A Question Of Honour: A Harry Royle Thriller (19 page)

"An officer, Really?"

Harry laughed inside, this was really too easy, but he just couldn't resist. If he played his cards right, the girl would be his ticket to London and Ruth.

"Yes, I was an officer of the Coldstream Guards and I'm just passing through."

"I bet you're going back to London aren't you?"

He could see the unguarded hunger in her eyes. He thought that travelling with a woman would be so much easier, they'd not expect that, not so soon. And besides this girl was so different to Vera, like chalk and cheese. With her, things could be different, but only time would tell.

"Yes that's right I've got a few things to sort out. By the way do you know of a room for the night? The name's Peter Manley."

"Jean, and yes I think I do, Peter."

Jean flushed, she wasn't that kind of girl and yet her mind was all of a sudden awash with images of bright lights, dancing till dawn and fast cars. An officer, how many times would an actual officer come into the pub. Handsome too. But the question was, was he single? And did she care? Yes, she did, despite all the whirling her brain could muster she still wanted nothing to do with a married man. She looked into his blue-grey eyes, they seemed open and gentle, but still with a hint of something else, not the kind she usually saw across the bar.

"Is your wife in London?"

He smiled again.

"Not married, never been that lucky."

She returned his smile with one of her own. An officer and single this was indeed her lucky day. He finished his pint with a gasp for air and returned the empty glass to the damp bar towel-covered bar.

"Would you like another Peter?"

She liked him; he was very easy to talk to.

"Yes please and about the room."

"Don't worry about the room, I'll walk you over there when I finish if you like?"

She blushed. It was a good thing she was wearing her war paint, she thought.

"That would be very kind of you Jean, thank you."

He took a packet of Woodbines from his inside jacket pocket, as he shrugged out of his overcoat. He pushed a cigarette between his teeth. He offered the still open packet to the girl, who accepted one of the white sticks. Harry struck a match and cupped his hand over the flame and touched it to both of their cigarettes. Taking a long drag, he blew out a contented plume of tobacco smoke. Jean took little drags at her cigarette. They smoked together without the need for words. Jean moved away and along the bar to serve an old man in a dark blue overcoat and muffler. His flat cap had been the only thing he'd taken off inside the pub. Harry looked over to see her smiling eyes catching his in an unspoken joke. She glanced at the old man and then raised her eyebrows. Harry winked in good-humoured reply. The rest of the evening passed in much the same way.

Then came last orders and Jean put the towel over the pumps and rang the bell, which crashed and clattered throughout the adjoining rooms. The old men were gone with a belly full of ale and a cheery goodnight. The open door invited a bitter wind into the room and they both shivered for an instant. Jean busied herself while Harry leaned against the bar, watching her. Jean was certainly a turn up for the books.

"Right I'm done love, you coming then or are you fastened to that bar?"

Harry looked up. Jean was standing with her coat and scarf on; she was holding the door open. He stood up and put on his coat. As the doors closed behind them, Harry heard the sound of bolts sliding into place and the click of a key being turned. He turned to Jean with a puzzled expression. She paused and then picking up on his thoughts, answered them.

"That was Dai, locking up, he's the landlord. He was having a night off, well you saw how quiet it was tonight."

"Right, now I'm with you, for a minute I thought you were using witchcraft on it."

He grinned at her.

"You cheeky so and so, witch indeed, do I look like one?"

"Well, you bewitched me tonight."

It was her turn to grin.

"You are very good, you smooth talker. You'll turn my head I swear you will."

He offered her his arm, which she accepted with a slight nod of her head. In less than ten minutes, they had arrived at a modest looking bed and breakfast. She skipped up the steps and standing on the top, rang the bell. A plump middle-aged woman with grey hair pinned up into a tidy bun answered the door. She had tired eyes and a dark brown shawl around her shoulders. The two women put their heads together for a moment and then they both turned to regard the man standing at the bottom of the six stone steps.

"I believe young man that you are looking for a room?"

Harry nodded his head.

"I hear that you are an officer recently returned from overseas."

Harry smiled very politely.

"Yes, madam."

The woman looked suitably impressed and extended a chubby hand, which he shook gently.

"Now, young man, I am sure you are a gentleman, but there are rules in this house. No visitors in the rooms after eight o'clock and no ladies allowed under any circumstances. How long will you be needing the room for?"

Harry glanced at Jean and considered the question. He had thought of moving further up the coast, or even staying in Cardiff for a while. However Jean wanted bright lights and the big city, so it sounded as if London was calling once again.

"I would think about a week would be sufficient, if that's alright?"

Jean turned to him.

"I'll see you tomorrow Peter, goodnight."

Without another word, the girl turned on her heel and went back down the steps. Harry called quickly after her.

"Wait a minute you can't walk home alone. Let me..."

The old woman at his side patted his arm.

"She'll be fine dear, do you see the green door there on the corner? That's where Jean lives, now let's go inside and get you sorted shall we?"

Harry followed the older woman in through the front door, closing it behind them. The room wasn't at all bad as far as small hotels went. The old lady was a kind soul and she had swallowed his being an officer, that was rich, still why not? Had he not been offered a commission not that long before? Jean was a nice girl and he was about to mess up her life for her, but he couldn't see any other way. And deep down he knew that he needed the woman, needed her to get back to Soho in one piece. With Vera it would have been different, she was nothing, meant nothing, but with Jean, who he'd only known five minutes, things felt very different.

Getting up from the old faded red armchair, he lit a cigarette and putting the brass ashtray on the bedside table, sat down on the bed. Pulling his feet up Harry stretched out full length and thought about tomorrow and what the plan of action should be. One thing was certain, he wouldn't get far on the ten shilling note in his wallet. No, he needed clothes and a bit of flash money to show Jean a good time. His mind raced. This wasn't good he really needed to pull a job, but this was a new place and he didn't know anyone or the lay of the land and that could be a real danger. Who was he trying to kid? Himself, apparently. Pulling a job was something they did in the films, but he had no choice and like it or not, he was a crook and needed to start acting like one, if he were to make it back to his friends again. He decided that he would get up very early and go out well before Jean might come looking for him. Then he would be able to look around and find a likely mark and then with any luck he could do the job and be sat in the pub before it got too late. That way he'd have money.

On Saturday, he would be able to buy clothes and take her out in style. And perhaps with a bit of luck they might be able to leave on Tuesday or Wednesday.

Friday morning found Harry walking the unknown streets of Cardiff. The city was in some ways like London's Docklands. Walking the narrow streets, Harry noticed two possible places that he might be able to turn over without too much trouble. The first of these was a small jewellers shop owned by an elderly couple. It looked easy, but he would need to pull it in broad daylight. Then there was also the problem of how to deal with the couple themselves. He hated the idea of frightening them. He knew in his heart of hearts that he was no robber, not really. But money was needed.

The other option was an engineering works. The works themselves would be worse than useless, but he'd noticed that there were some offices upstairs that looked as though they'd yield something. But with this second option came the problem of selling what was stolen. There is, as a rule, two parts to this type of crime. First the stealing and then the selling of the stolen goods. In every town and city, there are always those who will buy anything, so long as it's at the right price. The only trouble was this was Cardiff, not London. He didn't know a soul, apart from the girl. So it looked like there really was only one choice. He still didn't like it. No there had to be another way.

Harry looked at his watch and considered the events of the past few hours. He had given up on the idea of the jewellers. He didn't like anything to do with the idea, feeling that he did still have some scruples left. As he'd carried on walking that morning, he had eventually found himself standing opposite the train station again. On a whim, he'd bought a ticket for Swansea and caught the next train out. After a stroll around the town, he'd come to a post office, which was empty. He'd felt stupid walking in with a scarf over his face and brandishing a gun, but times were hard and beggars couldn't be choosers. The postmaster hadn't been the brave sort and within minutes it was over. Royle left with fifty pounds in his wallet and the man tied and gagged. Harry's last act before leaving the shop had been to lower the blind and move the sign from open to closed.

Next he'd caught a train to Barry and one from there to Merthyr and then another back to Cardiff. In Barry, he'd got rid of the toy gun in a rubbish bin, under some papers. The gun bought for one and six from a toy shop and in Harry's opinion, worth every penny had done the trick. He'd acted as though it were real and the other man had bought into the moment. Had he been challenged, Harry would have run, but things worked out better than expected and he came away with the prize. The watch on his wrist said four o'clock as he stepped off the train.

The platform and station beyond were quiet, and the handful of passengers were too occupied with their own lives to be concerned with a stranger. Realising that it was still early, he headed for the shops when he left the station. Harry was able to find the perfect establishment. A gentleman's outfitters. He left the shop with enough clothes to impress. He'd bought a cheap street map at the station and used this to find a quiet route back to the hotel. More than anything he wanted to avoid Jean. Her questions would be intrusive, why had he bought a complete new outfit. This would seem odd to her and lead to more questions. The last thing he needed were questions. The street was dead, even closing the front door which sealed with a loud click attracted no attention.

It was nine o clock when pushing open the door of the Red Lion, Royle strolled into the bar. Jean looked up and smiled. Her eyes were wide and she took in the well-cut suit, the fedora and the highly polished Oxfords, not to mention the pure wool overcoat that was so casually draped over his arm. Jean's lips said nothing of the change of wardrobe, but her eyes spoke volumes on the subjects of admiration and pride. Mission accomplished was the thought which came directly into Harry's mind.

"Pint please love?"

"Certainly Sir."

She expertly pulled a pint of best bitter. The glass overflowed as she placed it down on the faded wooden surface. He took a sip of the smooth liquid and allowed his thoughts to drift back a few hours to the conversation he'd had in the shop.

"I'm a Captain, Guards and well to be perfectly frank with you things have not worked out since returning. I had most of my togs stolen and can't very well return to my family looking shabby."

The little man had rubbed his hands together and smiled in a very gentle way at the thought of the money coming his way. Royle well remembered how the man had reeked of Lavender and had been so obviously bent as a nine bob note.

"Where have you been hiding today?"

Harry had been prepared for Jean's question and knew that he mustn't answer instantly, but must pause just as though he were about to tell her the truth.

"I had to go to Newport."

She looked up from the whisky she was pouring for the tall, well-dressed man in the dark raincoat, with the thick moustache.

"I had to break the news to a lad's family that he wouldn't be coming home. Bought it overseas and…"

Harry managed to look mournful.

"And you thought that you should be the one to break the news. You are something, you really are. Here I'll get you a whisky, it's on me."

The rest of the evening passed in the same friendly vein as it had the previous night. This continued until closing time when Harry decided to take the initiative and in doing so neatly turn the tables.

"I'll walk you home if you'll let me?"

This was foolish but to the young girl's mind it was a romantic gesture and something which Jean had been starved of for a long time.

"That would be lovely I'll just get my things."