A Question Of Honour: A Harry Royle Thriller (17 page)

He bought a ticket to a station he'd not heard of and to which he had no intention of travelling to. He sat down and looked back down the tracks at the growing crowd of police uniforms that were congregating in the area he had just come from. Royle waited until the conductor had gone from the carriage and then moved further down the train. He managed to find an empty carriage and slipped in. He waited until they were between stations and the train slowed as it began moving up a steep gradient.Tucking his hat inside his suit jacket, Harry braced himself and opening the door leapt through, hitting the thick grassy hill with a bouncing thud. His body rolled until he found himself at the bottom of the hill, bruised and shaken between two large stones. He raised his head and thanked his luck for saving his skull one more time.

Standing up he felt shaken but in one piece. He had no idea where he was and needed to somehow still get to London. He managed to straighten his clothes and wash his hands in a stream. Having walked for an hour, he crested another hill and on the other side discovered a lorry park complete with cafe. He made his way down and having decided to avoid the cafe and the questions that would most certainly follow, walked over to the vehicles. There were six large Lorries, five of which had heavy loads, all fastened-in-place securely. And then he found a truck with a canvas covering the back. Once under the covering he found dozens of empty vegetable sacks and produce boxes. He fastened the back up again from inside and then made himself comfortable while he waited for the driver's return. He didn't have long to wait. All of a sudden the engine fired up and a deep throated vibration began to shake the vehicle. The journey seemed long and before it ended, Royle felt sick.

He felt the truck begin to slow and crawled to the back flap. Looking out he could only see signposts, whose names had been removed for the duration. He silently cursed the war. As soon as the vehicle slowed enough, Royle jumped down and then waited for the truck to move off. Once it was out of sight, he looked about him for a clue as to where he was. He had lost the briefcase back on the train and was concerned about a lack of luggage. He still had his coat and hat, so looked respectable enough.

Around a corner, he could see a post box outside a small shop. He hurried on hoping for a clue. He pushed his way into the shop, causing the little bell on the door to ring. There were two old ladies in the queue. He took the time as he waited to look around the shop. It was a village shop of the classic variety, selling about anything a body could need. Ahead he could see that part of the counter was divided into a post office area. He knew that the place should give a clue to his location, but he hadn't noticed any name. The paintwork outside had seen better days and hadn't been clear enough to read. He knew that he could hardly ask where he was, these old ladies, he thought, might think him a spy and have him arrested. He began to panic and noticed one of the lady's looking at him concerned, she addressed him.

"Are you all right lad?"

The accent was Yorkshire and he decided to take a big chance. Shaking his head he replied.

"Sorry I have a blinding headache, been travelling for days and I really don't know if I'm coming or going. One day Leeds the next York and then Whitby then off to Hull and back again."

He gave the three interested women a weak smile. He had had a brain-wave and hoped it wouldn't seem too weak. He spoke again.

"I got a lift in yesterday and now need to catch a train, could you tell me the direction of the station please, and when it's my turn could I please have a packet of Woodbines and a box of matches."

The old woman behind the counter touched her hair and smoothed down her apron.

"Well, now young man if it's Scarborough you've a wait, but on the other hand if it's York."

Harry seized on York.

"York bound, that's me."

She smiled and replied.

"Officially there's one leaving in about ten minutes, but it'll be more like twenty if it's a minute. Mind you, you'll have a job making it, as you've just missed the last bus for today."

Before Harry could reply, he noticed a police constable pass the shop window. Royle quickly looked around and could see no obvious escape route.

Chapter 10

The shop bell sounded and the uniformed man walked in. The lady behind the counter grinned at the newcomer.

"Rodney dear can you direct this nice young man to the station? He needs to catch the York train."

The policeman looked at Harry.

"Glad to Mrs Mason."

He glanced at Royle and remained thoughtfully silent for several seconds.

"Come on old lad, I think you need to come with me".

Harry felt unable to refuse. Once outside he spoke again to Royle.

"You're in luck, today I've got the wireless car, I'll run you to the station as it's a bit far and you'll never make the York train, even if it's late, as usual."

The constable was uninterested in Royle and far more interested in his lunch, which waited for him back at the station. The short journey would have been pleasant if Harry hadn't been keyed up and set to expect the worse.

Unlike Malton, which had been remote and cold, even for November, York was warmer and seemed very welcoming. Harry had been surprised at York station, in many ways it reminded him of London with its vaulted roof and bustling crowds. He saw plenty of uniforms, but most were just military men and women going about their regular business. He made his way out of the station and moved off along Station Road towards what he heard someone say was the Minster.

York was a bustling city and Royle didn't like being on show. The crowded pavement and constant traffic of cars and bicycles made him feel uneasy. He crossed the bridge over the river Ouse and decided to turn left and head further into the city. He had noticed gardens of some kind across the road but hadn't wanted to continue playing the tourist amid the sea of unknown faces. Not knowing who was looking at him, put the hunted man at an unfair disadvantage. Harry's face had been all too often on the front pages of newspapers and seeing the headlines linked to faces tends to stick in people's minds.

He walked down Lendel, past the GPO office. The shops he passed meant nothing to him and his mind raced for a bolt-hole in which to hide until things quietened down. He knew he had money, though not a huge amount, still it was enough. He also knew he couldn't chance big hotels. He needed a room, just for a day or two and then he would head for London and home. He walked on, as Lendel gave way to Coney Street and then he took a left onto Market Street, pushing his way through the people crowding on the road and pavement. So many different shop fronts and names. He moved slowly, without purpose and only spurred on by the need to escape, but to where? He found himself standing on Parliament Street and walking down the oddly named Pavement.

A sign on the left said The Shambles and he assumed that it would mean more market type crowds, he moved ahead onto Fossgate. Glancing up he noticed a pub sign, The Foss Arms. It was a tiny pub and he almost didn't go inside, as he thought it might be hard to leave in a hurry, but loud voices behind forced his hand and he pushed open the door. The public bar had enough people in it in which to blend in without being obviously out of place. Harry pushed his way to the bar and ordered a drink. The man behind the pumps pulled a pint with the practised ease and the public warmth of a man used to going through the motions. Harry paid and decided to sit in a corner away from the elbows at the bar. No one seemed to notice him and the talk had remained undisturbed by his quiet intrusion. Royle smoked and took his time with his pint of Yorkshire ale, which he found he liked. He decided that once again he would need a map, but now things were different and asking for a map, well people were more than a bit jumpy, with all the talk of German spies. Asking for a map might be like waving a red flag in front of a bull, not a good idea unless you like running and he was sick to his stomach of that.

He was deep in thought when an abrasive voice made him look up.

"You're new, what you here for? You not doing your bit Mr? No uniform, not injured are you? I'm Vera, by the way."

Harry Royle looked up at the young woman standing over him. She was blonde courtesy of a peroxide bottle and he judged her to be in her early to mid-twenties, not unattractive, but brassy and harsh with it. Too much make-up and too much life, too soon, was Harry's personal opinion, but she could be useful. He smiled at her and indicated that she could sit down.

"Not so loud, Vera. My name's Manley, Peter Manley and I'm here on the QT, you know, Hush Hush."

With this, he touched his nose in a kind of ‘need to know basis' and she giggled. She sat down and made a big thing of smoothing down her skirt and trying her best to flash some stocking-top in the process. Offering to buy her a drink, Harry walked over to the bar and used the time it took to be served and return, to think things through. The next hour was spent in lies and petty flattery. By the end of the hour, the girl was much impressed with the mysterious Mr Manley and Royle liked that a great deal. Vera Watkins was a girl in love with adventure and Hollywood. He told her that he was on the way to a place he was unable to name for certain reasons and that he needed a room for a few days. Vera told him that she knew of at least one room on Granville Terrace that was going begging and agreed to walk him over there, as her flat was nearby on Thomas Street.

Mrs Tanner was a no-nonsense kind of woman. She'd seen a lot of life and had lost a husband and two sons during the Great War. She stood on the top step eyeing up the newcomer. Harry had given the woman the same flannel he'd given to Vera and it appeared to work. She showed him to his room, just as soon as she'd got rid of the girl and closed the front door.

"Now young man, I'm not so daft as some I could mention and you'll get nowhere with secret work talk. I didn't come down with the last shower. That Vera, well she's a bit what you might call fast and fancy-free and a bit too free and not fast enough, if you get my meaning. Still your life is just that. Looking at you, you look tired and in need of a good feed. I'll not ask too many questions, but will be keeping my eye on you, my lad, so mind your P's and Q's. Leave the soft talk for them as wants it and pay me in advance and we'll get along famously."

Having not managed to get a word in edgeways, he swallowed his excuses, paid the woman her money and at teatime sat down to his first decent meal in months. Rene Tanner turned out to be a bit of an armchair philosopher and enjoyed putting the world to rights, particularly the BBC and what she called their la-di-da ways. Royle had practically jumped for joy when he discovered among his papers one covering his exemption from services, because of his flat feet and a weak chest. He had shouted a silent thank you to Johnny, Devon and the old Russian and had confessed all to Mrs Tanner during their meal together. Her eyes had lit up upon seeing the exemption certificate and her whole attitude had changed. They'd laughed about it once Harry had confessed to being embarrassed about his lack of manly attributes.

He left his happy landlady later that evening and made his way back to the Foss Arms in search of a decent pint and a place to think through his next move. He had worked out that he would ask Mrs Tanner for a map the next morning, as she now seemed happy with his story. This time, he decided to avoid the public bar and go straight to the smoke room. Inside it looked to Royle as though it hadn't changed in an age and he smiled as his eyes took in the dark wooden interior and old solid furnishing. The fire flickered and crackled and he leaned through and ordered a pint.

No sooner had he sat down at the small round table, than a pair of feminine hands covered his eyes. If it hadn't been for the odour of cheap scent, he would have reacted in a more violent manner. As it was, he simply pulled Vera's hands away sharply. The woman reacted badly and slumped into the opposite chair like a sulky teenager. Before he could say a word, the silence was interrupted by a large brutish man who had strode in from the public bar. The man obviously liked his own way, and he, like Vera had something of the teenager about him, despite being over thirty and standing a good two inches taller than Royle's six foot two. Harry noticed the man's dirty clothes and work boots and his hands as big as shovels. The newcomer looked as strong as he seemed slow. The big man took hold of Vera's shoulder and shoved her roughly.

"What you playing at V, you know you're my girl and don't you ever forget it, messing with trash like him. What are you doing that for?"

She aimed red-tipped fingernails at his cheek, but he ducked out of the way, so she hurled words instead. Words that were just as sharp and cutting.

"Charlie when will you be told? I'm not your girl. I'm no ones, girl. I'm just having a good time, same as anyone. You are so damned stubborn, that's what you are."

Harry, amused, sat back and watched.

"You've always been mine and you know it, always."

"Not since we were seven, seven years old, we were kids playing, Charlie, at Haxby Road school, not real, not ever real."

Royle eased himself slowly out of his chair, as he noticed the man moving around the table towards him in a lazy circle. Suddenly Charlie lunged at Harry, who jumped backwards and out of his reach. Beer glass and table hit the floor as the big man leapt at Royle, his two huge fists seeking a target, a target they would never be nimble enough to find. Each time the man lunged, Harry ducked or weaved and instead of exchanging a blow, he would strike with a little slap. And each slap further enraged the man mountain. By this time the public bar had lost its small crowd to the smoke room, as they lined the walls hungry for decent entertainment. The charade played out for another few minutes, until tiring of it, Royle snatched a jacket from the back of a chair and threw it over Charlie's head. With a swift push with his foot, Harry sent Charlie reeling over a corner table. Amid praise, laughter and friendly back pats, Harry pushed out through the street door and into the cold night air.