Gun Street Girl

by Mark Timlin

  ‘Elizabeth,’ I said, ‘don’t get hysterical.’

  But she was. Her hands had fisted and she was waving them all over the shop. I hate all that shit, always have. I didn’t want to slap her like in the films, so instead I avoided her flying fists and moved in and held her tightly. She was as stiff as one of the canvases on the wall. I could feel her heart beating.

  ‘Stop it,’ I said and she gave one last desperate sob and grabbed at me. Her body arched and all the pain in the world was in her voice as she tried to speak. ‘Relax,’ I said. ‘Just let it all out.’

  She did, all down the front of my new suit. There must have been a gallon of grief inside her and my new wool worsted soaked it all up. I held her and rocked her and slowly she calmed down. Finally I let her go and she stepped back. She was out of breath and her make-up was a ruin.

  She saw me looking and said, ‘I must look awful.’

  I could have written the script.

  ‘You look great,’ I said, and she did.

  ‘I’ve never cried before, not properly. Not since Daddy died. Just little weeps. I feel better for that. Thanks, Nick.’

  ‘A pleasure.’

  ‘I ruined your suit.’

  I looked down and she was right. ‘Forget it.’

  ‘I’ll buy you a new one.’

  Why do rich people always have to spoil things? I can never get over it.

  ‘Never mind,’ I said.

  ‘Have I said something wrong?’

  ‘No,’ I replied, and she hadn’t. Not by her standards. She just had too much money.

  She didn’t look convinced. ‘Are you sure?’

  I smiled – why shouldn’t I? I’d just held a very beautiful woman very close and it had felt good.

  ‘I promise,’ I said. ‘I’m glad to be a help.’

  ‘I’ll be better with you around.’

  I felt about ten feet tall. ‘Good,’ I said.

  ‘I’m going to my room now.’ She smiled. ‘I’m going to take a bath and have an early night. I hate to desert you, but I feel exhausted, and I must get my beauty sleep.’

  ‘I can’t think of anyone who needs it less,’ I said.

  ‘You’re so gallant, Mr Sharman.’

  ‘I’m a bit out of it myself. I think I’ll turn in early too.’ It was true, I was cream crackered.

  ‘Take a look around,’ she urged. ‘And treat the place as your own. Everyone else does.’ She added the last three words bitterly.

  ‘I will,’ I said. ‘Just take it easy. I’ll sort everything out.’

  ‘I only hope you can.’

  ‘Don’t worry.’

  ‘I’ll organise a dinner jacket for you in the morning. I’m so sorry about that. I didn’t mean to make you look a fool.’

  ‘Don’t worry. It’s hardly the biggest social gaffe I’ve ever made.’

  ‘Let’s meet for breakfast and we’ll talk then,’ she suggested.

  ‘I’ll look forward to it.’

  ‘Good night then.’

  ‘Good night, Elizabeth.’

  I thought she was going to say more and I wanted her to. But she just blew me a kiss and walked up the stairs into the shadows, vanishing like a wraith.

  9

  I didn’t go back to the remnants of dinner, instead I made my way back to my suite and switched on the TV in the sitting room and made myself a vodka and tonic. I looked out of the french windows and lit a cigarette. The air outside was heavy and dusty and there was no trace of a breeze. I didn’t bother putting on any lights but just allowed the TV screen to illuminate the room with its flickering colours as darkness came.

  Finally, when it was fully dark, I switched on a small table lamp and looked at the pile of butts in the ashtray. I threw two empty tonic bottles into the wastepaper basket and decided to hit the sack. I pulled myself off the sofa, feeling old and weary. There was a tap on the door. I went over and opened it. Catherine was leaning against the door frame with a bottle of champagne in each hand. ‘Hi, Nick,’ she said. ‘I thought you’d run out on me.’

  ‘No,’ I replied. ‘I just wasn’t crazy about the company you were keeping.’

  ‘You wanna know a secret? Neither was I. So I liberated two bottles of the best shampoo that Pike money can buy and here I am. Can I come in?’

  I stepped back into the room. ‘Of course. You’re welcome.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘There should be some glasses.’

  ‘If there isn’t, this is not part of the Pike empire.’

  I found two flutes in the glass collection on top of the fridge. Catherine eased the cork off one of the bottles with an ease born of practice. She filled both glasses and we touched rims. ‘To crime,’ she said.

  ‘And punishment,’ I replied.

  She sat on the sofa and the skirt of her dress slid up her thighs. I averted my eyes and offered her a cigarette. ‘Thank you.’ As she leaned forward to accept a light I could just about see her navel. If she was trying to get me at it, she was succeeding admirably.

  ‘Can we have some music?’ she asked.

  ‘There isn’t any.’

  ‘Of course there is.’ She came out of the depths of the sofa like a cat and went over to the bookcase. She fiddled around and a section slid open. Inside was a cute little stereo system. She switched it on and found an FM stereo station playing jazz standards without the benefit of some jerk of a DJ. She adjusted the volume so that Anita O’Day oozed out of the concealed speakers like syrup off a warm pancake.

  ‘Amazing,’ I said.

  ‘Didn’t Miranda tell you about this when she showed you your rooms? I’ll have words with her in the morning.’

  ‘Don’t do that,’ I said. ‘I think my private eye charisma was blinding her when she showed me up.’

  ‘I’m not surprised,’ said Catherine. ‘It’s been doing the same to me.’ She dimpled prettily and I dimpled prettily back. At least I think I did.

  Anita O’Day was replaced by Ray Charles doing One Mint Julep and Catherine said, ‘Wanna dance?’

  ‘Sure.’ She came into my arms and tucked her head into my neck and I smelt the freshness of her. Her body fitted mine down to the finest detail.

  We danced to Ray Charles, then Ella singing Where or When, then Sinatra’s version of Love for Sale, until Jimmy Smith pounded out Hobo Flats which defeated us both and we collapsed onto the sofa.

  ‘That was nice,’ she said.

  ‘It was, it’s been a while.’

  ‘A while what?’

  ‘Since I danced with anyone.’

  ‘I don’t believe that.’ She topped up our glasses and lit a cigarette.

  Suddenly she leant over and kissed me on the side of the mouth. She tasted of tobacco and alcohol and her lips were as soft and slippery as melted butter.

  ‘Are you trying to seduce me?’ I asked.

  ‘Could be, but it’s not me you want, is it?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘It’s Elizabeth, isn’t it?’

  ‘Shit, Catherine.’

  ‘We could just have a fuck and leave it at that,’ she said.

  ‘I don’t think it’s good practice to sleep with the clients.’

  She thought about it for a moment. ‘But I’m not really your client, Elizabeth is.’

  ‘You’re close enough for comfort, and you’re splitting hairs.’

  ‘How about getting smashed with the client?’

  ‘I’m always up for that.’

  She stood up and opened the other bottle of champagne. ‘Let’s do it then.’

  And we did.

  God knows what time we finished drinking, but I do know that we got through every drop of booze in the room before Catherine went unsteadily back to her rooms through the connecting door to my suite.

  I left the mess and the light on, and went to bed leaving a trail of clothes behind me. I tossed and turned for a few hours. I finally came to about seven thirty and lay there fighting back the urge to vomit. Bad news, N
ick, I thought. Throwing up in the morning is serious bodily abuse. What was wrong with me? Getting old was the only answer I could come up with. Getting old and cold and past it. I put the thought away as gently as I would have placed a precious stone on a velvet mount.

  I crawled out of bed and thanked Christ for the slight breeze puffing the white curtains at the window. I stood for a while in the relief it gave from the heat of the sun that was already trying to melt the brickwork. Then I braved the shaving mirror.

  I scraped stubble and skin from my face. I thought that if it had belonged to a friend I would have sat down and given him a serious talking to about an excessive life style. I tamed my hair with cold water and beat it to submission with a comb from my case. At first it fought back but I soon showed it who was boss.

  I dressed in jeans, black loafers with red socks and a black polo shirt. I picked up a pair of tortoiseshell Mulberry shades from the dresser and hung them on my nose and then I gave up. What the hell, I was as ready as I was ever going to be to face the morning.

  I went to the breakfast room. Elizabeth was sitting at the table alone, cutting a slice of toast into matchsticks and dipping them into a cup of coffee.

  ‘Jesus,’ I said. ‘What’s that, occupational therapy?’

  She was wearing another black suit and all the accessories. She looked good enough to eat, except I had no appetite.

  ‘You could say that,’ she replied. ‘What’s up with you? You look awful.’

  ‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘You’re making me feel much better. I’m the victim of a recurring hangover. Two days running. I’m never at my best with doors banging inside my head.’

  ‘You shouldn’t drink so much.’

  I had heard that before. I sat down opposite her with my cup and saucer rattling in my unsteady grip. ‘Thanks for the advice, but I’m only trying to keep Catherine company.’

  ‘That wasn’t what you were hired for.’

  ‘That seems to be precisely what I was hired for.’

  ‘Have it your own way.’

  ‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘I’ll go out and come in again if you like, and we can start over fresh.’

  ‘Why bother?’

  ‘Why bother to do anything?’

  ‘I thought you wanted to be bothered to help us?’

  ‘I do, I do. Just give me a few minutes.’

  We sat in a silence that was almost palpable. I drank my coffee and she filled hers with soggy crumbs that made me feel quite nauseous again.

  ‘Elizabeth.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Stop doing that.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Playing with your food.’

  ‘I’m so sorry.’ She pushed the cup away so that the liquid slopped into the saucer. I finished my coffee and took a wrinkled pack of cigarettes from my back pocket. I lit one from a book of matches and offered the pack to Elizabeth. She took the cigarette from my mouth so I lit another.

  ‘I apologize,’ I said. ‘I’m not much good at conversation in the morning.’

  ‘I’ll remember that,’ she said through a mouthful of grey-blue smoke.

  I gave her half a smile and she gave me back the other half.

  ‘So let’s get down to business,’ I said. ‘What time does this show get on the road?’

  ‘We’re due at the solicitors’ at ten, so I suppose we’ll leave here at about nine fifteen.’ I looked at my watch. Eight fifteen. ‘The rest should be down for breakfast soon,’ she went on.

  ‘You’re sure you want me to come?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘I’ll leave you to it then. I think I’d better change into something more befitting a trip to the lawyers. Have you spoken to Catherine about those phone calls?’

  Elizabeth nodded. ‘She wasn’t too happy that you told me. But yes, we have talked about them.’

  ‘No fresh ideas?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘We’d better all talk as soon as possible.’

  ‘Very well. But let’s get this will business out of the way first.’

  ‘You’re the boss,’ I said. ‘I’ll see you later.’ I left her to the remains of her breakfast and went upstairs and stood under a cold shower until my head was numb. I dressed in a suit and tie. I got back downstairs in time to meet the rest of the family in the hall. They were all dressed in variations of funeral clothes and I was glad I’d changed.

  I travelled in the front of the Rolls with Vincent, who didn’t say one word to me for the whole journey. The five family members squeezed into the back, so I probably got the best of the deal. The family lawyer was in Lincoln’s Inn and the drive took twenty-five minutes or so. Vincent parked right outside on a double yellow line.

  I followed the family into the lawyers’ office, which was a converted town house that smelled of beeswax, fresh flowers and cigar smoke. We went into a waiting room and after a minute or so a woman in a dark suit, with a respectful, troubled look that she probably thought befitted the occasion, came in and led the others through a set of double doors opposite. I stayed behind and sat in a leather Chesterfield chair.

  I sat and smoked and drank a cup of coffee that an amazingly attractive receptionist with breasts that fought at the confines of her white blouse brought me. Halfway through the second cigarette one of the double doors burst open and banged against the wall. David flew through the doorway and down the hall shouting, ‘I’m not staying a moment more. Claire, come on, we’ll get a cab.’

  Claire wobbled after him and Simon followed her. Elizabeth came to the doorway, looked after them and said something I didn’t catch. Then she came across to the waiting room.

  ‘What the hell was all that about?’ I asked.

  ‘The bloody will, of course. Daddy left everything equally to all his children, including Catherine. David wasn’t keen on the idea. He’s off to his own solicitors to contest the will.’

  ‘Christ,’ I said. ‘The poop’s hit the propeller.’

  ‘Very apt, Mr Sharman, very apt indeed. Shall we go?’

  ‘How’s Catherine taken all this?’ I asked.

  ‘She’s not happy. She’s in there crying.’

  ‘And I’m fresh out of clean hankies,’ I said.

  She ignored the remark and went back over to the office. I stubbed out my cigarette and waited. After a minute or so, Elizabeth and Catherine appeared in the doorway with an old boy behind them. He was nervously dry-washing his hands and talking to them in a low tone so that I couldn’t hear him. Catherine came over to me. Her eyes were full of tears and she leant up against me as Elizabeth said her farewells. The old boy retreated into his office and shut the door.

  ‘What’s the plan?’ I asked.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Elizabeth.

  ‘I could fancy a drink.’

  ‘Not the most unusual state of affairs,’ she replied, and walked down the corridor away from me.

  ‘Maybe not,’ I said to her retreating back.

  We had Vincent stop at the Inn On The Park and trooped into the cocktail bar. It was early and just a couple of sports were taking the water. I ordered three large bourbons, straight up, from the bar. It was that kind of morning. Then I joined the two women at a table in a lonely corner of the room.

  The waiter pranced over with our order and pranced off again. ‘I should get his number for Leee,’ I said.

  ‘Must you always make jokes?’ asked Elizabeth.

  ‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘Just trying to lighten the load.’

  Catherine smiled for the first time since we’d left the lawyers’ office. ‘Leave him, Liz. He’s probably right. Leee would love that boy.’

  ‘So what’s cooking?’ I asked through the smoky aftertaste of my drink.

  ‘What’s cooking is the estate’s in flux,’ said Elizabeth.

  The estate’s in a state, I thought, but didn’t vocalise it. ‘How long for?’ I asked no one.

  ‘How the hell do I know?’ Elizabeth snapped.

  ‘It’s all my fault,
’ said Catherine. ‘I had no idea.’

  ‘It’s not your fault,’ Elizabeth told her, ‘it’s David’s.’

  ‘And Daddy’s,’ said Catherine.

  ‘The money was his to do with as he wanted.’ Elizabeth picked up her drink. ‘If he wanted to leave you a third of it, fine by me. Christ Almighty, there’s enough for three thousand people, let alone three.’

  That was almost what I’d said to her the previous evening. ‘But David didn’t see it that way?’ I asked.

  ‘He’s a bloody pig,’ said Elizabeth. ‘Just like the rest of them.’

  ‘What are you going to do?’

  ‘Do?’ said Elizabeth. ‘Do? We’re going to have a party, that’s what we’re going to do.’

  ‘When?’ Catherine seemed surprised.

  ‘Tonight,’ said Elizabeth. She finished her drink with a swallow and stood up, picked up her bag and marched out. Catherine and I looked at each other and followed her to the door.

  Vincent was patiently waiting in the car. He whisked us round the corner, back to the house. The three of us went into the conservatory and Miranda was summoned to serve us more booze. She made a jug of martinis, large enough to drown a donkey, and left us to it.

  ‘Do you think a party is a good idea?’ I asked.

  ‘Why not?’ said Elizabeth. ‘I’m going to show David whose side I’m on.’

  ‘And a party’s the way to do that?’

  ‘As good a way as any. I want him to know that I support Catherine all the way.’

  Catherine smiled her gratitude round the edge of her martini glass.

  ‘Have you had any more threatening calls?’ I asked Catherine.

  ‘Not since you arrived,’ she said.

  ‘I’d love to think it was my influence, but I doubt it,’ I said. ‘And I don’t know about inviting a bunch of people here. If someone is out to get you, it would be a great opportunity. I’m on my tod, and this is a big house with lots of nooks and crannies. With the best will in the world, I can’t be with you every second.’

  ‘Do you think that one of our friends is behind this?’ asked Catherine. ‘Because it will be our friends who are coming tonight.’

  ‘Who knows?’ I said. ‘But at this short notice, there will be no formal invites. Anyone could get into the house. It’s got more entrances than Harrods and in this weather they’ll all be open wide.’