The Japanese Girl

by Winston Graham

  THREE

  There had to be someone else in it, of course, and that was Carol Martin; because on these evenings Peggy was supposed to be out with her. It had been Carol Martin who had been drinking with her in the White Lion that evening when Ken Morgan had first come in and got talking with them. That had been the evening before the day when Morgan wandered into Bristow’s shop. Peggy could see she was big time with him just meeting that one evening; but even so she never imagined he was what he was or that he would have the sauce to go into Walter’s shop and con him into taking him in partnership.

  Since then they had been on a slippery slope; but all things considered they both behaved with great discretion. It paid them to. If Bristow found out, the partnership would end on the spot. And this was to nobody’s advantage. The money Peggy had invested, and the Bank’s money, would be lost, for Walter hadn’t a hope of continuing without Morgan. And then love affair would be lost. It was a sensual passionate affair that took Peggy’s breath away, and was something that he appeared to feel deeply too; but there had been no talk of going away together. It was an experience such as she had never had before, lust, indulgence and exhaustion following each other as surely as dawn, noon and dusk. She looked no further than the next meeting. To run away with and marry a man seven years younger than yourself was not on the cards – particularly when he did not ask you. Besides, his job now was here in Crowchester.

  At the end of six months Ken Morgan was almost as much of a mystery to her as he had been on the day they met. Although he had a fund of small talk, he spoke scarcely ever about himself, and when asked usually turned the point away. He’d been on the loose, as he put it, ever since he was seventeen, had been apprenticed to a London hairdresser and then gone to Brighton for a spell. These last two years he had been doing something else, but he was reticent as to what that something else was. She sometimes wondered if he’d been in prison – yet he didn’t look the sort: he was too easy: you don’t serve even a short sentence and come out looking as easy as he did. And he wasn’t a natural law-breaker, she was sure. He always disliked it if his car wasn’t on a meter or on a regular car park; he was almost finicky about PAYE returns; he had no use for sit-down strikes or student demonstrations. It was two sides to a mystifying character. But she was mad about him. When Walter brought him home to supper, as he did once a month when they were working out what his percentage of the takings was, her mouth went so dry she could hardly speak, and her flesh crept and quickened so that she was afraid Walter would notice something peculiar about her.

  Unfortunately Crowchester is not quite grown out of the small town mentality, and, although Walter noticed nothing, Carol Martin went out with other women who asked where Peggy was, and the lies Carol told weren’t always the most convincing, and so tales began to get around. They reached Bristow.

  One night he said to Peggy: ‘You got another man?’

  Her heart changed gear. ‘What ever do you mean?’

  ‘You’re not out with Carol Martin when you say you are. You go off on your own. She goes with the rest of the click. You’re not there.’

  ‘I’m not always there,’ she said. ‘I get fed up of them. Sometimes I go to the flicks. Why not? It’s my own money. It’s my own life.’

  ‘That why you not let me get near you for the last five months? Going to the flicks? That satisfy you?’

  ‘Oh … That … I’ve just grown fed up of it. We’ve been married ten years. It depends how you’re made, doesn’t it? Some folk go on, and some drop off. It’s not everything.’

  ‘You mean you’ve grown tired of me.’

  ‘Not specially … But like I say – it’s ten years.’

  ‘And who’s the fancy man?’

  ‘Leave off. You don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Is he somebody I know?’

  ‘I didn’t say there was anybody! You’re dreaming!’

  ‘He’ll be dreaming if I ever catch him.’

  She stopped short, one hand on elbow, the other holding a cigarette. ‘Look, Walter, be your age –’

  ‘Oh, so that’s it! Why, you –’

  ‘Oh. I didn’t mean that. You’re O.K. that way. It’s an expression, for heaven’s sake, be your age. Grow up. It’s the’seventies. Marriage vows don’t mean so much these days –’

  ‘You dirty bitch, you –’

  ‘I’m not!’ She came up to him, arms folded, stared him out. ‘You’re fifteen years older man I am. I was twenty-four when I married you. You were thirty-nine. Can you tell me one minute in ten years when you’ve caught me looking at another man?’

  ‘Not caught you, no –’

  ‘Nor have I never! Never! Not until now –’

  ‘Ah, so you admit it!’

  ‘Admit! What d’you want me to admit? I’ve a friendship –’

  ‘Friendship! That’s a name for it! That’s a new one –’

  ‘If you don’t like it, divorce me! Except that you’ve got no evidence! Nor never will! I’ve had a man friend take me to the movies once or twice. Think you can get a divorce for that? Eh? Just try it on!’

  ‘Who is it?’

  ‘Fellow I met in the pub. You don’t know him. He comes from Norwich. Only here about twice a month on business. So you don’t need to worry.’

  ‘One of these reps, I suppose.’

  ‘I tell you you don’t need to worry!’

  ‘Married?’

  ‘Yes, as a matter of fact. What’s that got to do with it?’

  ‘Wife know?’

  ‘That’s his problem.’

  ‘And you’re my problem, eh?’

  ‘I’m not anybody’s problem, Walter. I live my own life. You’ve never bothered to ask what I did when I was with Carol. Think she’s a saint? Why should you bother what I do when I’m not with her? I’m grown up. I take care of myself!’

  FOUR

  When she told Morgan he said: ‘So we’ll have to watch our step. It wouldn’t do to break things up just now.’

  ‘Oh, I know. It’s a good job you’ve got this back entrance. It’s easy. I go into the Waggoner for a gin and tonic, then I go to the Ladies, slip out through the outside door and down the alley. It’s easy.’

  ‘Think he’s likely to follow you?’

  ‘Never. You know what he’s like after a day’s work – has his supper and then sits in front of the telly. Doesn’t matter what’s on, he just sits there.’

  ‘Jealousy might stir him up.’

  ‘Even jealousy wouldn’t get him into the Ladies.’

  Morgan didn’t laugh as she thought he would. ‘ It’s other people then. We’d best lay off next week.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Full moon.’

  ‘You getting tired of me, Ken?’

  ‘Oh, yeh. Does it look like it?’

  ‘Well, I just wondered.’

  He was staring past her reflectively, through the cigarette smoke. ‘We’re just marking time now – breaking even. Another couple months it’ll be coming about right. That’s why we got to be wary now.’

  ‘Anybody’d think,’ she said stormily, ‘that you’d gone into partnership with Walter because you wanted to, and net because you fancied me!’

  ‘Oh, come off it, Peggy. I’d never’ve gone near the shop if it hadn’t been for you. But I don’t want a round of bloodletting now: you out on your ear, my job gone, and him losing the rest of his money? It stands to reason.’

  ‘Yes,’ she agreed, but without warmth. ‘It stands to reason, doesn’t it.’

  So another two months passed. The Page Boy hair style grew more than ever prevalent among the young men of Crowchester, and with Christmas the corner was turned: the salon began to show a profit. In spite of protestations on both sides the love-affair cooled. It was his fault, and they both knew it.

  Soon after Christmas a girl was assaulted in Crowmoor Woods. This was really a piece of open common land between Aston Ford and Crowchester, with clumps of trees and b
ushes and a few well-worn tracks across it. The main road between town and village took a four-mile curve; to walk across or cycle across the common was a little under two. The girl had been pushed off her bike and almost stripped of her clothes before she could get away. It was a dark night and she could not describe the man, except to say that he was of medium build, wore a grey mask and had long hair.

  Later in January there was another attack. This time although the girl got away in the end she was badly bruised and spent a couple of days in hospital. The description of the man was the same.

  Morgan’s prophecy about the shop came true. After the rush of Christmas January saw no tailing off. They instituted a system of appointments. Morgan called them dates: it was a less formal word, and more manly. So men came from neighbouring towns and villages. Bristow engaged a boy assistant, an apprentice who was learning the trade and was able to do the odd jobs. The shop was too small to take more than three of them, and anyway Morgan was against it: with this sort of work it was the personal touch or nothing.

  Unfortunately as trade boomed the relationship between the principals worsened. Bristow had nothing against Morgan and they worked well together, but his natural lack of small talk had degenerated into moroseness. Peggy still visited Morgan but now only about once a week, and then sometimes they would quarrel instead of making love. The most difficult evenings were the month ends when the profits were worked out after supper in the bungalow by the river. Walter was on speaking terms with Peggy but not much more; and the feeling between Peggy and Morgan was often so charged one way or the other that it was hard for them to have ordinary conversation.

  Morgan had made few other friends in the town. On Sundays he went off in his Mini and was rarely seen. Peggy charged him with having a woman somewhere else, but this he denied with his usual ease of manner. It was this ease of manner which had first so entranced her and now so infuriated her. She was still in love with him but now there was an abrasion working between them. And the abrasive element was his growing indifference.

  One Monday morning in the middle of February two policemen called at the salon. They came at nine, when the shop opened, and only the two hairdressers and the apprentice were there. The first ‘date’ was for nine-thirty. The two policemen introduced themselves as Detective Sergeant Taylor and Detective Constable Spinner. A woman had been attacked and raped the night before on the common land known as Crowmoor Woods.

  ‘Oh, so he’s made it at last,’ said Morgan lightly.

  The two policemen looked at him sharply. ‘ What d’you mean by that?’ asked Detective Sergeant Taylor.

  ‘What do I mean by what?’

  ‘What you’ve just said.’

  ‘Well, I suppose it’s the same man who did the other attacks, isn’t it? Both other times the girls got away. So I said he’d made it, didn’t I?’

  ‘Maybe. That’s as maybe. We just wanted to ask a few questions, if you please.’

  Bristow stared. ‘ What are we supposed to have done?’

  ‘Nothing yourselves but … the victim’s description of her attacker is just the same as the other ones: masked, middling build, with long hair. And they all described the hair style just the same. It’s a style like that wig in the window, a style like yours, Mr Morgan. It’s got a name, hasn’t it?’

  ‘Oh, Page Boy. Yes. That’s the name I gave it. Page Boy. D’you mean this man –’

  ‘This girl, the victim, knows the style and she knew the name of it. Page Boy was what she said too. And yours is the only shop that trims hair, that sets men’s hair that way. This shop,’ Detective Sergeant Taylor glanced round; ‘ it’s not like an ordinary barber’s at all, is it. So it occurred to us you would know the names of your customers who – adopt this hair style.’

  Morgan whistled and glanced at Bristow. ‘ That’s a tall order, Sergeant. Unfortunately it’s our most popular style. There must be forty or fifty men styled this way –’

  ‘And you’d have the names?’

  ‘Some of them. There’s one coming in this morning: Ellis – Tom Ellis – from the garage. But he’s a big tall chap. We’re kept pretty busy, see, so people make dates. Where’s our book, Walter?’

  Bristow frowned and went to the rear of the shop. ‘We’ve some names,’ he said. He came back with the appointments book. ‘ You’re the one who knows the styles, Ken.’

  ‘Well, we’ll take the names you have, if you please,’ said Taylor. ‘If you’d go through the book with us, Mr Morgan.’

  But in spite of all the efforts of the police no arrests were made. It got about, the fact that the wanted man had a Page Boy cut, and this style rapidly went out of fashion in the salon. The nearest to it was Aztec, and Morgan spent some profitable hours converting one style into the other: this was easy because it meant cutting the hair instead of waiting for it to grow longer as would have been the case with Cavalier.

  One evening in March Morgan had it out with Peggy. ‘It won’t do,’ he said. ‘Honest, it’s too chancey with the light nights. It wasn’t dark tonight, not properly dark, till eight.’

  ‘I can come at nine. Trouble is you don’t want me, do you?’

  ‘That’s not it. It’s the risk …’

  ‘Remember the risks we took to begin?’

  ‘Yeh, I know. It’s funny, that. You take risks at the start of something, like you don’t realize how big they are. Then the longer you take them the bigger they look.’

  ‘More to lose and not so much to gain, eh?’

  ‘No, not just that. But we’ve been at it all winter, and Walter knows you go off somewhere. It’s a miracle we’ve kept it quiet so long.’

  ‘Well, it’s just as you please. I’m not one to push myself where I’m not wanted.’

  Morgan thoughtfully eyed Peggy’s taut back. ‘I didn’t say altogether. We’ll make times.’

  ‘What times?’

  ‘We’ll fix some. But they’ll have to be special ones. And maybe not here.’

  ‘Then where?’ she flared. ‘Crowmoor Woods?’

  He grinned. ‘I don’t fancy myself at that. There’s too much around that’s easy, to try to get it the hard way.’

  ‘You insulting bastard –’

  ‘Now, Peggy, ease off. Ease off, I say. Your think-box isn’t working, so I’m trying to think for us both. You got any relations?’

  ‘Well, what d’you think? Think I grew on a tree?’

  ‘All right, all right. Well, I was wondering if maybe when the weather gets warmer you couldn’t get off for a day and visit your Aunt Elsie or someone. Maybe we could join up one Sunday.’

  ‘You mean that, Ken?’

  ‘Yeh. But it would have to be well away from here. London maybe. We’ll make a plan next month when the spring comes.’

  ‘O.K.,’ she said. ‘O.K. I’ll go along with that. If you really mean it.’

  He was looking at himself in the mirror. ‘I think maybe I need a change of hair style. I was dreaming up something a bit different the other night. I think I’ll call it Pharaoh, More off the face.’

  ‘Who’s going to do it for you?’ she said mockingly, ‘ Like me to try?’

  But over this he was unsmiling. ‘ There’s a pal in London. I might nip down one Sunday and persuade him to do it out of hours.’

  FIVE

  But his hair stayed the same. Peggy thought he was maybe too busy with his out-of-town woman. She had gradually drifted back to her evenings with Carol Martin, but Walter did not ask and she did not tell him. She made giggling excuses about the light nights to Carol and did not care whether she was believed or not. The shop prospered. Bristow bought a new Mini in place of his old Ford. Morgan bought a new Mini in place of his old Mini. Part of the bank overdraft was repaid. Morgan and Peggy made an arrangement that she should go and see her sister in Oxford during a week-end in early April, and that he should join her in London. It never came off.

  On the Tuesday before, Morgan went as usual to supper at the Bristows’ bungalow i
n Parkers Lane. Peggy wasn’t much of a cook and nine-tenths of her food came out of tins, but tonight she had made a stew and then they had a trifle and cheese. Morgan had bought a bottle of wine, but his tongue was the only one it appeared to unlock. He chattered away cheerfully all through the meal, taking no heed of Bristow’s silences. He thought they ought to sell more in the shop the way London hairdressers did. Of course it wasn’t just razor blades and hair cream like they did at present. He meant the better after-shaves, skin-tonics, hair dyes and a few masculine scents.

  ‘It’s only what every gent used in the 18th century,’ he said. ‘It won’t be long before men take to make-up either. It’s all part of dress.’

  Bristow looked at his partner’s frilled purple shirt. ‘We’re not going to be able to tell one sex from the other soon.’

  ‘Oh yes we will. You bet we will! But not by one sex being duller than the other. That’s the mistake. It isn’t true, you know, and the lads are realizing it isn’t true.’

  ‘When I was your age,’ Bristow began brooding, ‘we were still on rations after the end of the war. Too glad to get food to worry about all this –’

  There was a ring at the doorbell, and Peggy got up from the table and went. She came back with a peculiar expression on her face.

  ‘It’s the police.’

  Detective Sergeant Taylor and Detective Constable Spinner were shown in.

  Taylor said: ‘Afraid we’re interrupting your supper.’

  ‘Well, sit down,’ said Morgan, taking on the duties of host. ‘Get you a drink?’

  ‘No, thank you. We came to ask you a few more questions.’

  ‘Questions?’ said Peggy startled. ‘What about? The shop’s all right, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, Mrs Bristow, the shop’s all right. But we called in once before asking a few questions. Perhaps you weren’t told.’

  ‘Told? Told what? I wasn’t told anything. What’s wrong?’

  ‘These girls that were attacked in Crowmoor Woods,’ said Morgan. ‘The man that did it had a long hair style. The police were inquiring for names at our shop of customers who had the Page Boy style, that’s all. That’s all, isn’t it, Sergeant? Any joy, yet?’