Eve of the Isle (43 page)

‘What was that, son?'

‘Dad, I think we've got to face it; this oven has had its chips.'

‘But we've had it for years, before you were born.'

‘Then it's about time it was retired. Look, let's give it ten minutes to cool down and then I'll have a closer inspection.'

Charlie sat down with his father in the small room kept for groceries. The two wooden chairs were just in view of the shop where either the tinkle of the bell or a customer's call could be heard.

Edwin Merritt removed his floury baker's hat and stood it on a shelf, then rubbed his eyes with his doughy fingers. Charlie knew his father's health had been suffering, what with the chill last year and the pressures of the business, but since he'd been suspended he'd seen firsthand that it was getting too much for the old boy. His mother who helped out in the shop was now spending more time with Pam and the baby and it didn't take a genius to see that neither of them were getting any younger.

‘Dad, have you ever thought about selling the business?' Charlie knew this question wouldn't be welcome. His dad would go on till he dropped unless the family took an interest. And as soon as he'd said it, Charlie knew he'd let himself in for a challenging answer.

‘Like to take it on, would you son?' Edwin said, laughing half-heartedly.

‘Dad, with the best will in the world I'm not—'

‘You're not a baker. Yes, I know. Nor is George, or Joe, to my regret. But lad, from what you've told your mother and me about this . . . this misunderstanding at the station, wouldn't it be worth your while to give it some thought?'

‘I don't intend to be suspended for ever, Dad.'

‘No of course not, the truth will out as they say. But
this business is a sound one. It just needs a bit of young blood. Folks always need their bellies filled and the markets won't ever stop selling. They need an early opening bakery that's cheap, close to their stalls and good quality. Merritt's is all three. Now, me and your mother have a bit tucked away for a rainy day. It's yours if you want it to plough back in the business. A new oven, do the shop and bakery up a bit and you're living above the job so it won't cost you nothing, not a penny. You could make this into a tasty little earner, set you up for life.'

‘But, Dad, I'm a copper. And although I'm single, one day I want to wed.'

‘Of course you will, son,' said his father with a gentle smile, leaning forward to pat his knee, ‘and what better place than here to sire any amount of offspring? There's your brothers' room, big enough to fit in four strapping sons, and the spare room, nice for a daughter or two. And then, well, Mother and me won't be around for ever. You could be very comfortable by the time you get to my age. And I forgot to mention the best thing of all: you'd be your own boss. Now there's nothing in life that could taste more sweet when you're young, as having things run the way you want them to run.' He raised a bushy grey eyebrow. ‘You'd never have to doff your cap to Moody or his like again.'

Charlie smiled at his father. ‘Dad, you know what to say to drive home a point.'

‘It's only common sense, son.'

Charlie sighed, ‘I s'pose so.'

Edwin rested back on his chair and nodded. ‘This business was made for you, Charlie. You know it inside out.'

Charlie laughed. ‘One thing you've forgotten, Dad, and that is I can't boil an egg for meself let alone make forty loaves a day and God knows how many pastries.'

Edwin grinned. ‘You'll learn it all in a month or two. After all, you'll have the best teacher.'

Charlie felt the heavy weight of family responsibility on his shoulders yet again. It grew heavier every time he faced reality. What had happened to his dreams of being a professional footballer or a Scotland Yard detective? Gazing into his father's hopeful, flour-flecked face, he recalled all the years he'd grown up here, watching the two people he loved most become slaves to the interminable hours, the heat and the monotony with never a minute to call their own even when the shop sign was turned to ‘Closed'. Someone always wanted bread. Even on Sundays there were deliveries. As he'd grown, stubbornly holding tight to his dreams, he'd tried to help as much as he could, pretending he didn't feel guilty. But now the inevitability of the situation was upon him. Charlie Merritt, youngest son of Dulcie and Edwin Merritt, unattached, in good health and, at this moment, temporarily unemployed, heading towards a crown indeed, but one made of dough.

‘Think it over, lad.' His father's voice brought him back to the present. ‘Might be what happened at the station is a blessing in disguise . . .' Charlie didn't hear
the rest as the shop door bell tinkled and a voice shouted out.

‘Charlie! Charlie! It's me Jimmy!'

As Charlie jumped to his feet and rushed to the shop, he felt a slight alarm. ‘Jimmy, what's up?' he asked as he saw the boy's flushed face.

‘I tried to get here earlier,' Jimmy gasped breathlessly. ‘But I had too many errands to run for me gaffer. I come 'cos Eve asked me to call by. She can't find old Joseph anywhere.'

Charlie sighed in relief. ‘Lord almighty, Jimmy, I thought you'd brought bad news again.'

Jimmy shrugged. ‘Well, it ain't good, is it? Not in this weather an' all.'

‘What do you mean when you say he's missing?' Charlie asked, grateful that it was not to do with Eve, though he was well aware of how much she thought of the old man.

‘Just gorn.' Jimmy lifted his arms. ‘Like a puff o' smoke. Left the cottage all tickety-boo and disappeared.'

‘But there must be a rational explanation.'

‘If you can find one, I reckon Eve'd like to know it. She's even gone up the hospital today to see if he's there.'

‘The hospital?' Charlie repeated anxiously. ‘She's not gone alone?'

‘Yeah, s'far as I know.'

‘Jimmy, I told her to stay with Peg.'

Once more the young lad shrugged. ‘Dunno nothin' about that, Charlie. Why?'

There was a moment when Charlie couldn't get his brain to work fast enough. Was he overreacting in worrying about Eve? Yet, something wasn't right.

Suddenly he was rolling down his sleeves and grabbing his jacket from the peg in the store cupboard. ‘Dad, I'll look at the oven later,' he said to his father. ‘Can I use the van?'

Edwin shrugged lightly. ‘We've got no more deliveries today, lad.'

‘Thanks, Dad.'

The older man frowned in puzzlement as he watched his son tear out of the bakery door followed closely by his young friend.

‘Who . . . who are you?' Eve stammered. ‘What do you want?'

The big figure moved closer. She could only see his eyes. His mouth was covered by a long woollen scarf and the cap was pulled down hard over his forehead. But she had a feeling, an instinct. Something about him was familiar.

Trembling with fear, Eve stepped back. She wanted to run, but he was blocking her path. Even if she got out into the yard, there was the high wall to climb over. The only escape was the front door.

‘Don't . . . don't come any closer or I'll scream.' Eve regretted the threat immediately. Why had she said that? His spine straightened as he pulled himself upright and she heard the growl of his laughter.

‘You want to know who I am?' The voice was rough and low. Somewhere in the back of her mind she knew who this man was.

‘I... I...' Eve felt the fear take over. Her arms and hands were tingling with it. She shuffled another step back until she reached the dresser.

‘Recognize me now, girl?' He began to unwind the scarf. Slowly he peeled it from his mouth. Tipping the cap upward, his face became clear.

Eve stared at the face she would never forget, the bearded features and narrowed eyes of the landlord of the Drunken Sailor, the face she had seen so many times in her nightmares since that night at Shadwell. ‘But you . . . you're supposed to be dead,' she croaked.

He laughed, a sharp coarse sound that was no laugh but a hiss of contempt. ‘I am dead. As far as the law goes, I was burned to a cinder. Unrecognizable I was, a lump of charred meat, a bag of burned bones.'

Eve grasped the dresser. ‘Who . . . who was it that they found?'

The big man shrugged, a leer on his thin lips. ‘Who cares? Some lascar I took in 'afore I set the fire.'

‘You
set
it?'

‘Went up in minutes, quicker than I planned. Should've took the whole place down by rights. Would have done too if some of them locals hadn't seen the blaze. I watched 'em, see. From the alley close by. Chucking their buckets of water and the fire engine comin'. I had ter stay and see if the job was done right.'

‘But . . . but why?'

‘Now the girl wants to know why!' He took a step forward, sliding the scarf into his hands. ‘Questions, questions, little miss nosey, ain't you? Well, I see no harm now in tellin' you, girl, as soon that pretty mouth of yours will be closed permanent and Jack the Lad here will be smoking his best pipe as he watches your funeral.'

Eve felt the strength drain from her legs. He was going to kill her. She watched, mesmerized, as he slid the scarf through his thick, dirty fingers. He was going to strangle her. She edged sideways, knocking a cup from the dresser as she did so. Her only hope was to get round the table. But he seemed to read her mind and laughed.

‘Don't waste your time, girl. I promise you it will be quick if you don't fight me.'

‘I . . . I've done nothing to you—' Eve began.

‘Nothin'! Nothin'?' he repeated fiercely, lowering his head and raising his shoulders as he came towards her. ‘Do you call blabbing yer mouth off nothing? Shouting out for Singh, insisting you wanted to go into that room. I gave you a chance, not once, but twice, to change yer mind. But oh no, just more questions . . . a woman on her own . . . enough to arouse suspicion . . . but a lippy chit of a girl . . . this Eve . . . Eve Kumar . . . darin' to set foot on me territory and bring the law after her... darin' to ruin me business that took me ten long years to get running and payin'... '

As Eve took another step, he fell on her. She struggled
against his weight, but his hands clutched her hair and pulled back her head. He stared into her eyes and growled, pinning her arms against him as she tried to lash out.

‘You done for me, girl, do you know that?' he roared, his body trembling with anger as he held her against him. ‘You ruined me and now you're gonna pay.'

‘But how . . . how could I ruin you?' Eve whispered hoarsely as he jerked back her head.

‘By nosin' around, that's how. By finding them lascars, that no one else knew or cared about. Dregs they was, deserved what they got, each and every one of 'em. I did decent folks a favour gettin' rid of 'em, selling 'em off cheap an' all to the rich and lusty...'

‘You
sold
them?' Eve gasped, but they were the last words she spoke as he pinned her with the weight of his body and they fell against the dresser. She struggled as the crash of china mingled with her own terrified screams. But the scarf was soon around her neck and growing tighter.

She felt her breath stop as she searched his eyes. Eyes that were wild and full of hate. Her fingers reached up to his face, tearing at his beard.

Choking, Eve gasped for breath. Then suddenly her fingers stroked the cold metal of the samovar. Could she reach it? She managed to lever herself another inch. Grasping the big, round base she hurled it, closing her eyes as she did so.

Charlie and Jimmy hurried from the hospital and jumped in the van. At least they had discovered from the nursing attendant that Eve had called earlier in the day in her search for Joseph. But since there was no record of the old man being there, she had left again.

‘Where's the fire?' Jimmy joked, bracing himself as the vehicle jumped forward. ‘What's the hurry?'

‘I can't explain it all now,' Charlie barked. He knew he was driving too fast, but he felt there wasn't a moment to lose. Why hadn't Eve listened to him? Ever since Singh had been found, he'd known something wasn't right. He had been certain that Singh was responsible for what happened to Eve at Shadwell. But why? This was the missing piece of the puzzle. If only he knew what Singh's motives were!

‘Watch out!' Jimmy's warning came too late as Charlie swerved to avoid a car. The bonnet of the van clipped its wing and caused Charlie to fight with the steering wheel. Before he knew what had happened, the van was mounting the pavement. He had a moment of terror when a lamppost whizzed past his right wing, but he managed to avert disaster. Dragging the wheel hard left Charlie heard the wheels skid noisily as the van span once and then twice in almost painful succession, missing the oncoming traffic by inches as he fought for control. From the corner of his eye he saw Jimmy cover his face and Charlie's own arm swung out automatically to protect him. He heard someone cry out, a car horn blare loudly and then, to his sickening dismay, the loud crunch of metal.