A Question Of Honour: A Harry Royle Thriller (18 page)

Glancing over his shoulder, he noticed that Vera had followed and she quickly linked his arm. Not wanting to draw attention, Harry moved quickly up Fossgate and allowed the blonde to steer him through the dark little streets. Within a few minutes, she was gently guiding him through the doors of the Picture House on Coney Street. He paid and she smiled. They silently took seats towards the rear and he lit up a cigarette.

Vera seemed happy just to be sitting with him and so it didn't seem too much of a problem. Looking back to that night, Royle could never remember what film they had seen, all he remembered was the events of the next day. The evening had turned out all right and the woman hadn't been pushy. They had kissed and that too had been all right. She could certainly kiss and had obviously had plenty of practice, but he was happy to leave things with a kiss and a cuddle and no more. The comfort he needed, but beyond that, she was the wrong girl and he had Ruth on his mind. He had walked her towards the top of Thomas Street, kissed her goodnight and headed off to his own room.

The next morning after breakfast he had asked about a map. Only to be told that his landlady had given it up with other paper for the last paper drive. York was in her head and so she had no need of maps. Harry had considered taking Vera out that evening. Mrs Tanner had told him that the De Grey Rooms were popular and that they were even on the BBC if that meant anything at all, which to her mind, it didn't.

Not knowing which house Vera's flat was in, Royle decided to catch up with her in the pub later. He walked around and tried to get a feel for the little streets, looking in the shop windows as he passed. Later he found himself walking back in the direction of the station, having had a look at the Minster. There was a commotion ahead and Royle decided to investigate. It turned out to be a march past of those doing their bit. He caught sight of a group of women firefighters marching past what he now knew to be the Museum Gardens. The sight of all that patriotic eagerness hit a raw nerve and reminded him that he could and should have been marching off to do his bit, instead of ducking and diving to stay free. He despised his life, a life with no purpose. He spent some time in the Gardens, having turned away from the uniformed marchers after the noise had died down and the crowds had drifted away.

Early afternoon found him sitting in the smoke room of the little pub on Fossgate. He had been drinking for about an hour with no sign of Vera when he heard raised voices from the public bar. He walked over and listened. It was a voice accustomed to asking questions and Harry knew it had to belong to a police officer. He leaned closer to the hatch and listened intently.

"I will ask you again Sir, I need to know what time Vera Wakins left here last night and if she was on her own and also the whereabouts of Charlie Skeldrake and anyone else that might have been hanging around Vera the last few days? This is serious, the girl didn't go back to her lodgings last night."

The voice, Royle now knew as the barman's, told the officer that he knew nothing of where either Charlie or Vera might be, but that she'd left with some new bloke who had only just started coming in. Harry tensed as he heard more questions answered. The barman remembered the girl telling this new man of a room going, over on Granville Terrace. The officer replied that he knew that would be old Mrs Tanner, as she'd taken down her sign and hadn't had a soul there in months. Harry Royle realised his own stupidity staying listening so long and eased away and quietly out of the door.

He moved quickly towards Granville Terrace and his digs. It was just as he came in sight of the house, that he saw two uniforms standing outside the door waiting for an answer. Something made him head for Thomas Street, in the vain hope he might see Vera, but more uniforms were coming his way in the distance. Looking up he saw a bus, it was one of those small country buses. He jumped on and paid the fair to a place he'd only heard of in history, Stamford Bridge. He remembered vaguely that there had been an important battle there long ago, had it been Vikings? He couldn't remember, but at least he was out of the street. Picking up a stray copy of the local paper, he sat back and tried to relax, as the bus moved away from the area and any obvious sign of trouble. It might have only been just over nine miles away, but the journey seemed to take forever. The world at war appeared to have decided to be on a go slow, as far as Royle was concerned.

Before he had gone inside everything had been one big rush. Now people just enjoyed the journey and chatted as though appointments didn't matter and death might be closer than ever before, but there were more important things for people to worry about. Harry mused that perhaps he was being unfair and judging with his mind set firmly on London behaviour, and anything else by comparison would seem to be at a standstill. Stretching his legs out, he noticed a pub, The Duke of York, he quickly decided that it might be a decent enough place to think things through and work out his next move. He supposed Hull might be a good place to make for.

Harry Royle had often witnessed the scene in many a Hollywood western, where a good guy walks into a saloon and all conversation stops and every face turns to view the stranger. He had often seen this in films but never once had he expected to experience it in real life. As he allowed the heavy door to swing shut behind him, an obvious silence fell over the room. Faces looked straight at him and it took nerve for him to cross the scuffed wooden floor and order a drink. The man served him with a nod and Harry took the pint and sat down at a vacant corner table. He was glad to have brought the newspaper from the bus with him and hid behind it. No sooner had he done this, than the voices struck up conversations once more and all was as it had been before he'd made his grand entrance. He had been reading, well skimming the pages as slowly as he could and at the same time trying to come up with ideas. After about ten minutes the phone behind the bar rang. Harry jumped, startled, and hoped that no one else noticed. The barman answered it and after a brief conversation put down the receiver. He shouted across the room to one of the customers.

"Hey, Ray you'll never believe what that lad of yours has gone and done now?"

"What the hell's that bleeding Charlie done this time? I'll swing for that lad one of these days."

"Snatched that Wakins girl, taken her off in his car and crashed the bloody thing out in the middle of nowhere."

"He did bloody what? And with my bleeding petrol as well. She's not hurt is she? If she is…"

"She's fine, tough as old boots that one, in fact by the sound of it, she's given him a right old leathering and the coppers are more interested in the petrol, and that's your department old lad."

There was a good-natured peel of laughter rippling around the room, as Harry took in the meaning of the brief conversation. Ray got up and buying another half, sank it quickly and put on his coat to leave. The man joked with his friend behind the bar, who Royle now knew was called Tom that at least it hadn't been his car that Charlie had wrapped around a tree.

Royle quickly followed the man out of the pub and once outside managed to get a lift back to York with him. It was later that same evening that Harry sat eating a hot meal with his landlady. His flight had gone completely unnoticed, as Vera had turned up just after the police started looking for her, so his odd behaviour had gone unseen and his cover was still intact. He had laughed inside when he'd realised that he had been running from himself. It was his own paranoia chasing him and if he wasn't more careful, he could end up jumpy and punch drunk. He knew that he had to relax and try to act naturally. He mentioned Vera and what had gone on to Mrs Tanner, who explained that not being one to gossip, she couldn't say anything. She then told him all she knew, because she could tell he was a decent sort and deserved to know the facts, as she saw them.

The story was that Charlie had been far too drunk to do any harm to Vera and had simply scared her and got as far as a few miles into the country and run the car off the road. She had a few cuts and bruises and a temper, but beyond that appeared to be in robust health. Mrs Tanner told Royle that the reason for the sudden concern was the fear that the young girl had been embraced by the arms of the Foss, which confused Harry, until she explained that a large number of people had fallen into the river Foss while under the influence, hence the tongue-in-cheek name of the pub. Harry's landlady still advised he steer clear of the girl but gave a smile which said she would be surprised if he took her advice.

Two hours later found Royle walking alongside Vera on their way to the ballroom on St Helen's Square. Harry found Betty's very impressive and was more impressed that it was open late, reminding him of London and other days. The evening was pleasant and Vera proved to be a good companion, but there was no spark between them. Harry found her easy enough to be with but disliked her constant asking when he'd be going and to where. He was growing tired of all the hush-hush talk and was tempted to tell her the truth, just to get an honest reaction, but couldn't take the risk. His money was seriously getting low and he knew he would either have to run or get some cash quickly.

Vera made his mind up for him when she casually mentioned that the police would need to have a quick word with him about the fight with Charlie. She said that it wasn't serious and she had told them that that it had all been Charlie, but coppers always had to cross their T's and dot their I's, so he'd have to call and see them, better that she said than to have them at old Ma Tanner's. With this, she had laughed at the idea. A sharp, brittle laugh that had got on Harry's nerves.

Harry Royle had slept very poorly that night and by five in the morning had decided that it was time to get out of York. He knew that he was too hot to go straight back to London. He had hoped to get Vera to go with him as cover but now knew that this was a horse that wouldn't run. He had agreed the night before to a date at the De Grey Rooms, which sounded like a good place. Still he'd known when he made the date that it was one he would never keep. He had no plans, just a deep driving need to be gone from what he thought was a beautiful city and one he knew he wanted to see more of, but that would be another time and hopefully in better circumstances.

Chapter 11

Glancing up at the white railway station sign for Cardiff; Harry Royle shook his head and hoped that the city would prove luckier than York had. The wind blew a bitter greeting and he pulled up the collar of his overcoat. He looked down at his shoes, which were a little shabby, yet, still serviceable, as were his grey flannel trousers, white shirt and tweed sports jacket. Topped with his Crombie overcoat and trilby, he still looked clean, decent and tidy. He would need to look good if he were going to land a job of some kind. He had decided on his way from York, that finding a job for a week or two, might be just the thing to give him a breathing space and after that it would be London. First things first, a drink would be a good start and bar staff always knew where jobs were going and also of course where a cheap room could be found.

Sinking his hands deep into his pockets Harry crossed the road from the station. It was eight thirty and the roads were empty. Not wanting to remain on the main road, Harry made his way through side roads and little streets, threading his way through the Town for three-quarters of an hour or so, until he came to a likely spot. Standing outside the Red Lion on Church street, he straightened his tie turned down his collar and pushed open the door. The bar was as quiet as the street outside just a handful of serious drinkers filling the night with laughter, clinking glasses and the wooden click of dominoes. The bar was empty. Walking up Harry noticed the barmaid wiping a glass. She was a rare beauty and no mistake. She was young perhaps twenty, though with pretty eyes that had seen older sights before their time. She was dark and vivacious.

A pint of best bitter was ordered and consumed with a foot resting on the polished brass, which curved around the bar. One elbow propped on the bar, Royle searched her face for some evidence that she felt an attraction. His short wait was quickly rewarded and she smiled. Hers was a good smile; honest with a hint of devil may care. He liked her. Jean Griffiths was single and bored. It wasn't just on Thursday evenings that the pub and surrounding area were quiet, it was every night and she was young. She had dreams and they didn't include living her entire life in Cardiff. London that was her dream. What a place, she often thought, a body could do anything there. She could be something. But nice girls, even ones with dreams of the high life just didn't go to the capital, not just like that, they didn't. She'd heard the stories about girls who had run away, only to come to grief; some even falling and that scared her if truth be known. Then there was Millie, Silly Millie some called her. She was daft as a brush and took up with some flash Herbert, who breezed through. Thought she was heading for the high life until he dumped her on her mother's front step when she was in the family way. That was awful it spoiled things for the whole family that did. No way would that be Jean's fate, not if she could help it.

Harry swallowed the first mouthful of his second pint of bitter, rich and creamy with just enough bite. He was enjoying the full flavour when the girl with the disarming smile asked him a question.

"Are you a salesman, or something?"

He smiled as much at the pretty girl, as at the question.

"I'm the something, no I'm not selling anything. I'm an officer just been discharged, caught a bullet, but not anywhere too vital."

She smiled again flashing even white teeth.