aching she had induced inside him.

Twice that same week she visited the office during the normal working day, fully aware of the glances she received from the rest of the male staff, both young and old, acknowledged none of them, her inviting eyes fell upon her latest object of desire.

Tony asked around, discreetly, about the boss's wife. The rumour machine confirmed that she was about thirty five, maybe nearer forty, whatever her age,  at least ten years younger than Mr Barnes. The consensus of the office was the old man’s money attracted her, why pick a grumpy fat old man like Barnes, when she could have her choice of countless eager attractive men.

A deluge of November rain feel against the window, it was well past nine and Tony was hungry and a little cold, about to give up on her arrival when he heard a distant door squeak open, then close followed by the sound of a lock turning.

Veronica walked full of purpose towards Tony, butterflies took over his stomach, the veins in his temple throbbed with anticipation. She led him through a torrent of love making, without mercy. He had kissed a girl once at school, but what Veronica was doing now, he had only read about. Later she left him alone with only his thoughts and a sense of masculine pride.

"Don’t get to emotional, old man," Ken put his arm around Tony's shoulder. A smile came across Tony's face, thinking what a sensuous woman Ken’s grandmother was. "You know how us old men get, once we start thinking about all the years that have gone by, never to return.”

He thanked the gathering and wished them well for the future. Five thirty had arrived and most left to continue their own lives, just a few associates stayed and shared another glass of sherry with Tony.

The nocturnal visits by Veronica continued past Christmas and into the spring of 1948, maybe it was the lighter evenings, maybe they had become careless and less discrete. Whatever the reason, the inevitable happened, old man Barnes unlocked the door silently one night entrapping the two lovers embracing oblivious to his arrival.

A fearsome feud broke out between the spouses, accusations and counter accusations flew across the office, Tony stood aside listening and watching. Veronica as well as being passionate possessed a very short temper, within moments she was standing on Tony's desk grabbing books trays anything which she could hurl at her husband hopefully inflicting pain on him. Old as he was, Mr Barnes ducked and dived avoiding most of the larger missiles, trying to calm the situation Tony edged toward his lover, trying to cool her temper.

In his youthful panic he tripped, falling against his wooden desk he threw Veronica off her balance, she waved her arms trying to regain  her composure but only succeeded in falling backwards, through the glass window, screamed briefly before dying instantly as she crashed against the pavement.

Silence descended on the office, as both men looked through the broken glass towards the crumpled body on the street below, where already a band of pedestrians had gathered around Veronica.

Young Tony had never seen a dead body before let alone been responsible for the result. Shrewd old Barnes knew an opportunity when one happened his way. "You'll hang for that son" he spoke calmly, all very matter of factish. Tony protested, it was an accident, the old man disagreed, he clearly saw what had happened. Tony could almost feel the rope tightening around his neck.

Barnes knew full well that a murder trail would not only hinder his inheritance from his wifes vast fortune, but the possibility of police officers poking their unwelcome noses in his office and his books concerned him. So between them they concocted a story of alterations to curtains followed by a tragic accident. The inquest found no reason to disagree. Reflecting on that night, Tony knew he had taken the wrong decision, but fear of the hangman clouded his immature judgement. From that day until old man Barnes died, Tony stood meekly in his shadow.

So today he was saying goodbye to the old place, he had come to the end of his confinement. He wondered how the company would survive without his intimate knowledge of the systems employed. "1 bet you have a few good tales to tell?" Ken tried to spark off a conversation. The old man smiled in agreement but wouldn't be drawn, he had always been one of few words, 'they cannot hold against you what you have yet to say' was one of Tony's favourite sayings. He looked at the gold watch once more, ten to six, in twelve hours he would be on airplane, leaving the cold English days and nights, a warm climate would suit his rheumatism. He patted the ticket in his jacket pocket.

Veronica Barnes had been buried ten years almost to the day when old man Barnes joined her, it was only when the diligent Tony had access to certain books Barnes kept to himself that it became clear there had been systematic draining of funds from the company into a private account. Dutifully, Tony kept both the confidence of his deceased boos and the money, then continued to serve both the son and grandson of the family business, following the tradition of Mr Barnes.

Forty six years of fraud had given Tony a large nest egg to retire on, tomorrow he would be in Rio de Janeiro, spending the rest of his days,

in total luxury.