I didn’t realize that anything was wrong until I opened my eyes. I was still on my feet but my legs felt wobbly. Randall had hold of my arms and was gently shaking me, although gentle is a relative term if we’re talking about Randall. Elaine looked on. Concerned, I’d guess.
It was Randall who said, ‘You were out here shouting, boss. Out here on your own, shouting at nobody. As if you’d gone off your head.’
I muttered, ‘I think I dropped my pipe somewhere.’ Elaine stepped up, and handed it to me. It was still alight. Elaine looked a bit shocked. Randall wasn’t going to let me off the hook that easily.
‘You were shouting something like, Go away and leave me alone! What was that all about?’
‘Drank too much,’ I lied. ‘Need to go and sleep it off.’
‘I’ll walk with you,’ said Elaine.
She was taller than me and prettier . . . and when she linked her arm through mine it was well above my elbow. On the way down to the old dispersal hut I occasionally slept in I realized that this could be the last time I’d wake up in it. I asked Elaine, ‘What about Terry, and that godson of mine?’ Her hubby and son.
‘Visiting his mum in Beaconsfield: they won’t be back until Friday. What were you shouting about?’
It was chill. Elaine tucked in close alongside me. The narrow cement path to the Nissen hut was pale in the moonlight.
‘Sometimes I see dead people, love. People I know.’
Elaine was smoking a long tipped fag. I wondered if Doris had subbed her a packet. She exhaled a lungful of smoke into the night air above us.
‘Oh, that,’ she said, and paused before saying, ‘Yeah. It happens sometimes.’
‘I thought it was only me.’
‘No, darling. You’re just like the rest of us . . . Join the club.’
Old Man Halton’s club was tucked away behind a large walled garden off Regent’s Park Road. I’d only been invited there twice before, and it was always when he was buttering me up for something. He knew that I knew that: I think it amused both of us. The fish dish was exquisite. We didn’t really talk again until we were halfway through a rack of lamb.
He suddenly observed, ‘When you were recalled as a reservist about three years ago we picked up three nice contracts from the War Office. Did you know that?’
‘You scratched their backs, and they scratched yours.’
‘Something like that.’
‘I got shot at.’
‘That was your own fault, wasn’t it? Someone from your murky past.’
‘My past was never meant to be murky, boss. It was meant to be serene. Nice house in the suburbs, friendly wife, three kids and a car. Golf on Saturdays.’
‘Do you play golf?’
‘No, of course not. It’s infantile.’
He smiled and said, ‘Good. That kind of life would have bored you to death. What do you make of the wine?’ I’ve never understood the poncey language that wine buffs speak – I suspect that they don’t either.
‘I could drink buckets of it, if that’s what you mean. Have you been offered another contract for Halton Air, provided I go out to play with your pals at the Foreign Office for a couple of months?’
He looked shifty, and began to cough. It was a bit of a grand opera once it got going, but they were used to him at his club, so nobody took any notice. I raised my hand to the waiter who came over with a large glass of water. Halton finished the opening salvoes, and had a couple of gulps of the water. He said, ‘Thank you, Charlie.’
‘Thank the waiter – he brought it. You were saying . . . ?’ I prompted. He probably hoped I had forgotten.
‘Yes. The government will give us a leg-up again.’
‘Is it important, sir?’
‘It would set us up for fully the next ten years.’
With Old Man Halton it was always best to cut to the chase.
‘What would be in it for me?’
‘I’ll make you a co-director of the company, and give you a fifth share.’
For a moment I didn’t know what to say. If you’d come from the labouring classes, like me, neither would you.
‘There must be a snag – you don’t mind my saying that, do you?’
‘Of course not, Charlie, and yes, there is – the third director will be Frieda, and once I’m gone she’ll fight you tooth and nail . . . over everything.’ I digested that.
‘Why?’
‘Because she probably loved you a little once upon a time. Women never forgive you for that.’ Frieda was his ward: the daughter of a German woman he had brought to the UK just before the war. She was going to marry me until she found someone taller, and jumped ship. I thought I’d behaved rather well at the time, but I could be mistaken. Halton added, ‘I’ve no son, and the business will need a man who knows what he’s doing. She would ruin it on her own, and sell what was left to the Americans.’ Then he asked, ‘Well?’
I did some thinking music in my head, Glenn’s ‘String of Pearls’ – I’ve told you about that before as well. Then I grinned.
‘Cyprus it is then, sir, although they indicated that it might not be for some weeks yet.’ I always feel relieved when I’ve made a decision.
‘Good. The family lawyer will contact you. There will be some papers to sign. I won’t tell Frieda until afterwards.’ No; nor should I. Frieda would play merry hell when she found out. What goes around comes around.
‘Seen your boys recently?’
‘I’m going down to them this afternoon. They’re fine. Dieter wants to join the Merchant Navy.’
‘Flying’s not in his blood then?’
‘Flying’s not in my blood either, boss. My lot liked fighting their wars from trenches, or where there were plenty of things to hide behind.’
That set him off coughing again. This time when he pulled the handkerchief down there were those specks of blood on it. He saw me watching him, and demanded, ‘What? What are you thinking?’
‘That we’d better get those papers signed as quickly as possible. I don’t know how long you’ve got.’
That set him off laughing and coughing again. The truth was that Old Man Halton could be a bit of a bully, and I was probably the only person around him who ever talked back. That was because we liked each other a lot, and of course, being men, it was something we never said.
‘About my secretary . . .’
‘Yes, boss?’
‘I hoped that you and June were going to make a go of it this time. You light up every time you see her – did you know that?’
‘I hoped so too. The boys adore her. Unfortunately I’m at the wrong end of a queue as far as she’s concerned – there’s the bloke she started dating when I was in Egypt, and now they’ve let her Glorious Gloucester out of the loony bin.’ That was unworthy of me, and I immediately regretted it. We both frowned. ‘Anyway, I telephoned her parents’ house a couple of days ago, and her mother asked me to leave June alone. She said I made her unhappy . . . it made me think.’
‘Well, don’t think for too long. Women are like kettles.’
‘Come again?’
‘You can’t do much with either once they’ve gone off the boil.’
The move to Panshanger was well under way and Elaine had told me to lose myself.
‘You’ll only get in the way, Charlie. Leave it to me, Randall and the ground staff, chiefy. We’re moving everything up in the Yorks before they re-deploy to Berlin.’
‘What do you mean I’ll only get in the way? I’m the boss down here.’
‘So?’
‘I’m supposed to be giving the orders.’
‘Whatever gave you that idea, dear?’ And she roared off into peals of musical laughter. After a few seconds I was laughing myself. I’d wanted an excuse to drive up to London and fly formation with the Handels anyway.
It was cold and bright; a nice morning to stretch out my new car. I’d sold my old open Singer to Randall, so that I could buy the Sunbeam Alpine that Evelyn Valentine had tired of.
I told you: what goes around comes around. It was a lovely pale blue thoroughbred with a column shift, a mile of bonnet in front of you, and a mile of tail behind you. I’ve told you about Eve; she with whom both James and I had taken a walk in the park. I’d skipped into the bar to find her and Maggs chatting away like old friends: I cannot understand women sometimes. When she said she wanted to get rid of the Sunbeam we did a deal there and then, and I’d paid her three hundred quid for it.
I folded the hood away, and howled down to Brighton before turning north: I wanted to open her up along the A23, then slip across and see what she’d do over the Hog’s Back. The answer was damn near a ton, and that was good enough for me. Maybe I’d challenge Flash Harry to a race down to the Ace of Spades Café some day – the kids had started to do that on motorbikes.
I did something brave: I booked into Green’s, the hotel that we always used to use in the war. By we, I mean the bomber crew I’d flown with – Tuesday’s children. I had been unable to set a foot over the doorstep for years after the war ended: it had been a ‘bomber’ hotel, one of several in the city. I’d only been back a half-dozen times since then, and when I did the ghosts never failed to come crowding round.
After I’d booked in I called the Handels in the Savoy. Doris answered the telephone.
‘Where are you, Charlie?’
‘Green’s. We used to use it in the war – not too far from you.’
‘Why don’cha book in here? George will pick up the tab.’
‘No, thanks. Do you two want to meet up today, or are you busy?’
‘We found a great pub called Ye Olde Cheshire Cheese. That’s olde with an e. See ya there in an hour.’ I suddenly had the idea that there was something excessively Yankee about her pronunciation, and it made me uneasy.
‘Fine.’
No one told me at first that there are two Cheshire Cheeses in that part of London, and I spent half an hour in the wrong bar before the barman asked me if I was waiting for someone.
‘Happens all the time,’ he told me. ‘Sometimes we get one of their customers, an’ sometimes they get ours. Even stevens.’ I found Doris less than five minutes’ walk away.
She didn’t chide me for being late. She just demanded, ‘An’ where the hell have you been? Guys have hit on me three times since I sat down.’
I signalled the barman for a pint.
‘Only three? I’d have thought you might have done better than that.’ She opened her mouth for a riposte, but then paused . . . and smiled. ‘Where’s George?’ I asked her.
‘Stateside. He had to rush back for a business brief.’
I thought I’d take a chance.
‘Tell me something, Doris, did you always sound like Calamity Jane, or is it something you caught?’ Pause. When she smiled again it was almost sheepish.
‘Too much, huh?’
‘Too much,’ I confirmed.
‘I can do Olive Oyl instead if youse likes.’ Her voice had suddenly slid into Popeye country.
‘Grace Kelly?’
‘Much easier.’
‘Are you an actress, Doris?’
She pulled out a cigarette, and I lit it for her. She must have been a bit desperate because I guessed the purpose of the manoeuvre was to show me her chest moving, and stop my pendulum. After she blew out the first plume of smoke she replied, ‘Tell me a woman who isn’t, Charlie.’
‘Stop trying,’ I told her. ‘I like you well enough just as it is. Can we get some food here? I’m starving.’
I suppose a plate of cheese sandwiches was all I could have hoped for. It wasn’t even Cheshire cheese. She’d had a half-pint in front of her when I’d walked in, but as soon as I sat down began to match me in pints – I’ve met several women who did that, and liked them all. Eventually she asked me, ‘Have you got a date for us, Charlie?’
‘No, not yet. I’ve an old pal in the Ordnance Survey – they’re the map makers – just outside of London. I want to go over your map with him, see if he can give me something in a larger scale.’
‘Will he ask questions?’
‘I wouldn’t mind if he did. He was a navigator, and we did our basic training together – he won’t let me down.’
‘OK.’
‘Then I’ll make the bookings for us. There’s a hotel in Shieldaig, just the other side of the hill your brother hit. If he had cleared it he would have ended up in their front garden.’
She sat back in her chair, and looked steadily at me.
‘Hey, Charlie. Don’t mind me. Don’t mind my feelings.’ Then she looked away.
I pulled out my old straight briar, and made a business of filling and lighting it.
‘I’m sorry, Doris, but I didn’t know him, and I don’t know you. My generation doesn’t grieve over strangers – we had enough grieving to do over folk we knew. OK?’ She OK’d me back, but it was a bit on the grudging side. ‘When I make the hotel booking I’ll find out if they can hire someone to take us up the hill – a local stalker or gamekeeper, someone like that.’
‘What will you tell them?’
‘That you and George are related to someone killed in the crash, and are making a kind of pilgrimage to the site. That’s the truth, isn’t it? Is it a problem?’
‘I’d rather people didn’t know my business, that’s all.’
‘I think you’ll find them very respectful. There isn’t a community up there which hasn’t given up sons to the war. They’ll understand.’ She nodded. I went on to ask, ‘Whose idea was it for you to sound as if you’d just got off the Deadwood stage?’
‘George. He says the British would expect us to sound like Americans – something to do with the war. Where I come from it’s sometimes hard to tell.’
‘Where do you come from?’
‘Boston.’
‘And George?’
‘New York.’ She switched tracks on me and asked, ‘In a few days you’ll be able to say when we fly up there?’
‘Yes. Except we won’t fly, we’ll take the night train. You’ll like it.’
She stretched her arms and sighed. Her body rippled as though a small earthquake was imminent. If you could measure sex appeal on the Richter scale it was about a Force Five. Every man in the bar stopped drinking to watch. Don’t get me wrong; Doris loved it. She turned on the hokey-cokey voice again.
‘What am I going to do in London, honey, while I’m stuck here waiting for you and George?’
‘Go shopping for warm clothes. You’re going to need them up there.’
She pouted and asked, ‘At least you’ll have supper with me tonight?’
‘Yeah, I’ll have supper with you tonight.’ I was probably leering: it’s a sort of expression that comes over a man’s face when he’s not looking.
The Savoy Grill; and the best steak I’d ever tackled in my life. The waiter hovered. That wasn’t my fault. Its was Mrs Handel’s fault. Noël Coward was entertaining his pals at a big round table in the window: I didn’t fancy his date – a washed-out specimen with a poet’s flowing hair. Doris wore the low-front little black number again. Her shoulders were as white as the moon, and the streams of light from the chandelier caught in her hair. Every time she leaned forward her front bumpers surfaced like Moby Dick and his twin sister. If I had been the waiter I’d have hovered too.
As we worked our way down a bottle of claret she had selected from the wine list by simply going for the most expensive, my repartee probably veered towards the risqué. Not so much a case of in vino veritas as a hopeful in vino coitus. She dabbed her mouth with a napkin, and leaned forward to speak quietly to me.
‘You really fancy your chances with me; don’t you, honey?’ she asked.
‘Am I so obvious?’
‘You and half the men in the room.’
‘Only half ?’
‘The rest are fairies – you English are famous for it.’
‘Should I apologize?’
‘No. It’s sometimes kinda fun, but it’s better to tell you rig
ht now that you don’t. Have a chance, that is. I’m faithful to Mr Handel – always will be. I don’t see any reason to stray. I never did. I wouldn’t want you two to fall out over me. So before you try . . . the answer’s no. Big N, big O. This is the put-down.’
I dived into her eyes and began to swim for the shore.
‘Hey, Doris,’ I said. ‘Don’t mind me. Don’t mind my feelings.’ It was a joke I spoiled by finishing with a soft belch I had been unable to contain. I did apologize for that. What surprised me was that she smiled a quick smile before she paid attention to her plate again. She was saying, Look but don’t touch: I’d have to settle for that.
I got the soft lips on my cheek again as we parted, and was conscious of the pressure of one of those wonderful bumpers against my arm. Consolation prize or just a twist of the knife?
When I walked outside and turned left onto the Strand I should have been conscious of a car pacing me from behind, but I wasn’t. Black unmarked Rover. Eventually it pulled in front of me, and stopped at the kerb. The round-faced man with the pencil-thin moustache who rolled down the back window asked, ‘Mr Bassett?’
‘Yes, why?’
‘Chief Inspector Fabian, sir. Metropolitan Police. Would you care to jump in? We’ll give you a lift.’
‘And if I said no?’
‘I can arrest you here if you’d prefer it.’ I believed him. He was a thoroughly unpleasant man being thoroughly agreeable. I was leaning in to his window by then. He could probably smell the wine and brandy on my breath.
‘Do you have a warrant card, or a badge, or something like that?’
Another cat-like smile.
‘My driver, Mr Webb, has a cosh in his pocket. Much more effective.’
I was drunk anyway. It was beginning to rain. Fabian of the fucking Yard: he used to be in the papers. I thought that he’d died or retired, but he hadn’t. Just my luck. So I got in the car.
A Blind Man's War Page 5