by Dawn Harris
I assumed Ginger collected the money because he was younger and fitter than his father, who had a bad back and used a walking stick. And now I finally understood the reasons behind the murders. Ginger had to be got out of gaol in time to collect the next blackmail payment, which was why George Crawleigh had been killed. Attempting to steal a wallet was only a petty crime, but without Crawleigh’s evidence the case against Ginger collapsed, and he was released. Jean must be paying a great deal of money, I thought with a sigh, if Edward Greene was prepared to pay Charlie Jones to do the killing.
The order of events was clear now. Ginger attempted to steal George Crawleigh’s wallet on the Saturday, Peter Crawley and George Crawleigh were murdered on the Sunday, Ginger was released on Monday morning due to lack of evidence, and on Tuesday he and his father moved out of their rented luxury apartment, without leaving a forwarding address. But they’d carried on collecting the money. When I saw Ginger driving the blue Lagonda and chased after him, and then lost him, I hadn’t expected to get another chance to catch up with him. But I would now, if Jean paid blackmail money every Tuesday.
Next time I did not mean to make any mistakes. Al could drive the Rolls and wait in the car park where Ginger had left his Lagonda. And I would go in my little Austin, giving us two chances to find out where the Greenes lived. Then I remembered, next Tuesday Jean wouldn’t be there because she would be assisting Monica with the fashion show. And she’d never let Monica down. Perhaps the payments weren’t weekly after all; they could be every fortnight, or once a month. I prayed they weren’t monthly; I couldn’t wait that long.
They were dangerous, vicious criminals, responsible for the deaths of three men. Peter Crawley, George Crawleigh and Charlie Jones. I guessed Ginger had shot Jones, so that he couldn’t grass on them. Covering their tracks again. Perhaps Ginger wasn’t as finicky about murder as his father. But unless they were caught, Mr. Taverner could end up, as Al eloquently put it, by taking the rap.
Nevertheless, I put all such thoughts out of my mind the following evening, when Al drove me to the Dorchester for the Ball Jean was organising in aid of the PDSA. I loved dancing, and as neither Johnny nor I had a partner for the occasion, I imagined we’d dance together most of the time, and I couldn’t think of a better way to spend the evening. It was a black tie affair and Johnny looked great in evening dress. I couldn’t wait to see him, and I put on a gown in shocking pink, which made me feel good.
Johnny wasn’t there when I arrived and Jean’s husband, Arthur, claimed me for the first dance. Arthur was the nicest of men, and a great dancer. He loved his work in the secret service, but never spoke of it, or of his great wealth, or the huge amounts Johnny told me he gave to the PDSA and many other charities.
The room was crowded, but I didn’t mind that; it was for a good cause. At least, I didn’t mind until I saw Herr Muller was there, dancing with a girl who I later learned worked at his Embassy. Thankfully he kept well away from me, although I saw him dancing with Jean later on. I’d told her how he’d treated Sally Goldberg at that tennis match, but Jean didn’t know Sally, and I admitted, grudgingly, that she was obliged to be polite to those contributing to the PDSA funds, no matter how obnoxious they were.
It was then I saw Johnny walk into the room with Monica. That was so typical of Johnny, I thought. She’d wanted to support Jean’s charity, and Johnny, aware she would find the evening extremely difficult, had ensured she didn’t make her entrance alone. He led her straight out onto the dance floor, and as she smiled up at him, I once again found myself wondering if they would get together one day. My two greatest friends. It seemed ideal. Or I’d thought so when Johnny first came back from America. But were they really right for each other? I wasn’t so sure now. Not that it mattered, it was far too soon anyway.
I never seemed to be short of partners, but I met up with Monica and Johnny over supper, and later when Arthur danced with Monica, Johnny and I followed them onto the floor. The band struck up a waltz, and as we settled into the rhythm, I said to him, ‘It was good of you to bring Monica.’
‘She wanted to repay Jean for her help at work, but didn’t want to come without a partner. So I volunteered.’
‘She’s so brave, Johnny.’
‘Yes, she is. I have a lot of time for Monica.’ And he devoted the rest of the evening to her, taking her home fairly early, but making sure they were not the first to leave.
As for Jean, I expected her to show some sign of worry, as anyone being blackmailed would, but she behaved as if she didn’t have a care in the world. When Bobby Smythe turned up, quite late on, I watched them waltzing round the room, with her talking animatedly, while he gazed down at her unable to hide the adoration he obviously felt for her.
For a couple of days after the ball I was busy with the playing field business. A telephone call from my solicitor on Friday gave me the good news that the surveyor declared the boarded-up factory to be sound, except for the roof, which needed renewing. He suggested I consult an architect, tell him what I wanted to do with the building, and get him to draw up plans. The man he had in mind was reliable and wouldn’t keep me waiting.
I dialled the number he gave me at once, and arranged for the architect to call at two that very afternoon. Everything was rattling along at a cracking pace with my sports field project. Maybe soon I’d be able to say the same about locating the Greenes.
That lunchtime I’d invited Jean and Monica to join me at home, but Jean came alone, informing me, ‘Monica doesn’t want to leave her father at present, so she’s lunching with him and Johnny. She said she was sure you’d understand.’
Naturally I did, and as we settled down to our own meal I asked if she’d been to the theatre lately, knowing how she loved it. She nodded eagerly. ‘I saw Noel Coward at the Phoenix last night and....’
‘Again?’ I said, a little surprised. I’d gone with her and Arthur back in January to the first performance of “Tonight at 8.30.”
‘Why not?’ she retorted with a toss of her head. ‘Arthur had to go away for a couple of days and I was bored.’
‘Who did you go with?’ I asked as casually as I could.
‘Bobby, of course.’
‘Won’t Arthur mind?’
She looked at me in surprise. 'Bobby and I are like you and Johnny. Good friends.’
I lifted a sceptical eyebrow. ‘From my recollection it used to be rather more than that.’
She laughed. 'That was a long time ago.’ And she hurriedly changed the subject, but she knew perfectly well she was playing with fire. Her relationship with Bobby was not like mine and Johnny’s. Johnny really was just a friend. One day he’d get married, and then I wouldn’t see him half as much as I did now. A thought that filled me with gloom, especially as that day probably wasn’t too far away. After all he was twenty-eight, an age when many men were already married.
Jean began to talk about the fashion show and Peter’s designs. 'He would have become one of the top fashion designers of all time,’ she sighed.
‘Yes,’ I agreed, overcome with sadness. ‘He would.’ And I offered to help at the show next Tuesday if needed.
‘That’s kind of you, Liddy. Monica needs all the help she can get. Afterwards we’re going on to the Cafe de Paris to celebrate, so bring something to change into, and don’t worry about transport. Arthur’s arranged that.’
‘That’s good of him.’
She gave a slight shrug. 'He likes organising.’
Before Jean left she told me I wouldn’t see Johnny this weekend, as he was spending all his spare time with Monica. ‘It’s what she needs right now,’ she went on. ‘Kindness and a strong male shoulder to cry on.’ I went with her to the door, and she commented, ‘It wouldn’t surprise me if they made a match of it one day. Not yet, of course. It’s far too soon. But the signs are there.’ And she added, ‘Wouldn’t it be wonderful if they did?’ I nodded and agreed. Well, it was what I’d hoped for when Johnny first came back from America. It was jus
t that, selfishly, I’d hoped to have him to myself for a while longer yet.
The architect arrived promptly that afternoon, and after I’d explained what I wanted, he said, ‘I’ve arranged to view the factory on Monday, and I’ll have the plans completed by this time next week.’
I thanked him and once he’d gone, I decided to take Tim to feed the ducks in the park. We went most days when we were in London, and if I was out, Connie took him. He loved to run in the wide open spaces, and I liked him to come home rosy cheeked. I usually walked, as it wasn’t far. Settling him in his pushchair, I gave him his favourite teddy bear to cuddle, and we set off down the street. It was as we were passing a house covered in scaffolding that Tim announced, ‘Teddy gone, mummy.’
I stopped, looked back and saw he’d dropped the bear some ten yards behind us. I turned the pushchair at once and had only taken a few steps when something crashed onto the pavement behind me, making me jump out of my skin. I swung round and saw some scaffolding had fallen, striking the exact spot where Tim and I had stopped seconds before.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Instinctively, I snatched Tim from his chair, held him tightly in my arms and ran to a safe distance from the remaining scaffolding. An elderly lady came out of a house opposite and crossed the road to see if we were all right. 'You could have been killed,’ she exclaimed, her eyes wide with genuine horror. 'You, and your little boy. That scaffolding can’t have been secured properly.’
'No,’ I agreed shakily.
‘Workmen are so slapdash these days. I shall telephone the police at once, before someone does get injured.’
Once I’d assured her we were unhurt, she went off to make the call. I felt like going home, but not wanting to disappoint Tim I carried on to the park. The antics of the ducks, and the bliss on his face as he threw them bread, helped me to recover. Until a passing car backfired and made my heart pound like mad. We’d had a lucky escape, and I trusted the police would deal severely with the builder. Meanwhile, what I needed was a quiet weekend in Sussex.
On walking home, I saw a builder’s lorry outside the house with the scaffolding and, beside it, a policeman stood talking to a large man, who was vigorously protesting his innocence. I crossed the road and made myself known, whereupon the builder became even more distressed. ‘I’m sorry you had such a nasty shock,’ he said to me. ‘But when I left last night everything was secure. I checked it myself, because we won’t be back for a bit, and I have my reputation to think of.’
The constable demanded, 'How did the scaffolding come to fall then?’
‘Someone, constable, cut the ropes with a knife. Youths probably.’ Nevertheless, he promised to check the scaffolding himself every morning from now on. Frankly I doubted the truth would ever come out. But I couldn’t have been more wrong.
On Saturday morning, I rang my new solicitor just after nine to thank him for ensuring the playing field business was dealt with swiftly. ‘The architect you sent is drawing up plans for converting the factory, and promises to have them ready by next Friday. My previous solicitor took such an age to do everything, I really am most grateful to you.’
‘I’m happy to be of service, Mrs. York. But it’s Mr. Alverstone you have to thank. He asked me to give it top priority. And I owed him a big favour.’
‘Really? I had no idea. He didn’t mention it to me.’
‘No, he wouldn’t. He’s that kind of man.’ As I put the telephone down I smiled. The solicitor was right, that was Johnny all over. Modest and highly secretive.
I rang Monica and learnt the police had not called on Mr. Taverner in connection with the death of Charlie Jones. That was good news, and I told her I’d be in Sussex for the weekend, urging her to ring if she needed me. I took Connie with me, which pleased Al, and called in on Uncle Freddie for an hour so that he could see Tim, arriving at my beach house in time for lunch. That afternoon, I told Connie she and Al could have the rest of the day off, and take the car if they wanted. Her eyes widened in surprise and I teased, 'Only if you want to, of course.’
'Well --- yes, I would like to.’ And her cheeks flushed slightly.
'That’s what I thought.’ I couldn’t help smiling. ‘Off you go then.’
‘Are you sure, Mrs. York? I mean, what if we have an accident?’
‘I’ll have the car repaired.’ Her face was a picture and I had to choke back the chuckle rising in my throat. 'There's no need to rush back. Tim and I mean to build a huge sandcastle.’
In fact, we spent a wonderful afternoon on the beach, building sandcastles and splashing about in the little pools left by the sea on the huge expanse of flat sand at low tide. Then I took him down to the water’s edge, where he ran through the shallows shrieking with laughter, filling me with love for my darling son.
On Sunday, waking to a clear blue sky, I leapt out of bed, put on my dressing gown and went onto the balcony. Looking out at a calm sea I was thankful that this was Superintendent Burns’ last day of being in charge of finding Peter’s killer. Tomorrow, Inspector Nabber would be back at work, and at last I could tell him about Ginger. I was convinced he’d realise then that Monica’s father could not be involved in the murders.
But today I intended to forget about that and enjoy my son’s company in the sunshine. After breakfast, when I suggested to Connie that she and Al went off together again, she made no objection, and I smiled to myself. Al being black and six years younger didn’t worry either of them. Connie didn’t look her age anyway. In any case, Archie had been fourteen years older than me, and no-one had thought that odd.
Later that morning, when Tim and I were about to see if the tide had gone out enough to reveal any sand, the telephone rang. It was Johnny. ‘Are you busy Liddy? Or can I come down for the day and.......’
‘That would be wonderful,’ I burst out happily. In fact I couldn’t think of anything nicer. ‘I’ve hardly seen you this week.’
For a moment he didn’t speak, then he said casually, ‘Is it that long? I hadn’t realised.’ And he went on, ‘Is it all right if I bring Monica? I don’t think the police will bother her father on a Sunday and the sea air will do her good.’
‘Yes, of course.’ And I put the receiver down with a happy smile. This week the only time I’d seen Johnny was on Wednesday at the Ball. Even then we’d only exchanged a few words, and I’d missed him. After he came back from America we’d fallen back into the happy life we’d led before I met Archie. Going to plays and films, playing tennis, dancing, and that wonderful Sunday in the country. And I’d loved every minute.
They arrived in time for lunch, and Johnny did everything he could to see that Monica enjoyed the day. He was the kindest man I knew. We spent the whole afternoon on the beach, building sandcastles and playing with Tim, who thoroughly enjoyed himself, particularly when he splashed water over Johnny, and no-one told him off.
In a quiet moment, when Monica helped Tim search for crabs in the little pools of water, Johnny and I sat on the breakwater chatting. I asked if he’d found the spy in the secret service, and he shook his head. ‘No. It’s proving very difficult.’
‘Is the information still getting through to Berlin?’
‘It is,’ he said with a wry grimace. ‘But, so far, it’s pretty low grade stuff.’
He couldn’t say any more, so I asked him, ‘What does the government really think about Hitler? They didn’t seem too concerned when he remilitarised the Rhineland.’ And I added, ‘So much for treaties.’
‘Hitler doesn’t let a small thing like a written agreement get in the way of what he wants.’
‘Churchill’s always warning us about his aims..........’
‘Ah, but people don’t want to hear the truth.’
‘Well, no sensible person wants a war.’
‘True. And in his time Winston’s made some bad mistakes, but I think he’s right about this. Frankly I wish the government would listen to him.’ And changing the subject he asked me how my playing field project was prog
ressing.
‘It’s going extremely well.’ And remembering what my solicitor had said, I thanked him for getting it dealt with quickly. ‘That was kind of you, Johnny.’
‘I was glad to help.’
‘He said he owed you a big favour.’
His eyebrows shot up in surprise. ‘Did he? Well, he’s exaggerating. It was nothing really.’
‘In that case you can tell me about it.’ He shook his head and I said, ‘Or I could, of course, ask him.’
‘Yes, you would,’ he retorted with a chuckle. ‘If you must know, his sister was working in Washington when I was there and he asked me to make sure she was all right.’
‘And was she?’
‘She was having a wonderful time.’
‘But you kept an eye on her?’
He grinned a little sheepishly. ‘Well, she was only nineteen and a long way from home.’ And now he was helping Monica. She was a lucky woman.
Tim gave a huge shriek of laughter then as Monica chased him across the sand, and Johnny said, ‘A day on the beach was exactly what she needed.’ And he jumped off the breakwater. ‘Come on, let’s join them.’
Tim, worn out with the day, fell asleep as soon as I put him to bed, and after dinner, Johnny and Monica went for a walk. It was still light and as they strolled off, I saw Johnny take her hand. She didn’t object; in fact she snuggled up to him. I stared, open-mouthed. How could she? Peter, the man she had truly adored, had only been dead a few weeks.
They stopped suddenly and I saw Monica rubbing distractedly at her eye. Johnny took his handkerchief from his pocket and tenderly removed the offending speck. And then he kissed her. Gently, admittedly, but a kiss it was. If Johnny wasn’t careful he’d find himself walking up the aisle.