by Carol Rivers
‘So what happens now?’
‘In my opinion, Brandon will do a runner.’
Ruby felt her lungs tighten. ‘What, leave London, you mean?’
‘Leave the bloody country, I should think. You don’t mess around with the dock authorities or the Soviets.’
Ruby felt a piercing pain in her chest. She loved Nick. And he loved her. Or she thought he did. Would he really run away from her?
She fought back the tears. ‘But why did Garry McBride rip open those crates? What was he looking for?’
‘Dope,’ Bernie said without hesitation. ‘Drugs are what McBride did his time for. He must have had a deal with Brandon and got short-changed. You was dead lucky the nightshift clocked on when they did.’
For a while they sat in silence, and Ruby tried to think of a reason why all this could be wrong. Perhaps somehow they had miscalculated and put the blame on Nick when in reality there was another explanation. But as the minutes ticked by, she was left with the empty desolate feeling that she knew came with the truth. Nick was a criminal and he had used her. She had been blind to this because she loved him. The truth that he didn’t love her was a very hard pill to swallow.
Bernie got out his cigarettes and lit one. Taking in a deep breath, he said softly, ‘You remember that day me and Kath stayed with your mum till your dad got home?’
Ruby nodded.
‘I went into Pete’s room and found a clue to Joanie.’
‘What?’
‘I saw the picture on the wall. The dog with the black top hat. As I reached out to touch it, it fell into me hands.’
‘How did it do that?’
‘Dunno.’ He grinned. ‘P’raps Pete did it.’
‘Don’t be daft.’
‘Anyway, on the back, it says, For Pete, my love, my world. Forever yours, J. 1951.’
‘1951?’ she repeated. ‘The year Pete died.’
‘There was a label too. Cuthbertson Studio. Fine Prints and Photography.’
‘Cuthbertson? I know that name.’
‘Who is it?’
Ruby sat up. ‘I met a couple at Larry’s party. Marianne and Bruno Cuthbertson. They own a studio on Wardour Street.’
‘Do you reckon they’d remember selling the picture?’
‘We could ask.’
Bernie grinned. ‘Tomorrow morning, then?’
Ruby nodded. Suddenly she didn’t feel so desperate. She would put all thoughts of today behind her. After all, Nick had told her not to go to the warehouse. And, as much as she wanted to confront him over what she now knew, her questions would have to wait.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
‘Have you got the picture?’ Bernie asked early the next day as he drove them towards Piccadilly.
‘Yes, it’s safe in my bag.’ Ruby was as nervous as Bernie sounded. Added to her concerns about Nick, which she had tried to put to one side, she was hoping they would discover who Joanie was. This girl was the one in whom Pete had confided his true feelings.
It was a mild October day and the sun trickled through the white clouds above Wardour Street as they walked past the famous Pathé Building and the smells from the Italian restaurant reminded Ruby of Angelo’s. Her heart gave a sudden jerk. They had shared so much together. She needed to hear the truth. He owed her that much, at least.
On the other side of the road was a block of small shops with striped awnings, a butcher’s, a barber’s and an old-fashioned-looking tavern with a small group of men standing outside.
The delivery boys on their bicycles swerved in and out and music drifted from the small windows, framed by grubby curtains, above.
Bernie pointed to a sign next to a cabaret club. Her tummy tightened as she read the gold-and-black lettering. Cuthbertson Studio. Fine Prints and Photography.
‘Looks like we’ve found it,’ Bernie said and Ruby’s heart lifted. Perhaps now they would solve the mystery of Joanie.
Marianne Cuthbertson slipped from behind the counter of the shop. ‘Why, it’s Larry friend, Ruby!’
Ruby was surprised to be recognized. ‘Yes. This is my friend, Bernie Rigler.’
‘Charmed.’ Marianne said coolly.
‘Is Bruno here?’
‘Unfortunately not. He’s working on a particularly difficult commission. Twins of aristocrats. Babies can be most unhelpful. The photos he took yesterday were useless, I’m afraid. But there we are! Spilt milk and all that. Now tell me, what are you doing in these parts? Have you come to call on Larry?’
‘No, we came to see you. It’s about a picture you framed.’
‘Really? Which artist?’
Ruby felt embarrassed. All around them were glamorous photos of people and places. The walls were lined with black-and-white portraits, and looked very sophisticated. The long, narrow studio had two heavy drapes crossed over one another at one end, with a modern, black-leather bucket chair underneath.
‘We want to know if you recognize this,’ Bernie said, jogging Ruby’s arm.
She opened her shoulder bag and took out the picture. ‘We was hoping you’d remember it.’
Marianne took the picture and frowned. ‘As it happens, I do recall this picture. It isn’t one of ours of course, and I remember it because we were asked to frame it, not a task we would usually perform on cheap cartoons. But—’ Marianne stopped and frowning suspiciously said, ‘Before I provide any more information, may I ask what this is all about?’
‘The picture belongs to my late brother, Pete.’
‘I see. So this is a personal enquiry?’ Marianne pressed.
‘Yes. You see, Pete took his own life.’ Ruby paused, composing herself as she spoke. ‘No one can guess why. He was happy and had everything to live for. The only clue we have is this “J” who was his girlfriend Joanie. We’re hoping she’s the one who came here and that you can remember her.’
Marianne smiled wistfully. ‘How sad. Clearly a matter of the heart. But I’m sorry to disappoint you. The person who brought this in wasn’t your Joanie. It was a man. A tall, very good-looking young man, dressed impeccably in an expensively tailored suit.’
‘Pete!’ Ruby said excitedly. ‘He was always the height of fashion.’
‘Yes, he was quite memorable,’ Marianne agreed. ‘And so was this cheap picture, as I identified it immediately as a piece of cheap wartime propaganda. I wouldn’t have thought it was his style at all. A rather vulgar pastiche of the country’s leader Winston Churchill. Two a penny in their day.’
‘That fits perfectly,’ Ruby agreed excitedly. ‘Pete hero-worshipped Winnie.’
‘You’re lucky,’ Marianne added with a click of her tongue. ‘At first, Bruno turned down the commission. Look around you. We don’t deal in cartoons or frame any photograph or picture that won’t add to our hard-won reputation.’
‘So what changed his mind?’ Bernie said in an offended tone.
Marianne stared coolly at him. ‘I did.’ With a slow, intimate smile she handed the picture back to Ruby. ‘This young man, your brother, was a very appealing personality. I enjoyed and responded to his flirtation. He knew exactly how to conduct himself in the presence of an older lady. But Bruno, dear that he is, can be a little pompous at times about the work he takes on.’
‘And Pete was the one who collected the picture?’ Ruby asked.
‘He returned a week later to approve the framing. He liked it, of course. And settled the account directly. Which added to his credibility and to my opportunity to flirt outrageously once more.’ Marianne laughed girlishly.
‘Then you’d have a copy of the receipt?’ Bernie said.
‘Yes, of course,’ Marianne answered disdainfully, looking down her nose. ‘Our books are all in good order.’
‘Could you look it up for us?’ Ruby asked. ‘You see, Pete and Joanie, the girl who gave him this, were very much in love. Perhaps we can find her and she will have something to tell us that no one else can.’
Marianne nodded. ‘One would have preferred to frame something a little
more sensitive to their romance,’ she mused. ‘But there you are, the image obviously meant something to them.’
‘Yes, it did,’ Ruby said quietly, wondering if she would ever find out just what that something was.
Bernie waited for Ruby by the shop’s front door. Though this Marianne lived on another planet to him, she clearly had a soft spot for Ruby. She’d disappeared downstairs to search the record books. A couple of window shoppers passed and some posh geezer was making an enquiry. While the place had all the trappings of success, Bernie reckoned they were short on business.
His mind drifted to Pete. Had he kept Joanie a secret for a reason? Was she a working girl? Could she already be shacked up with another geezer? Ruby hadn’t given any thought to that one of course. Pete was lily-white in her eyes. But if Pete’s romancing was as dodgy as his punters, then Ruby might be in for a shock.
Bernie heaved a long sigh, watching Ruby turn towards him, a look of excitement on her face. She was holding a piece of paper and Bernie’s heart did a flip.
‘Marianne’s given me this,’ Ruby said as Bernie read aloud the address. ‘Soho Square. It ain’t much, is it?’
‘It’s all we’ve got.’
‘No number?’
‘No.’
‘Well, I hope the house jumps out and bites us. Cos I reckon we’re on a fool’s errand. Pete didn’t give a number cos there wasn’t one.’
‘Stop beefing, Bernie. Go home if you want. I’ll manage on my own.’
‘You know I wouldn’t do that.’
‘Then come on. We’ll walk there. It ain’t far off.’
She took his arm and together they made their way through the warren of Soho streets. Past the poky shops, cafés and restaurants, the dingy strip joints and through the milling tourists and eccentric-looking locals.
When they entered Greek Street, Ruby stopped. ‘There’s something familiar here.’
‘Like what?’
‘Pete told me all these stories about Soho. Its history. How all these foreigners came to London to live and work.’
‘Yeah, and this is called Greek Street, ain’t it?’ he said impatiently. ‘There’s Greeks, obviously, Italians, French—’
‘Shut up, Bernie, I’m trying to remember.’
‘Remember what?’
‘See those trees at the end of the road there?’
‘That’s Soho Square.’
‘Bernie, I do remember this place! It’s where Pete took me that Sunday.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘I think so.’ She gazed up at him with her big shimmering eyes.
‘Come on then.’
When they got to the small green park, Ruby gave a choked gasp. ‘Look, that shop used to sell books. It was very pretty once.’
‘It ain’t now. It’s all boarded up.’ Pete studied the small, abandoned and smoke-stained façade. ‘Don’t look like it’s been used in a while.’
‘The door next to it,’ Ruby replied. ‘That’s Mr Raymond’s house.’
‘You’re certain?’
‘Yes. Pete must have given this as his address.’
They walked slowly across the road and Bernie went up to the weathered, neglected door. ‘There’s no handle, no way of getting in. No bell even.’
‘It was a shiny black door once,’ Ruby whispered. ‘Oh Bernie, it was so beautiful.’
‘So this was Pete’s boss’s place?’
‘Pete called it Mr R’s bolt hole.’
Bernie rubbed his chin thoughtfully. ‘He’s certainly not here now. The place is empty and boarded.’
They stepped back on the pavement. Bernie could see that once the gaff had been quite elegant in its own way. London was full of these tall, once imposing buildings, and this place had certainly seen better days.
‘Visiting here was the best day of my life,’ Ruby told him in a dreamy voice. ‘Pete served me scones and jam with a silver spoon. I felt like a princess.’
‘Did you see Mr Raymond?’
‘No. But I felt like – well, there could have been someone else there.’
‘Why?’
‘Don’t really know. It was just a feeling. If it was Joanie, then why didn’t Pete introduce us?’
‘Christ, Ruby,’ Bernie objected, ‘he was showing you a good time. Wasn’t that enough?’
Ruby stared up him. ‘Yes, but if he had a girlfriend wasn’t it only natural for him to show her off?’
‘S’pose so,’ he admitted. ‘But I reckon we’re drawing a blank now. At least you know where it was that Pete took you to. If Joanie was ever here, she ain’t now.’
‘Yet, I still feel something and don’t know what.’
‘I told you, it’s memories, gel. They pop up and do your head in sometimes. But look at it. Empty. Deserted. Abandoned. There’s nothing more to find out.’ As Bernie slid his arm around her waist, intending to leave, he saw an old man waving at them from the bench across the road. He was tempted to ignore the torn filthy mitten exposing the nicotine-stained fingertips that waggled in the air, and the long straggly beard and old raincoat tied at the waist with string. But something made him pause, as the old gent threw his dog-end to the ground to join the many others littering the rough grass.
‘You wanna know about that place?’ shouted the man as he pushed his ancient bicycle towards them, staggering under the weight of the many bags attached to its handlebars.
Bernie and Ruby nodded together.
‘Give us a shilling,’ demanded the tramp from under his tousled bush of matted grey hair. His long nose poked out from hairy eyebrows and his toothless grin made Ruby squirm. She could smell his body odour and the alcohol on his breath.
‘Why should we do that?’ Bernie said in a warning voice, pushing Ruby out of the way of the fumes.
‘Cos you’d like a bob’s worth of information, that’s why.’
Ruby was surprised at his clear speech and twinkling eyes just visible under the woolly fringe.
‘What sort of information?’ Bernie demanded.
‘About that gaff.’ The head nodded to the door they had stood outside.
‘What do you know about it?’ Ruby asked eagerly.
‘A shilling first, missus.’
Bernie dug into his pocket and pressed a coin into the grubby hand. ‘Now, spill the beans,’ he said as the tramp inspected the money, then pushed it into one of his bags.
‘It’s not been used since before last Christmas,’ the old man told them.
‘That could be a year ago,’ Ruby said disappointedly.
‘And how would you know anyway?’ said Bernie suspiciously.
‘I live here, don’t I? Under that tree over there. That gaff is locked up good and tight now. I’ve tried to get in meself.’
‘Do you remember when the bookshop was open?’ Ruby asked.
‘Before the fire, you mean?’
‘What fire?’ Bernie said in surprise.
‘The fire someone started. Dunno who. Them books went up like a bonfire. I tell you, it was the warmest I’d been that winter.’
‘Was anyone in the house at the time?’ Bernie asked.
‘That’ll cost you a quid.’
‘Your rates are going up fast,’ Bernie complained.
‘I’ll be on me way then.’
‘No!’ Ruby put up her hand. ‘Bernie, please pay him.’
The tramp took the pound note and spat on it. ‘Yer, they took the corpse out. I saw it all with me own eyes.’
‘Who was it?’ Bernie asked suspiciously.
‘Don’t yer read the papers?’
‘No, so who was it?’ Ruby demanded.
A toothless grin appeared on the man’s face. ‘Ronnie Raymond, a loan shark who was too mean to toss me a sixpence when I asked for one. He deserved what he got, I reckon. Loaded, he was. But he wouldn’t give you the time of day without charging, the mean sod.’
Ruby held her breath as the small, piercing eyes narrowed into slits. ‘Good riddance to bad rubbi
sh, that’s what I say.’
‘Is there anything else you can tell us?’ Ruby said desperately.
‘For a quid we deserve more than that,’ Bernie grumbled.
‘What do you want to know?’ the old man replied tersely. ‘The bleeder’s shoe size? Go on, bugger off, the pair of you.’
Ruby stared at him as he began to push off his bike. She felt the tears very close as Bernie put his arm around her shoulders. ‘This really is the end of the line, Ruby.’
‘If Mr Raymond had been alive he could have told us all about Pete. And maybe Joanie.’
‘P’raps it’s better this way,’ Bernie replied as he urged her back towards Greek Street. ‘He don’t sound a very nice bloke. Come on, we’ll go for an espresso.’
Ruby’s thoughts were once again in turmoil. Mr Raymond was dead, the last person in London who could have led them to Joanie.
Chapter Thirty
Bernie arrived at Tilbury early on Wednesday morning. After giving his boss some spiel about yesterday and his self-appointed day off, he was on his way to have a gander at the old tug; see if he could suss out anything more, now that the quarantine men had given it the once-over.
But when he arrived at the wharf he was startled to see an empty berth where the ship had been. His gaffer had said nothing about it being removed and he didn’t like to go back and enquire. Just then, as he was staring down into the murky waters as they lapped hungrily at the mossy wharf stone, he heard a group of men talking about how the work was drying up and how standing on the stones waiting for a job to come up was reminiscent of the old days before the war. So Bernie moved towards them, hands in pockets, trying to earwig on the conversation.
He was in luck. One of the port labourers had been there all day yesterday, touting for work. ‘Nothing but that sick foreigner,’ said one man. ‘And it would have taken more than a day’s pay to persuade me to work on her.’
The others all agreed. ‘Someone had to do it,’ another said. ‘So Shorty Evans volunteered and a couple of his mates.’
‘Shorty’s up for most things,’ was the reply. ‘With a habit like he’s got, he might as well grow four legs his bleeding self.’
‘Yeah, lives at the track. If he had a wife, she’d be keeping him in a kennel.’ They all laughed at they stamped their booted feet to keep themselves warm.