“Legacy?”
“Insurance or whatever it is.”
“Oh, yes. Yes, that’s so. Tell me, how long can you stop? Have we the evening free?”
“Michael,” I’m sorry but I haven’t been up to see Sister Frey today. I usually go Saturday evenings. I don’t do much but I try not to let her down.”
“Does it matter?”
She looked at him, smiled rather quizzically. “ Darling, I can’t answer that in two words. I like doing what I can, and she’s my friend.”
“Are you mine too?”
“Can you doubt it?”
Michael said: “I’m so sorry about tomorrow. Something cropped up and——”
“It doesn’t matter at all.” They talked easily and companionably for a while, and then Bennie made tea and they squatted together on the rug before the electric fire.
Michael said: “ You’ve got such lovely legs, Bennie. I didn’t realise how lovely they’d be until you came swimming with me.”
“They don’t feel awfully good when I’ve been standing on them from London to Munich.” It wasn’t very clever but she had to say something.
“I wish I could take you out of that job.”
“Whether I like it or not?”
“I wish you’d like what I offer you.”
The cake was rather stale and he apologised for ft. The ideal thing was to have a service flat like Peter Waldo.
“Are you going out with him and Boy Kenny tomorrow?”
He regretted he’d let the name slip. “Would you mind?”
“How could I?—for myself.”
“But you do for me?”
“No.… You exist in your own right, Michael. It’s only that I.…”
“Go on.”
“I don’t understand the particular attraction.”
“I don’t like Kenny myself. He’s Peter’s friend.”
“And Peter is yours?”
“Yes. I find him quite fun.” Three thousand three hundred each from tomorrow night, if all went well. If all went well. But that wasn’t fun, that was dangerous nerve-stretching work. Supposing he had it now, all in notes, in the house, said to Bennie, here take it, in a heap at your feet, I want to buy you; all this I’ll give; could she refuse?
She said: “Have you known him long?”
He blinked the expression out of his eyes so that she shouldn’t see it. “ Two years, off and on. Under his nonsense he’s quite a serious chap. We agree on many things.”
“What things?”
Michael frowned. “Well, on much of the stupidity of life, the—the lack of imagination, the deliberate screen of lies that people of older generations put up to hide their incompetence and their blunderings. Above all perhaps a feeling of a lack of time. Maybe I feel that even more than Peter. How many years have we got? Or months even? Yet everything goes bumbling along in the same middle-aged, criminally inept way. Society seems to know and care as much about what’s going on—really going on—as a bunch of fat old ladies playing bridge while there’s a fire in the cellar!”
She leaned back on her hands. “ I suppose I’m just one of the great deluded. You see, I still carry on, accepting the pattern as it is, taking things on trust.”
He said: “It’s much easier to go slow if you feel you can afford to wait. That’s why I may sometimes seem to want to cut corners.… Tell me, Bennie, was it true what you said the night the old car broke down? You didn’t refuse to marry me just because I hadn’t any money?”
“If I had I wouldn’t be a very good bargain—even at a cut price.”
There was silence. He said: “ I wonder if it would help you to—to make up your mind if I promised to stop seeing Peter Waldo and Boy?”
“Michael, it mustn’t ever be my business to choose your friends.”
“But if I promised to cut them out—say in two weeks’ time—cut them right out, it would help?”
She got up and sat in the chair, for once slightly unsure at his closeness. “ It’s for you to decide alone. You must do exactly what you want to do.”
“If you don’t like them,” he said, “ I don’t like them. Give me a week or two to break things gentry. I’ll drop quietly out of me circle.”
“Almost I wish you wouldn’t.”
“Why not?”
“Whether I like it or not I become—obligated.”
“In this I shall do whatever you say, so you become obligated either way.”
She hesitated, picked up her hat and twisted it in her fingers. Her eyes glimmered and she shrugged, making a humorous official disclaimer.
“Well?” he said.
“Oh, drop them, then,” she said. “It’s just a feeling I have.…”
He went to bed early and slept well but woke at seven. He lay for a time looking out of the window listening to the sparrows chirping and wondered why his stomach had a hard knot in it.
He got up at ten, cooked himself an egg, went out for the papers, bathed and shaved and smoked and studied the cricket and the racing.
Peter Waldo came about one.
“Hullo,” said Michael. “What’s wrong? I thought we weren’t meeting till five.” He stopped when he saw Peter’s face and followed him in. He had never seen Peter look like that before.
“What’s wrong?”
“Do you ever read your Sunday papers?”
“Yes. But not carefully. What’s the matter with you?”
Waldo took a newspaper out of his pocket and slapped it on the table. “Read that.” He went to the window.
Michael picked up the paper and found a piece ringed on the front page.
“Masked robbery in Henley. Last night, while entertaining distinguished guests at Greenlea, Henley-on-Thames, 59-year-old industrialist Lord Mules found his home invaded by a masked man who entered the house as dusk fell and began to rifle the bedrooms. Surprised by guest Joseph Murphy of Chalfont St Peter, the intruder escaped by way of a back staircase and through the kitchen quarters. Some jewellery is missing but the thief was interrupted before most of the valuables in the bedrooms could be seized. Lord Mules’s pedigree watchdog Kong was found clubbed to death in the garden by the river.”
Michael put the paper down. For a few seconds his brain wouldn’t work.
“What the devil? Somebody else has.…”
Peter turned from the window. “Somebody else has.”
He was staring so fixedly at Michael that briefly Michael thought he was being suspected. Then he saw.
“You think it was.…”
“Yes, I think it was.”
“What a—dirty piece of underhand——”
“No doubt he thought it would be better if he hadn’t to divide the spoils by three.”
Michael picked up a packet of cigarettes and offered one to Peter. Peter shook his head. Michael flicked his lighter. He had read the account as if it was a report of a job they had done. It had been like reading in the papers about the Any Questions adventure—only this time it hadn’t happened—to them. A few seconds later he began to feel “there but for the Grace of God”… and then relief that now at any rate he could relax because they hadn’t any need to do anything tonight.
But then there was no money either. A golden chance. It seemed easier now it hadn’t to be done.
“What a swine!.… But can we be sure it was Boy?”
“It was the precise arrangement—one night before time, and bungled by a clumsy fool. And killing the dog … I’ll get him for that.”
Michael picked up the paper again. “ What are you going to do?”
“I’ve sent a message to him, asking him to be here by one-thirty. If he doesn’t come that’s double proof.”
“Suppose he comes and tries to bluff it out. That’s what I’d do if I were in his shoes.”
“Would you?” said Peter.
Michael let his cigarette smoulder.
“I wonder how much he got?”
“About two thousand pounds’ worm. I phoned Pa
ul Mules to sympathise.”
“That was pretty risky, wasn’t it?”
“I was entitled to ring an acquaintance I’d dined with last week. Or does that make you tremble?”
“Oh, shut up, Peter. I’m as disappointed as you. But there’s nothing to be done now.”
“Except wait.”
Silence fell. More and more Michael realised what this meant. His offer to Bennie to drop out of the Waldo circle had been on the assumption that before he left he would have money enough.
“Does this mean,” he said, “ that we shan’t get any more share-out from the first job?”
Peter Waldo was biting the skin round his fingers. “ If he’s ratted on the second deal we-shall see no more of the first.”
“Do you know where he lives?”
“I know where he lived.”
“And if we found him?”
“Just so. If we found him.… And he got away with practically nothing in the end, the crooked, diseased bastard.”
“I never liked him or trusted him,” said Michael.
“I know. You never liked him or trusted him, did you? I’m the one who led you into this, you poor unfortunate boy. I’m the one who thought up the foolish arrangements and wouldn’t listen to reason when all the time you had better suggestions in the pipe-line. Now if——”
“Shut up, Peter! What’s the good of picking a row with me! It isn’t my fault and it isn’t yours. We’ve been let down, that’s all. We’ve just got to begin over again.”
“Presently,” said Peter. “At the moment we’ll wait.”
One-thirty came and then two. Neither of them was hungry, but they had a couple of drinks together and Peter began to calm down; the veins in his temples subsided and the innocence crept slowly back into his eyes as if only anger had scared it away.
Michael said: “Did you get the bitch?”
“Yes, she’s at home in my flat looking very sorry for herself, and the dog upstairs is howling.”
Michael began to laugh. “ Sorry, but it does seem rather funny.”
“I’d see the funny side more if he hadn’t killed the Chow.”
About four they cut up some bread and opened a tin of tongue and a bottle of wine
“How much have you left of the first haul?” Peter said.
“About sixty.”
“Don’t despair, darling boy. I’m not without ideas for the future, and now that we’re free of that corroded Cockney——”
“We’re also without any means of disposing of the stuff.”
“That can be overcome. This evening what do you say if we go down to the Middle Pocket, just to see if there’s any sign of Boy?”
“Let’s do that,” said Michael.
It was a windy night and the hanging signs in Wardour Street were squeaking and wheezing like old men in an asthma clinic. Peter parked the taxi just off Brewer Street.
They went up the stairs to the night club. The proprietor was there to welcome them in, but his smile was a little ill at ease, as if the tom-toms had already been beating. A girl with fish-net stockings and gold suspenders sold them cigarettes, and they walked down the central corridor into the club.
At the piano Dick Ballance played a love song, and the smoke from his cigarette clung about him like clouds around Fujiyama. Six or eight couples rocked in the half light. Michael went to the bar and bought two beers and a whisky. A girl he knew slightly came up, but he waved her away. Peter was drooping against the trellis. He went back to him.
Peter said: “Would you recognise Boy’s friends?”
“I’m not sure.”
“What about those three?”
Michael looked across the dance floor. “Could be.”
The dance ended. Michael carried the whisky across to the piano. Dick flashed a smile that was like a lighthouse, warning them of rocks. “Hullo, boys, what you been doing with yourselves this week? Thanks, man; I sure am thirsty; here’s mud in your pipe, man; thanks a million.”
Peter drooped over the piano. “Seen Boy tonight?”
Dick rolled his eyes and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand; then he wiped his hand. “Good, that sure is good, by gosh. Boy? No, I don’t think I seen him round tonight. Why, you lost him?”
“That’s our impression.”
Dick played a soft arpeggio. “ Too bad. I guess he’ll turn up.”
“I guess he won’t. We’ve been doubled, Dick. It makes me rather ashamed for him.”
“Here, you have one of mine; you too, man, that side’s quite safe, not even Turkish. What’s he done? He should know better than to play it that way with you. You two are smart boys and no mistake.”
“Know where we could find him?”
“Me? Ho, ho! I don’t know nothing about the habits of those types. Excuse me, I got to start again. Boss don’t dig me lazing around.”
They waited beside the piano while Dick played the next two pieces. Two men Michael remembered as seeing with Kenny now came into the first bar and sat at the stools there. They had the stamp of their breed. When the music stopped Michael said: “ Who are those two, Dick?”
Dick’s hands were sweating. “ Those two? Keep away from them. They’re fast men.” He began to talk quickly, through his own arpeggios. “Look, I like you two boys, see, and I say to you, clear out. There’s trouble on tonight. I don’t know what. It’s not my business to know what, see, I’m the innocent little nigger boy. Maybe it’s nothing to do with you, but maybe it has, see. But if they’re laying for you, then now’s the time to beat it before they all turn up.” Dick Ballance wiped his pink palms again. “ By gosh, it gives me a surprise that Boy has outed on you. I guess you got to give that thought. But not here, brothers, not here.”
“Half a dozen gutless scroungers,” muttered Michael. “They haven’t got an unpadded shoulder among them.”
“You could be right, man. I don’t know how tough they come. But anyway do me a favour, man, and move away from here. Come an’ see me at my barber-shop if you want advice.”
They drifted back to the bar and had another drink. One of the men in the further bar came through the dance hall and joined the other two. Heads bent together.
“And now?” said Michael.
“Out of here,” said Peter.
“Whatever for?”
“I think Dick’s advice is good. He’s shivering on the sidelines, chiefly anxious to keep his own feet dry, but he knows what he’s talking about. Either Boy’s already been here tonight or he’s left word.”
“I’ll go and ask those three if they’ve seen him.”
“No.” Peter took his arm. “They may be rats, but collectively they’ll fight.”
“Should that matter?”
“It matters if they carry flick knives. It’s common sense to move. Don’t hurry your drink. We may get out without trouble.”
They began to take their leave in a leisurely way, waving to Dick, stopping to joke with the cigarette girl. Five men watched them move, from under frowning eyebrow, through cigarette smoke, sidelong with raised glass. They seemed to lack a decisive word among them, an incident to make them go. Peter kept up a running commentary under his breath. “ Five against two, the odds are on our side; as punters they favour ten to one. But when we get out, make for civilisation just in case. Leave the cab for the moment, we’ll collect that with the milk; Piccadilly is three minutes walk and gorillas hate bright lights; thank you, dear, no, we didn’t bring hats, just our own sweet smiles.…”
Out in the street a man and two women were arguing at the open door of a car; a taxi was rounding the corner; a boy and a girl cuddled in a doorway; somebody moved in the shadow of a car parked on the opposite side of the road.
“This way,” said Peter.
They walked down the length of the street; as they turned to look back two men came out of the night club. A crowd of fellows came towards them arms linked, talking and arguing and shouting. Some of them were of the same kind. Peter stepped i
nto the road and Michael reluctantly followed him. A car hooted sharply behind them. They got out of its way and the driver glared. But somehow they were past the crowd. In three minutes they were in Piccadilly.
“A show of force,” said Peter. “He thinks to scare us off.”
“And did just that. We ought to have stuck it out.”
“I’ve seen a little more of this world than you have. Let’s fight them with different weapons. I’ve got to make a telephone call. Come on.”
They went down into the Piccadilly tube station and found an unoccupied box. Peter put in his money and beckoned Michael to squeeze in with him. Michael stared at the dialling finger unbelievingly.
“It’s ringing,” said Peter quietly.
“What are you up to——”
“Oh, can I speak to the duty officer please? My name doesn’t matter. I have some information for him.”
“Peter, what the hell——”
Peter frowned and shook his head. “ Duty sergeant? Yes, that will do. Hullo. I’m phoning you to give you information about some stolen property. I think you will be interested to hear about it. It is at present in a garage in Flange Street, Kensal Green. Not far from the cemetery. Yes, the south side. The number of the house is twelve and the garage is between the house and the greengrocer’s shop, number ten. I’m not absolutely sure, but I think you will find there some of the stuff that was stolen last night from Lord Mules’s house at Henley. If that’s not there you will find other things that will make it worth a visit.… Never mind about that. Now listen. Don’t go and get it. Send a couple of men to watch the garage. Sooner or later—they may have to wait a week—the thieves will come for it. That will be the time to get them. Bye.…”
He hung up.
Michael said: “ You fool! What d’you think you’re involving us in?”
Peter’s face was full of high-strung amusement. “ Boy will be sorry he killed that dog.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Unlike his son, Roger found his affairs going well. Because he was in the news a weekly magazine had offered him £2,000 for a series of articles on coming political figures. “Make them as hot as you like,” the editor told him. “ We’ll cool them down if we have to.” And unlike his son, who had so much more time, he was in no hurry over his new love affair. He could have plotted it all out in advance on a drawing-board or explained it at brigade headquarters in the ops room to junior officers under his command.
The Tumbled House Page 21