‘Aw, right. Who shall I say’s calling?’ the man asked with considerably more courtesy in his voice.
‘Cissie Flowers,’ she said. Seeing the look on his face, she immediately corrected herself. ‘No, not Cissie Flowers, tell him it’s Mrs Flowers.’
‘Make yer mind up, love,’ she heard someone behind her chuckle. ‘What’s the matter, don’t yer like yer fellers calling yer by yer first name till the second date?’
‘Shut it!’ the man snapped at the joker, a fresh-faced lad of about sixteen, and got up from his desk. ‘Wait there a minute, Mrs Flowers, and I’ll see if Mr Turner’s available.’
Before he left the room, the man pointed at the now straight-faced comedian. ‘Get the lady a seat, you.’
The man returned within moments.
‘This way, Mrs Flowers,’ he said respectfully.
Without so much as a glance at the mouthy youngster, Cissie stuck her chin in the air and followed the man from the room.
He led Cissie along the bare-floored passage, up a small flight of similarly carpetless stairs and stopped outside a freshly painted door with a shining brass handle.
‘Mr Turner’s private office,’ he said by way of polite explanation. He tapped gently on the door, waited a moment, then opened it.
He ushered Cissie inside. ‘Mrs Flowers for yer, guv,’ he said, before closing the door and leaving Cissie alone with Big Bill Turner.
Turner was sitting in a huge leather chair, behind an enormous desk that was more than four times the size of the ones down in the front room. It was also a lot more expensive-looking, as was everything else in the wood-panelled, thickly carpeted room.
Turner didn’t look up at her.
Cissie stood there in silence and watched as he reached out and took a cigar from the ornately carved ivory humidor standing on the corner of his glass-topped desk.
Taking his time, Turner trimmed the end with a silver cutter, lit a match, and then took a long, leisurely puff. As he exhaled his first plume of smoke, he examined the glowing end of the cigar. Only when he was satisfied that it was burning to his liking did he look at her.
‘Mrs Flowers,’ he said warmly. ‘Long time no see. Take a seat. Take a seat.’ He used his cigar as a pointer, waving it at the low armchair set at the side of his desk.
‘I’d rather stand if yer don’t mind. What I’ve got to say won’t take long.’
Not bothering to suppress an amused smile, Turner carefully balanced his cigar in the sparkling crystal ash-tray that sat on the desk in front of him, shoved back his chair and stood up. He walked across the room and picked up one of the delicate-looking gilt-and-velvet seats which lined the far wall.
‘This’ll be more to yer liking maybe,’ he said, plonking it down in front of his desk. ‘Now sit down, Mrs Flowers,’ he commanded. ‘Having people standing over me makes me feel uncomfortable.’ Gently, but with a touch that was firm enough to demonstrate he wouldn’t countenance a refusal, Turner eased her down on to the chair.
‘That’s better. See, Mrs Flowers, being so tall, I ain’t used to looking up to no one. No one.’
He returned to his own seat on the other side of the desk, picked up his cigar and puffed on it contemplatively.
‘Strange,’ he said eventually, ‘I thought yer wanted to see me. Now yer’ve got nothing to say for yerself. How d’you account for that then, Mrs Flowers? Funny sort o’ behaviour, wouldn’t yer say?’
Agitated as she was by his sarcasm, Cissie certainly wasn’t going to rise to him, nor was she going to let Turner see how nervous she felt. Gathering every bit of dignity, she sat up very straight and looked at him unblinkingly.
‘Mr Turner,’ she began, angry at the quaver in her voice, ‘I’ve come here to get something sorted out. You see, I tried to set up the stall this morning—’
He jabbed the cigar at her. ‘Davy’s flower stall?’
Cissie nodded. ‘I went to the market, got all the stock and everything.’
‘Did you now?’
‘Yes, I did. And it weren’t easy, believe me. I had a right old time of it.’
‘I’m sure yer did. It wouldn’t be easy for a lady.’ Bugger! Why had she said that? She could have kicked herself for letting him see she was so vulnerable. ‘But anyway,’ she added hurriedly, ‘that’s nothing to do with it. It’s the pitch. When I got there, there was these two bloody great thugs.’
‘Thugs?’ Turner no longer looked nor sounded amused.
‘Yeah. Cheeky sods. They told me the pitch was theirs.’
‘Did they now? And did yer know them, these thugs?’
‘No, but they said they was working for a Mr Plains.’
‘Plains?’ Turner ground the barely smoked cigar savagely into the ash-tray.
‘Yeah, but…’ Cissie rose shakily to her feet. ‘Look I don’t know what’s going on, and I don’t really wanna know, to tell you the truth, but from a few things they told me, well, I reckon you owe me an explanation.’
Turner nearly choked. ‘I what?’
Cissie took a deep breath. Holding on to the edge of the desk for support, she leant forward and said, ‘They said Davy worked for you. He didn’t, did he?’ She could feel the tears of self-pity pricking at her eyes. She wanted to shout at him, tell him to tell her it was all lies. But she didn’t. She couldn’t. She needed that stall, and, much as she hated it, she needed Turner to help her.
‘I dunno what rubbish you’ve been listening to—’
‘Look, Mr Turner, I’m sure the police’d be very interested in your little racket downstairs, but I ain’t interested in causing no trouble. If people are stupid enough to gamble away their wages, that’s up to them, I reckon. I just wanna mind me own business and make a living. Just have what’s due to me and my kids. Fair and square.’ The words were coming easier now. ‘I’ve got a stall full of flowers in that lock-up, and they ain’t gonna last very long in this weather, now are they? So, if yer don’t mind, just send a couple of them blokes o’ your’n up to Aldgate, and tell that pair that pitch is mine. Like I said, fair and square. And don’t say yer can’t, cos I know different.’
‘Sit down, Mrs Flowers. Please.’
Cissie sat down. Her outburst had exhausted her.
‘For a start, there is nothing illegal in what’s going on downstairs. Credit betting is all above board. Got it?’ Cissie nodded miserably. Her last card and it was a joker.
‘And secondly, you said you don’t want no trouble. Just a living.’
She nodded again.
‘Right. So why bother with a poxy flower stall?’
Cissie swallowed hard. ‘I ain’t here to discuss me private affairs,’ she said flatly, ‘but the long and the short of it is, I ain’t got no choice.’
‘Now that is where you’re wrong. Very wrong.’ Turner leant back in his chair and slowly folded his arms. ‘I could offer you a choice. A very nice choice. See, Mrs Flowers, you’re a very attractive young woman and I don’t like to think of you having to work for a living. Well, not on a flower stall anyway.’
She frowned, stunned by this latest turn of events. ‘Are you offering me a job?’
He considered for a moment. ‘Yer could say that,’ he said, apparently absorbed by a speck of dust on his sleeve. ‘Yer see, a man in my position, running a big firm like I do, I need to relax.’
He raised his eyes and gazed steadily at her, trying to assess her reaction. She just looked puzzled, so he continued.
‘I like to go out of an evening. To nice places. And when I do, I like to have a good-looking young lady on me arm.’ He took out another cigar and went through the same drawn-out procedure of trimming and lighting it.
‘I thought you was married.’
Turner blew out a stream of smoke and nodded at her through the lavender haze. ‘I am. And my Moe was one of the best lookers around. Once. Not as good-looking as you, mind. You’re a very good-looking young woman indeed, Mrs Flowers. You’d make any man proud to have you on his ar
m when he wanted a night out without his wife.’ He smiled at her appreciatively. ‘I could make your life very easy, Mrs Flowers, very easy indeed.’
Cissie stood up again, even though her legs felt as though they were about to buckle under her. ‘Just who’d d’you think you are, Turner? Yer can’t buy people, yer know. Yer can’t own them, just because yer’ve got a bit of money.’
‘I’ve not just got a bit of money, Mrs Flowers, I’ve got a whole lot of the stuff, and that’s why I can buy people. Just like I bought your Davy.’ He sniffed contemptuously. ‘Came right cheap he did, and all. Still, he needed the money, didn’t he? How else could he have kept you so well, darling? Buy you all them pretty things you ladies like?’
‘So he did work for yer?’
Turner grinned his reply.
‘Well, yer might have conned him into working for yer, but you ain’t gonna con me.’
He held out his hands in surprise. ‘Me con people? Yer’ve got me wrong, Mrs Flowers. I never con no one. People ain’t stupid, they just like the good life.’ Turner raised a cynical eyebrow and laughed. ‘You included. So how about it? I’d make life very good for you. Very good indeed. You could have whatever you wanted. Whatever that pretty little head o’ your’n could think up would be yours. Now wouldn’t that be nice?’
‘I wouldn’t take nothing off you, not if I was starving.’
‘So yer don’t want me to get them geezers off the pitch for yer then?’
Cissie slapped her hand on to the cold smooth glass of the desktop. ‘That’s different,’ she fumed. ‘You owe me that.’
‘Do I? How d’yer work that one out then?’
‘I’ll go to the police if yer don’t. Tell ’em about you making Davy take bets on the street.’
‘What, wanna ruin your poor dead husband’s reputation, do yer? And it’d be such a shame to have you took away from them kids o’ your’n and all.’
‘Eh?’
‘Well, everyone knows you used to run a book for me from the house. Ask any of the fellers downstairs, they’ll all tell yer. It was common knowledge.’
‘You bastard! You wouldn’t.’
‘Wouldn’t I?’ Turner pulled his telephone across the desk towards him, looked up at Cissie and smiled. ‘Yer know yer look even lovelier when yer’ve got yer wild up. And yer will think about me offer, won’t yer, Mrs Flowers? Now,’ he picked up the receiver, ‘if yer’ll excuse me.’
Cissie spun away from him and stormed over to the door. She wrenched it open and was about to leave, but changed her mind. She twisted back round and yelled at him, ‘Yer know where you can shove yer offer, don’t yer Mr Big Bill Turner?’
Turner blew her a kiss and grinned. ‘You just think about it.’
Cissie narrowed her eyes and tugged furiously at her fringe. ‘Look, are you gonna get rid of them blokes at the pitch or what?’ she demanded.
Turner rubbed his index finger thoughtfully up and down the side of his nose. ‘So yer do want me help then?’
‘If that’s yer attitude, you can go and bugger yerself.’
As she slammed the door behind her, Cissie could hear Turner’s raucous laughter.
‘It’s a long time since anyone’s stood up to me like that,’ he hollered after her. ‘Specially someone as pretty as you, Mrs Flowers. I love it! I look forward to seeing yer again soon.’
He shook his head in amused admiration then, just like turning off a tap, he wiped the smile from his face and set about dialling a number.
His call, through to the chaotic downstairs front room, was answered on the second ring.
‘Come up to the office,’ he barked. ‘That slag Plains reckons he can muscle in on our manor, and I don’t like it.’
Chapter 10
While Cissie was making her way home in the truck, in the draining heat of the sultry, June afternoon, still unsure as to whether Turner was planning to help her or not, Lil, who was actually having a far easier time of things, was grumbling irritably to herself.
She had just finished reading the paper and was settling down on her bed in the front room to close her eyes for a little sleep, when someone started tapping on the street door.
‘That bleed’n Gladys,’ she fumed, hauling herself up on her elbows. ‘I only asked the lazy rotten mare to mind ’em for a couple of hours while I had a rest. Won’t do nothing for no one, some people. Selfish, that’s what it is.’
Stomping along the passage, Lil’s temper flared as the knocking grew louder.
‘All right, all right,’ she hollered, ‘why didn’t yer just let yerself in?’ She grabbed the door and flung it back on its hinges. ‘The bloody thing ain’t locked yer—’
Lil’s mouth was still open, but no words were coming out.
‘Hello, Lil,’ said the shy middle-aged man who was standing on the step. ‘Hope I ain’t disturbing yer or nothing.’
Lil bristled and snorted. Her voice restored, she stuck her face close to his and sneered nastily. ‘Frank bloody Bentley. What the hell d’you want coming sniffing round here?’
Frank ran his hands through his grey-flecked, but still glossy black hair, tugging nervously at it in just the way that his daughter, Cissie, did whenever she was anxious or worried.
‘Me and Ellen want Cissie to have this,’ he said, taking a thin roll of notes from his pocket and holding it out to Lil. ‘We know things can’t be easy for her at the minute.’
Lil’s sneer was magically transformed into a look of martyred suffering, as she eyed the money greedily.
‘Won’t yer step inside a minute, Frank?’ she said pulling him into the hall, the desire to keep the visit a secret from the neighbours, rather than good manners or even basic decency, being her motive for doing so. ‘And yer right, yer know, Frank. Things ain’t easy for none of us nowadays, what with no regular money coming in, like. And what with all the sadness.’
She sighed loudly, and clasped her chest for dramatic good measure. ‘It’s a terrible thing losing a child, yer know. Really terrible.’
Frank angled his head away from her. ‘Yeah, I know it is,’ he said quietly. He took a deep breath and then turned back to face her. ‘Would Cissie be in, Lil? I’d love to see her.’
Having her sights set on the money in Frank’s hand, Lil didn’t tell him to bugger off out of it and mind his own business – the first answer that came to mind – instead, she shook her head mournfully. ‘No, Frank, she’s not. The poor little mare’s had to go out and try to earn a few shillings. Anything to put a bit of grub on the table for the little ones. Left first thing she did. Wasn’t even properly light. She’s a real little trier that one. I’m right proud of her, I am.’
Frank dropped his chin; he couldn’t stand the thought of Lil seeing the tears gathering in his eyes.
‘This’ll help her out,’ he said as much to himself as to Lil, waving the roll tantalisingly close to her. ‘And how are the kids doing?’ He brushed anxiously at the thick fringe of hair that had fallen over his eyes. ‘Me and Ellen are always talking about ’em, wondering how they are. P’raps I could see ’em. I’d love that, Lil.’
‘I’m sure yer would.’ Lil’s expression was guarded, wary; the last thing she wanted was to put her own position in jeopardy by helping Cissie make her peace with her mum and dad. She needed to keep control of the situation, not have some sniffling great nancy sticking his nose in and ruining everything. ‘But I can’t really have yer coming in here while young Cissie’s out, now can I, Frank? I mean, it wouldn’t be right, now would it? Not with things being the way they are between yers.’
Frank thought for a moment, tapping the roll of notes on the palm of his hand. ‘Look, Lil, I know we’ve never got on—’
‘I wouldn’t say that,’ Lil smarmed, her gaze following the rhythmic motion of the money in his hands.
Frank carried on as though she’d said nothing, ‘—but I’m gonna ask you a favour.’
Lil had high hopes and a very good idea as to what that favour was g
oing to be, but she kept up her innocent act. ‘What’s that then, Frank? What can I do for yer? Just you name it, mate.’
‘I’d appreciate yer giving this twenty-five pounds to Cissie. And tell her that me and her mum are thinking of her.’ He took a deep breath and let it out in a long shuddering sigh. ‘And that we was sorry we never got to talk to her at the funeral. And we’ll do anything, whatever she wants, to try and get back together again. Anything so’s we can see her and the kids. Anything.’
Lil’s hand twitched. The money was almost in her grasp. ‘Course, Frank, you know me. I’ll do whatever I can to make my darling daughter-in-law happy. She’s been an angel to me, that girl. A real angel. You ask anyone round here. But then I’ve been a comfort to her and all at this sad time, ain’t I?’
Frank lifted his chin in what could have been interpreted as either acknowledgement of his daughter’s virtues or cynicism about Lil’s newly acquired decency. ‘Just tell her I was here, eh, Lil?’ he said, handing the money over.
Putting it straight into her apron pocket, Lil smiled beatifically. ‘Yer can depend on me,’ she said, easing him out of the door. ‘Now, I’ll have to be getting on. I’ve got lots to do. Always plenty o’ jobs to keep yer busy when there’s kiddies around.’
Frank pulled on his cap. ‘I’ll call round again, Lil. Try and catch her in next time.’
‘When?’
‘Sometime,’ he shrugged.
Lil could have spat at him as she closed the door. He was coming back! Her plans for the twenty-five pounds melted away like dripping in a roasting pan. If Cissie caught her nicking money off her, she might well turn on her and chuck her out, and Lil had no intention of finding a new meal ticket at her age. No, she thought to herself, as she made her way along the passage to the kitchen, that wouldn’t suit her at all. She’d make herself a cup of tea and think up something or other. She couldn’t let a chance like this slip out of her hands.
As she filled the kettle, a smile slowly found its way to Lil’s lips. She’d think up something all right, after all, didn’t she have a real talent for playing around with the truth? Hadn’t she taught her boy all the tricks he knew?
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