by Jack Higgins
Nick swallowed the rest of his Jameson’s, walked to the bar and helped himself to another. ‘All right, it goes something like this. When Bella got that note from Ben the other day, she didn’t want to tell you because she’s the kind who thinks that if you close your eyes to a situation and pretend it’s not there, maybe it’ll go away. But her sister’s built differently. She decided, on balance, that it would be better if you were told.’
‘So?’
‘You had a word with Manton, told him to arrange a reception for Ben when he got out of Wandsworth. The only kind of reception you thought he’d understand.’ Nick grinned. ‘You made a bad error there.’
‘Finished?’ Faulkner asked.
‘I wonder what he wants with Bella?’ Nick said. ‘Maybe he’d like her back. She might even go with him. From what I hear, they used to be pretty thick in the old days.’
Faulkner’s anger overflowed like hot lava and he jabbed viciously at a button on the desk. ‘Who in the hell do you think you’re talking to?’
‘Big Harry Faulkner, the punter’s friend,’ Nick said. ‘Business man philanthropist, a dream at the orphans’ Christmas party every year. Also thief, whoremaster and pimp.’ He emptied his glass and put it down on top of the bar. ‘Tell me something, Faulkner. I know those Gascoigne Street brothels of yours can supply any kind of female anyone ever wanted, but is it true you run a special line in the male variety as well?’
The door opened and Craig entered. He moved to the desk and Faulkner, his face ashen, raised a trembling hand. ‘Throw him out.’
Craig turned slowly to face Nick, his fingers opening and closing. ‘You know, I didn’t like the look of you from the moment you walked in.’
He seemed very sure of himself. When he was about three feet away, he swung a tremendous punch that carried everything he had.
Nick moved in close, catching the blow with a karate block delivered with his left hand and kicked the big man viciously on the shin, lifting his right knee into the unprotected face as Craig doubled over.
He lay on his back moaning, a hand to his mouth, blood trickling between his fingers. ‘Get up, Craig! Get up!’ Faulkner ordered.
‘I don’t think he’s going to be quite that stupid.’ Nick walked across to the door. He turned with it half open, the dark eyes sending a cold shiver through Faulkner. ‘There’s more to this than shows on the surface, Faulkner. Much more. I’ll be back when I find out what it is.’
Jean was standing at the entrance to the Long Room, a light evening coat over one arm, a jewelled bag swinging from the other. ‘What did Harry want?’
‘Nothing special. Ready to go?’
Before she could answer, Chuck Lazer pushed through the crowd. ‘Leaving, General?’
Nick nodded. ‘It’s been sweet, but we’ve got to go.’
‘Mind if I string along? I’ve had enough of this wake.’
Nick turned to Jean with a grin. ‘A chaperon. That just about settles everything.’
‘I wouldn’t be too sure,’ she said as he held her coat for her and, when they moved towards the door, they were laughing.
Faulkner moved round the desk and kicked Craig in the side. ‘Go on, get out!’
Craig scrambled away from him, dodging another blow, got to his feet and wrenched open the door. As it closed behind him, Faulkner went to the bar and poured himself another whisky. He emptied the glass in two swallows, coughing as the liquor burned its way into his stomach.
For some strange reason, Miller reminded him of his teacher at Dock Road Elementary, old Walter Street who’d had a hard war in the trenches in the first lot and walked with a limp.
He remembered the first time he’d met Street after leaving school. He was nineteen, already living on the earnings of three women, dressed up to the nines in the best money could buy. He’d been a mug, really, trying to come the big man and old Walter in his shabby trenchcoat had looked at him as if he were a lump of dung he’d be glad to scrape off his shoe.
He hurled the glass into the fireplace, moved across to the bedroom and opened the door. Bella was standing in front of the mirror by the bed, pulling the red dress over her head. The flame coloured slip she was wearing had lifted over her rounded haunches and white flesh gleamed at the top of a dark stocking.
‘What are you doing?’ he demanded hoarsely.
‘Ringing the changes. I’m wearing the black one next. Give me a hand, will you? This damned zip has broken.’
He stood beside her, reaching to pull the dress over her head, conscious of the warmth, the sweetness. He slid his hands under the armpits, cupping the full breasts, pulling her hard against him.
‘For God’s sake, Harry,’ she said impatiently. ‘There are a hundred and twenty people out there.’
As she turned, all the rage, all the anger and frustration boiled over and he slapped her across the face. ‘Don’t tell me what to do!’ he shouted. ‘I’m Harry Faulkner, understand? And you’re my wife and you’ll do whatever I say!’
She started to back away, fear on her face, and the sight of it made the blood race through his veins like fire. He grabbed for the neck of the slip, ripping it from top to bottom and she staggered, falling back across the bed.
He flung himself on her, hands sliding across her breasts, mouth reached for hers and as always, she responded, running her fingers through his hair, kissing him passionately.
And it was no good. It was just like all the other times. The strength, the emotion, drained out of him and he pushed himself up and looked down at her, a dazed expression in his eyes. When he turned to the mirror, an old man stared out at him.
‘Can I get dressed now?’ she said calmly.
He walked to the door like a dead man, opened it and turned, moistening dry lips. ‘I’m sorry, Bella. I don’t know what got into me.’
‘That’s all right, Harry.’
She stood looking at him, magnificent, the torn slip hanging around her waist, but there was only pity in her eyes and that was not what he wanted. He closed the door, went to his desk and pressed the buzzer. There was still a power he could command, a certain kind of power. That was better than nothing.
After a while, the door opened and Craig came in, his lips bruised and swelling. ‘Yes, Mr Faulkner?’
‘Has Miller left?’
‘About five minutes ago. It looked to me as if he was taking your sister-in-law home.’
‘Just her type.’ Faulkner ground his cigarette viciously into the ashtray. ‘It’s time he was cut down to size, Craig – and I mean cut. Are you with me?’
‘Perfectly,’ Craig said, his face wooden. ‘I’ll see to it, Mr Faulkner.’
‘I wouldn’t waste any time if I were you. He mightn’t be at the schoolhouse long.’
‘Fifteen minutes is all it takes, Mr Faulkner.’
Craig withdrew and Faulkner went to the bar and poured himself a large tonic water. He drank it slowly, savouring the freshness, and after a while the bedroom door opened and Bella appeared.
She looked quite beautiful, her face freshly made up, a three-quarter length dress of black lace moulding her magnificent body.
‘Ready, Harry?’ she said brightly.
He took both her hands and shook his head. ‘My God, but I’m proud of you, Bella. You’re the most beautiful damned thing in there tonight.’
She kissed his cheek affectionately and took his arm. When they opened the door to return to the party, they were smiling.
Chapter 16
The flat overlooked the school yard and when Nick drew the curtain and peered into the night, rain hammered relentlessly into the asphalt and fog crowded the spiked railings, yellow in the glow of the street lamps.
‘How many kids have you got?’ he called.
Jean Fleming answered from the bedroom. ‘One hundred and fifty-three. I could double it with no trouble, but you can’t get the staff these days.’
As he turned, he caught a glimpse of her through the half open door beside th
e bed, her supple body outlined boldly under the nylon slip as she unfastened her stockings.
He watched as she continued to undress, curiously detached about the whole thing, not even conscious of the overwhelming physical attraction he had experienced earlier.
The secret graces of a woman’s body. Something utterly fundamental to life itself, something of the quiet places where a man could find peace. Was this what he wanted?
He turned and looked down into the rain again, and from the music room below the sound of Chuck Lazer’s playing rose into the night. He was working his way through all the standards, Berlin, Cole Porter, Rogers and Hart. The kind of stuff nobody seemed to be writing any more. A hint of summer that had gone and memories only now.
Jean came into the room wearing a pair of dark trews and a quilted jacket, her face wiped clean of make-up so that she seemed startlingly young and innocent.
‘What would you like – coffee or tea?’
‘Tea if that’s all right with you, then I must be going.’
Her smile was replaced by a slight frown. ‘Must you?’
He nodded. ‘I’m still on duty.’
She went into the kitchen and filled the kettle and he leaned in the doorway watching her. She prepared a tray, spooned tea into an old brown pot, then sat on a stool, hugging her knees, waiting for the kettle to boil.
They had lost something, some essential contact they had found earlier, and Nick searched quickly for the right note.
‘It’s much larger than I expected.’
‘The school?’ She nodded. ‘At first there was just this old house and then Miss Van Heflin had extensions made. We have additional classrooms at the rear now. You can only see them properly in daylight.’
‘How long have you been here?’
‘Five years. Ever since I qualified. When Ben was arrested, I didn’t think I’d be able to continue my training. The Principal of the teaching college where I was supposed to be going wrote to say he couldn’t offer me a place after all.’
‘What did you do?’
‘At first I cried, then I got mad.’ She smiled. ‘Funny how a kick in the teeth brings out the best in you. Somehow a teaching college wasn’t good enough after that so I decided to go to University. Bella couldn’t help. She had enough on her plate, but I managed to get a small grant from the local authority. I made it up by working in the vacations. One year I even took a job as a barmaid in the evenings.’
‘That must have been tough.’
‘It wasn’t as bad as it sounds. When I got my degree, I came here to work for Miss Van Heflin. She was marvellous.’
‘Things always seem to come out right in the end if you live right.’
As the kettle boiled, she moved to the stove and started to fill the teapot. ‘What about you?’
‘Nothing as complicated. Phil was keen on me going to University and the way the business expanded, I certainly never had to worry about money. I went to the London School of Economics and read law.’
‘And then found you didn’t want to become a lawyer?’
‘Something like that.’
‘But why the police?’
‘Why not?’
‘You know what I mean.’
‘Perfectly. I get it from Phil at least twice a day. Labourers in uniform, a working man’s profession. Big men, small brains. Isn’t that how it runs?’
‘I didn’t say that.’
‘No one ever does, but that’s roughly what they mean.’
He was suddenly angry. He walked back into the other room, opened the window and leaned into the rain. She followed him in, placed the tray on the table and moved to his side.
‘I’m sorry, Nick. Truly I am.’
He grinned tightly. ‘People are funny. A solicitor misappropriates a client’s funds, a schoolmaster criminally assaults a child; they get what they deserve. No more, no less. But no one would dream of attacking either of their professions as a whole. That kind of reasoning never applies where the police are concerned.’
‘I said I was sorry.’
‘When the chips are down, people always are. When they need help, they can’t reach a telephone fast enough.’
She placed a hand on his sleeve and when she spoke, her voice was strangely subdued. ‘It means a lot to you, doesn’t it?’
He looked down at her, no expression in those strange dark eyes, but there was a harsh finality in his voice. ‘I wouldn’t be anything else. Not now or ever, Jean.’
And then she smiled and her hand reached up to touch his face in a gesture that meant more than any kiss. ‘That’s all right then, isn’t it? Come and have your tea.’
They sat by the fire in companionable silence and Nick drank his tea and watched her. She closed her eyes and rested her head against the back of the chair looking strangely defenceless.
‘Tell me something,’ he said. ‘About Ben – are you worried? Really worried, I mean?’
She opened her eyes and it was there, no need for her to try to put it into words. ‘All my life I wanted to get out of Khyber Street. And I managed it, Nick. I’m where I want to be in a calmer, more ordered world. And now Ben has to come back to spoil it all.’ The knuckles of her hands gleamed whitely as her fingers interlaced. ‘God, how I hate him.’
Nick leaned forward, a slight frown on his face. ‘You really mean that, don’t you?’
‘I’ve always hated him.’ She got to her feet and walked to the window. ‘I was fourteen when he married Bella and from the day she brought him back to live with us, my life became a sort of nightmare.’ She turned suddenly. ‘No, that isn’t quite true. It’s just that whenever I turned, he seemed to be there watching me. When I was dressing or undressing. I’d find him in the doorway, that smile on his face.’
She shuddered visibly and Nick’s throat went dry. ‘Go on.’
‘There isn’t anything else. Not what you mean, anyway. He was too clever for that. But there were other things.’ She stared into the past. ‘He was so damned strong. When he put those great hands of his on me there was nothing I could do – nothing.’
‘Didn’t you ever try speaking to Bella?’
‘I threatened to do just that, but he only laughed. Said she wouldn’t have believed a word and he was right.’
Nick got to his feet and took her in his arms gently. When he pulled her close, she started to tremble. ‘That was a long time ago. Long gone. Ben Garvald will never trouble you again, I promise you that.’
She stared up into his face and then her hands slid around his neck, pulling down his head, her mouth opening beneath his. As the blood surged in his temples, Nick slid his hands over her buttocks, holding her fiercely against him.
Through the turbulence he was aware that she was repeating his name over and over again and he closed his eyes and hung on, waiting for the roaring to diminish. After a while, he opened them again and smiled down at her.
‘I wonder what the Sunday supplements would make of this? I can see the headlines now. Case of the Amorous Detective.’
She smiled up at him, her eyes bright. ‘To hell with the Sunday supplements.’
‘I know,’ he said. ‘But I’ve still got to go.’
She sighed deeply and pushed herself away from him. ‘Any chance of your coming back?’
‘I’m afraid not. I’ll give you a ring tomorrow. Maybe we could have dinner.’
‘I’d better give you my number.’
‘Isn’t it in the book?’
‘Only the school office, not the flat.’ She smiled. ‘A trick of the trade. If it was, I’d have half a dozen parents phoning through every evening. I’d never know a moment’s peace.’
She rummaged in a drawer, found a folded piece of notepaper, and quickly scribbled her name and telephone number on it. She folded it again, slipped it into his inside pocket and smiled up at him.
‘No excuses now.’
‘None at all.’
‘Especially if you have this.’ She took a Yale key on
a ring from her pocket and held it up. ‘If you can get back before breakfast, let yourself in.’
‘Won’t you be in bed?’
‘I should imagine so.’
She smiled delightfully and he pulled her close and kissed her again. ‘Now let’s get out of here before I’m completely corrupted.’
Chuck was still sitting at the upright piano in the corner of the music room playing by the light of the street lamp that drifted in through the window.
‘End of score,’ Nick called softly from the doorway.
Chuck ended on a fast run of intricate chords, swung round and stood up. ‘I’m with you, General. Where to now?’
‘I want to check in at Headquarters,’ Nick said. ‘I can drop you off at your place if you like.’
They moved into the small porch a few yards from the side gate in the railings. The rain still hammered down through the fog and Jean shivered.
‘Rather you than me.’
He grinned down at her. ‘Pity the poor copper. I’ll see you.’
They walked across the yard, opened the side gate and moved along the narrow pavement. The street was little more than an alley and bordered on the other side by a high stone wall.
The Mini-Cooper was parked under an old-fashioned gas lamp and Nick took the keys from his pocket as he stepped off the pavement to reach the off-side. From the lighted porch, Jean called his name urgently.
As he started to turn, a fist lifted into his face and some inexplicable reflex caused him to duck so that the blow glanced from his cheek. He was aware of sharp pain as a metal ring sliced his skin like a razor and then his hand swung expertly as he turned, catching his assailant across the side of the neck.
The man staggered back towards the outer darkness beyond the light thrown out by the gas lamp and Nick was aware of others. Three, perhaps four, he couldn’t be sure because they came out of the fog with a sudden rush like a rugby forward line.
One of them held an iron bar in both hands. As he came within striking distance it swung up and down, the man grunting with the effort. Nick ducked and the bar thudded across the roof of the car. He lifted his foot savagely into the man’s crutch, the bar rang against the cobbles and the man collapsed with a choking cry.
