“A bitter lemon, please,” said Flora, and Vivian said that he would have the same.
“Over there,” Flora tugged at his arm, “those people
are just getting up. Nolly has been giving them the evil eye, which may have hastened their departure. Come on, before someone else grabs the space.”
“I’m shuffling as fast as I can,” Vivian told her. He narrowly missed getting hit in the eye by somebody brandishing a tankard while singing “Happy Birthday” in a loud, beery voice to an unseen entity. “Is it only me, or do you feel as though you’re being compressed so you can go through the post?”
“I’m sitting down,” Flora’s voice floated toward him, “just two more steps to your right.”
“Thank God, I was afraid I would never see you again.” Vivian took his seat next to her under a broad window ledge filled with brass pots. “And I hope those plants aren’t hogging more than their share of what little oxygen there is to go around.”
“I think they’re plastic.”
“No, they’re real ones grown to deceive the eye into thinking they are fakes.”
“So people will forget to water them,” Flora laughed, “and have to buy new ones?”
“Exactly,” said Vivian, spilling out words in an attempt to stop himself from thinking about the ongoing nightmare of Hutchins’s death. “The couple who run the market garden across from Gossinger were telling me, when I went across to buy Aunt Mabel a plant for her birthday, that it is getting harder to compete with the really good fakes.”
“Have you ever minded about the Dower House and its grounds being leased?” Flora asked.
Whereupon Vivian was about to say his only regret was that it would have provided alternative accommodation for Lady Gossinger on her husband’s death— which would have been getting onto a sticky subject. But he was stalled by the third in their party (not counting Nolly) approaching with a clutch of drinks in his hands.
“Here we are!” He set down the glasses and seated himself across from them. “To everyone’s good health.”
“And to the truth, please,” said Flora. “Where
have
we met before?”
Vivian fully expected the man, now edging a finger around his foaming glass of bitter, to abruptly assume the manner of a professional policeman and explain that he had seen, perhaps spoken to, Flora at her grandfather’s inquest. What he actually said was almost as upsetting.
“I’m the one you kindly gave a lift in your car, on the day of your grandfather’s funeral,” the man said. “Now don’t leap out of your seats,” he added, calmly sipping his beer. “I’m a reformed character.”
“Since you robbed the bank at Maidenbury?” Flora gripped her glass of bitter lemon in both hands while Nolly sat very still on her lap, deciding—being occasionally a sensible dog—that this was not the moment to interrupt with the smallest woof.
“I know what you’re thinking,” said the man, as Vivian opened his mouth, “but believe me, that job doesn’t count. I only took out my own money, all of which, if it will ease your minds, came from an honest source. A dear old auntie who left everything to me in the hope that I would behave myself if not short of the ready. Unfortunately, by way of some fancy footwork on the part of her lawyers, it was tied up while I was a guest of Her Majesty. And, yes, I will admit the fault, I don’t have any patience with red tape.”
“You’re a crook!” Vivian closed the inch or two gap between him and Flora. In reward, he got a nip from Nolly.
“Recovering.” The man produced a bland smile. “In fact I began to think seriously about entering the Church, but after trying it for a day I decided I could not take those tight collars and shiny black suits.”
“It was you!” Flora exclaimed. “You were the priest
on the train to King’s Cross! He was sitting next to Mr. Ferncliffe,” she explained to Vivian, “Boris Smith’s teacher, the one in charge of the school outing to Gossinger.”
“A dull sort of fellow,” the bank robber, alias man of God, said, “not at all your type, Miss Hutchins. I am sure your boyfriend here has nothing to worry about.”
“You’re the one who should be worried.” Vivian leaned across the table. “The police are likely to be extremely interested when Flora and I pay them a visit and report our meeting with you.”
The man shook his head. “Not a very Christian attitude. It makes me glad I decided against the Church. Here I am, breaking cover, because I wish to do Miss Hutchins a good turn. I appreciated her giving me a lift that day, and this is the thanks I get from you, sir.”
“What sort of good turn?” Flora asked him.
“It has to do with a friend of mine.”
“Go on,” said Vivian, unable to put a lid on his curiosity.
“I’m talking about a fellow I got to know when we were both serving our country behind bars.” He smiled blandly. “The way we looked at it, that was two more jobs, legal or otherwise, for the unemployed. My friend and I had been in the same line of business, con jobs, before going inside. Robbing the rich to help poor us is the way we’d looked at it. But after the first eighteen months or so we’d had enough of talking shop and neither of us was into woodwork; so naturally we shifted to personal stuff. And it was then that my friend—we’ll call him Reggie, because that’s his name—told me he was married to a great girl, but she died. Complications from asthma, I think it was. Anyway, Reggie’d get very down at times and blame himself for her death, because he was convinced that finding out what he’d been up to had put a strain on her heart.”
“Why are you telling me this?” Flora asked him in a stifled voice.
“Because there was a child.”
“And you are someone who likes to stir the pot,” said Vivian, fighting down the urge to plant his fist in the other man’s face.
“It was a little girl. After her mother’s death she went to live with her maternal grandfather, who was butler at a place called Gossinger Hall, which I happened to know of because my old auntie, the one who died and left me the loot, lived not far from Maidenbury and liked to do her shopping and,” again he smiled, “banking there.”
“And you kept in touch with your friend?” Flora drew warmth from Nolly.
“He got out before I did, but he wrote and came to see me sometimes. I told you, Reggie was the right stuff, the sort to stick by his friends.”
“But not the sort to stick by his daughter,” Vivian said before he could stop himself.
“Or was it,” Flora bit down on her lip, “that the grandfather of this girl insisted he stay away, because he thought that would be best for her?”
“No, that wasn’t it. From what Reggie told me, the old man thought the girl was entitled to know the truth and to decide for herself whether or not she wanted contact with her father. He thought secrets were dangerous, but Reggie had made a promise to his wife, when she went back to her maiden name, that he would stay away from their daughter, so she would never have to know that he had been inside.”
“Then why are you here?” Flora picked up her bitter lemon to demonstrate that her hands were quite steady.
“Because after you and I crossed paths I got hold of Reggie to tell him the grandfather was deceased and it might be time to forget some promise made under pressure and make up for lost time. He said he didn’t think you’d want to know him, and I offered to come and ...”
“Sound her out?” Vivian looked at Flora and got no response because she was staring into her drink as if it were a bottomless well.
“That was the idea,” said the go-between. “Reggie wants you to feel free, Miss Hutchins, to see him or not as you see fit, but he also wants me to tell you that he thought about you always and sends his love.”
“Are you going to tell us your name?” Flora needed time on safer ground.
“My friends call me Snuffy.”
“I hope that’s not,” she managed to say severely, “because you’ve made your reputation snuffing out people.”
“What a horrible thought!” He looked genuinely wounded. “I came by the name because I had an enthusiasm for snuff boxes in my youth. Still do for that matter, but I swear, I haven’t added to my collection by unlawful means in a long time.”
“Do you have any silver snuffboxes?” Flora discovered that if she channeled her thoughts straight ahead she could keep the shock of learning about her father in a separate part of her mind, to be taken out and mulled over when she stopped feeling as though she had taken a bullet between the eyes.
“As a matter of fact,” Snuffy adjusted the knot in his mustard tie, “I have a couple of remarkably good Regency silver boxes, got them off a fence I used to know. An expert in all areas of the silver business. Worked in a museum at one time, I believe. But I’ve heard she’s going straight these days, like myself and Reggie.”
Vivian squeezed Flora’s shoulder. “Perhaps he is, your father that is. I can’t believe he’s a heartless rascal, not with you for a daughter. It could be prison and your
mother’s death straightened him out. I’ve never been one to think a leopard can’t change his spots.”
But Flora got to her feet. “I think that I’d like to go home now. I appreciate the drink, Snuffy, and your kindness in finding me so we could have this talk ...”
“About that,” Vivian said to the other man while also getting to his feet, “how did you know where to catch up with her?”
“Nothing to it.” Snuffy endeavored to look modest. “Miss Hutchins spoke on the train yesterday about coming to live in Bethnal Green in a flat above a vacant shop. So it was just a matter of putting my nose to the ground and sniffing out her tracks.”
“So you did follow her!”
“Didn’t have to, my dear fellow. A question here, another one there, is all this sort of thing takes.”
Vivian didn’t believe him, but chose not to stand and argue the point. It was clear Flora was desperate to get out of the pub, and so by the looks of him was Nolly, who indeed made a dash for the nearest lamppost the moment they were out the door.
Snuffy walked to the corner of Wishbone Street with them. “So,” he said as they waited for the green light, “what would you like me to tell my friend Reggie, Miss Hutchins?”
“Ask him to come and see me tomorrow. In the daytime, that would be best, perhaps early afternoon, because I have to go out to tea at three. Unless,” she bent down to restrain Nolly from pulling her into the road, “he would be at work at that time.”
“I’m sure he can get round that if necessary.” Snuffy tipped his tweed cap and was suddenly just another back mingling with those of other early-evening pedestrians heading toward the tube station.
“I don’t want to talk,” Flora told Vivian, “not yet.” What she really wished was that he would go away. Because with him at her side it was impossible not to
wonder what he really thought about her being the daughter of an ex-jailbird. It was one thing to believe that she and Vivian could be friends of sorts despite their different connections to Gossinger Hall, but this altered everything.
As they reached her door she wondered if Sir Henry and her Ladyship knew about her background, and then was fiercely sure they didn’t; she had absolute trust in her grandfather that he would never have shared her terrible secret with anyone else whilst she was left in the dark.
“I’ll have the door open in a jiffy.” Vivian had produced the key and was inserting it in the lock.
“You don’t have to come in.” Flora was now able to force her lips into a smile, although it made her face feel as if it were about to crack. “Really, I’d rather you didn’t. You need to get back to your own life. And I’d like to be alone until I can get used to the idea of not being an orphan.”
“Sorry, you’re not getting rid of me that easily,” Vivian told her. “Somehow—and you can put the arrogance down to my unfortunate background—I believe we’re in this together.”
“You do have an undue sense of your own importance.” Flora looked at him through suddenly wet lashes.
“There’s nothing undue about it,” he said, switching on the shop lights and pushing her gently through the door. “You need me desperately.”
“What do you mean?” She brushed a hand across her eyes.
“You seem to have forgotten that Nolly does not live by his looks alone. He has to eat. And it seems unlikely to me that you brought any dog food along in one of your cases.”
“Oh, poor darling, what a wicked mother I am!” Flora exclaimed. She dropped to her knees and cradled the starving animal in her arms. “I don’t deserve to be a
pet owner. Do you think there’ll be a shop open?” she asked Vivian.
“You leave that to me. If there isn’t, I may have to try to do some breaking and entering which at least would have the advantage of ensuring that you don’t go accusing me of looking down my nose at your father.”
“I never said anything like that,” Flora said, stung.
“You don’t have to.” Vivian touched a finger to her cheek. “I can read your mind, my sweet.”
What more was there to be said?
“Thank you,” she murmured as Vivian headed for his car. “And don’t run out of petrol, or forget to put the hand brake on when you park.”
“He did that for me,” said Flora, closing the door as his taillights disappeared down the street. “The dog food was just a lucky excuse so he could clear off for a bit and leave me to sort myself out. Isn’t he the most special man in the whole world, Nolly? No, don’t answer that! Tell me I have no business thinking about him in that sort of way, and that it isn’t possible to fall in love with someone when you’re a little girl and discover when you’re all grown up that the man is even more wonderful than the handsome prince. That sort of thing is for fairy tales, and my life isn’t turning out that way. How’s that for self-pity?”
Nolly sat with his head tilted to one side, his ears adorable triangles and his heart in his eyes.
“I know what you are trying to say,” said Flora. “It’s that I should get you a bowl of water and some cheese crackers from that picnic basket on the counter. And that afterward I should think about what I’m going to say to my father, should he show up tomorrow. Oh, you think I should be guided by you, that if you try to take a nip out of his trouser leg I’m to take it he’s not to be trusted. And if you snuffle all over him with enthusiastic kisses that will be the tip-off that he’s truly sorry for
everything that happened and all is forgiven. Am I right?”