September Song (29 page)

‘They're looking for me,' Viv said.

‘And it wouldn't be a good idea if they found her,' I said. ‘We'll just stay here until they've gone.'

‘And if they decide to come in here for a cuppa while they wait?' Jerry said.

‘They won't,' I said.

‘What makes you so sure?'

‘Enzo's coffee,' I said.

‘Come on, the coffee's not that bad. Its notoriety can't have spread further than Walthamstow.'

He was right, of course. We couldn't risk it.

‘You're right,' I said. ‘You'll have to go and talk to them.'

‘Me!' he said. ‘I don't think so. You're the one they're after.'

‘Exactly, Jerry,' I said. ‘You don't know anything. You're a complete innocent. Just tell them you haven't seen me since Saturday morning and you don't know anything about me or what I get up to.'

‘And if they don't believe me?'

‘Jerry, trust me. They'll believe you. You've got an honest face.' I smiled at him sweetly. ‘And, Jerry, come back as soon as they've gone.'

He let out an exasperated sigh and stood up. ‘All right, but I'm not risking my membership of the Holy Church of the Latter Day Cowards for you,' he said and moved to the doorway just as Enzo brought his coffee.

‘He don't want this?' said Enzo.

‘He'll be back for it in a minute,' I said.

Enzo shrugged and plonked the cup down. Between them, the shrug and the plonk had managed to tip most of the coffee into the saucer. Enzo licked some off his thumb and then went back to the counter, turned his attention to the wireless, to his third cigarette since I'd come in and the
Daily Mirror
that he'd been leafing through. The paper just happened to have a huge headline on its front page about a double murder in Soho.

I watched Jerry talking to the blokes over the road and wasn't too surprised when he opened the door that led to my flat and they all trooped in. As they did, something occurred to me.

‘What did you do with your blouse?' I said to Viv who was smoking furiously. ‘The torn one.'

‘Oh, it was ruined,' she said. ‘I left it.'

‘Where?'

‘I can't remember. In your room somewhere.'

I closed my eyes and tried to visualize my room, but I couldn't remember seeing the blouse anywhere. I could picture the book Ghislaine had sent me, lying by the bed, and Jerry's cat, the hefty and formidable Fluffy, had spread himself out next to it. But I couldn't see that damned blouse. Maybe George and Co. wouldn't either. Well, I could hope.

Then, while I stared through the window of Enzo's dark little café, the low, reassuring murmur of the wireless in the background, my stomach roiling with tea and tension, I had one of those rare moments of clarity in my chaotic life. I realized that it didn't matter whether they found it or not. They weren't looking for it. They weren't interested in Viv, except as a means to an end. And they weren't much interested in me, although I did have the distinct impression that Malcolm bore me a grudge for the bashed ankle and that George just bore me a grudge. They really were only after the ‘goods' that had gone missing – Ricky's and Mr Fitz's. They thought Viv knew where they were, and they thought I knew where they could find her.

Well, they were right on one score.

And then I had another blinding flash of insight. I think the Bible calls them epiphanies. For some reason, recalling the details of my room had me thinking back to Saturday night and Miss Summers' dressing room. I hadn't been at my best then and probably wasn't thinking all that clearly, if at all.

Sometimes, things are every bit as simple as they seem.

Not that it mattered, but I also suddenly realized that I knew exactly where Viv's blouse was, and I for one wasn't going to risk disturbing Fluffy to recover it. Although, I did rather hope that one of the thugs rummaging through my things would. Fluffy is not a winsome, charming cat.

‘Right,' I said decisively to Viv, because I suddenly had a plan of action, ‘I'm going to find you somewhere to hide while I sort a few things out. Enzo must have a broom cupboard. With any luck, it'll only be for a few minutes and then I'll find you somewhere a bit more comfortable.'

She looked worried but stubbed out her cigarette and stood up.

Enzo wasn't happy but finally ushered her into a large storage room out the back, with strict instructions that she wasn't to muck about with anything. I couldn't imagine what he thought she was going to do with his priceless collection of tins of beans, but I promised him faithfully she wouldn't touch them. He didn't look convinced.

I stood by the door of the café for a moment. They'd been in my flat for nearly five minutes and that was more than long enough to ascertain that, as Jerry had no doubt told them, I really wasn't there. Even if they were feeling vindictive – which that might be – they'd also had plenty of time to break every one of my treasured possessions. All three of them.

I couldn't think what they had to gain by duffing Jerry up, but I was beginning to think they might have decided to do it out of straightforward badness when Malcolm and Stanley slammed the door behind them and strode – and in Malcolm's case limped – across the road to their car. A few seconds later, they pulled out in front of a bus, which gave full voice to its objections with a loud and strident blast of its horn, and drove off.

Almost immediately, George and his mate came out of the flat. I stepped out of the café and, hidden by the bus, waited for them to appear.

I'd been expecting them to go around behind the bus, but they dashed in front of it and saw me immediately. George was on me in seconds. He grabbed me by the lapels of my jacket and slammed me into the wall of the Gaumont cinema by the bus stop and hit me once in the stomach. I doubled over but he held me up. His mate stood behind him, ready to step in if he was needed. That didn't look likely in the immediate future.

‘Where is she?' George said very quietly. ‘Tell me or you'll really take a pasting.'

I sucked in air and coughed. George had hit people before. He was quite good at it.

‘George,' I finally managed to squeak out, ‘I know you don't like me, and I don't doubt your ability to work me over.' I nodded at his mate. ‘Particularly with help.'

He smiled. ‘I don't need no help,' he said.

‘All the same,' I said, ‘it might be worth you listening to what I have to say.'

He relaxed his grip on my jacket slightly, but he didn't step back. I took that as encouragement to speak.

‘I know what you're looking for, and I think I know where it might be. You let me go, and I'll see if I can't get it to Mr Fitzgerald by this evening.'

He tightened his grip on my lapels, pushed me back against the wall and bunched his fist. ‘Tell me where it is or I'll really let you have it,' he said.

‘Now, now, George,' I said. ‘I'm not going to tell you.'

He waved his fist in front of my face.

‘George,' I said, ‘once, during the war in occupied France, I spent two days in a cell, a guest of our Nazi friends. Do you know what I told them? Nothing. And that's what I'll be telling you. If you do beat me to a pulp, I won't be able to follow up my guess and Ricky and Mr Fitzgerald will probably never see their stuff.' I paused and looked at him. ‘I don't know what Ricky's like about his stuff, but I'm pretty sure that Mr Fitzgerald would much rather have his returned to him than see me plastered all over this wall.'

He still held on tight, and he really looked like he wanted to take another swing at me.

Then something else occurred to me. George wasn't in the first flush of youth. He'd been around a bit, was probably more than ten years older than me.

‘How long you been with the Mountjoys, George?' I said.

He was slightly confused. ‘Long time,' he said.

‘Since before the war?' I said.

He nodded warily, unsure what I was on about.

‘I'm sure you're a very loyal servant to the Mountjoys. And I'm sure you look out for old Mr Mountjoy, same as you always have. I doubt you'd want him caused any trouble at his age. But trouble could be caused, George, if Viv – or Jean, as you probably know her – decides to tell her story to the authorities.'

‘No one would believe a tart,' he said.

‘Maybe not, George, but I can think of a few briefs who'd love to give your old boss a difficult time. Interfering with young girls  . . . It's not pleasant, is it, George?'

I could see the doubt dancing all over his face, and, again, he relaxed his grip.

‘You vicious bastard,' he said. ‘He's an old man, and he's not well. He's not right in the head these days. You wouldn't bring all that up again.'

‘I will if you make me,' I said. He glared at me but I knew I had hit home. ‘Otherwise, it's just between him and his conscience. Let me go to sort things out. And get Dave to keep Ricky on a tight leash on a permanent basis and it might all be forgotten. Otherwise  . . .'

The look he gave me was not pleasant, but he let go and stepped back.

Loyalty's a funny thing.

From what little she'd said, I suspected that Daphne's daughter been used and abused by the old boy for years as a young girl. I'd just had confirmation. Clearly, George knew it to be true. But, in George's eyes, I was the villain of the piece for having the rank bad taste to mention it.

I straightened my tie and smoothed down my lapels. ‘Thank you, George,' I said. ‘Now, get off back to Dave and tell him this will all be sorted by tonight with any luck and Ricky'll have to see Mr Fitz for any compensation.'

He offered me another ugly look and lumbered off to the car. The other guy, who hadn't heard much of what had been said, looked very puzzled but followed him and climbed behind the wheel of the Consul. The car pulled out into the middle of the road and performed a U-turn at speed, surprising and scattering cyclists and pedestrians.

Ah, well, it wasn't exactly the end of another beautiful friendship. And, as long as the old boy was alive, I knew now that I did have something to hold over the Mountjoys.

Of course, that wouldn't stand me in good stead if Ricky decided to knife me one dark night in the alley off Grange Park Road or in the cemetery of St Mary's Church.

EIGHTEEN

J
erry said nothing about the morning's little kerfuffle, after I'd rescued Viv from Enzo's stockroom and installed her in Jerry's living room, but he busied himself in the shop, performing such vital duties as moving invoices from one pile to another and counting the number of harmonicas in the window display in such a listless and martyred manner that I felt I had no choice but to return the two quid I'd borrowed from him in a vain attempt to cheer him up. It didn't work.

I was about to apologize to him and explain what it was all about when the little bell on the shop's door tinkled and Charlie Lomax came bustling in.

‘Hello, Tone,' he said. ‘The motor's outside as requested. The guv'nor says to try not to damage it too much.' He came closer and spoke quietly. ‘He's in a bit of a two and eight over Daphne, you know. Took a turn for the worse overnight.' He sniffed. Daff didn't care for Charlie. She'd always seen him as complicit in Les's little liaisons. Which was hardly fair. ‘Where to this morning?'

‘I thought we might pop in on Daff,' I said. ‘So Whipps Cross.'

‘Right,' he said. ‘I'll go and turn the motor round. I'll be opposite, outside the caff by the Gaumont.' He nodded at Jerry and left.

‘Listen, Jerry,' I said. ‘I'm really sorry about this morning.'

‘It's all right,' he said. ‘Just a part of life's rich tapestry.'

‘Yeah, well,' I said. ‘I didn't mean for you – and Fluffy – to be brought into this. Mind you, I expect Fluffy can look after himself.'

Jerry laughed. ‘Meaning I can't, I suppose,' he said.

‘I didn't say that.'

He gave me a dark look.

‘Anyway, I've got to get off. Things to do and all that. I'll go and get Viv.'

She was sitting on Jerry's chaise longue listening to Frankie Laine belting out ‘Cool Water' on Jerry's radiogram. She looked up at me and smiled as I came in.

I felt awkward. I just didn't know how to say what I needed to. Finally, I just came out with it. ‘Viv, listen. Your real mum, Daphne, asked me to find you.'

She looked shocked. ‘What?'

‘Yeah. She's not well. In fact, she's in hospital. I thought I might go and see her this morning.' I paused. ‘I wondered if you wanted to come.'

She didn't say anything, just stared at the floor. Frankie was singing the praises of cool, clear water, making me feel quite thirsty myself. Viv's silence went on until the record finished. I cleared my throat.

‘No,' she said, without looking up. ‘I'm not going to see her.'

I don't think I'd been prepared for a flat refusal, but, when I thought about it for a moment, it was understandable.

‘Well,' I said, ‘perhaps you can wait in the car, while I pop in. She's a nice lady. I'm fond of her.'

I was nearly as morose and thoughtful as Viv when I climbed back into Les's Roller in the car park of Whipps Cross Hospital after seeing Daff.

Charlie had been very pleased at having the old Rolls at our disposal and had been disappointed that neither of us had so much as remarked on being in the elegant old lady. She was Les's pride and joy, and he didn't let just anyone ride in her. So Charlie had been hurt at our lack of appreciation. And he was quiet and morose as well.

I'd had to wait half an hour for visiting hours to begin before I could get in to see her, and then she'd been so tired that I'd left after ten minutes, glad to be out of the overheated, stifling ward. Still, I'd told her I'd found Viv and that she was assimilating the news that her mother wanted to see her. Daff had completely understood.