Missing Person (33 page)

She was unaware of the fact that cancellation of the operation saved her from being drowned in a horse trough in the darkness of night. But she did ask what had happened to the fingers of the senior man. He told her they were bandaged because he’d caught them in a door.

After they had left, the house was empty again, and the rats returned to it.

It was unfortunate that men who had laid their plans so well, and accomplished the abduction of their quarry by a stroke of luck, should have come to grief by reason of a brown hat with two green feathers. It was also unfortunate that on their return to Germany they had to report not to an understanding government figure, but to a man called Heinrich Himmler. Himmler, who had a receding chin and looked like a bespectacled chicken farmer of mild disposition, certainly seemed quite understanding as he smiled and nodded all through their explanation of failure, but he nevertheless passed them on to the leader of the Brownshirts, a thug by the name of Ernst Roehm. Roehm successfully arranged for them to have a fatal car accident.

Rachel emerged from the side door that led up to the spacious apartment above shops in Lower Marsh. She looked extraordinary in a round black straw hat common to Piccadilly flower girls, a black shawl, grey blouse and dark grey skirt. Gone was her look of sumptuous allure, such as some full-bodied stage ladies were noted for. Rachel needed only a flower basket to look as if she was about to go off to Covent Garden to fill it before taking up a pitch in Piccadilly Circus.

Mr Eli Greenberg, waiting for her in his pony and cart, beamed at her as she made her way between two stalls.

‘Vhy, if you ain’t a remarkable lady, Rachel, ain’t it?’ he said. ‘Who vould know you’re a lady and not a seller of sveet violets?’

Rachel climbed up into the seat beside him, showing legs in lace-up black boots and black yarn stockings, one with a hole in it.

‘Well, ain’t I kindly receptive of yer compliments, Eli?’ she said.

‘My life, and all done for Boots?’ chuckled Eli, tickling the pony, which began to pull the cart.

‘For my friends,’ said Rachel, perched happily on the cart.

‘Ah, Rachel, vhile you and me and your respected father know business ain’t to be despised, since ve must all eat and pay our rent, don’t ve also know ve can’t do vithout friends?’

The pony trotted into Waterloo Road. A street corner boy whistled at Rachel, then called.

‘Meet yer in Battersea Park wiv the lights out, shall I?’

‘Not if I see yer first,’ called Rachel, and laughed. ‘Eli, we’re rich.’

‘Are ve?’ said Mr Greenberg cautiously.

‘Yes, ain’t it a fact our best friends are the Adams? Ain’t it a fact, Eli, that they love us? Who could be richer?’

‘Vell, sometimes Sammy’s friendship comes a little expensive,’ said Mr Greenberg with another chuckle. He turned left to cut through to Blackfriars Road. ‘But vhat a friend, ain’t he? I might have beggared my poor self by purchasin’ a small brewery if Sammy hadn’t had a long talk vith me. But here ve are, ain’t it, vith the intention of callin’ in on more of Johnson’s scrap yards, vith you lookin’ like a vorkin’ lady vith a husband thinking of buyin’ metal?’

‘And ain’t I appreciative of how you’re transportin’ me?’ smiled Rachel.

‘Out of friendship, Rachel, and for vhat I owe to the
kindness
of your father, who made me the vun and only loan I ever had to ask for. But all this for Boots, eh, and not Sammy?’

‘Boots is a gentleman, Eli, Sammy an adventurer, and could a woman say no to either? And it’s for the good of the family in the long run.’

‘I ain’t askin’ to be told vhat it’s all about, Rachel, though I ain’t saying it don’t hurt not to be told.’

‘I’ll tell you in time,’ said Rachel, not disposed to betray a confidence from Boots, not even to Mr Greenberg. ‘By the way, do you know anything about Johnson’s and their business?’

‘A little, Rachel, a little,’ said Mr Greenberg, not disposed to ignore the fact that some friends understood information wasn’t always available gratis. Such friends were the best friends.

Rachel began to ask questions.

Bubbles and Penny-Farving climbed the stairs. Penny-Farving knocked on Tilly’s door.

‘I know who that is,’ called Tilly. The time was twenty to two, Cassie had gone at one, and that meant the little angels had had forty minutes in which to commit some act of minor destruction. ‘What’s up, then?’ She opened the door. Bubbles and Penny-Farving looked up at her. Well, she thought, if they were mine, I’d do me level best to turn them into real angels, for I never saw two infants that looked the part more. ‘All right, tell me the worst,’ she said.

‘Please, Tilly, there’s a smell,’ said Penny-Farving.

‘What d’you mean, a smell?’

‘It’s ’orrid,’ said Bubbles.

Tilly had a sudden fearful thought. Out of the room she ran and down the stairs. The smell met her the moment she began her descent. Gas. She whipped her
hankie
out of the waistband of her skirt and thrust it against her nose. She rushed into the kitchen and through to the scullery, and she saw at once that one brass tap was on, a gas ring tap. She switched it off, opened the scullery door and then the kitchen window. She put her face out of the window and breathed in warm air. Out to the passage she ran and opened the front door. From the landing above, the girls peered down at her.

‘Is it all right?’ asked Bubbles.

‘It is now.’ Tilly looked up at them. ‘Who turned the gas on?’

‘Did us do it?’ asked Bubbles of her sister.

Penny-Farving looked down at Tilly.

‘Us don’t remember,’ she said.

And they probably don’t, thought Tilly.

‘All the same,’ she said, ‘can you remember if you wanted to light the gas?’ Penny-Farving was tall enough to.

‘I ’member we was playin’ in the scullery,’ said Bubbles.

‘Was we?’ said Penny-Farving.

‘Well, you was,’ said Bubbles.

‘So was you,’ said Penny-Farving.

‘I don’t ’member I was,’ said Bubbles, tall enough to switch the tap on, but not to apply a lighted match.

‘Were you playin’ with matches?’ asked Tilly.

‘No, Dad don’t let us do that,’ said Penny-Farving.

Well, he’s shown that much sense, thought Tilly.

‘Where are the matches?’ she asked.

‘Dad keeps them in the larder,’ said Penny-Farving, ‘where we can’t reach ’less we stand on a chair.’

Oh, yes, that’s right, thought Tilly, remembering using the matches herself and putting the box back in the larder.

‘Stay there,’ she said, and took a look in the larder, thinking Cassie, perhaps, had used the box and forgotten to put it back. But it was there, on an upper shelf. Cassie was an amusing girl, but she had her share of commonsense. Tilly went back upstairs. Bubbles and Penny-Farving eyed her cautiously. ‘Little gels that play with gas taps ought to get smacked,’ she said. ‘Don’t ever do it again, d’you ’ear? I’m just relieved you ’ad the sense to come runnin’ up to me. Didn’t you realize it was gas you could smell?’

‘Wasn’t it ’orrid?’ said Bubbles.

‘It was makin’ us feel a bit sick,’ said Penny-Farving.

‘Well, come on,’ said Tilly, ‘my window’s open and you can sit at my table for a while. Listen, I thought you were usin’ yer paint-boxes this afternoon, your dad said you were.’

‘Oh, we was makin’ paper-boats first and sailin’ them in the scullery sink,’ said Penny-Farving.

‘We was goin’ to do paintin’ after,’ said Bubbles.

‘Well, go down and bring the paint-boxes up, with yer drawin’ books,’ said Tilly, ‘and I’ll make some room on me table that you can use. Go straight down and come straight up, because I don’t want you spendin’ even ten seconds tryin’ to do something you shouldn’t.’

‘Yes, Tilly,’ said Penny-Farving, ‘we like bein’ with you in the afternoons, don’t we, Bubbles?’

‘Dad told us you ’ad a heart of gold,’ said Bubbles.

‘Well, I’m goin’ to tell yer dad my ’eart of gold is ’aving a very tryin’ time lately,’ said Tilly.

‘Oh, is someone upsettin’ yer?’ asked Penny-Farving.

‘Go and get your paint-boxes,’ said Tilly. ‘Then later on, I’ll see to the first fittin’ of your new frocks.’

‘Crumbs, will yer really?’ said Bubbles excitedly.

‘If you manage not to spread paint all over the furniture,’ said Tilly, and down the two girls went. For once their concentration on what they’d been told didn’t fail them, and they were up again, with their paint-boxes and drawing books, in quick time. Tilly cleared part of her table for them, sat them down and let them apply themselves to their hobby, a harmless one unless they ate the paints. She sat down herself to do some hand-stitching, her window open. Across the adjoining yards the blind at the Harpers’ window was down.

With Rosie and Tim at school, and Emily, Boots and Edwin at their jobs, Chinese Lady was alone in her kitchen, the hub of her existence. Well, a kitchen was where a woman was queen, where she provided for her family and ordered their lives, without suffering a lot of contradiction. Family members knew a woman’s kitchen wasn’t the right place for being contradictory, not when it was there that they had to pay homage to her cooking and baking.

Mind, she wasn’t quite alone in the kitchen today. She had a talking parrot to keep her company. She’d cleaned its cage and gone out during the morning to buy fresh birdseed. She thought it liked its new home, because it kept saying things like ‘Hello, sailor,’ and ‘What a nice day.’ She talked to it from time to time. Fancy Boots bringing it home for her, even if he hadn’t told Emily where he bought it. She accepted it as a thoughtful present to make up for Edwin’s disappearance having been a sore trial to her. Edwin had explained that those men had mistaken him for someone else. She wasn’t sure they should have been let off, but when Edwin said he’d been sure she
wouldn’t
want the family mentioned in the newspapers, she couldn’t have agreed more. Boots had told Emily the parrot’s name was Percy.

Rolling dough, she said, ‘Percy? Percy? D’you like the birdseed I bought for you?’

‘Watcher, missus,’ said Percy.

‘My, you’re a funny parrot,’ said Chinese Lady.

‘Who’s got red drawers, then?’ asked Percy, hopping about on his perch.

‘What’s that?’

‘Knickers,’ said Percy, sounding as if he was chortling.

‘Well,’ said Chinese Lady, ‘I’m not havin’ any parrot saying things like that, not in my kitchen I’m not.’ And she dropped the hood over the cage. ‘That Boots, the sly devil, he would go and pick a vulgar music hall parrot. Just wait till he comes home.’

When Polly arrived home from school, her stepmother introduced her to a huge bouquet that had been delivered by the Dulwich Village florists. With the bouquet was a message from Boots.

Thanks for all your help, Polly. United we stand, divided we fall
.

‘What does that mean?’ asked Lady Simms.

‘It means I’m expected to be friends with him for ever,’ said Polly.

‘How nice,’ said Lady Simms.

‘Nice? It’s filthy,’ said Polly. ‘If you were my age could you be friends, just friends, with a man like Boots for ever?’

‘I don’t answer questions like that, Polly my dear.’

‘Well, I’ll tell you this much, old darling,’ said Polly, ‘I’ll have that man one day, even if I have to hire two hairy gorillas to tie him down.’

‘Really, Polly, you do have the most extravagant ways of expressing the most ridiculous ideas,’ said Lady Simms. ‘Do be sensible, and don’t forget to send Boots a sweet note of thanks. Oh, and have you thought of accepting a proposal of marriage from Captain Nigel Burke?’

‘Not bloody likely,’ said Polly.

‘Your language, Polly dear, is sometimes very reminiscent of your father’s.’

‘Hooray,’ said Polly.

She didn’t send Boots a sweet note of thanks. She knew he wouldn’t want her to. Emily wouldn’t like it. In any case, Polly had thoughts of sending him a clandestine note of fire and passion, describing exactly what they could do to each other during a weekend in Brighton.

Emily, Tim and Rosie were home in advance of Boots. Chinese Lady’s queenly domain, her kitchen, became alive.

‘Nana, you’ve got the parrot covered up,’ said Tim.

‘Yes, he’s been talkin’ too much,’ said Chinese Lady.

‘Still, I can have a look at him,’ said Tim, and took the cover off.

‘Hello, sailor,’ said Percy.

‘Hello yourself,’ said Tim.

‘Hello, Percy,’ said Rosie.

‘Heil Hitler,’ said Percy.

‘What was that he said?’ asked Emily.

‘Yes, what was that you said?’ asked Rosie.

‘Who’s got red drawers, then?’ asked Percy. Rosie shrieked with laughter. Chinese Lady put the cover back over the cage, and Percy lapsed into confused silence.

‘It’s nothing to laugh at, Rosie,’ said Chinese Lady.

‘No, Nana, of course not,’ said Rosie.

‘That’s a saucy parrot, that is,’ said Emily.

‘Yes, trust Boots to bring one like that home,’ said Chinese Lady. ‘I don’t know what the vicar’s lady wife would say.’

‘Why, does she wear red ones?’ asked Tim.

‘Em’ly, speak to that boy,’ said Chinese Lady, ‘and when Boots gets in, I’ll speak to him.’

‘Should you, Nana, when he’s the family hero?’ said Rosie.

‘Never mind him bein’ a hero,’ said Chinese Lady, ‘I’m not goin’ to give him any medals for givin’ me a parrot that talks vulgar. I just hope the parrot he bought for Cassie speaks a lot more proper than this one.’

Oh, crikey, Daddy’s going to catch it over supper tonight, thought Rosie. What a lark.

‘Stay there, you gels,’ said Tilly, when she heard their father entering the house. Down she went to have several private words with him, in his kitchen.

‘Hello, Tilly,’ he said, taking his cap off, ‘nice to see you as soon as I come in. Never thought a lodger could be as pleasin’ as you.’

‘Dan Rogers, if you don’t stop bein’ so self-satisfied, I’ll stick pins in you all over,’ said Tilly. ‘You nearly lost your gels today.’

‘Eh?’ said Dan. ‘Don’t tell me Elvira turned up and tried to take ’em away.’

Tilly drew a breath and counted to ten. Then she said, ‘If you want to see that woman ’ere, you’ll ’ave to go and fetch ’er. No, what I’m talkin’ about is your gas stove. One of the taps got turned on and left on.’