Threat

by Hugh Fraser

  ‘I’ll arrange breakfast in your room for you and then I think perhaps we might make a move back to town. That was Jonathan’s mother, Lady Northrup. I’m afraid she can be a little tricky on occasion.’

  ‘Particularly when she’s been caught at it with the servants,’ says Lizzie.

  ‘Quite,’ says Nick as he turns and walks away.

  We go into the room and close the door behind us. Lizzie turns on the light and I say, ‘I didn’t notice anyone using a rubber.’

  We laugh and Lizzie takes her clothes off and gets into one of the two beds. The room’s lovely with pale pink wallpaper, a big fireplace with china ornaments on the mantlepiece and armchairs in front of it. There’s a table and chairs under the window and a washstand with our bags beside it. I go to the window and look out. There’s a light in front of the stables where all the Rollers and Bentleys are parked and there’s an old brick building next to it, like a warehouse or something that looks derelict with a couple of smashed windows and big double doors. Round the side of it is the small black car. I think about going down to have a look but I decide to leave it in case I run into someone. I get undressed, get into bed with Lizzie and she wakes up, turns over and wraps her arms round me. We cuddle for a bit.

  ‘Was that your first orgy?’ she asks.

  ‘Mmm.’

  ‘Hard work ain’t it.’

  We have a giggle and then she strokes my hair as I drift off to sleep.

  • • •

  There’s a knock on the door. I wake up and look around and nothing seems familiar and I don’t know where I am and I’m panicking, then Lizzie sits up in bed and once I see her I’m all right. I lie back and relax while she gets out of bed, throws her dress on and goes to the door. She holds the handle and asks, ‘Who is it?’

  ‘Breakfast, madam,’ says a voice.

  Lizzie opens the door and there’s the young maid from last night holding a big tray. Her face is pale and drawn under her white cap and she looks no more than fifteen. Lizzie opens the door wide and the maid comes in and puts the tray down on the table. There are two big silver domes on it and a coffee pot and cups and toast and fruit. The sight of it makes me realise I’m starving. The girl stands back for a moment then she bows her head and moves to the door.

  ‘There’s no need to bow to us love, we’re just like you,’ says Lizzie. The girl hesitates at the door then she turns and says, ‘Last night…’ She looks down at the floor.

  ‘It’s all right,’ says Lizzie.

  ‘You won’t say anything…’

  ‘Not a word.’

  ‘Only she’d have me sacked if anyone knew.’

  ‘You’re quite safe love.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  She almost manages a smile and then she leaves.

  I get out of bed and join Lizzie at the table. She picks up the coffee pot. ‘Poor kid’s scared half to death.’

  We make short work of the scrambled eggs and bacon that’s under the silver domes and then we linger over the toast and marmalade while talking in posh voices about whether we’re going hunting or shooting or fishing today, and decide that we’ll stop indoors and do our embroidery and make the under gardener give us a good seeing to in the potting shed after tea.

  There’s a knock at the door and the maid comes in with two jugs of hot water and puts them on the washstand. As she goes to leave Lizzie says, ‘What’s your name love?’

  She stands for a moment with her hands folded in front of her looking embarrassed.

  ‘Mary.’

  ‘Come and have a cup of coffee with us Mary.’

  ‘I can’t.’

  ‘Come on, no one’ll know.’

  ‘I’m not allowed.’

  Lizzie stands up and says in a posh voice, ‘I’m ordering you to sit down my girl!’

  She looks scared for a second until Lizzie laughs and then she giggles and says, ‘Very well, my lady.’

  Lizzie offers her a seat and pours her a cup of coffee.

  ‘I’m Lizzie and this is Rina.’

  Mary still looks embarrassed as she sips her coffee.

  ‘Where are you from love?’ asks Lizzie

  ‘Here.’

  ‘You were born here?’

  ‘My mother was a scullery maid.’

  ‘Is she still here?’ asks Lizzie.

  ‘She died when I was born.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  We’re quiet for a moment, then Lizzie asks, ‘Did your dad work here too?’

  Mary looks at the floor and says, ‘I don’t know.’

  As Lizzie starts to speak Mary puts her cup down and stands up.

  ‘I’ve got to go now.’

  Mary slips out of the door and Lizzie closes it behind her and comes back to the table. I pour us another cup of coffee and say,

  ‘I wonder who the father is.’

  ‘Probably Jonathan, or some other rich cunt.’

  We finish breakfast and while Lizzie’s having a wash I look out of the window and see that the black car’s gone from beside the derelict building. The sun’s shining on the rolling parkland and I can see grooms leading horses across the yard and into a field behind the stables. In the distance there are sheep and cows grazing and a tractor ploughing a field. I feel the peace and wonder what it must be like to live in a place like this with all the servants and the grooms and never have any worries or strife or small black cars in your life. I pour warm water into the bowl on the washstand and feel the steam on my face and I want to hold the moment forever. There’s a knock at the door and Nick appears.

  ‘Ready to make a move?’ he says.

  I splash my face with water and dry it on the towel. We put on our coats and Nick picks up our bags and leads us along the corridor, through a door at the far end, down some narrow back stairs and into a dimly lit passageway. We pass a room where an old man and a young boy are bent over a bench brushing away at boots and shoes, and then the kitchen where a big woman with a red face is plucking the feathers off a dead bird on a table and a couple of younger women are peeling potatoes and lobbing them into a bucket on the floor. Next to that is a room where a girl with her back to us is bent over a big sink with dirty plates and dishes piled up beside it. We go through a door into the yard. A group of riders are mounting up in front of the stables and Nick greets a couple of them as we walk across the cobbles to the Bentley. I have a look around but there’s still no sign of the black car. We get into the Bentley, Lizzie in the front with Nick, and me alone in the back.

  The engine purrs, and we roll round to the front of the house and off down the drive.

  6

  When we get to Maida Vale Nick’s all apologies for having to cut the weekend short and he asks us if he can take us to lunch at the Connaught to make up for it. Lizzie’s keen to go but I say I’ve got to do something so he drops me at the flat and they go on together. They’ve been chatting away in the front of the car while I was dozing in the back and I expect they’ve found a few mutual interests.

  I go in through the glass doors and notice that there’s no one behind the porter’s desk as I walk to the lift. I get out at my floor and the snooty city gent that lives next door comes out of his flat. As it’s a Saturday he’s wearing a tweed jacket, cravat and grey flannels instead of his pinstripe suit. He walks past me towards the lift and says, ‘There was a deuce of a lot of banging about and shouting in your flat in the middle of the night.’

  ‘What?’ I say.

  He presses the lift button and as the doors close he gives me a dirty look.

  ‘Some people work you know.’

  I get to my door, go to put the key in the lock but the door’s open. I take my gun out of my handbag and push the door open slowly. The coat stand’s lying on its side, the photograph of my mum and dad is smashed on the floor and I can see the kitchen’s been wrecked. The table’s upside down and the chairs are piled on top of it. I go into Georgie’s room and find it empty and untouched. In my bedroom the wardrobe’s
been emptied, my clothes are all over the floor, the dressing table’s on its side and the bed’s been torn apart. I run into the living room looking for Georgie but she’s not there. I go back into her room and try to think where she could be. I look at her school books on her desk. An exercise book she’s been writing in is open and her pen’s lying on it. I can see that she’s stopped halfway through a sentence and I know she’s been taken. I curse myself for leaving her when I knew I was followed from the club last night and I ram the muzzle of the gun into the palm of my hand and screw it into the cut. The pain fills me up and when I see it bleeding I feel calm. I go to the bathroom, clean up my hand, and wash the blood off the gun. I take the screwdriver out of the cabinet and loosen one of the bath panels enough to check the money’s still there. I go into the bedroom, take off my black dress, pull a pair of slacks and a sweater from the pile of clothes on the floor and put them on. I find a handbag, put my purse and gun in it and run to the lift. In the foyer, Reg the daytime porter is behind the desk.

  ‘Was Dennis on duty last night?’

  ‘Yes miss.’

  ‘Is he in his flat in the basement?’

  ‘He’s in hospital.’

  ‘How come?’

  ‘There was some trouble and he got hit.’

  ‘Where is he?’

  ‘St Mary’s.’

  ‘What’s his other name?’

  ‘Baker.’

  ‘Did you call the law?

  ‘I was going to but Dennis said no.’

  I dash out of the front doors and head for my car. A cab appears and I flag it down, stick a quid in the driver’s hand and tell him to get to St Mary’s Paddington as quick as he can. The Saturday traffic’s light on Edgware Road and I’m soon at the main entrance on Praed Street. I go to the desk, ask for Dennis Baker and say he’s my dad. The old biddy searches through her lists, finds where he is and tells me that he’s in Witherow Ward and how to get there. It’s on the first floor in the main block and it’s visiting time so I’m in luck. I hurry up the stairs and along the corridor until I see the ward sign. I go in and I can’t see Dennis so I ask a nurse if he’s there, and she looks in a book and points me to the far end of the ward. I spot him lying in the end bed with a bandage round his head and down over one eye. I go to his bedside, sit down, and he turns his head towards me. I can see the edge of a nasty black eye under the bandage. ‘Are you all right Dennis?’

  ‘I’ve been better miss.’

  ‘What happened to you?’

  ‘Two blokes come in and ask me what flat is yours. I don’t like the look of them so I refuse to say and one of them knocks me out. Reg found me on the floor when he come in and he called the ambulance and they brought me here.’

  ‘Are you going to be all right?’

  ‘It’s just a bump on the head and a shiner but they’ve kept me in ‘cos they reckon my ticker’s a bit dodgy and they want to do tests or some such.’

  ‘What were the two blokes like?’

  ‘One short with dark hair, and a tall one with a hat.’

  ‘Trilby and a grey overcoat.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  I open my bag, count fifty quid off a wad that I keep sewn into the lining and put it into Dennis’s hand. He looks at it with his good eye.

  ‘What’s this?’

  ‘A bullseye for your trouble and for keeping it quiet. I’m sorry you got hurt.’

  I shut my bag, head along the ward and out of the door. They must have got hold of a list of residents after they smacked Dennis and found out which was my flat.

  I get to Praed Street, hail a cab and tell him to take me to Ledbury Road. I’m hoping Bert will be in the Walmer Castle and that he knows something. If Don Beale was one of Bielsky’s mob it could be that our man in the hat is one of his as well. The cab pulls up outside the pub. I give the cabby half a crown, walk into the public bar and I’m glad to see Bert sitting at a table at the back with a few of George’s firm. I catch his eye and go outside. After a bit he comes out and we go to his Jag and get in.

  ‘Georgie’s been taken,’ I tell him.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Of course I’m fucking sure.’

  ‘Where from?’

  ‘The flat.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Last night.’

  ‘Fuck.’

  ‘Know anything about a tall bloke who wears a trilby and a grey coat?’

  ‘Can’t say I do.’

  ‘He was in the Three Bells with that ponce I done last night.’

  ‘Some of Bielsky’s mob go in there.’

  ‘No one saw me at it last night did they?’

  ‘Only those kids across the road and they soon scarpered.’

  ‘I’m going to see Bielsky.’

  ‘Do you want a lift?’

  ‘Is he still in Westbourne Grove?’

  ‘He’s let that gaff to a solicitor. He just uses Frith Street now.’

  ‘You can drop me at my car if you like.’

  ‘Where is it?’

  ‘At the flat.’

  Bert starts the car, drives towards Westbourne Park Road and over to Maida Vale. As I get out of the car he says, ‘Watch yourself Reen.’

  ‘I will. Cheers Bert.’

  ‘She’s a good girl, your Georgie.’

  • • •

  I drive down Edgware Road to Marble Arch and then left into Oxford Street. I turn off after Oxford Circus, park in Soho Square and walk down to the bottom of Frith Street where it meets Old Compton Street. Even though it’s only early in the afternoon there are girls in short skirts and tight blouses standing in doorways ready to tempt punters into clip joints and strip clubs. I find the door I’m looking for next to a shop window full of mannequins in lacy underwear standing in front of shelves of sex magazines. I ring the bell and wait. A bloke in a black overcoat and a bowler hat lingers beside me but before I can tell him to get lost the door opens and a ratty looking old man stands peering at me through a pair of thick glasses. I tell him I want to see Bielsky and he looks me up and down and then stands aside as I walk past him and up the stairs. On the first landing I can hear a drummer and an electric guitar rocking away and then a whiney nasal voice starts singing some words I can’t make out. The old goat coming up behind me moans and groans about ‘that bleedin’ racket’ then he scampers past me and up to the next landing. He opens a door and shows me in.

  ‘Wait here while I get him. Who shall I say?’

  ‘Rina Walker.’

  He heaves himself up another flight and I go into an office with a desk and a chair behind it and two chairs in front. There are pictures of pop singers on the wall, boys in suits with Brylcreemed quiffs in front of microphones, and a girl with a beehive in a white ball gown with three sharp dressed black men in a tight group behind her. The band downstairs finish the rocking number and then start up again with a slow one as the door opens and Feliks Bielsky comes in. He closes the door, goes behind the desk and offers his hand to me.

  ‘Good day Miss Walker.’

  I shake his hand and we sit. He’s a little tub of a man with a bald head, a pale chubby face and glasses with thick black frames. He’s wearing a grey suit with a striped tie and highly polished shoes, and he looks a good bit older and fatter than he did when I met him with Dave five years ago, although it looks like he doesn’t remember it. He picks up a paperknife from the desk and weighs it in his hand. When it’s clear he’s not going to speak I say,

  ‘You’ve got my sister.’

  ‘You killed my employee.’

  ‘I don’t like men who beat up girls.’

  ‘Beale is of no consequence but as you will understand I have to obtain satisfaction. You also have a girl who belongs to me I think.’

  At least he’s being straight with me.

  ‘What do you want?’ I ask.

  He’s silent for a bit then he puts the paperknife on the desk.

  ‘You return the girl and you take care of someone for me.’
r />   ‘Who?’

  ‘He is Russian. Not known to you.’

  ‘In London?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘I’ll give you two grand for the girl and do your Russian for you but I want my sister now.’

  ‘Four thousand and you get your sister.’

  ‘Three.’

  ‘Then you kill Russian.’

  ‘Yes.’

  He puts his hand out and we shake.

  ‘Where is she?’

  ‘Money here first.’

  ‘If you’ve hurt her…’

  ‘She is unharmed.’

  ‘I’ll be back in an hour.’

  I’m down the stairs and walking up Frith Street and thanking my stars that I know where Georgie is. When I get hold of the bloke in the hat he’s going to wish he’d never been born. I get to the car and step on it back to the flat. On the way I decide that Georgie’s got to go to boarding school to get her away from this horrible life. I don’t mind what happens to me but I can’t risk her getting hurt. I tried to get her into a boarding school a couple of years ago but the headmistress said no. I’d dressed her up all posh and expensive to meet her but the stuck-up bitch wouldn’t have her because of her accent. She looked down her nose at her and said, ‘Not quite the kind of pupil we want I’m afraid. Perhaps a secondary modern school would be more suitable.’ I told her she was at Holland Park Comprehensive and top of her form but the cow just sniffed and told her secretary to show us out.

  Reg is at the desk when I get there and he asks about Dennis. I tell him he’s going to be all right and slip him a score to keep quiet about what’s gone on. I go up to the flat, into the bathroom and count up how much I’ve got stashed behind the bath. Even with the wedge I got from Bert I’m three hundred short. I’ve got plenty hidden somewhere else but I can’t get at it until it’s dark. I go and knock on Lizzie’s door. She’s back from her lunch with Nick and I tell her I need to borrow the three hundred but not why. She’s fine with it and while I’m waiting for her to get the money Nick comes out of one of the bedrooms followed by a boy of about sixteen with a crewcut and a leather jacket. Nick looks embarrassed when he sees me. He says hello, opens the front door and the boy skips off down the corridor. Lizzie comes out of the kitchen and hands me an envelope.