She came in with the rucksack.
‘Chuck it on the bed.’
‘Frankie, would you like this?’
She offered me a photograph of herself.
‘Have I got X-ray eyes or aren’t you wearing any clothes?’
‘I had it taken specially for you.’
She had written in her babyish scrawl: Waiting for you always, darling. All my love. Netta, in white ink across the bottom part of the picture. The sort of dumb, sloppy message she would write.
‘Well, thanks, it’ll keep your memory fresh.’
‘That’s what I thought.’
I had to open the suitcase again, but I did it because she was watching me, otherwise I would have poked the photograph under the mattress Instead, I put it in the suitcase and strapped the case up again.
‘It won’t be crushed, will it?’
She was a lot more worried about its fate than I was, ‘It’ll be fine.’
I lugged the suitcase and the rucksack into the sitting room.
‘Well, this is it, baby.’
‘Yes.’
I put the suitcase and rucksack on the floor by the door.
‘I’ll be seeing you in a few days. Whenever Sarek goes over to Paris I get days off. So it won’t be long before I’m cluttering up this flat again.’
‘I’ll miss you, Frankie.’
‘Yes: me too.’
If I wasn’t careful we’d both be weeping over each other in a minute.
‘Well...’
I put my arms round her and patted her.
‘I’ll give you a ring.’
‘Frankie...’
Here it comes, I thought.
‘So long, Netta. I’d better run. No point in prolonging the agony.’
‘Frankie... I’ll come with you to the station. Say you’ll let me come. Let me have just a little longer with you.’
The one-track mind at it again.
‘Well, all right. But hurry up.’
‘You - you don’t sound very enthusiastic.’
‘But I am.’
‘Give me two minutes, darling.’
‘I’ll give you one.’
She went swiftly into the bedroom.
The moment she was out of sight I opened the front door, grabbed up the suitcase and rucksack and bolted for the stairs.
I arrived back at Sarek’s office at six.
Emmie Pearl was still typing. Make no mistake about it, she may have been fat and ugly but she could type. Her fat little fingers flew over the keyboard and the machine rattled like a Sten-gun in full blast.
I dumped my suitcase and rucksack on the floor and made for Sarek’s office.
She stopped typing.
‘He’s busy. Sit down and wait.’
I thought now was the time for her to find out I took orders only from Sarek. I didn’t even pause, let alone look at her but rapped on Sarek’s door and pushed it open.
The room was full of cigarette and cigar smoke. Two men sat facing Sarek on the desk was a small heap of diamonds.
The two men jumped to their feet. One was a little fellow with a face like a fox. The other was big and husky. His face was red, and his nose looked as if something very hard had hit it at one time, and he had never bothered to piece it together again.
He started to throw a punch at me. He wasn’t slow, but then be wasn’t fast. His fist came in a half-circle with all his weight behind it, and if it had landed I shouldn’t have had much face left.
I swayed inside the arc of its flight, grabbed his wrist as his momentum threw him forward, wedged my shoulder under his armpit, pulled down on his arm and heaved.
He went sailing over Sarek’s head and landed on the end of his spine in the middle of the floor with a thud that shook the building.
I looked at Sarek.
‘Better tell your friends not to throw punches at me: I don’t like it.’
The diamonds were no longer to be seen.
The car was a 1938 Austin 16, and looked as if it had been driven regularly through a hedge of brambles, left out all night, and cleaned about once a year.
Sarek had given me the ignition key and asked me to bring it round to the office building. He seemed anxious to get me out of the way before his husky friend recovered his breath.
I looked in disgust at the car. I hoped I should have had something worth driving, and I was still more disgusted when I found the springs were broken in the seats and the engine took about five minutes to fire.
But in spite of the mean little office and the even meaner car I was still convinced Sarek had money. For some reason he was pretending to be an unsuccessful businessman. Before long I hoped to find out that reason. He couldn’t be all that unsuccessful if he could pay me ten pounds a week. Besides, I hadn’t forgotten Emmie’s diamond and the diamonds I had seen on his desk.
I drove down Wardour Street and parked before the entrance to his office. It was getting on for half past six, and the light was going. In another ten minutes or so it would be lighting up time.
He came out of the building, wrapped up in his awful overcoat and took his seat beside me.
‘You know the way?’
‘Watford Bypass to King’s Langley, and then through Chipperfield and Bovingdon to Chesham.’
‘Is as good as the Amersham road. All right, go that way.’
The traffic was heavy all along Piccadilly, and I had trouble with the car. Every time I stopped in a traffic block the engine stalled, and by the time I was half way down Piccadilly I was hated by all the bus and taxi drivers going my way.
‘What you want is a new car.’
‘Is all right. Is nothing wrong with it.’
By the time I reached Marble Arch I wanted to drive the damned thing into a wall.
‘Will you be using it tomorrow? I’d like to give it some attention.’
‘Saturday, hey? Tomorrow we use it. Is not as bad as all that.’
It wasn’t once I got clear of the traffic. It even managed to get up to thirty-three miles an hour on the Watford Bypass with the accelerator flat on the boards.
‘You know it might be quicker for you to travel by train.’
‘Is quick enough for me.’
Driving along the broad arterial road with everything including lorries overtaking me, nearly sent me crazy.
‘Did you ever have her decarbonized?’
‘The car you have on the brain. Is all right with me; is nothing the matter with it.’
It was while we were crawling up the steep hill out of King’s Langley to Chipperfield, he said suddenly, ‘You handled Lehmann very well. It pleased me very much. Is a pretty dangerous man to throw about.’
‘He’s not much. He hasn’t learned to hit straight.’
‘He should not have tried to hit you, but he was startled. Is your fault. You had no business to come into my office after Emmie had told you to keep out. But there was no harm done. They talk about you. It will get around. Lehmann has a bad reputation in the district.’
‘While we’re on the subject, let’s get this straight. I don’t take orders from women, and that goes for Miss Pearl too.’
‘Now, look here, Mitchell, I pay you well. You do what I say.’
‘I’ll do what you say, but I won’t take orders from a woman. I mean that. I’d rather quit.’
He didn’t say anything. I kept driving. That little demonstration of speed and strength had impressed him the way nothing else could impress him. I was sure he wouldn’t let me quit that easy.
‘Well, all right, I speak to Emmie. Maybe you have a little trouble with my wife.’
So he had a wife. I wondered if she were built along the same lines as Emmie. I thought it probable she was.
‘You say nothing about Lehmann to my wife. Fights make her nervous; you understand? And say nothing to her what I pay you.’
‘I certainly won’t.’
‘She may ask you. She do not believe these notes mean anything. She say is a pr
actical joke. I have not told her I get a bodyguard. If she asks you, tell her I pay you two pound a week; you understand?’
So it was like that. Either he didn’t want his wife to know he had money or else he was afraid of her. This interested me.
We were driving along the twisty road, leading from Bovingdon Airport when he said, ‘I do not want you to gossip about my business, Mitchell. Maybe you won’t, but unintentionally you might say something or someone might ask you. Say nothing. Maybe you see things going on in the office that may surprise you, but forget them. I don’t pay you ten pounds a week to drive a car. I expect you to keep your mouth shut.’
‘I’ll keep it shut.’
The headlights of the car picked out a white farm gate.
‘Is it.’
I got out of the car and opened the gate.
It was too dark to see the house. No lights were showing.
I stood for a moment looking around. There was no sign of any other houses; no lights, just the dim outline of trees against the dark sky, and a loose gravel drive strangely white in the car’s headlights.
I drove through the gateway, got out again and shut the gate. ‘The garage is there. Put it away and come in.’
He walked of into the darkness.
As I turned the car, the headlights picked out the house.
They also picked out the awful colours of Sarek’s coat as he unlocked the front door.
As far as I could see it was - smallish house, two storeys, white cast, Georgian and ugly.
By the time I had manoeuvred the Austin into the garage, lights were showing, through the chinks in the curtains and came through the open front door.
I didn’t hurry, guessing Sarek was breaking the news of my arrival to his wife. I thought she might need a little time to acclimatize herself to the idea.
I was getting used to the darkness now, and could make out the outlines of a barn and other farm buildings opposite the house. They formed the letter L: the barn representing the long leg, the other buildings the short one. The garage was to the left of the gate and away from the house.
I picked up my suitcase and stung the rucksack over my shoulder and walked towards the open front door. Beyond the doorway was a square-shaped hall furnished with a small table, a Windsor chair, a row of hooks for hats and coats and coconut matting on the floor.
As I stood hesitating in the doorway, Sarek came out of a room nearby. There was a funny embarrassed little grin on his face and his eyes were irritable.
‘You come up now and see your room.’
‘Right.’
I followed him up a flight of stairs, also covered with coconut matting and down a passage. I counted four doors before he paused before a door at the far end of the passage and facing the stairs.
‘Is not a bad room.’
Bad wasn’t the word. It was small. There was an iron bedstead by the window, a pine chest-of-drawers, more coconut matting on the floor and a cane-bottom chair.
‘You believe in the Spartan life, Mr. Sarek.’
He gave me a quick, dubious look.
‘Is not all right?’
‘It’ll do until something better shows up.’
‘I want you to be comfortable here: and happy.’
‘That’s nice to know.’
He fidgeted, rubbing his forefinger along the side of his nose.
‘She don’t want you to have the other room.’
‘Is that so much better?’
‘Is the guest room.’
‘This is the skivvy’s room?’
‘Well, is the maid’s room.’
‘Forget it, Mr. Sarek. Why should I care? I don’t want to make trouble.’
His dark, parrot’s face lit up.
‘She will get used to you. You know what women are. I should have warned her. Once she is used to you, she like you. Give her time, Mitchell.’
I thought of the warm, comfortable bedroom I slept in last night with its soft lights, electric fire and sheepskin rugs.
‘Let’s hope she won’t take too long about it.’
I grinned to take the curse of it, but I could see he didn’t like it.
‘I talk to her. Don’t worry.’
I went over and poked the bed. It was about as soft and as comfortable as the bed they give you in the Scrubs.
‘Where do I wash?’
‘I show you.’
He took me out into the passage.
‘Is Mrs. Sarek’s room. The one opposite is mine. The one next door to Mrs. Sarek’s room is the guest room. The bathroom’s the first door down the passage.’
‘I’ll guess I’ll wash up.’
‘Dinner will be ready in ten minutes.’
‘Do I eat in the kitchen?’
He didn’t like this as I intended him not to like it.
‘You eat with us.’
‘Better ask Mrs. Sarek first.’
‘I don’t like it when you talk like that.’
‘I just don’t want to be in the way.’
He gave me a long worried stare and went off down the passage. I waited until he was out of sight, then went to the guest room door, turned on the light and had a look around. I wanted to see what I was missing.
It wasn’t anything to rave about, but streets ahead of the room he had given me. At least the bed looked comfortable.
There was running water and a toilet basin and the furniture was something you could live with if you weren’t too fussy.
I laid a bet with myself. I’d be sleeping in there tomorrow night.
chapter four
When I entered the dining room and saw the long refectory table I knew for certain I was with the money. It only needed this lavish display of food and glittering silver to clinch it. Maybe a Jew doesn’t care how he dresses or lives, but if he can help it, he will never neglect his belly.
The table was groaning with good things to eat.
Sarek paused in his task of carving a chicken that looked like a small turkey.
‘Sit down. You like chicken all right?’
‘I like anything, and that certainly looks good to me.’
‘My wife she is a fine cook.’
‘She must be.’
I dragged my eyes away from the chicken and looked around. The room was long and narrow and shabbily furnished.
A pile of blazing logs burned in the big open fireplace, either side of which stood two well-worn easy chairs. The inevitable coconut matting covered the floor.
‘Sit down then.’
‘Anywhere?’
He pointed with his carving knife.
The table was set for three. The third place, mid-way between the head and end of the table, had been laid as if under protest. The knife and fork, and spoon and fork and the serviette had been dumped there in a heap as if whoever had put them there had intended me to know I wasn’t wanted.
‘Here?’
‘Is right.’ He saw me looking at the dumped cutlery. ‘The wife she was a little rushed.’
As I sat down he handed me a plate. He had said he wanted me to be happy. From the look of the plate he meant it. He had given me enough for two starving men.
‘Looks good.’
He beamed. I could see food was very close to his heart.
‘One of fifty. I get them cheap. Three bob a dozen, day-olds. The wife she rear them on hot-water bottles.’
‘You mean you’ve more like this one?’
‘Fifty. We got geese too. You like goose?’
‘I certainly do.’
He was thoroughly enjoying himself, and when he looked as he was looking now I almost forgot he was a Jew.
‘Nothing like goose. Maybe we have goose for Saturday dinner, hey? We eat well here.’
‘Best dinner I’ve seen in years.’
Then the door opened and she came in.
I’ve often thought about that moment. I have had all kinds of moments: good, bad, exciting, funny and happy moments.
But this momen
t was like none of the others. It was the moment, making anything else that’s ever happened to me as colourless and dull as a cold in the head. One look at her was enough. Just one quick look turned my insides to stone and filled my head and chest with blood.
As bad as that. Just to look at her was like walking into a sucker punch; like turning on a lamp and getting 200 volts up your arm. One moment I was about to enjoy a chicken dinner without a thought of a woman in my head, and the next, when I saw her, I was seething inside like an animal.
Except for her shape and her eyes, she really wasn’t much to get excited about. She was small, compact and a copper head. I’ve never seen such hair: real copper colour; thick and wavy and silky. She had big green eyes, a thin, rather pinched face and a sallow complexion. Her mouth was soft looking and her lips thick. There were dark smudges under her eyes that could have meant anything. She had on a green sweater and black slacks. The slacks were dusty and the sweater grubby.
Six out of seven men would have passed her by without a second glance, but I had to be the seventh. There was something she had that touched of the thing in me and set me on fire. I can’t put it better than that. There isn’t any better way of putting it. Just one look at her and I was a dead duck.
I knew it and didn’t care. I knew she was fatal too, and didn’t care about that either. And when I watched her move to the end of the table and saw the roll of her hips and the gentle lift of her breasts my mouth went dry and I felt physically sick. That chicken dinner suddenly became the most nauseating thing I have ever had to look at.
‘Do you play chess, Mitchell?’
The meal was somehow over, and she had gone into the kitchen to wash up. She hadn’t said a word during the meal.
When Sarek had introduced me she had given me a black, stony stare and hadn’t looked my way for the rest of the meal. Sarek was too interested in his food to notice anything odd about her behaviour, or mine for that matter. He didn’t seem to expect anyone to talk. He took his food seriously, and for his size, it was surprising how much he ate.
He didn’t even notice that I scarcely touched my food. I couldn’t. I wanted a double whisky more than anything else in the world - more than anything, except her. As soon as Sarek had finished gorging himself, she got up and began clearing the table.
1951 - In a Vain Shadow Page 3