1953 - The Things Men Do (2 page)

I lit a cigarette, engaged gear and drove to Eagle Street.

During the short drive, I thought about her. I wondered if I was going to see her again. I wondered if she was as pretty as I imagined her to be. I thought of her slim, long legs, and her knees. I hadn't thought about a girl in this way since Ann and I got married, but I was thinking this way now.

I was still thinking of her as I put the truck away and locked up, but she went out of my mind the way your fist goes when you open your hand when I heard Ann's voice.

"Is that you, Harry?"

"Coming right up."

I climbed the stairs to our four-room flat. Ann was waiting at the front door. She was wearing her lightweight wool dressing-gown that she had had on our honeymoon. It was pretty well worn by now, and I'd promised to get her a new one, but I hadn't got around to it yet: money was too short to buy dressing-gowns.

"What a time you've been, Harry."

"I thought I'd never get the damned thing to go."

Ann was twenty-six, but she didn't look it. You wouldn't call her pretty, but she had fine colouring, big serious brown eyes and a big, generous mouth. She was a little thing, nicely proportioned, durable, and I often told her she was the kind of girl any man would want to marry and not just fool around with.

She used to say that meant she hadn't a scrap of glamour, and must look like a good cook. Maybe she didn't have glamour, but she was kind; you could see that by just looking at her, and kindness means more to me than glamour: a lot more.

"Go and have a wash, darling. I've some tea waiting. Are you hungry?"

"I could eat something if there is anything."

"I'll make you a sandwich."

When I came out of the bathroom and into the tiny bedroom she was in bed. The tea and some fish paste sandwiches were on the night table.

As I ate and got undressed at the same time, I told her about the breakdown. It wasn't until I had turned off the light and had got into bed that I mentioned Gloria Selby.

I don't know why I was so elaborately casual, but I was.

"Some girl thumbed a ride on the way back. Her car ignition had burned out. There are too many dud cars on the road."

"Had she far to go?" Ann asked sleepily.

"She came all the way. She's got a flat in Bond Street; makes lingerie. Sounds as if she has a good business. She goes to Paris once a month."

"I wish we could go to Paris, Harry."

"She must be making quite a bit of money. She runs a Jaguar."

"Does she?" Ann said without much interest.

"She said if you couldn't make money one way, you could another. You know, Ann, I'm getting a little fed up being so short of cash."

"I know you are, darling, but you mustn't dwell on it. You'll make money before long. She's probably got worries the same as we have."

"Maybe. Well, I guess we'd better go to sleep. I've got to be up in another five and a half hours."

"I'll do it tomorrow, Harry. I'd like to."

"You'll do nothing of the land. Good night, sweetheart."

"But I'd like to, Harry. I can manage the pumps. Why should you always be the one to get up early?"

"It's my job. You wouldn't like me to take over the cooking, would you?"

She laughed

"I don't think you'd like it either."

"Good night, Ann."

I was still awake long after her regular breathing told me she was asleep. I kept thinking about the garage, the money I owed, the money I needed I kept hearing Gloria's voice: A slump is an excuse for lack of enterprise. Maybe you don't know the ropes. If you can't make money one way, you can make it another.

The voice went on and on in my mind until I thought it would drive me nuts.

chapter two

A
couple of days later, around four-thirty in the afternoon, Tim Greensleeves came into the cubby-hole I use for an office, wiping his hands on a lump of oily waste.

Tim was seventeen; a tall, emaciated lad with big steel-rimmed spectacles that made him look like an owl, un-tidy tow-coloured hair and an unusually sharp, shrewd mind. He had been with me a year now, and knew as much about car engines as I did.

I paid him four pounds ten a week, and he was worth twice that amount. The business didn't warrant a hired hand, but I had to have him. If I were called out on a breakdown job, someone had to be left in charge. I kept telling myself I'd have to get rid of him, but so far, I had put off the inevitable decision.

At least, he hadn't ever asked for a rise, and he had a dog-like devotion for Ann that prejudiced me towards him.

"Hello, Tim," I said, shoving aside the ledger I was working on. "Fixed those brakes yet?"

"Yes, Mr. Collins. There's a young lady out there, asking for you."

"Okay." I pushed back my chair and stood up. "You might check the petrol tanks, Tim. I don't want to buy any this week if we can run on what we've got."

He gave me a quick look and nodded. I hadn't told him how bad business was, but he was no fool. He must have guessed I was having a struggle to meet the weekly bills.

I went into the dim, big shed that served as a workshop and garage. Apart from the equipment, the ten-ton truck Tim was working on, and my own truck, it looked pretty deserted and forlorn. There was room enough in that shed to house twenty big trucks.

A girl was wandering around the tool benches: a girl in a dark blue linen dress, hatless, and carrying a lizard skin bag slung from her shoulder.

"Good afternoon," I said, wondering what she wanted.

"Anything I can do for you?"

She turned.

Have you ever tampered with a faulty light switch and got a sodden jolt up your arm? That was the feeling I got when she turned: a jolt that went through me and set my heart bumping unevenly and turned my mouth dry.

Don't jump to the conclusion that she was a beauty: she wasn't, although her face and figure compelled attention, and any man would look at her twice, maybe three times, but there was more to it than that. She had that thing men go for: call it sex if you like: it was more than sex. It was an animal sensuality; something right out of the jungle.

Her face was a little too long and narrow for any claim to beauty, but she had high cheek-bones that gave her a Chinky look, and her eyes were dark and sultry and held a half-concealed promise of unspeakable things.

Then she had a shape on her that was as provocative as it was blatant. She wore that dress not to conceal her figure but to accentuate it. Her small, heavy breasts strained against the dark linen as if trying to break loose. Her waist was small It curved out to compact, solid hips that in turn tapered down to long, slim legs neat in nylon stockings.

"Hello, Harry," she said and smiled, showing even white teeth, and when she smiled there was a sparkle in her eyes that was something to see.

Every so often, during the past two days, she had crept into my mind, and I had wondered if I would see her again. I had half convinced myself that she wouldn't come, but here she was, out of the darkness now, better, more exciting, and much more dangerous than my imagination had made her when I had let my mind think of her.

"This is a surprise. I didn't expect to see you again." I scarcely recognized my voice: it sounded like a husky croak She was looking me over with the same intent curiosity as I was looking at her.

"I said I'd come."

I suddenly became aware that Tim was staring at us, and I pulled myself together with an effort.

Her eyes went from me to Tim. They stayed on Tim long enough for him to turn red and move off to the other end of the shed.

"Funny looking boy. Does he help you?"

"He's smarter than he looks."

She laughed.

"He'd have to be. I want to garage my car here."

I knew instinctively that I should tell her I had changed my mind. The way I was feeling about her now was dangerous. I shouldn't see her again. I should stop it before it went any further. I knew that. I knew if I saw much of her, there could be trouble.

"This isn't a lock-up." I sounded as feeble as I felt.

"Besides, you'll probably find something nearer you."

Her dark eyes flickered over my face. Her pencilled eyebrows came down in a frown.

"I'm not asking for a lock-up, and it's near enough, but if you don't want my car, just say so."

"It's not that I don't want it. I was thinking of your convenience."

"You don't have to worry about me. I'll pay thirty shillings a week and five shillings when I want the car cleaned. Is it on or isn't it?"

My mind was saying it wasn't on, but my voice said, "That suits me. If you'll keep it over there against that wall it won't be in my way, and it'll be easy for you to get in and out."

The frown went away and her eyes sparkled again.

"That's fine." She opened her bag. "I'll pay a month in advance. I'd like a receipt."

"Come into the office then."

We walked to the back of the shed, passing Tim who was getting the measuring rod for the tanks out from behind a lot of junk that was lying on the floor. He glanced up and stared at her after she had passed him. I saw his look of disapproval, and for the first time since he had begun to work for me, he irritated me.

I pushed open the office door and stood aside.

"I'm afraid it isn't much."

She passed me, her arm brushing against my sleeve, and I caught the faint fragrance of her perfume.

"What does it matter so long as the work gets done?"

"I guess that's right."

She put a five pound note, two pound notes and a ten shilling note on the desk.

"I'll pay for the cleaning when I want the car cleaned."

"That's all right."

I went around to the other side of the desk.

"Sit down, won't you?"

She sat on the rickety straight-backed chair and crossed her legs, a little carelessly. From where I sat I could see a knee and a small triangle of white thigh where the skirt had rucked up. My mouth was as dry as a handful of dust.

I got out my receipt book and wrote out a receipt. I had trouble to write clearly. The words looked as if they had been written by an old man of ninety.

As I looked up to give her the receipt I saw she was watching me. I had an idea she knew she had me going, but her eyes were expressionless as she smiled.

"I'll bring the car over sometime tomorrow. I don't use it much." She paused and then asked, "How's business, Harry?"

I gave her a wry grin.

"Pretty good today: pretty near a record. Two pounds in petrol, ten bob for fixing a brake lining, and seven pounds ten for garage hire. The money's rolling in."

She gave me a long look out of her Chinky eyes, closed the bag and stood up.

"If you can't make money one way . . ."

"I know: you can make it another. I heard you the first time. Not so easy as it sounds. Maybe you've got some ideas you can pass on to me."

She moved over to me. I was standing now, away from the desk. Her perfume was as sexy as her shape.

"Do you want ideas?"

"I'd consider them. I'm not proud."

She reached up and removed an imaginary speck of Buff from my lapel. There was an unmistakable invitation in the black, sparkling eyes. I found I was clenching my Sets behind my back to stop from grabbing her.

"Then I must think about it. I might have an idea for you."

"Harry!"

Ann's voice floated down the stairs.

She stepped back as if some invisible force had come between us and had shoved us violently apart.

"Are you there, Hurry?"

A little unsteadily I went to the door and opened it.

"Could you come up a moment?"

"I'm coming."

"Is that your wife?" Her voice was pitched low, and she moved close to me again.

"Yes, I've got to go up."

We were speaking like conspirators.

"I'll be in tomorrow with the car. Good-bye, Harry."

"Good-bye."

She dipped past me and walked quickly down the length of the garage. I noticed her hips rolled a little as she walked. If I hadn't been in such a fluster I would have known she was deliberately rolling them for my benefit.

I went up the stairs two at the time.

Ann was struggling with the screw-cap on a bottle of fruit.

"I just can't move it."

"Give it to me."

I twisted the cap. It didn't move at first, then when I tried again, it shifted.

"I hope I didn't disturb you, Harry."

I looked sharply at her.

She was wearing an old sweater and a pair of blue slacks that had been washed so often they had shrunk away from her ankles and were now much too tight across her seat.

A lock of brown hair fell over one eye, and she had a smudge of dirt on her chin. A half an hour ago I would have thought she looked cute, but now my eyes were still dazzled by the smart blue linen dress and the shape beneath it.

"For the love of Mike, Ann, can't you smarten yourself up a little? Those pants make your bottom look twice its size, and that old sweater is fit only for the dustbin."

I saw the look of startled surprise lump into her eyes, then she laughed.

"Sorry, darling. I know I look a fright, but I've been turning out. I'll get changed." She put her arms round my neck. "I didn't mean to look a slut. It's just that I've been terribly busy."

I felt suddenly ashamed of myself for talking to her like this and blood rushed into my face.

"I didn't mean anything, Ann. I just want you to look as pretty as you always look."

"Some husbands don't even notice what their wives are wearing. I'm flattered, Harry."

"I don't know about that." I bent and kissed her. "See you in a little while. I'm just checking the ledger."

"Found any mistakes?"

Ann kept the books, looked after the insurance stamps and the rest of the inevitable forms. Once a month I checked everything, just to be on the safe side.

"Everything's perfect." I gave her a light slap on her behind. "And get out of those pants. They're indecent."

"Only you see me in them." She looked down at them with a comic expression of dismay. "Well, all right I'll find something else. Harry, I suppose we couldn't run to a new pair? They do save my stockings."