by Pip Granger
I was feeling considerably comforted by these thoughts and finally allowed my mind to wander on to the scene between Cassie, T.C. and me. I played it over and over in my mind and each time the memory made my heart race. T.C. had stood up for me! He’d even noticed my new hairdo, and he hadn’t gone off for a night on the tiles with Cassie. Even I, who had been so afraid – and so sure – that hope had died with my Jenny, was beginning to see a glimmer of it in my future. My heart fluttered at the thought.
I heard someone knocking at my front door. ‘Hello, Auntie Lizzie,’ said Rosie, as she came in and headed for my kitchen and the biscuit tin. ‘I can’t stop long because Auntie Maggie is on the warpath about homework – again!’ Rosie rolled her eyes as she sat opposite my supper plate at the table.
‘Sorry, I’ve caught you in the middle of your tea. I just came round to find out what my dad said about Peace and Lucky Wong.’ Rosie looked worried. ‘I wondered if it helped at all – if you’d found out where she’s gone?’
I reassured Rosie that she had indeed been most helpful, and that her father understood the need to keep his secret informant secret. Once that was established, she settled down enough to enjoy a couple of custard cream biscuits, a glass of milk and a chat.
‘So what’s the homework that you’re dodging?’ I asked.
‘Geography,’ Rosie answered shortly, her mind on other things. ‘Don’t you think it’s romantic, Peace and Lucky eloping the way they have?’
‘I’m not sure that running away to Limehouse really counts as an elopement,’ I answered cautiously. ‘I thought you had to go to Gretna Green for it to be called a proper elopement. Peace’ll still need the consent of her guardian if she wants to marry in Limehouse.’
‘Perhaps they’re living in sin, then,’ Rosie observed idly, as if she was a woman of the world.
‘What do you know about living in sin?’ I tried to sound shocked.
Rosie gave me what I can only describe as an old-fashioned look, just like the ones Great-Aunt Eleanor gave to anyone who whistled on a Sunday. ‘Don’t be silly, Auntie Lizzie. I’m not a baby – I am about to sit my eleven-plus, you know.’
I hesitated, believing as I did that it was Maggie and Bert’s job to teach Rosie the facts of life, and not mine. ‘I really hope not. I hope that Lucky is fond enough of Peace to respect and cherish her as she deserves. She is very young, after all,’ I concluded firmly.
‘My mum wasn’t much older when she had me,’ Rosie observed, and I realized that we had strayed on to very tricky ground indeed.
‘That’s true,’ I said, as I tried to think of a change of subject.
‘Well she wasn’t,’ Rosie insisted stubbornly. ‘And Peace’s dad wasn’t exactly respecting Peace’s mum either, was he?’
I could see that I was trapped. ‘That’s true, too,’ I answered lamely. I could hardly deny it.
‘Auntie Maggie says it takes two to make babies because they’re too big a responsibility for one person. That’s why people should be married first,’ Rosie told me sternly. ‘Auntie Maggie says that’s the ideal way, but that sometimes people get carried away, being only human and a bit on the frail side. Auntie Maggie says all the saints are dead – that’s why us living mortals get it wrong sometimes.’
I felt a wave of relief and gratitude. Thank God for Maggie. ‘She’s absolutely right,’ I agreed robustly.
Rosie nodded solemnly. ‘I know, Auntie Maggie is nearly always right.’ She grinned. ‘Auntie Maggie also says that sometimes, out of what some people might call sin, comes great treasure.’ Her grin grew wider still. ‘Like me!’
‘That’s true too!’ I laughed. ‘Treasure, like you and Peace.’ I grew more serious. ‘And on that note, young lady, I think it’s time you went home and did your geography homework.’
Rosie left obediently, knowing that her Auntie Maggie would have her scalp if she didn’t hand in her homework, complete and on time.
I realized quite suddenly, halfway through cleaning the bath after a longed-for soak, that I was utterly exhausted and wanted my bed badly. I was sound asleep half an hour later. Which is why it took me a while to respond to a quiet, but insistent tapping on my front door. I had no idea what time it was, but judging from the sounds drifting up the stairs, the club was still open for business. I lay for several minutes, groggily hoping the tapper would give up and go away. But it didn’t stop, and in the end I put on my dressing gown and went to the door.
Caution made me put my foot against the door before I opened it a tiny crack and peered out into the gloom. I could see nothing but a human outline on my dark landing. Why hadn’t my night visitor put the light on so I could see him properly?
‘Who is it?’ I asked. ‘And what do you want?’
‘My name is Lucky Wong. Peace sent me,’ a shaky, young voice replied.
My first instinct was to fling open the door, but my second was to get a look at him first.
‘Switch the light on, so I can see you. The switch is on your left,’ I instructed, with more forcefulness than I felt.
He did as he was told. Under the bright glare of light stood a handsome, but obviously very frightened, young Chinese man. He was on the tall side for a Chinese, perhaps five foot seven or eight and so slender that I was afraid there was some risk that he’d snap in a high wind. His hair was glossy and black and his eyes were brown. He was dressed from head to foot in black, which made him look even thinner. There was something about his face, however, that left me in no doubt who his mother was. I wouldn’t say he and Mrs Wong were like two peas from the same pod, but there was an unmistakable likeness that was elusive because it was more about his expression than his actual features.
‘Please let me in,’ he pleaded.
I stepped back and pulled the door open a little further. Lucky slipped inside. I turned off the landing light and indicated that he should go ahead of me into the living room. I invited him to sit, and he perched uncomfortably on the very edge of the chair, as if ready to take flight at any second. His entire body seemed to be trembling slightly. His eyes were darting everywhere and he couldn’t keep his hands still, even though they were clasped together in his lap so tightly that his knuckles were as white as stripped bone. His hands were like his mother’s too, with long, slender fingers that gave the impression that they were used to hard work, and plenty of it.
‘Hadn’t you better tell me why you’re here?’ I said, when the silence between us grew unbearable.
‘Peace has been taken.’ Lucky’s voice shook. ‘We’d just stepped out into the street, when these men took her. They walked up behind us, lifted her off her feet, pushed her into a big, black car and drove away.’ His voice cracked and he had to wait a moment to get control of it again.
‘There was nothing I could do! We didn’t hear them coming. While two men carried Peace away, the third gave me a chop that made my legs give way, so that I was crawling on the ground like a beetle. My legs were dead, completely useless, numb. There was nothing I could do!’ His voice and expression were so desolate that my heart hurt for him. ‘Peace screamed that I should tell you. It was all she had time to say, before they gagged her.’ Lucky paused again, swallowing hard to stem the tears that threatened to overflow from his glittering eyes. He looked so young, frail and frightened as he sat there, manfully fighting not to shame himself by crying.
I knelt beside him and patted his icy hands. I didn’t know what to say, so I said nothing for a moment or two. ‘I’ll get help,’ I assured him eventually. ‘Just sit tight and I’ll run downstairs.’
Bandy and Sugar left it to Bobby and Pansy Bristowe to get the last of the customers out of the club while they followed me upstairs to my flat. Lucky still sat tensely on the edge of his seat, his hands clasped as if in prayer. I made brief introductions but the terrified young man was barely able to look up, let alone stand. I noticed that he’d managed to control his tears while I was gone, so that he presented a more stoical face to Peace’s aunt.
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‘Lucky, you tell Bandy and Sugar everything you know, while I make us all a cup of tea. You need something to calm you down and warm you up.’ I tried to smile reassuringly, then stood in the doorway to listen to their conversation while I waited for the kettle to come to the boil.
‘What’s this about Peace being snatched?’ Bandy demanded without preamble. ‘Did you recognize the chaps who took her?’
Lucky was struck dumb. Peace’s aunt was not a comforting presence at the best of times and she looked even more ferocious when confronted with the young man who had run off with her ward, and then apparently lost her. Bandy looked around her in exasperation and was gathering breath to launch another salvo of questions at Lucky when Sugar stepped in diplomatically.
‘How about if I ask the questions and you answer as best you can; will that help?’ Sugar asked gently, his voice soft and soothing, in a distinct contrast to Bandy’s edgy, sharp tones.
Lucky nodded, his delicate features drawn and pale with fear.
‘When was Peace taken, and where were you when it happened?’
‘Earlier this evening. We’d just stepped out …’ Lucky ran through his tale again, explaining that they had had rooms with friends in Ida Street, off the East India Dock Road.
‘Did you know the men? Did you recognize the car?’ Sugar kept his voice low, unthreatening.
‘I did know the men, by sight only. Also the car,’ Lucky answered in a whisper, his eyes searching the corners of the room, as if he expected listeners to be hiding in the shadows cast by the lamp.
‘What did you do next?’ Bandy could contain herself no longer, and her sharp tone shattered the cosy atmosphere Sugar had created.
Lucky shrugged his slight shoulders helplessly. ‘Once I could walk again, I hurried to …’ Lucky hesitated, obviously searching for a word, and then said something in Cantonese, when he couldn’t find the English for it.
Bandy translated in her husky, Passing Clouds voice. ‘He means the Triad Social Club, where he knew he’d find people to tell him what the hell was going on.’
Lucky nodded. ‘I hurried to the club where my friend has a little influence. He told me that there had been instructions for Peace to be shipped home on the next boat to Hong Kong.’
‘Whose instructions?’ Bandy barked.
‘I do not know.’ Lucky shook his head. ‘But someone important. It must be. To arrange a kidnap and to keep everyone too afraid to speak his name.’ He straightened up suddenly and looked Bandy in the eye for the first time. ‘But I do know where she is being held.’
I joined the trio in my living room, bearing a tray of tea. All eyes were on Lucky.
‘Well, spit it out, lad. Where the fuck’s my niece?’ Bandy demanded.
‘In a warehouse near the docks,’ Lucky answered promptly.
Sugar produced his diary and a tiny silver pencil. ‘Write the address down here and draw a map if you can,’ he instructed.
We all drank our tea and talked quietly about tactics, while Lucky did as he was told and drew a map. In the end, we decided to do nothing irrevocable until we’d had a chance to talk to Sugar’s contact.
‘We need to know what we’re walking into, and my friend may know the lie of the land down there. Best to go in properly informed, if it’s necessary for us to go in at all,’ said Sugar. ‘And we ought to get hold of T.C. and tell him what’s happened. We need all the help we can get.’
32
It was arranged: I was to go with Sugar to meet his friend. He was going to pick me up at St Anne’s Court after work. I was to ask Antony and Freddy to lend me a dress suitable for an evening meeting in the bar at Claridges. Once in the famous bar, I was to act as if we were a couple out in polite society. ‘There’s no need to lay it on with a trowel, sweetie,’ Sugar assured me, ‘it’s just a little insurance. A couple attracts less attention than a lone male in places like the bar at Claridges.’
The dress didn’t need much work, because the side seams and the bust darts had only been tacked. It didn’t take Freddy long to let them out slightly and sew them up again with stitching that was stronger than tacking, so it didn’t fall apart, but not so strong it would be difficult to undo and put back the way we had found it.
As Sugar said, if anyone objected, he’d simply pay for the bloody thing from the business account and I could wear it for the nights I worked at the bar. ‘You need more than one evening outfit, apart from anything else. We can’t have you covered in booze stains and reeking of fags. We run a high-class establishment, we do. You need one on and one at the cleaner’s, at the very least.
‘And as your employers, Bandy and I should provide it,’ he added kindly.
Freddy bit down on a piece of blue thread. ‘Now, nip into the changing room and try it on.’
I did as I was told. The dress made that lovely sighing, rustling noise that good quality silk taffeta makes. It whispers to you as it slides over your body like water. I luxuriated in the sensation for a moment and then got on with the business in hand, although I couldn’t get the zipper done up at the back.
I was as surprised as Sugar as I stepped out into the lighted workroom and saw myself for the first time. The bluebell shade picked up the blue of my eyes and made them sparkle, and my normally rather dull skin responded with a glow. The long, narrow skirt made me look taller and the nipped-in waist and boned bodice showed off my figure, as did the low neckline. I’d had to take off my bra, which was a serviceable, sturdy white thing, and hope that the boned bodice would support what had suddenly become my obvious assets. It did. I looked really good, even to my critical eye. And I had a cleavage, something I’d always secretly wanted.
Sugar was less inhibited. He clapped his hands in delight and his dear face lit up like Leicester Square. ‘Gordon Bennett! Talk about turning into a swan. You look lovely, Lizzie, really lovely. I shall be proud to have you on my arm. All you need now is your slap, some heels and a smaller handbag and we’re off.’
We were back in my flat within ten minutes and Sugar was urging me on to greater speed with my make-up, while he sorted out some shoes he thought would do. ‘Have you got a decent evening bag?’ he asked. I shook my head. I didn’t have any kind of evening bag, decent or otherwise. ‘You’ll have to borrow mine. I’ll just go and get it. Meanwhile, do hurry up, time’s short and we need to see T.C. for a final briefing before we go.’
He stopped at my door and turned. ‘A bit more mascara wouldn’t go amiss. You’ve got good eyes, let’s get the full benefit. Don’t bother with eye shadow, though. Your lids are too heavy, you’ll look half asleep, like Victor Mature. I’ve never found that dozy look sexy myself. I prefer mine wide awake and taking notice, thank you very much.’
Twenty minutes later he was back waving a small silver clutch bag and wearing an immaculate black evening suit, complete with waistcoat, dickie and bow tie, beautifully tied. He really was a fine figure of a man. Tall, with long legs and a straight back. Although his face wasn’t classically handsome, it had regular features and a rather square jaw. His hair was thick, brown and well cut, but kept a little longer than when I’d first met him; then he’d had the regular short back and sides most men wore. Sugar was not a Brylcreem man, preferring to sweep his hair back from his face with his hand whenever it flopped, which it did, often.
‘Just shove a hanky, your powder compact and some lipstick in there. And your comb, don’t forget your comb, it’s windy out. Don’t bother with money, you won’t need it. I’ve got your coat.’ He thrust it and the bag at me and shrugged into his own overcoat.
We clumped down the stairs to the club and walked in. Bobby and Pansy had joined Bandy and T.C. at the bar and they turned as one as we barged through the door.
‘Bloody hell! Is that you, Elizabeth?’ Bandy exclaimed, but I wasn’t looking at her. I was looking at T.C., who was staring at me as if we’d never met before.
I hadn’t had time to take a final look in a long mirror, so I turned and stared at my
self in the big gilt ones that lined the club’s walls. It didn’t matter which one I looked in, the result was the same. I looked like a completely different person. It was all I could do not to faint at the sight; I’d never known I had it in me. Then my eye was caught by the reflection of my audience at the bar and they all looked as stunned as I felt. Obviously, none of us had known that I had it in me.
Pansy was the first to recover. ‘Gawd, Lizzie love, you don’t half look a picture. You look like a million dollars in that, doesn’t she, Bobby?’
Bobby nodded. ‘Two million!’ he said firmly.
‘I’d say so,’ Bandy added.
Sugar simply beamed at me, like a proud mother hen. That’s if hens can beam.
At last I was able to turn away from the mirror and walk back towards the bar. T.C. stood up to help me into my coat. As he stood behind me he whispered, ‘You look gorgeous, Lizzie, absolutely gorgeous. I wish I was coming with you.’
Claridges’ bar was discreetly lit and sumptuous. The thick carpet, velvet curtains and luxurious upholstery made the atmosphere hushed but welcoming to those who could afford it. The rich mahogany bar gleamed as if Bobby had just given it an extra special buff up with his soft cloth, and the gilt fittings glowed in the lamplight. There were a good few people in, but it certainly wasn’t packed, and I couldn’t spot a single Chinaman among them. However, I could have sworn I glimpsed the Aga Khan or someone very like his newsreel image, almost hidden by the entourage that accounted for most of the customers.
‘We’re a bit early, the pre-dinner crowd isn’t in yet,’ Sugar explained as he steered me towards the far end of the bar and away from the group. There was a cluster of small tables half obscured from the room by a low decorative screen. I looked around and saw several other such areas around the edges: not exactly booths, but private places for a few tables, away from the main body of the room.