On Mother Brown's Doorstep (28 page)

‘Thank you, Susie,’ said Rachel, her smile winning. She
was
not a mean-minded woman, she was generous and warm-hearted. ‘Good luck on Saturday, have a wonderful wedding. Sammy’s a lucky man.’

‘How kind,’ said Susie, ‘thank you.’

Rachel went in and Susie closed the door, although she would have liked to leave it open.

Sammy came to his feet. Rachel flowed towards him with soft little rustles of silk.

‘Bless me soul, Rachel,’ he said, ‘ain’t you a sight for me sore eyes?’

‘Well, bless you, Sammy love, for saying so.’

‘I’m up to me ears, but sit down. To what do I owe the pleasure of havin’ you decorate my office?’

‘You’re my business interests, sweetie,’ said Rachel. She parted her coat, delicately hitched her dress and sat down. Long legs gleamed in fine silk stockings.

Predictably, of course, Sammy said, ‘Pardon me, but ain’t that slightly out of order for a married female person?’

‘Slightly,’ agreed Rachel, ‘but no more than you deserve, Sammy, having always been complimentary about my remarkable female legs. I’m coming to your wedding, of course, but I’ll be a little mournful. You understand?’

‘It won’t make any difference to me respectable affections for you,’ said Sammy. ‘You bein’ a well-behaved married woman and me bein’ the reverent son of Chinese Lady, me affections have always been respectable, which if they weren’t would make Susie hit me with her dad’s chopper. I think she keeps it in her handbag. Choppers are injurious, Rachel.’

‘Same old Sammy,’ murmured Rachel. ‘I should want a different one? Never. Now, what’s going to happen to Adams Fashions if there’s a strike that’ll be injurious to our new contract with Coates?’

‘I’m in touch with the mills and I’ve taken certain steps
concernin
’ buildin’ up stocks,’ said Sammy and put her fully in the picture. He included details of how he was going to keep the factory working.

‘Ain’t you a clever boy, Sammy, ain’t you a love?’ said Rachel, reverting to her Jewish cockney style. ‘My life, what a bright boy. Oh, and my daddy says that to help you get married with two smiles on your face, he’s arranged with the third party for you to sign the lease on the Oxford Street shop on Friday, the day before you go to the altar.’

‘I’m touched, Rachel. Ain’t you and Isaac me lifelong friends?’

‘And ain’t it mutual, Sammy love? Take me to lunch now, will you, while you’re still a bachelor?’

‘Did I catch that?’ asked Sammy.

‘Just a drink and a kosher sandwich, Sammy, for old times sake,’ murmured Rachel, voice and eyes velvety. ‘Last lunch, lovey, last time. I promise. Unless we accidentally run into each other in town.’

‘I’ll have to consult with me personal assistant who, bein’ me personal fiancée as well, might say no and also beat me brains out.’ Sammy found Susie up to her elbows in correspondence. ‘Ah, Miss Brown, would you kindly note I’m about to depart on a business lunch? I’ll be out for forty minutes or so.’

‘Who with, if I might ask?’ said Susie. ‘I don’t happen to have recorded any business lunch in your diary.’

‘Just an oversight, I forgive yer,’ said Sammy.

‘Might I ask if it’s with a certain married woman?’

‘A member of the board of Adams Fashions,’ said Sammy. Susie gave him a look. Sammy fell into her blue eyes. He coughed to clear his throat. ‘Well, now I remember, she does happen to be related in marriage to her better half.’

Susie laughed. Sammy wriggling was so funny.

‘It’s the last time, Sammy, you hear?’ she said.

‘Which I’ve agreed on with the selfsame board member.’

‘Your old flame,’ said Susie.

‘In a way, Susie, in a way.’

‘Tell her her light’s gone out,’ said Susie.

‘No worries, Susie.’

‘I know.’ Susie smiled. ‘Run along, Sammy.’

‘Do what? I’m hearin’ things again,’ said Sammy, departing.

‘Well, lovey?’ said Rachel.

‘That Susie, what a performance,’ said Sammy. ‘I sometimes wonder who invented female women. Well, let’s pop across to the pub, Mrs Goodman.’

‘Lovely,’ said Rachel, ‘I want to talk to you about your old friend Eli Greenberg.’

Over lunch and sitting close to Sammy in the well-appointed saloon bar, Rachel dwelt on the present misfortunes of Mr Greenberg. He was, she said, a harassed gent. A certain lady had him in her liquid sights. Sammy asked if that meant her mince pies were floating in gin. Rachel said the lady was a respectable widow with three growing sons and had never touched a drop in her life. Mrs Hannah Borovich, that was her name.

‘Russian, like Eli?’ said Sammy.

‘You’ve got it, Sammy,’ said Rachel, a laugh in her eyes. The lady, she said, had made up her mind she needed a new father for her sons and had decided Mr Greenberg would fit the bill and also make her a fine husband. What, Eli Greenberg? Quite so, Sammy, said Rachel, and pointed out that Mr Greenberg, when dressed up on the Jewish Sabbath, was a handsome man. Sammy said he had to admit that when the well-known rag-and-bone man attended Chinese Lady’s wedding to her second husband,
he
looked highly presentable. Mrs Borovich, said Rachel, was prepared to devote herself to making him look presentable every day of the week. Dear Mr Greenberg was now beginning to panic, and was looking for hiding-places.

‘He needs your help, Sammy.’

‘What, to get out of the country?’

‘No, to be saved from becoming a husband and father in one go.’

‘Can’t he just say no?’

‘Mrs Borovich is deaf to negatives.’

‘Well, poor old Eli and hard luck as well,’ said Sammy.

‘What help are you offering?’

‘Who can help any bloke who’s up against a deaf woman?’

‘He’s not up against her, Sammy love, she won’t allow that until they’re married. Mr Greenberg needs your brains. Think of something.’

‘Any use offering him the loan of Susie’s chopper? Well, her dad’s chopper.’

‘There’ll be blood, Sammy. No blood, if you don’t mind.’

‘I’m beat,’ said Sammy, but took time off to do some thinking. Rachel watched him with a little sigh in her eyes. Sammy, perking up, said, ‘This deaf Mrs Boggervich—’

‘Borovich, Sammy.’

‘Just as you like, Rachel me affectionate friend. Point is, just how respectable is she?’

‘Highly,’ smiled Rachel.

‘Good on yer,’ said Sammy, and suggested that the only way to put off a female woman who was rigid with respectability and deaf to negatives was to personally assault her and interfere with her bosom as well.

Rachel almost choked on a mouthful of kosher beef sandwich with mustard.

‘Sammy, Sammy, I’m to tell dear Mr Greenberg that?’ she said, laughter choking her as well.

‘With the compliments of me brains,’ said Sammy.

‘Never, Sammy, never. Mr Greenberg will collapse at the idea.’

‘Not if he’s desperate. He’ll give it desperate thought. It could be all over in a couple of ticks. Chuck her on to his sofa, grab all he can of her, undo her buttons—’

‘Sammy, you’re killing me.’

‘Hope not, Rachel, I’ve got fond memories of you as a roller-skater. Now, as soon as Mrs Boggervich realizes Eli is treadin’ all over her widow’s respectability, she’ll jump out of his window and run a mile.’

‘Oh, my God,’ breathed Rachel, ‘you’re my one and only Punch and Judy, and with knobs on. Chuck the lady on to his sofa, grab her all over, undo her buttons—’

‘That’s just a few loose details, Rachel. Eli’s got sense enough to tighten them up and to make the lady feel he’s a ruddy wolf, never mind how respectable he looks on his Sabbath.’

‘Sammy, I’m going to miss you as a bachelor,’ said Rachel, and put her hand on his knee and squeezed it.

‘Is that a personal assault?’ said Sammy.

‘Why couldn’t you have assaulted me a bit when I was your girl?’

‘What, at my age?’ said Sammy.

The schools having broken up for the Easter holidays, there were kids everywhere, swarms of them. Henry Brannigan, a ganger working for contractors that specialized in demolishing buildings and clearing sites, reckoned there wasn’t a pavement in London free of kids. Some of them were here, watching him and his mates clearing the
site
of what was left of a demolished builders’ yard and sheds in Peckham. To one side was a huge fire they were feeding with wrecked timber.

‘’Ere, mister, can we ’ave some of that wood?’ asked a boy.

‘No, yer can’t, so shove off, all of yer,’ he growled.

‘Go on, mister, be a sport.’

‘’Oppit, yer standin’ in people’s way,’ he said. They were doing just that, the whole lot of them, filling the pavement just outside the barrier of ropes. Passing people had to push a way through the kids or step into the road. You could never tell about people. Some could be the kind that didn’t like going under ladders or stepping on lines. These loitering kids could make life difficult for all kinds. Henry Brannigan had sympathy for kindred spirits, and life had done him a good turn for once by having him meet Madge. A bloke could talk to a woman like that, knowing she understood. She didn’t mind kids herself, she didn’t even mind them getting in her way.

‘Mister, there’s some nice bits of wood over there.’ The voice was persistent.

‘If you lot don’t push off—’ Henry Brannigan growled himself to a stop. ‘Bloody ’ell, all right.’ Madge wouldn’t like him handing out clouts and thick ears instead of timber that was only going to finish up on the fire. ‘’Ere y’ar, then.’ His workmates looked on in surprise as he got rid of a whole heap of timber by distributing it among the eager kids. Boys and girls all scrambled for it. Sacks materialized. Gawd blimey, he thought, look at that, the young bleeders have brought sacks. He chucked wood over the ropes at them. They scattered in retreat from a deluge of timber. Back they came when he’d finished showering the pavement. They loaded their sacks. Shafts of wood protruded.

‘Ta, mister, yer a real sport.’

‘Me mum’ll like this lot.’

‘Can we come back for some more, mister?’

‘Well, all right. Now ’oppit.’

They hopped it. Away they went, dragging the heavily laden sacks along behind them. He stared at them. Look at what they were doing now, turning themselves into a sack-pulling procession, crowding the pavement with their feet as well as their sacks, and getting in everybody’s way. There ought to be a law against awkward kids.

He spoke to Madge about it when they were walking that evening. Madge just said she thought he’d been kind.

‘You like kids really, yer know,’ she said, ‘or you wouldn’t ’ave ’anded out all that wood.’

‘I don’t like ’em gettin’ in me way.’

‘But they don’t mean no ’arm,’ said Madge. ‘Well, they don’t know about our superstitions.’

‘Granted, Madge, but it don’t do to treat fate light, I can tell yer,’ he said, and they adjusted their walk as they entered the light of a street lamp. A running boy nearly cost Henry Brannigan dear. He almost stepped on a line that was plainly visible. The boy dashed by. A girl appeared. She was running too, and shouting as well.

‘You Billy, come back ’ere! I’ll wallop yer if you don’t!’ Up she came and ran straight between the man and the woman, who stopped. Henry Brannigan checked and drew a breath of relief.

‘Nigh on done it in, both of us,’ he said. ‘Kids. Didn’t I tell yer?’

‘Wasn’t the girl a goer, though?’ said Madge, as they walked on and left the light behind them. ‘Wish I ’ad one like ’er. Henry, can we go in a pub?’

‘Well, you like a pub, Madge, even if you ain’t much of a drinker.’

‘Well, I ain’t ever taken to mother’s ruin,’ said Madge, ‘and I ain’t likely to, but yes, I do like a pub and can make a glass last me a long time.’

He took her to one in the New Kent Road, where no-one recognized her or made her an offer. She wanted to stand treat, although she said it would be out of his money. He said it was always a gent’s privilege to pay. He bought her the drink she liked, port and lemon, and himself an ale, and in the smoky, cosy atmosphere of the pub she told him she’d been to an orphanage near Norwood today, with the woman from next door. She’d already made friends with her, and she went with her to do a bit of voluntary work, because the place was crowded out with orphans and they were short of staff. There was a girl, nine years old.

‘A girl, eh?’ said Henry Brannigan brusquely.

‘She’s dyin’ for a proper ’ome,’ said Madge. ‘I expect they all are, poor kids, but this one, well, she touched me ’eart. Would yer mind if I asked if I could ’ave her? I’d like to look after her, I could put another bed in the bedroom. I mean, now I’m livin’ a decent life—’

‘They’d ask yer for references, they’d ask if you was married.’

‘Oh, gawd,’ said Madge.

‘No girls, anyway,’ said Henry Brannigan.

‘Don’t yer like girls?’

‘I’d be glad if yer’d drop the notion.’

‘Well, all right, I will for a bit,’ said Madge, ‘but I know you’ve got a soft ’eart, and I’ll ask yer again later on. You might be able to ’elp me get over any problems about references or not bein’ married. You ’ave got a soft ’eart or you wouldn’t be doin’ for me what you are doin’, settin’
me
up in that nice flat, givin’ me an allowance an’ not askin’ for nothing. Yes, I’ll ask yer again, Henry.’

‘I ’ope you won’t,’ he said.

Scotland Yard had been busy. They’d established from available evidence and new enquiries that the murdered girl and the two missing girls had all disappeared during daylight hours on separate Saturday afternoons. They’d further established that not one person had seen any of them in company with a man. Enquiries concerning the possibility that someone might have witnessed an act of abduction came to nothing. But there was the reasonable assumption that Saturday afternoons suggested a pattern of acts by one man, a man whose job kept him off the streets during the day until his working week finished at Saturday midday.

The girls had disappeared in circumstances that had attracted no notice. Abduction would surely have been noticed in one case out of three.

Scotland Yard decided all three girls had known the man.

‘Ton of Brooke Bond tea,’ said a well-known voice on Tuesday morning, and Annie looked up from the till. Will had done it on her again, hiding himself behind a customer and then popping up.