Kitty Neale 3 Book Bundle

by Kitty Neale

  She could ask him to have a word with her, or maybe she could tell Bernard Dolby … Round and round her thoughts went until at last her mind calmed. Take one step at a time. Watch Alice, and if she really was pinching her tips, then maybe their employer would sort it out.

  At seven o’clock, Pearl was ready. Derek was boxing tonight and had invited her to the match. She had hesitated, hating the thought of the brutality, but Connie Lewis wanted to go, and had urged Pearl to join her.

  She still hadn’t made up her mind about taking the friendship with Derek any further, but as a regular visitor to his house she was growing close to his gran. Now, picking up her handbag, she went to collect Connie.

  By eight o’clock they were in one of the large function rooms at Battersea Town Hall, sitting in the front row and watching a match between two young men.

  Pearl found the atmosphere gladiatorial: the smell of sweat; the baying of the crowd; the boxers dancing around each other in the ring, exchanging flurries of punches that had the crowd rising to their feet yelling for more.

  A bell clanged, the round coming to an end, and as one of the boxers sat in his corner, Pearl’s stomach turned as he removed his gum shield, took a mouthful of water and then spat it into a bucket. Another man took a soaking sponge, running it over the young man’s puffy, red face, blood now visible and oozing from his nose. Oh God, it was awful, but as she glanced around, Pearl could see that she was the only one affected.

  ‘There’s only one more round to go and then Derek’s match is next,’ Connie said, gripping Pearl’s arm with excitement.

  Pearl fought nausea and the need to flee. A hand tapped her on the shoulder and she spun around.

  ‘Watcha, Pearl,’ Kevin Dolby said. ‘Enjoying it, are you?’

  ‘Er … it’s all right.’

  ‘Your boyfriend is on next.’

  Pearl didn’t bother to correct him. Derek was just a friend, but in the crowded room it was impossible to speak without shouting. Instead she just nodded.

  ‘It’ll be a good match and I’ve got a few bob on Derek.’

  Pearl forced a smile before turning to face the front again. She looked up at the ring, wondering why it was called a ring when it was, in fact, square, but then the bell signalled the start of the last round.

  Both young boxers began the dance again, circling around each other, until one lunged forward. A gloved fist connected with a chin, a boxer bouncing off the ropes in front of Pearl before falling with a crash onto the canvas.

  The referee rushed over, his arm slicing the air as he counted the boxer out. ‘… Eight – nine – ten,’ he yelled.

  The boxer didn’t move, and signalling that he was out for the count the referee bounded over to the other man, grabbed his arm and raised it into the air to show who was the victor.

  By then, Pearl and the defeated boxer were the only ones who weren’t on their feet, the cheers for the local lad deafening.

  A couple of men scrambled under the ropes, kneeling beside the young boxer as they tried to bring him round. Pearl found she was holding her breath. Oh God, he still wasn’t moving. Was he dead? With a groan he finally sat up, eyes glazed as he was helped to his feet and led from the ring.

  Pearl saw the winner dancing round, his body slick with sweat and his arms punching the air with delight. When the accolades of the crowd gradually diminished he too ducked under the ropes and left the arena, a satin gown covering his body and a towel draped over his head.

  ‘That was a good match,’ Connie said as she sat down. ‘Here, what’s the matter? You look as white as a sheet.’

  ‘I … I feel a bit sick.’

  ‘Gawd, you’re a soft one.’

  ‘I … I think I’ll have to leave.’

  ‘Don’t do that, love. Derek will be ever so disappointed. Look, go outside and get a bit of fresh air. His match won’t start just yet.’

  Pearl rose to her feet, stumbling for the door. The air felt heavy as she stepped outside, and she could hear distant rumbles of thunder, a summer storm threatening. She leaned against a wall, startled when she heard a voice.

  ‘What’s up, Pearl? Don’t you like the sight of a bit of blood?’ Kevin asked as he nonchalantly lit a cigarette.

  ‘I … I think it’s awful.’

  ‘You’ve got Derek’s match to watch yet. It’s a heavyweight bout and more my cup of tea.’

  ‘I don’t think I can go back in.’

  ‘If you ask me, you ain’t the right type to live around here. You don’t fit in. Things go on – things you have to keep your nose out of, if you know what I mean.’

  Pearl’s eyes widened, and with a menacing smile Kevin continued, ‘This is just a little warning. No matter what you see, or hear, keep your mouth shut. It’s safer that way.’

  She couldn’t speak, managing only a small nod.

  Kevin threw his cigarette onto the pavement, grinding it out with the sole of his shoe, his manner changing again as he said softly, ‘Are you coming back in?’

  ‘In … in a minute.’

  Pearl gulped as Kevin walked away. She was seeing him in a new light and her mind was reeling. Instead of her heart skipping a beat when she saw him, it was now jumping with fear. He had threatened her, but why?

  The noise inside the function room rose again and, pushing herself from the wall, Pearl went inside, deciding that now, more than ever, she needed to stay close to Derek Lewis.

  As they watched Derek’s match, Kevin found his eyes drawn to Pearl. When Derek or his opponent took a punch, instead of jumping up and baying with the crowd, the girl covered her face with horror.

  When he’d followed her outside and issued the veiled threat, she had looked at him like a frightened rabbit caught in headlights. Her eyes were amazing and as she stared up at him, he enjoyed seeing her fear. She was a timid little creature who seemed incapable of standing up for herself. In fact, she was the complete antithesis of his mother, and for the first time he could see why Derek was attracted to her.

  Kevin continued to watch Pearl, seeing her growing distress when Derek sustained a nasty cut above his eye. Christ, what on earth did she see in him?

  The two heavyweights continued to lumber around the ring, sweat pouring from their bodies, and with only one round to go, both men looked exhausted. They came together, clinging to each other like two bulls locked in an embrace, the referee once again shouting, ‘Break!’

  Dick Smedley hissed, ‘I think our bets are safe. I reckon Derek will win on points.’

  ‘Yeah, he’d better,’ Nobby said. ‘I stuck four quid on him instead of a horse.’

  The round came to an end, and as a small stool was quickly put in Derek’s corner, he slumped onto it. His face was sponged, the cut attended to, and after the referee took a quick look at it, he signalled for the match to continue.

  Aware that this was the last round, both boxers put in a bit more effort, and there were flurries of punches. Derek was obviously trying to protect his cut, his gloved hands high over his face and body leaning forward as he stalked his prey. He managed to land a good few punches, but the other boxer remained on his feet until at last the bell rang.

  Both boxers went to their corners, but remained standing, and a hush descended on the crowd as the points were counted.

  ‘I wish they’d get a bloody move on,’ Nobby hissed.

  The result! And as the referee raised Derek’s arm in victory, cheers rang out.

  Kevin found himself watching Pearl again, and as she stood up he saw tears running down her cheeks. She looked up at Derek as he came to the ropes to grin down at her, blood now oozing from the cut.

  Kevin scowled, surprised to find himself suddenly jealous. But why? The skinny cow wasn’t his type. He liked his women to have a bit of shape.

  ‘Come on, let’s go. We’ll collect our winnings and then have another drink,’ Nobby urged.

  Kevin nodded, but his thoughts were still distracted as he followed his two mates. What would sex b
e like with Pearl Button? Would she let him dominate? Of course she would – the timid little cow would be too scared to put up a fight. He found himself hardening at the thought. He wouldn’t have to pay her either. Pearl was one he could have for free, and maybe, just maybe, he might sample the goods.

  Chapter Eleven

  On Sunday evening, Pearl looked up at her ceiling, puzzled. Mr Bardington seemed to be pacing back and forth, and had been doing so for over an hour. At first she tried to ignore it, but now it was driving her mad. Thump, thump, thump, his heavy footsteps unrelenting.

  She couldn’t sketch, it was impossible, and throwing her pad aside she decided to have a bath. She rarely used the room, preferring a strip wash to the brown, stained, roll-top bath, but maybe soaking in nice deep water might relax her.

  Pearl had a lot on her mind. There was the anxiety that Alice Freeman might be taking her tips, but worse, the veiled threat Kevin Dolby had issued. It had forced her hand, making her decide to take things further with Derek. Though she didn’t like his looks, she felt safe with him and knew she would have no need to fear Kevin Dolby, or anyone else, whilst he was around.

  She crept upstairs, clutching her towel and wash things. The bathroom didn’t look inviting, the distempered walls grey and flaking, but she locked the door behind her and turned on the taps.

  With her eyes closed, shutting out the ugly room, it was nice to lie back in the water, letting it trickle over her shoulders. At last she couldn’t hear Mr Bardington pacing. There was a faint sound of music now, something classical, and Pearl luxuriated in the peaceful solitude.

  The water was tepid, refreshing, but finally Pearl climbed out, towelling herself vigorously. She was perching on the edge of the bath, drying her feet, when the door handle turned. She froze as it rattled again, but finding her voice she called, ‘Who’s there?’

  ‘It’s Trevor Bardington. Sorry, I didn’t realise someone was in there.’

  ‘I’ve nearly finished and it’ll be free in a few minutes.’

  ‘Right, thanks,’ and as she heard his footsteps retreating, Pearl dressed quickly.

  She scooted out, but as her eyes flicked along the landing there was no sign of the man. Soon she was back in her room and, throwing on pyjamas, scrambled into bed. Yet why was she frightened? Mr Bardington had only tried the door – he hadn’t forced his way in. Pearl turned, clutching her pillow. It was Kevin’s threat that was making her jumpy and more than ever she felt alone, vulnerable, in these almost empty premises.

  It was after midnight when Kevin, Nobby and Dick walked quietly to a nearby street, pleased to see the van parked in the usual spot.

  ‘There’s nobody about,’ Nobby said.

  Dick scratched his chin. ‘It won’t take long to open that door.’

  ‘Come on then, let’s get on with it,’ Kevin said impatiently. He didn’t like standing around and was nervous of being seen. The sooner they got into the van and drove off, the better.

  Dick, skilled at the task, soon had the door open, and in another few minutes Kevin had hot-wired the van, the engine coming to life.

  ‘Jump in the back, Dick,’ he hissed as Nobby climbed hurriedly into the passenger seat.

  Kevin took as many backstreets as possible, finding his mouth dry as they drew up outside the warehouse. The premises were in darkness and Kevin twisted round in his seat to speak to Dick.

  ‘Are you sure about the alarm?’

  ‘As sure as I can be.’

  Nobby climbed out. ‘Come on, Dick. We’ll cut the padlock and open the gates. When that’s done, Kevin, you can drive in.’

  Kevin waited, finding his hands sweating as he gripped the steering wheel. The two men made light of the lock, and soon the metal gates were swinging open. With a look in his rear-view mirror, Kevin drove into the grounds, pulling up in front of the loading bay.

  Dick walked up the ramp, inspecting the alarm box high on the wall. ‘I hope that bleedin’ ladder’s long enough,’ he mumbled before bending down to his bag of tools.

  Nobby struggled to get the ladder off the van. ‘Give me a hand, Kevin.’

  As soon as they’d placed it up against the wall, Kevin returned to the van, ready for a quick getaway if anything went wrong.

  Dick climbed the ladder and then Kevin watched as he placed a small torch between his teeth, leaving his hands free to work on the alarm box.

  Kevin’s tension eased. Dick seemed to know what he was doing. He removed the cover, carefully handing it down to Nobby before reaching inside the box. Then suddenly a deafening, clanging racket pierced the silence.

  Kevin froze momentarily, but then in panic he gunned the engine to life, eyes on stalks as he screamed, ‘Come on, let’s get out of here!’

  Dick slid down the ladder, grabbed his tools, and then both men scrambled for the van.

  Nobby just about managed to leap into the passenger seat as Kevin screeched off. ‘Shit!’ he yelled, holding on to the dashboard for dear life.

  Dick had almost shot into the back of the van and, with tyres screaming, Kevin was out of the gate, driving with his foot hard on the accelerator.

  ‘For fuck’s sake,’ Dick yelled, ‘give me a chance to shut the back doors!’

  Kevin slowed almost imperceptibly before turning a corner, his ears peeled for the sound of police sirens. Dick managed to pull the doors closed, and soon they were streets away.

  ‘Slow down, you stupid bastard! You’re drawing attention to us,’ Nobby shouted.

  ‘Watch your mouth,’ Kevin spat, his eyes now flicking to the back of the van and to Dick Smedley. ‘So much for the alarm being a fucking doddle! Christ, it serves me right for getting mixed up with amateurs.’

  Nobby’s voice was dangerously low: ‘We ain’t amateurs. It was just bad luck. Now find somewhere to dump this van, and soon.’

  Kevin turned left towards the industrial arches under Clapham Junction station. In the pitch-darkness his headlights pierced the gloom and, parking in front of the first unit, he scrambled out of the van.

  ‘Come on, this’ll do. We can make our way home through the backstreets.’

  The three men walked quickly, constantly looking behind them and relieved when they reached Battersea High Street.

  ‘That was a bloody fiasco,’ Kevin said, breaking the silence.

  ‘I’ll admit it was a cock-up, but we got clean away.’

  ‘Yeah, but empty-handed.’

  ‘There’s always another job, and we’ll make better plans next time.’

  ‘Next time! You must be kidding!’

  Nobby shrugged. ‘You’ll be looking for easy money again soon, and I’ll be in touch.’

  ‘Don’t bother,’ Kevin spat as he marched away.

  Trevor Bardington still couldn’t sleep. Standing in the darkness of his room, he looked out of the window on to the three young men below him in the street. He recognised his landlord, Nobby Clark, and though the men seemed to be arguing, he wasn’t interested. His appetite was rising again, and try as he might he couldn’t fight it. How many times had he moved? How many different areas had he lived in? He’d lost count. So far he’d been lucky, very lucky, and had never been caught.

  He turned away from the window and threw himself onto his bed. Once he had seen that face it was impossible to get it out of his mind – impossible to fight the desire. Now, as he had done so many times in the past, he began to plan.

  Other than the young girl downstairs, this place was ideal, and if he used drugs again, there would be no noise. Of course, the time and place would be crucial, and it wouldn’t be easy. His brain turned. There had to be a way, there was always a way, and as an idea began to form, Trevor Bardington smiled. He’d love it, he knew he would. They all did, despite their protests.

  Chapter Twelve

  When Pearl awoke on Monday morning, she knuckled her eyes before climbing tiredly out of bed. She hadn’t slept well. Trevor Bardington had started pacing again and it had been after one in the morning be
fore he’d stopped.

  Why did he spend hours walking back and forth across his room? Was he an insomniac? God, she hoped not. If she got a good night’s sleep, getting up at five forty-five in the morning wasn’t a problem, but if the noise continued it would be impossible.

  She’d have to wait and see, but if the worst came to the worst, perhaps she could ask Nobby Clark for a different room. There were two empty, one on this landing and one above. She didn’t fancy being on the same floor as Mr Bardington, but the one further along on this level would be fine and not directly underneath the man. The only downside was that it looked over the rear of the building, with nothing but a yard and the back of a factory wall in view. With this room she enjoyed being able to look on to the High Street, seeing the hustle and bustle of the market. Tired of drawing faces, she had begun to sketch the scene. Of course, she still craved colour. How else could she bring the pictures alive? The colourful stalls with their brightly striped awnings, the fruit and vegetables piled high, the crowds bustling, red-faced from the heat. They needed colour, and she just had to buy some paint.

  The breakfast rush was in full swing and, though tired from lack of sleep, Pearl was doing her best to keep an eye on Alice. So far she hadn’t cleared any of Pearl’s tables, but as they were so busy it was impossible to watch her all the time.

  Frank Hanwell came in, his son, Eric, with him, and Pearl smiled as she went to serve them.

  ‘Hello, and what can I get you?’

  ‘My usual, and beans on toast for Eric.’

  The boy grinned at Pearl and once again she was captivated by his face. If he’d been a girl, Eric would have been described as beautiful. Somehow, handsome didn’t fit, and seemed an inadequate description. With lovely emerald-green eyes, slightly slanted like a cat’s, flawless skin, with a dash of freckles, he had to Pearl, perfect features.

  She grinned back at him. ‘One slice of toast, or two?’

  ‘Two, please, miss. I’m helping my dad on his stall today.’