“How dare you speak to my wife like that, you ill-mannered brute!” Obviously a little worse the wear for drink, the husband staggered forwards, his fists raised. Those in the immediate vicinity stepped backwards.
“Don’t do anything foolish, Gerald.” The woman in the cream gown laid a hand on her husband’s arm to restrain him.
He ignored his wife’s advice and lunged at the man in the trilby. The two henchmen were on him in no time, one of them punching him in the gut, the other striking him squarely in the face. The husband staggered backwards into the crowd of onlookers, blood spurting from his nose, ruining his wife’s silk gown as she tried to catch him. Female voices shrieked in horror.
Harry Doyle put up his hands. “Hey, quit it you morons! Save it for Franklin. That sonofabitch has got what’s coming to him. We’re outta here.”
Then he turned and strode out of the ballroom, his lackeys trotting obediently at his heels. There was a moment of stunned silence whilst the head waiter dashed over to the injured husband with a bucket of ice, then the band struck up a rousing rendition of Bugle Call Rag and the dancing resumed as if nothing had happened.
“Goodness me,” I said. “That was rather unpleasant.”
“Indeed,” said my dancing partner. “But I gather this kind of thing happens all the time across the Atlantic.”
~~~
I politely declined the next dance, much to the obvious relief of my two-left-footed companion who said he was going outside for a smoke, and helped myself to another cocktail from a passing waiter. The incident with those men had left me rather shaken and made me realise how little I knew of the ways of the world. I wished Billy was there to take care of me. I moved away from the door in case the men should return and scanned the room, looking for Ruby. She was dancing with a good-looking young man, laughing at some joke he had made. I waved to her and when the music finished she thanked her dancing partner, made her excuses and made her way over to me. She was rather red in the face and I don’t think it was purely a result of the dancing. She reached carelessly for another cocktail as she passed one of the ubiquitous waiters.
“Goodness me, that was rather thrilling, wasn’t it?” said Ruby, gulping down half the glass in one mouthful. She was obviously referring to the man in the trilby and his companions, but I didn’t know if she was being serious or not. I had found the whole business anything but thrilling.
“Who do you think those men were?” I asked.
Ruby leaned close to whisper in my ear. “They looked like gangsters to me.” She hooted with laughter.
“But what did that man, that Harry Doyle or whatever he called himself, want with Mr Franklin?”
“Nothing at all,” said a familiar voice close by. Mr Franklin had returned to the ballroom and was standing right behind us. I moved so that my back was against one of the Egyptian vases, not wishing to find his hands roaming too freely again. “I must apologise to you ladies for that little scene. It was just a misunderstanding with a business associate of mine, but it’s all resolved now. I hope it didn’t spoil the party for you?”
“Not at all, Mr Franklin,” said Ruby, smiling at him. She swayed slightly on her feet and I wondered how much she’d had to drink. Mind you, I wasn’t one to judge, feeling quite light-headed myself.
“Please, call me Theodore,” said Mr Franklin. “You English are so formal.”
Ruby giggled. “It’s how we’ve been brought up, Theodore.” She said his name with exaggerated contortions of her lips. From the look on his face, he was captivated. He regarded us both for a moment.
“You know,” he said, “you have such perfect English faces, you could be just the sorta girls I’m after for my next movie.”
“Oh, surely not!” said Ruby, making a playful swatting movement with her right hand, her fingers brushing the sleeve of his jacket.
“With your peaches and cream complexions, you have an innocence that can’t be manufactured.”
I thought he was laying it on a bit thick, but Ruby’s hand flew to her chest and she said, “You flatter us, Theodore.” She was bursting with delight.
Mr Franklin seemed to come to a decision. “How about you both come up to my room and I’ll see what you’re capable of. Whaddaya say?”
I glanced at Ruby. I certainly didn’t want to appear in a movie. But Ruby gave me such a pleading look with her eyes. This was exactly what she had been hoping for and here was her opportunity, being offered to her on a plate. I could see she wanted this more than anything. I supposed I could just accompany her. I wouldn’t have to do any acting myself.
As he waited to hear our response, Mr Franklin epitomised the respectable gentleman. He kept his distance and his hands remained folded behind his back. So I nodded my agreement to Ruby and she said, “We’d love to. Thank you so much for the opportunity.”
“Splendid,” he said, placing a hand on each of our shoulders and steering us towards the door. When we were out in the lobby Ruby turned to Mr Franklin and said, “If you’ll excuse me for one moment, I must just pop to the ladies’ powder room.”
“Of course,” said Mr Franklin. “Take as long as you need. Join us in room 105 when you’re ready.”
It was on the tip of my tongue to say that I would go to the powder room too, even though I didn’t need to, but Mr Franklin was already guiding me towards the stairs and I didn’t want to appear weak and indecisive, a foolish young girl following her best friend around like a puppy dog. If only I had stayed with Ruby. But I told myself she would join us in a matter of minutes. How a split second decision can change the future. As Ruby trotted off towards the powder room humming the Charleston, I resolved to do my best to make small talk with this worldly American, remembering Ruby’s words to smile and be confident. I tried to think of some intelligent questions to ask once we were in his room. I needn’t have bothered.
We ascended the grand staircase to the first floor in silence. He no longer had his hand on my shoulder but when we reached the top of the stairs he said, “This way,” and guided me to the left by putting his hand in the small of my back. I thought of the movie stars I had seen on the big screen and pretended to a confidence and sophistication that I didn’t feel.
We walked down a carpeted corridor, the sound of the ball now muffled. I hoped Ruby wouldn’t be too long. She was probably powdering her face and re-applying her lipstick.
Room 105 was halfway down a long corridor. Mr Franklin reached into his jacket pocket, retrieved a brass key, unlocked the door and held it open for me. “After you,” he said.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
By the time Dan’s train arrived in Scarborough darkness had fallen. Leaving the station, he turned up his collar and started to walk home along pavements slick with rain. The late-running bus from the prison had caused him to miss one train and he’d had to hang around at York railway station for forty minutes waiting for the next one, which did nothing to improve his mood.
He was thoroughly pissed off with his dad for giving him the job of handing the bracelet over to the police. If this bracelet was so damned hot, why hadn’t his dad got rid of it before going to prison? Actually it didn’t take a genius to work that one out. Ryan had been scared of the scene Fiona would make when she discovered he’d given her stolen goods for her birthday, even if he wasn’t the one who had stolen it in the first place. What had looked at the time to be a generous present now showed him to be mean and crooked. That was why he needed Dan to sort out this mess.
Turning into Greylands Park Drive, Dan looked around for the motorcyclist. It was becoming a habit now, like a mild case of OCD, but he couldn’t see anyone loitering between the parked cars. His mum’s hatchback wasn’t parked in its usual spot on the road outside the house (Fiona complained that the driveway was too narrow for her to fit into) and there were no lights on inside. It looked as if she wasn’t home yet. He fished in his jeans pocket for his key, pushed open the gate which squeaked on its rusty hinges and walked up the path to th
e front door. The street lamp outside their house had not been working for a week or more and the door was shrouded in darkness. He fumbled with the lock; it had a tendency to stick at the best of times. But the key turned uselessly, first one way and then the other. What the hell? Something was wrong. Then he realised that the lock was busted and the door was actually ajar. His heart beat faster as he pushed the door open with one hand and peered into the hallway.
“Hello?” he called into the darkness. His voice sounded small and too high. He tried again, pitching his voice lower. “Anyone there?” Silence. Had his mum parked her car further down the road, then accidentally left the door open and gone to bed? No, it was way too early for that. Even she didn’t drink a bottle of wine that quickly. And the lock was broken.
He groped for the light switch on the wall, flicked it on and waited whilst the low energy bulbs warmed up from a dim glow to full brightness. There was no one there.
And yet.
His rucksack was lying on its side, partly blocking the narrow hallway. This morning it had been propped up against the wall, he was sure. The threadbare rug that covered the wooden floor was crooked. It wasn’t something he would normally have paid any attention to, but now it was like a red flag warning of danger ahead. A silk scarf that his mum had left hanging on the newel post at the bottom of the banister had slipped to the floor and lay in a crumpled heap.
And there was something else.
A faint smell in the air. He tried to place it. And then he got it. It reminded him of his dad’s old Ferrari when it was being serviced. Engine oil and leather.
His heart pounded against his ribcage and the hairs on the back on his neck stood on end as he listened for any unusual sounds. But he heard only the hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen and the gurgle of water in the radiators as the house’s ancient central heating system kicked into life. He closed the door quietly behind him leaving it unlocked, well the lock was broken anyway, and inched his way down the hall, past the staircase, towards the kitchen.
He flicked on the kitchen light with a trembling hand. Unwashed breakfast dishes filled the kitchen sink. Half a dozen empty wine bottles stood on the draining board. He picked up a green Cabernet Sauvignon bottle by the neck, then saw the half-eaten loaf of bread on the bread board and, beside it, the bread knife. He put the wine bottle back and reached for the knife instead. The blade was at least nine inches long with a serrated edge. He felt better with the bread knife in his hand, although what he’d actually do if he encountered an intruder, he had no idea.
He made his way back along the hallway to the living room. He kicked open the door and switched on the light, looking for signs that someone had been there. The coffee table in front of the sofa was strewn with his mum’s debris: dirty wine glasses, a box of tissues, chocolates and copies of Hello! magazine. There was nothing obviously out of place, but he caught a whiff of that engine-oil and leather smell. He returned to the hallway and looked up the dark staircase. He took a deep breath, switched on the landing light and started to climb the stairs, gripping the handle of the bread knife as if he expected to be ambushed at any moment.
The first room he came to was the tiny bathroom with the avocado suite that Fiona had declared hideous. The room was exactly how he’d left it in the morning, that is to say, a bit of a mess but no more than usual. He caught his reflection in the mirrored door of the wall-mounted cabinet. The door was ajar. He opened it wide and checked the spare tubes of toothpaste and bottles of shower gel. Nothing amiss there. He pushed the door shut. He crossed the landing to his own bedroom, the one that looked out the back of the house. Again, there was that sense that someone had been here. Objects on his desk were not quite how he had left them: a book had been shifted and his new phone charger had fallen onto the floor. He picked it up and put it back next to his laptop. At least that was still there, so whoever had been here wasn’t after stuff like that.
He walked across the landing to his parents’ room. The door was closed. He reached out to touch the handle, then stopped. If the intruder was still in the house then they must be in here because he’d looked everywhere else. He put an ear to the door and listened. He couldn’t hear anything. That was good. But if there was someone in the room, they’d be keeping as quiet as possible. Maybe he should just go downstairs and call the police. He didn’t know why he hadn’t thought of that before. He turned to leave, then thought, What the hell. He took a deep breath and, in a moment of bravado, kicked open the door and switched on the light.
The scene that met his eyes was like something out of Apocalypse Now. Drawers had been pulled out and turned upside down, their contents strewn over the floor and the bed looked like the aftermath of a particularly vicious jumble sale. The dressing table where his mother kept her make-up and jewellery box was a disaster zone: necklaces, earrings and bracelets lay in tangled heaps with lipsticks, eye shadows and mascaras. A bottle of perfume had been knocked over and the contents had leaked out and dripped onto the carpet, filling the room with a pungent smell of musk. He had no idea if anything was missing, but he certainly couldn’t see a diamond bracelet anywhere.
A noise downstairs made him jump out of his skin. He ran back to the top of the stairs, his heart hammering in his chest, brandishing the bread knife at shoulder height.
~~~
Rose was hoping to get home and smuggle her recent purchases upstairs before her mother could enquire into what she had bought. Andrea would probably freak out and tell her the dress was unsuitable or the shoes were too high and to take them back. She let herself in through the front door and headed for the stairs, but Andrea darted out from the kitchen as if she’d been lying in wait for Rose to appear. Her eyes shot to the carrier bag that Rose had in her right hand.
“That’s an expensive shop,” said Andrea, noting the name on the bag. “What did you buy?”
“Just a little dress.”
“Well, are you going to show me or is it a state secret?”
Rose opened the bag which the helpful assistant had sealed with a sticky label and pulled out the slinky purple dress. She held it up for her mother’s inspection. Andrea’s eyes widened and she breathed in sharply though her nostrils.
“Don’t you think that’s a little lightweight for winter?” she said at last, fingering the fabric. The tone of her voice suggested that the lack of warmth provided by the dress was the least of her concerns.
“The party’s going to be inside, Mum. It’ll be like a furnace in there when everyone is dancing.”
“You still have to get to the nightclub and home again.”
“I’ll wear tights and a jacket.”
“I should jolly well hope so.”
Rose stuffed the dress back into the bag and climbed the stairs to her room.
“Supper will be ready in half an hour,” called Andrea.
Rose tossed the bag onto her bed and sat down with a sigh. If only her grandmother was still here to stand up for her. Her grandmother would have loved the dress, Rose was sure of it. Mum’s just jealous because she can’t get away with wearing something like this anymore, she told herself.
She checked her phone to see if there were any messages from Dan. She hoped he’d got on all right visiting his dad in prison. There were no texts or missed calls. She told herself not to worry; he was probably late getting back or something. They’d arranged to meet at seven, go and see a film. One of Rose’s choosing this time. She was looking forward to getting out of the house. She certainly had no intention of spending the evening at home if her mother was going to make disapproving comments about her choice of clothes.
~~~
“What the hell are you doing with that bread knife? You frightened the life out of me. And why was the door unlocked? And why are all the lights on?” Fiona stood at the bottom of the stairs, her hands on her hips, staring up at Dan, who now felt foolish standing there like some vigilante in an action movie. He dropped the hand holding the knife and started to walk downstair
s.
“Sorry, Mum, I didn’t mean to scare you. But the door was open when I got home. The lock’s broken. We’ve had a break in.”
“Oh my God!” She stared at him, open-mouthed. “And you went upstairs looking for an intruder? Of all the stupid, crazy things to do. What if the burglar had still been here? What if he’d had a gun? You could have been killed!”
Dan hardly heard her. He was staring at his mother’s wrist. The diamond bracelet was right there, sparkling, bold as brass, in the hallway light. It was only then that he noticed she was wearing a black cocktail dress and high heels. She was visibly tipsy and he could smell wine on her breath. For God’s sake, he thought, she could have been arrested for drink driving.
“I thought you had a training course today,” he said. It was difficult to avoid the assumption that she’d just skived off whilst he’d been dutifully visiting his dad in prison.
“I did,” said Fiona, tartly. “For your information, one of the women had a birthday today so we went to a wine bar after the course finished. But never mind that, what’s been going on here?” She made her way towards the stairs.
Dan tried to stop her, but she moved past him too quickly. “There’s a bit of a mess in your room,” he warned her. He followed her to the bedroom but was too late to prevent another scream as she took in the scene of devastation.
~~~
Rose stood outside the Hollywood Plaza, shivering in the cold night air. She stamped her feet to keep warm and looked up and down the road for Dan. It wasn’t like him to be late. That was her thing. The doors to the cinema had opened a quarter of an hour ago and the small crowd of people had disappeared inside. It wasn’t a Bond film tonight, just a romantic comedy. Probably not Dan’s favourite genre, but if he didn’t want to see the film he should have said so. She checked her watch: five past seven. The film was due to start at quarter past. She pulled her mobile phone from her pocket; there were no messages. So where the hell was he?
Scarborough Ball (Scarborough Fair Book 2) Page 15