A Lesser Evil Part 30

Robin was far more affectionate than Peter, but then Peter was more dependable. They were both so undemanding, happy to go along with whatever the majority of the family wanted to do.

Sweet Patty! She would give anything to be able to tell her sister just how much she loved her. All those nights of them giggling in bed, the covering up Patty'd done for Fifi right from a small child. She was a born diplomat, accepting and appreciating that not everyone was as uncomplicated or gentle-natured as she was.

But the biggest change in Fifi's opinion about a family member was her view of her mother. The weaker and hungrier she'd become, the more she'd remembered good things about Clara. She'd also thought of all the things she'd done, often purposely, to annoy her.

When did she ever do as her mother asked? Even the rule about putting her shoes in the hall cupboard when she came in had to be disobeyed. If all six of them had left their shoes in the hall, what a mess it would have been! If her mother cooked chicken, Fifi wanted pork or lamb; she turned up late for meals, never washed the bath round, and when she was asked to put carefully ironed clothes away, she just dumped them on the bedroom chair.

She'd seen the light about some of these things once she was living with Dan, but it wasn't until now that she realized she had in fact treated her mother like a housekeeper, never asking how she was, what she'd done during the day, or even just thanking her for ironing and mending her clothes. She never offered to help around the house, get shopping or even cook a meal for her mother.

Looking back, she really must have tried her mother's patience. She argued about everything, and when she was younger, she never came home at the time she was told to. She never confided in her mother, never once suggested they went to the pictures or the theatre together. And Fifi was the one who started most of the rows because she would see a mere suggestion as an order or criticism.

It wasn't possible to forgive her mother entirely for not accepting Dan, but Fifi could see now that she'd put all those bad ideas into her mother's head by being so secretive about him in the first place. She was probably scared Fifi would get pregnant, and it would have been easy enough to tell her mother that she understood that fear, and rea.s.sure her she intended to wait until she was married. But she never really tried to talk to her mother at all; one sharp remark and she blew up. If she'd just enlisted her father's help, he might have been able to smooth things over.

Yesterday she had written all these thoughts about her family and Dan in the diary she kept in her handbag. She'd explained when and how she came to be brought here, and gave a description of Martin and Del. If she was to die here, someone might find the diary one day, and she hoped that it would, if nothing else, show that she valued them all.

But she wasn't prepared to die that easily, nor was she going to let Yvette give up.

'Taking your own life is a sin,' she said firmly. 'And it's cowardly. If you could survive all that terrible stuff during the war, you can survive this too.'

'You don't understand,' Yvette whined. 'I'ave nothing to live for. My life holds nothing but hurt and sorrow.'

'It doesn't have to,' Fifi insisted. 'You could go back to working in a couture house, any one of them would be glad to have someone as talented as you. You'd be happier with other people around you, and you could find somewhere nicer to live. You're still young.'

'No!' Yvette cut her short. 'Don't you dare say I might meet a man and fall in love. This could never'appen.'

Fifi hadn't intended to say that at all. Instead, she was going to suggest Yvette had a change of hairstyle, made herself some fas.h.i.+onable clothes and got out more.

'Life is precious,' she said instead. 'When we get out of here you'll see.'

Yvette sighed deeply, and Fifi thought she was trying to go to sleep again. But suddenly Yvette sat up, disturbing the blanket around them.

'What is it?' Fifi asked, thinking perhaps she'd heard something outside.

'It is no good, I theenk I'ave to tell you,' Yvette said.

'Tell me what?' Fifi pulled the blanket round her again.

'That I killed Angela.'

Chapter eighteen.

Late on Sunday evening Dan escorted his in-laws back to their hotel in Paddington.

'Stay and have a nightcap with us?' Harry suggested.

Dan really wanted to go home. His nerves were frayed and he could see that the hotel bar was full of foreign tourists. He didn't think he could stand their jollity, or the cacophony of different languages, but he was afraid he would seem churlish if he refused.

'Just a quick one then,' he said wearily.

It had been the worst weekend of his life. Coming face to face with Clara Brown again, with all the unpleasant things she'd said about him at their first meeting still ringing in his ears, was so hard. To be fair to her, she hadn't said one harsh word this time, even though he was sure she must be secretly blaming him for Fifi's disappearance, but the fear in her eyes and the tremor in her voice were somehow worse.

Harry had been easier to deal with for he was a logical man and he controlled his emotions. Every time Dan felt himself coming close to breaking down, Harry would put his hand down firmly on his shoulder, a silent message that they were in this together, bound by their love for Fifi.

They had spent most of Sat.u.r.day hanging around at the police station, with Dan going through books of mug shots to see if he could pick out any faces he'd seen in Dale Street. In the evening they went into the Rifleman as Dan had the faint hope that by introducing the Browns to some of the regulars, some bit of useful information would surface.

Even if Dan had always had a close relations.h.i.+p with Harry and Clara, it would still have been difficult to cope with the strain of being constantly in their company. But to all intents and purposes they were strangers, and Dan had to be constantly on his guard. He felt he had to watch what he said, how he behaved, steer Harry and Clara away from alarmist and rough people. And he had to try to keep them optimistic, when he was in the depths of despair himself.

Today they had been interviewed by several reporters and that had distressed them all even more. At first the reporters had seemed so caring and sympathetic, but Dan had soon become aware that what they really wanted was juicy sensation. When Clara blurted out that Fifi had married Dan in secret, their eyes lit up, guessing at a family estrangement, and Dan had to step in to stop Clara from revealing things she'd be horrified to see in print.

The sky had been like lead all day, with a cold wind, and Dan had a constant picture in his mind of Fifi lying in a cold, dark place, terrified out of her wits. He had always thought he could cope with just about any situation life threw at him. But this waiting around, unable to do anything constructive to find his wife, was too much to bear.

They found a spare table and Harry ordered the drinks from a waiter. 'I'll just check if there are any messages,' he said as the waiter went off. 'And I'll quickly phone home too.'

Dan observed how Clara's eyes followed her husband as he walked back across the bar to the foyer and the phones. She had held up well, but every time Harry went out of the room her eyes became full of panic as if she were afraid he would vanish too.

Dan knew now that he had been very wrong in thinking the Browns' marriage was more or less an arranged one, without real love. They had revealed their feelings for each other many times this weekend. Love was there, as st.u.r.dy as a rock, he'd noticed it in the way they fumbled for each other's hands when one of them became upset or frightened, the looks they exchanged, the little caresses. He felt somewhat ashamed that he'd once thought Clara's problems with Fifi were caused by jealousy.

He had also observed many similarities in their characters. Clara thought she knew best about everything, just as Fifi did. Clara was equally nosy, and she could act like a spoiled child too. She couldn't communicate with others as well as her daughter, and she was more dogmatic, but Dan felt that was largely because of her upbringing and the more sheltered life she'd led.

Yet he had also found much to admire in his mother-in-law. He liked her poise and her directness. Nor was she such a terrible sn.o.b as Fifi claimed. She reacted to bad manners with horror, but her att.i.tude was the same whatever social group the ill-mannered person came from. She turned up her nose at people eating in the street, she thought the journalist asking her age was rude. Yet she treated people with lowly jobs, like the chambermaid in the hotel, waiters or taxi drivers with appreciation. In the Rifleman she had been charming. Even when Stan told her he was a dustman she didn't bat an eyelid and later remarked what a gentleman he was.

Clara had of course banked on her daughter marrying a professional man, and why shouldn't she? Her husband was one. But Dan realized now that it was Fifi who had created the frightening image of him in Clara's mind by being so secretive. If she'd only taken him home immediately, Dan felt Clara might still have been stiff and stand-offish at first, but her innate good manners would have demanded that she look for his good points.

He knew this because he could see it happening now. When the three of them went back to Dale Street early on Sat.u.r.day evening, he had made tea and sandwiches for them, and he saw her watching in surprise when he laid the table. She clearly expected him to put the sandwiches and tea on the floor and tell them to 'dig in'. He might have done that once, but Fifi had trained him well.

Later Clara admired several things he'd made. 'You've made these with a lot of love, Dan. And a great deal of skill,' she said approvingly. 'Harry is hopeless with his hands.'

It wasn't an apology for judging him so hastily at their first meeting, but then he neither wanted nor expected one. It just pleased him that at last she was finding things in him to like.

The waiter brought their drinks, and when Dan got some money out of his pocket Clara waved it away. 'I'll put it on our bill,' she said.

They sipped their drinks in silence. Clara was looking at a group of American tourists at the next table. They had very loud voices and even louder clothes.

'London used to be full of very elegantly dressed people,' she said quietly. 'Even during the war everyone made an effort. But I haven't seen one smartly dressed person this weekend.'

'I have,' Dan said. 'There's you.' He meant it, she looked so neat and feminine in a navy blue costume with a white frilly blouse beneath it. He'd felt proud to introduce her in the pub as his mother-in-law.

She gave a weary little smile. 'I feel a wreck,' she said.

'Well, you don't look like one,' he said. 'Just very tired.'

She looked at him long and hard, and Dan braced himself for a sharp retort.

'I misjudged you, Dan,' she said softly and her eyes filled with tears. 'I'm so very sorry.'

He was so taken aback that he was tongue-tied, but as tears trickled down her cheeks he involuntarily moved forward in his seat, picked up a paper napkin and gently wiped her tears away as if she were Fifi.

'The past doesn't matter,' he replied, but Clara's eyes were so like Fifi's that it brought a lump to his throat.

'We'll have no future either if we don't get her back unharmed,' she said, catching hold of his hand with urgency. 'Tell me honestly, Dan, do you think she's already dead?'

'No, of course not,' he said quickly. 'I'm sure I'd know if she was, and besides, if they'd killed her, the police would've found her body by now.'

Clara's face relaxed for a minute, then tightened up again.

'Whatever could have gone on in that house?' she asked. 'It had to be something much more than just the one little girl being killed by her father.'

Dan nodded. 'I can't work out what though,' he said. 'Fifi was always saying that she found it puzzling that anyone would want to play cards with Alfie. I didn't really see what she meant. But now I wish I'd taken more notice of what she was saying, you know, talked to her about her feelings, then maybe she wouldn't have found it necessary to go down to that depot.'

'I've got a lot more to reproach myself with than that,' Clara said sadly. 'I should have been kinder when she lost the baby. I didn't meant to be nasty, but we had that long train journey, and she wasn't the least pleased to see me. I wish I could learn to curb my sharp tongue.'

'Fifi forgot about all that once you came to visit her. And whatever you'd said or done, it couldn't have prevented this,' he said to soothe her. 'If anyone's to blame it's me. I should have been more understanding after she found Angela, but I got irritated when she seemed so obsessed by it. All I could think about was working more so I could get enough money together so we could move away. If I'd just been there listening, maybe she wouldn't have resorted to snooping.'

'I doubt it, Dan,' Clara said. 'She always was a law unto herself. I never found a way to curb that curiosity of hers. I can remember dozens of times when she was still a child when I had to go searching for her. She'd slip out the gate when I wasn't looking and go exploring. Sometimes I'd find her in someone's garden, and she'd have gone right into their house if the door had been left open. She just didn't seem to have any normal sense of caution.'

Harry interrupted them by coming back and slumping down into his chair. 'No news,' he said sadly. 'Patty said that lots of the people she'd contacted to see if Fifi had been in touch with them had rung back to ask if there's any news. She said everyone was being very kind.'

Clara told Harry what she and Dan had been talking about.

'I want you both to stop blaming yourselves,' Harry said when she'd finished. He looked sternly at both his wife and Dan. 'We all know Fifi likes drama, and when there isn't one, she creates one. It's no good you thinking you shouldn't have taken her to London, Dan, you had to go, that was where the work was and a wife's place is at her husband's side. I'm just sorry that we didn't welcome you into our family. We were foolish and short-sighted. In the last two days we've seen for ourselves why Fifi loves you.'

Such a frank admission, and the affectionate and paternal way it was made, was too much for Dan after such a harrowing day and Clara's apology too, and all at once he was crying. He tried to stop himself but he couldn't, and he covered his face with his hands, appalled that he was showing himself up in public.

Clara got up and enveloped him in her arms. 'You poor boy,' she whispered as she rocked him against her chest. 'Stay here in the hotel with us tonight, we'll look after you.'

Her words were a comfort, for Dan couldn't remember anyone ever offering to look after him, not even when he was a child.

In that moment he saw the truth about Clara. She had a hard sh.e.l.l, that much was certain, she liked her own way, and she was stubborn. But the hard sh.e.l.l was there to protect the softness inside her, and she was just like any other good mother, prepared to fight to keep her children from anything that she perceived as harm. And that had once included him.

'Thank you, I appreciate it,' he whispered, pulling himself together. 'I'll be fine, just a temporary blip. But I'll go on home now. I feel closer to Fifi with all her things around me.'

They came out to the hotel foyer with him, and Clara hugged him and kissed his cheek. 'Try and get a good night's sleep,' she said tenderly. 'You never know, the police might have some good news by the morning.'

Harry embraced Dan too. 'We'll come over in the morning and go down to the police station together,' he said.

'Would you like me to go down to your work with you later on? You really must talk to your boss; you don't want to lose your job on top of everything else.'

Dan nodded. He hadn't contacted his firm since Thursday, and he knew he must, even though his job seemed unimportant right now. 'That would be good,' he said, and tried to smile. 'Sleep well and don't worry about me, I'll be fine.'

'Poor lamb,' Clara said thoughtfully as they watched Dan walk down the street to the tube station. 'I can see now why Fifi fell for him; he isn't the c.o.c.ky, on-the-make thug I took him for at all.'

Harry put his arm around his wife's shoulders and drew her back into the hotel. 'I'm proud to have him as a son-in-law,' he said gruffly. 'He's made of the right stuff.'

As Dan was walking to the tube station, his cheeks still damp with tears. Fifi was sitting up rigid with shock at what Yvette had just said to her.

It was too dark to see her face; she was just a darker shape in front of her, with only the white of her teeth and the collar of her white blouse showing up faintly.

'You can't have killed Angela,' Fifi gasped. 'Don't be silly.'

'I did,' Yvette insisted.

'But why?'

'It was how you say? The lesser evil?'

'I don't understand. I don't believe you either; you couldn't kill anyone, certainly not a child,' Fifi said indignantly. 'And what do you mean by "a lesser evil"?'

A deep sigh came from the Frenchwoman, as if she were gathering her thoughts. 'Sometimes you 'ave to choose between two bad things. Like when you 'ave to choose to treat a very sick animal and maybe make it suffer more, or 'ave it put to sleep. Mama had to choose between sending me away or keeping me with her and maybe we both go to a camp. At theese times we try to choose the lesser of ze two evils.'

Fifi had a mental flashback to Angela lying naked on the bed with blood on her splayed thighs. She also had the image of Yvette being raped in the brothel in Paris.

'So you thought Angela would be used like you?'

She felt a slight movement as if Yvette was nodding her head. 'Right, well explain what happened that morning, from the beginning.'

'Eet started the night before,' Yvette said hesitantly. 'I hear ze men arrive. It is hot, ze windows open. I hear everything like I am in ze room.'

'Let's lie down,' Fifi said gently. 'It's too cold to sit here like this.'

She lay down and Yvette crawled towards her, then pulled the blanket over them both. Fifi waited patiently, afraid to rush Yvette because her breathing was laboured; whether this was because of the enormity of what she'd just confessed, or a symptom of her weakened condition, Fifi didn't know. She thought she ought to be frightened, yet strangely she wasn't.

'Do you remember how hot it was that night?' Yvette asked.

'Mmm,' Fifi replied.

'On hot nights when they had those parties I hate it because the men often use the garden like a p.i.s.soir. The smell it comes in my bedroom and kitchen. I was thinking theese when I hear them drinking and laughing, Molly is cackling like a madwoman.'

It was Molly's cackling that Yvette always found hardest to bear when they had these parties. The men's laughter was no different to the sounds from any crowded bar, but Molly's was shrill and maniacal.

At first the noise came from all the rooms on the ground floor, music from the front room, guffaws of laughter, shouted greetings from one man to another, clinking gla.s.ses and bottles from out in the kitchen, and now and then the children's voices mingling with the adults.

Earlier in the day, Yvette had overheard Alan and Mary talking excitedly about the trip to Southend the following day and around ten she heard Molly order them to bed with a few choice swear words and the warning they wouldn't be going if they came downstairs again tonight. She thought Dora and Mike went to bed too, as she didn't hear their voices again.

At about ten-thirty the entire party moved into the back room, which was next to her bedroom, and apart from the odd man going out into the garden to urinate, the noise lessened as they settled down for a game of cards. Yvette didn't mind the sound of cards slapping on the table, the odd creak of chairs, sighs and frequent expletives, at least that signalled this wasn't going to be one of those nights when more terrible things went on.

Yvette couldn't hear Molly's voice any longer either, but this wasn't in any way unusual she could have been drunk in the front room or up in her bedroom with one of the men but her absence suggested that cards was the only thing on the menu tonight.

She carried on with her sewing by the window in the front room, the curtains closed. She was tired but she knew it was futile to go to bed as the party would go on till the early hours of the morning and then it often became raucous once everyone was drunk and had lost interest in the cards.

Raised voices alerted her later that something unusual was happening. Fights were common enough, bottles or gla.s.ses would be hurled, furniture turned over, and while she hated the noise and the menace of violence, at least she always knew it meant the party was drawing to a close. But this was something different; the men were drumming on the table, there was excitement in their raised voices.

Yvette wasn't in the habit of going to investigate anything going on next door. Over the years she'd learned the hard way what might happen. She'd had a full beer can thrown at her, been sprayed with urine, and just being spotted standing at her kitchen sink could result in screamed accusations that she was spying on them.