The hallway in which they were standing was floored with highly polished blonde parquet on which lay a couple of clearly expensive Persian rugs, and was lined with matching wood panels, within which strips of mirror created an illusion of crowded space, full of her own multiple image. It made her a little giddy, and he smiled benignly as he pushed on one of the mirror panels which showed itself to be a door leading to the right-hand side of the house.
The room into which he led her was massive, running from back to front of the whole house, and the big net-shrouded windows at the front were matched by french windows, minus the nets, at the back. The french windows were open to the heat of the afternoon and beyond them George could see a garden stretching well back to what looked like a sizeable pool. The garden was full of shrubs and vividly coloured roses and a lawn which bore the perfect stripes of a mower so that the whole space looked just as much like a catalogue as the exterior, but this time for a seedsman.
The room itself, George registered, was even more expensive than the hall: thick carpets; deep sofas and armchairs in white leather; a stone fireplace in which logs were piled; and, clearly because it was summer, an elaborate arrangement of dried flowers. Everywhere there was the glitter of silver and chrome and glass from low tables and wall fittings and a drinks bar that dominated one corner. The overall colours of the room were pink and peach, pale green and lilac, so that George felt she was in a bowl full of sugared almonds. As she blinked around at it she remembered oddly that the last time she had seen a room furnished like this, with maximum expense and minimal taste, it had been a bedroom and there had been the body of a murdered man in the middle of it. But in this room were live breathing people and she straightened her shoulders, preparing herself for what could, clearly, be a difficult time ahead.
She thought at first the place was full of people, but once again it was illusion, because, as in the hall, there was an abundance of mirrors. There were, in fact, no more than a dozen people there, including herself and Monty. A large woman in a black silk dress rather too short for her chubby knees sat in the armchair to the right of the dead fireplace, a large trolley in front of her which was laden with silver teapots, hot-water jugs, a kettle on a spirit stove and cream and sugar pots. There were also a number of very delicate china cups and saucers and plates of cakes and biscuits and very small sandwiches on lace doilies. It all looked almost agonizingly pretty, George thought.
‘You’re just in time,’ Monty Ledbetter said heartily. ‘We’ll need another cup, Mother!’
The woman by the fireplace stared at him and then nodded and got to her feet. She didn’t look at George but went to a door at the french-window end of the room and vanished.
‘Now, let me introduce you,’ Monty said. ‘Just a few family members, you know. A little celebration.’
‘Oh, I’m so sorry,’ George said, mortified. She should have phoned first, dammit, even at the risk of being refused an appointment to talk to him, as she had first feared. This was dreadful. ‘I didn’t mean to intrude. It was just that it –’
‘It’s no intrusion. We’re used to it. There’s always someone turning up on my doorstep, doctor. There always has been and there always will be. I don’t want any of the usual ones today, mind you – that was why I sent Jade out to answer the bell – but you’re different. A colleague, like, eh? Do let me introduce my nephew Philip. Dr Cobbett, Dr Barnabas!’ He beamed from one to the other, clearly deeply gratified to make such an introduction between people of high academic and medical achievement.
She looked at the other man as she held out her hand. ‘Hi,’ she said. ‘Good to meet you.’ He was tall, though next to his uncle he looked rather weedy. Over six feet, George estimated, and with a bony look that seemed artificial, as though he’d been born to be solid but had starved and exercised his way to a fashionable thinness. His hair was fair, though not as light as Monty’s, and elegantly cut. His clothes, like his uncle’s, were equally elegant, although he was in an Italian suit of very costly cloth and a wide silk tie while Monty was studiedly casual in linen slacks and silky sports shirt.
‘We’re by way of celebrating,’ Monty said. ‘It’s my wife’s birthday and we always get together to wish her well no matter what day of the week it happens to fall on. Philip here has come up from Harley Street especially.’ He seemed to smirk as he said it. ‘And here are my other nieces and nephews.’ He took her elbow and led her round the room, introducing her to people who looked at her blankly and nodded and murmured and went back to their private conversations, and she felt more wretched by the moment.
‘You have a lot of nieces and nephews,’ she said at length as he led the way back to the tea trolley at which his wife was once again settled, giving out tea with great fuss. ‘It must have been nice for your children, growing up with so many cousins.’
‘Oh, Mother and me, we don’t have no children,’ Monty said. His wife didn’t look up, keeping her head well down over her teapot. ‘The Good Lord didn’t see his way clear. But I had seven brothers and sisters, and they had children. God, how they had children!’ He laughed and stared round his big room and its inhabitants with obvious pride. ‘So, I took them on instead, eh? Didn’t I?’
There was a murmur of agreement, and the tea drinkers moved away from the trolley, scattering to their corners again, eating and drinking and gossiping with the intensity that is only possible between people who spend a lot of their time together. Monty settled George at his wife’s side on a low pouffe and then lowered himself into the facing armchair. Mrs Ledbetter, still silent, gave George tea and offered her a plate of highly coloured iced cakes. She didn’t dare refuse one and it sat on the plate on her knee, ignored, as Monty talked at her.
That it was at her and not to her was undoubted. He spoke of his commitment to his family, his concern they should all do well and the fact that he expected nothing in return for all he spent on their education and homes and wellbeing; ‘Only that they should be happy and successful,’ he boomed, beaming at George. ‘It’s all I ask of them. They should always be happy and successful, that’s all.’
What a burden, George thought, very aware of the fact that, even though they all still seemed to be talking together, the others were listening to Monty (how could they not when his voice was as big as he was?). What a dreadful burden to put on people. To be always happy as well as successful. That was to ask them for the moon as a reward. Whatever he might have spent on them such demands for recompense were excessive.
‘But that’s enough about our affairs, my dear,’ he said and beamed yet again. ‘You haven’t said why –?’ He stopped with an elephantine delicacy and cocked his almost invisible eyebrows at her; she looked over her shoulder and felt her belly sink. To explain in front of all these people …
He seemed to understand and got to his feet. ‘Come into my study. We can be quiet there. Mother?’ He looked down at his wife. ‘Will you excuse us?’
‘Yes,’ she said, and George realized that this was the first time she’d heard her speak. Her voice was rough and deep. ‘It’s all right with me. If it’s all right with you.’ And she looked at George. Her eyes were red-rimmed and tired.
‘Oh, yes,’ George said and then, aware that it would sound like an afterthought, ‘Many happy returns of the day.’
‘Thanks.’ She made a little grimace. ‘Not that it’s a day I want reminding of. Sixty-seven, it’s a dead liberty, ’n’t it? I feel the same as I ever did and here I am a pensioner!’ Now that she was speaking, she had lost the heavy sour look she had seemed to carry and George smiled at her, almost in relief.
‘You don’t look it,’ she said truthfully. ‘I wouldn’t have given you more than – oh – ten years younger than you are. If that.’
‘There, you see, Mother?’ Monty said. ‘And that’s from someone who knows!’
‘Well, that’s as may be,’ his wife retorted. ‘You don’t hear Philip saying it. And he –’
‘What does a boy know?’ Mo
nty began and then laughed.
‘Of course he doesn’t say such things. Fancies getting his hands on you with his knife, eh, Philip?’
Across the room the elegant man with the sleek fair hair looked up, nodded at the girl he had been talking to and came across to join them.
‘What’s that?’
‘I’m saying you wouldn’t say nice things to your aunt about how young she looks, not when you could chop her about a bit and get a nice fat fee for it.’
The young man went a sudden blotchy red around his neck. ‘As if I would dream of either charging – or saying –’ he began and then stopped. ‘Really, that wasn’t funny.’ For the old man was laughing uproariously now, enjoying himself hugely. ‘You shouldn’t say such things even as jokes.’
George looked at Philip Cobbett, mystified, and his neck seemed to flush even more.
‘I’m a plastic surgeon,’ he mumbled in response to the query on her face. ‘Uncle Monty likes to tease me about it.’
‘And why shouldn’t I?’ demanded Monty. ‘Haven’t I the right?’ Philip looked at them and managed a grin of sorts.
‘Of course you have. You paid the bills for Harley Street, isn’t that what you mean? It’s just that I think you look great, Auntie Maureen. I wouldn’t change an atom of you.’ He bent and kissed her with real affection and she put up her arms and hugged him. It was a sudden sweet moment and George found herself wondering why she had ever thought Maureen Ledbetter sour or miserable. She was looking now as radiant as a woman could look.
‘You see what I mean, Dr Barnabas?’ Monty said. ‘What man could ask for more reward than this, hey? Not only successful and happy but lovely to his old relatives as well. We’re fortunate people, all of us. Me to have the wherewithal to do what has to be done for the young and the young for having me to do it, and all of us having each other.’ He beamed once more, a familiar wide toothy grin, and the others murmured back at him as he set a meaty arm across George’s shoulders and led her to the door.
‘Me and Dr Barnabas here have to talk business,’ he said, revelling in his importance again. ‘Don’t hurry away, now. I won’t be long, eh, Dr Barnabas?’
‘No,’ she said hastily. ‘Not at all.’ How quickly can I explain the situation to a man like this? she wondered as he opened the door and led her out into the hall again.
The room he took her to was aggressively masculine. Leather sofas and chairs again, in deep-buttoned dark green this time, with heavy oak furniture and wood panelled walls and books everywhere. ‘Bought by the yard,’ George thought and then scolded herself for snobbery again. But it was clear that the handsome leather-bound volumes on the shelves had never been opened.
‘Sit down now, sit down.’ He fussed over her, settling her in a chair that was as uncomfortable as it was costly; the leather was slippery and the deep buttoning seemed to push her upwards and outwards, as though the chair was trying to spit her out. ‘What can I do for you? A charity thing for the hospital, is it? It usually is. I spend a fortune on these places, a fortune. First the kids, poor little objects, and now you, hmm? What is it, then?’
‘No, it’s not charity,’ she said. ‘It’s a bit more complicated than that. It’s Gus.’
‘Gus? Is he giving you trouble?’ He frowned. ‘I’d not have thought it of Gus, not ever. But you never know. The women who’ve sat in that chair like you and told me tales of the way their men behave, well, you wouldn’t credit it. But I always tell them it takes a weak man to raise his hand to a woman and a strong one to –’
‘It’s nothing like that!’ she said, horrified. ‘Not at all! Oh, perhaps Gus was right. I shouldn’t have come.’
He frowned again and looked at her sharply, his pale lashes making his eyes, large as they were, look somewhat piggy. ‘I thought you’d come on your own account. But if Gus sent you, that’s different. What’s the trouble? I’ll fix it. I can fix almost anything, you know. Yes. Tell me what it is, that’s all you have to do.’
23
‘Lenny Greeson,’ Monty said ruminatively. ‘I know who you mean. Not much of a fella, is he?’
‘I don’t know,’ George said. ‘I’ve never met him. He’s Gus’s friend.’
‘Yeah. Well, his dad knew Lenny’s dad. Stands to reason he’d say he was a friend, doesn’t it? But he’s not much of a fella, from all accounts. If he had been he wouldn’t be in this mess now, would he?’ He shook his head ponderously, oozing disapproval from every pore. ‘Borrowing money to pay debts … Gus should have had more sense than to agree to it.’
George’s jaw tightened. ‘I really can’t say,’ she began. ‘I only know –’
‘Mind you, I’d ha’ thought the less of him if he’d not done it, seeing how it was between his dad and Lenny’s dad. It’s one of those devil and deep blue sea jobs. Yes …’ Again he sank into rumination.
George, wishing more and more that she hadn’t come, stirred in her chair. ‘Well, if you can’t help –’
‘Who said I couldn’t help? Course I can. I can find out anything that’s to be found out on this patch, and I’ll find out for you what’s happened to Lenny. And Don.’ He cocked one of his almost invisible eyebrows at her sharply. ‘You think something’s happened to him, don’t you?’
She hesitated and then said, ‘Yes.’
‘Well, it wouldn’t surprise me. That one really is a bleedin’ fool. Calls himself a gambler and what’s he got to show for it? The clothes on his back and that’s about it. Lives off his brother, always sponging from him, can’t even pay for his own dog food. A real professional gambler, now, he makes a living, has a place to call his own.’ He waved a meaty hand comprehensively to take in not only the room they were sitting in but the whole house. ‘A man needs a place to call his own, a place he can take pride in.’
She tilted her head and stared back at him very directly. ‘Is that how you made your fortune?’
He chuckled fatly. ‘Well, now, that’d be telling, wouldn’t it? And I didn’t get where I am today by telling all and sundry about my business. No. But I’ll tell you this much. I’ve forgotten more about the dogs and horses than Don Greeson’ll ever know. There ain’t a dog that runs in the whole East End, or a horse in the whole country, what I don’t understand and know about. It’s as simple as that. But don’t you worry, my dear. There’s a lot more to know and all. I’ll find out what’s happened to young Lenny and his brother and I’ll be in touch.’
Clearly the conversation was at an end. George bit her lip, wanting to say more but feeling it might be a mistake.
‘I’ll send word to you then, eh? Not to Gus. Don’t want to go falling over no nosy coppers, do we? No.’ He laughed his big laugh again. ‘That’d never do. So, where’s your gaff?’
George blinked, aware of a sudden urge to keep her own address secret. There was no need to be afraid of this man; he was Gus’s contact and Gus had assured her he was safe. All the same, the thought of this bulky figure standing inside her little flat made her feel cold. But she pushed away her doubts and gave him her address and phone number.
‘I’ll be in touch then,’ he said again, tucking away the little notebook into which he had written the information. ‘Don’t you fret. You go back to your hospital and stop worrying. If there’s any dirty work going on, I’ll uncover it. I’ll find your Lenny.’
He was halfway to the door by now and she followed him, eager to get out of this house, yet aware of a sense of dissatisfaction. His soothing words had done nothing to reassure her; at bottom she was convinced the visit had been pointless.
Outside in the hall, the front door was open and there was a little flurry on the doorstep as some of the nieces and nephews kissed Maureen Ledbetter goodbye. At the sight of Monty they turned back and started their goodbyes all over again and George hung back, waiting for the fuss to die down before taking her own leave.
She looked round the hall again as she stood there, wanting to see if her first impression had been accurate, and this time sa
w at one side a pile of cardboard boxes. The girl Jade was crouching beside them, turning over their contents. Curious, George craned her neck and then moved casually to see what it was.
The boxes seemed to be full of old clothes and, as George watched, Jade pulled out a coat, shook it, and held it against herself.
‘Auntie Maureen,’ she called, ignoring the fact that her aunt was talking to someone else. ‘Auntie Maureen, what’s this made of?’
Maureen looked over her shoulder and peered. ‘Oh, Jade, do leave those alone! They’re for the shop!’
‘I know that. But this looks interesting. What is it?’
Maureen finished her goodbyes and, leaving Monty to deal with the rest, came back through the hall to Jade’s side. ‘It’s – um – I don’t know. Some skin or other. It’s one of the ones I got from Connie.’
‘Oh!’ Jade dropped it with a disdainful twist of her fingers. ‘Then it’s a real skin, not a fake? That’s disgusting.’
‘Of course it’s real!’ Maureen sounded indignant. ‘He wouldn’t give me rubbish, you know! He cares as much as I do about the shop. He gives me good gear so that I can make the best money I can.’
‘But real skins …’ Jade turned up her nose. ‘How can you wear an animal’s body on your own? I thought it might be simulated. If it were I’d have taken it, but I wouldn’t touch it with a bargepole now.’
‘And who said you could have it anyway, my girl?’ This was Monty joining them. ‘Don’t I buy you enough as it is?’
‘Yes, well, this is different, Uncle Monty. It’s cool to wear old gear. Everyone does. But no one wears furs. They’re gross, and skins are the same.’
‘Like your leather jacket? The one I gave seven hundred for?’ Monty said and winked at George with great good humour. ‘These kids with their fads and their fancies, eh? Not ashamed to wear seven-hundred-pound leather jackets but wouldn’t wear a coat made of bullskin.’
Third Degree Page 23
