The Japanese Girl (22 page)

Bristow on the whole adapted himself well. He couldn't work up a really good manner, and this was a drawback; but he could shampoo really well and he learned to do a modified trim for clients who didn't want the whole treatment, Morgan was nice to everyone but he was never servile, and he never gave the impression of being effeminate. This was important. You went there for modem treatment for a man and you received it from a man – no nonsense about that.

Morgan took a little flat in the High Street. It was down a narrow alley and had a back door looking on to the river. This was ill-lit and was convenient for getting out of and into unobserved. Twice a week Peggy Bristow visited him there.

THREE

There had to be someone else in it, of course, and that was Carol Martin; because on these evenings Peggy was supposed to be out with her. It had been Carol Martin who had been drinking with her in the White Lion that evening when Ken Morgan had first come in and got talking with them. That had been the evening before the day when Morgan wandered into Bristow's shop. Peggy could see she was big time with him just meeting that one evening; but even so she never imagined he was what he was or that he would have the sauce to go into Walter's shop and con him into taking him in partnership.

Since then they had been on a slippery slope; but all things considered they both behaved with great discretion. It paid them to. If Bristow found out, the partnership would end on the spot. And this was to nobody's advantage. The money Peggy had invested, and the Bank's money, would be lost, for Walter hadn't a hope of continuing without Morgan. And then love affair would be lost. It was a sensual passionate affair that took Peggy's breath away, and was something that he appeared to feel deeply too; but there had been no talk of going away together. It was an experience such as she had never had before, lust, indulgence and exhaustion following each other as surely as dawn, noon and dusk. She looked no further than the next meeting. To run away with and marry a man seven years younger than yourself was not on the cards – particularly when he did not ask you. Besides, his job now was here in Crowchester.

At the end of six months Ken Morgan was almost as much of a mystery to her as he had been on the day they met. Although he had a fund of small talk, he spoke scarcely ever about himself, and when asked usually turned the point away. He'd been on the loose, as he put it, ever since he was seventeen, had been apprenticed to a London hairdresser and then gone to Brighton for a spell. These last two years he had been doing something else, but he was reticent as to what that something else was. She sometimes wondered if he'd been in prison – yet he didn't look the sort: he was too easy: you don't serve even a short sentence and come out looking as easy as he did. And he wasn't a natural law-breaker, she was sure. He always disliked it if his car wasn't on a meter or on a regular car park; he was almost finicky about PAYE returns; he had no use for sit-down strikes or student demonstrations. It was two sides to a mystifying character. But she was mad about him. When Walter brought him home to supper, as he did once a month when they were working out what his percentage of the takings was, her mouth went so dry she could hardly speak, and her flesh crept and quickened so that she was afraid Walter would notice something peculiar about her.

Unfortunately Crowchester is not quite grown out of the small town mentality, and, although Walter noticed nothing, Carol Martin went out with other women who asked where Peggy was, and the lies Carol told weren't always the most convincing, and so tales began to get around. They reached Bristow.

One night he said to Peggy: ‘You got another man?'

Her heart changed gear. ‘What ever do you mean?'

‘You're not out with Carol Martin when you say you are. You go off on your own. She goes with the rest of the click. You're not there.'

‘I'm not
always
there,' she said. ‘I get
fed up
of them. Sometimes I go to the flicks. Why not? It's my own money. It's my own life.'

‘That why you not let me get near you for the last five months? Going to the flicks? That satisfy you?'

‘Oh … That … I've just grown fed up of it. We've been married ten years. It depends how you're made, doesn't it? Some folk go on, and some drop off. It's not
everything
.'

‘You mean you've grown tired of me.'

‘Not specially … But like I say – it's ten years.'

‘And who's the fancy man?'

‘Leave off. You don't know what you're talking about.'

‘Is he somebody I know?'

‘I didn't say there was
anybody
! You're
dreaming
!'

‘He'll be dreaming if I ever catch him.'

She stopped short, one hand on elbow, the other holding a cigarette. ‘Look, Walter, be your age –'

‘Oh, so
that's
it! Why, you –'

‘Oh. I didn't mean
that
. You're O.K. that way. It's an
expression
, for heaven's sake, be your age. Grow up. It's the'seventies. Marriage vows don't mean so much these days –'

‘You dirty bitch, you –'

‘I'm
not
!' She came up to him, arms folded, stared him out. ‘You're fifteen years older man I am. I was twenty-four when I married you. You were thirty-nine. Can you tell me
one
minute in ten years when you've caught me looking at another man?'

‘Not caught you, no –'

‘Nor have I never! Never! Not until now –'

‘Ah, so you admit it!'

‘Admit! What d'you want me to admit? I've a friendship –'

‘
Friendship
! That's a name for it! That's a new one –'

‘If you don't like it, divorce me! Except that you've got no evidence! Nor never will! I've had a man friend take me to the movies once or twice. Think you can get a divorce for that? Eh? Just try it on!'

‘Who is it?'

‘Fellow I met in the pub. You don't know him. He comes from Norwich. Only here about twice a month on business. So you don't need to worry.'

‘One of these reps, I suppose.'

‘I tell you you don't need to
worry
!'

‘Married?'

‘Yes, as a matter of fact. What's that got to do with it?'

‘Wife know?'

‘That's his problem.'

‘And you're my problem, eh?'

‘I'm not anybody's problem, Walter. I live my own life. You've never bothered to ask what I did when I was
with
Carol. Think she's a saint? Why should you bother what I do when I'm
not
with her? I'm grown up. I take care of myself!'

FOUR

When she told Morgan he said: ‘So we'll have to watch our step. It wouldn't do to break things up just now.'

‘Oh, I know. It's a good job you've got this back entrance. It's easy. I go into the Waggoner for a gin and tonic, then I go to the Ladies, slip out through the outside door and down the alley. It's easy.'

‘Think he's likely to follow you?'

‘Never. You know what he's like after a day's work – has his supper and then sits in front of the telly. Doesn't matter what's on, he just sits there.'

‘Jealousy might stir him up.'

‘Even jealousy wouldn't get him into the Ladies.'

Morgan didn't laugh as she thought he would. ‘ It's other people then. We'd best lay off next week.'

‘Why?'

‘Full moon.'

‘You getting tired of me, Ken?'

‘Oh, yeh. Does it look like it?'

‘Well, I just wondered.'

He was staring past her reflectively, through the cigarette smoke. ‘We're just marking time now – breaking even. Another couple months it'll be coming about right. That's why we got to be wary now.'

‘Anybody'd think,' she said stormily, ‘that you'd gone into partnership with Walter because you wanted to, and net because you fancied me!'

‘Oh, come off it, Peggy. I'd never've gone
near
the shop if it hadn't been for you. But I don't want a round of bloodletting now: you out on your ear, my job gone, and him losing the rest of his money? It stands to reason.'

‘Yes,' she agreed, but without warmth. ‘It stands to reason, doesn't it.'

So another two months passed. The
Page Boy
hair style grew more than ever prevalent among the young men of Crowchester, and with Christmas the corner was turned: the salon began to show a profit. In spite of protestations on both sides the love-affair cooled. It was his fault, and they both knew it.

Soon after Christmas a girl was assaulted in Crowmoor Woods. This was really a piece of open common land between Aston Ford and Crowchester, with clumps of trees and bushes and a few well-worn tracks across it. The main road between town and village took a four-mile curve; to walk across or cycle across the common was a little under two. The girl had been pushed off her bike and almost stripped of her clothes before she could get away. It was a dark night and she could not describe the man, except to say that he was of medium build, wore a grey mask and had long hair.

Later in January there was another attack. This time although the girl got away in the end she was badly bruised and spent a couple of days in hospital. The description of the man was the same.

Morgan's prophecy about the shop came true. After the rush of Christmas January saw no tailing off. They instituted a system of appointments. Morgan called them dates: it was a less formal word, and more manly. So men came from neighbouring towns and villages. Bristow engaged a boy assistant, an apprentice who was learning the trade and was able to do the odd jobs. The shop was too small to take more than three of them, and anyway Morgan was against it: with this sort of work it was the personal touch or nothing.

Unfortunately as trade boomed the relationship between the principals worsened. Bristow had nothing against Morgan and they worked well together, but his natural lack of small talk had degenerated into moroseness. Peggy still visited Morgan but now only about once a week, and then sometimes they would quarrel instead of making love. The most difficult evenings were the month ends when the profits were worked out after supper in the bungalow by the river. Walter was on speaking terms with Peggy but not much more; and the feeling between Peggy and Morgan was often so charged one way or the other that it was hard for them to have ordinary conversation.

Morgan had made few other friends in the town. On Sundays he went off in his Mini and was rarely seen. Peggy charged him with having a woman somewhere else, but this he denied with his usual ease of manner. It was this ease of manner which had first so entranced her and now so infuriated her. She was still in love with him but now there was an abrasion working between them. And the abrasive element was his growing indifference.

One Monday morning in the middle of February two policemen called at the salon. They came at nine, when the shop opened, and only the two hairdressers and the apprentice were there. The first ‘date' was for nine-thirty. The two policemen introduced themselves as Detective Sergeant Taylor and Detective Constable Spinner. A woman had been attacked and raped the night before on the common land known as Crowmoor Woods.

‘Oh, so he's made it at last,' said Morgan lightly.

The two policemen looked at him sharply. ‘ What d'you mean by that?' asked Detective Sergeant Taylor.

‘What do I mean by what?'

‘What you've just said.'

‘Well, I suppose it's the same man who did the other attacks, isn't it? Both other times the girls got away. So I said he'd made it, didn't I?'

‘Maybe. That's as maybe. We just wanted to ask a few questions, if you please.'

Bristow stared. ‘ What are we supposed to have done?'

‘Nothing yourselves but … the victim's description of her attacker is just the same as the other ones: masked, middling build, with long hair. And they all described the hair style just the same. It's a style like that wig in the window, a style like yours, Mr Morgan. It's got a name, hasn't it?'

‘Oh,
Page Boy
. Yes. That's the name I gave it.
Page Boy
. D'you mean this man –'

‘This girl, the victim, knows the style and she knew the name of it.
Page Boy
was what
she
said too. And yours is the only shop that trims hair, that sets men's hair that way. This shop,' Detective Sergeant Taylor glanced round; ‘ it's not like an ordinary barber's at all, is it. So it occurred to us you would know the names of your customers who – adopt this hair style.'

Morgan whistled and glanced at Bristow. ‘ That's a tall order, Sergeant. Unfortunately it's our most popular style. There must be forty or fifty men styled this way –'

‘And you'd have the names?'

‘Some of them. There's one coming in this morning: Ellis – Tom Ellis – from the garage. But he's a big tall chap. We're kept pretty busy, see, so people make dates. Where's our book, Walter?'

Bristow frowned and went to the rear of the shop. ‘We've
some
names,' he said. He came back with the appointments book. ‘ You're the one who knows the styles, Ken.'

‘Well, we'll take the names you have, if you please,' said Taylor. ‘If you'd go through the book with us, Mr Morgan.'

But in spite of all the efforts of the police no arrests were made. It got about, the fact that the wanted man had a
Page Boy
cut, and this style rapidly went out of fashion in the salon. The nearest to it was
Aztec
, and Morgan spent some profitable hours converting one style into the other: this was easy because it meant cutting the hair instead of waiting for it to grow longer as would have been the case with
Cavalier
.