It was noon and the bar had opened. Within several minutes Chief Inspector Roger Crawford of Scotland Yard was involved in deep conversation with the owner. She was a statuesque, well-put-together woman called Rose Sinclair.
Tango Rose herself, in full blazing colour, he thought as they shook hands. She was made up, dressed in a deep-magenta velvet gown and heavily bejewelled. Quite a sight at noon on a Tuesday.
She spoke swiftly, in a well-modulated voice. She would tell him anything he wanted to know; she had never had trouble in her bar. Every member of her staff would co-operate. She was a great admirer of Scotland Yard, she said, and ended up congratulating him on the courage and dedication of his brave and talented officers of the law.
Once she had finished her speech, such as it was, and then looked at him questioningly, he explained why he was there.
She seemed surprised that the cold case was open again, and told him she was certain Milly Culpepper was blameless of any wrongdoing. She was just an innocent bystander. After all, she was only a young girl.
‘I am inclined to agree with you, Mrs Sinclair. But she knew those two young men quite well, and there might be something she’s forgotten – or not thought important enough to mention – that might help me, give me a clue, a way to move forward.’
‘I see what you mean, Chief Inspector, and please call me Rose. The whole world calls me Rose. Milly never really chatted to the other customers, who were older men, more … worldly, more sophisticated, shall we say? The boys were familiar to her. She came from their world, their class.’
Something clicked in Crawford’s head when she made that remark, but he moved on without making reference to it. ‘I was hoping you could tell me where Miss Culpepper works now, Rose.’
‘Of course. I am happy to help. When she left my employment, Milly went to work at a bar in Covent Garden. It’s called Grape on the Vine. It’s a nice place, mind you. I have no idea if she is still there.’
‘Thank you very much, Rose. You have been very helpful.’
Crawford walked across the Embankment and stood leaning against the wall, looking out across the River Thames. He knew from the sergeant that Milly Culpepper had only stayed at the Grape on the Vine for about two weeks and had quickly moved on. Mick Owen had named four other bars where she had worked within the year after the attack on Falconer and Holden.
The inspector stood thinking about his next move. According to Owen, Milly had just disappeared. Even her mother claimed she had no idea where her daughter was working, because she had moved away, gone to live in the country.
Making a snap decision, Crawford took out his notebook and found Mrs Culpepper’s address. He would go and visit the mother. Two years had passed, and no doubt she now knew where her daughter was residing.
He walked up to the Strand, hailed a hansom, and was soon on his way to Camden Town, hoping to get the information he needed.
NINETEEN
‘So what you’re telling me is that we are going to have problems with our Property Division, is that it?’ Henry Malvern asked, his dark-brown eyes resting on James Falconer intently. But his expression was guarded.
‘I’m afraid so, yes,’ James answered. He pushed his hands into his pockets and winced. His right hand was still tender.
‘Have you spoken to Marvin Goring about this? After all, he’s in charge of the warehouses.’
‘No, sir, I haven’t. I thought it would be wiser to speak to you first. I don’t want him to think I’m poking my nose into his business. He’s very good at his job, and he works hard. This is not a criticism of him, Mr Malvern. It’s just a statement of the facts, as I see them.’
‘I surely know that, Falconer, you’re not made that way. I agree that Goring is conscientious, does a good job.’ There was a momentary pause before Malvern said, ‘What about Harold Clayton? How’s he doing now that he’s running the Property Division?’
‘He’s cut from the same cloth as Goring, very diligent and smart, and everyone likes him much better than his predecessor.’
‘Could you just explain again exactly why you think there’s going to be a change in property values, please?’ Malvern leaned over his desk, still focused on James, anxious.
‘There is a slowing down of business in general, especially in retailing. People are not spending enough money in shops. So that affects the manufacturers of goods who are making fewer products, and letting employees go because of that. It’s like dominoes falling. House prices are dropping, and I have a feeling this slowdown might turn into a Depression. I hope not, sir. To sum up, the whole country is in a mess,’ James paused, then finished. ‘Except not everyone knows that.’
Henry Malvern was silent for a moment or two, looking off into space. Finally he spoke. ‘How is it you know and no one else does, Falconer?’
‘I don’t believe I am the only person, Mr Malvern. Other people read newspapers as well as me and study the situation. However, I spotted the changes in property values because I try to read between the lines. Let’s just say I’m looking for changes and problems, and maybe others aren’t.’
‘So how do we handle the warehouses?’
‘I suggest you bring Goring into the picture and instruct him to put the warehouses in the East End up for sale.’
‘What about those on the docks?’
‘We need most of those, Mr Malvern. Keller runs the Wine Division very well, and I’m positive it will continue to flourish.’
‘When do you wish to advise Goring of the situation, Falconer?’
‘Later this week. I know he went to Bradford to check on the warehouses the company owns there. He told me he would be back on Thursday of this week.’
‘So we’ll talk to him then. And why Bradford? There’s nothing wrong up there, I hope.’
‘All is well. The warehouses are full of shoddy. No problems at all. Wool is always a safe bet. So don’t worry about that.’
‘I suppose we had better have Clayton in on the meeting with Goring, don’t you think?’
‘Yes, I do, sir. I was just going to suggest it. We can assess their opinions and decide what properties to keep and what to sell. We’ll come out all right, I’m certain of that. Providing we move quickly.’
Henry Malvern nodded, wondering what he would ever do without James Falconer. Also wondering how to persuade him to stay at the company. He knew full well that Falconer was ambitious, wanted to go out on his own. He couldn’t let this brilliant young man do that. Where would he be if Falconer left? Lost, Henry thought. I’d be at sea swimming with the sharks. Once again he felt the pang of loss over Alexis, who had once worked so closely with him.
James Falconer stood up. He said, ‘If you don’t mind, sir, I have to leave now. I have a meeting. Some personal business out of the office which I have to attend to.’
‘Of course, Falconer, go and get on with it. God knows you stay here far too long most days.’
‘Thank you, Mr Malvern. I’ll see you tomorrow.’
James hurried down the stairs and pushed the heavy door open out to Piccadilly. He started to walk along the busy pavement towards Mayfair, mulling over the conversation they’d had. The same slowdown he had described to Mr Malvern was an opportunity. An opportunity for someone wanting to start out – to rent premises for less; premises that big companies would be offloading. But for now he was still run off his feet at Malvern’s.
Once he reached Half Moon Street, he managed to freshen up and check out the flat to make sure it was tidy. Ten minutes later he was opening the door and ushering Irina into the living room.
She smiled and greeted him warmly, and he smiled in return, and took the cloth bag she was carrying.
‘Goodness, this is heavy. Whatever’s in it?’ he asked.
‘Our supper,’ she answered. ‘Let’s take it into the kitchen. We can unpack it together. I’ve made everything in advance, James.’
‘Oh, I thought you would be cooking it here. I was looking forward to watching y
ou.’
Her light laughter echoed around the kitchen as she began to take out items from the bag he had placed on the table. ‘That is a jar of borscht soup with meat, our main course. There should be another jar.’ She reached into the bag and took it out. ‘And these are the blinis I made, to go with this, the caviar, and a packet of pirogi—’
‘I’ve never heard of these,’ James cut in. ‘What are they?’
‘Delicious little pastry rolls filled with meat.’ She opened the packet and took one out. ‘Look, they’re a bit like sausage rolls except smaller.’ She offered the pirog to him.
James took it, bit into it, and nodded. ‘You’re right. It is delicious. Did you make it yourself?’
‘I did. I cooked everything in my aunt’s kitchen this morning. All from my grandmother’s recipes. She’s the one who taught me how to cook Russian food.’ Irina paused. ‘Speaking of Aunt Cheska, I’m afraid she won’t be able to come to your supper on Thursday.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that. It’s a good thing I didn’t send an invitation to Aubrey Williamson. I didn’t have time.’ He was suddenly aware of the troubled look on Irina’s face, and asked, ‘What is it? Is there something wrong?’
‘Yes, I’m afraid so. Her husband returned from his latest trip to New York yesterday. He’d arrived when I was here with you. Anyway, to make a long story short, Uncle Michael says he wants a divorce. Aunt Cheska is devastated, and he seems very upset, too. So that’s why she won’t be able to come. And I won’t come either. I’m so sorry, James, but I think my aunt needs my support. And, of course, she needs Natalie as well.’
‘I do understand. Please don’t worry about cancelling. I can give the supper another time.’
‘Thank you.’ Irina was quiet for a moment, and then turned to look over her shoulder. ‘Dinner, then. I think we should put the caviar, the lemon cake, the blinis and the pirogi in the pantry where it’s cool, don’t you?’
‘I do, Irina. Let me show you where it is. And I must say this is quite a feast you’ve made … thank you.’
‘I hope you’ll enjoy it. Anyway, I was glad to be down in the kitchen. There was a lot of disagreement upstairs, and tears. Oh, it was awful. Uncle Michael eventually left for the bank, and Natalie and I tried to console Aunt Cheska. She was so tearful, and hurt, I think.’
‘I’m so very sorry to hear all this. She must have found it hard.’ He hesitated, before saying gently, ‘Was this the first she’d heard about it? His wanting to get divorced from her?’
‘No, I don’t believe so, but he hadn’t pursued it, and so it was quite a shock.’
‘I bet it was,’ James said. ‘She’s so beautiful and such a lovely person, I can’t believe any man would want to leave her.’
‘I can’t understand either. I mean, she’s really the innocent bystander in my opinion, and I can’t help thinking there must be another woman. I’ve often suspected he was seeing someone, that he had a mistress, just from his peculiar behaviour at times.’
‘Peculiar in what way?’ James asked.
‘His late nights at the office, lack of punctuality, and odd trips to Paris, Rome – always called business trips, naturally. Natalie often said he had a guilty look about him.’
James nodded but made no response. He went and opened the pantry door. ‘Shall we put these items away?’ he suggested. ‘And then I’m going to open a bottle of Uncle George’s champagne, because you think it’s a treat.’
‘Being here with you is a treat,’ Irina answered, smiling as she carried the blinis and pirogi to the pantry.
James looked at her and knew that they shared the same attraction.
James opened a bottle of champagne and took two flutes out of the cupboard. After filling them with the champagne, he turned to Irina and said, ‘Shall we go into the living room where it’s more comfortable?’
‘Yes, let’s do that,’ she responded, stopping to reach into the bag and taking out a small silk pouch.
James frowned and asked, ‘What is that?’
‘It’s a caftan, a house gown I wear to be more casual and relaxed. Actually, it is Moroccan in origin and the women in Morocco wear it instead of a dress.’ She held up the silk bag. ‘It’s folded up in here.’
She placed it to one side and went on, ‘I’ll put this on later, when I start to prepare our food,’ she explained.
‘It’s beautiful, Irina.’
Sitting down on the sofa, Irina took the glass he offered her.
James seated himself in the chair and, leaning closer, he clinked his glass to hers, ‘Cheers!’
‘Cheers!’ she repeated. ‘And here’s to success with your first shop.’
‘Thank you … I don’t want to appear rude,’ James went on, ‘but why do I think I had heard a few rumours lately about your aunt having problems in her marriage?’
‘Because there has been some talk and I think information has leaked out. People see things, hear things, and gossip with each other. You know that, I’m sure.’ She sipped the champagne, sat back on the sofa, a reflective look settling on her face.
He wondered what she was thinking, what she was about to reveal. He really felt sorry for Francesca Lorne, who was one of the nicest women he had ever met. Her husband must be weird to dump her in this way. And a marriage with a mistress was one thing; asking for a divorce would cause a scandal.
At last, Irina said, ‘I have a feeling Natalie won’t be able to go to Hull on Friday and neither will I, James. I’m sure my aunt is going to need our support. She’s not taken this lightly.’
His face fell, and his disappointment showed at once. ‘That’s a shame. I was looking forward to your company,’ he told her. ‘However, as it happens Peter Keller is coming. He’s longed to see the City of Gaiety, so he’ll keep me company. But I will miss you.’
‘I know. I feel the same.’ Placing the glass on the table, Irina stood up and reached for the silk bag. ‘I should start the supper. May I use your bedroom to go and change into the caftan?’
James nodded. ‘It’s this way,’ he said.
Once she was alone in his room, Irina took off her long skirt, tulle petticoat and her white blouse. She laid them on a chair, then removed all of her underclothes except for a thin silk slip. Taking out the pale-blue caftan, she put it on and went to look in the mirror. The exotic clothing suited her, but she also knew she was completely covered, looked properly clad. After sliding her feet into a pair of soft leather mules, also from Morocco, Irina went into the living room.
James couldn’t take his eyes off her as she walked towards him. He exclaimed, ‘I do like your caftan. It’s beautiful. You’re beautiful. I bet I could sell quite a few of those. They’re so becoming.’
She laughed. ‘You surely could, and they are easy to make. It’s just a long-sleeved straight dress, falling to the ankles, with some embroidery on the front.’
He followed her as she went into the kitchen, where she began to bring out the food, at the same time asking him to find her pans to heat the borscht. James did so, and put them on the gas stove.
He sat down in a chair, continuing to gaze at her while she prepared the food. As she moved around the kitchen, the caftan clung to her enticingly. He could see the outline of her shapely figure, the movement of her breasts against the silk, her nipples. He tried to look away but was unable to do so. She was lovely, mesmerizing, and ravishing. He’d never met anyone quite like her.
Unexpectedly, he stood up and went over to her, took the spoon out of her hand, and turned her to face him. His expression was intense with desire.
He said, ‘I can’t stand it. I need to be with you, Irina. Now, not later.’
‘I know,’ she answered and turned to him. ‘Because I feel the same.’
It was almost twilight and the bedroom was dim, but James did not bother to light the gas lamps. Instead he took Irina in his arms and held her close, began to kiss her.
She kissed him in return, and they clung together. He slid his h
ands down her back and onto her buttocks, the silk of the caftan smooth and somehow enticing.
He was even more aroused and stepped away from her, undressing himself swiftly. She did the same, removing the caftan.
They stood in the middle of the bedroom, their eyes riveted on each other. They moved at the same moment, clinging to each other and kissing.
They fell down onto his bed; he held her tightly, his mouth still on hers. She felt a moment of apprehension. She had not been involved with a man since Vladimir’s death. How would she be with James? Would she please him? Would memories of her beloved Vladimir intrude, make her turn away from James? She had no answers for herself, and she felt unexpectedly taut, nervous, yet only a moment ago she had been brimming with desire.
James stopped kissing her, pushed himself up on one elbow and looked down into her face. His expression was loving. He said gently, ‘Don’t be afraid, Irina. Relax, my sweet girl. All will be all right. With me you are safe.’
She simply stared up at him, saying nothing. He began to smooth his hands over her body, and slowly the tension left her. She fell under his spell.
He slipped out of bed for a moment to fetch protection, and swiftly returned to her side. He spoke soothing words to her, loving words, and began to stroke her body again. He kissed her breasts and then slid his hand down to her stomach. Slowly, tenderly, he began to make love to her; he gave her such intense pleasure that her entire body trembled. Suddenly their passion soared.
Touching each other all over, kissing frantically, their pent-up emotions burst open. He moved onto her, and she grabbed him, put her arms around his back, and pulled him closer. And she sighed as she felt him fully inside her. Still fraught with unbridled passion, they moved together, finding their own rhythm. And they did not stop until they reached the pinnacle of sexual ecstasy.
Irina lay with her head against James’s shoulder, her eyes closed, although she was not asleep. She was glad she had not failed him, had met his urgent desire, and given him pleasure. As he had her. He was a skilled lover, caring, and obviously experienced. He knew how to please a woman. But she did not care about those who had gone before her. Now he was hers, just as she was his.
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