‘I’ve missed you,’ she said, leaning her head on my shoulder. ‘You’ve been a naughty boy. You said you’d ring me.’
‘Well, things have been somewhat hectic around here in the last few days.’
‘What’s happened?’
I shrugged. ‘Nothing that would interest you. Just tired old detective business.’
She gave me a peck on the cheek. ‘And you look like a tired old detective.’
I nodded. ‘That’s me, all right.’
‘Do you want a drink?’
I grinned. ‘Actually I’d like a good strong cup of tea.’
She grabbed my hand and giggled. ‘Lead me to the kettle.’
Fifteen minutes later we were both sitting on my rather lumpy sofa in the cramped and shabby room I used as my living-quarters, stretched out before an ancient electric fire, drinking hot sweet tea from large chipped mugs.
‘You certainly know how to treat a girl,’ Eunice observed, snuggling up to me. ‘Hot Typhoo in the finest china.’
We clinked mugs before taking a drink and then we both laughed.
‘Tell me,’ I said, slumping further down in the sofa, ‘how did you get in?’
‘I picked the lock, of course. I did go to a very good girls’ school and that was one of the things I learned there.’
‘Along with forgery, deception and knitting, eh?’
‘That’s right. How’s your tea?’
‘Just right,’ I grinned.
We sat quietly sipping our tea. I felt so much ache and tension flow out of me. The warmth of Eunice’s body moulded into mine had burst that isolating bubble, that protective shell. I had been released and I felt human again and cared for. I thrust to the back of my mind the fact that this very desirable young woman was the daughter of a despicable fascist who was probably responsible, indirectly, for Barbara’s death. It would be wrong, I told myself, to blame Eunice for the sins of her father.
I leaned over and kissed her, my hand gently running through her hair. She responded, her body pressing even harder against mine, rousing me. I knew then that we would make love. It was a natural progression from the passion of the moment. In such situations all sensibility, all fear of consequence is silenced. The emotions, selfish and self-satisfying appetites, take over. I was driven. The sexual urge was now in full command. I knew it was foolish and dangerous, but I wanted it, I needed it. My body ached for it and my poor old bruised and battered soul required the revitalising power of a woman’s love, a woman’s passion to resurrect my tattered spirit.
We made love on the floor, in front of the electric fire. It happened naturally and without guile on the part of either of us. We were at one with each other, sharing each other’s pleasure. Afterwards, we lay, our bodies entwined naturally, not speaking, not kissing, just content. In fact so content was as I that I drifted off to sleep. When I woke up, I was on the floor alone. Rather stiffly, I pulled myself up and found that the room was empty, but there was a note on the sofa. It said: ‘When you’re ready, turn off the lights and come to bed.’
I wandered into my bedroom to find Eunice fast asleep under the covers. I disrobed as quickly as I could and then slipped in beside her, hugging her tightly.
She roused briefly from her slumbers. ‘Hello darling’, she whispered, before drifting back to sleep.
40
I woke early. Even before I was fully conscious I felt a sense of unease. As my eyes focused on the cracks in the ceiling my brain got around to remembering who I was, where I was and then it furnished me in kaleidoscopic fashion with chaotic details of my recent life. I wasn’t best pleased. In fact I groaned, wishing I hadn’t woken up.
I shifted my head and gazed at my beautiful companion. There she was; serene and sleeping. So it wasn’t a dream: it was true. I had slept with the daughter of the leading fascist in the country. I was ashamed and disgusted at myself. However, these feelings of self-loathing were mixed with those of embarrassment and guilt because I had to admit that I had enjoyed the experience. If I were a high-flown literary type I’d have said that it was ‘cathartic’. But as I’m just a poor gumshoe, I’ll settle for ‘it was rewarding because it allowed me to be emotional and get rid of a lot of pain’. All those bottled-up emotions had spilled out of me—in more senses than one.
Nevertheless, having Eunice in my bed did put me in a difficult position. There she was, breathing gently, sleeping like and looking like an angel, and here I was investigating her father and his filthy organisation with a view to sending the lot of them to prison. Sleeping with Eunice made me some kind of despicable worm. I had lowered my standards until they were on a par with those of the cold-hearted Britannia Club bastards.
I jumped out of bed and headed for the bathroom. Cold water and a severe shave would help me organise my thoughts more coherently and help me decide what to do. One thing was certain, I had to get the girl out of my flat and then out of my life. However much I liked her—and I did—the baggage she came with was tainted and dangerous.
I returned to the bedroom some thirty minutes later. I was shaved, dressed and very much awake but, sadly, none the wiser. I had brought my sleeping beauty a mug of tea. I shook her shoulder gently and gradually roused her from the realms of dreams. She blinked dozily at me, slowly pulling herself up in bed, draping the sheets around her so that they covered her breasts.
‘Good morning, darling,’ she said with a lazy grin.
‘Morning,’ I said, trying not to smile, but I did. ‘A mug of tea for you and then I’m afraid you’ll have to leave. I have a busy day ahead of me.’
‘You’re getting rid of me already?’ she said, taking the mug and cradling it between her hands, breathing in the warmth of the tea. ‘You’re a nasty man.’
I gave her a kiss on the forehead. ‘Nonsense. I’ve just got to earn a living, that’s all, and you are a real distraction. Surely you’ve places to go?’
‘I like it here.’
‘Well you can’t stay under the covers all day, that’s for sure. Now, come on, get dressed and scoot. Or do I have to pull you out of the bed myself?’ I spoke in a jokey-stern manner but my voice did have an edge of frustrated irritation to it.
‘OK, spoilsport,’ she said. ‘Give me five minutes to drink my tea and I’ll get out of your hair…for the moment.’
I kissed her again on the forehead and left the room.
*
Some twenty minutes later I was doing some elementary filing in my office, nervously passing my time while Eunice got dressed and did whatever girls do in the morning, when she appeared in the doorway. What is it with women? On waking they can look dishevelled and pasty-faced as though they’ve spent the night in a wind tunnel and then a short time in the bathroom with their magic make-up bag and they can emerge looking like a million dollars. Eunice looked like a million dollars. I wanted to hug her and take her to bed all over again.
‘I’ll go now,’ she said with mock petulance, ‘but you’d better ring me, Mr Hawke, or else.’
‘I will. How could I not?’ I felt as though I was dredging up old movie dialogue, saying anything to get the girl to go so that I could think.
We embraced and she left.
I slumped down in my chair, head in hands, and heaved the greatest sigh of my life.
After staring into space for some five minutes or so I decided to head for Benny’s and get some victuals inside me. My stomach couldn’t remember the last time it had had something substantial to eat. Perhaps a greasy fry-up would raise my spirits. I was reaching for my raincoat when the doorbell rang. Just my luck, I thought, as I saw the eggs and bacon disappearing from my morning’s menu. If it was a client, I couldn’t turn him or her away. Despite what other things were going on in my life, I still had bills to pay.
I opened the door and came face to face with Ralph Chapman. He was the last person on earth I wished to see this morning. It was as though the members of the Britannia Club were weaving a web around me.
‘Y
ou keep very pleasant company, I see,’ he said, pushing past me.
‘Meaning?’
‘I just saw our leader’s daughter leaving here.’
I wanted to swear, but instead I said: ‘Look, I was just on my way out. I have business to attend to.’
‘She is a pretty little thing, I must admit. But dangerous goods, I would have thought. Toying with McLean’s daughter is likely to get one’s fingers burned…or worse.’
‘I’d be very much obliged if you would go. I have neither the time nor the temperament for this conversation.’
Suddenly Chapman’s demeanour changed. The smirking charm disappeared and his features took on an altogether more sinister look.
‘That’s a pity because I have things to say which I’m sure you’ll find even less to your taste. Now, sit down and shut up.’
Before I could say or do anything, he had pulled a gun from his pocket and waved it in my direction. ‘I have no desire to hurt you, Johnny, but if you don’t do as I say, I might. I just might.’
I believed him. I did as he said. I sat down and didn’t say a word. What the hell now, I thought.
‘That’s better. We have to talk. You’ve made things very tricky for us, you know.’
I shook my head. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘No, of course you don’t. That’s practically the only saving grace about your behaviour in this affair. You are a bumbling amateur innocent abroad.’
‘And what does that make you?’ I asked with a sneer.
‘I’m a government agent—that’s what it makes me. I’ve been spying on the bastards at the Britannia Club for ages, trying to collect sufficient evidence to send them down for eternity. You didn’t think that we were going to let a gang of thugs like the Britannia Club operate without our surveillance?’
Could I believe my ears or was this some elaborate trick to flush me out into the open?
‘A government agent who goes around threatening Jewish café owners, eh?’ I said.
Chapman sighed theatrically. ‘If you’re supposed to be a fascist thug, you’ve got to act like one. I was just a stone’s throw away from having enough evidence to bag the whole lot of them. As it is we’re already picking off the lieutenants one by one, but it’s the generals we’re after, and the leader.’
‘Sir Howard?’
Chapman shook his head. ‘He’s the puppet. We want the puppet-master.’
‘Who is that?’
‘Don’t know yet, that’s what has been holding us back. It’s taken me over a year to worm my way into the organisation and reach a position of trust. I was due to join the inner council where I would have discovered all I needed to know and then you come along with your heroics and queer my pitch. I’ve slipped down the greasy pole again in favour of you. It’s the inner council that makes all the important decisions and the secrecy of its operation is guarded vigorously within the club itself. It’s a dangerous privilege to be invited to join. We know you’re no more a fascist sympathiser than…Winston Churchill.
We know your game, your bloody amateurish game. Noble but misguided. So instead of me, it’ll be you at the inner council meeting tonight.’
‘So why are you here?’
‘I’ve just come to warn you. I know what you’re up to but this isn’t a job for bloody amateurs. You’ve got to watch your back. They are not stupid. They’ll suss you out sooner or later—and it could be sooner. Watch yourself, Johnny. At the moment they like you and trust you but if they get one whiff that you’re playing a game with them… My people know about you but they’ll not interfere—it might jeopardise my position. You’re on your own, Johnny boy. Don’t trust anyone…they’re all a bunch of two-faced bastards.’
‘How do I know you’re not the same?’
He smiled. ‘You don’t. You’re just going to have to take me at my word.’
My instinct told me to trust him but my common sense advised me still to be wary.
Suddenly, he leaned forward and placed the gun on my desk. ‘Here, I reckon you’ll need this. I suspect that you and tight corners are going to become well-acquainted in the near future.’
‘What are you after? What is so special about the inner council?’
‘It is controlled by whoever is the real force behind the Britannia Club. Despite all our efforts we’ve not been able to put a finger on him. He has a direct link with Germany, possibly Hitler himself, and we suspect the club is forging links with other fascist groups throughout the country in readiness for the invasion.’
‘The invasion?’
‘France has already fallen to the Nazis. Britain is next in line. We need to nail the leader and get hold of the details of all the members of the club and its nationwide links.’
‘Where do Sir Howard and Guy Cooper come into all this?’
‘Misguided fools. The worse kind, of course. They are blinkered and malleable. Without such bigots, the fascists wouldn’t have a hope in hell of getting a foothold in this country. Mosley was another one.’
‘Why are you telling me all this?’
‘To forewarn you. I tried to frighten you off, but you still scrambled up on to the diving board determined to plunge into shark-infested waters. This is not a game. Your life is at risk. One false move and you’ll be occupying a cardboard coffin.’
‘You paint a lovely picture.’
‘I can’t help you in case my cover is blown, so do not come staggering to me for help. However, if you do uncover any vital information…’
‘I can come staggering to you then.’
‘That’s about it.’
‘Where do I stagger?’
‘Get a message to Captain Miles Stanhope at the Reform Club.’
‘Who’s he?’
‘I am he.’ He gave a mock salute. ‘Goodbye, Mr Hawke. I wish you luck, although I don’t think luck on its own will be enough to save you.’
With these pithy words he gave me another salute and left.
I sat where I was for some time, digesting the unsettling message that Chapman had delivered. It certainly did seem as though I had been some kind of naïve fool in getting myself mixed up with the Britannia Club but there was no retreating now. I’d waded so far into the treacherous waters it would be almost as dangerous to turn back as to carry on. I picked up the gun, felt its cold hard shape in the palm of my hand. ‘It’s carry on I must,’ I said to myself, slipping the pistol into my coat pocket.
41
Despite Chapman’s revelations and the unsettling effect they had on me, added to all the other unsettling events that had invaded my corkscrew of a life in the last few days, I was still determined to fill my face at Benny’s café. Then I would visit my brother at the hospital in the hope that he had rallied sufficiently for them to be able to operate. I wasn’t a praying sort of fellow, but I sent a short message to the Big Man upstairs, asking that Paul be allowed to live.
‘You heard the news?’ were the first words spoken to me by Benny as I entered the café.
‘You’re bringing your prices down?’
Benny didn’t even smile. Instead he held up a copy of the Daily Mail and pointed to the headlines. The Royal Navy had lost nine ships in the evacuation of Crete. More lives sacrificed for Hitler’s mad dream.
‘That’s put me right off my breakfast,’ I said.
‘How do you think it makes a little Jewish fellow feel? It seems there’s no stopping Adolf. I can feel him breathing down my neck. I expect the Hun to come marching up the street any day now.’
I shook my head. ‘Hell will freeze over before the Germans goosestep into London.
‘So you say, but just in case I’ll get my thick overcoat out of mothballs, eh?’
Benny raised a weak smile, but the worry lines remained.
‘In the meantime, you can get me a fry-up and pronto. I’ve decided I’m not going to let the Boches put me off my grub.’
‘Coming up,’ he said, with some of his old enthusiasm,
and retreated into the kitchen.
If the truth were known, I was just as worried and concerned as Benny about the war effort. We just did not seem to be winning. The face of this handsome city was now battered and disfigured thanks to the German Air Force and their ferocious blitzkrieg. Everywhere you looked there was evidence of the Nazis’ handiwork. At the same time Hitler’s tentacles were spreading even further, planting the swastika in the new territories across Europe and beyond. We all knew that the Führer’s ultimate goal was to see that accursed flag flying freely in London. And I felt so helpless in all this. Little Johnny One Eye, unfit to fight for his country, side-lined and emasculated, pretending to be a detective in this crumbling city. I really believed in what Churchill had said about every soldier making a difference, every soldier being important. But I reckoned a Cyclops didn’t figure.
I had these internal conversations with myself every now and again when I was feeling sorry for myself. It was almost a routine I went through. It was good to get such gloomy thoughts expressed and then out of the way. I always ended up by castigating myself for being so negative and self-pitying. I gave myself a metaphorical kick up the backside and told myself to get on with life. And I usually did. Who needs a psychiatrist when you have the strange inner working of the Johnny Hawke mind?
By the time I had got through the mental resuscitation process Benny was plonking down a plate of sizzling goodies before me: egg, bacon, beans and a lone sausage.
‘Enjoy, Johnny. Next time it may be liverwurst and sauerkraut,’ he said ruefully.
It was good to have a full stomach. It gave me the energy and what Benny would call chutzpah to face the rigours of the day. After leaving a generous tip and another comforting word to the frowning Benny, I made my way once more to Charing Cross Hospital. My little message to the Man Upstairs must have gone astray because, yet again, there had been no change in Paul’s condition. He still lay, zombie-like, under white sheets, the tubes still running from his body to various machines. All it needed was Colin Clive as Baron Frankenstein to come in and pull the switch to reanimate him.
Comes the Dark Page 18
