1951 - In a Vain Shadow (3 page)

‘In that case...’

Well, I was three-quarters there. I could sense it, and when he asked for references I felt I could be frank with him.

‘I could get you references, Mr. Sarek, but they wouldn’t mean anything. You want a bodyguard. I have never been a bodyguard. No one could tell you if I was suitable or unsuitable. You must judge that for yourself.’

‘I’m interested to find out if you are honest, conscientious and reliable.’

‘They would tell you I am, but that still wouldn’t mean anything. Those things you have to find out for yourself.’

He studied me for about ninety seconds.

‘Maybe you’re right, Mr. Mitchell.’

So I was in. I knew it. It now depended if I wanted to work for him. Now was the time for him to trot out the details about the good prospects and pay. It all depended on that.

‘For a reason which I go into later, I need someone like you to go with me on my business trips. The hours will be long. I thought ten pounds a week and everything found might be acceptable. I am not prepared to bargain.’

‘You said prospects.’

The beady eyes glittered.

‘It’s something we can discuss when we know each other better. Certainly there are prospects for the right man. I tell you at the end of the month if I think you qualify.’

‘I’m looking forward to the end of the month.’

The fat woman came in just then with a handful of letters.

She slid them across the desk towards Sarek.

‘Emmie, this is Frank Mitchell. He is going to work for me. Mr. Mitchell, this is Miss Pearl.’

If I had known what she was going to do to me in the very near future I might have been a lot more polite. But I didn’t know.

I gave her a race-discriminating sneer and let it go at that.

chapter three

D
id you get it?’

‘Of course I got it. You don’t think I would bother to go nil the way down to Wardour Street, unless I was sure I was doing to get it, do you? Now, look, baby, don’t worry me just now I have to pack.’

‘Pack?’

‘That’s right. Put clothes and things in a bag: pack.’

‘You’re going to leave here then?’

‘That’s right. I’m going to leave.’

She trailed after me into the bedroom, looking as happy as little Eva on the icefield.

‘I’ll miss you, Frankie.’

‘That makes two of us. Still, this kind of thing happens every day. I’ll be along to worry you from time to time. This isn’t goodbye, baby, just au revoir, and in case you don’t know, that’s French for I’ll see you again soon. Now, take it easy and don’t get in my way.’

She sat on the edge of the most uncomfortable chair in the room and folded her hands in her lap.

‘I won’t get in the way, but I could pack for you if you like.’

‘I’ve seen the way you pack. No thanks. You leave this to me.’ A long pause, then: ‘What was he like, Frankie?’

‘A small Jew. Without his clothes he would pass for a vulture. He wears a comic overcoat: the kind of coat a clown wears at the circus. He says people steal his overcoats, so he wears this one to stop anyone stealing it. If someone did steal it they would have to be colour blind or crazy.’

‘But why does he want a bodyguard?’

I took from the wardrobe my two suits and laid them on the bed. From under the dressing table I collected my three pairs of shoes.

‘You wouldn’t like to get me a drink, would you? Make it a stiff one. I’m supposed to be on the wagon, and maybe it’ll be the last I get tonight.’

She fetched me a double whisky with a teaspoonful of water floating on top of it, the way I like my whisky. As she handed the glass to me I saw she was trembling.

‘Don’t bear down on it. This had to happen. You couldn’t expect me to live here forever, could you?’

‘People do live together forever.’

‘Who do you think I am - Darby?’

‘Frankie, if its money you want. I - I’ve saved. You can have it all. It’s no use to me without you.’

‘We won’t go over that again.’

‘But must you go? Couldn’t you stay here, and - and guard him during the day?’

‘This is a day and night job. Someone’s writing him threatening letters.’

‘Then why doesn’t he go to the police?’

‘His sort of people never go to the police.’

‘Does he know who’s writing the letters?’

‘Of course he doesn’t. He’s had three. Whoever it is writing them isn’t very smart. The typewriter he or she used has the letters e and d out of alignment. That’s a machine that could be traced. The notepaper is unusual too: a blue, deckle-edged sheet, the kind women use. You know, when he showed me the notes I thought they might have come from his secretary.’

‘He has a secretary?’

‘Certainly, he has a secretary. Just to show him I keep my eyes open and my brain polished I told him he might do worse than suspect her. He nearly flipped his lid. When he could speak he said he trusted her more than anyone; they were practically partners; she had been with him ten years: ever since she was fourteen, and I wasn’t to say anything against her or I could quit then and there. It still could be her, but if he doesn’t want it to be her, then it’s no skin of my nose.’

‘What she like, Frankie?’ Elaborately casual.

‘She’s a Jewess.’

‘Some Jewesses can be very attractive.’

‘She is. The dark, passionate kind: and what a figure! I’ve never seen anything like it.’

‘Is it as good as mine?’

‘Don’t be silly; I said figure. Something you can get hold of voluptuous.’

‘Oh.’

I laid the two suits in my suitcase, and then began wrapping my shoes in paper.

‘What does this man do, Frankie?’

‘He’s a merchant: buys and sells anything that’s in demand. Suppose you want a dozen pairs of nylons. He goes along to someone who has them, buys them, sells them to you and pockets the profit. It’s a nice business to be in. All you need know is who has the stuff and who wants it. Simple, isn’t it?’

‘But why is he being threatened?’

‘He thinks a competitor wants to get him out of the way. There’s not a lot of scope in this game. The more there are in it, the less the share-out. Because he is a little guy, and nervous, he thinks they are picking on him. That’s his idea, but I don’t believe it. I think there’s more to it than that. There’s something childish about the letters. The first one said: “If you have a god, prepare to meet him.” The second one: “You have not long to live.” That sort of junk you can’t kid me one of these jackals would write tripe like that. If they were going to write a threatening letter they’d damn well make it threatening. The funny thing is in spite of the spinelessness of the threats Sarek is scared.’

‘Is that his name?’

‘Yes. Henry Sarek. He has a country house outside Chesham. That’s where I’m going tonight.’

‘You mean you’re going to stay there: as far away as Chesham?’

‘It’s not far: thirty-two miles from here. You make it sound as if it’s in Scotland.’

‘But do you have to stay with him?’

‘I’m to go around with him, stay in his house, hang around the office, drive the car. Ten pounds and all found.’

‘But, Frankie, darling, it’s like being a servant.’

‘What’s wrong with being a servant?’

‘But it’ll lead nowhere. Look. Frankie, do be sensible. Why don’t you put some capital into a business, and give yourself a chance? You know I’ll lend you the money. And - and you could stay here. It needn’t cost you anything until you get on your feet.’

‘One of these days someone is going to say “yes” to that offer, and you’re going to lose all your money. But that someone’s not going to be me. Don’t think I’m not grateful, I am. But I’m still too young to have a ring in my nose.’

‘You say the beastliest things...’

‘I do, don’t I? Well, that’s that I think. Where’s my rucksack?’

‘I’ll get it darling.’

While she was in the other room, I finished the whisky, strapped and locked the suitcase and put on a light overcoat.

I knew the next few minutes were going to be difficult. She wouldn’t let me go without a scene. It surprised me she hadn’t started one already.

She came in with the rucksack.

‘Chuck it on the bed.’

‘Frankie, would you like this?’

She offered me a photograph of herself.

‘Have I got X-ray eyes or aren’t you wearing any clothes?’

‘I had it taken specially for you.’

She had written in her babyish scrawl: Waiting for you always, darling. All my love. Netta, in white ink across the bottom part of the picture. The sort of dumb, sloppy message she would write.

‘Well, thanks, it’ll keep your memory fresh.’

‘That’s what I thought.’

I had to open the suitcase again, but I did it because she was watching me, otherwise I would have poked the photograph under the mattress Instead, I put it in the suitcase and strapped the case up again.

‘It won’t be crushed, will it?’

She was a lot more worried about its fate than I was, ‘It’ll be fine.’

I lugged the suitcase and the rucksack into the sitting room.

‘Well, this is it, baby.’

‘Yes.’

I put the suitcase and rucksack on the floor by the door.

‘I’ll be seeing you in a few days. Whenever Sarek goes over to Paris I get days off. So it won’t be long before I’m cluttering up this flat again.’

‘I’ll miss you, Frankie.’

‘Yes: me too.’

If I wasn’t careful we’d both be weeping over each other in a minute.

‘Well...’

I put my arms round her and patted her.

‘I’ll give you a ring.’

‘Frankie...’

Here it comes, I thought.

‘So long, Netta. I’d better run. No point in prolonging the agony.’

‘Frankie... I’ll come with you to the station. Say you’ll let me come. Let me have just a little longer with you.’

The one-track mind at it again.

‘Well, all right. But hurry up.’

‘You - you don’t sound very enthusiastic.’

‘But I am.’

‘Give me two minutes, darling.’

‘I’ll give you one.’

She went swiftly into the bedroom.

The moment she was out of sight I opened the front door, grabbed up the suitcase and rucksack and bolted for the stairs.

I arrived back at Sarek’s office at six.

Emmie Pearl was still typing. Make no mistake about it, she may have been fat and ugly but she could type. Her fat little fingers flew over the keyboard and the machine rattled like a Sten-gun in full blast.

I dumped my suitcase and rucksack on the floor and made for Sarek’s office.

She stopped typing.

‘He’s busy. Sit down and wait.’

I thought now was the time for her to find out I took orders only from Sarek. I didn’t even pause, let alone look at her but rapped on Sarek’s door and pushed it open.

The room was full of cigarette and cigar smoke. Two men sat facing Sarek on the desk was a small heap of diamonds.

The two men jumped to their feet. One was a little fellow with a face like a fox. The other was big and husky. His face was red, and his nose looked as if something very hard had hit it at one time, and he had never bothered to piece it together again.

He started to throw a punch at me. He wasn’t slow, but then be wasn’t fast. His fist came in a half-circle with all his weight behind it, and if it had landed I shouldn’t have had much face left.

I swayed inside the arc of its flight, grabbed his wrist as his momentum threw him forward, wedged my shoulder under his armpit, pulled down on his arm and heaved.

He went sailing over Sarek’s head and landed on the end of his spine in the middle of the floor with a thud that shook the building.

I looked at Sarek.

‘Better tell your friends not to throw punches at me: I don’t like it.’

The diamonds were no longer to be seen.

The car was a 1938 Austin 16, and looked as if it had been driven regularly through a hedge of brambles, left out all night, and cleaned about once a year.

Sarek had given me the ignition key and asked me to bring it round to the office building. He seemed anxious to get me out of the way before his husky friend recovered his breath.

I looked in disgust at the car. I hoped I should have had something worth driving, and I was still more disgusted when I found the springs were broken in the seats and the engine took about five minutes to fire.

But in spite of the mean little office and the even meaner car I was still convinced Sarek had money. For some reason he was pretending to be an unsuccessful businessman. Before long I hoped to find out that reason. He couldn’t be all that unsuccessful if he could pay me ten pounds a week. Besides, I hadn’t forgotten Emmie’s diamond and the diamonds I had seen on his desk.

I drove down Wardour Street and parked before the entrance to his office. It was getting on for half past six, and the light was going. In another ten minutes or so it would be lighting up time.

He came out of the building, wrapped up in his awful overcoat and took his seat beside me.

‘You know the way?’

‘Watford Bypass to King’s Langley, and then through Chipperfield and Bovingdon to Chesham.’

‘Is as good as the Amersham road. All right, go that way.’

The traffic was heavy all along Piccadilly, and I had trouble with the car. Every time I stopped in a traffic block the engine stalled, and by the time I was half way down Piccadilly I was hated by all the bus and taxi drivers going my way.

‘What you want is a new car.’

‘Is all right. Is nothing wrong with it.’

By the time I reached Marble Arch I wanted to drive the damned thing into a wall.

‘Will you be using it tomorrow? I’d like to give it some attention.’

‘Saturday, hey? Tomorrow we use it. Is not as bad as all that.’

It wasn’t once I got clear of the traffic. It even managed to get up to thirty-three miles an hour on the Watford Bypass with the accelerator flat on the boards.

‘You know it might be quicker for you to travel by train.’

‘Is quick enough for me.’

Driving along the broad arterial road with everything including lorries overtaking me, nearly sent me crazy.