by John Gardner
She felt the blush rising up her cheeks and her hand came up automatically to tidy away a strand of unruly hair that wasn’t really there.
She had only just got into the flat when the telephone started to ring. And yes, it was her mum and, yes, this was the third time she’d tried Suzie already tonight. She often consumed entire Friday evenings ringing Suzie, who, since she had been posted to Camford, was seldom back before ten.
And yes, the children were fine. Ben seemed to have forgotten what had happened, but then Charlotte used to say he had little concept of time. ‘Memory like a goldfish,’ she’d remark, making light of it. Suzie had admired the way her sister made jokes about her beloved son’s handicaps.
Lucy, her mum said, was gravely nonchalant: Mummy was with Jesus, so all was well.
Yes, she — Helen Gordon-Lowe — had started what she called ‘the long business of coming to terms with it all’. She still had crying jags; came over her suddenly. Not surprising really; it hadn’t been very long. But the Mountfords were made of sterner stuff with a tradition of getting on with life whatever happened: Suzie could only ever think of her mother as a Mountford, couldn’t stand her being called Gordon-Lowe which was a phoney name anyway.
‘Are you lot going full blast out to get the little bastard?’ Suzie had rarely heard her mum swear.
‘We’re doing our best, Mum.’
‘So, what news of you, Suzie? ... You’re what? ... What, you’re ...? ... What d’you mean, you’re getting married? ... Suzie?’
So, first the Spanish Inquisition, then a great sunburst of delight, and a shriek when she heard it was Tommy Livermore. ‘Ross’ll be ecstatic. He was with his brother on the Somme.’
‘No, Mum.’ Suzie had the facts. The Livermore on the Somme was not a brother. An uncle maybe. Tommy had told her, an uncle, but only a hesitant uncle. Maybe.
This rather stopped her mum. Stopped her in her tracks, so what followed was the down side. You haven’t known him five minutes, Susannah. Less. ‘You certain he’s serious?’
‘Of course he’s serious, Mum.’ Yet underneath it all she was pushed into questioning. Does he really? Will he, won’t he? Will he, won’t he? Will he join the dance?
‘Well, you know men, Susannah.’
‘No, Mum, actually I don’t know men, but Tommy’s as serious as sin.’
‘He’d better be, Susannah. I hope you haven’t compromised yourself, dear.’ And Suzie wanted to say we’ve been shagging like rattlesnakes, but she held her piece and they went on talking. And as they talked the usual happened: her mum went into this fantasy world of wedding dresses, bridesmaids, invitations, guests and perhaps they’d better hire a marquee for the lawn.
‘You shouldn’t even think about it, Mum.’ A marquee was a non-essential and non-essentials were being discouraged. Don’t you know there’s a war on?
‘However are we going to manage, Suzie?’
Perhaps she should simply have said that she was in love with him, and not mentioned marriage.
They went on for over twenty minutes.
The telephone rang again immediately. ‘What happened, Suzie?’ Dandy Tom sounding concerned and a bit frayed. ‘You just left. I was looking for you.’
She was filled with that half delight of being wanted, and a pinch of worry that seemed to have arrived out of thin air. ‘Did you get my message?’
‘No. What message, heart?’
‘I thought it was rather clever, actually. I told Shirley to say that I’d gone home, and if you had any more work for me I’d be in all evening and you could ring. It was meant to be cryptic.’
‘Ah.’
‘Tommy?’
‘She did mutter something about you going home, but I think she missed out the second part. The part about you being home all night. If I’d got that bit it would’ve tipped me the wink. I was worried. Thought you were ill or something, heart. Shirley’s been going on about your former boss and I thought this could be a bit of the same. We should really talk about that particular matter. Big Toe Harvey.’
‘Can you come over here, then? We can talk as much as you like. Talk all night if you want. Do anything.’ She knew exactly what she was up to. Rather revelled in it. ‘Or d’you want me to come to you?’
‘I’ll be over. Half-an-hour.’ Just a little too quick.
‘Right.’ So, why doesn’t he want me over at his place? I’ve never seen his flat; he’s never even talked about it.
Aloud she said, ‘I don’t know what we’re going to eat.’
‘Don’t worry, I’ve got food. What’s wrong?’
‘Nothing.’
‘I can hear it in your voice. Something’s up.’
‘My mum rang. Made me a bit jumpy, that’s all. Oh, and there are two of your lads hanging on to my skirt.’
‘Yes, I should hope so. I’ve had their report. You just upped and walked out of the Yard. Shouldn’t have done that, heart. There’s been no sign of fellow-me-lad and there’s a possibility that he’s heading for London: which means heading for you. Did one of the lads see you in? Is the other one stationed at the back?’
‘No, nobody saw me in. Were they supposed to?’
‘My fault. You should’ve been properly briefed. The two lads are supposed to be close observers. Should’ve seen you in, had a look-see, spoken to you at regular intervals. They tried to ring you but the line’s been engaged since you got in.’
‘My mum, and then you, sweetheart.’
‘Okay. Stay put. I’ll be over. Less than twenty minutes. Right?’
‘Tommy?’ she shouted, not wanting him to hang up. ‘Tommy. You say you’ve got food?’
‘My mother was in town today. Always brings something up from the farm.’ He took her silence as criticism.
‘We’re allowed,’ Tommy said. ‘It’s not black market.’ He chuckled. ‘We’re allowed, you know.’
‘Oh.’
‘See you soon, heart.’
His mother was in town today and Suzie hadn’t been asked over to meet her. Also he was coming to her flat again. For the first time she thought it would’ve been better if he’d taken her over to his place. Dandy Tom’s flat, the one she only saw in her imagination: the one with heavy curtains, bachelor stuff like they all had in the flicks. Leather-buttoned settees; straight-backed buttoned chairs; Hogarth prints and such, the odd Stubbs; leather-bound books; deep-pile carpets under foot. Oh nuts, and he hasn’t let me set my nose inside it, let alone a foot. Big glass ashtrays, and heavy crystal drinking glasses.
She wanted a bath. Some deep soak treatment, but couldn’t until Tommy arrived. She mooned around the flat alone, pacing from room to room, smoothing her hair automatically like someone who’d stooped to folly. Which, of course, she had.
Then Tommy Livermore was ringing the bell and she ran to open the door, sliding back the bolts and calling out.
He looked weighed down with worry, grimy from the day, yet still immaculate in his own way carrying two hefty brown-paper carrier bags and a Gladstone fat with files.
He was also annoyed.
‘Suzie, heart, don’t ever do that again.’
‘Do what?’ She closed the door, turned the key, slid the bolts home.
‘You didn’t check who was at the door.’
‘I presumed it was you. You were on the way.’
‘What if it had been Golly Goldfinch? What would you have done if it had been him with his bloody piano wire, heart? He’s after you, Suzie, we’re fairly certain of that.’
Then he told her about the Lysander and how the pilot had spotted footprints in the deep frost; and called up the beaters. ‘Someone had been concealed in a birdwatcher’s hide, on the edge of a copse outside Old Basing. It was right on the treeline, on top of a rise. Bits of food scattered around, crusts from sandwiches, and it wasn’t like that when they went through in the morning.’
Then he told her that there was possibly another person involved. ‘There’s a chance Goldfinch’s got an accomp
lice. Know what that means? It means he’s twice as dangerous. It’s my fault you weren’t briefed, but — God in heaven — you could have used your common sense!’
He shouted the last part and Suzie felt about five years old, when Daddy got cross, and when he got cross ... Well!
‘But it wasn’t Golly,’ she said in a little voice.
‘Oh!’ Tommy raged at himself as much as anyone. ‘I thought you’d use your loaf.’ He bent his knees and carefully put the bags on the floor, coming up again as if he was doing some physical training exercise.
She was not supposed to be left on her own outside the office. Not for a minute, he told her. He’d almost had a fit when Shirley told him she had gone; didn’t know what she was thinking about. He went on for about three minutes, and Suzie felt somehow relieved that he was so obviously distressed.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said when he paused for breath. ‘I’m terribly sorry, Tommy. What’s in the bags?’
‘Food.’
‘Oh, yes, your mother’s been in town, and I notice that I’m not asked to meet her.’
‘You’re not — what?’
‘You said I had to meet your family. But you did nothing about it today.’
He didn’t take her seriously; laughed, said, ‘Please, heart.’ Picked up one of the bags.
‘Not joking, Tommy,’ she raised her voice. ‘And you’ve not let me anywhere near your flat, have you?’
He laughed again and she felt stupid. ‘Listen, heart. My mother brings stuff up for me from the country, right? Today she was up for a meeting of some charity trustees. She’s the chairwoman, right? Listen, I had no idea she was coming up today. She left these two bags and a scribbled note downstairs at the Yard. I didn’t even hear her voice, let alone see her.’
‘Oh. Never had —’
‘No, and as for my flat, I’ve been in it once since last Sunday — just to collect some clothes that I’ve brought to the Yard. Last Sunday, when I was there it looked like a rubbish tip. It’s much smaller than this, and twice as cluttered.’ He waved a hand around, palm open and extended, signifying space and height — which actually he was exaggerating, heart. Then he went through the business of losing Golly Goldfinch again: how they’d found broken boughs and signs that a car had been tucked away in the bushes. No tyre tracks because the ground was too hard. Golly might well have an accomplice, which he obviously found to be a worrying possibility.
‘Remember that,’ he said, a little harshly and all the aggression went out of her and she started to weep. ‘Please God, heart, don’t grizzle,’ he snapped at her. So, Suzie, with her teenage experience in a nearly twenty-three-year-old body, thought it was all over. Finished.
‘What’s your mother been putting into your head, heart? I’m sorry, but it’s been a difficult day and I can’t stand tears, not tonight, angel,’ he rumbled, putting his finger right on the real problem.
With a couple of debilitated sobs she told him that her mum had said they’d only known one another for five minutes, how could she be sure enough to think of marrying him? And you know men, Susannah.
Tommy groaned and called on God the Son for aid and strength. Then, calmly, told her that what he’d like best in all the world was a chance to speak to her mother, and in words of one syllable, explain to her how two people could set eyes on each other for the first time and know, immediately — without even the reflection of a shadow of doubt — that they loved one another. ‘Because that’s what’s happened to me, and from my view as a trained observer, it’s what seems to have happened to you, heart.’
Once more he told her how he felt about her. ‘I’ve been searching for you all my life,’ he said. ‘And maybe for a lifetime before that.’ Dead romantic. Not at all sentimental. Made her glow.
‘I’d marry you tomorrow, heart, if I could. But, perhaps you’re the one with doubts. Maybe you think I’m too old. I’m aware this has all been a bit quick.’
She told him that she didn’t even know how old he was.
‘Not forty yet, which I know is ancient to someone of seventeen, but —’
‘I’m twenty-two.’ She brightened. ‘Almost twenty-three,’ realizing she now knew what a tiny part of that wonderful attraction really was. As well as being whatever else she wanted in life, Dandy Tom was just a shade close to being a father figure.
These two — Susannah Mountford and Thomas Livermore — had spotted one another in that strange way in which one human seeks out another, knowing at a glance how it would be when they came together. It was, Suzie now knew, like that for her father and mother. Though she suspected her mother had lost sight of the fact.
She allowed herself to be enfolded in his arms, where she rocked to and fro in safety and, after a while, again asked what the brown paper carriers contained.
‘There’s cheese, made from my family’s own recipe, and my family’s own cows, two beef steaks, a cauliflower and a few other vegetables in short supply.’
‘What’s your fancy, sir?’
‘Not food, but I suspect it would be prudent to eat. It’s been a bitch of a day.’
‘Steak and chips?’
‘Wonderful.’
And while Suzie cooked and he assisted, he told her that he was totally frazzled, didn’t like the business of having to saturate whole areas of England with police and military. People were worried enough by Hitler without having to deal with the ghostly ghoul that was Golly Goldfinch.
She also heard the subtext of what he said: that his own reputation was on the line, because if they had indeed missed him, God knew what Goldfinch was set to do if he were back in London: particularly if there was one person controlling his every move. Possibly someone who had brought him back to perform an act of an unscrupulously gross nature.
As he talked, Suzie saw the fatigue in his face and around his eyes; she heard the sagging lassitude in his voice and took note.
‘The whole business is becoming so damned complex.’ They sat having their dinner in her kitchen, with the oven still on and the door open to warm the room. The ancient heating, with the big cast-iron ribbed radiators — circa Crimean War — was on the blink again, so Suzie had taken special precautions, particularly in the bedroom: an Aladdin stove and three pairs of large earthenware flowerpots, a candle lit within a pot, the second pot upended. The result was a series of small heaters to supplement the paraffin stove. She knew that the ensuing scent would be with her always, reminding her of her first capitulation to Dandy Tom. Indeed, her first capitulation to any male.
‘What with people still off work for Christmas —’ he gave a frustrated sigh — ‘I’m stalled out, Suzie. Been through all those other deaths with a currycomb. Want to get the Benton thing really sorted; what’s the first thing you do in a murder inquiry?’ Sudden changes of tack were pointers to Tommy Livermore’s fatigue.
‘After talking to scenes of crime and forensics?’
‘Naturally.’
‘You make a list of all family members and people known to the victim, then you sit down with them to see who had the opportunity. That gives you your shortlist to which you fit motive.’
That was roughly what you should do. They both knew it, just as they knew Suzie had started doing it in a desultory kind of way. ‘You made a beginning,’ he smiled across at her. ‘I’m not criticizing, heart, but you didn’t have the experience.’ She had condemned herself, he pointed out. ‘Said you didn’t know the right questions; didn’t have that sneaky way ancient inquisitors like me, Old Ginger Tom, have of pulling the truth out of a witness. This steak is damned good, heart. You got a secret recipe, some deft way with the spices?’
‘Got it from my mother, Tommy. Listen, you’ve had one hell of a day. You’re tired out. Why don’t we take a hot bath — separately of course on account of there not being room for the two of us — then snuggle up and have a good long sleep. So tomorrow I can come to the Yard with you and we can go through every last name we find in Jo Benton’s address books, her le
tters, notes, whatever’s sitting in her file. Then you can plan a campaign. Decide who’s going to interview who — or should that be whom?’
‘Probably.’
He said that would be absolutely wonderful. He couldn’t think of anything so perfect as not having to concentrate on these bloody murders any more today. If Suzie didn’t know any better she would have thought him a trifle drunk, not three sheets in the wind drunk, but more your average tipsy drunk.
‘I could kill for a banana,’ he said as they were clearing the plates away. ‘Go and get your bath, I’m going to lie down, then I can read you a bedtime story. What’s your favourite?’
She made a face at him, pausing by the door. ‘Oh, something by Agatha Christie probably.’
He groaned. ‘Not that Belgian bugger with the little grey cells, please.’
Half-an-hour later, relaxed, with the afterglow of a scented hot bath, dressed in the sexiest nightdress she possessed — a pink diaphanous creation from Harvey Nicks, bought with her staff discount when she worked there before joining the Met. ‘For my bottom drawer,’ she said at the time.
‘Lo, a wanton woman,’ she said now entering the bedroom, posing by the door, a la Greek statuary, for the benefit of a comatose Tommy Livermore. With the help of her make-do heaters the room was moderately warm, and Tommy, having undressed, had got just as far as the bed where he now lay sprawled and naked, his manhood curled up with him like a small fossil on a beach.
‘Ah,’ she breathed, sensing that it was a privilege to be a woman with a lover so certain of her that he could doze off while waiting for her to come to him. She revived him half-an-hour later and he tottered off to the bathroom while she browsed through the latest copy of Picture Post.