Mask of the Verdoy (14 page)

Sally made a show of looking up at the pub clock, then drained her glass.

‘I’d love to—but I better be going or I’ll be late for work.’ She stood and gave Jack a quick peck on the cheek. ‘Thanks again—you really are a sweetie.’

‘Nonsense! Anyone would do the same. I’ll see you tomorrow—say half-six? And we’ll have a drink.’

Sally paused long enough to allow Jack to take in her curves as she squeezed her way out from behind the table.

‘I’ll be here,’ she said, touching the end of his nose.

Then she was away, buttoning her coat and making for the exit, doing her best to avoid looking at Slater, who had finished up his drink and was now pushing his way through the crowd at the bar.

Once they had both left the pub a lone drinker slipped down from his stool, leaving behind him a half-finished plate of cockles.

***

Out in the street Slater caught up with Sally just as she was turning the corner.

‘Well? How did it go? Looked like you were getting on like a house on fire.’

‘I fed him the old fairy story like you said—he fell for it hook, line and sinker. I’m meeting him tomorrow for a drink—he’s lending me the dough.’

Slater slapped himself on the thigh.

‘Truth? No sprucing? The dirty old cove! You wait till I tell Qu—’ He checked himself. ‘You wait until I tell my business associate—he’s gonna be made up.’

Sally moved a little closer to the lamplight and took out a compact to check her face.

‘’Ere—what’s the matter with you?’ said Slater, noticing that Sally didn’t seem to be sharing his enthusiasm for the scheme.

‘Nothing …’

‘Come on—out with!’

‘Well, it’s just that he seems such a nice old fella. Charitable, ain’t it? Offering to lend me the money like that. I feel ’orrible, really, leading him on so—’

‘Oh cheese it! Won’t yer? It’s the same old story—the only reason he’s sniffing about is ’coz he thinks there’s the chance of a touch of the old slithery. Charitable, my arse! You just stick to the script, gel, and let me do the thinking—got it?’

Slater grabbed Sally’s arm and yanked her round to face him.

‘I said—
got it?
’

‘Alright!’

‘Good! Make sure it stays that way. And don’t be late for him tomorrow—that rent money will be a nice little touch on the side … although, thinking about it, it may be better to play the long game with ’im … Now, get your boat race sorted—there’s a couple of brummie businessmen due at the Whiskers tonight that Jerry wants you to be extra nice to. And for Christ’s sake, cheer up! You’ll be scaring the punters off looking like that—no one likes a sulky mare … Come on, I’ll walk you to the tram.’

As the couple’s footsteps faded into the distance, Benny Whelks materialised from his hiding place in the pub doorway. He took a moment to scribble a few lines in the margin of his folded newspaper and then returned to the warmth of the bar to finish his plate of cockles.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Replete after his excellent meal, Sir Pelham Devereux Saint Clair eased back into the soft leather of the Doric Club’s smoking room chair and closed his eyes to the demands of the world. It had been a hard few weeks—both physically demanding, and dangerous to a certain extent. But then, the stakes were so high, of course.

For a tantalising moment he allowed himself the briefest of fantasies … enjoying the fruits of his labours … the audacious plan realized without a hitch.
Enough! Not quite there yet, old man …

He opened his eyes and ran a finger across his pencil moustache—smiling to himself as he picked up the musky hint of his children’s nanny on his middle finger. Surprisingly good fuck for a catholic girl. But she’d have to go of course; after all, this evening had been the third time—couldn’t break his own rules. Invariably they started getting clingy after three. He’d telephone the agency in the morning.

The baronet now plucked a cigarette from a silver Asprey’s case—a recent birthday present from the Prince of Wales—and glanced over at Earl Daubeney, whose broadsheet headline was proclaiming a breakthrough in the recent bombing campaign. His smile broadened as he lit his cigarette.

One of the veterans of the club—shuffling past the smoking room on his way to a late supper—now stopped in the doorway as he caught sight of the same headline.

‘Damned fine state of affairs when we can’t even guarantee the safety of our women and children on the streets of the capital!’ bawled the old soldier, resting both hands on his walking stick. ‘This link to the Bolsheviks—think there’s anything in it, Saint Clair?’

‘Well, I haven’t seen all the evidence of course, Major … but it’s certainly plausible. As you well know, there’s nothing the Soviets would like better than to spread their communist poison across Europe; and what better way to go about it than by destabilising one of its major players? After all, I’m afraid we’re not exactly showing a united front to the world stage at the moment.’

‘I blame this ruddy tin pot National Government—shoddy way to run a country, if you ask me.’ Warming to the subject, the Major now took a step into the room. ‘Dragging their heels on this one, too … I’ve not read of any arrests—surely they must have some suspects in mind? And that letter to the press—damned disgrace! How would you deal with it, Saint Clair, if you were in power?’

‘Hard and decisive,’ replied Sir Pelham, without pause.

‘Smoke ’em out like vermin!’ added Earl Daubeney, from behind his newspaper.

‘You see, Major,’ continued Sir Pelham, ‘there are plenty out there—in the rookeries and slums of the East End—who know exactly who the individuals responsible are. Personally I’d immediately round up all of the dissidents, the anarchists, and the illegal aliens—with wide press coverage, of course, to advertise our fortitude and conviction—then use whatever force was necessary to extract the intelligence needed to track down the culprits. But, of course, the secret is to then eliminate the possibility of it happening again.’

‘And how would one do that?’

‘By healing the sick and ailing body of the nation that allowed this whole sorry situation to arise in the first place, Major. And I’m not just speaking of the bombings, of course, but of that tin pot government you mentioned … of the mass unemployment … the once fine body of British men marching for hundreds of miles in order to secure enough bread to fill their stomachs.’ Sir Pelham could already see the subtle spell of his words working its magic in the Major’s eyes; it was almost too easy.

‘
Sick and ailing
 … yes, you may have something there, Saint Clair! Of course, we lost so many of the good ones in France … But I will say this though—I read about that squad of your boys helping to pull the survivors from the wreckage of that tram bombing. Damn fine example, I’d say! They’re a credit to you, sir!’

Daubeney lowered his paper enough to raise an eyebrow at Sir Pelham.

The fascist leader straightened up and exhaled a plume of smoke through his nostrils, deciding to try out a little theme he’d been working on for the forthcoming BBF march.

‘Well, you see, the young mind and body craves direction; if it doesn’t get direction the corruption takes hold, like a piece of rotting fruit. Perversions—both carnal and philosophical—begin to spoil the young soul … But give the British youth a little discipline, a little training, a smart uniform to feel proud in, something to fight for, to believe in … Well, Major—you of all people should know what can then be achieved.’

‘Food for thought, Saint Clair, food for thought … Ah well—the stuffed quail awaits … Good evening, gentlemen!’

When the old soldier had left Lord Daubeney folded the newspaper onto his lap.

‘I see the tale about our valiant squad of Blackshirts has taken hold. Extraordinarily easy, really—Rainsworth runs it in
The Oracle
, the proles lap it up, and then the broadsheets follow like sheep.’

‘Oh, I wouldn’t say it was easy, Douglas … It’s just that Rainsworth makes it look so. And of course, one of the secrets of the New Politics is the control of the popular press.’

‘Hmm … Well, I for one would keep a close eye on Rainsworth. He has such a tight hold on the puppet strings of the masses that if you’re not careful you’ll have the popular press controlling the New Politics—putting the cart before the horse. Are you quite sure we can rely on his unquestioning support—even when the road gets a little bumpy?’

‘Quite sure. Leave him to me—I know his type. He may have an instinct for business, but he suffers from the parvenu’s weakness for status. Breeding, tradition, class—his kind are seduced by it. And he’ll have discovered by now that he can’t just buy into it.’

‘Well, he’s making a damned good stab at it, for all that. I was up on his estate in Yorkshire for a shoot a few months ago—the ruddy place puts Chantry Hall to shame. Lord knows how much he’s poured into it.’

‘He’s a powerful ally, Douglas—true to the cause. And, of course, it doesn’t hurt that he has three precious little daughters that he’s so very desperate to marry off into the right sort of family … and that’s something that his gauche American wife and all those ruddy-faced pig farmers that he surrounds himself with couldn’t possibly help him achieve.’

Spotting a new arrival in the smoking room, Daubeney lowered his voice.

‘Talking of parvenus—here’s our tame little Home Secretary.’ He disappeared again behind his newspaper, flicking the corner down when Box-Hartnell was standing before them. ‘Ah! Home Secretary—I’ve just been reading about you.’

‘Sir Pelham.’ Box-Hartnell nodded at Saint Clair who indicated the empty seat besides the Earl. ‘Indeed, Lord Daubeney—reading about me where exactly?’ He noticed the headline on the front page of Daubeney’s paper. ‘Ah, yes. I’m afraid Rainsworth may have laid it on a little too thickly this time. The mention of the government source in
The Oracle
rather landed me in hot water with the PM.’

‘And what of it?’ said Daubeney, who regarded the Home Secretary as bourgeois, and therefore game for provocation. ‘I’d say that little farm labourer’s bastard has just about run his course, wouldn’t you? It’s time that he packed his toys back up in the nursery cupboard and let the adults take over.’

Box-Hartnell glanced around the room nervously.

‘What are you getting so jumpy about, man? This is the Doric—you’d be hard-pushed to find any Labourites in here.’

‘Come now, Douglas, all in good time,’ said Sir Pelham. He regarded Daubeney’s frightening, half-paralysed countenance and not for the first time vowed to make sure the Earl never took centre stage in any party matters—a crucial force for the cause, no doubt, but a blunt instrument; and a face that would give the nation’s children nightmares. But, of course, like everyone close to the cause—he had his uses. ‘We all know Ambrose is doing sterling work. After all, it can’t be easy working in such a coalition … A strange beast—neither fish nor fowl, really. So—what news Ambrose? Anything further on the Russian seen on the tram?’

The Home Secretary continued to squirm a little in his seat.

‘Well, Sir Pelham … Well, as I say—Rainsworth’s article has placed me in rather a difficult situation. You see, I had assumed that the information I was sharing with you was—’

‘Oh, come now, Ambrose! I’ll admit, I may have over-egged it a bit with that quote, but it was just too good an opportunity to miss. From now on I promise that I’ll run anything I might use past you first. You have my word—as an officer and a gentleman … Now, what about this Russian on the tram, eh?’

‘Well … actually there’s nothing just yet, I’m afraid. Special Branch and the SIS are following a few leads … but, to be frank with you, it’s not looking promising.’

‘Let’s hope there’s a breakthrough soon, eh? I’m afraid as Home Secretary you’re rather in the spotlight with this one.’ Sir Pelham now leant forward in his chair and lowered his voice. ‘And what about that other little matter? All good news, I hope?’

‘Well—not all good, no … Our fly is still in the ointment.’

‘Portas?’

Box-Hartnell shuffled to the edge of his seat.

‘Yes, Max Portas. I’m afraid we can no longer dismiss him as a lone voice. His campaign of attack on the BBF—and on you in particular, Sir Pelham—has started to gain some momentum. There’s a good section of the house who listen to his claims that you represent an assault on democracy with some sympathy.’

‘Yes—the same lily-livered Liberals and Soviet sympathisers who got us into this mess in the first place!’ said Daubeney, thrusting his paper down onto his lap. ‘My God! To think that such people have been given real power. We should look to the Golden Age of the Empire—now that was real government. When I was Viceroy … well, let’s just say such minor obstacles as Max Portas would have been eliminated immediately.’

‘Yes, but we’re not in India, are we Lord Daubeney?’ said Box-Hartnell, looking nervously to the door as a waiter passed with a tray. ‘Here, such matters must be handled … 
carefully
.’

‘I agree we must act subtly, Home Secretary,’ said Sir Pelham. ‘But act we must—and quickly. After all, fate has laid a great burden at our feet … such destiny is not for the faint-hearted.’

‘Trust me, I have something arranged. Within a week or so Portas should bow out of the fight of his own volition. And I wouldn’t be surprised if he resigns his seat as well.’

Daubeney snorted. ‘Really? Well, let’s just hope your man’s up to the job, Box-Hartnell—we can ill afford a stupid mistake at such a late stage of the game.’

‘One might well say the same to you, Lord Daubeney!’

The Earl shot forward in his seat, his palsied face becoming livid.

‘What the devil do you mean by that, sir?’

The Home Secretary jerked back reflexively. He took a moment to compose himself and continued in a whisper.

‘I have it on good authority that you’ve been letting your wild dogs off the leash again. That matter with another little sodomite, in Bell Street? If that’s your idea of eliminating the obstacles I think we can probably do without it. One of the witnesses even mentioned that the perpetrator was wearing a
mask!
’

Box-Hartnell looked to Saint Clair and was pleased to see that this piece of information had had the desired effect on the Fascist leader.

‘Is this true, Douglas? I thought this matter was dead and buried? Dear God, what a mess!’ Sir Pelham stood and paced for a while behind his chair. ‘Whatever was Freddie thinking of?’

Daubeney silently fumed in his seat, glaring at Box-Hartnell.

‘And has the—
missing item
—now been retrieved?’ asked Sir Pelham, returning to his chair.

Box-Hartnell turned to the Earl. ‘Well, Lord Daubeney?’

‘You know it hasn’t,
dammit!
’ He turned to address Sir Pelham alone. ‘… But I have my best man on it, Pelham; it shan’t be missing for long.’

It was Box-Hartnell’s turn to snort.

‘The Italian? A sadistic thug. Do you really think you can trust such a man to do the job discreetly?’

‘He’s a professional,’ said Daubeney, refusing to look at Box-Hartnell. ‘And one who comes with a personal recommendation from Signor Mussolini.’

‘That’s as may be—but this time he has left a mess behind him that may prove far more difficult to make go away than on previous occasions.’

‘How so?’ said Sir Pelham. ‘Surely our Home Secretary still enjoys his close relationship with Scotland Yard?’

‘Indeed I do; but as for our new Metropolitan Police Commissioner, General Swales …’

‘A problem?’

‘I’m not sure yet. A dark horse … came straight from the SIS—and you know how shadowy those characters can be. I’ve only met him a couple of times but already it’s clear that he’s not as compliant as his predecessor. And as he was recommended by His Majesty … well, he’ll not be easily dismissed.’

‘Hmm … I see. Well, it would appear that you have two flies in the ointment to attend to gentlemen.’

‘There may be another.’

‘Really?’ said Sir Pelham, grinding his cigarette into the ashtray. ‘You know, you’re beginning to dampen my good spirits, Ambrose.’

‘As you know, Swales has been briefed—’

‘Briefed by whom?’ interrupted Daubeney. ‘You’re the Home Secretary, for God’s sake! Shouldn’t you be doing the briefing?’

‘Please, Douglas …’ said Sir Pelham, beginning to tire of Daubeney’s bluster.

‘As I said, General Swales has been briefed—by His Majesty—with investigating claims of police corruption within the Met.’

The Earl gave a derogatory laugh.

Box-Hartnell took a deep breath, polished his glasses and continued.

‘Now, one would imagine that the bombings will keep him fully occupied for the time being. But the thing is, he’s brought with him a few of his SIS johnnies—dashed clever really, as they’re obviously not susceptible to the usual inducements.’

Sir Pelham glanced at Daubeney, who now sat forward and tempered his tone a little.

‘Everyone has his price, Box-Hartnell … Who are these individuals? Maybe my men can offer some assistance.’

‘Well, that’s the extraordinary thing. The one that I have most concerns about—as should you, Lord Daubeney, seeing that he’s been tasked with investigating the death of a certain male prostitute, in his own home—is George Harley.’