by Pat Herbert
“She seems very down. Doesn’t seem to want to talk.”
“Yes, I know,” said May, debating in her mind what to tell him. “Have you asked her what’s wrong?”
“I tried, but she nearly bit my head off.” He sipped his tea disconsolately. A lock of his thick dark hair fell into his eyes, and May had to resist the urge to brush it away. He was good-looking, she realized. It hadn’t crossed her mind before, seeing him only as her boss. But now, as she studied his face carefully, she began to think that Alice was a fool not to be in love with him. Why she was so keen on that man at Scarborough was beyond her. She only had herself to blame for the pickle she was in. She wouldn’t be caught like that. If Danny wanted to have his way with her then he’d have to marry her first, or at least make a firm commitment to her.
They sat in silence for several moments. May broke it. “Have you any idea what’s wrong with her, Pete?” she asked.
“No, of course I haven’t. I wouldn’t be asking you if I had. We were getting on so well until Scarborough. She met someone there, didn’t she?”
May finished her tea before replying. “I think there was someone she liked, yes.”
“I thought so. D’you know who it was?”
“Not exactly. Just one of the delegates,” she said. He’d have to be deaf and blind, as well as stupid, not to know who it was, she thought.
“It was that handsome bugger. I could see her looking at him with that moony expression on her face. He didn’t seem interested in her, though, which surprised me. I expect he was married.”
“Look, Pete, I think I’d better tell you….”
“You do know something, don’t you?”
There didn’t seem to be any way she could dress up the ugly truth, so she told him bluntly. “She’s going to have a baby.”
May watched his reaction with astonishment. Instead of looking shocked, he looked pleased.
“Aren’t you shocked?”
“Er, well – no. Should I be?”
“I thought you and she were going out. I mean, I wouldn’t have thought you’d be happy to find out she’s going to have another man’s baby.”
“Another man’s baby?” This time he did look shocked.
“Yes. That’s what she said.”
“But how does she know?”
The penny dropped. Of course, Alice had been sleeping with Pete in between delegates. “I don’t know. It’s just what she told me, Pete.”
“Why does she think it’s not mine?”
“All I can say is that you need to have it out with her. Don’t tell her I told you, though. Will she lose her job?”
Pete stood up and flung some coins on the table. “Come on, May. We’d better be getting back. I need to see that girl now.”
“She won’t lose her job, will she?” May repeated. She wasn’t without some pity for Alice, especially since she had just given the game away. “She needs the money now more than ever.”
“She should have thought of that before.”
As they walked out of the café, May cast anxious sidelong glances at him. She thought quickly. “If it had been your baby, you wouldn’t have sacked her, would you?”
Pete walked on ahead, hands deep in pockets. He didn’t reply.
30th January 1958: North London, Pentonville Prison
Bernard cleared his throat nervously as he waited at the massively forbidding iron doors. He stared up at the grey edifice that housed some of the country’s most dangerous criminals, and shuddered. Visiting prisoners was always one of the hardest of his chores as a man of God; visiting the condemned cell was even harder. Today was one of those times. But not only did he have the unenviable task of visiting a man waiting for the hangman’s rope, it was someone he knew and liked. He was dreading the interview. What was he going to say to him? What could he say? Go through the usual ritual of confession of sins and assurance of God’s forgiveness? It was all so meaningless at a time like this. Sometimes it was hard to believe, to truly believe. When a man’s life was at stake, telling him that he would be all right once he had passed over, wasn’t much solace in the here and now. But he knew that some people were comforted by these words, and so he was prepared to say them to Howard Drake.
The friendly prison warder led Bernard along cold, dank corridors, past row after row of iron cell doors, clanging noises and men’s loud, coarse voices ringing in his ears. It was deafening. As they walked along, the warder called out various comments to the cell doors, as voices behind them made unpleasant remarks, laughed, or blew raspberries. Bernard secretly hoped they would lose their parole.
Finally, they arrived at Howard Drake’s cell. A warder inside opened up and stood aside to let Bernard through.
“Reverend Paltobed for Drake,” said the warder to his counterpart guarding the prisoner. Bernard saw there was a card game of sorts in progress. He supposed they had to do something to pass the time. He wondered if the warders ever grew fond of the prisoners they guarded as they waited for them to be executed; and if they ever missed them when they had been dispatched. It must be a pretty depressing job, all told.
Bernard looked at poor Drake, sitting there, looking as unhappy as any man could be. Bernard suspected that if he had been left alone for five minutes with a cut-throat razor, the man would lose no time in using it.
“Hello, Howard,” said Bernard, shaking his hand.
“Hello, vicar, I’m grateful to you for coming to see me.”
“Not at all, not at all. The least I could do.”
The first warder had gone, but the card player remained. Howard and Bernard looked meaningfully at him. The man raised his hands and shrugged. “Sorry, prison rules,” he said gruffly, though not unkindly.
Bernard sat down at the table and picked up the cards. “What are you playing?” he asked, not in the least interested, but he would have been very surprised if it was Happy Families.
“Beggar my Neighbour,” said the warder helpfully.
“Right. Jolly game,” said Bernard, feeling like a complete idiot.
The warder walked over to the far corner of the cell, which wasn’t very far as the cell’s dimensions were mediocre. He started to whistle, and balance on the balls of his feet in the style of a bobby on the beat. His nonchalance wasn’t fooling Bernard or Howard.
Howard finally took the cards from Bernard and slowly put them back in their packet. “I’m sorry that this has happened, Howard,” said the vicar.
“Sorry for interrupting the game?” said Howard, with the hint of a smile on his washed-out face. It had been a handsome face not so long ago, but prison pallor had put paid to that. He wouldn’t turn heads now, thought Bernard. It was a pity he hadn’t looked like that when Alice Troy first spotted him, then he wouldn’t be in this mess. Sometimes you can be too good-looking.
“No, you know I don’t mean that. You asked to see me?” said Bernard. “I know we have no privacy, but if there’s something you want to tell me, please go ahead.”
“What’s the use?” said Howard with a sigh. “Flora said I should see you and tell you what really happened. Said you’d be able to help.”
“Well, I don’t know about that. Your wife has more faith in me than I have. I can’t overturn a jury’s verdict, you know. But, first of all, can you tell me the truth? After all, there’s no point in lying now.”
“The truth? The truth is something people don’t want to hear.”
“I know it may seem like that. It seems that the whole world is against you. I’d feel the same if I were in your shoes. But we must start with the facts. You do see that, don’t you?”
Howard shrugged and picked up the pack of cards again. “Have you got a cigarette?”
“Sorry.”
“Doesn’t matter. You want the truth? I didn’t kill that girl. I hardly knew her.”
“But you did know her well-enough to be the father of her child.”
Howard said nothing. He threw the cards at the prison warder who caugh
t them expertly.
“How did you meet her?”
“I was staying at a hotel in Scarborough for a conference for the bank I work for. One of those bonding exercise things, meeting other colleagues from different branches. That sort of thing. But really an excuse for a pi… to get drunk and eat too much, and to be away from the wives. Not that I ever wanted to be away from Flora, not for a moment. I love her.”
“All right, so you met this woman at a conference. Alice Troy, in fact.”
“That’s right. One of those girls who are all eyes and batting lashes, making it obvious they want to go to bed with you.”
Bernard was a little shocked, though he tried not to show it. He knew that sort of thing went on, but he wasn’t used to discussing it so openly, especially under the watchful eye of a third party who thought he was Dixon of Dock Green.
He coughed to hide his embarrassment and touched his collar to ensure it was on straight and facing the right way. “Er, well, I suppose she was a tempting prospect?” Goodness, he thought, he sounded like a man of the world. Robbie would have been proud of him.
“I tried to ignore her at first. I was polite. But as she was a waitress, I had to acknowledge her when she brought the drinks round. I just thanked her and tried to carry on conversations with the other delegates.”
Bernard nodded. “Go on.”
“It was clear she wasn’t going to be put off that easily. And, anyway, by that time I was quite drunk. I began to think it wouldn’t be such a bad idea after all. She was offering herself on a plate.”
Bernard was even more shocked now. The only things he was offered on plates came in the form of cakes, sandwiches and shepherd’s pie. Did these things really go on, he wondered. The Sunday newspapers would suggest they did, but you couldn’t believe everything you read in them.
“So…. ?”
“So, what do you think? I gave in. She seduced me. It wasn’t the other way round, like the prosecution said.”
“I see. So, what happened next? I mean not what happened in detail, but afterwards.”
“Turns out she got pregnant and when I told her I was married already, she threatened all sorts, but mainly to tell my wife and, as you probably know, she did. She also threatened to tell my boss at the bank. That was later on.”
“You had a strong motive to kill her, then?”
“Yes, I know. And that’s why I’m here waiting for the hangman’s rope. But, Bernard, please believe me, I didn’t kill that girl. I didn’t lay a finger on her. I swear it’s the truth.”
“But you were seen leaving her flat shortly before her body was found. How do you explain that?”
“I originally denied going to see her that night, but that was because I knew it would incriminate me. But I didn’t deny it later. I knew it would count against me at the trial, but it was too late by then,” said Howard desperately. “I’d contradicted my original statement and that’s what really turned the jury against me, I suspect.” He looked at the prison warder who was now pretending to be interested in a pigeon perched on the sill of the cell’s small, barred window. He was still quietly whistling to himself.
“I see,” said Bernard, doubtfully. “You were very foolish, Howard.”
“Don’t you think I know that? But, as I said in court, it didn’t alter the fact that she was fine and well when I left her.”
***
As Bernard left the prison, he felt more depressed than ever. Things looked bleak for Howard Drake, there was no getting away from it. He told himself he believed the man’s profession of innocence, but was that because he wanted to believe it? He had learned nothing new from his visit, nothing that hadn’t come out at the trial. It seemed hopeless.
30th January 1958: Wandsworth
There was a slight flurry of snow as Nancy Harper and Anbolin turned the corner into the road where Robbie’s combined surgery and home were located. Anbolin was carrying a capacious bag that seemed to contain a lump of lead by the way she was huffing and puffing.
“You all right with that, ducks? Shall I carry it for a bit?” asked Nancy as they continued down the road towards the surgery.
“You’re even older than me,” said Anbolin, “so I think I’d better keep hold of it. We nearly there?”
“Just a bit further,” said Nancy, putting her arm through Anbolin’s, as much for warmth as to give her support. The snow began to blow horizontally into their faces.
“I hope Lucy’ll give us a good tea,” said Anbolin.
“I’m sure she will.”
As Nancy said this, they reached the gate leading to Robbie’s surgery. “I hope there’s a good fire going, too,” whined Anbolin, wishing she hadn’t ventured out on such an afternoon. But as all afternoons had been much the same for the past two months, she had little choice if she wanted to go out.
Lucy Carter opened the door almost immediately. The bell was echoing down the hall. “Is ’is nibs in?” asked Nancy.
“No, he’s on his rounds, the coast is clear. Come in. You look frozen. I’ll get the kettle on.”
She showed the women into the warm parlour and Anbolin made a grateful beeline for the hearth. She pulled off her woollen mittens with her teeth and stretched out her pudgy hands towards the flames. “Can we have some crumpets too, Lucy, love?” she called over her shoulder.
“So, ladies,” said Lucy, once the tea was spread before them, “are we going to see what the crystal ball’s got in store for me, like you promised?”
“That’s right,” said Anbolin, mid-crumpet. “I’ve brought my biggest and best one for the purpose. I want to make sure the waves get through.”
“Do you think the ball can tell me if I will meet anyone new? In the future, like? A man, I mean.”
“I don’t know, dear,” said Anbolin, wiping her buttery hands on the cloth napkin provided. “I can’t promise anything, you understand? All I can do is ask it. It may tell me you’re going to be run over by a bus. Probably more likely than you meeting a tall, dark, handsome stranger, if truth be told.” She said this lightheartedly, unaware that Lucy would take her so literally.
“You don’t mean it!” cried Lucy. “I’m going to die under a bus? Oh no, please God, not that!”
Anbolin put her hand on Lucy’s knee. “There, there, love. Don’t take on so. I wasn’t being serious about the bus. It’s just an example of what the ball can foresee. For all I know, it may see you in a fur coat dripping with diamonds and getting into a Rolls-Royce. But what I can tell you is whatever this ball sees for you, it will happen.”
Lucy nodded, calmer now that the bus scenario had receded. “So it can tell me bad news as well as good, then?”
“Yes, dear, it can.”
Lucy cleared her throat before she spoke again. The unspoken question was in the air between all three of them. “Can it, does it, tell when a person is going to die and how?”
“If you want that sort of information, yes. But, bearing in mind that the crystal never lies, do you really want me to find that out?”
Lucy held her apron up to her eyes in horror. “No, of course I don’t. Fair gives me the heebie-jeebies, it does. Just tell me anything good. That’s all. About a tall, dark stranger, in particular.”
“She wants to see if there’s one in the offing, like,” broke in Mrs Harper, who had been sitting in thoughtful silence all the while, contemplating Lucy’s crumpets and thinking how much nicer they would have been if she had toasted them herself.
“Yes, that’s right. I want you to tell me that.”
“Teach the doc a lesson ’e won’t forget in an ’urry,” said Nancy.
“Yes, I suppose so.” Lucy looked downcast at the mention of Robbie.
“You love the old rascal don’t you?” said Anbolin, removing the cloth from her crystal ball and standing it in the middle of the table, now cleared of plates and teacups.
“For my sins. I don’t want to, but I can’t seem to help it. No matter what he does, I can’t seem to stop m
yself. But this Celia woman is the last straw. She comes waltzing in here as if she owned the place and takes him off right under my nose.”
“You have to remember you have no legal claim on the old goat,” said Anbolin, caressing the crystal and gazing into its mystic depths. She looked for all the world like a fairground gypsy fortune teller, the only things missing were the brass earrings and brightly-coloured headscarf.
“I know. But he takes advantage of my feelings, he does,” sniffed Lucy. “Anyway, tell me what you see, Annie. If I’m not to meet anyone, I might as well know.”
Nancy interrupted again. “But what good will it do you in the end? I mean if you don’t ’ave any ’ope, what’s your future going to be? Will you put up with the crumbs ’e might throw your way when ’e’s between other women? Blow that for a game of soldiers.”
“I suppose that’s what I’ll have to put up with. But I want to know if there really is someone for me, waiting. I can’t believe I’ll have to put up with this for the rest of my life.”
“Very well. Shall we get started?” said Anbolin.
***
“So, you really think she’ll meet this man sometime soon, then?”
Nancy and Anbolin were walking back to the vicarage through the persistent snow, having left Lucy with a beatific smile on her comely face.
“As I told you, the crystal never lies. She’ll meet him, whoever he is, as sure as eggs is eggs,” Anbolin declared.
“But what about the white coat you saw? What does that mean?”
“It means just that. He’ll be wearing a white coat.”
“So he could be a doctor or something then?”
“Could well be. Or a vet. Has she got any pets?”
“No. She’s allergic.”
“All I know is the man was wearing what looked like a white coat.”
“I’m glad for ’er, Annie, if it’s really true. You sure you didn’t make it up just to let ’er down easy, like?”
Annie stopped in her tracks. She glared at her companion as a particularly large flake of snow landed on the tip of her nose. “I think I’ve already told you I don’t go in for tricks like that. I have my reputation to consider.”