The Street (24 page)

‘How much did you get for them, my dear?’ It seemed an idle question as though he was unconcerned as to her answer.

‘Six pounds,’ Sarah whispered, then jumped at his bark of outrage.

‘They are worth considerably more,’ he advised, an aggressive glitter in his eyes. Gilbert continued looking at her, savouring her fright. She wasn’t as pretty and curvaceous as Connie but she had the sort of adolescent appearance that oddly appealed to him. In fact that eager, ingratiating smile she had given him had stirred a movement in his trousers. She looked a lot younger than Connie and was still a virgin, he guessed. It was a long time since two females had simultaneously pandered to his needs. The fact that they were sisters added an extra little frisson to the fancy. The buoyancy at his groin increased and his tongue snaked over his lips.

At that well-known alert Connie immediately shot a look at his crotch. Her relief on glimpsing his erection was short-lived. Her satisfied expression began to transform to one of disbelief as she realised she was not the one arousing him. Her sister was oblivious to the fact she was giving him the horn and was avoiding his eye by staring at the cushions on the sofa, a finger twiddling at a silky fringe. Connie’s eyes darted back to Mr Lucas, her mouth twisted in disgust.

He coolly returned her look, his tongue again poking between his lips. ‘You’ll need to work hard and be extremely obliging to me, my dear, if I’m to wait longer for my property. I’ve been more tolerant than you deserve as it is. I’d sooner not get the authorities involved but . . .’ He sighed. ‘It’s for you . . . and Sarah . . . to persuade me that there is another way for this all to end.’

‘Yeah, I’ll decide what happens alright,’ Connie snarled. ‘We’ll get your fuckin’ stuff back and then you can take a runnin’ jump, you pervert.’ She grabbed one of Sarah’s hands and started to yank her backwards towards the door.

Sarah stumbled over her own feet, staring up at her sister as though she’d taken leave of her senses. One minute they were to be nice as pie to the old bloke; next Connie was giving him lip. Having conquered her surprise, Sarah decided that giving him lip was much better. ‘Yeah . . . take a runnin’ jump, pervert,’ she echoed and sent him a dirty look over a shoulder.

Having belted down the stairs, giggling hysterically, they were outside the building standing on the pavement in a matter of minutes.

‘What were all that about?’

‘Nothing,’ Connie snapped grumpily. Her amusement had withered with the first blast of cool air on her flushed face. It was obvious that the doorman was not coming after them, and slowly the enormity of what she’d sacrificed filled her mind. She’d reacted impetuously on seeing Mr Lucas leering at Sarah. Now she was calmer, more logical, she knew she should have played the old lecher at his own game. She should have strung him along a bit with sly hints that she’d eventually supply what he wanted while she had from him all she wanted.

It hadn’t been purely to protect Sarah that she’d turned on him. Jealousy and indignation had played their part. The idea that skinny Sarah, who was nowhere near as pretty as she was, or as experienced as she was, might steal a man from under her nose made Connie seethe. Sarah was too clueless about men and sex to have cottoned on to Mr Lucas’s intentions, but if she had known the old goat fancied her, what would she have decided to do? Sarah wasn’t clueless about the offer of nice things.

‘So . . . are we going to bother getting the figures back off Jeannie Robertson now you’ve told him to sling his hook?’

Sarah’s idle question irritated Connie even though she’d been pondering on the same thing. ‘Dunno . . .’Course we are you dunce,’ she spat nastily. ‘If we don’t get his china he’ll get the coppers.’

‘Don’t get snappy with me ’cos you’ve given him lip and regret it . . .’

Connie swiped a hand across Sarah’s face. ‘You’ve had that comin’ off me for ages,’ she bawled over Sarah’s surprised howl. ‘You’ve ruined everything, you stupid sod.’ She stalked off, shouting over a shoulder, ‘I’m going down Finsbury Park to stay with Lou. If you know what’s good for you get that address off Alice tomorrow or I’ll send Lou round looking for you.’

‘How’s Lucy, Mrs K?’

Tilly turned to see Sarah approaching the top of the stairs. ‘Better than we hoped,’ she answered. ‘Doctor came and said he thinks it’s tonsillitis. Got some proper jollop for her now. She’s poorly but at least it ain’t as bad as we thought.’

‘That’s good.’

Tilly was on the landing by the sink, filling the bowl to wash up. Now she gave Sarah a longer sideways look for she’d noticed her face was marked.

‘Your Louisa been at you?’ Tilly was curious; she hadn’t seen Louisa in the neighbourhood for some while.

Sarah gave a little nod. ‘Alice back from work, is she?’

‘Yeah . . . she’s done an early so she can help me out keeping an eye on Lucy this afternoon.’

‘I’ll carry on up then,’ Sarah mumbled. ‘I just want a few words with her.’

‘Would you come with me, Al?’ Sarah’s eyes were on the address that Alice had scribbled down on a scrap of paper.

Alice frowned. ‘What for?’

‘You know her better than me. When we saw Jeannie in the market that day she seemed quite friendly with you.’

‘Well . . . I don’t . . .’

‘Please,’ Sarah wheedled.

Tilly came into the room carrying the bowl and immediately the conversation ceased between Alice and Sarah. ‘Something goin’ on, is it, that you don’t want me to know about?’ Tilly put the bowl down on the table.

‘What makes you say that?’ Alice asked and slid a look at Sarah.

‘Your two sisters are hanging about downstairs, Sarah. I just caught a glimpse of Louisa in the doorway. Size of her, she’s hard to miss. Connie’s all done up to the nines, so I take it she’s still doing alright for herself with that rich bloke.’

Sarah shot an apprehensive look at Alice.

‘Is it alright if I pop out for a while, Mum?’

‘Yeah . . . go on. I’ll stop in with Lucy till Beth gets home from her shift to look after her.’ She plonked the kettle on the hob then gave Alice a steady look. ‘You can tell Louisa from me if she’s got a beef with any of the Keivers she can come ‘n’ see me and I’ll help her sort it out.’

‘Ain’t me she’s after, Mum,’ Alice reassured her mother. She didn’t want Tilly coming downstairs too and sticking her oar in. A full-blown ruckus would only make things worse. ‘It’s Sarah she’s got a beef with.’

‘I see,’ Tilly said. ‘But I take it you wanted Jeannie’s address ’cos she’s somehow involved in this ‘n’ all.’

‘No she’s not,’ Alice said quickly. ‘Not really . . . it’s just that . . .’ Alice glanced at Sarah. She didn’t want her mother falling out with Jeannie over this. A conspiracy of silence bound them together as allies if not real friends. It was too precious a relationship to risk destroying it for any of the Whittons.

‘Jeannie bought some stuff off Sarah. Turns out it weren’t Sarah’s to sell so she’s got to ask Jeannie for it back.’

Tilly nodded slowly, her eyes shrewd and narrowed. ‘Well . . . better get off and get it sorted out quick as you can then.’

‘Why d’you tell her so much?’ Sarah grumbled as they hurtled down the stairs.

‘’Cos she’s not daft, that’s why,’ Alice returned. ‘You’re the daft one,’ she shot irritably at Sarah, making her friend wince. ‘I’ll come with you today to see Jeannie but if it don’t work out I ain’t getting involved again.’

‘You’d better start again at the beginning and tell me all about it.’

Jeannie Robertson had already been bombarded with Sarah’s garbled version of the reason she and Alice had turned up, uninvited, on the doorstep of Johnny Blake’s Belgravia townhouse. Jeannie had heard visitors arrive and gone into the hall to investigate. She had been inquisitive as she rarely had callers yet had detected familiar North London accents, intermingling with Noreen’s Irish burr. Jeannie thought it daft to stand on ceremony and wait while a servant did what she was perfectly capable of doing for herself. But when Johnny was about she curbed her impatience and let the housekeeper make announcements. They had standards, he’d said, and should stick to ’em now they’d come up in the world.

Once Jeannie had sent Noreen away, and while still in the tiled hallway, she’d got the gist of the fact that the porcelain figures hadn’t been Sarah’s to sell but to pawn as they belonged to her sister’s sugar daddy. She’d also got the full force of Sarah’s grovelling apology for troubling her about it all. Jeannie had been feeling at a loose end and was therefore quite disposed to being diverted by an intriguing tale about a randy old goat called Mr Lucas and how all the Whitton sisters and Alice had become involved in stealing statues and settling sibling rivalry. She invited the two young women to go into her front sitting room so they could talk some more.

‘We’re really sorry to be here bothering you, Mrs Robertson . . . especially as . . . that is, we didn’t know about . . .’ Alice glanced at Jeannie’s son, Peter. He was sitting in an armchair in a corner of the room, a blanket about his hunched shoulders, staring at the wall. As Alice watched him he began to rock back and forth on the seat, his hands gripped tightly in his lap.

‘We shouldn’t have come,’ Alice whispered, turning to give Sarah a fierce frown full of blame.

‘Don’t worry, he can’t hear,’ Jeannie said quietly. ‘Even if he could he wouldn’t understand a word we’re on about. He mostly stays in a world of his own. It’s shell-shock; severe case, the doctor said.’

‘Sorry,’ Alice murmured. ‘We’re so sorry to trouble you like this.’

‘Nice to have company for a change,’ Jeannie reassured briskly. ‘Don’t get out as much as I used to. Before Peter came back home I used to go to Oxford Street quite regular and help out in one of Johnny’s clubs. But I’ve not been in weeks.’ Jeannie cast on her sick son a long, melancholy look.

Peter Robertson didn’t look now anything like the young hound he had been a few years ago when he’d gone on a rampage with his brother smashing windows in the vicinity of The Bunk. The two Robertson boys had been known as a couple of thugs it was best to avoid. Now Peter looked frail and vulnerable; a prime target for the sort of bully he’d once been. Alice doubted if he was even nineteen years old.

Immediately Alice’s mind was crammed with fears for her dad and Geoff. The horrors they were facing every day – which Peter would surely describe to her, if only he was able – made the reason for their visit seem ridiculously petty. Alice realised she felt ashamed to be there, taking up Jeannie’s time, to talk about something as stupid as china shepherds that had been filched from an old roué.

Already she wanted to go home. She wanted to lie down on the bed next to Lucy and give her a cuddle. She wanted to write letters to Geoff and to her dad. She wanted to tell them both she loved and missed them dreadfully. She wanted to warn them . . . beg them . . . to keep safe from deafening shells, for she’d seen now with her own eyes what dreadful damage they could do.

‘Sit down, the two of you, and I’ll get us some tea,’ Jeannie said. On the way to the door she crouched by Peter to murmur a few words and tuck the rug closer about his gaunt frame. He seemed unaware of her and when he shrank back it was not due to her touch but to escape whatever torments were behind his closed eyelids.

Jeannie rang for service and quickly gave Noreen an order for tea.

‘Is your other son well?’ Alice politely asked.

‘I pray he is,’ Jeannie replied as she came and sat down. ‘He’s serving in the navy. He’s been reported missing. Now start again at the beginning,’ she added swiftly as though she couldn’t bear to be drawn into discussing the uncertain fate of her other son.

After a stuttered few words from Sarah, which made little sense, Alice came to her rescue. She could tell that her friend was now tongue-tied. Sarah’s eyes were being drawn, involuntarily, every few seconds to Peter as he mumbled and swayed, plucking at the blanket covering him.

Quickly Alice blurted out all she knew, sending glances Sarah’s way every so often as though to check with her that she was giving a reasonable account of the facts. Sarah simply nodded at her at intervals while chewing agitatedly at her lower lip.

‘I bought them fair and square.’ Jeannie’s abrupt response came as soon as Alice concluded the tale and fell silent.

‘Yes . . . we know . . .’ Alice blurted. ‘We know none of it’s your fault.’

‘I’ll give you your money back, promise I will,’ Sarah whispered. ‘So sorry to trouble you with it, Mrs Robertson. But this Mr Lucas . . .’ She frowned at her fingers fidgeting in her lap. ‘He’s threatened to get the police involved if Connie don’t return the ornaments. I reckon he’s finished with her whether he gets them back or not. But if we all get roped in I’m gonna lose me factory job and won’t get took on anywhere when it gets round I’ve been to court for thieving. Might even get sent to prison.’ Sarah snorted back a sob.

‘I don’t reckon he’ll want it to go that far,’ Jeannie soothed. ‘If he’s married he probably won’t want it all made public, will he? He won’t want no fuss.’

‘He
is
married,’ Sarah burst out, looking a bit brighter. ‘Connie saw his wife at a party. That’s where she first met Mr Lucas. She says she was surprised that he made a play for her ’cos him and his wife seemed happy enough.’ Sarah paused. ‘It was the fact that they seemed alright together that made her wonder whether she could try a sort of blackmail. You know, tell him that she’d spill the beans to his missus about being his bit on the side.’

An approving chuckle erupted from Jeannie on hearing of Connie’s likely tactics.

‘Trouble is, Mrs Lucas don’t live round here and Con ain’t got her address to write a note,’ Sarah said. ‘The woman’s living a long way off out in the countryside.’ She wrinkled her nose. ‘If Connie was still talking to Ralph she might be able to get Mrs Lucas’s address off him as they’re some sort of distant cousins. But Ralph and his family won’t have nothing more to do with Con. If they knew she’d got herself in bad trouble with old Mr Lucas, they’d probably laugh themselves silly.’

‘It’d be best telling nix to a flatfoot with an axe to grind.’

Alice and Sarah exchanged a look that indicated they thought Jeannie’s statement very wise.

‘Nothing worse than a vindictive copper,’ Jeannie added before beckoning Noreen, bearing a tea tray, into the room.

The housekeeper poured tea and distributed the delicate china cups. Alice and Sarah accepted them politely then glanced around. The interruption had given them a chance to appreciate their surroundings. Jeannie Robertson had done very well for herself since she’d left The Bunk was the thought that ran through both their minds. Alice wondered whether those big houses down Highgate way, which she’d always longed to see inside, were as fine as was Jeannie’s home.

‘Nice, isn’t it?’ Jeannie said wryly after watching the two young women dart admiring looks here and there. ‘Just wish I owned it.’

‘Knocks livin’ in The Bunk into a cocked hat,’ Sarah observed, making Alice chuckle at her friend’s droll tone.

Jeannie smiled too but, as Noreen closed the door, she put down her cup. ‘Back to business,’ she said as she got up and went to open the top of a bureau. She took some photographs out of a drawer inside. ‘I got these done recently.’ She showed the two young women the images of the ornaments side by side on a table. ‘I was going to take them to an auction house and get an idea what they’re worth.’ She tapped the snaps against a thumbnail. ‘P’raps if Lucas wants them back bad he’d like to make me an offer for his statues.’

‘But . . . what if he ain’t bluffin’ about the coppers?’ Sarah burst out, alarmed. ‘We’ll all still be in bad trouble whether he agrees to buy them back off you or not. It’s bound to make him even nastier if he has to shell out for ’em.’

‘I don’t want the law involved either,’ Jeannie stressed. ‘I might be accused of receiving stolen goods. Lucas might even believe that I put your sister up to it.’

‘We didn’t think of any of that.’ Alice shot an anxious look at Sarah. ‘We don’t want you getting dragged into it.’

‘Bit late for that, Alice,’ Jeannie muttered ruefully. After a thoughtful pause she said, ‘I’ll let you have one back. I realised when I bought them off you that just one’s worth a lot more than what I paid you for two. But that’s business. So I’m not feeling guilty and I’m not giving up the pair of them. If you want to give one back to Mr Lucas, that’s up to you.’

‘Where did you get them photographed?’ Alice asked, a seed of an idea germinating in her mind.

‘There’s a place on the corner of the street,’ Jeannie said. ‘A fellow ‘n’ his wife have set up a studio there.’ She went to the dresser in the corner and, opening the lower cupboard, took the shepherd out. ‘You can take this one.’ She handed Alice the figure. ‘I like the other one better.’ She looked at the two young women, her eyes distant as she shrewdly mulled things over. ‘I’m bankin’ on Lucas wanting this all sorted out quietly . . . no fuss. Sounds like him ‘n’ his wife rub along alright together even if she do know he’s got a roving eye. I’m guessing he won’t want her upset.’ Jeannie sat back down. ‘If he’s a fellow with money he’s probably got a bit of standing; he won’t want to be made a laughing stock. He will be if it’s known a brass’s turned him over.’ She hesitated and shrugged, unconcerned. ‘Sorry love, but it’s true.’ Jeannie had noticed Sarah wince and redden as she heard her sister so described.

‘Anyhow, if he’s interested in buying back the other one you can tell him that he can contact me through Johnny Blake’s Club in Oxford Street.’ Jeannie was reasonably confident that no aggravation would come her way. She guessed that Mr Lucas lived in London and left his wife in the country so he could enjoy the fleshpots on offer in the capital. Johnny Blake was involved in running most of the gentlemen’s clubs; even the ones that he didn’t own outright. Mr Lucas would probably know of Johnny’s reputation. If he decided to cross him, even to get back his valuable statue, he’d be a fool.

‘How much does he charge up the corner for his photos?’ Alice asked abruptly.

‘Why? Thinking of getting one done?’ Jeannie asked, interested.

Alice nodded, looking thoughtful.

Suddenly Peter let out an anguished moan, making Jeannie jump to her feet and go to him.

Alice swiftly got up too, gesturing to Sarah that it was high time they left. ‘We’ll get off now,’ Alice whispered quickly, edging towards the door. ‘Sorry again to have bothered you, and thanks for everything.’

‘Noreen’ll show you out,’ Jeannie said distractedly over her shoulder from her crouching position by Peter’s chair.

‘Thanks very much, Mrs Robertson,’ Sarah mumbled.

‘Remember me to your mum, Alice,’ Jeannie called just before the two young women slipped out of the door and into the corridor.

As soon as Alice and Sarah had descended the stone steps that led to Jeannie’s front door Connie and Louisa bounded up to meet them.

‘Got ’em?’ Connie gasped in jubilation. She had noticed that Alice was carrying something in a bag.

‘Only got one,’ Sarah answered.

‘Shall I go and bang on the door, Con?’ It was a pugnacious-sounding offer from Louisa.

‘Don’t be stupid, fatso,’ Sarah spat.

‘Who you calling stupid?’ Louisa snarled.

‘Shut up, both of you,’ Alice hissed, on noting they were drawing attention from passers-by. ‘You’re lucky that Jeannie’s given even one back. She didn’t have to give you anything at all. She bought them fair ‘n’ square.’

‘Yeah . . . but she must’ve known they was nicked,’ Connie remarked darkly. ‘Why else would this one . . .’ she gave Sarah an ungentle shove on the shoulder ‘. . . be walking about with them down the market trying to sell them all hush-hush?’

Alice looked at the shop on the corner of the street. The sign over the front advertised speedy snaps. ‘I’ve got an idea that might be a sort of insurance policy in case Mr Lucas ain’t satisfied with getting just this one back and paying Jeannie for the other one. I reckon Jeannie’s given us good advice. She reckons he definitely won’t want to upset his wife or be made to look a fool. So we’ll have to get something that could do that. Then, if you’re lucky, he won’t get the law on you.’

A few days later the four young women were standing on the pavement outside Connie’s apartment. Connie was holding a bag that contained the figurine and two photographs. She still had a key but she knew it would soon be taken away. She knew Mr Lucas would be pacing about up there now, waiting for her and his ornaments. Once he had them she’d be shown the door, probably without even a chance of clearing out the wardrobe and taking all her lovely new clothes with her.

‘You coming up to see him with us, Al?’

The drizzle had turned to sleety rain and Alice decided she would sooner be somewhere warm and dry than pacing the pavement while the Whittons confronted Mr Lucas. Besides, now she was fully involved in this little drama she was curious to know how it would all end. She and Sarah were to catch the bus back to Islington together when it was all done and dusted. Alice was curious too about the swanky apartment that Sarah once had described to her and had a yen to see it. ‘Alright. Not hanging about long in there, though,’ she warned Sarah. ‘Want to get back home soon as I can and see how Lucy’s doing.’

The doorman, Jenkins, gave them a filthy look as they all trooped by. Connie stuck her nose in the air. Louisa stuck two fingers in the air. They knew after today they’d never see him again.

‘Ah . . . quite a contingent with you this time.’ Mr Lucas sarcastically observed as Connie, Sarah and Alice trooped in to the sitting room.