A Lesser Evil Part 23

As the minutes ticked by and he didn't reappear, she realized he was deadly serious. It wasn't just that cruel and thoughtless remark, she knew that. It had been building throughout the strain of the past weeks. Her mother's visit, the letter, the way she treated him last night had all joined together in his head, and her angry words had just topped it off.

She collapsed on to the bed, crying. She could be strong as long as he was by her side, loving her, but without him she would fall apart.

Chapter fourteen.

On Monday morning Fifi dragged herself reluctantly out of bed. She had spent the whole weekend alternately crying or looking out of the window in the hope that she'd suddenly see Dan coming down the street, and that everything would be all right again.

But by Sunday night she realized he wasn't going to come back, and all there was left was the post mortem, apportioning blame for all the incidents that led up to him walking out. She felt she was responsible for almost all of them.

The thought of going back to work today filled her with dread. The other girls were bound to question her about the miscarriage, and maybe about Angela's death if they'd read about Fifi's role in the papers. She couldn't talk to them about all that without revealing Dan had left her. If only she hadn't been so smug in the past about her happy marriage! It was always 'Dan does this, or Dan does that Dan does that,' as if he was Mr Perfect Husband.

She'd never admitted that her parents disapproved of him, or that their home was just two rooms in a seedy backstreet either, so how would she be able to explain why it had all gone wrong?

If she knew where Dan had gone, she'd have run to him yesterday and pleaded with him to come home. But she didn't know and had no idea where to look. He talked about the men he worked with often, but it was all about what they were like, their funny habits or interests, jokes they'd told him. He'd never said, 'Owen lives in So and So', or 'Jack comes up on the train from Catford.' Even if he had, what use would that be? London was a huge place, and she didn't even know his workmates' surnames.

It was tempting to skip work today and go down to the building site in Stockwell. But it wouldn't look good if she didn't turn up at work after having so much time off, and she'd need the job even more if Dan never came back. Besides, Dan had always insisted she wasn't to go to the site, he said it was no place for women. She guessed he would be even crosser with her if she showed him up in front of his friends and his boss.

All she could do was post the letter she'd written to him last night, and hope that by the time he got it tomorrow morning, he'd be missing her so much that he'd come straight back.

'Good to see you back, Mrs Reynolds,' Mr Unwin said as he came into the office and saw her at her desk. 'I hope you are fully recovered.'

Fifi thought Mr Unwin was a rarity in the legal world, genuinely kind and considerate to his staff, so very different to some of the brusque and heartless solicitors in the Bristol office. He was an ugly man, tall and thin, with a beak-like nose and very big prominent teeth, yet surprisingly he had a very beautiful blonde wife who appeared to adore him.

'Yes thank you, sir,' she replied, wondering how many more people would ask her that today, and how long she could keep up pretending she was fine.

Mr Unwin asked Beryl, the office junior, to bring him some coffee and then turned to Fifi again.

'Would you like to come in now for some dictation, Mrs Reynolds? I won't work you too hard today,' he said with a smile. 'I've got two letters I must get out, but once you've done those you can do some copy-typing or filing for the rest of the day.'

By lunchtime Fifi's arm and fingers were aching, but at least that gave her a good excuse for being less than vibrant. Some of the girls asked her to join them for lunch, clearly wanting to hear about everything, but she made the excuse she had some shopping to do, and went down to her favourite place by the Thames so she could think things through.

It was a warm but dull day, and the river looked grey and sluggish, just the way she felt inside. She remembered how joyful she'd been the first time she came to this spot. She'd been so excited to be by the famous river, to see all those landmarks like the Houses of Parliament and the dome of St Paul's Cathedral. She had really believed then that she and Dan would be together for ever, whatever life threw at them.

But without him, London had no romance, no excitement, it was just a huge, sprawling city that some people claimed was the loneliest place in the world.

She already felt unbearably lonely. Dan had once said teasingly that she didn't have any real friends in London, only acquaintances, and she'd find out the difference when she was in trouble. She'd been indignant at the time, running through about a dozen people she'd met since they'd come to London whom she cla.s.sed as friends, and swore she knew they'd lend her money, give her a bed for the night or anything else she needed.

Yet now, when all she needed was a shoulder to cry on, someone who would listen and care, she couldn't think of anyone who would fit that bill. Yvette, Miss Diamond, Stan, Frank, they'd all kind of distanced themselves from her recently. So she guessed Dan was right, they weren't real friends. Patty was the only person she knew she could rely on she'd catch the next train up to London if Fifi called her. But she wasn't going to call her. If she did, her mother would know she'd won.

In her letter to Dan she'd explained that if he hadn't taken that letter to work with him, she would have read it, destroyed it and then written back to her mother to say they either came together for a visit or not at all. She had said that he did come first, she'd got along without her family for this long, and she could manage without them for ever if necessary. But she could not manage without him.

Fifi was bone-weary as she walked home from the tube station that evening. A full day back at work, after doing nothing for so long, had proved exhausting.

She stopped at the corner shop to get some bread. Mrs Witherspoon, the shopkeeper, was deep in conversation with Eva Price, the red-headed divorcee, but both women turned as Fifi walked in.

'Carry on if you were talking about me,' Fifi said sarcastically, thinking they'd heard Dan had left her.

'We weren't talking about you, dear,' Mrs Witherspoon said. 'We were just wondering what more could happen in this street.'

It was the tone of the shopkeeper's voice that jerked Fifi out of her own problems. Normally it was low, almost conspiratorial, possibly because Mrs Witherspoon spent a large portion of her day receiving and pa.s.sing on gossip, but now it was shrill and frightened.

'We can't blame Alfie for this one, not when he's under lock and key,' said Eva, looking even more troubled than Mrs Witherspoon.

'What's happened?' Fifi asked.

'You haven't heard?' Mrs Witherspoon asked. 'The police have been up and down the street all day!'

'I went back to work today,' Fifi said. 'I was just going home. It's not something to do with Dan, is it?'

'No, love. It's John Bolton. He's dead. They found his body in the river early this morning,' Eva said with a heavy sigh. 'Not an accident either. They've started a murder enquiry.'

Dan walking out had driven all the thoughts about the man in the Jaguar and John Bolton out of Fifi's mind. But this shocking piece of news brought them right back. 'No!' she exclaimed, suddenly feeling quite faint.

'Vera came in here for her f.a.gs this morning,' Mrs Witherspoon said, leaning her hefty bosom on the counter. 'She was going on about him staying out all night, said when he came home she'd be ready with the rolling pin. It were only a couple of hours later the police came. Soon as I saw the car I guessed something had happened to John. Poor Vera, there's some around here that's got no sympathy for her cos John was a villain, but to me she's just a woman who's lost her old man. I feel real sorry for her.'

'How awful for her,' Fifi said weakly. She could well imagine how she would feel if the police came to tell her Dan was dead. 'Have they got any idea who did it?'

'Don't think so,' Eva replied. 'They've been asking lots of questions, but John weren't the kind to talk about his business.'

'Some folk are saying his "business" was protection rackets,' Mrs Witherspoon said, her eyes glinting. 'If it were, then he deserves what he got. But it's poor Vera I'm worried about, she'll be beside herself.'

It was too much for Fifi. Suddenly she couldn't stay in the shop a moment longer. She put the money for the bread down on the counter, excused herself and rushed off.

As she opened the front door, Frank saw her from his kitchen.

'How did you get on at work?' he called out.

'Fine, thank you,' she said, wanting to get upstairs immediately because she felt so panicky.

'Have you heard about John Bolton?' he asked, and came down the pa.s.sage towards her.

Fifi's heart sank. She couldn't be rude and rush away. 'Yes, just. Mrs Witherspoon told me. It's awful, isn't it? As if there hasn't been enough misery in this street already.'

'Common sense tells me it can't have anything to do with Angela's death.' Frank shook his head sadly. 'But what are the chances of two people living in the same street being killed within weeks of each other, without there being a connection?'

'There was a connection. John played cards at the Muckles',' Fifi said a little sharply.

'Yeah, but that's not much of one, and he certainly weren't there at the last game,' Frank said thoughtfully. 'Of course, he might have been able to finger the blokes that were there. Maybe they were afraid he'd blow the whistle on them?'

She couldn't continue talking to Frank, her legs felt as if they were about to give way. 'I'm really tired. I must go on up and see to the tea,' she said.

'You all right, love?' Frank asked, taking a step closer. 'You're as white as a sheet.'

'I just need to sit down and put my feet up,' she said, trying to smile.

'You make Dan go and get you fish and chips tonight,' he said, patting her paternally on the shoulder. 'And tuck yerself up in bed nice and early.'

Fifi felt even sicker then. Obviously Frank didn't realize Dan had gone. She certainly couldn't bring herself to tell him, not now when she felt so wobbly and tearful.

While Fifi was talking to Frank, Nora Diamond was in the bathroom rinsing out her stockings and she heard what was said. She quickly went into her living room and shut the door before Fifi came up the stairs because she couldn't face her.

She hung her stockings over the back of a chair to dry, then poured herself a large gin and tonic. She had already taken off her office suit and her girdle, and put on her housecoat, just as she did every evening when she got home from work. Normally she only had a small gin and sat down to watch the news before making her dinner, but tonight she needed a large one to steady her nerves.

Nora had heard the argument between Dan and Fifi on Sat.u.r.day. She had been cleaning her living room with the door open. When Dan went rus.h.i.+ng down the stairs she looked out of the window and saw him hurrying up the street with a bag over his shoulder.

Nora heard Fifi crying several times over the weekend. Her heart kept telling her to go up there and offer some comfort, but her head told her it was none of her business and that if Fifi needed help or someone to talk to, she'd call on her.

This morning Nora had watched Fifi from the window as she went off to work. She had looked elegant in a checked blue jacket, tight skirt and high-heeled shoes, her s.h.i.+ny blonde hair bouncing on her shoulders. The sight brought back memories of when her own heart was broken, yet she'd still done her face and hair and marched out to meet the world head on.

Nora liked both Dan and Fifi, so she didn't want to apportion blame to either of them. Whatever the causes of the breakup, it was a terrible shame. They'd been so good together.

But it wasn't Fifi and Dan's problems that bothered her tonight. It was John Bolton's death.

Mrs Witherspoon was better than the BBC at broadcasting trouble and disaster. Nora had only gone into the shop for a quarter of tea on her way home, and was immediately regaled with the news.

She was deeply shocked and horrified, but she had to control her emotions and react in the way Mrs Witherspoon expected of snooty Miss Diamond, a woman who was as unyielding and cold as her namesake.

In twelve years of living in Dale Street, Nora had learned that when her neighbours were puzzled by someone new, in the absence of fact, they invented something which suited them. Yvette was rumoured to have been a member of the French Resistance, Stan was sometimes a Polish war hero, but more often an illegal immigrant. When Fifi first appeared it was said she was a model, though this rumour soon died as Fifi candidly told the truth about herself.

Nora had been amused when she discovered that she was supposed to be a doctor who had been struck off. She could only imagine this was because in her first week here she'd given first aid to a man who had been knocked down by a car. In fact her limited medical knowledge had been gained during the war, when she was a volunteer nurse's aide in a hospital in Dorset.

She had chosen not to dispel this myth, however, because it proved to be a good smokescreen.

John Bolton was the only person who knew the truth about her. He had helped her when she had absolutely no one else to turn to, but by mutual agreement they had never revealed their connections with one another. Even Vera, his wife, knew nothing of it.

Nora sat back in her chair and closed her eyes. She never normally dwelt on the past. But John was dead, by tomorrow or the next day the newspapers would be digging up his lurid history, and she felt it only right to spend this evening recalling what he was like as a young man. He'd been compa.s.sionate and courageous then, a man whose looks, wit and intelligence could have taken him right to the top. Sadly he chose to become enmeshed in the criminal world, but even that hadn't stopped her feeling grat.i.tude and affection for him.

She was thirty-one when she met him. It was 1950, shortly after Reggie had run out on her. She had reverted to her maiden name of Amy Tuckett, because she wanted to forget she had ever been Mrs Reggie Soames.

A friend in Plymouth had put her in touch with the owner of the Starlight nightclub in Soho. He was looking for a mature and cla.s.sy woman to act as his manageress, and her friend thought she'd be perfect for the job. John was the head barman at the club.

Despite everything Reggie had put her through, she was still a head-turner in those days. She was overweight now, and she dyed her hair to cover up the grey, but back then it was a rich glossy auburn, and she had a perfect figure. People used to say she looked like Ava Gardner, and she copied the film star's famous hairstyle, swept back at one side with a cascade of waves down to her shoulders on the other.

Even in 1950, long before Soho became synonymous with vice and stripclubs, it still had a hardcore of criminal activity. But to Nora, who had spent almost all her life in Dorset, it was an exciting, sophisticated place and it was some weeks before she became aware of its seedier undertones. The club in Greek Street was elegantly appointed, with a clientele of aristocrats and very wealthy people. Her job was to greet them and make sure they had a good time, and to supervise twenty hostesses who kept the unattached men company for the evening.

Nora loved the job and took a pride in it. The hostesses got a fee for their entertainment services, and Nora got a proportion of each one. She went out of her way to know a little about all her girls, advised them on clothes, hair and makeup, and did her best to match the right girl with the right man. She was fair too, never singling out favourites who got all the work when the club was quiet, as she heard they did in other clubs. There was a rule that no hostess should go home with a customer, for the club could be closed down if it became a front for prost.i.tution, and Nora was vigilant about this.

Released at last from all the anxiety and heartache Reggie had caused her, and earning around fifty pounds a week when as a secretary she would have been lucky to earn ten, her new life was good. Each night she met interesting, charming people, and she found a small, comfortable flat just a short walk from the club.

All the girls were half in love with John Bolton, the head barman. It wasn't just that he was only twenty-five, lean and handsome, while most of the regulars in the club were portly and well past forty, but he had an irrepressible sense of humour and great charm.

Just his looks were enough, for he had magnetic dark blue eyes, black hair and smooth olive skin. On Nora's first night he slipped her a double whisky with a wink, understanding she was nervous. It was he who told her which were the valuable punters and which ones were troublemakers. He also told her which girls needed encouragement, and the ones who were likely to give her grief.

For six months Nora was supremely happy. She stopped dwelling on her trust funds that had been plundered, the disgrace and shame Reggie had put her through. Sometimes she even felt strangely grateful, for she now had a far more fulfilling, glamorous life, and total independence.

But then one night three men came into the club. Big, tough-looking men with rough voices and faces that had clearly been moulded by fists, but wearing hand-tailored suits and gold watches. Such men were commonplace in Soho. They lived on the profits of vice, villainy or thuggery, but they were always big spenders, and usually behaved impeccably when they came to the Starlight.

These three men hadn't come for an evening's entertainment, however, they'd come to see her. They demanded to know where Reggie was, saying he owed them 15,000 for gambling debts, and they showed her an IOU signed by him.

Of course she told them that he'd robbed her and run out on her and that she had no idea where he was. But they said that as his wife, she would have to pay.

She just shrugged it off, told them it was nothing to do with her, and that she couldn't possibly be held responsible. When they left quietly, she a.s.sumed they'd accepted what she'd said.

But the following night, she'd just got into her flat in the early hours of the morning when the doorbell rang. She opened it, thinking it was the woman who lived above her, and there were the men again.

They pushed her aside and barged in, one holding her back so she couldn't phone the police. They turned the whole flat upside down, pulling out drawers, going through the wardrobe, even the bookcase, and when they found nothing but 20 in her purse, they threatened her.

One of the men held her arms behind her back, while the leader, whom they called 'Earl', ran a knife menacingly down her cheek.

'You are a good-looking woman, and I expect you want to stay that way. So pay us and you can.'

She was terrified, instinctively knowing by the cruelty in his cold blue eyes that he'd enjoy scarring her for life. She cried and told them again and again that she had nothing but what she earned at the club. He said that for the time being he would settle for 50 a week, and he would be round to the club every Friday night to collect it. As the men left, taking the money from her purse with them, Earl turned at the door and smirked menacingly.

'Don't even think about going to the police or you'll find yourself waking up in hospital with your face rearranged. And don't try and run for it either. We'll soon track you down and make you regret it.'

Nora guessed that they had found out about her wealthy background and didn't believe that Reggie had taken everything. She realized, too, that if she'd taken an ordinary job in an office or shop, she would never have come to their notice. But by taking a position in a Soho nightclub, she might just as well have advertised herself in the national newspapers.

She didn't dare go to the police for fear of the men carrying out their threat, but she couldn't leave her flat and job either. For five weeks she paid them, each time pleading that she couldn't continue to do so as that was all she earned.

She was sick with fear and anxiety, she couldn't sleep or eat, and the few pounds she had tucked away for a rainy day were soon eaten up in living expenses.

But on the sixth Friday, Earl said that in future they wanted 100 every week, because at the rate she was paying it back she'd be on her old age pension before the debt was cleared.

She pleaded with him, insisted there was no possible way she could give him that much. But Earl just laughed at her.

'You're sitting on a gold mine,' he said with a sneer. 'You might be knocking on a bit, but there's blokes who'd pay thirty or forty quid to f.u.c.k you. So do it and stop snivelling. Next week we want a ton.'

John came over to her after they'd left the club. 'What's going on, darlin'?' he asked.

'Nothing,' she said, trying to smile, but she was so scared she was shaking.

'I know that crew,' he said, his usual wide grin disappearing. 'What have they got on you?'

She fobbed him off with a quip about one of them asking her for a date and getting nasty when she refused, but John wasn't easy to fool, and she felt him looking speculatively at her whenever she was sharp with one of the girls or a customer.

The following Friday night she was a bag of nerves. She didn't even have 50 to give them as she'd had to pay a month's rent.

They came in at nine, before the club got busy, went straight over to a table on the far side of the bar and beckoned to her. She was so scared of Earl that she could hardly manage to tell him that all she had for him was 40.

'You ain't listened to a word I said,' Earl said contemptuously. 'I don't like that. So get hustling, doll! You owe me and I'll be back to get it.'

She could barely walk out to the staff restroom, she was trembling so badly, and once in there she was violently sick. A couple of her girls came in and saw her, but she managed to tell them she must have got food poisoning.