Frank hid a smile as he boarded the seven-fifteen to Rye. Peggy was a very shrewd lady, and Theo’s increased fortune, thanks to the insurance pay-out, made her tread very warily. There would be no poison added to his soup. Peggy already had There would be no poison added to his soup. Peggy already had a very substantial allowance and access to Theo’s bank account. It was all looking very rosy, Frank thought, unaware of the heavily built character in a dirty raincoat and trilby hat who boarded the same train, and who had been following him since he left the Crown.
On Monday morning after the last of the transport had left the Bradley yard Don Jacobs called round. Carrie gave him her usual peck on the cheek and took his arm as she led him to the house. ‘It’s bin a long time, Don,’ she said, looking at him closely. ‘Yer’ve lost weight.’
‘It’s the long meetin’s an’ short sleeps,’ he replied grinning. ‘I understand there’s bin trouble in the camp.’
Carrie’s face became serious, and while she brewed the tea she told him about the recent acts of sabotage to her fleet. ‘I’m worried, Don. Tom Armfield was nearly killed, an’ Paddy Byrne too,’ she said, handing him his tea.
Don stared down at the brimming teacup for a few moments then looked up with a frown. ‘’Ave yer any ideas who’s responsible, Carrie?’
‘I’ll give yer two guesses,’ she said.
‘Yer fink it’s Galloway?’
‘I’m positive,’ she replied. ‘I beat ’im ter the Mason contract an’ then I got anuvver contract ter cart Bedwall’s machinery by undercuttin’ ’im. I’ve become a thorn in ’is side an’ ’e’s feelin’ bad about it.’
Don shook his head. ‘I dunno, Carrie, Galloway’s bin in business a long time. All right I know yer got no time fer the man, an’ I know yer always suspected ’im o’ bein’ be’ind those troubles we ’ad durin’ the General Strike, but it was never proved. I know what a cantankerous ole goat Galloway is, especially from the union point o’ view, but would ’e resort ter those kind o’ tactics?’
‘Maybe George Galloway wouldn’t, but I don’t trust that son of ’is, an’ after all, it is Frank Galloway who’s runnin’ the business now.’
‘Is that a fact?’ Don said, looking surprised.
‘It’s common knowledge,’ Carrie told him. ‘When I went after that food factory contract I was told by their transport manager that it was the younger Galloway who ’andled their tender. It would ’ave bin the ole man ’imself a few years ago. George Galloway must be near eighty now. Dad told me once that Galloway was two years older than ’im, an’ Dad was nearly seventy-six when ’e died.’
Don sipped his tea. ‘What about the police?’ he asked.
‘I dunno,’ she replied, toying with a teaspoon. ‘I got the men tergevver last Friday evenin’ an’ they felt I should get the police in, but yer know yerself there’s not much they can do wiv so little ter go on. No, I told the men I was gonna ’andle it meself.’
Don looked closely at her, a smile growing on his wide face. ‘Yer never give up, do yer, Carrie?’ he said, shaking his head. ‘What yer gonna do, go round an’ front Frank Galloway?’
‘That’s exactly what I am gonna do,’ she told him.
Don Jacobs looked at her with concern. ‘D’yer know what yer takin’ on? If yer openly accuse ’im ’e’ll just laugh at yer. Yer gotta ’ave proof, an’ what proof ’ave yer got? For all yer know it might be one o’ the ovver contractors whose nose yer’ve put out o’joint.’
Carrie shook her head slowly. ‘I’m sorry, Don, but I’m convinced I’m right. I’d be willin’ ter bet everyfing I own that whoever’s gettin’ at me is in the pay o’ the Galloways. That family ’ave caused us enough grief over the years an’ I’ll never be satisfied until I see that firm go out o’ business. Whenever the Galloway firm tender fer contracts I’ll bid against ’em. I’ll cut my tenders ter the bone an’ I’ll even cover a short-term loss if I ’ave to.’
Don Jacobs put down his teacup and leaned back in his chair. ‘Yer know, Carrie, when yer first bought Buckman’s out I gave yer six months,’ he said, smiling at her, ‘I couldn’t see yer lastin’ in this cut-froat game, but I know now that I was wrong. Yer’ve not only lasted, yer’ve now got about the best transport set-up in the area. I’m very pleased fer yer, but yer beginnin’ ter scare me, I don’t mind admittin’.’
‘What d’yer mean, Don?’ Carrie asked with a puzzled look.
‘I’ve bin a union convenor fer a number of years,’ he said, ‘an’ I’ve ’ad ter deal wiv some ’ard-faced gov’nors. I can always spot ’em before they open their mouths, an’ yer know why? ’Cos they’ve all got that certain look in their eye. Don’t ask me what it is. It’s just a hardness, like the cold shine on a piece o’ flintstone. I can see that look in your eye, Carrie, an’ it wasn’t always there. I never noticed it when you an’ Fred run the dinin’ rooms, an’ that’s what troubles me.’
‘Listen, Don, my men get a fair deal, an’ . . .’
‘I know they do. I’m not talkin’ about that,’ he cut in. ‘I’m on about that look I saw jus’ then - when yer mentioned Galloway. Don’t let yer ’atred fer the Galloways destroy yer, Carrie, ’cos it will if yer not careful, mark my words. Concentrate on buildin’ up yer own business an’ let the future take care o’ the Galloways. If they can’t compete against the rest then they’ll go under.’
‘So in the meantime I sit back an’ let their hired scruffs injure my men an’ ruin my transport,’ Carrie snorted. ‘No chance, Don. I’m gonna arrange a meetin’ wiv our precious Mr Frank Galloway. I might be a woman but ’e doesn’t scare me.’
Don got up to leave, feeling that he was wasting his time trying to dissuade Carrie from acting rashly. ‘Look, gel, I can see yer mind’s made up, so let me give yer a bit of advice,’ he said, taking her by the arms. ‘Don’t go ter see Galloway on yer own. Take yer bruvver Danny along. Frank Galloway won’t try ’is arm while Danny’s there wiv yer.’
Carrie nodded and then gave the union man a peck on the cheek. ‘Take care, Don, an’ fanks fer listenin’.’
As soon as Don Jacobs had left Carrie crossed the yard and walked quickly into the office. Jamie Robins looked up from his desk, a questioning look on his thin features as he saw the hard set of Carrie’s face. ‘Anyfing wrong, Mrs Bradley?’ he asked.
Carrie ignored his concern. ‘Jamie, get me Galloway’s number right away,’ she barked at him.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Frank Galloway arrived home from Sussex early on Sunday afternoon to find a note awaiting him.
Darling,
Good news! Desmond Prescott phoned. Thinks he has a backer for his new play, and guess what? There’s a part for me! Am at ‘The Firs’ to meet the rest of the cast. Caroline is with the Mortons for the weekend. I may be late so don’t wait up. Wish me luck, darling.
Ever yours,
Bella.
Frank scowled as he threw the note down on the sofa. Desmond Prescott had been trying to get a backer for that idiotic play of his for years and now at the drop of a hat Bella had dashed off to that house of fornication. The only part she was going to land was in one of Prescott’s private bedroom farces. Well, she can do what she likes from now on, he thought as he poured himself a stiff Scotch. It had been a very exciting time with Peggy and he wasn’t going to let Bella’s carryings on upset him. The future looked decidedly rosy, as long as Peggy played her cards right in milking that stupid husband of hers.
Three Scotches later the phone rang and Frank suddenly sat upright on the sofa as he heard the tearful voice crackling down the line. ‘No, it’s all right, I’m alone,’ he said. ‘What’s wrong? . . . Good lord, he hasn’t, has he?’
The voice became more distressed and then Frank was on his feet and striding into the middle of the lounge, the telephone cord stretched to its limit. ‘Oh my God! No, I can’t get away tonight,’ he answered irritably. ‘Bella’s due back soon . . . No, I can’t . . . But, Peggy . . . Oh, all right. Meet me a
t London Bridge Station . . . Yes, at the buffet. I’ll be as quick as I can.’
Frank slipped on his mackintosh and fedora, grabbed up his door keys and left the house in a fluster, suddenly aware that he was getting hopelessly caught up in his own web of intrigue.
Carrie was feeling nervous on Monday evening as she watched the two lorries being shunted into the yard. It was the nightly ritual, after the last of the horses had been stabled and the carts stowed away in the shed. The lorries took all the yard space and there was barely enough room to close the gates, but Tom Armfield had packed them perfectly and he called out a goodnight as he ducked through the wicket-gate, leaving Carrie to slip the heavy padlock through the hasp.
It was quiet, with only the distant sound of a tug whistle carrying on the cool evening air, and as she slid the wicket-gate bolt the young woman thought about the phone call she had made that morning. Frank Galloway had obviously been surprised that she was contacting him and there had been a lengthy pause when she told him she wanted a meeting with him. He had not asked why she should want to see him, but he had dithered about the time and place. He had been adamant that they could not meet at the Galloway yard, and when he said he would ring her back later it had seemed to her that he was trying to put her off. It had been early afternoon when he finally rang, and the venue he suggested had taken her completely by surprise. The Anchor and Hope was a riverside pub with its own particular character. It was situated near Blackfriar’s Bridge and was known as the ‘courting couples’ pub’. Its three small bars were sectioned off into cubicles and alcoves where lovers sat in the dim light, undisturbed and unobserved as they pursued their courting. Carrie remembered going there once with Fred on a summer evening. They had sat out on the veranda overlooking the Thames with a fine view of St Paul’s Cathedral. Why should Frank Galloway pick that particular pub when they could meet at any local establishment? she wondered.
Carrie hurried into the house to get ready. She had thought about Don Jacobs’ advice to take Danny along but decided against it. With her brother present Galloway might feel threatened and not disposed to talk openly. Besides, she did not consider herself to be in any physical danger from the man. Although the Anchor and Hope was a secluded pub it was still a public place, and she would be careful not to put herself in any danger by going off anywhere with him.
‘Who exactly is it yer seein’ ternight, Mum?’ Rachel asked as she stood watching her mother brush out her long blonde hair.
‘Oh it’s only a business meetin’, luv,’ Carrie replied, avoiding her daughter’s quizzical stare.
‘It’s a funny time fer a meetin’,’ Rachel remarked. ‘Is it a beau?’
‘No, it’s not a beau,’ Carrie replied quickly, glaring at her. ‘Now don’t yer be so inquisitive. As a matter o’ fact it’s about a contract I’ve bin after, but it’s gotta be kept secret fer the time bein’. Now are yer satisfied?’
Rachel looked unconvinced but she left her mother to finish getting ready, and at eight o’clock when the taxi arrived at the gate she stood at the front door and gave her a kiss on the cheek. ‘I ’ope it goes all right, Mum,’ she said.
The taxi drove along the quiet Tooley Street and turned under the Stainer Street arch to St Thomas’s Street. It continued on past Guy’s Hospital and Borough High Street before turning into Southwark Street, skirting the empty Borough Market and the hop warehouses, and soon it was winding its way through the little backstreets by the river. Carrie could not shake off the feeling of nervousness. How was she going to open the conversation without venting her hostility towards him? she wondered. What would be his reaction? She had gone over what she was going to say to him again and again in her mind, but when the taxi pulled up beside the little pub Carrie felt at a loss.
The place was quiet, with a few couples sitting close together and one or two men standing at the bar talking to the landlord. Carrie stood by the door feeling uncomfortable, and suddenly she spotted Frank Galloway coming towards her. It had been a long time since she had seen him and she was surprised at how old he looked. He was a heavily built man with dark wavy hair that had streaks of grey in it and his face looked flushed, as though he had been drinking heavily.
‘I’ve got a seat over there,’ he said nodding his head. ‘Can I get you a drink while we talk?’
The matter-of-fact tone gave Carrie confidence. If Galloway had shown any sign of fake friendliness towards her she would have found it harder to confront him calmly, but as it was he seemed in a hurry to get the meeting over and done with. She took a seat in the far alcove and watched as he strode to the counter. It seemed unreal to her that she was actually alone in the company of a Galloway, and in a pub at that. Her mother would have been horrified if she had known of the meeting, but as it was she was still in deep mourning and not really aware of her daughter’s business dealings. Carrie clenched her hands under the table as Frank Galloway came back with a Scotch for himself and a large port for her.
‘You said it was urgent we talk,’ he said when he was seated, glancing at her briefly then staring down at his drink.
Carrie took a sip of her port and fixed him with a hard look. ‘Yes, it is urgent we talk,’ she replied quietly. ‘Because if I don’t talk wiv you I talk wiv the police.’
‘The police?’
‘I’m not gonna beat about the bush,’ she said, her voice rising. ‘Somebody’s gettin’ at my transport. Two o’ my drivers were lucky they wasn’t killed, an’ if it carries on like this one of ’em will be.’
Frank spread his hands out in front of him and glanced around furtively. ‘All right, keep your voice down,’ he said quickly. ‘Now am I to understand that you feel I’m responsible for whatever’s happened to cause these accidents?’
Carrie leaned forward in her seat, her clasped hands resting on the table. ‘One of my lorries ’ad sand in the fuel-pipes, an’ the ovver ’ad brake failure, which nearly cost the driver ’is life,’ she said in a voice seething with anger. ‘An’ that’s not all. One of my carmen was bumped by a speedin’ lorry which swerved inter the side of ’is cart an’ ’e was almost knocked under its wheels. Now I don’t call them occurrences accidents. They were caused on purpose. The firm that repaired the lorry’s brakes told me that the brake-cables ’ad bin tampered wiv.’
‘All right so they weren’t accidents, but what the hell’s that got to do with me?’ Frank said in a low voice.
‘I fink it’s got a lot ter do wiv you,’ Carrie replied, her eyes boring into his. ‘It’s my belief that whoever’s be’hind what’s bin ’appenin’ ter my transport is actin’ on your orders.’
Frank Galloway leaned back in his chair, a mirthless smile creasing his heavy, flushed features. ‘And what put that ridiculous idea into your head?’ he asked sarcastically.
‘Ridiculous, is it?’ Carrie said scornfully. ‘I’ve beat yer fair an’ square wiv the food factory tender, an’ then I won the machinery contract from under yer nose. I’ve taken yer clerk Jamie Robins as well, an’ yer don’t like it. The way I see it I’ve become a danger ter yer. Yer can’t win fair an’ square so yer resortin’ ter gettin’ at my transport in the ’ope o’ puttin’ me out o’ business.’
The smile was still there on Galloway’s face as he leaned forward, but his eyes held a menacing look. ‘That’s not the way we conduct our business,’ he said coldly. ‘All right, so you’ve beaten us to a couple of lucrative contracts, but that doesn’t mean you’ve got the monopoly. There’ll be others, and we’ll be right there with our tenders.’
‘Well, I’m warnin’ yer now,’ Carrie said through clenched teeth, ‘keep yer villains away from my transport, or I will go ter the police. There’s a lot I could tell ’em about the upright Galloway family. It won’t ’urt us any more than it ’as already, an’ it won’t ’urt my farvver now.’
‘What do you mean by that?’ Galloway asked, frowning.
‘Well, if yer don’t know yer’d better ask yer farvver,’ Carrie told him, her eye
s wide with anger. ‘P’raps yer didn’t know it was my bruvver Charlie yer sister Caroline was sweet on. They were plannin’ ter get married an’ yer farvver broke that poor gel’s ’eart, an’ my Charlie’s too. ’E might just as well ’ave pushed that poor cow in the river ’imself. An’ while I’m at it there’s somefing else yer should know too. When yer farvver sacked my dad after all the years’ loyal service ’e’d put in, I swore ter meself that one day I’d get even. I’m gonna fight yer every step o’ the way. Every contract yer go for I’m gonna be there too. We’ll see who weavvers the storm best.’
Tanner Trilogy 02 - The Girl from Cotton Lane Page 52
