Coronation Summer

by Margaret Pemberton

  Daisy also rose to her feet and slipped her hand into her dad’s. His face, always so attractive and genial, had a crumpled, weary look, and she knew that it was because of his anxiety over Matthew. With a stab of shock she noticed for the first time that, at his temples, there were tiny flecks of grey in his crinkly black hair. Her dad was only thirty-eight or thirty-nine. Did people go grey at that age? Or was he only turning grey because he was so very, very worried about Matthew?

  ‘I’m glad you’ve called by,’ he was saying to Billy. ‘Will you do me a favour and call in at the club and tell Jack that Matthew’s run away from school? He’ll know then why I’m not down there tonight to see the new chap go through his paces.’

  ‘Yeah, ’course I will,’ Billy said obligingly. Over Leon’s shoulder he saw the unmistakable gleam of Mr Giles’s dog-collar as the vicar stepped into the hallway from the sitting-room, and knew it was time he was on his way. He liked the vicar, but not so much that he wanted to be waylaid by him. ‘Cheerio,’ he said, encompassing all three Emmersons in his farewell, but his eyes on Daisy alone. ‘I’ll see yer tomorrer. I ’ope you ’ave good news by then.’

  ‘So do I,’ Leon said with deep feeling.

  ‘Oh dear,’ Mr Giles said seconds later. ‘I’ve just missed Billy, have I? What a pity. I’ve been trying to have a chat with him for ages. He’d make a wonderful youth leader if he’d only put his mind to it.’

  Daisy squeezed her dad’s hand tightly, knowing that if it wasn’t for anxiety over Matthew she would have been in fits of giggles. Even as a youngster, Billy had adamantly refused to be coerced into any of St Mark’s Church youth activities.

  ‘I’ve told the police they can ring me at any time of the day or night and I’ll pass on to you whatever information they have,’ Bob Giles was now saying to Leon. Acting as the courier of urgent telephone messages was something he was long accustomed to. Very few of his parishioners were on the telephone and, in Magnolia Square, only Jack Robson and his wife had the benefit of such a luxury.

  As a grave-faced Bob Giles went on his way and Leon slid his free hand around Luke’s shoulders, Luke felt real fear for the first time in his life. Perhaps Matthew hadn’t just run away from school. Perhaps he’d had an accident and was lying hurt and bleeding somewhere. Another even more terrible thought occurred to him, and his heart felt as if it was going to stop. What if Matthew had been hurt by someone? What if Matthew had been murdered?

  Fifty yards or so away, as he stood at the corner of Magnolia Square and Magnolia Hill, looking down towards the foot of the hill and The Swan pub, Billy’s heart was also nearly failing him. In the gathering dusk he could see a big black Humber parked outside The Swan and a group of thick-set, spivvily suited men standing nearby, deep in conversation.

  Billy knew the car and he knew the men, though only by sight and reputation. They were mobsters – members of a south-London gang of hardened criminals notorious for their vicious extortion and protection activities. If they had now hit on the Embassy Boxing Club as being a future source of protection money, then Jack Robson and everyone who worked for him at the club, or who trained at it, were looking deep trouble in the face. Very deep trouble indeed.

  Chapter Three

  With his hands tucked in his trouser pockets and whistling tunelessly to give himself an air of nonchalance – a nonchalance he was very far from feeling – Billy sauntered past the knot of men and into the side doorway of the pub. Two flights of creaking wooden stairs led up to the gym, the distempered walls plastered with pictures of fighters: Rocky Marciano, Joe Louis, Freddie Mills, Randolph Turpin, and placards on which were written such homilies as ‘Head Down, Hands Up’, ‘When in Doubt, Jab Out’, and ‘To Rest is to Rust’.

  Once safely out of earshot of anyone in the street, he broke into a sprint up the stairs, barging breathlessly into the gym, intent on finding and warning Jack in the fastest time possible. The gym was packed, not only with the young kids from St Mark’s Scout Troop and pukka club members, but with a motley gathering of visitors. He could see his mum, wearing a sizzling red sweater, and his gran and grandad, his gran’s steel-grey hair in tight sausage curls, his grandad in a collarless shirt, braces stretched over his magnificent paunch. He could also see elderly Hettie and Daniel Collins, Danny Collins’s mum and dad. Hettie was, as always, smartly dressed, a black cloth coat buttoned up to her chin despite the warmth of the evening and the fug of the gym, a black straw hat decorated with artificial cherries set at a rakish angle on her tightly permed hair.

  He looked around wildly for Jack. All attention was centred on a bloke he had never seen before, a bloke who was powerfully hitting the heavy-bag. He was presumably the new boxer Jack was so cock-a-hoop about, and Billy’s fleeting glance told him he was a fighter big enough and well-muscled enough to knock a building down.

  Danny was overseeing the new guy’s workout, and Billy was well-versed enough in Danny’s methods to know that there must have already been some loosening-up exercises and stretches. Then would have come a round of shadow boxing. Then a round of boxing. And another round of shadow boxing. The heavy-bag work would be the length of two rounds, followed by more shadow boxing, then skip rope and speed-ball work and, finally, callisthenics.

  ‘Where’s Jack?’ he urgently asked the nearest spectator who happened to be Jack’s dad, old Charlie. ‘I need to see him! He’s going to get a visit from Archie Duke’s boys any minute now!’

  Charlie blinked. ‘Archie Dook! Wot’s a gangster like Archie Dook want wiv Jack?’

  Protection money was Billy’s educated guess, but he didn’t have time to tell Charlie that. ‘Where the ’ell’s Jack?’ he demanded again, knowing the confab on the pavement couldn’t go on for much longer.

  ‘’E’s gorn to get a new speed-ball from the back room,’ Charlie said, frowning unhappily. ‘’Ere, you don’t fink Archie’s goin’ to try and pin Jack fer protection, do yer?’

  Billy wasn’t listening. Squeezing his way between knots of young, aspiring boxers from St Mark’s Scout Troop, he ran towards the back room. Behind him, raucous encouraging comments were being made as Jack’s new protégé obligingly moved from heavy-bag work to shadow boxing again.

  ‘When you goin’ to put ’im in the ring with Big Jumbo?’ he could hear his gran calling out to Danny. ‘Big Jumbo won’t ’alf ’ave to shift around fer once, won’t ’e?’

  Jack sauntered out of the back room, a speed-ball in his arms. Billy raced up to him, saying tersely and breathlessly, ‘Archie Duke’s mob are outside the side door. I reckon they’ll be up ’ere any minute. I thought you’d like a bit of warning!’

  Jack stood still for a moment. Archie and his boys were trouble, and he didn’t want trouble tonight, not with the new bloke and half of Magnolia Square on the premises. ‘Is Archie there as well?’ he asked, hazel eyes flicking towards the door leading to the stairs.

  ‘I dunno.’ Billy had gone to a lot of effort to avoid any eye-to-eye contact when he walked past them all. ‘’E might be. They were in pretty deep conversation. I don’t think they’re over this way just for the hell of it.’

  Jack grunted, in full agreement with him. The Swan was a low-key local pub, not the sort of pub Archie and his boys frequented when out for a good time. There came the sound of several pairs of heavy feet mounting the stairs. Jack threw the speed-ball to Billy. ‘Take this to Danny. Give him the whisper as to who’s just arrived and tell him if I need him, I’ll shout for him. Otherwise, I want him to carry on as he is doing, with everyone’s attention staying on Hemingway. Got it?’

  Billy, adrenalin pumping furiously through his veins, nodded. Ever since he was a youngster, Jack had been his hero. Archie Duke’s boys wouldn’t intimidate Jack. If anything, it would be the other way round!

  A big, middle-aged man, his shoulders thrust backwards in order to increase his chest size, swaggered into the gym, four younger men in his wake. All of them looked unpleasant pieces of work. One had a deeply uneven facial
scar that looked as if it had been caused by a broken glass or bottle. Another had stubby fingers so misshapen they looked as if someone had, at some time, systematically broken them all.

  Jack strolled over to meet them. ‘To what do I owe this pleasure, Archie?’ he asked drily. ‘It’s a bit late for your boys to want to learn how to hit cleanly with their fists, isn’t it?’

  Archie Duke smiled thinly. ‘My boys aren’t in need of any of your kind of lessons, Jack, and well you know it.’

  Both men stood for a moment, eyeing each other up. Though they had greeted each other on Christian name terms, it was the first time they had met. Everyone in south-east London knew Archie by sight, and Archie knew very well from the way Jack had greeted him, that he was Jack Robson, the club’s boss.

  ‘Well, if you want to have a few words, come into my office,’ Jack said, not wanting Archie and his coterie wandering over to where half of Magnolia Square’s elderly residents were happily clustered, watching Zac Hemingway work out.

  As he led the way to his booth, one of Archie’s henchmen nodded his head in the direction of the training area, saying, ‘What’s going on? You got something special on this evening?’

  Jack grinned as if a joke had been cracked. ‘No way. Can’t you see all the kids? They’re just being given a demonstration of how to move and throw a good stiff jab, that’s all.’

  ‘And the old biddies and the old geezers?’ Archie asked, pausing at the doorway to Jack’s booth and looking across the gym speculatively. ‘Why are they here? It looks more like a Darby and Joan Club than a bleedin’ boxing club.’

  ‘They’re here for the company and because, unlike downstairs, they don’t have to fork out for a half of mild or a port and lemon,’ Jack said easily, sliding into his chair and pulling one knee up so that the sole of his suede-shod foot was pressing against the near edge of the table. It was the position of a man totally at ease, and the ease wasn’t merely affected. During the first few seconds when he stood eyeball to eyeball with him, Archie Duke knew he was in the presence of a man who wasn’t the slightest bit nervous of him, a man it would be very, very hard to frighten.

  ‘Now, as you don’t want the services of my trainer,’ Jack said musingly, ‘what is it you’re hoping I can do for you, Archie?’

  Archie eased himself into the only other chair the office possessed, his henchmen squeezed in a semicircle behind it. ‘Well, it’s like this, Jack,’ he said confidingly, resting a gleamingly shod left foot akimbo on his right knee in a pose quite as relaxed as Jack’s and reaching in his inside pocket for a cigar. ‘You seem to be a man with a pronounced business flair, very pronounced indeed. This little boxing club of yours has got itself a good reputation, and then there are your other business interests.’ He paused, snipping off the end of his cigar and lighting it.

  Jack waited, not an ounce of nervous tension showing. He knew very well what was coming and, despite his imperturbability, didn’t yet know how he was going to handle it, at least not in the long term. One thing he did know, however, was that he couldn’t risk any violence now. Archie’s boys had a reputation for not caring too much about the sex or age of the people they hurt, and he had not only Mavis and her mum and dad in the club, but Danny’s mum and dad and his own eighty-year-old dad, as well.

  ‘And what other business interests are those, Archie?’ he asked, giving an impression of mild amusement.

  Archie grinned. His teeth weren’t at all well cared for. With genuine amusement Jack realized that Archie was scared of the dentist.

  ‘A certain afternoon drinking club in Soho,’ Archie said, blowing a ring of fragrant blue smoke into the air. ‘Now, as this is your first venture into such an enterprise and as I have a certain experience where clubs of this nature are concerned, I thought it only right and proper that I should give you the benefit of some friendly advice.’ He paused again.

  Jack didn’t bother to prompt him. All through the conversation he had been listening with half an ear to what was going on at the far end of the gym. Danny had obviously fitted the new speed-ball into the stand, for the sound of Zac Hemingway drumming it violently at lightning speed could clearly be heard. When the speed-ball work came to an end, the workout would be nearly over. People would then begin spilling all over the gym, wanting to see him to tell him what they thought of his new acquisition, and coming face to face with Archie and his boys when they did so.

  ‘You see, Jack,’ Archie continued, speaking in an almost fatherly tone, ‘some very nasty characters frequent out-of-hours drinking clubs, and owners and staff have to be protected—’

  ‘And you’re offering to do the protecting?’ Jack asked drily, knowing that time was fast running out if Archie was to be off the premises before Zac Hemingway’s workout came to an end.

  Archie rolled his cigar around in his mouth and then clamped it between his teeth, grinning yet again. ‘For a price, Jack. For a price.’

  Jack used his foot to push himself and the chair he was sitting on away from the desk, and stood up. ‘I rather fancy I can look after my own safety and the safety of my staff without any help, Archie,’ he said blandly. ‘But thanks for the offer.’

  Archie heaved himself to his feet. ‘You’re being hasty, Jack,’ he said, the glint in his eyes at odds with his apparent mildness. ‘You might like to reconsider in a few days’ time. If you do, you’ll find me in The Horse and Ferret, Deptford.’ He turned, walking out of the cramped booth and across to the door leading to the stairs, his entourage in his wake.

  Jack held his breath. The speed-ball had stopped drumming. Zac would now be winding down with callisthenics and callisthenics weren’t as attention-holding as shadow-boxing or bag-work. If anyone should see Archie and call out to him . . .

  The stair door creaked open and then, seconds later, banged shut. Jack let out a deep unsteady breath and sank back down onto his chair. Had he just been threatened? And if so, what was he going to do about it? At least, for the moment, Archie was gone, and for that he was profoundly grateful. But Archie and his cohorts would be back, of that he hadn’t a moment’s doubt.

  He heard the sound of Danny’s plimsolled feet scurrying across the gym. Seconds later he was rounding the booth’s doorway, saying urgently, ‘You all right, Jack?’

  Jack gave him a grim smile. ‘For the moment. Archie’s after protection money. I told him I wasn’t in need of protection and he said I might like to reconsider my decision in a few days’ time, which might just mean that, in the duration, he’s going to take some kind of action to make me change my mind.’

  ‘Bleedin’ ’ell!’ Danny sank down on the straight-backed chair that Archie had just vacated. ‘I thought at first ’e was ’ere ’cos ’e’d ’eard about ’Emingway. I thought ’e was goin’ to try an’ poach ’im. I never thought ’e’d be wantin’ protection for the club.’

  ‘It isn’t this club he’s primarily interested in,’ Jack said, his eyes flicking to the doorway to make sure no one was approaching. ‘It’s The 21 he’s interested in.’

  Understanding dawned in Danny’s eyes. Jack had bought The 21, a small Soho drinking club, a mere couple of weeks ago. Like many of Jack’s more dubious business forays, it was one that wasn’t common knowledge in the square. Danny doubted that Jack had even told Christina about it, for he never told her anything which would cause her even the slightest disquiet. Where Christina was concerned, Jack was ultra, ultra protective.

  ‘We knew it would happen, of course,’ Jack said wryly. ‘I’m just surprised how soon it’s happened. The club hasn’t even opened its doors under my management yet.’

  Danny, who was privy to all Jack’s business dealings, legitimate as well as not quite so legitimate, said, ‘I thought you might ’ave got off the ’ook where protection was concerned, seeing as ’ow the club was up for grabs with ten months of a valid drinking licence still to run.’

  Jack shot him a lop-sided grin. ‘That wouldn’t fool Archie, Danny. He’ll know we’ll be runnin
g it as a gambling club.’

  Danny didn’t grin back. He was trying to work out which would be the more unpleasant – a police raid on the club, or a raid by Archie and his boys.

  Jack read Danny’s thoughts as clearly as if he’d spoken them out loud. ‘A police raid would be a picnic compared to a raid by Archie and his cronies,’ he said drily and then, as Billy put his head around the door, ‘as it is, I’m glad we’ve nothing to worry about where Zac is concerned. His track record speaks for itself of course . . .’

  ‘Eh?’ Danny’s bewilderment, until Billy spoke from behind him, was almost comic.

  ‘Is everything OK, Jack?’ Billy asked anxiously. ‘If you’ve got trouble I’ll be only too ’appy to give you an ’and.’

  ‘There’s no trouble,’ Jack lied, flashing Billy a warm smile. ‘Archie was just being nosey, that’s all.’

  Relief and disappointment fought for supremacy on Billy’s personable face. He didn’t want Jack to be facing trouble from one of London’s most notorious underworld gangs, but on the other hand the adrenalin that had surged along his veins at the prospect of such trouble, and of taking an active part in deflecting it, was dizzyingly exhilarating.

  Jack, well aware of how willing Billy was to enter the lists on his behalf, gave an inward sigh of relief at his not having had to do so. He’d known young Billy since the day he was born and the last thing he wanted was to involve him in any underworld ugliness. Billy was the kid brother he never had. If Billy were to get himself glassed or knifed in a fracas with Archie and his boys, Mavis would never forgive him. Even worse, he would never forgive himself.

  He rose to his feet. ‘Did Zac keep his audience happy?’ he asked, walking over to Billy and, sliding an arm around Billy’s shoulders, strolling out of the office with him.

  Billy, who had been far too on edge wondering what was happening between Jack and Archie to take much notice of Zac Hemingway’s workout, said, ‘I reckon so. I think they’d ’ave preferred it, though, if Danny ’ad ’ad ’im sparring with Jumbo.’