Baines nodded his thanks, and stepped up to the dais. The nervousness he had felt on waking this morning had evaporated. He knew what he had to say.
‘Thank you all for coming here today. I’m very lucky – we are very lucky – to be standing in a room which only four years ago was not even known to exist. Its architect, Peter Eames, spent the last part of his life trying to get it built, and you can see for yourself why his work exerts such a hold on the imagination. It’s mysterious, and it’s – very beautiful. I’m sure he would be pleased to know that his last great work has been saved, and what’s more by a patroness whom he held in very high esteem. In fact, she’s here with us today’ – at this he looked over at her – ‘Mrs Ellen Westmacott, Peter Eames’s daughter.’ He waited for the ripple of applause to settle before he continued. ‘I’d rather not add to Mr Mowbray’s kind words about the book, which was meant to take two years but actually took ten. That’s a work rate even the builders at the Anglican Cathedral would disdain. My apologies to Plover Books, and my thanks to the late Professor Moray McQuarrie, who was an inspiring teacher. I’d also like to thank Richard and Bella Tanqueray for the excellent photographs of the town. And finally I’d like to raise a toast to the dedicatees of this book, the rescue men I worked with in 1940 and 1941. None of them is named there, but all of them, I should say, are worthy of my undying regard. Thank you.’
Later, as the waiters were ghosting among them, and the voices climbed and echoed around the vaulted ceiling, Baines went over to speak to Mrs Westmacott. Mrs Fleetwood hovered in attendance.
‘It’s looking rather grand, isn’t it?’ he said, swivelling his gaze around the room and then back to her. ‘I’m so glad you took it off the Corporation’s hands.’
‘They were going to tear it down!’ she said, with a little harrumph.
‘That’s why I’m glad you took it off their hands.’
‘Well,’ she said, ‘it helps when you’ve inherited a lot of money.’
‘You might have spent it on other things …’
‘I’m eighty-two, Mr Baines. What else should I spend it on? And you made a very persuasive case.’
‘The stock will begin arriving soon. I’ll keep you informed as your steward.’
‘Yes! My steward,’ she repeated, seeming to relish the word. ‘Do your duties also include fetching me a drink?’
‘Don’t worry – I’ll go,’ said Mrs Fleetwood tolerantly. Baines bowed, in his new capacity, and withdrew.
He slipped out into the back courtyard, where he saw Jack and Evie sharing a cigarette. Jack had just said something to make Evie shake with laughter – her face was lit up by the delight of it. He paused briefly to watch them. They had married last year, and Baines had been the best man. Perhaps you didn’t have to be alone. The sound of her voice – her laughter. That was one of the things he missed most. It was wonderful to make a woman laugh. Would she have picked up a faint New York burr by now? He hoped she wouldn’t change, and then he half snorted at the absurdity of hoping such a thing. Jack had spotted him now and was calling him over. As he dawdled towards them he turned back to look at the banks of tall windows that formed the rear elevation. He saw in their reflection a jagged skyline of chimney stacks, a lonely church spire, the mauve brick walls of warehouses. Beyond them the surrounding hum of the city encroached, an infinity of pubs and back rooms and staircases and human appetites. The library had escaped the wrecking ball; other buildings would not. he’d heard that they were planning to pull down the old Customs House, which had stood by the river since 1829. It would be infamous – unforgivable. Whole streets and lanes were disappearing, their names remembered only by word of mouth, or in the forgotten folds of disused maps. These brief candles. They were blowing out their own past … But maybe he’d got that wrong. Maybe you couldn’t destroy history. You could only add to it.
Acknowledgements
I would like to thank Dan Franklin and all the team at Jonathan Cape, especially my editor Ellah Allfrey; also Rachel Cugnoni, Peter Straus and Sebastian Faulks. I am very grateful for the reminiscences of Keith Priestman, Bryan Perrett and John Quinn. Thanks also to the staff at Liverpool Record Office and Finsbury Library, London.
The following books were of invaluable help: Nikolaus Pevsner’s South Lancashire (1969) and its successor, Liverpool (2004) by Joseph Sharples; Merseyside at War (1988) by Rodney Whitworth; and Quentin Hughes’s magnificent and formative Seaport (1964).
I am most indebted to Rachel Cooke, my wife, for her steadfast love and encouragement.
www.vintage-books.co.uk
This ebook is copyright material and must not be copied, reproduced, transferred, distributed, leased, licensed or publicly performed or used in any way except as specifically permitted in writing by the publishers, as allowed under the terms and conditions under which it was purchased or as strictly permitted by applicable copyright law. Any unauthorized distribution or use of this text may be a direct infringement of the author’s and publisher’s rights and those responsible may be liable in law accordingly.
Version 1.0
Epub ISBN 9781448105588
www.randomhouse.co.uk
Published by Vintage 2010
2 4 6 8 10 9 7 5 3 1
Copyright © Anthony Quinn 2009
‘Miss Otis Regrets (She’s Unable to Lunch Today)’, Words and music by Cole Porter © 1934 (Renewed) Warner Bros. Inc. (ASCAP) ‘There’s a Lull in My Life’, Words and music by Mack Gordon and Harry Revel © 1937, Reproduced by permission of EMI Music Ltd, London W8 5SW
Anthony Quinn has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.
First published in Great Britain in 2009 by
Jonathan Cape
Vintage
Random House, 20 Vauxhall Bridge Road,
London SW1V 2SA
www.vintage-books.co.uk
Addresses for companies within The Random House Group Limited can be found at: www.randomhouse.co.uk/offices.htm
The Random House Group Limited Reg. No. 954009
A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
The Rescue Man Page 39
