Ironmonger's Daughter

by Harry Bowling

  ‘Good evening, Mr Angelo,’ the man said formally. ‘Your party’s arrived. I’ll show you to the table, if you’ll follow me.’

  Connie was puzzled as she fell into step beside her escort. Derek had not mentioned that they were meeting other people. They walked into a large room and as they weaved their way between the tables Connie felt that everyone’s eyes were staring at her. The ceiling was low and velvet curtains were draped around the walls. A band was playing on a dais and in front of her she could see couples dancing. They had reached the table and immediately a tall distinguished-looking character in evening dress got up and shook hands with Angelo.

  ‘Hello, dear boy. Glad you could make it.’

  Derek introduced Connie and the tall man shook her hand with a limp grasp. As she sat down Connie studied the group. There were five other people sitting at the large round table. Next to the tall character, who had been introduced as Francis Hammond, there was a slim young man who toyed nervously with a silver cigarette case. On Francis Hammond’s left an elderly couple was seated. The woman had her hair piled up on top of her head and the man was bald and wore gold-rimmed spectacles. Another, younger couple completed the party. The man had sandy-coloured hair and was smartly dressed in a grey suit, and the woman with him was striking in a low-cut black dress which made her tanned shoulders look even more golden. Her raven hair shone in the subdued lighting and her dark eyes flashed. Connie was taken by her looks and she stole admiring glances in her direction as the conversation began.

  The woman smiled at her, showing large white teeth as she parted her glossy lips. ‘You look very pretty, Connie,’ she gushed, glancing briefly at Derek. ‘We’ve been hearing about you, haven’t we, Arnold?’

  Her partner grinned and gave Connie a searching look. ‘Derek wasn’t exaggerating. You are pretty,’ he said smiling at her.

  Connie felt herself blushing and she was glad when Francis Hammond took up the conversation. ‘Well, have you sorted out the damage, Derek? I’m sure Bernie here can work out the details. What do you say, Bernie?’

  The elderly man nodded quickly as he snipped the top of his large cigar with a pair of silver clippers. ‘No problem, Francis. I’ll get the claim forms ready and send them off first thing tomorrow morning. I’ll need to go over those books, too, Derek.’

  The waiter had been hovering in the background and, when Francis beckoned to him, the man hurried over. ‘I think we’re ready to eat, Jules. Oh yes, and you can serve the wine now.’

  For the next two hours Connie felt as though she had been transported to the other side of the celluloid screen. It seemed to her just like an evening out in some exotic city from one of the films they showed at the Trocette. When the food was served from silver trays the elderly woman at her side began to notice her disorientation. She pointed to the various dishes and suggested certain items on the menu which Connie found to be quite delicious. The bottles of wine were soon empty and more were ordered. The band was playing a waltz and the elderly couple took the floor. Connie watched as they danced around. Bernie had a serious expression on his bloated face and his wife almost looked glamorous as she turned around stiffly in her long sequinned dress, her heavily powdered face set in a fixed smile. Connie noticed that Derek was constantly talking to the dark-haired woman, and that her partner appeared not to be in any way bothered by the attention being paid to her. He was ignoring them and seemed much more concerned with encouraging Connie to talk about herself. Connie felt a little embarrassed by the good-looking man’s attentions but his wide smile was disarming. Derek’s behaviour was making her uncomfortable, however. He seemed to have totally forgotten her, and she noticed the eye movements and the exchanged smiles between him and the dark-haired woman. Francis Hammond was talking to the slim young man who listened intently, his chin resting on his cupped hand, and Connie gazed thoughtfully around the room.

  Suddenly the young man in the grey suit got up and came round the table. ‘Would you like to dance?’ he asked her.

  She shook her head vigorously. ‘No fanks, I’m . . .’

  ‘Come on,’ he said, reaching down and taking her hand. ‘It’s a slow one. We can just shuffle around.’

  They were playing a dreamy tune and the floor was crowded with dancers. Connie began nervously but he moved easily and she found it quite simple to follow his movements.

  He held her firmly and she could smell the after-shave he wore. ‘There, you see. We’re doing well,’ he whispered into her ear.

  Connie smiled and tried to relax as he glided her slowly around the floor.

  ‘I suppose Derek’s told you all about us, hasn’t he?’ her dance partner said, his face close to hers.

  ‘No. I was surprised when we got ’ere, Derek didn’t tell me there’d be anyone else,’ she said quickly.

  ‘That’s typical of Derek. Would you like me to put you in the picture?’

  ‘If yer like.’

  ‘Well, the woman Derek is so engrossed with is Beth Knowles. She’s my cousin and she owns a beauty salon in Bond Street. All very posh too. Francis is an associate of Derek’s. They do quite a lot of business together, as you’ve no doubt gathered by their conversation. The slim young man is called Trixey by his close friends.’

  ‘Trixey?’ Connie laughed.

  ‘That’s right. Tommy Crossley is his real name. He and Francis are very good friends, if you know what I mean. Young Tommy’s got loads of money. His father’s got some sort of fancy title. The other couple, Freda and Bernie Grossman, are old friends of Francis. Bernie’s an accountant. He keeps the books for the organisation Derek’s involved with. His wife Freda is a lovely lady. She spends most of her time organising various functions to raise money for the war effort. That’s about it, I think.’

  Connie looked up at him as they danced around the middle of the floor.

  ‘What about you? You ’aven’t told me about yerself.’

  ‘Well that’s another story,’ he laughed.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘You really want to know?’

  ‘I’ve found out about everybody else. I might as well know about you,’ she said smiling.

  ‘My name is Arnold Jerrold. I’m thirty-five, single and unattached. I live in Stepney and I ran a clothing factory once.’

  ‘Oh, an’ what d’yer do now?’ Connie asked.

  ‘I work for the government, for the duration of the war, that is. It’s all very hush-hush, but it’s really very boring. Anyway, that’s enough of the war. Let’s talk about you.’

  The music ended and the dancers applauded as they left the floor. Connie felt his hand on her back as he led her to the table, and when they were seated he poured her some wine. There was no sign of Derek nor Beth Knowles. Freda and Bernie Grossman had returned to the table and Freda was gently chiding her perspiring husband. ‘You were moving too fast. That was a waltz not a foxtrot.’

  He laughed as he dabbed his forehead and turned to Connie. ‘We’ve been dancing together now for more years than I care to remember, young lady. And she still tells me I can’t dance. What should I do with her, eh?’

  Freda tapped her husband’s wrist playfully. ‘I’m off to powder my nose. Will you come with me, young Connie?’ she asked.

  They crossed the large floor together and made their way to the ladies room.

  ‘Where exactly do you come from, my dear?’ Freda asked as she dabbed at her face with the sponge from her compact.

  ‘I live in Bermon’sey.’

  ‘And are you a good friend of Derek’s, may I ask?’

  Connie leaned against the pink wash basin. ‘Derek comes in the pub where I work in the evenings. ’E asked me out ternight. I don’t know ’im all that well though.’

  Freda clicked her compact shut and turned to Connie. ‘Let me give you a bit of advice, young lady. You seem to be a nice girl and you’re very pretty. You should be very careful in your dealings with some of these older men. They’re inclined to be devious, and I might as well tell
you, Derek Angelo isn’t exactly a knight in shining armour. People like him are taken by pretty faces, especially if they belong to younger women. I’ve been watching you at the table. I thought you were looking a little angry with Derek. I see he’s disappeared, and that’s made me angry too. He shouldn’t have left you like that.’

  Connie shrugged her shoulders and ran a hand down the back of her long fair hair. ‘It’s okay, Freda. Arnold’s bin takin’ care of me.’

  The elderly lady’s face became serious and she opened her mouth to say something but changed her mind. When they left the powder room and were walking back to the table, she turned and said, ‘You just be careful, dear. You could quite easily get hurt.’

  The Grossmans had said goodnight and left, Freda giving Connie a meaningful wink. Francis Hammond had become embroiled with his companion over the merits of Italian art and there was still no sign of Derek and Beth Knowles. Connie had begun to feel quite tipsy. The wine and spirits had combined with the opulent atmosphere and they had taken their toll. A waiter came to the table and handed Arnold a note and, as he read it, a slight smile came to his face.

  ‘I’m sorry, Con. My cousin Beth got a phone call from home. It seems there’s been some trouble. Derek’s taking her back and he asked me to look after you. I hope you don’t mind?’

  Even in her befuddled state Connie became suspicious. She realised that it was all too contrived. Right from the start Derek had made a play for the Knowles woman. How convenient that Arnold should be with his cousin that evening. No wonder Derek hadn’t said anything about meeting other people at the club! Connie felt angry. Derek must have taken her there only to introduce her to his friend. Well, it wouldn’t make any difference, she told herself. Derek Angelo or Arnold Jerrold, they would both get the same answer. The band had returned and were playing again though only a few couples were dancing.

  Arnold was standing with Francis Hammond who was waving his hands. ‘No trouble, dear boy. Leave it with me. We can sort out the bill later. Tommy and I will be staying here for a while.’

  Connie and Arnold left the club together and he hailed a taxi. Connie heard him mention River Street, Stepney, to the driver and she bit on her bottom lip. Freda’s words ran through her bleary and confused mind.

  ‘I mus’ get ’ome. It’s very late. They’ll all be worried,’ she said weakly.

  ‘Sure,’ he replied. ‘We’ll stop off at my place first. Derek might well have gone there to wait for us.’

  They travelled through the blacked-out city streets in silence. Soon they were passing along Commercial Road and when the driver swung into a little side street and pulled up Arnold seemed to come to life again. He paid the driver and steered her to a grimy-looking door between two shuttered shops. She felt herself being almost pushed into the house and up a dark flight of creaky stairs. She tripped at the top and Arnold laughed. ‘Stay where you are while I light the gas,’ he said.

  Connie could feel waves of nausea coming up from the pit of her stomach and she drew deep breaths. With the flare of the match and the growing light from the gas mantle she saw that the landing had no floor covering whatsoever. Seeing the dirty floorboards and peeling wallpaper made her want to run into the street but Arnold was still holding her arm. He opened a door and steered her into the dark interior. There was a strange smell, like mothballs or disinfectant she thought, and when he lit the gas jet over the mantelshelf and pulled the dusty curtains quickly Connie knew that she had been stupid to come back with him to this place. There was no sign of anyone living in the flat. The grate was empty, not made up with paper and sticks of wood like fireplaces would normally be. The small table had an old newspaper spread over it, and ancient dustcovered pictures hung around the walls. When Connie poked her head into the tiny scullery she winced: pots and pans littered the draining board and the iron gas stove. Arnold had opened another door which led into the bedroom. He came over to her.

  ‘I’m sorry about the state of the place,’ he said, studying her closely. ‘I’m only staying here until I get my bomb-damaged flat repaired. Look, why don’t you put the kettle on and make us some tea while I move those things from the settee.’

  Connie went out into the scullery and filled the kettle. While it was heating up over the tiny gas jet she found the teapot and caddy. ‘Where’s the milk?’ she called out.

  ‘It’s on the window sill. I put it out there this morning to keep it cool.’

  Connie lifted the window frame and saw the shattered bottle lying on the rusted iron fire escape below. She threw down the sash and turned out the gas. ‘It’s been spilt,’ she said flatly as she came back into the room.

  Arnold cursed. ‘I’ll kill that moggie.’

  Connie looked down at him as he sat on the torn settee. ‘Look, I’d better get goin’,’ she said. ‘Derek’s not gonna show up, is ’e? I’ll get a taxi.’

  He got up slowly, a grin breaking out on his face. ‘C’mon, what’s the rush? We can amuse ourselves for a while. He’ll probably show up later.’

  She shook her head. ‘No, Arnold. I’m goin’.’

  He reached for her and she swayed backwards away from his outstretched arms.

  ‘No, Arnold!’

  He was grinning widely now, as he gripped her firmly by her shoulders. ‘You’ve had too much to drink to think of going home now,’ he said, his eyes darkening. ‘Besides, there won’t be any cabs around this area. It’s a dangerous place for a young girl to be wandering around in.’

  ‘Yer could ’elp me get a taxi,’ she said with a desperate tone in her voice.

  ‘I’ve got a better idea. Let’s go in there,’ he leered, nodding towards the open door.

  ‘No!’ she groaned as she felt his hot breath on her cheek. He pulled her to him and he was propelling her along, half carrying her until she found herself beside the bed. His head was buried in her hair, his wet mouth against her neck and ears. She tried to fight him off but her strength was failing and her head spun. She pounded his chest with her fists. ‘Yer lied ter me!’ she shrieked. ‘Derek’s not comin’! Let me go!’

  Then she was lying beneath him and his hands were pulling at her clothes. His full weight was pressing down on her as he reached beneath her dress. Connie’s mind was racing as she remembered how it had happened before. She brought her hands up to his face but he gripped her wrists and pinned them to her sides. She was helpless beneath his writhing body. She felt the sharp pain as he forced himself upon her and then she ceased struggling. Tears of anger and disgust fell silently as his animal passion mounted. It soon was over, and he slumped down on her, his sagging body pressing heavily on her chest.

  When he had recovered his breath he placed his hands beside her and lifted himself up. ‘Why did you fight me, you little whore?’ he asked her with a sneer. ‘You know you wanted it.’

  Connie choked back her tears and stared at him with hate in her eyes as he moved away from the bed. She was numb and unable to answer. The physical disgust at the way he had humiliated her caused waves of nausea to rise up from her stomach. Icy fingers seemed to squeeze her head and she began to tremble. The sight of his sneering face made her want to throw herself at him and tear at his eyes but instead she clenched her fists and felt her fingernails bite into the palms of her hands. She felt dirty, ashamed and disgusted, and a deep anger rose up inside her.

  She was cold sober now as she pulled herself round and sat with her head in her hands on the edge of the bed. The stark realisation that she was a victim of their plotting made her head pound and she felt her face redden.

  ‘You two worked this all out, didn’t yer?’ she said, her voice shaking.

  He laughed aloud. ‘Derek told me all about you and him. I know you two have been under the blankets together.’

  ‘Nufink ’appened that night,’ she sobbed.

  ‘Don’t give me that. It’s not what he told me. Anyway, here’s your money. I don’t expect you to do it for nothing,’ he sneered, throwing some notes down
beside her on the bed.

  ‘You dirty animal!’ she cried out, standing up and rushing at him, her fists pummelling his chest.

  He gripped her wrists and laughed loudly. ‘Proper little demon aren’t you?’

  Connie sagged and he pushed her roughly away. ‘Take the money. It’ll pay for a cab.’

  ‘Keep yer money, yer no-good bastard! Is that the only way yer can ’ave a woman – by rapin’ ’er?’

  ‘It’s much better when you put up a fight,’ he sneered. ‘It makes it more exciting. Anyway, you wasn’t raped. You got paid for it.’

  Connie bit her lip until it bled and she fought back her tears. She picked up the money and looked at it. ‘Yer couldn’t buy me. I wouldn’t go wiv yer willin’ly if yer offered me a fortune,’ she snarled, throwing the money in his face as she ran out of the room.

  Chapter Forty-Two

  ‘William Smithers’ paced up and down in his little room, occasionally drawing the curtains back and glancing down into the street below. The workers had passed through on their way to the factory and now it had become quiet. He could see the rag-and-bone man leaning on his barrow beside the ruins of the buildings opposite, and he noticed Widow Pacey walking towards him, carrying a large bundle. He adjusted the curtains and continued to pace back and forth. Time was dragging slowly and he looked down at the alarm clock beside his unmade bed. It was just after nine and already it seemed as if he had been up for hours. It was quiet in the house since Marie had gone to get her shopping and Lillian had left for her new-found job at the clothing factory in Tower Bridge Road. Toby had been gone since seven-thirty and it had been he and Marie arguing before he left which had first awakened Dennis. He had heard Marie screaming something about Toby spending too much time in front of the mirror and Toby replying that he had to keep up appearances, and then the front door had been slammed shut. Dennis had tried unsuccessfully to get back to sleep and, as he paced to and fro, he was deep in thought. Had he known of the plot hatching inside Lillian’s head he would not have tarried so long in his room.