Ian St James Compendium - Volume 1

by Ian St. James

It took self-control not to explode at that but I bit my tongue and remained silent. Jack shifted uneasily in his seat, probably guessing my reaction. "The rumours started about you the day you went inside," he said, "a lot of people said you were taking the rap for someone else. That's what gave Kaufman his idea I think. He argued that the mob might come after you anyway, suspecting that you might know something. Well doing things Kaufman's way made sure - but, well he persuaded me that the benefits justified the risk-"

  "Benefits?"

  He stood up and crossed to the larder - a big, walk-in job on the back wall. I always thought it took up too much space but at least it was big enough to bung everything in. It was lined with shelves, hooks for pots and pans, things like that.

  "You never asked how I let myself in," Jack said. Then he pushed the back of the larder and it swung open. An entire section of wall moved open! I saw a short passage, with two doors at the end.

  Jack grinned at my astonishment. "You've even been through there as a matter of fact. You left that way the other night."

  Henderson and his mate! That was how they got into the cottage.

  Jack closed the wall again and returned to the table. "I'll leave Kaufman to show you round, but one door leads to a house in Wells Court and the other goes next door."

  "Wells Court?" I said weakly, trying to take it all in.

  "It backs onto here. Kaufman's got a sort of field HQ there. Radio communications and all sorts of stuff. The point is they can come and go into here without anyone knowing - if the place is being watched I mean."

  "And is it - watched?"

  "Kaufman knows if it is. The front bedroom next door is like a film studio. All the comings and goings of Rex Place are filmed. Twenty-four hours a day, infra-red equipment, the lot."

  I began to realise what Kaufman meant by watching over me like a baby.

  Jack grinned. "Of course the phone is tapped and the whole place is bugged. Even what we're saying now is being recorded at Wells Court. Kaufman is convinced that Hardman will attempt-"

  "Edgar wouldn't hurt a fly. Kaufman's crazy-"

  "Someone blew my car to pieces the other night. Someone-"

  "Not Edgar Hardman."

  "How the hell do you know? I don't care tuppence about Hardman, if he's mixed up in this he deserves all that's coming to him. But if Serracino is after you your life's not worth a light. So wipe that look off your face and listen to me."

  I understood Jack's involvement then. Properly understood. Serracino in Sicily was one thing. Serracino in London was a different matter entirely, and the thought of him being that close to Maria was worrying Jack rigid.

  He sighed and shook his head. "I'm sorry, Sam, believe me. Keeping Maria's past a secret from you was fairly easy because once we re-arranged our lives we simply forgot about it. After all, we'd taken the precautions Enrico wanted us to take - there was no point in ruining every day by worrying. So after that-" he shrugged, "but these last few months, boy, you wouldn't believe the worry."

  He sat there shaking his head in a mute appeal for me to see things from his point of view. I'm not sure I did, not completely, not when it came to deceiving me anyway. But then he said, "Look, Sam, we made conditions. For instance Maria told Kaufman point blank that she would tell you everything that was happening unless he let you in on things within forty-eight hours of your release."

  I suppose that was something. It made me feel a bit better. I sipped my coffee and waited for him to continue.

  "There's a whole bloody arsenal next door," he burst out, "you wouldn't believe the precautions taken to protect you. And another thing - Kaufman promised he'd get you out twelve months early. That was the thing that swung it. Maria and I kept thinking of you locked up in Brixton and, well, almost anything seemed better than that."

  So that was it. I had wondered about that. Even Collins had reckoned on three years. When it came to my release from Brixton I had assumed some extra remission had come my way - after all I bet they never had a more docile prisoner than me.

  Jack said, "Kaufman promised us this caper would only last a few days. A couple of weeks at the most. So when we set that against a year of your life-" he broke off helplessly and watched me with an anxious look.

  I knew I would have made the same choice - either for him or for me. All the disappointment I had felt about him and Maria faded in that instant, and it was with a huge sense of relief that I reached over and punched his shoulder. "Thanks, Jack, I'd have done the same for you."

  He brightened immediately, obviously sharing my relief. "Thank God for that. There's just one more thing, Sam - I dealt myself in. I stand right next to you in this deal."

  "But you can't get involved. What about Maria?"

  "Gone away - staying with friends in the country - at Bath. She went last night." He grinned from ear to ear, "And The Dog's Home is closed - we bought the place next door and the builders are in extending the place. The pubs can run themselves for a while." .

  I was telling him he was mad when the doorbell rang. It buzzed once, then twice, and ended with an extra long burst - like a snatch of morse code.

  Jack's grin broadened. "That's Lucia - you'd better let her in. She's our secretary - and maybe your girlfriend. The cover story is that you met her at our place and offered her a job. She's to work here for the time being."

  "Madness," I said, standing up and pulling the cord around my dressing gown, "Absolute bloody madness."

  Lucia kissed me when I opened the door. There were no preliminaries and it wasn't a peck on the cheek either. Both arms encircled my neck and her body pressed hard into mine. I was just relaxing into it when she pulled away. Two men stood a yard behind her, one with a raised camera and the other with a silly grin oh his face.

  The man with the camera said, "Any statement this morning, Mr Harris?" while his mate asked, "What about the new club? Got a name for it yet?"

  Lucia snuggled into my side and answered before I got my breath back, "No statement, boys, and before you ask, we're just good friends."

  "And how," said the photographer, "can I have another shot of two good friends saying good morning?"

  "Why not?" Lucia grinned back at him. Her arms reached up again and her lips closed on mine. She smiled wickedly when she broke the clinch, winking a huge grey eye at me as she drew me across the threshold. As she closed the door she said, "If we're going to do that every morning, can you shave first? You've got a chin like a pot scourer."

  "If I shave now can we try again?"

  "I can wait," she said drily, but she kissed me again as Jack came out of the kitchen. "Keep the press happy?" he asked.

  "No more than you did yesterday," Lucia drew a folded newspaper from the pocket of her coat. And there I was again - on the inside page. This time Jack's photograph appeared as well, together with another one showing the premises at Baker Street. 'Winner Harris plans comeback' read the headline, followed by Jack's optimistic assessment of the future. "My name might be on the licences," he was quoted as saying, "but only Winner Harris can bring the glitter back to the West End."

  I went upstairs to dress and when I came down they were all in the kitchen. The larder door was open and Kaufman was at the table reading the newspapers. "I'm going to retire from this racket," he grinned, "I'd make a fortune as a press agent."

  I blew up at that. For better or worse I've always run my own life - being Kaufman's robot didn't suit me at all, and I told him so. We had a bit of a row with me doing most of the shouting, but Kaufman seemed to have an answer for everything. Like when I raised the issue of Tomlinson who was making appointments with counsel and God knows who else on my behalf.

  "Henderson's with Tomlinson now," Kaufman said, "he'll sort things out-"

  "Don't you ever stop interfering?"

  "Easy boy - easy," he patted the air, "it's benefit time, like your buddy said. Henderson's delivering a letter from the Home Office. The police will be instructed to withdraw their objections at the approp
riate time. You'll get your licences back - when this is all over."

  Jack grinned and I didn't know what to say - and ten minutes later Tomlinson was on the telephone telling me about it. "Quite amazing," he said, "I've had precious few dealings with the Home Office so I wouldn't know if there is a precedent or not - but it's very unusual."

  "But the letter is straightforward?"

  "Oh perfectly - the police will not resist your application for licences. Couldn't be more explicit."

  "I wonder if Davis knows?"

  Tomlinson appeared to share my malicious pleasure because he said, "You know, I wondered that. Actually I doubt it. The second paragraph says the police will be instructed at the appropriate time. Rather implies they haven't been instructed yet, doesn't it?"

  It really was beginning to look as if Kaufman had covered every angle. After I had spoken to Tomlinson I went back to the kitchen and Kaufman launched into his lecture on "procedures" - what I was and was not to do. I was never to go out alone. Appointments would be cleared with Kaufman in advance. If anyone asked to meet me I would arrange to see them at Rex Place - or a public building, but never in a private house or somebody's business premises. It was quite a list and when he finished I said, "There are more rules here than in Brixton."

  He grinned. "Let's face it, Sam, they'll kill you if they want to no protection in the world can stop a sniper's bullet. But these people want to talk to you - at least they want to talk first."

  If it was meant to be reassuring the effect was spoiled by the look of concern in Lucia's eyes and the worried scowl on Jack's face. Kaufman tried again. "Main job is to stop them snatching you," he said, "that's what they'll try to do. But don't worry, our people will be covering you every step of the way. Like I said, Sam, we're watching over you like a baby."

  Even so I jumped whenever the telephone rang. Lucia answered the calls in the sitting room but we could overhear every conversation. Most of them were with reporters asking about my plans for a comeback.

  I ate the bacon and eggs which Jack had prepared earlier and drank some more coffee, but my digestion was spoiled by arguing with Kaufman about Edgar Hardman. Kaufman was so convinced he was right and I kept telling him that he was wrong by a mile that it was all a bit futile.

  "Relax, Sam," Kaufman kept saying, "we've baited the trap. There's a small army next door," he jerked a thumb towards Wells Court, "all ready and waiting. Now we sweat it out. Waiting is ninety per cent of a job like this - but Hardman will call soon. Remember the procedure, that's all and leave the rest to us."

  Events proved him right. It was ten forty when the telephone rang again, and Lucia's face was flushed with excitement when it popped round the door, "It's Lord Hardman," she said, looking at me.

  I avoided Kaufman's eye. I couldn't stomach his gloating satisfaction - or let him see the shock in my eyes. He could not possibly be right about Edgar ... I told myself that over and over again. "You're wrong," I said bitterly. But even I could hear the doubt in my voice.

  We followed Lucia into the sitting room. An extension had been fitted to the telephone on the desk, together with an inter-com of some kind. Kaufman reached for the extension and nodded to me. "Procedure," he hissed.

  "Edgar?" I said into the telephone.

  "Sam! I've been trying to reach you for days! Tried half a dozen times yesterday. Sam, how are you?"

  I tried to analyse his voice, detect some difference. Crazy! Of course he sounded the same. Exactly as I remembered him. The same old Edgar. I said, "Edgar, I'm fine - and you?"

  "All the better for hearing you. Dammit, Sam, why haven't you called? I was hoping to hear, you know."

  I felt guilty. He was giving me the kind of welcome Jack and Maria had given me the day I came out - three days ago.- Only three! I said, "Edgar, I'm-sorry, I was planning to call you today - I meant to yesterday but I had meetings all day and-"

  "Never mind that now - you're excused. Sam, it's simply splendid to hear you again. When can I see you? Are you free for lunch today?"

  Kaufman was nodding and mouthing "procedure" at the same time. I felt like a traitor but I said, "Lunch is fine, Edgar."

  "Great! The Club then - about twelve thirty?"

  The Club? Edgar's club! It even looked like a private house. Kaufman's lecture rang in my ears and I said, "Edgar -I can't - not the club. I mean, I've another appointment-"

  "But you just said-"

  "No, no - I'm free for lunch - afterwards I meant, I've another appointment afterwards." I knew I was making an awful mess of it. Kaufman stiffened with alarm. I gulped a deep breath, then said, "Look, Edgar, do me a favour. Be my guest today will you? Problem is I must be in Hampstead at half past two for this wretched appointment. There's a good restaurant out there really, The Hunter's Tower, you must know it. Could we meet there - any time - half twelve is fine-"

  "Hampstead?"

  "It's not far. Make a change from your club-"

  "Hunter's Tower you say?"

  "That's right. Edgar, if you wouldn't mind-"

  "Mind? Why the hell should I? Just be great to see you again, that's all. Half past twelve then - all right?"

  I was sweating when I replaced the receiver. Kaufman grinned and passed me the handkerchief from his top pocket. "That was swell, Sam, handled it like a pro."

  I dabbed my face and returned the handkerchief. "I still say you're wrong. Hardman would no more have a hand in the rackets than-" I stopped as the telephone rang again. It was Maria, for Jack.

  Kaufman took my elbow, "Come on, Sam, you gotta be briefed before you go to work."

  And we returned to the kitchen, where I received my instructions - just like any other spy.

  Maria replaced the telephone just as Rosemary entered the drawing room carrying a coffee tray. "Did you speak to Jack?" Rosemary asked.

  Maria nodded and tried to hide her anxiety behind a smile. She crossed to the inglenook fireplace and sat on the chintz-covered armchair as Rosemary set the tray down and busied herself with the coffee things.

  "And?" Rosemary persisted.

  Maria shrugged. "He sounds full of beans."

  "And how about your friend Sam?"

  "Apparently he's forgiven us for deceiving him."

  "Well there you are then," Rosemary smiled as if comforting a child, "I told you there was nothing to worry about."

  Maria took a cigarette from her handbag - she was supposed to be giving up, or at least cutting down - but she knew that would go by the board for the next week or so. She would live on the edge of her nerves until this business was over. Her gaze wandered around the room, pausing at the collection of horse brasses next to a rather bad painting. Tat, Jack would call it, or at least some of it - but then Jack's taste in such things went beyond the ordinary. Still although the room lacked graciousness, it was at least comfortable. And very English. Like its owner, Maria thought, as she turned back to Rosemary.

  Rosemary was a farmer's wife, at least for most of her time. Just as Charles her husband was a farmer for most of his time. It was what they did when not playing with their Somerset farm which had brought them into Maria's life. Rosemary had an uncle, a Brigadier Llewellyn, who was something or other in Whitehall. Maria had met him once at Wells Court when Enrico had taken her there to meet that man Kaufman.

  "Cream?" Rosemary asked, with the jug poised over Maria's cup.

  Maria shook her head. She was remembering Rosemary's uncle, the man called Llewellyn - and the row they had had when they met. Llewellyn had insisted that Maria be removed to a safe place when Sam came out of Brixton. Maria had resisted - arguing that Jack was to stay in town, so was Lucia, so why not her? But that man Kaufman had joined in on Llewellyn's side. Maria had disliked Kaufman from the first moment. This whole scheme was his idea. It was all very well Enrico insisting that Kaufman knew what he was doing - but who was he to play God? What right had he to manipulate people's lives?

  "Did you sleep well last night?" Rosemary asked.

&nbs
p; Maria confirmed, for the second time, that she had slept well. It was a half truth. She had lain awake for hours, worrying about Jack and Sam and Lucia, and it was at least three o'clock before she dozed off. But she had slept soundly then.

  Rosemary smiled. "It's the country air. It takes most people a week to get used to it."

  Maria remembered the journey down. The two plain-clothed detectives collecting her from The Dog's Home, Jack coming to Paddington and kissing her goodbye on the platform. They hadn't been parted for years. It was strange to imagine Jack back at The Dog's Home while she ate dinner on the train with the detectives. "Not like the food at your place," one of them had grinned. He was nice that one, Peters he was called, Ray Peters. The other one was all right too, but Ray Peters fussed over her like a young man on his first date. He reminded her of Jack in some ways - Jack when he was younger - Jack when she first met him at that place she had taken the candlestick in Sloane Street. Mother had been alive then. Maria shuddered.

  "Oh dear, is it cold in here?" Rosemary asked quickly, "I can put the electric fire on if you like?"

  Maria reassured her. She looked into the big hearth and remembered the log fire which had blazed there last night. Charles had met them at the station and brought them home to Rosemary, who had greeted them in the drawing room with the sparks from the fire dancing up the chimney behind her. "I know it's unseasonal," she had explained to Maria, "but I thought you might be tired after your journey and I always think you feel the cold when you're tired."

  After that they had been taken on a tour of the farmhouse. It was a rambling old place, with about eight bedrooms and at least three baths. Immensely comfortable but lacking in style. Maria thought of the fun she and Jack could have doing it up. Her own room was well proportioned, the potential was there but masked by some awful wallpaper which clashed with the carpet and shrieked at the other furnishings. Ray Peters had tapped on the wall, "I'm in that room and Harry's on the other side to you."

  "And Charles and I are just down the landing," Rosemary added, while, not to be outdone, Harry Hall - the other detective - had said, "And the security on the doors and windows is burglar proof. Place is more like a bank than a farmhouse."