by Nancy Revell
DS Gregson had also told him the prosecutor had said that even if the case did manage to limp its way to court, the most Vinnie could expect would be some kind of conditional discharge.
‘Right then!’ Peter said to the custody sergeant, as he pushed Vinnie gently in front of him. ‘Let’s get this one out of your hair.’
DS Gregson bade his farewells to Peter and Vinnie before making his way around the counter and walking across to what had been Vinnie’s home these past three days. He checked inside to make sure everything was as it should be before shutting the cell door.
As he did so, a well-known pickpocket, who had made the mistake of branching out into black-market racketeering, started shouting from the cell next door, demanding to see his brief and moaning that if everyone else was getting out of here why couldn’t he?
‘It is Christmas, after all!’ he bellowed.
As Peter and Vinnie climbed into the police car parked at the bottom of the front steps, Vinnie noticed on the back seat a leather holdall that looked familiar.
‘Is that mine?’ Vinnie demanded.
‘Well spotted,’ Peter said. He looked at his watch and knew he had to get Vinnie to the station in no less than fifteen minutes. He was cutting it fine. He started up the engine and pulled out quickly when he saw a gap in the traffic.
Vinnie’s mouth dropped open. ‘We’re not going straight to the railway station now, are we?’
‘We most certainly are,’ Peter said, ‘no time like the present.’
‘But I need to see Sarah! Say my goodbyes! Make sure I’ve got all my belongings.’
Vinnie’s temporary relief at having been released and his joy at breathing in fresh air, even if it was bitterly cold fresh air, were replaced by panic.
Peter indicated right and drove down St Mary’s Way.
‘First off,’ he said, keeping his eyes on the road, ‘everything you need is in that holdall you see on the back seat, including all the relevant paperwork and details of who you have to report to when you get there.’
Peter slowed down to let a woman and her two children cross the road.
Vinnie had the sudden urge to open the door and make a run for it.
‘And don’t even think about not turning up at the barracks,’ Peter said, as if reading his mind. ‘If you’re not there by midnight tonight you’ll be looking at a court martial.’
He put the car into first gear and then second.
‘And as regards, Sarah …’ Peter said, casting a quick look at Vinnie, who had leant over to the back seat to retrieve the bag. ‘Or rather, Miss Caldwell – I believe she reverted back to her maiden name after her husband died. Anyway, Miss Caldwell has been fully informed of all your previous misdemeanours – most of which, you and I know, go back many years and were never reported to the local constabulary – as well as your more recent offences, including this last one, which, of course, was reported.
‘She was loath to believe what her ears were hearing, so she was provided with irrefutable evidence – photos of your handiwork from the other day, and also copies of the written statements of those who witnessed the attack.
‘Miss Caldwell has since changed the locks on her flat and wants it known that she never wants to see “hide nor hair” of you ever again. And, if you do ever “dare to darken” her doorstep at any time in the future, she will be straight down the station and has been told to ask for me directly.’
Fifty per cent of what Peter had just said was true. There hadn’t been any pictures of Gloria’s injuries as photographic paper was now being rationed, but a copy of the written statements had done what was needed, with Sarah declaring she’d had enough and would be glad to see the back of him.
Peter had embellished his visit to Sarah a little. She’d had no intention of changing her locks, nor had she made any mention of calling the police should he ‘darken my door’ – women like Sarah never did – but Peter needed Vinnie to feel that there was nothing left for him in the town. No Gloria, no baby, and definitely no Sarah.
If there was no Sarah, he didn’t even have a home to go back to.
Peter sensed Vinnie droop in defeat into the leather-upholstered passenger seat as they pulled up outside the entrance to the railway station.
Jumping out of the driver’s seat, Peter waited for Vinnie to drag himself out of the car. He hoicked his bag over his shoulder and walked with Peter into the station. There was a Salvation Army band, braving the cold, playing ‘I Saw Three Ships Come Sailing In’. Peter flashed his badge at the stationmaster, who promptly let them through the barrier.
By the time they’d walked down the two flights of wooden steps to platform one, the Portsmouth-bound train was just pulling in.
Peter congratulated himself on his perfect timing.
‘Your train warrant is in the side pocket of your bag,’ he told Vinnie.
The two men looked at each other.
‘Don’t forget,’ Peter said, ‘you brought all this on yourself. Every last bit of it.’
Vinnie’s mouth tightened. He wanted to say something, but he had no idea what.
Peter opened the carriage door to the third-class compartment and stood back. ‘After you,’ he said.
Vinnie looked at this man, who he now knew was beyond any reasoning, and stepped on to the train before Peter gave the door a hefty shove, causing it to slam shut. Peter then walked back over to the middle of the main platform and sat down on one of the seats, watching as Vinnie slumped down into a seat by the window.
A few minutes later, amidst much whistle-blowing and shouting, huffing and puffing, the train pulled away and Vinnie’s morose face turned to give Peter one last look before disappearing behind a thick fog of steam.
Peter stood up and breathed a big sigh of relief. He’d been juggling a few balls, but had managed not to drop any. Vinnie had played right into his hands, better than he could have expected, and the timing had been spot on – even down to the delivery of the cakes.
All he had to do now was head back to the station and call Captain Quinn to tell him that his new recruit would be arriving as discussed. The captain, an old friend of Peter’s who hailed from Sunderland, had been more than happy to do his bit after hearing of Vinnie’s litany of atrocities against his estranged wife.
Ten minutes later Peter was back at the station and standing behind the main desk. He brushed a few crumbs off the top of the counter and picked up the receiver of the Bakelite telephone. A few words to the operator and he was connected.
‘The package is on its way to you!’ Peter said.
‘Great news.’ Captain Quinn’s booming voice came down the line loud and clear. ‘I’ll make sure one of my men is there to pick it up!’
‘I owe you one,’ Peter said.
‘No worries, Miller!’ the captain said. ‘Rest assured, we’ll take it from here. And if there’s any bother, I’ll keep you informed.’
Peter thanked the captain again and hung up.
That was one problem solved.
Gloria could finally wash her hands of Vinnie.
Now, Peter said to himself, time to put my own house in order.
As Peter took a bite of the pastry that had been left for him, he wished more than anything that his own problems were as easy to solve as other people’s.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Tuesday 23 December 1941
Rosie was walking quickly up the Borough Road towards the Holme Café, where she was due to meet Peter. Her haste, though, was not because she was running late, but simply because she felt so excited. So happy. It was a buzz of anticipation that was now familiar, but it was also a feeling that had not abated in the least since the two of them had become lovers over a month ago.
Rosie might have just done a hard day’s graft in freezing cold temperatures, in the usual gale-like conditions that went hand in hand with working within spitting distance of the harsh North Sea, but on the evenings she was due to meet up with Peter, she felt rejuvenated. As fres
h as a daisy. It was as though the very thought of being with him instantly restored her depleted energy levels.
As she reached the bottom end of Holmeside, she spotted Peter striding down the other side of the road. She couldn’t quite make out his face, but she could now recognise his swaying gait a mile off, and the way he never buttoned up his coat so that it always seemed to have a life of its own as it flailed around his legs. He’d obviously given up trying to keep his trilby on and was presently carrying it scrunched up in his right hand.
The physical effect Peter had on Rosie never ceased to surprise her. Every time she saw him, even if they had only been parted for a day or two, it was as though her body was being given a tiny jolt of electricity. It came as quickly as it went, but it always took her off guard.
Rosie waved as they neared each other.
‘How’s that for timing!’ Peter’s low, definite voice sounded out. He strode towards her and immediately wrapped one arm around her waist, so that their bodies were pressed together, and kissed her. He kissed her again on the neck and whispered, ‘God, I’ve missed you.’
Rosie felt herself blush. It had only been a few days since she had seen him, but she too felt like it’d been an eternity. She wanted to tell him so, but of course she didn’t.
Peter went to open the café door, but Rosie grabbed his hand.
‘Would you quickly like to meet Kate?’
Peter took a step back. This was a bolt out of the blue. Rosie had not shown any inclination to introduce him to anyone she knew, let alone those closest to her. And he knew Kate was very special to her. The pair of them had been school friends, but after Kate’s mum had died suddenly when she was ten, she’d been taken into the care of the Poor Sisters of Nazareth. It hadn’t been until last year that Rosie had come across Kate begging in town and had taken her in. Not surprisingly, out of all Rosie’s nearest and dearest, apart from Charlotte of course, it was Kate she was the most protective over. By introducing him to Kate, Rosie was showing Peter just how much she trusted him and also how serious she was about him.
‘I’d love to meet her!’ Peter said.
‘Come on, then,’ Rosie said, tugging him towards the Maison Nouvelle, which was just next to the café.
Kate’s boutique had officially opened for business last week, although there had been a growing number of customers through the doors well before then. Word was spreading about the unique little seamstress-cum-clothes-shop that had just started up, run by a young woman who, it was said, was like Coco Chanel in both looks and talent.
Rosie pushed open the glass-fronted door of Kate’s boutique, the front window of which had Bel’s beautiful pastel-pink wedding dress on show, although its view was obscured by the criss-cross of anti-blast tape.
‘Kate!’ Rosie’s voice sang out at the same time as the little brass bell tinkled above the doorway.
As Peter followed Rosie into the shop, his eyes widened.
‘My goodness!’ He couldn’t hide his astonishment. He felt as though he had just stepped into another world – an Aladdin’s cave stuffed full of a dressmaker’s treasures. Rolls of fabric were stacked up against the walls, and there was a black and gold Singer sewing machine on a trestle, surrounded by baskets of overflowing ribbons and huge jars filled with buttons of all shapes and sizes. Two mannequins, swaths of silk and lace pinned to them, took centre stage.
It was only when Peter caught a sudden movement behind the long wooden workbench, which was littered with pincushions, cotton reels and what looked like samples of embroidery, that he saw, or rather heard, Kate.
‘Ouch!’
Kate had been rummaging around in a basket on the floor and on hearing the doorbell she’d jerked her head up quickly and caught the underside of the bench.
‘Oh, Kate! Are you all right?’ Rosie hurried over to see her friend, who was now rubbing her head with one hand, the other clasping the piece of velvet she had been searching for.
‘Yes, yes,’ Kate said, but her eyes were glued to Peter and a genuine smile was spreading across her narrow, pale face. ‘I see you have brought a visitor,’ she said, turning her head back to Rosie.
‘Well, I thought it was about time Peter met those who are closest to me.’ Rosie looked over to see her lover stepping towards Kate with his hand outstretched. ‘And I thought to myself, what better person to start with than my very dearest – and oldest – friend?’
Kate tossed her velvet scrap onto the workbench and took Peter’s hand for a formal introduction.
‘Pleased to meet you, Kate,’ Peter said, stooping down a little as he hadn’t realised just how small she was. He had quite vivid recollections of her when she had been brought in by the local constabulary for vagrancy, but had never realised just how petite she was.
‘Likewise,’ Kate said, shaking his hand, which felt rather huge in her own, but was also surprisingly gentle. She also recognised Peter. Not that she had ever had any direct dealings with him in the past, but she’d spent enough time in the cells at the Borough Police headquarters to have clocked most of the coppers who came and went.
Neither of them let on, however, that they knew the other. Peter out of respect, and Kate because she never allowed her old life to even take a peek out of the box where she kept it securely locked away.
‘This place is amazing!’ Peter said, once again looking around him and seeing a rack of clothes he had not spotted when he first came in. Seeing Peter’s eyes rest on the five dresses hanging from the metal frame, Kate looked at Rosie.
‘Peter’s got a sharp eye,’ she said with a mischievous look on her face. ‘He’s spotted something I was going to give you this evening, but as you’re here – ’ Kate stepped over various obstacles to get to the dresses that were hanging up ‘ – I might as well give it to you now.’
Rosie and Peter watched as Kate pulled one of the hangers off the rail.
‘This, Rosie – ’ she held the dress to the side so that it could be seen in all its glory ‘ – is my Christmas present to you.’
Rosie took a sharp intake of breath as she looked at the very beautiful, crimson rayon dress that had a loose V-shaped neckline and a thin belt around the waist.
‘Oh, Kate! It’s gorgeous!’ Rosie said.
Kate proudly handed her the dress.
‘I know you prefer trousers, but I thought – ’ she looked over at Peter quickly before returning her attention to Rosie ‘ – that as you seem to be going out more of an evening, you could do with a nice dress to wear.’
Kate walked across to the free-standing mirror and angled it towards Rosie. She then stepped back to the woman who had given her a new life, and whom she loved so very much, and held the dress just an inch in front of her.
‘See how the colour complements her corn-coloured hair,’ Kate said to Peter, ‘and the cut of the dress totally suits Rosie’s figure.’
‘I really don’t know what to say!’ Rosie was totally taken aback.
‘Don’t say anything,’ Kate said, ‘just wear it. And enjoy wearing it! It goes without saying that you’ll look totally stunning in it.’
Not, Kate thought, that Rosie needed this dress to look stunning, especially since she had kissed and made up with her detective. This past month everyone at the bordello had commented on how Rosie was positively glowing. Vivian had said she ‘radiated being in love’. And all the women had admitted to feeling a tad jealous that Rosie had very obviously found ‘The One’.
Everyone, that was, apart from Lily, who was still very sceptical about the whole romance and seemed determined to cling on to her suspicions of Peter, whom she still insisted on calling ‘Detective Sergeant Miller’. Kate hadn’t argued the point with her – everyone had a right to their own opinions – but as far as Kate was concerned, Rosie was the happiest she had ever seen her, and that was all that mattered.
Seeing Peter for herself now, and meeting him properly, Kate was confident that the man Rosie had fallen for meant her friend no harm. Kate h
ad seen enough of life to know good from bad, and Peter, she knew, was one of the good ones.
‘So, our Rosie is leaving us tomorrow,’ Kate said to Peter.
‘I know.’ Peter looked instantly crestfallen. ‘I tried my hardest to persuade her to allow Charlotte to spend Christmas here in our lovely town.’ He looked over at Rosie. Kate was now carefully putting the red dress into a garment bag. ‘But,’ he added, ‘to no avail.’
‘Our “lovely” town,’ Rosie retorted, ‘appears to have caught Herr Hitler’s attention this past year and he seems determined to keep paying us regular visits.’ She looked at Peter and Kate as if ready for an argument. ‘It’s too risky to have her here at the moment.’
Rosie had had to contend not only with Peter’s subtle attempts to persuade her to allow Charlotte to come and stay, but also with her sister’s not so subtle demands that she be allowed to do so.
Kate and Peter looked at each other. Neither of them needed to say anything; it was clear they were thinking the same thing. Rosie could perhaps be accused of being a tad overcautious, and more than a little overprotective of her younger sibling.
Kate zipped up the front of the bag and handed it to Peter to carry.
‘Well, as Rosie is leaving us tomorrow, all the more reason why I am now going to push you both out the door.’ She looked up at the large grandfather clock that she had inherited with the shop and from which she had hung a huge berry-red ribbon; it was her one and only nod to the festive period.
‘It’s getting on,’ she said in the sternest voice she could muster, ‘and you two need to make the most of what little time you have together. So, go on. Get yourselves away!
‘In fact,’ she said, suddenly getting an idea, ‘if you’re not to spend Christmas together, why don’t you two celebrate it this evening instead? It is the eve before Christmas Eve, after all!’