‘Used to be a friend of mine long time ago.’
Ronnie grunted. ‘Like that?’
‘Yeah, like that,’ Breda said. ‘Gone up in the world, he ’as since them days. He remembers me, though, remembers me fondly enough to say he’ll ’elp.’
‘What’s he gonna get in return?’
‘Not what you think, darlin’,’ Breda assured him. ‘Not what you think at all. How long you got?’
‘Short of an hour.’
‘Make sure the old man eats somethin’ then pack ’im off to work. Get Billy up an’ dressed an’ give ’im ’is breakfast. I’ll be back in time to take ’im to school.’
‘Now where you goin’?’ said Matt anxiously.
‘Up to Stratton’s to collect Ma’s clothes. Don’t want ’er paradin’ through the streets like Lady Godiva, do yah? Did you patch up the front door?’
‘Best I could, state I was in,’ said Matt.
‘I’ll stick up the “Closed” sign. That’ll ’ave to do for now.’ Breda planted her hands on her hips, thrust out her chest and, like the harridan she yearned to be, said, ‘You got that, both of you? You know what you gotta do?’ and, without waiting for an answer, rushed upstairs to dress.
Many of the trees that had screened the towers and turrets of the old Holloway Castle had been removed but those that remained were in full, dusty leaf and the arched doorway still had the menacing appearance of a keep.
Breda experienced a flutter of panic when the door opened and a warder, sweating in his serge uniform, sourly inspected Mr Jessop’s pass.
‘We’re expected,’ Mr Jessop said.
Brooking no argument, he stepped over the threshold and led his little party of three men and Breda into a communal hallway and, obviously familiar with the building, swung left into a vaulted corridor floored with worn brown linoleum.
Sunlight stole through high unbarred windows that reminded Breda of churches she’d visited with her mother, churches with histories as long as your arm. At the first corner, she caught a glimpse of a vast tunnel-like room with tiers of cells rising up to a glass roof and a spider’s web of iron bars and railings. She had no opportunity to gawp. Mr Jessop cracked on at a fair pace and it was all she, in the middle of the group, could do to keep up.
She had no idea who the other men were but one very tall man with a neat moustache seemed too well dressed to be a copper. Even Mr Jessop called him ‘sir’.
Ronnie had unearthed an old rucksack brought home from Spain that, stuffed with Nora’s clothes, Breda carried in her arms. Mr Jessop wheeled round another corner and there, at the corridor’s end, was a varnished wooden door guarded by a male warder who snapped to attention as soon as Mr Jessop’s party appeared.
‘How many?’ the tall man with the moustache asked.
‘Eleven, sir,’ the warder answered.
‘All women, I take it?’
‘Aye, sir.’
‘Have they been fed?’
‘Tea, sir, an’ bread.’
‘How long ago?’
‘’Bout an hour, sir.’
‘All right,’ the tall man said. ‘Open up.’
The long room was more like a civic hall than a jail cell. Small square windows admitted scant light. In the centre of the room was a trestle table with two chipped enamel pails upon it, three or four empty milk bottles and an array of tin mugs. There were no chairs, only benches upon which women crouched or lay in uncomfortable positions.
A pair of female warders in black skirts and stiff white shirts stood guard, one on the door, the other by an open recess at the far end of the room within which were two lavatories, side by side. A woman in a velvet ball gown squatted on one of the pedestals, skirts drawn up to her waist.
When the tall man with the moustache appeared in the room, she stretched out her neck and screeched, ‘Richard, you toad. It’s about time you got here,’ then, fairly obviously, sat back and relieved herself.
‘Noblesse oblige?’ Mr Jessop murmured.
‘I’ve seen her piddle in worse places than this,’ the tall man said. ‘Leave her ladyship to me. Do what you have to do with the girl.’
Rising from the benches, all chattering at once, the women converged on the tall man. Unlike her mother, Breda realised, they were toffs. Some were in evening dress – one even had an ermine stole about her shoulders – others wore cashmeres or long elegant summer frocks. Never before, Breda thought, had her ma been in such exalted company.
The women harried the tall gentleman mercilessly. They were furious that they had been swept up like common criminals and insisted on reminding him who they were, what influence their husbands exercised and that if they weren’t released at once they would see to it that his career in government was over and his position in society doomed.
‘Breda,’ Nora said, ‘you come for me?’
‘’Course I did, Ma,’ said Breda.
Barefoot and barelegged, nightdress and dressing gown hanging on her like rags, her mother looked so wretched that Breda’s grit dissolved and, dropping the rucksack and clasping Nora to her breast, she burst into tears.
One of the policemen moved to separate them but Mr Jessop said, ‘Wait.’ He signalled to the wardress by the door and, while Breda and Nora sobbed in each other’s arms, gave the woman instructions. Then he laid a hand on Breda’s shoulder. ‘Time to go now,’ he said.
‘Where you takin’ her?’ Breda spun round. ‘You said – you promised …’
‘Calm yourself, lass,’ Mr Jessop said. ‘She’ll have a wash and a brush up and a place to change into her street clothes. You’ll see her again shortly. Meanwhile, we’ll step outside, away from this bedlam, and have a little chat. All right?’
‘Right,’ Breda sniffed. ‘All right,’ and watched her mother being led away.
The office wasn’t really an office, more of a storeroom. Sewing machines were stacked on a table and an ancient spinning wheel, covered in dust, stood in one corner. There were mops, brushes and pails, two big tubs of wax polish and a huge tin of disinfectant that made the room smell like a public lavatory.
‘Close the door, Syd, please,’ Mr Jessop said.
The plainclothes officer, saying not a word, obliged.
Mr Jessop reached into his coat pocket and brought out a cheap silver-plated cigarette case, opened it and offered it to Breda who, still sniffing, picked a cigarette from under the band and allowed Mr Jessop to light it.
She gulped in smoke and tried to stop trembling.
‘Who’s the bigwig?’ she said at length.
‘Oh, he needn’t concern you,’ Mr Jessop said. ‘We only brought him along to sign a few papers.’ Syd laughed, and Mr Jessop went on, ‘Well, Mrs Hooper, we’ve kept our side of the bargain. Now it’s your turn. Where is he?’
‘I got one question first,’ Breda began.
‘Oh, dear, I hope you’re not going to renege on—’
‘No, just one question: my dad, what’ll you do to ’im?’
‘That’s not up to us,’ Mr Jessop informed her.
‘You won’t top him, will yah?’
‘Of course we won’t top him,’ Mr Jessop said. ‘Your daddy might be a bad lad but he’s no traitor. As it stands, he’s wanted on minor criminal charges. If he gives us certain information, information useful to us, we can have him re-classed as an alien national. Do you know what that means?’
‘He goes into a camp for the duration without a trial,’ Breda said. ‘It’s Harry King you’re really after, ain’t it?’
‘No flies on you, Mrs Hooper,’ Mr Jessop said. ‘What happens to your father now is solely up to him. There’s nothing you can do to help him, one way or t’other. So where is he?’
‘Brighton,’ Breda said. ‘Can’t give you an exact address, ’cause I don’t ’ave it. He’s lodged with a woman called Ada.’
‘Ada!’ Syd slapped his brow. ‘I might have known it. Bloomin’ Ada Levinson!’
‘Do you know her, Sydney?’ Mr Jessop
asked.
‘Oh, sure, I know her. Born in the East End but decamped to Brighton about fifteen years ago. Queen of the rackets on the south coast and a slippery piece of work if ever was. We’ve been after her for years.’ He rubbed his hands gleefully. ‘Oh, I like this. I do like this. Hold the girl and her mother for a quarter of an hour to give me time to make a few phone calls, then release them.’ He pulled open the door. ‘Can’t thank you enough for your cooperation, Alf, you and your department.’
‘Only glad we could help, Inspector,’ Mr Jessop said.
‘What about me?’ said Breda. ‘Don’t I get thanked?’
‘You get your mother back,’ said Mr Jessop. ‘Isn’t that enough?’ and ushered her out of the store.
14
There were few more beautiful places in England than the Vale of Evesham in the height of summer. The air was no longer scented by sage and gillie flowers but by orchards in full bloom. The fragrance of plums, cherries and other fruits was intoxicating and if that wasn’t enough for you there were plenty of waterside pubs and quaint little inns along the Avon’s banks where a jug or two of cider would complete the job.
There were certainly more peaceful spots to spend your off-duty hours than the meadow at the top of Common Road. The open-air swimming pool had become a magnet for BBC types and, in the past week, for survivors of the Dunkirk evacuations who were convalescing in the hospital nearby.
By noon the joint, as Griff put it, straining his lyric gift to the limit, was jumping.
Bicycles were piled against the changing sheds and the grass around the pool was littered with sun-soaked bodies munching sandwiches, drinking bottled ale or ginger pop. Girls frolicked in the water, shrieking. Men ploughed doggedly up and down, heads bobbing, and one portly continental gentleman floated idly on his back, a panama hat tipped over his nose, a lighted cigar in his mouth.
The soldiers were more circumspect, easing themselves into the green-brown water to test their injured limbs while a little group of four or five, too damaged to risk immersion, sat in a circle, and reminded themselves how lucky they were to be alive – and the sight of Femi, the long-legged Finn, rising from the water in a white sharkskin bathing suit was enough to make any man glad to be alive.
Neither Danny nor Griff had ever learned to swim and were too embarrassed to cling to the ropes and thrash about like little kids. They lolled, shirtless, on a carpet of towels while Kate, slim and athletic in a black woollen swimming costume, her dark hair tucked under a pale blue bathing cap, swam in the deepest part of the pool.
Griff would have preferred to camp close to the pool to watch the bathers but Danny said that was too much like ogling. Besides, he, Danny, had something to get off his chest and now was as good a time as any.
‘Why didn’t you tell me this before?’ Griff said as soon as Danny had finished speaking.
‘The time didn’t seem right,’ Danny said.
‘Then why are you telling me now?’
‘I’ve kept it bottled up for too long,’ Danny said. ‘I have to tell someone an’ you just happen to be handy.’
‘Does Kate know?’
‘Naw, of course Kate doesn’t know.’
‘So what did you do? Punch the blighter on the nose?’
‘I shook his hand,’ Danny said. ‘I mean, can you believe it? I actually shook his hand?’
‘Congratulations, sir, you’ve just had the pleasure of bedding my wife,’ Griff said. ‘Oh, boy! Oh, boy! Is this the American broadcaster, the voice on the wireless?’
‘Aye, that’s him.’
‘Did you know they were at it?’
‘I had my suspicions,’ Danny said. ‘But I certainly didn’t expect to bump into them in my flat in the middle of the afternoon.’
‘Why, in God’s name, did you shake his hand?’
‘I felt sorry for him,’ Danny said.
‘Sorry for him? Are you crazy?’
‘He looked about as shaken as I was.’
‘And her? The missus, what about her?’
‘Cool as a bloody cucumber.’
‘Have you heard from her since you got back?’
‘A couple of letters, yeah.’
‘Saying what?’
‘Not much.’
‘No apology, no contrition, no going down on her benders and promising never to do it again?’
‘Nope, nothin’ like that.’
‘She wants a divorce,’ Griff stated. ‘Plain as the nose on your face, she wants out of the marriage.’ He laid a hand on Danny’s shoulder. ‘I’m sorry, boyo. I really am dreadfully sorry. Just bear in mind that it’s not your fault.’
‘I’m not so sure about that,’ Danny said. ‘I caught Susan on the rebound.’
‘The rebound from what?’
‘A love affair, her first love affair.’
‘Who was the bloke?’
‘Mercer Hughes, a literary agent,’ Danny said. ‘My wife moved in some fairly arty circles after she left Shadwell.’
‘What happened to Hughes? Did he ditch her?’
‘He took off for America an’ didn’t come back.’
‘This one,’ Griff said, ‘this current American, he’s not going to stay in England for long, is he?’
‘Probably not,’ Danny said. ‘He’s a reporter first an’ a newscaster second so he’s under no obligation to hang around if an’ when Hitler invades.’
‘A fact of which your wife is well aware.’
‘I suppose she must be.’
‘It may be a fling, nothing more,’ Griffiths said. ‘The question you’re now asking yourself, Daniel, is whether or not you’ll take her back after it blows over. Your wife may simply be testing you.’
‘Testing me?’
‘To see if you love her enough to forgive her. Do you, old son? Do you love her enough to forgive her?’
‘That’s what I don’t know.’
‘Naturally, you don’t know,’ Griff went on. ‘In this world, at this time, nobody can be certain of anything. It does occur to me, though, that perhaps the lady wants you to fight for her. Punching the Yank on the nose would have been a good start. What did you do, by the way?’
‘I apologised for intrudin’,’ Danny said, ‘picked up a couple of shirts an’ left.’
‘You did yourself no favours there, unless …’
‘Unless what?’ said Danny.
‘You’re the one who wants out of it.’
‘Why the hell would I want out of it?’ Danny said.
‘Search me, Danny boy,’ Griff said as Kate, carrying her bathing suit and towel, came up the grassy slope to join them. ‘Search me.’
The woman had let herself go too long ago for anyone to remember what she looked like when she first arrived in Brighton. Much water or, to be accurate, gin had flowed over the dam since then. Only a few of the old gang were still around to remember the glory days, though in some less than salubrious pubs, far from the piers, esplanades and coastal defences, the story still went the rounds how Norris Levinson had married Ada on his deathbed only because she’d threatened to rip out his breathing tube if he didn’t.
To look at her now you’d never suspect that she’d once been the shapely tart in the Fawley Street fish bar who’d lured Leo Romano from the relatively straight and narrow and, a mere six weeks later, on a jolly trip to the seaside, had dumped him for Norris Levinson.
A huge, quiet, sullen woman, utterly devoid of sentiment, she’d taken Leo in not for old times’ sake but only because he’d done the dirty on Harry King and, of course, had money.
She provided Leo with a refuge in a top-floor room of her shabby little boarding house on the strict understanding that he wouldn’t show his face out of doors while she pulled strings to get him a new identity and a berth on a ship to Canada. She’d been none too pleased when Leo had slipped up to London to say goodbye to his daughter and now she’d squeezed him for every last penny she was just as anxious to be rid of him as he was to leave.
> She gave no impression of haste as she climbed the stairs from the hall to bring him a plate of fried fish and chips, some bread and scrape and a mug of hot tea which, she warned him, might be the last decent meal he’d have for some time.
She assured him that the bus that meandered along the south coast to Southampton would be liable to checks by local coppers on the lookout for deserters but that no copper would ever spot his papers as counterfeit. Then, in a pub in Southampton he’d be met by a crewman from the Carolina who would give him a forged dock pass.
Once he was on board the merchant ship, however, her work was done and he was on his own. The bus left the station at a quarter after three. Without wishing him luck or even saying goodbye, Ada lumbered downstairs and left Leo alone to eat his fish and chips.
It was very quiet in the terrace house in the heat of the summer afternoon. He could just make out the throb of the strange machine in the dust-destructor’s yard a quarter of a mile off, smell smoke from the railway and cattle stink from the abattoir across the backs.
Discarding the beret and long overcoat, he settled for an old donkey jacket and a cloth cap he’d found on the hall stand downstairs and tried to convince himself that he looked like a seaman. He went to the window and studied the road below: a cat on a wall, an old man with a dog on a lead, two women, not young, looking up at the blue sky as if they were counting clouds; no loud noises, not even the yelping of seagulls who, he guessed, had followed the ebbing tide to escape the sizzling onshore heat.
Ten minutes to three: he put on his jacket, patted his pockets to make sure his papers were secure, lifted his canvas kitbag and his gas-mask case and took one last look at the room in which he’d been imprisoned for the past month.
He opened the door and went downstairs to the hall.
He wasn’t surprised when Ada didn’t appear from her lair in the kitchen. He slipped the latch and opened the front door.
Blinking in the strong sunlight, he stepped from the house.
And a hand grabbed him by the arm and another by the neck and a jovial voice cried in his ear, ‘’Allo, Leo. Surprise! Surprise!’
Breda put his supper on the table in the kitchen behind the dining rooms and, exhausted, slumped into a chair and lit a cigarette. She had been on her feet for the best part of sixteen hours and was too tired to eat.
The Wayward Wife Page 12
