The Lighterman: The Kray Twins are out for revenge... (Charles Holborne Legal Thrillers Book 3)
Page 28
Sally is astonished at the differences between the two brothers. David is slim and over six feet tall, with a broad brow, light brown eyes and a shock of fair hair. But then he smiles and his eyes crinkle in just the way Charles’s do and, when he speaks, his voice is just a lighter version of his older brother’s.
‘I’m pleased to meet you after all this time,’ says David, looking over her head with light-hearted disapproval at Charles.
‘Come into the lounge,’ says Sonia. ‘Mr and Mrs Horowitz aren’t here yet,’ she adds quietly.
Over an hour has passed at the Horowitzes but Millie and Harry, usually sticklers for punctuality, have still not arrived. Sonia supplies Charles and Sally with cups of tea and tries not to look repeatedly at the clock. The food laid out on the dining room table — smoked salmon, olives, pickled and salted herring, fried fish balls, baskets of bagels, Danish pastries, two large home baked cheesecakes — a real high tea, as Charles commented admiringly — has been recovered with its greaseproof paper. The brothers conspiratorially sneak occasional titbits from under the coverings when they think the women aren’t watching. Charles starts to relax. It’s obvious that David and Sonia like Sally — she and Sonia have been in fits of giggles more than once — and with a bit of luck his parents have either forgotten or, more likely, decided not to come.
When the doorbell finally sounds they are all startled. There’s a moment of silence as they brace themselves. Then Sonia forces a smile and rises to open the door. David and Charles remain seated, Charles staring at the carpet. Sally stands, smooths her hair, paces nervously, and finally perches on the edge of Charles’s armchair behind the door, clasping her hands decorously. She marvels that one old Jewish woman can cause such fear in two intelligent adult men.
They hear voices in the hall and the lounge door opens. Millie Horowitz enters. She is in her early seventies, her permanently waved hair largely grey and her hearing beginning to fail, but her backbone is still ramrod straight and her head proudly erect. She is short and slim, simply and elegantly dressed in a floral cotton two-piece, a blue handbag over her arm and a matching velveteen hat with fine netting over the crown and side walls, a cluster of rhinestones forming a teardrop to one side. It’s a striking confection and Charles knows, with certainty, that it’s his mother’s own handiwork. He stands.
‘Hello, Mum,’ he says, and hugs her. She permits the gesture without quite taking part. ‘How are you?’ he asks solicitously.
‘Hello, Charles. I’m getting by. And you?’
She appraises her elder son swiftly, her eyes, undimmed by sixty years of close millinery work, missing nothing.
‘Very well, thank you,’ answers Charles formally. ‘Mum, I’d like you to meet my girlfriend, Sally.’
Millie turns to Sally and looks unexpectedly surprised. Her brow furrows. Sally has politely risen from her chair as the older people entered. Now she, too, wears a peculiar expression.
‘Mrs H?’ she asked. ‘Is it you?’
‘I know you, don’t I?’ replies Millie.
‘I'm Sally, Mrs H. Nell’s girl, remember?’
‘You two actually know one another?’ asks David incredulously.
Sally laughs in relief and disbelief. ‘Yes, we do! A long time ago now, but still.’
She and Mrs Horowitz embrace with more warmth, notes Charles, than was demonstrated to him.
‘You’ve grown into a fine girl, Sally. How’s your mother?’
‘Just a minute,’ interrupts Charles. ‘How the hell do you know each other?’
At that moment Harry enters, in conversation with Sonia. ‘Harry,’ interrupts Millie, putting a hand on his arm, ‘look who it is. It’s little Sally.’
Harry Horowitz peers at Sally and a slow smile creeps across his face. ‘Well, I’ll be! You’re Charles’s Sally?'
Sally turns to Charles. ‘My Mum was an outworker at your Mum’s millinery shop, years ago,’ she explains. ‘I used to go with her on the bus to take her finished work down every Sunday morning.’
‘She was such a good girl,’ says Millie. ‘She’d play with the buttons for hours. And pretty too, like a picture!’
‘She’s not changed,’ says Harry approvingly. ‘Still lovely.’
Millie looks at her for a while, nodding slowly in agreement. ‘Is your mother still alive? And your sisters? All married now, I expect,’ but she doesn’t allow Sally to answer. ‘So what about this tea, then?’ she continues without pause. ‘We’ve come half way across London and been here half an hour already, and no one’s so much as offered me a cup of tea.’
Sonia takes her cue and slips out to the kitchen.
Charles inclines his head to Sally’s. ‘You knew?’
‘Of course not,’ whispers Sally. ‘I was six. She’s was just this woman my Mum called “Mrs H”.’
Millie takes Sally’s arm. ‘Help me sit down over there at the table,’ says Millie, who has never had trouble walking or sitting in her life. This isn’t acceptance by Millie, but it’s a start. Sally half turns towards Charles, and winks. Charles grins, looks at David, and shrugs lightly. David shakes his head ruefully at his older brother; he knows that Charles will need time to decide how he feels — if he ever gets round to exploring it at all.
The telephone in the hall rings and David slips out to answer it. He returns a few seconds later with a puzzled frown on his face. He speaks softly to Charles so as not to disturb Millie and Sally’s conversation.
‘It’s for you.’
‘How can it be for me? I don’t live here,’ replies Charles, his confusion prompting him for once to state the obvious.
David shrugs, and gestures with his open palm towards the hall.
Charles steps into the hall and goes to the telephone sitting on the small semi-circular walnut table near the front door. The receiver is lying on the glass which protects the table top, and Charles picks it up.
‘Charles Holborne?’
‘Who’s speaking?’
‘Don’t you recognise my voice?’
Charles does recognise the voice, and as he does so he holds his breath in anticipation of what’s about to come. ‘Ronnie Kray, and dried out, I suppose. What can I do for you?’
‘It’s not Ronnie, it’s Reggie. Now you listen to me carefully, Mr Holborne. We’ve had a long chinwag, Ron and me, about what to do with you. I’ve been getting a bit pissed off about the amount of time, money and effort it’s taking to put you in your place, and Ronnie and me have other business to attend to. So, we’ve decided to take you off the List.’ Charles’s heart soars as he hears this. ‘But there’s a catch, see?’
Reggie pauses, and Charles hears papers being shuffled at the end of the line.
‘Here in front of me are two different versions of a handwritten interview by Chief Prevention Officer Vermeulen. I also have a statement from Mr Vermeulen, explaining how you threatened him to make ’im change his evidence. It’s all signed and sworn and so on — I even got a solicitor in the Firm, you might know ’im — to draw it up and witness it. It’s all legal. And lastly, I’ve got a piece of paper with your home phone number written on it, in your handwriting.’
As Reggie Kray continues to list the evidence that would destroy Charles’s career and have him thrown into prison, Charles’s ears burn and sweat appears on his forehead.
‘Now, I ain’t gonna do nothing with all of this for the mo. But you better understand this: we own you. You got Harry Robeson potted, which set back our business plans for a long time. Now I know you can’t do the same job as he did. He was a bent solicitor, company fiddles, tax and all that, whereas you’re a bent barrister, courts and judges and so on. But that still gives rise to some interesting opportunities for the Firm. So there’ll come a time when we call in this debt. And if you want to stay off the List or stay out of prison, you’ll do exactly as we say. Have I made myself clear?’
‘Yes,’ replies Charles softly.
‘Louder, so I can hear you proper.’
‘Yes,’ repeats Charles, more loudly.
‘Good. You see Charlie, you give yourself these airs and graces, but I always knew you was as bent as the rest of us. And now you know it too. Enjoy your Sunday tea.’
The connection is broken, leaving Charles standing in the hallway, the telephone receiver to his ear. He slowly lowers it to its cradle, oblivious to the clink of tea cups and the chatter from the adjoining room.
Charles feels numb. Being on Ronnie’s List would have meant constantly looking over his shoulder, but he could have dealt with that. It would’ve required action, probably violence, but that’s OK, I’m good at that, he tells himself; I can do cold, unemotional, decisiveness. That’s what you’d say, isn’t it, Etta? But this … this debt hanging over me? Over my whole career, and for ever?
What shakes Charles to his core are Reggie’s last words. Could that slimy thug really have put his grubby finger on the doubt lurking in Charles’s soul? How can Charles kid himself he’s the honourable barrister, the man of integrity, from inside the Krays’ silk-lined pockets?
I’ve lost everything, haven’t I? Everything I’ve ever worked for.
‘Who am I, Etta?’ he whispers to his late wife. ‘And what am I going to do?’
Silence.
***
Want to carry on the adventure with Charles Holborne? Read Corrupted
— Book Four in the Charles Holborne legal thriller series.
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A NOTE TO THE READER
Dear Reader,
Thank you for taking the time to read the third Charles Holborne legal thriller. I hope you enjoyed it.
Nowadays, reviews by readers are essential to authors’ success, so if you enjoyed the novel I shall be in your debt if you would spare the few seconds required to post a review on Amazon and Goodreads. I love hearing from readers, and you can connect with me through my Facebook page via Twitter or through my website.
I hope we’ll meet again in the pages of the next Charles Holborne adventure.
Simon Michael
www.simonmichael.uk
ALSO BY SIMON MICHAEL
The Brief
An Honest Man
Corrupted
The Waxwork Corpse
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS
As I learn my trade I find that more thanks are now required than in the first two books of the series. I owe a debt of gratitude to the following: to Roger Madgett, sailor extraordinaire, and Barrie Tyson, ex-lighterman now living in Australia, for assistance with boats and life on the River Thames; to Ian Pears (herein knighted) and Caroline Sumeray, both HM Coroners; to Don Hill, ex-copper and stern critic whose experience in the South Yorkshire Police has been invaluable; and to Cathy Helms, Neil Cameron and Emma Riddell for design, proof-reading and other valuable thoughts.
Published by Sapere Books.
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Copyright © Simon Michael, 2017
First published by Urbane Publications, 2017.
Simon Michael has asserted his right to be identified as the author of this work.
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the publishers.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organisations, places and events, other than those clearly in the public domain, are either the product of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously.
Any resemblances to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales are purely coincidental.
eBook ISBN: 9781913028763