She wasn’t giving him anything in return. When he came to her room one night, a look of pleading hope in his eyes, she played a card which she was certain would keep him out of her room in the future.
She invited him to sit down; she even took his hand. Then speaking in a quiet voice, a sad expression on her face, she explained about Sydney. He was, she said, the only man she had ever loved. If George wanted payment, then she wouldn’t resist him. But he would be making a prostitute of her, because, at the moment, she had no feelings for him. But if George were patient, if he let her recover from the shock of losing Sydney, then she might grow to love him. She was quite clever about this, and the look she managed to get into her eyes—a look of promise of wonderful things to come—completely fooled George.
He was crazy about her, and the thought of forcing his attentions on her was unthinkable. So it was agreed that she should have her own room, George should do the housekeeping and pay for everything, and Cora—well, they didn’t come to any decisions about Cora. It seemed rather obvious that Cora wasn’t to do anything.
And Cora did nothing. She stayed in bed most of the morning, reading the books George got for her from a twopenny library. She spent a long time before her mirror preparing herself for the day. They lunched together and loafed away the afternoon. In the evenings they either went to a movie or a theatre and had dinner out.
This kind of existence dragged on for a few days, and then George discovered his money was running out again. It was frightening how quickly money went, living in the West End with Cora as a companion.
He decided that he would have to stage another robbery. He viewed the prospects quite calmly. He had a lot of confidence in himself now. It seemed as if he were living a charmed life. He had killed a man, and no one had arrested him. He had attacked three garage attendants, and the police were still floundering. It would be all right, he decided, after some thought. He would leave garages alone this time and pick on a bank. That was dangerous, of course, but there was a lot of money to be found in banks: the prize was worth the risk.
He was sitting by the open window. It was eight o’clock in the morning, and Cora was still asleep. He sat there, making his plans, his hands caressing Leo’s thick fur.
It was odd how he had brought Leo to the flat. The morning he had left Eva’s place, after going to the post office to draw out the fifty pounds, he had returned to his room off the Edgware Road. He had hastily packed his things, paid his rent and told Mrs. Rhodes that he had been unexpectedly called out of town. He had said good-bye to Ella. She had known that something was wrong, and she had asked him outright.
“You’re in trouble, ain’t you, Mr. George?” she said. “Is it that gang you was telling me about?”
George nodded. He wished he could tell her the gang that was troubling him was a girl—far more dangerous than any make-believe gang he had bragged about in the past.
“I’ll keep in touch, Ella,” he said. “If anyone asks for me, tell ‘em I’ve gone to Scotland on business. It’s important that no one should know where I really am.”
Leaving Ella thrilling with intrigue, he had picked up his bag, slung his mackintosh and overcoat over his arm and ran down the steps. It was while he was waiting for a taxi that Leo suddenly appeared. George put down his bag and stroked the cat. He suddenly realized that he was going to miss Leo. Leo meant so much to him: understanding, companionship, love even—odd things like that.
A taxi drew up, and George opened the door, put his bag and overcoat on the seat and gave the driver Eva’s address. Then, without stopping to think, he picked Leo up, and got into the taxi.
He was glad now that Leo was with him. He had hoped that Cora would have filled the hollow loneliness of his life, but somehow, although they were together so much, she seemed like a stranger. She talked, but her talk meant nothing. There was no love nor understanding in her look. She might really not be there.
Leo did not like Cora, and whenever she was in the room the cat would creep under the settee; but alone with George it would reveal an affection for him which did much to comfort the big, wretched man.
Sitting in the armchair, Leo on his knee, George made plans to rob a bank. It would have to be a village bank, he decided. There was only one way to discover the right kind of bank. He would have to hire a car, and he would also have to leave Cora for a few days. He must never incriminate her. He guessed she knew that he was the mysterious robber who masked his face with a white handkerchief. But they had reached a silent understanding that they should not mention the fact. If he were caught, she must know nothing about, the robberies.
So it was arranged. George explained to Cora that he had to go off on business. She gave him a quick look, read his expression correctly, and agreed without protest. He hired a car, and after putting Leo in a cat’s home for a few days—he did not trust Cora to feed the cat—he set off for Brighton.
It took him three days to find the bank he was looking for. It was a tiny place in a village a few miles from Brighton. The staff consisted of only a branch manager who opened the bank twice a week. It did not take George long to obtain the information he needed. It was extraordinary how easy it was to rob the place. Of course, he had thought out a plan and had spent a lot of time on the ground, but somehow he felt it shouldn’t have been quite so easy. He entered the bank at a few minutes to three, just as the branch manager was closing the door. There was no one else in the bank, and the manager, a red-faced, cheerful man of about sixty, shut the door and bolted it before attending to George.
“You’re the last customer, sir,” he said, rubbing his hands. “I want some golf this afternoon.”
George hit him with his clenched fist in exactly the spot where he had hit the garage attendants. The manager slumped to the floor, and that was all there was to it..
George helped himself to two hundred pounds. If there had been more he would have taken it, but two hundred pounds wasn’t to be sneezed at. He left by the back way, drove to London without incident and handed the car back to the garage where he had hired it.
He returned to the flat after four o’clock. It was pretty obvious that the place hadn’t been touched since he had been away. It was in a complete mess, and George felt suddenly depressed and a little irritated. He put Leo on the settee. He had collected the cat on his way back to the flat, and set to work to tidy up. Cora wasn’t in. Her bedroom was dirty, and hopelessly untidy, and there was cigarette ash over everything.
It took him until almost six o’clock before he had straightened the flat, then he made himself a cup of tea and sat down. Leo got onto his lap.
George wondered where Cora had got to. He wondered hopefully if she had missed him. Perhaps tonight she would decide that it was time to be nice to him. Somehow he didn’t think he could go on indefinitely like this. The strain was beginning to tell on him. He could understand her feelings for Sydney. Though how she could have loved a fellow like that defeated him. Sydney had been very firm with her. Perhaps he had better be firm, too. Perhaps . . . he clenched his fists. It was no good think now. He would see her tonight.
Cora returned at half-past six. George heard her come in and go to her bedroom. Almost immediately she came into the sitting-room.
“So you’re back,” she said, looking at him curiously.
He looked at her, aware of a tightening in his throat. She was wearing wine-coloured slacks and a white silk-and-wool sweater. Her long black hair curled to her shoulders and partly hid her right eye.
George drew in a quick, deep breath. The sweater and slacks set off her sensual little figure. The sight of her in these new clothes fired his blood. He pushed Leo off his lap and went to her.
“Cora!” he said, taking her in his arms. “Can’t you be kind to me now? Do I have to wait much longer, Cora? Look!” He pushed her away and took out the roll of notes. “Two hundred pounds! Think what we can do with that! I can get more. But can’t you give me just a little . . . ?”
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p; She studied him, a strange expression in her eyes. “I think so, George,” she said at last. “Yes, I think so. I think you’ve waited long enough.”
He took her in his arms again and kissed her. She stood quite still, her eyes closed, cold, indifferent. He tried to move her by his kisses, but her mouth was a hard line. He let her go at last, and sat down.
“I’ve got to get used to the idea,” she said gently. “It’s no good rushing me. George, will you do something for me?”
He stared up at her, his face congested. “Aren’t I always doing something for you?” he said hoarsely.
“This is such a little thing,” she said, smiling. “Will you leave me for an hour? I want to think. I want to get used to the idea. I have a feeling that when you come back . . .” She turned away. “Well, you’ll be surprised, George. I promise you that.”
He had gone at once, and he had spent the next hour tramping the back streets, continually looking at his watch, his hunger for her deadening him to any other feeling.
When he returned to the flat, she had gone. She had packed her clothes, taken her jewellery and gone. There was no personal thing of hers left in her room except the faint smell of sandalwood.
He stood looking round the room for a long time, and then he wandered into the sitting-room. He glanced almost indifferently at the mantelpiece where he had left the two hundred pounds. That had gone too.
He was angry. This was the last time a woman would make a fool of him! He didn’t blame her in a way. He should have guessed that she still loved Sydney too much to have any feeling for him. It wasn’t that that made him angry. It was the knowledge that she had deliberately thrown dust in his eyes, sure of her ability’ to fool him as she had fooled him before, as Babs had fooled him. What kind of a man was he, that women could fool him so easily? He clenched his fists, cursing himself for being such a simple, trusting weakling.
No doubt she hadn’t expected him to return so soon. She had probably been getting ready to leave when he had returned. So she had got rid of him with a promise, and instead of keeping the promise, she had packed and gone.
He lit a cigarette and, taking Leo on his lap, he stared out of the window. He remained like that until it grew dark. While he sat there, he decided that he would wash his hands of her. He would pack and go. He would go to Eastbourne. He had always wanted to go to Eastbourne, and now he would see what the town had to offer him. He would put all this behind him and go back to his bookselling. It wasn’t much of a life, but anything was better than this ghastly, reckless existence.
He was still sitting there in misery, trying to bolster up his spirits, when he heard someone rapping on the door. At first he wasn’t going to answer, but the rapping went on and on, so he got up finally and jerked open the door.
Eva was standing there.
He stared at her blankly, wondering what she wanted.
“Yes?” he said, blocking the way. “What do you want?”
“Is Cora here?” Eva asked. There was a cold, spiteful look in her eyes.
He shook his head.
“Where is she?” Eva asked.
“I don’t know.”
“You mean she’s left you?”
He nodded. “Please go away,” he said, and began to close the door.
“Perhaps you don’t know she’s been sleeping with Ernie for the past four days,” Eva said.
George looked at her. “I don’t know why you’ve come here,” he said. “But I don’t intend to listen to your lies.”
“Lies?” Her voice shot up. “Why, you dumb fool, why should I lie about a thing like that! I want you to do something about it. Do you think I want a bitch like that to steal my man?”
George went cold. “I don’t believe you,” he said. “She’s in , love with Sydney. She wouldn’t . . .” And he stopped. Was this another of Cora’s little tricks? Was all that talk about being in love with Sydney just an excuse to fob him off?
“She’s been after Ernie for months,” Eva said. “I’ve watched her. But until now Ernie hasn’t been having any. But she’s got money now. She’s giving him things. She promised to give him a car! He’s not satisfied with the car I gave him. Oh no, he wants another! She’s been working for him all this week. Making money . . . big money! Well, you’ve got to stop her! Do you hear? You’ve got to stop her!”
George clenched his fists. A red curtain hung before his eyes. So that’s what she had been doing with his money. Giving it to Ernie, winning Ernie’s attention.
“Working?” he said. “What do you mean?”
“He’s given her a beat,” Eva returned, her voice hoarse with suppressed fury. “And a flat in Old Burlington Street.”
“Where’s her beat?” George heard himself ask.
“Sackville Street,” Eva returned, suddenly frightened by the ruthless, hard face before her.
“All right,” George said, and closed the door in her face.
Fifteen minutes later he left the flat and walked across Hanover Square towards Sackville Street. Street-walkers moved slowly along the back streets, paused to talk among themselves, looked at George hopefully and went on.
George walked down Sackville Street, along Vigo Street into Bond Street. He turned and retraced his steps. He had been doing this for over half an hour when he suddenly saw Cora. She was walking just ahead of a tall, well-dressed man in his middle fifties. She was loitering, a contemptuous expression on her hard little face.
George stepped into a shop doorway where he could watch, without being seen.
The well-dressed man overtook Cora, glanced at her and went on. She did not increase her pace, but kept on, swinging her hips, her head in the air.
The man walked as far as the street corner, and then stopped.
He looked round furtively, noted that Cora was still coming towards him, and then looked up and down, as if to assure himself that no one was watching him.
Cora came on. She looked at him enquiringly as she paused before crossing the street.
The man raised his hat and said something. Cora smiled. She waved her hand towards Old Burlington Street. From the doorway, George could see the man eyeing her figure. He said something, and then looked away.
Cora turned and began to walk casually towards Old Burlington Street, her hands in her pockets, her hips swinging.
After giving her a start, the man followed her.
George came out of the doorway and followed them. They entered a tall building halfway down the street, and when he was sure that they were safely out of the way he went up to the front door. There were three bell-pushes on the door. One of them had a little card: “Miss Nichols.”
George stood looking at the card for several minutes, then he crossed the street and waited. He waited until the well-dressed man had left the building, and then he approached the place himself. As he was crossing the street again, he saw a man coming towards him. He thought it looked like Little Ernie, and he darted into a doorway, his hand flying to his gun.
It was Little Ernie.
George watched him coming down the street. Ernie called out cheerfully to a woman who was walking in the opposite direction. “ ‘Ullo, ducks; don’t loiter. There’s still an ‘our before bye-byes.” ‘
George gritted his teeth. The little rat had made Cora into one of these women! All right, he’d fix him. The world would be well rid of a filthy little brute like Ernie.
He stepped out of his doorway as Little Ernie turned into Cora’s building. A few quick steps, and George was on him, as he was opening the front door with a key.
“Hello, Ernie,” George said softly.
Little Ernie gave a squeal of terror. He spun round, throwing up his hands.
George rammed the gun into his side.
“I warned you, you rotten little rat. You won’t get a car this time,” and he pulled the trigger three times.
The noise of gunfire crashed down the empty street. The flash blinded George. But he wasn’t nervous nor frightened. H
e watched Little Ernie flop on the steps of the house and then, bending over him, he shot him again.
A woman began to scream at the other end of the street.
George slipped the gun into his pocket and stepped from the shadow of the doorway. There was still no one about. Without hurrying, he walked to Clifford Street and stopped a passing taxi.
“Hyde Park Corner,” he said, and got into the taxi.
He glanced through the little window at the back. People were appearing now. A policeman was running down Old Burlington Street. It was going to be all right. His luck was holding. In another few seconds he’d be out of danger. He sat back in the cab and closed his eyes.
He did not allow himself to think until he had paid off the taxi and was walking towards Knightsbridge. He had no horror at what he had done. It was as if he had stepped on a beetle, no more, no less.
What would Cora do? Would she tell the police? If she did that it would be the end of him; but he somehow didn’t care. He was tired of this business, sick and tired of it. He wanted a little peace. Better keep away from the flat tonight, he thought. He wanted one more night of freedom. He’d go back the next morning. If the police were waiting for him, then he’d let them take him. But not tonight. He’d walk and walk, because he wanted to think. He wanted to make plans.
He woke the next morning in a Salvation Army hostel off the Cromwell Road. He remembered walking until he could walk no more, and had crawled into this place at three o’clock in the morning. Now it was just after seven o’clock, and he decided to return to his flat immediately.
On his way back he tried to think about Little Ernie, but what had happened the previous night had a dream quality about it, and he could not get his mind to believe that it had happened.
Even when climbing the stairs to the flat high above Holies Street, he could not believe that the police might be waiting for him. He was so tired, anyway, that he couldn’t care one way or the other.
1946 - More Deadly than the Male Page 25
