Sisters Three

by Jessica Stirling

  ‘Don’t you remember him at all?’ Lizzie asked.

  ‘No, thank God!’ said Babs. ‘What was I – three or somethin’ when he skedaddled? I thought you said he was tall, dark an’ handsome.’

  ‘Isn’t he?’ said Lizzie.

  ‘He’s a nyaff,’ said Babs. ‘An ugly wee nyaff.’

  ‘And he has a moustache,’ said Polly. ‘A horrible brown moustache.’

  ‘I can see him wi’ a moustache,’ said Lizzie, wistfully. ‘Aye, I always thought a moustache would suit him. Is he on the run?’

  ‘Not as far as I know,’ Polly said. ‘He’s here to do business with Dominic, however, and Kenny MacGregor’s got wind of it.’

  ‘Can’t think why you want to meet him,’ Babs said, ‘not after what he done to us, runnin’ out an’ leaving you with three kids an’ in debt to the Manones.’

  ‘Twenty years in Philadelphia and he made no attempt to tell us he was alive,’ Polly said. ‘He knew how bad things were for us because he worked for Carlo Manone but we could have starved for all the help he offered you.’

  ‘I want to meet him,’ Lizzie said.

  ‘No,’ Polly snapped, and Babs threw up her hands in despair.

  Lizzie had reached Raines Drive by bus and tramcar, navigating her way nervously across the city. Before leaving she had telephoned Polly from the box at Anniesland Cross and had asked – no, told – her to meet at Babs’s house. She had stubbornly refused to tell Polly what had upset her and had been saved from interrogation by a telephone operator who had conveniently cut her off.

  Polly guessed that it had something to do with her father, not Bernard, the other one: that was how she thought of him now, the other one. She had sent Patricia round to Babs’s house with a message and instructions to bring baby April back with her which the nanny duly did. Pat would look after the child and also collect the Hallops from school, if necessary.

  ‘Rosie wants to meet him,’ Lizzie said.

  ‘Well, Rosie can just bloody want,’ said Babs.

  ‘Don’t you want to meet him?’ Lizzie said.

  ‘I’ve met him already,’ Babs said. ‘Once was enough.’

  ‘He’s your father, your natural father,’ Lizzie said.

  ‘He’s a bastard,’ Babs declared, ‘a natural-born bastard that’s what he is.’

  ‘Rosie doesn’t know that,’ said Lizzie.

  ‘Then it’s time somebody told her. Time you told her,’ Babs said.

  ‘There are things have t’ be settled,’ said Lizzie. ‘Legal things.’

  Polly said, ‘Stop looking for excuses, Mammy. You are not going to meet him – and that’s flat.’

  ‘Since when did you become the voice o’ authority?’ said Lizzie.

  ‘Since the day I married Dominic Manone,’ Polly told her.

  ‘She’s right, Mam,’ said Babs. ‘As for the legal stuff – heck, I reckon the old bastard’ll run a mile if you just breathe the word “divorce”. I dunno what he’s up to but I’m willin’ to bet it’s crooked.’ She paused, scowling at her mother who sat in a floral-pattern armchair with her hands in her lap and her eyes cast down, not defeated or contrite but quietly obstinate. ‘What do you think, Mammy? Do you think he’s gonna present himself before the court to settle a matter he settled years ago. He’s dead, for God’s sake! He’s been dead for years.’

  ‘It just doesn’t feel right,’ said Lizzie.

  ‘What doesn’t?’ said Babs.

  ‘Bein’ married to Bernard now.’

  ‘Oh, God! Is that it?’ Babs exclaimed. ‘Suddenly you’ve got a conscience about poor old Bernard?’

  ‘Under law,’ said Polly, ‘Bernard is still your husband.’

  ‘Says who?’ Lizzie asked.

  ‘Father, my other father, was declared dead.’

  ‘No he wasn’t. They wouldn’t even give me a pension.’

  ‘That’s beside the point,’ said Polly. ‘Besides…’ She hesitated. ‘Besides, he’s married again too.’ Her mother’s mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. She uttered a little popping noise and swayed back in the chair. Polly pushed on remorselessly. ‘Married to a young woman who’s with him over here.’

  ‘You’re kiddin’,’ Babs said.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Polly, ‘I’m not.’

  ‘Did Dominic tell you that?’ said Lizzie.

  ‘Yes.’ Polly felt cheap at having to lie to her mother but the little ache of conscience passed off quickly. ‘He told me that Edgar Harker arrived in Scotland accompanied by his wife. I’ve actually seen her. Young, very young, and very pretty, if you care for that sort of thing.’

  ‘What sort of thing?’ Lizzie got out.

  ‘Blondes with big long legs,’ said Polly. ‘So, Mother, if you came here this morning hoping I’d be able to set up a meeting between you and my other father then you’re going to be disappointed.’

  Lizzie began to protest. ‘But Rosie…’

  ‘It doesn’t matter what you or Rosie want. Our problem,’ Polly said, ‘is to get shot of Dad before he does anything drastic. You wouldn’t want to inflict a High Court trial on Rosie, would you, Mammy? God, the press would have a field day.’

  ‘Give in, Mammy,’ said Babs. ‘Forget he ever existed.’

  ‘I can’t,’ said Lizzie. ‘I can’t forget him. And I won’t forgive him.’

  ‘Forgive him?’ said Polly.

  ‘For goin’ away or for comin’ back?’ said Babs.

  ‘For sleepin’ with my sister Janet,’ Lizzie said.

  * * *

  ‘How long ago did all this happen?’ Dominic said.

  ‘An hour,’ Tony said. ‘I gave Peabody ten minutes to clear the track then hopped in the car and drove straight here. I thought I’d better warn you he’s out for blood.’

  ‘Bernard isn’t going to harm me,’ Dominic said. ‘It’s Harker he’s scared of. When he cools down he’ll realise we’re on the same side.’

  ‘He knows about the money, though. He saw the machinery.’

  ‘Bernard won’t peach. He has too much to lose.’

  ‘Did you know this guy Harker was Polly’s father?’ Tony asked.

  ‘I found out for sure only two or three days ago.’

  ‘How did you find out?’

  ‘Through a friend, a good friend.’

  They were alone in the office on the top floor of the Central Warehouse. Dominic had sent his secretary off to an early lunch and the corridor outside the pebble-glass door was deserted.

  ‘Somebody who knows Harker, you mean?’ Tony asked.

  ‘Somebody who knows him only too well.’

  ‘I wish to God you’d let me in on this. I’m sick of being kept in the dark.’

  ‘I have a friend,’ Dominic said, ‘who has a friend in Whitehall.’

  ‘I thought maybe you’d cabled your old man,’ Tony said.

  ‘Dad?’ Dominic paused. ‘Dad probably had good reason for not telling me and took a chance that I wouldn’t remember Frank Conway.’

  ‘Protecting your wife, was he? Protecting Polly?’

  ‘Protecting himself, more like,’ said Dominic.

  ‘Is he throwing us to the wolves?’ said Tony. ‘Is that why the printing’s being done over here instead of Philadelphia or New York? I can’t believe your old man couldn’t shake out a Yankee printer as good as Dougie Giffard.’

  Dominic was seated on the edge of the desk, one leg stretched out. He sat very still, remote and distant as if he were thinking of other things entirely.

  ‘What we’re involved in,’ Dominic said at length, ‘is building a network of enemy agents. The plates probably originated in Germany, the paper was manufactured in Italy. Presumably the Nazis have planted a number of agents in strategic positions in this country and have to find a means of paying them. Harker’s managing the scheme but I doubt if even he knows who he’s working for. By that I mean, he isn’t going to be invited to tea at the Germany embassy. He’ll filter the counterfeit money thro
ugh Flint and he’s already established an account in a private bank into which he can deposit the profit. Later, that account will be split and certain sums transferred to other accounts in other banks. By that time the money will be virtually untraceable.’

  ‘Where are these agents located?’

  ‘That’s something we’ll never find out,’ Dominic said. ‘Coventry, I expect. Portsmouth, Plymouth, here on Clydeside too for all I know. They’ll be strategically positioned in munitions factories or aircraft plants, on the boards of companies who have access to government orders. It really wouldn’t surprise me if there were one or two in Westminster, perhaps even in Whitehall itself.’

  ‘Nazis,’ Tony said. ‘We’re printing money for the Nazis.’

  ‘Germany may not be the enemy for long,’ Dominic said.

  ‘Hey, don’t tell me you’re going Italian on me?’

  Dominic lowered himself from the desk, turned to the window and stared out at the river. ‘When the war does come,’ he said, ‘where will you stand, Tony?’

  ‘Where I’ve always stood,’ said Tony, ‘with you.’

  ‘No,’ Dominic said. ‘No, not with me.’

  ‘I don’t get it.’

  ‘It won’t be safe to stand with me.’ He swung round again. ‘I want you to marry Penny Weston and get her out of the country.’

  Tony felt his blood run cold. He swallowed, spit sticky in his mouth, like glue. ‘What – what’s she to you, Dominic? What do you care what…’

  ‘Listen,’ Dominic said, ‘I know what’s been going on. I want you out of it.’ He smiled again. ‘She’s perfect for you, Tony. She’ll keep you in order. She’ll make sure you don’t stray.’

  ‘Stray?’

  ‘Don’t make me say it, Tony.’

  He was silent, stunned but still unsure. Polly was in the forefront of his mind, Polly and adultery, Polly and betrayal. Was he being sent away because of his affair with Polly? Was Dom offering him the easy way out?

  ‘Oh, come on, Tony. You’d think it was a death sentence,’ Dominic said. ‘If it doesn’t work out there’s always divorce.’

  ‘I’m – I’m a Catholic.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘Please, no, don’t ask me to do this.’

  ‘I’m not asking you,’ Dominic said. ‘I’m telling you.’

  ‘What if Penny don’t wanna marry me?’

  ‘She will,’ Dominic said. ‘She’ll marry any man for a second chance.’

  ‘Second chance, what’s that supposed to mean?’

  ‘Anyone who’ll get her away from Harker.’

  ‘Harker? What does Harker have to do with it?’

  ‘She’s Harker’s wife,’ Dominic said. ‘They were married in New York just before the ship sailed.’

  ‘Did your pal in Whitehall tell you that?’

  ‘He didn’t have to,’ Dominic said.

  ‘If she’s married already,’ Tony got out, ‘she isn’t free to marry me?’

  ‘Widows,’ Dominic said, ‘are always free.’

  ‘Widows?’ said Tony. ‘You’ve lost me, Dom. You’ve left me way behind.’

  ‘I’m afraid that’s true, Tony,’ Dominic said. ‘I’m very much afraid that’s true.’

  * * *

  As soon as he entered headquarters Kenny knew something was wrong. Perhaps, he thought, the Irish had struck with another bomb blast in retaliation for recent arrests but there were no signs of agitation in the crowd that gathered in the hallway outside the muster room and he had hardly stepped through the door when DC Galbraith grabbed him by the arm.

  ‘Whoa!’ Kenny said. ‘What is it? What’s happened?’

  ‘It’s Wetsock,’ Galbraith said. ‘He’s gone.’

  ‘Gone? What, sacked?’

  ‘Nah, nah,’ said Galbraith. ‘He collapsed. One minute he was sittin’ at his desk talkin’ to your sister, next minute he was spewin’ blood from every orifice. What a soddin’ mess. The cleaners are still moppin’ up.’

  ‘Is Fiona all right.’

  ‘Oh, sure. You know her better’n I do,’ Galbraith said. ‘She had an ambulance at the door within five minutes, before she even reported to a senior officer. No sense o’ protocol, your sister.’

  ‘Never mind my sister,’ Kenny said. ‘How bad is it with Winstock?’

  ‘Bad, so I’ve heard. Busted ulcer. Suspected peritonitis. He’s in the Vickie undergoin’ emergency surgery. May not peg out.’

  ‘When did this happen?’

  ‘Ten or half-past this mornin’. Never know the minute, do you?’ Galbraith said. ‘Wonder what’ll happen to us now?’

  ‘Us?’

  ‘The Unit.’

  ‘Oh that!’ said Kenny.

  ‘Since we haven’t really achieved anything,’ Galbraith said, ‘maybe they’ll close us down. I don’t fancy goin’ back on regular duties, do you?’

  ‘No option,’ Kenny said, ‘unless they put somebody else in charge.’

  ‘Like who?’ Galbraith said. ‘Fiona?’

  In spite of the gravity of the situation, Kenny chuckled.

  ‘We could do worse,’ he said. ‘Perhaps they’ll fetch someone up from Scotland Yard? One thing’s for sure, even if he does pull through that’s the last any of us will see of poor old Wetsock. I hope he’s okay.’

  ‘Me too,’ Galbraith said. ‘What do we do right now, though?’

  ‘Hang about, wait for orders,’ Kenny said.

  He slipped his hand into his coat pocket and fingered the letter that he’d typed out on Fiona’s machine at home. He hadn’t told her that he intended to present a letter of resignation to Inspector Winstock at the end of the shift. It wasn’t that he had become disillusioned with policing or wished to plunge into army life. He felt guilty about Rosie and honour bound to try to make amends. In spite of everything, he still wanted to marry her. The thought of some other man stealing her away made his stomach hurt. Resignation was the only solution but it was going to take more guts than he possessed to stand before the Deputy Chief Constable and resign when Winstock was fighting for his life in the Victoria Infirmary.

  Within an hour Kenny was summoned to the Chief Inspector’s room on the third floor. There he found not only Superintendent Rogerson but also Inspectors Caple and McLaren and, occupying the chair behind the desk, no less a person than the Chief Constable, Percy J. Sillitoe.

  The interview was brief and succinct.

  Kenny was informed that Inspector Winstock would not be returning to duty in the foreseeable future. Apparently the Inspector had been ailing for some time. The lack of satisfactory results in the SPU investigations might be laid therefore at Inspector Winstock’s door. A replacement was urgently needed. Would he, Sergeant Kenneth MacGregor be prepared to head the Special Protection Unit on a temporary basis with the assurance that he would receive a promotion to the rank of Detective Inspector if he proved himself worthy of the honour.

  Kenny felt the letter in his pocket crumple of its own accord. He gave it a helping hand, stuffing it into the corner of his pocket as if he feared that the basilisk gaze of Chief Constable Sillitoe, scourge of the uncommitted, would penetrate the material and see just how little honour he, Kenny MacGregor, attached to being part of the thin blue line.

  ‘Well, MacGregor, what do you say?’ the Chief Constable asked.

  ‘I – I…’

  ‘Come on, lad,’ growled Rogerson, ‘surely you don’t have to think about it.’

  Kenny swallowed hard. His stomach hurt. His collar was slick with perspiration but the letter of resignation was nothing but a crumpled ball in his coat pocket. ‘No, sir,’ he said. ‘Thank you, sir. I accept.’

  ‘Good man,’ Percy Sillitoe said. ‘But hear me well, Sergeant, I need results before I get any more flak from the Home Office.’

  ‘Yes, sir. I’ll do my best,’ said Kenny.

  ‘Your very best,’ said Rogerson.

  ‘My very best,’ Kenny promised.

  Chapter Sixteen

&nb
sp; The cat was not the only creature at Blackstone Farm who had grown plump on Penny’s cooking. Dougie too had put on weight and sported a nice little middle-class tummy that swelled his shirt-fronts comfortably. He was no longer dependent on whisky. In fact he had almost lost his taste for the hard stuff and preferred a dish of tea or a glass of cream soda by way of refreshment, particularly when he was working over in the stables which, as April ran out, was most of the time. Penny would trot across the courtyard several times a day bearing trays of tea and scones or fizzy drinks in tall glasses, would stay with Dougie longer than Tony liked, for he had a feeling they were gossiping like a couple of schoolgirls about him. And for once Tony was right.

  ‘Did he bring you them flowers?’ Dougie asked.

  ‘Yes, he did,’ Penny answered.

  ‘Bouquets.’ Dougie sighed. ‘Bouquets an’ champagne.’

  ‘They are only daffodils,’ Penny said.

  ‘Maybe so,’ Dougie said. ‘But I don’t like it, lass. He’s bein’ far too nice t’ you. He’s up to somethin’.’ Penny no longer had the gall to blush when Dougie added, ‘Besides what goes on upstairs, I mean.’

  ‘He is wooing me, I believe,’ said Penny.

  ‘Wooin’ you? What the heck for?’

  ‘Perhaps he is falling in love with me.’

  ‘That’ll be the day!’ said Dougie.

  Penny was not entirely taken in by Tony’s changed attitude towards her. In bed he was ardent, almost too ardent, though there were no more perverse little acts involving gas-masks. She had a feeling, though, that try as he might his heart was not in it any longer. To compensate he brought her flowers and chocolates. She accepted his attentions warmly enough and applied herself enthusiastically to cooking and cleaning as if she felt obliged to prove herself a good hausfrau as well as a good lover.

  Dougie observed the pas de deux with wry amusement. He reminded Penny a little of her grandmother, Oma Keller, who had been her closest friend and confidante. Dougie had a similar air of watchful affection and however much he teased and even criticised her, Penny was sure he would never let her down. In many ways she preferred Dougie to Tony Lombard for Tony Lombard had no wit or sensitivity and cared nothing for the texture of the world.