Coronation Wives (47 page)

‘Can’t you go faster, Mother?’

‘No. Edward didn’t. I’m doing it like he did.’

‘Who’s Edward, for goodness’ sake?’

‘I know this,’ said Ivan excitedly. ‘Edward G. Robinson. He was playing a G man and was following some gangster – James Cagney, I think. If you don’t want to be seen, you keep well back and try not to have your tyres squeal as you take a corner.’

Janet eyed Ivan Bronowsky in a new light. ‘Oh!’

Charlotte resisted a smug comment, but sighed with satisfaction. Thanks to Edward G. rules for following suspected criminals were very specific. And that was how she regarded these men. They were criminals, exploiting government money and unfortunate people.

There was little traffic – a few bicycles, a horse-drawn baker’s van returning late to the depot.

Charlotte kept the car and its occupants in sight, but left about twenty-five yards or more between them.

Their brake lights came on and an orange indicator shot out of the side of the car between the doors. They were turning
right at a sharp incline on City Road where it joined Gloucester Road.

Janet sucked in her breath. ‘Slow down. They’ll see you.’

Charlotte pressed her foot lightly on the brake as a thought suddenly crossed her mind. If they could see her then she could see them and she badly wanted to see them, especially the man who had shielded his face with his hat brim.

There was only one thing for it. With a determined jab, she transferred her foot to the accelerator pedal, gripped the steering wheel tightly and shot forward.

‘Mother!’

There was no stopping Charlotte once she’d made a decision, and that smell was still with her. The thought of those men having to live as they were made her more determined than ever.

‘Brace yourselves!’ she shouted.

Metal crunched against metal as the chrome bumper on the front of the Rover met the rear bumper of the car they’d been following.

‘Mother! You’ve hit him!’

‘Oh dear,’ said Charlotte with obvious satisfaction. ‘Stay put,’ she ordered. ‘Let me handle this.’

Janet and Ivan exchanged shocked looks. What was she up to?

A draught of cold air entered the car as she got out and headed for the occupants of the other vehicle who had got out of their car with a huge flourish of flapping coats and big arms.

They heard her say, ‘I can’t apologize enough.’

Ivan shook his head thoughtfully. ‘Are you sure your mother was never a general?’

Janet didn’t answer. Her eyes were narrowed and she leaned forward, peering through the windscreen. ‘There’s someone in the back seat of that car,’ she said. ‘Can you see?’

‘Ah! They do not want to be seen,’ he said as whoever was in the back ducked down out of sight.

‘Goodness, but that man looks angry,’ said Janet switching her attention back to her mother and the two men from the car in front. Things looked bad. The driver, a sallow-looking man with a ginger moustache and pale blue eyes rushed forward, grabbed Charlotte’s shoulder and tipped his hat back from his face.

‘You stupid cow! Why the bloody hell don’t you look where you’re going?’

Ivan stepped out of the car, but kept the open door between them and him.

Janet tried to push the door open. Ivan stood firmly against it. ‘Let me out,’ she hissed.

‘No. Be quiet. I will take care of things if they get angry.’

Charlotte threw Ivan a warning look and he understood immediately.
Don’t speak.
If he said much more his accent would become more noticeable which could very likely betray their mission.

‘Leave the lady alone.’ At O’Hara’s insistence, the man with the ginger moustache let her go.

Charlotte wondered at his accent. He spoke with authority, but in a smooth voice graced with the lazy intonations of somewhere west of Kerry – or was it further west? Could it be America? That was how he sounded to Charlotte’s ears.

‘Thank you,’ she said, beaming as she looked straight into his face and recognizing him as the man in the double-breasted suit who had watched from the shadows on the building site as two men fought upon the pavement.

His smile was wide and did not diminish when he spoke, but stayed fixed as though slapped on with a brush. ‘No problem at all, ma’am. Glad to help out so I am.’

Phoney, she thought. That accent is phoney, like something
picked up from a Hollywood film.

‘I’m so terribly sorry for hitting you.’ She adopted a top-drawer voice, the sort she’d heard women at social gatherings use when they were trying to make an impression. ‘I have so much on my mind at the moment …’

O’Hara came close and stood over her, big teeth showing through his smile, his pale blue eyes reminding her of the sort of jellyfish that looked innocent but packed a nasty sting.

To avoid any deep questions, she had to come up with a very good excuse for running into him. With this in mind she glanced at Janet’s tense face behind the windscreen. She looked pale and slightly sickly beneath the orange glow of a sodium streetlight. An idea occurred to her.

‘My daughter’s in labour,’ she blurted. ‘And this is my son-in-law.’ She indicated Ivan. ‘We have to get her to the hospital … unless …’ She looked quickly from one man to the other. ‘Unless one of you gentlemen happens to be a doctor! If you could help …’

Like all men faced with the prospect of dealing with an impending birth, they made their excuses and reached for the car doors.

‘But what about exchanging names and addresses?’ she cried out with a hint of hysteria. ‘I am quite willing to pay for the damage.’

‘We’ll take care of the damage ourselves,’ said O’Hara, pulling his hat down over his eyes as he reached for the car door.

‘If you’re sure …’ Charlotte smiled to herself as they drove off. With a smug expression she got back behind the wheel of her car and Ivan returned to the back seat.

Janet was red-faced. ‘Well, that was quite a performance!’

Charlotte slipped the car into gear. ‘Did you get the registration number?’

‘Yes. I did!’

Charlotte eyed her daughter with amusement. ‘You’re blushing.’

‘Is that surprising? I’m pregnant according to you. What would have happened if I’d got out of the car and they’d seen that I wasn’t?’

‘You didn’t get out – and you didn’t need to.’

Ivan made no comment.

Charlotte drove slowly along the Gloucester Road keeping a distance she regarded as safe between her and the car they’d just smashed into. Height, weight, dress and facial details of the two men in the car were safely stored in her mind. Whoever was in the back had kept a low profile, but what she did have might just be enough. Tomorrow she would get the particulars typed out and on Brookman’s desk. She would also get the registration number of the car checked by the Chief Superintendent himself. She and David had met him socially. Armed with these details they could at least keep an eye on the situation in the short term and hopefully, eventually, apprehend the people responsible.

An arm came out of the driver’s window of O’Hara’s car to indicate they were turning right. She assumed the indicator had jammed.

Charlotte eased to the left and stopped at a traffic light. There was time to scrutinize, but not by me, thought Charlotte. They’ve seen my face too much already. ‘Tell me what they’re doing,’ she said.

‘They’re turning into a house. It looks like something from
International Architecture
,’ said Janet.

The house was in Ashley Place and had big gates and a gravel drive. Janet twisted round in her seat as they drove slowly past. Ivan did the same. Someone stalled in front of them bringing them to a standstill long enough to see O’Hara’s
car come to a halt in front of the house. The driver got out and held the car door open for O’Hara who in turn held the rear door open for the unseen passenger to get out.

Janet sucked in her breath. ‘Well, would you believe it?’

As Charlotte pulled away Janet almost spun in her seat, then slumped back looking absolutely amazed.

Charlotte frowned with impatience. ‘Would I believe what?’

‘I don’t believe it,’ Janet said, her gaze fixed on the bus that had pulled out in front of them.

Charlotte tried to turn round. ‘For goodness’ sake tell me. What is it? What did they do?’

‘I will tell you,’ said Ivan. ‘The two men got out of the car, then
Polly
, your vacuum lady. She was dressed very nicely, as if they were going or had been somewhere very special.’

Janet maintained her silence. Charlotte frowned and took her eyes off the road long enough to see her daughter’s shocked expression.

‘Janet? Is this true?’

‘Am I right in saying that Polly gave up her job with Edna?’

‘Are you telling me …’

‘Polly has a benefactor who has a very nice house and a car with a dented bumper.’

Polly gritted her teeth. It was no coincidence that Charlotte’s car had hit Mickey’s up the backside. A little gang of nosey parkers were following her, taking an interest in her business. Bloody cheek! Typical! Mrs Charlotte Hennessey-White – Protector of Public Morals. Well she wasn’t having any of it. As if she didn’t have enough trouble convincing Billy about her relationship with Mickey, she didn’t want any unnecessary tales getting back to him.

She visited Billy the following day and had to make it appear
as if everything was the same. She adopted her most alluring voice, all sweet and sugary like Marilyn Monroe, who’d now replaced Jean Harlow as her role model.

He seemed concerned about her new career. Adopting her breeziest voice, she did her best to soothe his fears. ‘It’s a proper job, Billy. Help pay the bills, won’t it?’

Polly waited for Billy’s reaction, aware that the prison officers surrounding them were watching him almost as closely as she was. He looked unsure.

‘I’m going to be working as a receptionist.’ She made it sound as convincing as possible. Just because Meg didn’t believe her didn’t mean that Billy wouldn’t. It entered her head to compare it with the time when she’d worked for Charlotte’s husband, but thought better of it. Now was not a good time to remind Billy that she’d been less than pure when they’d met. She had egged David on because of a perceived wrong on Charlotte’s part and although she’d never admitted to feeling guilty, she certainly felt it at times.

‘Christmas is coming, Billy. Imagine our Carol with no presents, poor kid. Right down in the dumps she’d be. I don’t get that much with the cleaning and stuff.’ She sat poker straight and adopted an officious expression that she’d often seen on Charlotte’s face, and everyone believed Charlotte, didn’t they? She didn’t tell him that she’d already given up helping out with Edna’s mother. She still did a bit for Charlotte of course, but that was a social event more than anything else. After a quick whiz round with the vacuum, it was tea and biscuits around the kitchen table.

Billy rested his chin on his fists and looked glum. ‘I can tell you Father Christmas won’t be visiting this joint, that’s for sure. S’pose I could make a few decorations, but the only paper I got for paper chains is ’anging over the crapper.’ Although he grinned, there was a melancholy look in his eyes.

Keep him cheerful, thought Polly, and she laughed although she didn’t think it was that funny.

Determinedly, she went on, sticking to the details although they were far from the truth. ‘I’ll be working in his office handling the paperwork and the phone calls. He’s got a lot of business deals going so he reckons.’

‘Course ’e ’ave.’ Billy smiled as though he really trusted Mickey O’Hara, the man he refused to squeal on. Polly sensed he didn’t entirely believe her, but preferred to play innocent.

‘But if you don’t want me to work for ’im …’

‘Don’t be silly. You do what you ’ave to.’

Thank God for that! She smiled brightly. Prison visiting was not a pleasant event, but things hadn’t gone too badly. Most of her success she put down to the fact that she had made the effort to plaster on the lipstick and look good for her husband. The black suit she was wearing had a white trim around the collar and cuffs. The outfit had originally been plain and she’d added the trim herself after seeing a picture of one in a magazine – Chanel it had said, which she pronounced ‘Channel’.

‘Well,’ she said, her breasts rising as she sighed heavily, ‘that’s it. Either O’Hara takes care of me and Carol or you takes care of ’im – if you know what I mean.’ She spoke in a low voice – no sense in letting the blokes in blue know anything.

Billy seemed OK about things although it occurred to Polly that he didn’t really have much choice being in clink. But she countered the discomfort easily enough. He should have kept working with Colin. Or he should have got a proper job. Or kept his nose clean so they could have emigrated to Australia. Billy had let her down and she was having trouble forgiving him. The list of things he should have done and hadn’t seemed to get longer with the passing of the years.

That night Meg was taking Carol and her friend Sean to the
early matinee at the Broadway and had promised them a fish and chip supper on the way home. Polly, back from her prison visit, still with her make-up intact, but her costume hanging up behind the bedroom door, had changed into a black skirt and white jumper, which Meg had bought for her from a jumble sale at the Ruskin Hall in Brislington the Saturday before. She was curled up in an armchair with a tattered copy of
Woman’s Realm
and two more magazines lay against the old brass fender that had come with them from York Street. Meg’s friend, Bridget, had purloined the magazines on separate visits to the doctor’s surgery; she was a regular there now it was free. Eyes were next on the list. Both Meg and Polly pitied the optician who had to deal with her. She always pretended to be deaf if they tried to give her more information or asked her for money.

‘So how was Billy?’ asked Meg.

‘Fine.’

‘Is that all?’

‘Well, he ain’t out dancing and prancing, that’s for sure!’

Meg pursed her lips and fixed her fists on her hips. ‘Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit.’

Polly raised her eyes from the magazine. ‘Where did you get that from – a Christmas cracker?’