A Fool and His Money (21 page)

‘Sir, can you really do that – to someone like him?'

‘What? Of course I can. He's nobody. Got ideas above, he has. Well, I've put up with him and his ways for too long – and I've said nothing. You've witnessed that, Boase … how even-tempered I've been with him, with … with that excuse for a superintendent. Well, no more. It's come to an end. You heard the way he just spoke to us. I'm not taking that from him. I'll cook his goose.'

‘Sir, you're going to create a lot of trouble here if you do this, aren't you?'

‘I don't see why. The people at the top need to know that this man is completely incapable. Do you understand what he was implying when we were up there just now? He is directly holding me responsible for a man being wrongly executed. I'll have no more of it … no more. I shall be writing a letter this evening.'

Chapter Sixteen

‘Miss Bartlett, how lovely to see you. How is your dear mother – I haven't seen her for a little while now?'

Irene sat in the chair before a large mirror in the beauty salon, Chez Marguerite, and looked at herself and at her hair.

‘What? Oh, I'm so sorry. Yes, my mother … well, she's not too bad at the moment, thank you. She has her good days and bad days. Thank you for asking.'

Madame Marguerite surveyed Irene in the mirror as she removed the clasp that was keeping her long hair up in a loose bun. Irene sighed as her long hair cascaded around her shoulders.

‘You have such beautiful hair, Miss Bartlett. Have you decided to have something a little different?'

‘Yes. I have, Madame Marguerite. I want it all off.'

‘
All off
?'

‘Yes, I want something more modern. I'm a young woman, soon to be married and I find my hair now, well … rather unbecoming. And childish.'

‘But, Miss Bartlett, are you
absolutely
sure?'

‘Yes. Absolutely. I want a Dutch bob. Look – like this.'

Irene opened her handbag and pulled a page from a magazine. She held it up to Madame Marguerite. Look at this picture – it's Mary Thurman, the actress. She has her hair bobbed like this. Do you think I could have mine the same? It looks so pretty.'

Madame Marguerite regarded the article.

‘Yes. I know Mary Thurman. It's a very pretty style, this is. But, Miss Bartlett, I don't want to turn away your custom …'

‘It won't it suit me?' Irene looked dismayed.

Seeing her disappointment, Madame Marguerite patted her on the shoulder.

‘Well, if you don't mind my saying so – you do have a look of Miss Thurman. So young and elegant. Yes, why not? If that's what you want.'

Irene turned the key in the front door and went into the hall.

‘Irene – is that you, dear?'

‘Yes, Mum. I'm just going upstairs to change my shoes. I won't be a moment.'

Irene hung her coat on the stand and, patting Topper on the head as he jumped up at her, went upstairs. She went into her bedroom and rushed to the mirror. Slowly she removed her hat. What was Archie going to say? She went back down the stairs and into the kitchen.

‘Hello, Mum. Everything all right?'

Caroline Bartlett turned as her daughter entered the room.

‘Irene! Oh, my. What
have
you done to your beautiful hair?'

‘Don't you like it, Mum?'

‘Well, it's just a bit of a shock, dear. I've only ever seen you with long hair since you were a little girl.'

‘But I'm not a little girl any more, Mum – I'll be getting married soon. A married woman needs to look grown-up.'

‘Yes, dear – I know, you're right. And I think it looks lovely, very elegant. Yes, I like it very much.'

A delighted bark from Topper announced the arrival of George Bartlett. Irene went out into the hall to meet him.

‘Hello, Dad. Everything all right?'

Bartlett looked at his daughter and smiled.

‘You've done something … to your hair, haven't you?'

‘Is it OK, Dad?'

‘Turn round. Well, I think that looks very nice. Yes, very nice indeed. Look, Princess, Irene's been to the hairdresser's – what do you think about her new hair?'

‘An' don't come back!'

David Rowe slammed shut the door of the Seven Stars' public bar. He turned to Bessie Penhaligon.

‘Bessie, I don't want that man coming in 'ere no more. If 'e turns up, you just send for me. Understand? The man's a menace. I know 'e's 'igh up in the local force but policeman or no, I won't let 'im in 'ere again if 'e can't hold 'is drink. I've got customers complaining about 'im all the time. 'E's gone too far with me. My patience 'as run out. Every time I open up, there 'e is, on the step. Why doesn't 'e drink somewhere else?'

David Rowe had been the landlord of the Seven Stars for many years. Everyone thought him a rather funny little man – but very amenable. At only five feet tall he had negotiated the height of the bar for his first year and then given in and had a step built in behind it, from end to end. Everyone was amused to see him walk along behind the bar and then step down like a small child. Despite this, he took no trouble from anyone and coped admirably even when throwing out men much larger than himself.

Bessie wiped the bar with a cloth then began to empty the ashtrays.

‘Well, 'e'll 'ave to find somewhere else to drink now – seein' as you've barred 'im.'

‘Yes, indeed, 'e will. I don't suppose it'll be long before 'e's barred from everywhere else too. I have run this public house for a very long time – and it has a good reputation. I don't want people like that ruining it. Mr Hingston was in 'ere last night and said he wasn't going to come back – 'e felt so uncomfortable. 'e's a very good customer – and, what's more, 'e always recommends this place to people who want a drink or people who want somewhere to stay. 'e meets plenty of them on that boat of 'is and I think I've probably done quite well on the back of 'is recommendations. I don't want to start upsetting people like him. He told me that that man was down on the Prince of Wales Pier two nights in a row, causing trouble. Apparently 'e'd bin drinking – 'eavily. Hingston was there with some of the other boatmen, just 'avin' a yarn … before they knew what was 'appening they 'eard a splash and there 'e was – in the sea. Luckily they were quick an' dragged un out.'

‘Well, you know I've known James Hingston for years – 'e still lives right by me. I'll look in on 'im later and tell 'im you've dealt with that horrible man.'

‘If you wouldn't mind. I like the man, Hingston – he's a real gentleman. This place could do with a few more like 'im.'

‘Well, I don't understand it, Mr Rowe, really I don't. I'm so pleased you threw 'im out of 'ere. 'E used to be a well-respected man in the town. Now look what 'e's come to, and what with him so high up in the police'

‘Yes, quite. How the mighty have fallen. It don't take much to fall to nothing these days, Bessie – the smallest thing can tip a man over the edge. And, although I myself am in the business of providing good-quality liquor to the public, I do 'ave to say that a man – or a woman mind, I do not discriminate in this – with too much drink in is a terrible thing to behold. Shows a terrible lack of self-control. Look at your Edward.'

‘Oh … do I 'ave to? – that's the last thing I want to look at after a night in 'ere, Mr Rowe.' Bessie Penhaligon let out a shrill peal of laughter that echoed around the bar.

‘I'm only saying, Bessie, that 'usband of yours, well, I've known 'im for many years, as you are aware, and a nicer young man I could not 'ave wished to meet. Then … what did ‘e do? Yes, 'e turned to drink – right before your very eyes. Terrible, terrible tragedy.'

‘But you've 'elped me keep 'im on the straight an' narrow, Mr Rowe. You've been a life-saver to me, you really 'ave.'

David Rowe patted Bessie on the hand and the pair began to reminisce about the terrible night that Bessie had just left her shift in the Seven Stars. David, always a gentleman, had offered to walk her home – she and Edward had couple of rented rooms at the top of High Street. As they were halfway up the hill, Bessie had spotted her husband coming down, arm in arm with a dreadful-looking woman. She'd nudged David and they'd stepped back into the shadows, waiting for the other pair to pass. Bessie had watched as her husband lit two cigarettes and handed one to the woman, who was giggling and stumbling on her too-high heels. She'd draped her arms around Edward and he pulled a bottle from his pocket and held it, first to her lips and then to his. They had reached May's Haberdashers and were standing outside, the woman leaning against the window, when Edward grabbed her waist and pulled her into the shop doorway.

Bessie had started to cry. Seeing her distress, David Rowe could take no more. He'd walked into the doorway and dragged the woman away, pushing her aside. When Edward saw David coming at him he had put up his fists in defence, but David had quickly slapped the taller man's face with his left hand, disorientating him, then swung at him with the right.

David's blow had launched Edward Penhaligon straight through the large sheet of glass which formed the main part of the shop window. The next morning Edward had still been unconscious, and the shopkeeper had found him lying inside the shop amongst the haberdashery and fancy goods.

‘Yes – 'e went wrong all because of drink. But I 'ope things are settling a bit for you now, Bessie.'

Bessie said no more but carried on quietly cleaning up.

George Bartlett sat on a bench in his garden. Topper lay at his feet.

‘Dad … Dad – would you like a cup of tea?'

Irene called to her father through the open kitchen window.

‘I'd rather have one of my beers, if it's all the same to you, Irene.'

‘That's fine, Dad. No problem, wait a minute.'

Irene opened a bottle of Leonard's London Beer and poured it into a glass for her father. Grabbing his newspaper from a small table in the hall, she went out into the garden.

‘Here you are, Dad. Are you sure you're all right?'

‘Yes. I'm fine, Irene. Stop worrying.'

Caroline stood up from her place on the bench next to her husband.

‘I'll just fetch my pills, I don't want to forget them again.'

‘No, Princess. You don't. Here, Irene. Why don't you take the weight off for a minute or two?'

‘Well, OK – just for a minute then. Are you happy now that your awful boss has been moved on, Dad? He was making you really unhappy, wasn't he?'

‘Well, yes, he was. I found him to be very unfair – and slack, Irene. If you can't give a job your all then, well, really you may as well not bother.'

‘So, has he gone for good then, Dad?'

‘Well, I think so. Apparently he didn't have a very good record where he was before. Looks like he only got on because it was his turn … not because he was any good at his job. I don't know how he got away with it for so long. He's in his forties now, I think – he'll probably be given another job elsewhere. When's that prospective son-in-law of mine expected to turn up? If he doesn't get a move on, I'll have drunk all the beer.'

‘He'll be here soon, Dad. We're going to the pictures. There's a film with Mary Thurman – she's the one with hair like mine – well, I should say I copied her.'

‘That's nice, dear.'

At that, Topper bounded across the garden in front of Boase who came out onto the lawn clutching a bottle of Leonard's.

‘Hello, all.'

Bartlett looked up.

‘Didn't take you long to sniff out my beer.'

‘Mrs Bartlett gave it to me when I arrived. Is that OK?'

Bartlett chuckled.

‘Of course it is, my boy. I'm happy to share my beer with you any time – and I'm exceedingly happy that you appear to have grown to appreciate it. Everything all right with you, Boase?'

Boase had seen Irene sitting on the bench next to her father. He stared at her. Next he walked around the back of the bench. He stared again. She turned around.

‘Archie … what's wrong?'

‘Irene, you know what's wrong.' Boase touched Irene's hair with his fingertips. ‘What have you done to your lovely hair? You didn't say you were going to do this.'

‘Don't you like it, Archie?'

‘Well, you could have said something before you did it.'

‘I'm sorry, Archie – I didn't think.'

‘Well, it's done now.'

Irene ran across the lawn and back into the house.

Bartlett glanced at Boase.

‘Don't you think you should go after her? You've upset her there, Boase.'

‘No … I should probably leave her. I can't believe she did that to her hair. I mean – why would she do that? Her hair was beautiful.'

‘Well, I can't disagree, but the one thing you're overlooking, my boy – and if you don't mind my saying so, is that it
is
her hair. She can do whatever she likes with it.'

Boase pursued this no further. ‘Sir, did you hear what happened in the Seven Stars last night?'

‘No – what's that, then?'

‘Apparently, Superintendent Greet was in there last night …'

‘Oh? Really? Didn't know he was a drinker.'

‘Well, he was in there until he got thrown out.'

Bartlett put down his glass.

‘Thrown out? Thrown out for what?'

‘Apparently he was drunk, blind drunk – everyone saw what happened.'

‘Why is he behaving like that?'

‘Well, sir – I don't know how to say this … people are saying it's because he's lost his job.'

‘Oh – and they think that's because of me? Well, he had every opportunity to work with me when he pitched up there and he wasted it. He's upset everyone in that station, no one likes him and no one can work with him. And I know we've all tried. He isn't thorough in his work and he blames everyone else for his own shortcomings. He's not a nice person to know. So, I'm sorry and all that, but something needed to be said and, well, if his superiors deemed that he should no longer be allowed to continue in that particular position then that is not down to me.'