No Peace for the Wicked

by Pip Granger

  ‘I called her and she scoffed her breakfast in double-quick time, then shot out of the door when my back was turned, the crafty little madam. I’ll have to get her at dinnertime, sorry.’

  ‘That’s OK, Maggie,’ T.C. said. ‘I’ll put in some more legwork and chivvy the police while I’m at it. She’s been gone since Saturday teatime and they’ve had well over their twenty-four hours.’

  We agreed to meet back at the cafe at about one, and I hurried over to St Anne’s Court to beg Freddie for some time off.

  ‘Of course you must help all you can. Ant’ll be back from his mother’s in Tunbridge Wells by lunchtime, and Monday mornings are always quiet: people are getting over their weekends. Well, they are if they’ve had a good time. Mine was quiet, Ant being away. Still, it was nice to have five minutes to myself. It made a change.’

  Then Freddy remembered the gravity of the situation and shooed me out of the door. ‘Fly, Lizzie, fly and grill those girls for all you’re worth. Find out what’s happened to our poor little Peace. Don’t trouble to come back after lunch if T.C. thinks you can be helpful. We’ll manage between us, Ant and me.’

  So I flew, to Peace’s school. But Angela and Beatrice said that they knew nothing and, judging by their shocked reaction, I thought they were telling the truth. They knew that Peace liked a boy, but they didn’t know which boy, as they’d never met him. According to Beatrice, Peace had been very cagey on the subject and they had found that really annoying.

  ‘She said there was nothing to tell because he barely knew she was alive,’ Angela told me.

  ‘She promised to tell us if she made any progress with him, but she never did,’ Beatrice told me earnestly. Angela nodded her agreement. ‘She never even told us his name. She just said she’d met him at some kind of party and that she thought he was gorgeous, if a bit older than her.’

  Maggie insisted that we had lunch and a hot drink while we listened to her news. She wouldn’t utter a word on the subject until she’d plonked two plates of food and two steaming cups of tea in front of us. Both were welcome: it was cold outside.

  ‘You can grill Rosie when she gets in for her dinner. She won’t dare mess around with you, T.C.

  ‘It’s likely to become a power struggle if I tackle her, you see. She’s just coming to that age where it’s a point of honour to argue with me. Anyway, dinnertimes are busy and I probably won’t get the chance to talk to her properly until tonight. So if you have a bash now, and get nowhere, Bert and I will have a go later.

  ‘As to Mrs Wong: well, she wasn’t very forthcoming neither. I reckon you’re right, Lizzie, and that Mr Chang gives her the willies. She does still swear that Bubbles is away with this important visitor, and that Peace is not with them. And I believe her. What she doesn’t know is whether Bubbles saw Peace before she left.’

  ‘Do you know who this important visitor is?’ asked T.C.

  Maggie shook her head. ‘You could try asking Mrs W. before the dinnertime rush starts. She’s in the kitchen with Bert, bashing spuds.’

  ‘I’ve got a better idea,’ said T.C. slowly. ‘Why don’t you have a go, Lizzie? She won’t find you as intimidating as a man and anyway, you’ll be able to “read” her better than me.’

  I was flattered. ‘If you think it’ll help, of course I’ll try.’

  We took a moment to discuss my strategy and it was Maggie who came up with the winning formula. ‘I know everyone likes to say that the Chinese don’t have no feelings just because they don’t wear them on their sleeves, or indeed, on their kissers. But that’s cobblers, of course. If I was you, I’d play on her maternal instincts; one mum to another kind of thing. I know for a fact that she was upset when your Jenny passed away. I don’t know if you noticed, but if Mrs W. served you when it first happened, you got larger portions than usual. She was subtle about it, but I saw her topping you up with extra more than once. Now that’s not our Mrs W. She may be quiet, but she’s got the instincts of a businesswoman that one, and she normally doesn’t give nothing away.’

  In the end, it happened quite naturally. I strolled into the kitchen, trying to look nonchalant. Bert greeted me cheerfully as he threw several calves’ livers into a frying pan and some bacon under the grill. Liver and bacon was the special that day. I noticed the onion gravy keeping warm on the gas and some hot potatoes waiting to be mashed.

  Mrs Wong kept her head down and carried on peeling yet more potatoes at the sink with deft, economical movements.

  ‘What can I do you for, Liz?’ Bert asked.

  ‘Maggie sent me in here to get warm. I’ve been traipsing around Peace’s school, then stations and cab ranks asking if anyone’s seen her, and I’m frozen,’ I explained.

  ‘Right you are; thaw away. Put the chair beside the oven and you can toast your toes nicely there.’

  I settled myself down while Mrs Wong peeled and Bert cooked in silence.

  ‘Any luck on the Peace front?’ Bert asked me eventually.

  When it came to it, I didn’t have to fake anything. I really was genuinely upset; I simply hadn’t realized just how much. ‘No, not a dickie bird. She’s disappeared into thin air. And Bert,’ I wailed, voice breaking because of the real lump in my throat, ‘I feel terrible about it. She’s disappeared on my watch and I can’t help the feeling that it’s all my fault. Perhaps I should have talked to her more, listened to her, drawn her out a bit. I mean, we know nothing about her life, her friends, her feelings, nothing.’

  Tears welled up and began to slip down my cheeks, to land, splish, splash, on my hands, which were clutched tightly in my lap. I could not rid myself of the feeling, however irrational, that if I had been a good enough mother, Jenny would still be alive, and if I had been a good enough friend, Peace would still be safely in our circle, instead of God knew where and with God knew whom.

  Bert came over to me and handed me a clean tea towel to mop myself up with; I was really sobbing by then. He knelt down so that he was on my level and looked me earnestly in the eyes, while patting my hands with one of his.

  ‘It ain’t your fault, Liz, none of it. Seems to me that the poor girl’s always been a stranger, wherever she’s been, maybe even in Hong Kong. It was just bad timing that she turned up when Bandy was busy with Malcolm. She’s always been like that, Bandy, sort of obsessional. Now if Peace’d been able to catch old Band between boyfriends, she might’ve been in with a chance. But she didn’t, and that’s not down to you, Liz.

  ‘I’ll tell you what. I’ll work on our Rosie later. At the moment, she’s a bit of an uncle’s girl because she and Maggie are clashing over homework, keeping her room tidy and whether or not Maggie’ll let her have this particular pair of shoes. They’ve got a bit of a heel and Maggie says she’s too young and she’s to stick to her Clarks. Rosie says they’re old-fashioned and that she looks stupid in the clumping great things.’

  Bert rolled his eyes towards the ceiling, as if calling upon the Almighty to explain females to him. ‘Me, I’m neutral, I just stick me hand in me pocket when we get to the till. What do I know about girls’ shoes? I wear your basic bloke’s shoe, in black or brown depending, and always have done. Maybe a drop of suede on a posh night out, but that’s about it for me. Same with frocks; they either look all right, or they don’t look all right – but don’t ask me if one that looks all right is better than another one that looks all right, because I’m buggered if I’d know.’

  He patted my hand, then groaned as he got to his feet. ‘It ain’t your fault, none of it. Uncle Bert says so, and he knows. Now I’d better get the liver and bacon on to plates. That bacon’s just about to catch, I can smell it.’

  I stared at the oven blindly, trying to think of a way of opening a conversation with Mrs Wong. I could hear her knife chopping and the splash and thud as the potatoes were tossed into their pot, then Bert’s voice sang out, ‘I’ll just deliver this lot. Keep an eye on that bacon, Mrs W, and don’t let the liver stick. I’ll be back in a tick.’

  It
was a golden opportunity, and I seized it. ‘Mrs Wong, do you know if Peace was very unhappy? I know she enjoyed visiting you and your family. It must have reminded her of a proper home,’ I said wistfully, then suddenly realized I was choking up again. I was mortified. I was on a mission and this was my one chance to succeed. I swallowed hard, willing the tears to go back down and then bloody well stay there, at least until I’d finished what I’d started. I felt a small hand on my shoulder and hardly dared to breathe.

  ‘She always say you kind to her,’ Mrs Wong said. ‘She grateful for that. And Mr Sugar, he kind too, but Miss Bandy, she not kind. She wishes she had no niece. Same way, Peace own mother, she wishes she had no daughter. It is a hard thing.’ For a moment, Mrs Wong and I stared at each other in complete understanding – it was a hard thing.

  I cleared my throat. ‘Do you know where she might have gone and who she’s with? If she’s safe, but doesn’t want to be found … well, I expect that will be all right. As long as we’re satisfied she’s safe and, if not happy, at least content where she is.’

  Mrs Wong shook her head sadly, and turned away from me. I racked my brains to think of some way to keep the conversation going. ‘In the note Peace left me she said that she was going to be with someone who really loves her. Do you know who that could be?’ I asked as gently as I could. Again I thought I saw fear flit across her face. She shook her head and went to check the liver and bacon for Bert. I stood up and followed her, the better to see her when I asked my next question. ‘Who is Mr Chang?’

  Her eyes flew to my face, then swiftly back to the liver sizzling in the pan. She turned it over with a fish slice, to brown it a tad more.

  ‘Mr Chang a very important man, very important,’ she answered briefly, laying strips of crisp bacon on to plates, piling on creamy mashed potato beside it, then finally adding the liver and onion gravy. ‘He married to a beautiful lady, Madam Brilliant.’

  ‘I see,’ I said, not seeing much at all, beyond the bare facts. ‘Madam Brilliant Chang. What a wonderful name. Us women are hardly ever told we’re brilliant, or even just plain clever.’

  For a moment, the briefest moment, Mrs Wong’s expression lightened. ‘Madam Brilliant is very clever, and most kind to my children,’ she said enigmatically, then dried up as Bert returned to his kitchen.

  22

  I returned to the cafe to see T.C. and Rosie talking at our table. Maggie had retreated to her counter and the place had filled up with hungry customers, one of whom was Freddy. He signalled rather urgently for me to join him.

  ‘I was talking to T.C. when I came in. When he saw Rosie arrive, he asked me to ask you to leave them to it for a minute or two, so grab a pew, do. He says you’re proving to be a natural sleuth.’ Freddy grinned at me, poured me some tea and we settled down to drink in companionable silence.

  ‘When’s Antony due back from his mum’s?’ I asked, more for something to say than anything.

  ‘Any time now. I’ve told T.C. that I’ll do a few cab ranks and stations after work and tomorrow if he likes, and I expect Ant’ll help. There’s a lot of ground to cover with just a few sets of feet to do it. I mean, Peace is so young. For all we know she’s been nabbed for the white slave trade. You read about it all the time in the papers. Did you see last week’s News of the World? All those nice blond English girls winding up in foreign brothels, and even harems.’ Freddy shuddered extravagantly. ‘And those poor eunuchs! Now that is a fate worse than death.’

  ‘But Peace isn’t blond or English,’ I pointed out. ‘Do you think she’d still appeal to the white slavers?’ This was something new to worry about.

  Freddy shrugged. ‘I don’t know, really, girls not being my thing, as it were. I find it hard to imagine what those coves would consider valuable in the flesh line. I expect there’s a market for Oriental girls as well as blondes. I mean, you could view them as exotic, and there’s always a market for exotics. It doesn’t matter whether you’re talking fabric, fruit, furniture or females, some people crave the unusual, while others like to stick to the tried and tested.’ His voice trailed away as the enormity of the situation dawned on us both.

  Until that moment, it hadn’t really sunk in that Peace’s disappearance wasn’t simply an unhappy girl’s prank. The fact that we didn’t even know who she had gone with or where she was suddenly seemed very dangerous. A lonely girl with a suitcase lost in a city would be easy prey.

  I felt my flesh crawl as my imagination got to work. But as the beginnings of panic started to creep in, I made myself snap out of it. Working myself up into hysterics buttered no parsnips and found no lost girls. I stiffened my sagging spine, finished my tea and said, ‘Excuse me, Freddy.’

  I approached T.C. and Rosie just in time to hear him say, sharply, ‘Loyalty is a very fine thing in its place, Rosie, but this is serious. If you know anything at all about a boy, a man, or anyone that Peace may have run away with, you must tell me.’

  Rosie stared at her plate mutinously. ‘I promised,’ she said stubbornly. ‘I promised not to breathe a word to a soul. And I haven’t.’

  ‘I’ve got to warn you, Rosie, you are starting to get on my top note.’ T.C. thumped the table with the palm of his hand, making the china jump, not to mention the rest of us. He was normally such a calm man.

  Rosie’s eyes were still fixed on her plate, but I could see big, fat drops dripping down her cheeks and her bottom lip was trembling badly. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispered, ‘but I gave my solemn word when she made me her blood sister. We pricked our thumbs, swore an oath and everything!’

  T.C. grew red in the face and had his mouth open to shout at his daughter when I cut in. ‘We understand, Rosie, honestly we do. But you must try to understand too. We are afraid that if Peace is wandering about, all upset, with someone none of us know, she might come to terrible harm. Now, you wouldn’t want that, would you? So, if you at least tell us who she’s with, we needn’t worry quite so much, need we? Do you see?’

  Rosie finally looked up. She looked solemnly into my face, then back at her father, whose complexion had mercifully returned to normal, then she looked down and wiped her eyes on the sleeve of her cardigan. ‘I don’t know for sure. She could have gone away with her … er … friend, but I really don’t know. She honestly didn’t say. She just asked me to give the message to Bubbles, so that’s what I did.’

  ‘Who is this friend?’ asked T.C., more gently this time.

  It made no difference. ‘I can’t tell you,’ she said miserably. ‘I promised.’

  And this is what we had to make do with for the time being. I knelt down and gave Rosie a little kiss on the cheek and whispered, ‘Thank you, sweetheart.’ T.C. also kissed his daughter, giving her a friendly pat as he did so, and then we headed for the door. I was just about to step into the street when I realized I had forgotten to find out from Mrs Wong who was the important visitor that Bubbles was looking after.

  I told T.C. to carry on and that I would catch him up, then nipped back into the cafe, winked at a very subdued Rosie as I passed, raised my eyebrows at Maggie for permission to enter the kitchen and, having got it, went in.

  Bert was nowhere to be seen, but Mrs Wong was there. She was over by Bert’s desk, which was wedged into a corner and held a telephone, a large and vicious-looking spike for sticking bills and invoices on, to keep them in one place, and a greasy address book filled with suppliers’ names, addresses and telephone numbers.

  Her back was towards the door, but there was no mistaking the fact that she was talking quietly into the telephone. I waited and listened, but it did me no good because I didn’t understand a word of Cantonese.

  Bert’s voice behind me made us both jump. ‘Forget something, Lizzie?’ he asked.

  Mrs Wong started, hastily replaced the receiver and turned towards the door guiltily – which told me she hadn’t asked Bert’s permission to use the telephone. And that simply was not done. No one used another’s telephone without permission. It was very bad ma
nners; everyone knew that. Luckily, I was blocking Bert’s view, so he didn’t see that Mrs Wong had strayed so far from polite behaviour and from his precious liver and bacon.

  I smiled reassuringly at Mrs Wong. I wouldn’t betray her, my smile said. ‘I just wanted to ask Mrs Wong something, Bert. May I?’

  ‘Don’t ask me, petal, ask Mrs W, but let me past first, so I can get at me dinners.’ I stepped aside and Bert returned to the stove.

  ‘Mrs Wong, I’ve been wondering, who is this visitor that Bubbles is with?’

  Mrs Wong stared at me blankly for several moments, no doubt wondering why on earth I wanted to know. It was a good question, because it was none of my business, but it was something that had been nagging quietly away at both T.C. and me all morning.

  At last Mrs Wong decided to answer. ‘He important man, very important. He come from Hong Kong for business with Mr Chang.’

  ‘What is his name?’ I asked, pushing my luck.

  But Mrs Wong didn’t answer. She seemed to be weighing things up in her mind, I could see it in her eyes, and a tell-tale flicker told me the moment when she decided against offering anything more.

  23

  It was early afternoon and the club was looking rather tired and dispirited in the weak sunlight that filtered through the grimy windows high up near the ceiling; it fitted everyone’s mood perfectly.

  As soon as we arrived, Sugar waved some money at T.C. ‘Bandy and I thought we’d better lay in some readies to grease the odd palm, so I got a hundred quid out of the business account. You’d better take it and use what you need for expenses while you’re at it.’ He glanced at Bandy, to be sure she agreed.

  Bandy simply nodded and lit yet another Passing Cloud. Judging by the ashtray, she’d got through half a packet in the few hours we’d been gone. It had been a long morning that had started early.

  Sugar was gentle with her. ‘You nip upstairs for a bath, Band, something to eat and if you can manage it, a bit of kip. We’ll hold the fort between us and see to what needs seeing to.’ He looked around for T.C.’s agreement and got it readily enough.