“You’re a sentimental fool, aren’t you?”
He looked to see if she were jeering at him, but she was serious in an unexpectedly kind way.
“I suppose I am.” He brooded, looking down at his shoes. “But there’s nothing wrong in that. I know people sneer at sentimentality, but they’re usually pretty unhappy themselves.”
She wasn’t listening to him. Her attention was centred on a short man who had just come in. George followed her gaze. He recognized the man. It was Little Ernie.
Little Ernie joined them. “My word!” he said, staring at George, “has she been making love to you?”
George didn’t say anything.
“For Gawd’s sake,” Little Ernie went on to Cora, “what’s ’append to the bloke? Saw ’im a week ago, and ’e was as lovely as an oil painting. Look at ’im now.”
“Dry up, Ernie,” Cora said. “He’s been in the wars.”
“I’ll say ’e ’as,” Little Ernie said, undisguised admiration in his eyes. “Well, well. What’ll you ’ave? He rubbed a dirty finger under his nose and then wiped his finger on his trouser leg.
“We’ve got drinks, thank you,” George said, a little stiffly. He didn’t like this man He didn’t like the way he was eyeing Cora, a lewd look in his small green eyes.
Little Ernie rapped on the bar with a coin. “Hurry up,” he shouted. “I ain’t got all day. Gimme a double Scotch.” He turned to Cora. “Sure you won’t ’ave one?”
“All right,” she said, leaning her hack against the counter. She propped herself on her elbows and thrust her chest at him. “Give George one, too. You’re lousy with money, aren’t you?”
Little Ernie winked. “I get by,” he said, and raising his voice he shouted, “Make it three doubles, Clara, and out of the boss’ bottle!” He looked at Cora again, then he glanced at George. “Fine gel, ain’t she?” he said. “What a dairy! You could make pounds outta ’er if you knew ’ow to ’andle ’er.”
“Shut your dirty trap,” Cora said, her eyes bright with suppressed laughter. “George’s not like you.” She reached round and picked up her glass. “How’s Eva? Still buying your suits?”
Little Ernie’s cruel face darkened. “You don’t ’ave to shout all over the shop, do you?” he said, glancing uneasily over his shoulder. “Old Crockett was down the street not five minutes ago. She’s all right. She’s a good girl. Work! Gawd love me, I’ve never known a girl to work like it!”
Cora sneered. “That’s her trouble, Ernie. She does like it.”
George was listening to this conversation and not understanding a word of it. He wished Little Ernie would go away. He was so repulsive that he embarrassed George.
“Believe she does,” Little Ernie agreed thoughtfully. “You’re a smart gel, Cora. Pity you don’t get wise. I could fix you up in no time. Think of it! A flat of your own, ’undred smackers a week, and a dawg if you wanted one.”
The barmaid planked down the three double whiskies, and Little Ernie parted with a pound.
“Gimme twenty Players and keep the change, ducks,” he said. He turned back to Cora. “Well, I suppose you know what’s good for you,” he went on. “Only if you ever change your mind, give us a ring.” He picked up his whisky. “Well, ’ere’s to better days.” He drank half the whisky, sighed and rested his small foot on the brass rail. “What ’ave you been doing to yourself?” he said, eyeing Cora. “You look or] right; a proper knockout.”
“My new valet,” Cora said, nodding at George. “He washed my pretty clothes and gave me a shampoo.”
Little Ernie stared at George blankly
George turned scarlet under the hitter, green eyes.
“Well, well,” Little Ernie said. “Fancy that.” He picked his nose and moved restlessly. “Hmm, well, well.” He seemed at a loss for words.
“He’s not a cissy,” Cora said, glancing at George as if he were a stranger. “He’s a tough guy, and when I say tough, I mean tough. He was Frank Kelly’s gunman.”
Little Ernie put down his glass. “Is that so?” He stared at George with interest.
George wished that Cora hadn’t brought that up again. He shuffled his feet and fiddled with his tie. “Have another Scotch?” he said, in a desperate attempt to be at his ease.
“’Ave one yourself,” Little Ernie said. “It’s on me.” He snapped his fingers at the barmaid. “Same again, Clara, and don’t drown ’em.” He looked at Cora questioningly, but she only gave him hack a jeering smile. “Kelly’s gunman, eh? Hmm, what are you doing over ’ere?”
“Mind your own business,” Cora snapped, before George could think of anything to say. “He’s one of us now.”
The green eyes narrowed. “Is that so?”
“That’s right. Three thugs once took him in a wood. They had ideas about him He walked out on his feet and alone,” Cora said, her eyes, cold and hard, on George’s bewildered face. “But he’s modest. He doesn’t talk about it.” She fished a crumpled packet of cigarettes from her hip pocket. “He’s quite a guy.”
Little Ernie lit her cigarette and then produced two cigars. He offered one to George, who took it, not because he wanted it, but because he was so embarrassed that he wasn’t quite certain what he was doing.
“Seems a quiet type of bloke, doesn’t he?” Little Ernie went on regarding George.
“He’s quiet all right,” Cora returned. “Aren’t you, George?”
George mumbled something. He didn’t know what all this was about, but he did feel a sense of pride at the respectful way Little Ernie was regarding him
“Syd said you’d be here. I thought he was joining us. What’s he up to?” Little Ernie asked suddenly.
“He’s busy,” Cora said.
Little Ernie handed round the whiskies again. “Oh, well,” he said, “I expect ’e is, but ’e said ’e’d be ’ere. Seen Crispin lately?” he went on casually, after a pause: too casually.
George started, slopping his whisky He felt Little Ernie’s eyes on him
Cora nodded. Her expression didn’t change. There was a jeering, confident expression in her eyes that obviously impressed Little Ernie.
“I saw him last night: so did George.”
Little Ernie glanced at the sticking plaster and at George’s bandaged hand and whistled. “Impulsive bloke, our Crispin,” he said. “Shouldn’t be surprised if ’e didn’t get ’imself into a spot of trouble one of these days.”
Cora smiled again, her face frozen. “Neither should I.”
The two eyed each other. George, watching them uneasily, had a feeling that a drama was being enacted before his eyes, yet he could not understand what it was all about.
“Funny stories one ’ears,” Little Ernie went on, watching Cora like a hawk. “Gawd knows who puts ’em in circulation. I did ’ear you and Crispin ’ad a little fun together last night.”
Cora sipped her whisky. Her eyebrows lifted.
“I had a little fun,” she said quietly. “Crispin’s share is on ice at the moment, isn’t it, George?”
George grunted. He had no idea why she was talking like this. To him it seemed dangerous. If they were going to get their own back on Crispin, why tell this sordid little man about it? Suppose he warned Crispin?
“Well, well.” Little Ernie studied George, who was scowling down at the floor. He thought George looked a pretty tough hombre.
“He put me over a table and flogged me with a cane,” Cora said calmly. “It hurt like hell… it still hurts like hell.”
Little Ernie’s eyes bulged. “Gawd!” he exclaimed. “’E must lave been barmy to do a thing like that to you.”
Cora nodded. “George thinks so, too. In fact, George got quite annoyed about it. The Greeks had to cool him with razors. Now, of course, George is really mad. Aren’t you, George!”
“Yes,” George said uncomfortably.
He tried to show how angry he was by scowling at little Ernie and tightening his mouth. He had no idea how menacing he looked. He never
took into account his great bulk, nor the fact that when he frowned his big, fleshy face was misleadingly hard and coarse. The strips of plaster also added to the effect. It was impressive enough to make Little Ernie whistle again.
“Well, for crying out loud,” he said, “what’s going to ’appen?”
Cora’s eyes went blank. “You want to know a lot, don’t you?” she said, stretching out her leg and looking at her shoe that George had cleaned so industriously. “It mightn’t be healthy to know too much, Ernie.”
He nodded. His eyes, quick as a ferret’s, showed he was startled. “That’s right,” he said. “I don’t want to know. I don’t want to know anything about you three. ’Ave another drink?”
Cora shook her head. “You’re not staying, are you, Ernie? Because we’ve got things to talk about.”
“Who, me? No, I’m not staying. I’ve got to get along. You know me, Cora, always on the move. Well, so long.” He grinned at George. “So long, palsy. Glad to ’ave met you,” and he left them.
George finished his beer. The whiskies and the beer gave him rather a pleasant floating feeling. He knew he was just a little tight.
“You told him a lot, didn’t you?” he said, looking at Cora questioningly.
“Ernie’s all right,” she said shortly. “He hates Crispin as much as we do. Besides, it’s as well to let them know we’re a mob now, not just a boy and a girl.”
This continual hinting worried George. What did she mean when she kept saying he was one of them? Now she was talking about a mob.
“I may be a bit dense,” he said slowly, “but I wish you’d explain. What mob? What do you mean by mob?”
She regarded him steadily. He again experienced the disconcerting feeling that she was looking inside his skull, even inside his pockets.
“I shan’t be a moment,” she said, fishing out her little purse from her pocket. “I want to spend a penny.”
He understood then that these hints did mean something, but she had no intention of telling him.
He watched her walk across the room, jaunty and arrogant, to the door marked “Ladies".
12
It was a good film, and George gave it all his attention. The atmosphere of the cinema soothed him. The darkness, the bright screen, the drama which he could watch as an interested onlooker gave him a feeling that he had escaped into another, more pleasant world. He knew, at the hack of his mind, that outside in the hot sunshine his world waited impatiently for his return; but for the next two hours here was escape.
He had been disappointed that Cora had wished to see a movie. The whiskies had made him amorous, and as soon as they left the pub he began a clumsy manoeuvre to persuade Cora to return to the flat.
He was careful, of course, not to let her know what he had in mind, but his eyes, his flushed face and his incoherent speech gave him away. Not that she let on that she had spotted his little game; she didn’t. She said she felt like a movie, and although he had protested, and even said that it would be nicer if they went hack to the flat together, imploring her with his eyes, she remained adamant.
He was hurt and angry that she could be so hard. What was the sense in wasting the afternoon in a cinema, when they could have been together alone and undisturbed in the flat?
He had sulked, and was determined that when she asked him which of the three cinemas they should choose, he would pointedly show his indifference.
But she didn’t ask him. She walked down the street a step ahead of him, passed the first cinema and went straight to the box office of the second one, a few hundred yards farther down the road.
“Get circle seats,” she said abruptly, and went on towards the stairs. He got the tickets and followed her, seething with frustration and disappointment. And when she pushed one and sixpence into his hand, he snatched the money from her and pocketed it without a word.
But once he had settled down in his seat, the magic of the darkness, the music and the drama on the screen overcame his ill temper.
It was a good picture: the kind of picture he liked. There were beautiful women, tough, well-dressed men, and music. There were long sequences of dimly lit streets and shadowy figures, guns in hand, moving silently from doorway to doorway. There were gun battles in the dark. There was a bedroom scene that titillated his desire for Cora, so that he fumbled for her hand and held it moistly, until she impatiently withdrew it.
As the drama progressed, he became so engrossed that he even forgot Cora was with him, and when the film came to an end he was sorry.
Moving down the stairs, a little dazed by the bright sunlight, he realized that he was a few hours closer to pending danger. Perhaps, after all, he could persuade them not to go; but his courage failed when he saw the cold, distant expression on Cora’s face.
She, too, seemed to realize that time was running out. He could tell that she was uneasy. There was a subtle tension about her which hinted at taut nerves. When he made a comment about the film, she did not seem to hear him. She walked on, moving through the crowds almost as if she were sleepwalking.
It was six o’clock, and George wanted a cup of tea. He suggested they might have one, but she paid no attention. She kept on inexorably, alone in a crowd of people, deep in her secret thoughts.
He felt she was going to a definite place, and as he followed her, he had a premonition of danger. It was so acute that he stopped and caught at her arm.
“Where are we going?” he asked sharply. “Why are you so quiet? Is there something wrong?”
They stood in the middle of the pavement. The crowd broke up, passed them and joined up again. They received angry glances.
“Come on,” she said with equal sharpness. “It’s only round the corner.”
She went on. His uneasiness growing, George followed her. In a few minutes they were in a quiet side street, and this time it was Cora who stopped.
“There’s a shop down there,” she said, pointing and looking at him with a curious intentness. “Go and buy a whip. A horsewhip will do. Something you can hide under your coat.” She thrust a pound note into his hand.
In spite of the sun and the hot pavement, George suddenly went cold. His instinct warned him to have nothing to do with this. It was as if he were being asked to cross a piece of ground which he knew was not solid and into which he was certain he would sink, and then suffocate.
“It’s Sunday,” he said, drawing away from her. “You can’t buy anything today.”
“Why do you think I came here?” she said impatiently. “They are all Jews down here. They closed yesterday.”
His mind darted like a startled mouse for a way of escape.
“I’m not buying it,” he said obstinately. “If you want it, you’ll have to get it yourself. I’m not having anything to do with it. I—I don’t believe in that sort of thing.”
She looked at his set, obstinate face and she suddenly smiled. “You’re quite right, George,” she said softly; “it’s stupid to wait. When two people are in love…” She pushed the pound note again into his hand. “Get the whip and let’s go hack. We’ve still time before he returns.”
George stared at her, seeing in her eyes a fainting desire: an unmistakable invitation of receptive, expectant femininity.
“Cora!” he said, his fingers clutching the pound note, “you mean—now? You really mean now?”
“I said I’d be nice to you, didn’t I? Well, why should we wait?… Only you’ll have to hurry.”
He went down the street with an unsteady, shambling gait, a feverish, incoherent puppet, without a will, without regard to danger, without a thought for anything except what she was offering him.
He blundered into the shop she had indicated. Saddles, rolls of leather, horse blankets, dog collars, trunks, bags and whips overflowed on the counter, the floor and the shelves behind the counter.
An elderly man with a great hooked nose came out of an office at the back of the shop. He looked curiously at George.
“Good afternoon
,” he said. “Is there something I can show you?”
George looked round the shop, his eyes bloodshot and wild. He saw a whip, a riding switch, whalebone bound in red leather, with an ivory handle. He picked it up with a shudder.
“I’ll have it,” he said, thrusting it at the Jew, and threw down the pound note.
The Jew shook his head. “I think it’s a little more than a pound,” he said, picking up the whip with long, caressing fingers. He turned the price ticket and glanced at it. “It’s a fine piece of workmanship.” He smiled. “It’s fifty-five shillings.”
George gulped. “Give me something for a ’pound, something like this, only for a pound.”
“Certainly.” The Jew did not move, but continued to touch the riding switch with caressing fingers. “I should like to point out, sir, that it would be more economical to buy a better whip while you are about it. Now, this is something that will last a lifetime. It is beautifully made and impossible to wear out. The extra money will be saved over and over again.”
What was the matter with this fool? George thought, feverishly. Didn’t he know he was wasting precious time?
“I don’t want it,” he said violently. “Give me what I want, and for God’s sake stop talking!”
He was not aware of the sudden alarm that jumped into the Jew’s eyes, nor his curious stare at George’s congested face.
George was only aware of the passing time, and when the Jew offered him another whip, saying in a grieved voice that it was a guinea, George threw down a shilling on top of the pound note, snatched up the whip without looking at it, and rushed from the shop.
Cora was waiting at the corner, serene and arrogant. Her hands were thrust deep into her pockets and her eyes watchful.
“I’ve got it,” George said thickly, falling into step beside her. “Let’s go back.”
She allowed herself to be hurried through the streets. They did not speak. George was only conscious of a pounding in his ears and a suffocating desire for her. He almost pushed her up the stairs to the flat, and when she had to search through her pockets and purse for the key, he stood trembling, in an agony of suspense.
More Deadly Than the Male Page 15