Authors: Mark Dawson
She shook her head. “I suppose it’s not surprising. Father’s dead. It makes him upset––it’s upsetting for all of us, of course, but he takes it the worst. It happened while he was away.”
“Oh,” Edward said awkwardly. “I’m sorry.”
“No, really,” she said, reassuringly. “It’s quite alright.” They walked on a little as she worked out how to say what she wanted to say. “Father was killed two years ago. One of Hitler’s rockets fell on the house he was in. Rotten luck, really––it was one of the last ones they fired.”
“It’s none of my business. I shouldn’t have asked.”
She dismissed his apology with a shake of the head. “It’s fine,” she said. “Father was with one of his mistresses at the time. It was her house that he was in. They both died. It was too much for my mother. She left us, not that I can really blame her. Father was a bad husband and she stayed with him longer than he had any right to expect. All the other women––he always had one on the go, more than one, usually. The business, he was always out, all hours of the day and night, we never knew where he was most of the time. He tried to keep it secret but mother was always too clever for him. She knew everything. But she never left––I think she got used to the idea that he would always have more than one woman and she accepted it. They argued––she hated that other people knew about what he was getting up to but she still loved him. She knew he’d always come home to her. And I suppose, if I’m being honest, my mother got used to a certain way of life living with my father. He was generous––jewellery, fancy meals, clothes.” She pointed towards the house, the chimneys of which had just appeared over the branches of a stand of nearby trees. “She loved it here, too. He knew he treated her badly, and the presents he bought for her were his way of saying sorry. They would have stayed together for ever.”
“Joseph’s said nothing to me about any of this.”
“He’s angry with her. He thinks she abandoned us. I don’t think he’s seen her since he got back. You mustn’t bring it up. He’ll be furious I mentioned it. Do you promise?”
“Yes, of course.”
They idled onwards. “He idolised father,” Chiara went on after a short pause. “It’s why he joined the army. He could easily have gotten out of it––all of his friends did. Look at Billy and Jack, faking medical conditions. Joseph was desperate for father’s approval. The attention was always on my other brothers when we were growing up. Has he mentioned them?”
“No.”
“Stan works for the family in Manchester, John is trying to go straight and Paulie is in prison.”
“For what?”
“Oh, assault.” She relayed this dismissively, as if reporting that he had a nice, safe office job. “They were the ones father thought would follow him into the family business. He groomed them for it––he had them on the races with him early on, they were both up to their necks in it right from the off. But he never wanted it for Joseph––he told my mother once he thought he was too sensitive. There’s some truth in that. Father wanted him to go to school, get an education and a proper career––something legitimate. It drove Joseph mad. I can remember the rows they had about it like they were yesterday––Joseph’s temper, when he gets going, my goodness, you don’t want to be around when he goes off.”
“Really?”
“Awful. Frightening, actually. Father was just the same. They were alike in lots of ways.” They followed the path into the copse of fir and ash that had grown up at the foot of the house’s long gardens. “Father fought in the Great War, got a medal, too, for bravery. Then this last one came around and Joseph said he was going to enlist. Father wouldn’t have it. He said he was throwing his life away. They had the biggest argument I can remember––father ended up hitting him and I thought Joseph was going to hit him back. It took Stan and John to keep them apart. After that, the first chance he got to sign up, he took it. You know he lied about his age?”
Edward said that he did not.
“He was sixteen when he went away. He’s always been a big lad, I’m not surprised he managed to fool them. He didn’t tell any of us about it. He just went.”
They walked on in silence, the house appearing as they passed through the last trees.
“And then when he got back father was dead. I can’t imagine how badly he must feel about it now––the last time they saw each other––the argument they had––and then to come back and the first thing you find out is that your father has died and you never had the chance to make it all up. It’s all horrible. This nonsense he’s got himself into now, with Billy and Jack, whatever it is they’re doing––it’s because of father.”
“Trying to prove him wrong.”
“Yes, indeed,” she nodded. “And trying too hard. His judgment… my brother is not an idiot, Edward, he’s cleverer than you’d think, I just think that in certain instances his judgment is wanting.” They crossed the scruffy ornamental lawn and stepped over the low hedge onto the gravel drive. “Well, here we are again.”
“That was very pleasant,” Edward said. “Thank you.”
She smiled, a broad and happy smile that showed her perfectly white teeth. It made Edward smile, too. “You must stay for lunch,” she insisted, her eyes glowing with an optimism that Edward thought made her look even more attractive. “I told the cook to prepare a picnic. I hope that wasn’t presumptuous of me? We could have it on the lawn?”
“That would be lovely,” he said, and he could see from her little smile that she had been hoping that he would say yes, that she had been looking forward to lunching with him.
Chiara fetched a picnic blanket from the house and went back inside to speak to the chef. Edward took the blanket and spread it out across the lawn. He sat down and stretched his legs. He was satisfied with himself. The morning had been a complete success. He felt that he had gathered important information about the family and that he had brought himself into Chiara’s confidence. That pleased Edward most of all. He knew how useful it would be to have her as an ally. It would be another source of information and, if he developed their relationship with the right amount of care, then it would offer other ways of improving his influence within the family.
Yes, he thought. His satisfaction was justified for he really was making great progress. This talent of his was the only thing that he had ever been good at, but he knew that he was very good at it. He wanted to make himself part of the family and he knew now, for sure, that that was a realistic goal, if he kept working hard at it.
30
THEY ROBBED TWO HOUSES THE WEEK AFTER Edward’s visit to the country and both yielded an excellent return. Edward had invited Chiara to dinner in the city on the evening of the second job, booking a table for them at Rules in Covent Garden. He found himself relaxing more and more into her company. She was intelligent, witty and disarmingly honest about her family. She was also often indiscrete, especially when she had enjoyed a drink or two, and that made her an excellent source of information. He listened to her stories, prompting her in the direction that he wanted, and filed the details away. They would all prove useful, later.
This particular evening was no different. As they enjoyed a reasonable meal she told him more about her father and uncle. George Costello was born in 1889 and his brother, Harry, five years later. The boys’ father had been a respectable watchmaker from Piedmont. The old man had emigrated to England several years previously. There was a market for his talent and, once he had settled, he sent for the rest of his family. The two boys had quickly taken to Little Italy’s natural vocation––crime––and had proven to be very good at it. Petty theft turned to burglary and extortion and, despite their father’s best efforts to rein them in, they started to make money. Both brothers grew to be large and intimidating men, with George in particular marked by a cruel streak and a lack of conscience when it came to doling out pain. The two rapidly earned a reputation, frightening men twice their age into doing their bidding. The Great War provided a brief interregnum––Harry fought, George did not––but with the armistice came a renewed onslaught that saw them wage vicious battles across the racecourses of the south. Their opponents were the Brummagem Boys of Birmingham, a motley band of thugs and bullies infamous for their cruelty.
“My father became a bit of a local celebrity,” Chiara explained. “Him and George were both tearaways, but he had something extra about him. Some of the stories I heard when I was growing up––there was one time, I think it was just after the War, that everyone started on about him. They were in a pub on the Hill and they saw this chap, Thomas Benneworth––they called him the Trimmer because he was handy with his razor––they saw him bothering one of the barmaids. Benneworth was the leader of the Elephant Boys from the Elephant and Castle, a nasty type with a big reputation. This girl wouldn’t have anything to do with him and so he went around the bar and tore her dress off. Just tore it off. My father saw what happened, dragged him outside, beat him black and blue then took his own razor off him and slashed him across his backside––one, two, three, four––noughts and crosses, they called it, you couldn’t sit down for weeks afterwards. Anyway, after that, people wanted to work with him––the Elephant Gang ditched Benneworth and joined them, then there was a Jewish gang from the East End, plenty of others.”
The skirmishes with the Brummagem Boys became worse. A final confrontation was planned after the Derby, on the outskirts of Epsom. Harry Costello learnt of a plan to ambush them on the way back from the course. He filled their charabanc with stooges and alerted the police. The Birmingham gang set about the stooges, killing two men and injuring others. The police arrested everyone and, in the trials that followed, the leaders of the gang were imprisoned. The Costellos won out, the remnants of their rivals seen off to the Midland tracks that had always been their redoubt. The south was clear and ripe for the picking.
Harry led the family through prosperous times for the next twenty years. George had always deferred to his younger brother and was ill-equipped to take his place when he was killed. Rival factions within the family that Harry had glued together by the force of his will now sensed the opportunity to break away, and George, despite the threat entailed by his ominous physical presence, was unable to do anything to stem the losses. The racecourses were lost to a police crackdown and ex-allies who changed allegiance, the Alf White gang from King’s Cross especially. The in-fighting worsened. Two men were shot and killed and the police––no longer in Harry’s pocket––had to act.
As circumstances spun out of control, Violet took a more prominent role in the family’s affairs. Under her stewardship, their position was consolidated. The factions were brought into line. Chiara did not elaborate, but Edward was left in no doubt that violent retaliation had been the reward for their presumption. She began a programme of retrenchment. The racecourses might have been lost to them, but they consolidated with the lesser prize of the dogs. Other existing businesses––betting, extortion, spielers, drinking dens, robbery and blackmail––were continued, although times were not nearly as good. Chiara explained the extent of the Costello family empire dispassionately, without varnish or embarrassment. Edward listened intently. She related how business was not what it used to be. The loss of the income from the horses, so long the bedrock of the family finances, had been a crushing blow. The other activities could only go so far to paper over the cracks. The flow of money was stemmed, and Violet had to cut her cloth accordingly. Men were laid off, hired muscle no longer economic, but that meant that they were vulnerable to other gangs who were jostling for position. Tame policemen could no longer be bought off, and so men started to have their collars felt.
“Rationing has been the saving of us,” she suggested. The burgeoning black market had bought them a reprieve. As austerity continued, with rationing eventually cutting even deeper than during the war, a voracious appetite for goods had developed that the family was well-placed to exploit. They controlled or intimidated dozens of petty thieves, taxing their profits when they sold their booty to spivs like Ruby Ward and then taxing the spivs when they sold on to the public. The drones were making the real money but the family were able to cream a decent profit from the top. The glory days had gone, but there was enough business so that they could afford to retain a modicum of the lifestyle that they had enjoyed before. The prospect of having to sell Halewell Close––very real at one point––had receded, although they were short of the money to maintain it. They could keep it, but unless there was a significant change in their fortunes, Edward knew they would be just presiding over its slow, crumbling decline.
The evening drew to a pleasant conclusion. As Chiara’s cab pulled up to the kerb she put a hand on Edward’s elbow, moved in close and angled her face towards his. Edward leant down, and her lips found his. The kiss was brief but the cool confidence in her eyes flickered, just for a moment, occluded by a streak of passion. With her kiss still warm and moist on his lips, Edward watched as she waved to him from the back of the departing taxi. He looked up into the moonlit sky, and watched the silhouette of a couple as they embraced in the lit window of a third floor room. He was trying to decide if there was any way he might have improved on his courtship. He didn’t think so. He was controlling the pace, and Chiara’s expectations, with an expert touch. He turned and started the walk back towards Hyde Park. He began to plan the next steps. Things were going so well. He wondered whether he might even accelerate a little.
31
JOSEPH ARRANGED FOR FLOWERS to be delivered to the restaurant every day, huge bouquets that Eve couldn’t possibly manage to take home with her. With every fresh delivery came a card inviting her to dinner, yet she turned down each invitation. Joseph spoke to Edward and between them they diagnosed the reason for her reluctance. It wasn’t a lack of interest, they ascertained, just that she was a traditional girl and her sense of propriety needed to be assuaged. The two of them had been younger when they had first courted and the time and distance since then meant that the prospect of a second romance carried with it the possibility of longer term consequences. Edward ventured that she wanted to do things properly and made the suggestion that he and Chiara could offer to accompany them to dinner. He had been correct and that made all the difference for Eve. The prospect of a chaperone gave her licence her to accede to the request and she duly did.