Lally took the glass and raised her arm in a toast. ‘Boyfriends, not bombs!’
‘Absolutely,’ said Claude. ‘We’ll drink to that, won’t we, Diana?’
Diana felt herself blushing, and hoped that the dirt on her face would camouflage it. She fished her compact out of her handbag, and set about repairing the ravages as best she could. Lally, turning away from Claude and Davey, winked at her.
An ARP warden, picking his way down the stairs, stopped in front of them. ‘You ought to get that seen to, miss,’ he said, looking down at Diana’s feet. When she followed his gaze, she saw that the front of her long evening dress was hemmed in blood.
‘Let me have a look,’ said Lally, lifting Diana’s skirt a modest few inches. There was a long, vicious-looking gash just above her right ankle. ‘Must have been all that glass,’ said Claude.
‘There’s a first aid post at Tottenham Court Road,’ said the warden. ‘Could you get there, miss?’
‘I’m fine,’ said Diana. ‘Honestly. I hadn’t even noticed it.’
‘That’ll be the shock,’ said the warden. Spotting the champagne, he added, ‘Cup of tea, that’s what you need.’
‘I’ll look after her,’ said Claude. ‘They must have done their worst by now,’ he said to Diana. ‘Think you can walk to Jermyn Street? We’ll never find you a taxi, and it ought to be bandaged.’
‘It doesn’t hurt,’ said Diana, avoiding Lally’s eyes.
‘Maybe not now,’ said Claude, ‘but it will. Not afraid, are you?’ His eyes were wide, challenging her to admit fear.
‘Of course not,’ she said, briskly.
‘Come on, then.’ He handed the bottle to Davey, and helped her stand up, saying, ‘You two enjoy yourselves.’ Davey grinned, and Lally looked up at Diana and mouthed, ‘Look out.’
By the time they’d crossed Lower Regent Street, Diana was limping. Claude carried her up the stairs in his arms, deposited her on the sofa in his sitting room, and went to boil the kettle. Looking round, Diana decided that the place looked like a warehouse. Most of the pieces - solid, worthy and Victorian - were too large for the space, and she found herself wondering how on earth they’d been got up the stairs. The furniture seemed to encroach on the room, and the blackout screens and dark wallpaper, which was covered in a series of murky landscapes, did nothing to lift the spirits. The only modern objects were the wireless and an electric cocktail shaker.
‘Hideous, isn’t it?’ Claude reappeared, carrying a tray with tea and brandy. ‘It was my father’s.’ Glancing round, he said, ‘I suppose I don’t notice it much. Would Modom care for tea with a spot of brandy?’
‘Modom would.’
‘Good. Then we’ll have a closer look at that ankle, if Modom would kindly remove her stocking.’
He left her to drink her tea, which seemed to contain rather more than the spot of brandy he’d suggested, and returned a few moments later with a bowl of water and a small first-aid kit. Kneeling on the rug at her feet, he lifted her skirt and bathed the wound with warm water - ‘I’ll try not to hurt you, darling’ - bestowed a kiss on it, and then bandaged it with a deftness that surprised her.
‘Where did you learn to do that?’
‘Oh, here and there,’ he said, airily.
‘Have you had much practice bandaging girls’ legs?’
‘Heaps. But none of them were as nice as yours.’
‘I’ll bet you said that to all of them.’
‘No, I didn’t. What do you take me for?’
‘What you are.’
‘Which is what, exactly?’
‘A seducer and a shameless philanderer.’
‘Well, now you’re here, would you like to be seduced and shamelessly philandered?’
‘You can’t philander someone. It isn’t a verb.’
‘It is now.’ Claude slid his hands under her skirt and lifted it up to her knees. ‘Your legs really are quite lovely, you know.’
‘So I’ve been told,’ said Diana, pushing her skirt down again.
‘Have you? By whom?’
‘Oh, thousands of people.’
‘Really? Did they all . . . do this?’ Still kneeling, he pushed back her skirt again, brushing her fingers aside, and stroked the insides of her thighs, making her skin tingle. I ought to stop him, she thought. How tiresome, when it’s so nice . . . ‘Certainly not,’ she said, wriggling away from him. ‘They were very polite.’
‘So they didn’t do . . . this?’ His fingers were actually inside the leg of her knickers now. Diana stiffened involuntarily, but it was no good. The warm, dangerously liquid feeling she’d had that first evening when he’d touched her breast came flooding back, only further down her body, and hugely intensified. The pressure of his fingers, and what he was doing to her, was just . . . she bit her lip to stop the sigh that was rising in her throat. They’d never got this far before - but then, she’d never been to Claude’s flat before, had she?
‘Come on, Diana . . .’
‘I haven’t . . .’ her voice was shaky. ‘We can’t . . .’
‘Diana . . .’ Claude got up and, putting his hands on her shoulders, pushed her backwards so that her shoulders thudded against the hard arm of the sofa. ‘Come on,’ he coaxed, leaning over her. ‘Just relax. Enjoy yourself.’ His hand was under her skirt again, and his fingers . . . ‘That’s it. That’s better, isn’t it? Good girl . . .’
‘No!’ Diana writhed beneath him, trying to bring herself back to a sitting position, and, when this failed, grabbed at his hair.
‘Hey!’ Claude withdrew his hand and sat up straight, wincing.
‘Claude, we mustn’t. Let me sit up properly.’
‘Do you know,’ Claude grinned and pushed her firmly backwards, ‘I don’t think I will. I don’t think you deserve it, after that.’
She felt him pulling up her skirt. ‘Please, Claude. You’re squashing me.’
He wasn’t listening. ‘You’re beautiful,’ he murmured into her ear. ‘So . . . beautiful . . .’
‘Claude!’
‘You’ll love it, darling, you know you will . . .’
‘No, Claude, we can’t.’
‘Don’t worry, angel, I’ll look after you.’
‘What do you mean, look after me?’
‘It’s like a bus ride,’ he said, stroking her neck with his free hand. ‘You know the stop where you want to get off, but you actually get off at the one before.’ He kissed the tip of her nose.
‘You mean you don’t actually . . .’
‘No darling, not inside you. Now are you going to be a good girl, or . . .’ Before she had a chance to free herself, he grabbed both her arms, and, pinning them behind her head, held her wrists together in one hand with humiliating ease. ‘Well . . . ?’ Without waiting for a reply, he kissed her again, this time on the mouth.
‘Don’t tell me,’ he said a few moments later, ‘that you didn’t enjoy that, because I know you did. You look so lovely like that, with your hair coming loose . . . And you want to, Diana. You know you do.’
‘Yes, but . . .’ Of course she wanted to. Badly. Why was it always the woman who had to put the brakes on, she thought. It wasn’t fair. Even Guy had expected that, before they were married, although, with hindsight, that had been more in the manner of a man who wants to make a show of fighting but is relieved when his friends hold him back. He’d have been horrified if she’d actually lain back and let him do what he supposedly wanted . . .
‘I’m married, Claude.’
‘Never mind, darling. We shan’t let it spoil our fun.’
‘It’s not fair to Guy,’ said Diana. A sudden resolve made her begin to struggle in earnest, wriggling from side to side and bucking her hips against his. His response, apart from the erection she could feel pressing on her lap, was to increase his pressure on her wrists, bending her arms backwards, sending a sharp jag of pain across her shoulders and making made her wince. ‘You’re hurting me!’
‘I know, darling. But if you behave yourself, we can replace the pain with a far more pleasant sensation . . .’
‘I’m not a child, Claude.’
‘Then stop behaving like one.’ He jerked her arms again, so that she cried out. ‘After all, it’s not as if you’re a virgin.’
‘That’s not the point.’
‘Quite a little hypocrite, aren’t you? I’m here, and you’re here, and that—’ relaxing his grip on her wrists, he ground his crotch against hers - ‘is the point. In any case,’ he continued, ‘you’re far too lovely not to be enjoyed, and we’re not supposed to waste things - it’s against regulations.’
His expression was so earnest that Diana started to laugh. ‘What rubbish!’
‘Not at all. As servants of His Majesty’s Government, it’s our duty to set an example.’
‘But there’s no-one here to see.’
‘Would you prefer an audience?’
‘No!’
‘Just as well.’ Expertly, Claude undid the back of her dress and began sliding it off her shoulders, taking her underwear with it. ‘I’d much rather keep this—’ She groaned as he nuzzled her breast, ‘all for myself. You see, pleasure is so much nicer . . .’
‘Claude!’
‘Stop making excuses.’
‘But—’
‘Enough!’ He pulled her upright. ‘You’re not going back out there, Diana. They could start again at any moment - it isn’t safe.’
Diana fumbled clutched awkwardly at her dress, trying to cover herself. ‘It isn’t very safe in here, either.’
Claude took hold of her hands and kissed them. ‘Yes it is, darling. Quite safe. And much more comfortable. You’ve made all your excuses.’ He took her chin in his hand and pressed his forehead against hers. ‘You’ve put up a jolly good show, darling,’ he murmured. ‘Full marks. Now let’s have some fun.’
Diana lay on her back and stared up at the underside of Claude’s bed. ‘My goodness,’ she said, with a little laugh, ‘How strange. I didn’t know . . . That was . . . that . . .’
‘Ssh . . .’ Claude leant over and caressed her cheek, then took her hand under the bedclothes. ‘I love you,’ he said.
‘I love you, too.’
Later, as she fell asleep in his arms, her last, drowsy thought was that she’d burnt her boats, but oddly, she found that she didn’t much care. Perhaps she would in the morning, but not now . . .
TWENTY-ONE
‘Sir?’
Stratton looked up from his desk to see Ballard standing in the doorway of the office, covered in brick dust and holding a battered iron deed box in his hands. ‘Blimey. Where have you been?’
‘Conway Street, sir.’ Ballard put the box down on the floor and mopped his face with his handkerchief, looking in distaste at the muck that came off on it. ‘It’s bad, sir - three houses down. Hell of a mess. The lodgers were in the shelter, but the landlady . . .’ Ballard shook his head, slowly.
‘Bad, eh?’
‘’Fraid so, sir. Not much left at all. Direct hit. High explosive.’
‘Oh, dear. Miss Morgan, the one who jumped, she lived in Conway Street, didn’t she?’
‘That’s why I’m here, sir. That was one of the houses. The ARP man gave me this.’ He prodded the box with his foot. ‘Thought it looked important. When I saw the name I remembered you asking me about her, sir, and I thought you might like to see it.’ He squatted down and blew on the top of the box. As the last of the dust lifted, Stratton could see the word ‘Morgan’ painted in white. ‘There’s a label on this handle,’ said Ballard, showing him a brown paper tag tied on with a piece of string.
‘Let’s see.’ Stratton peered down at it. ‘Initials. W. B. & C. Whatever that means. Have you looked inside?’
‘No, sir. It’s padlocked, see?’
A hammer and chisel’ll soon see to that, thought Stratton, but all he said was, ‘Thanks. You’ve brought it to the right place.’
‘I thought so, sir.’ Ballard’s face was impassive, and Stratton wondered what he was thinking, but didn’t ask.
‘Best get yourself cleaned up,’ he said. ‘I think Cudlipp’s got a clothes brush somewhere.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Left alone, Stratton walked around the box. Was this what Wallace had been looking for? It was a pretty big thing to hide - under the bed was the obvious place, but Joe had said they’d pulled the mattress off, so it couldn’t have been there. And surely Joe would have removed all his things before he left, and Mabel’s too if he’d wanted to keep them, so where had it been? Not under the floorboards - it was too large for that, or for a cistern . . . He lifted it up - not too heavy - and stowed it under his desk. He’d have to take it home with him; if DCI Lamb were to find him messing about with Mabel Morgan’s possessions, there’d be hell to pay. And he’d have to get it out of the station without exciting the curiosity of Cudlipp . . . Stratton looked at his watch. One o’clock: time for lunch. Or rather, time for a walk - one that would take him to Conway Street.
He crossed Oxford Street and walked up towards Fitzrovia. A newspaper seller on the corner of Newman Street had chalked OUR SCORE 44 AT HALF TIME on his board. ‘Don’t worry,’ he called out as Stratton passed, ‘It’ll take them a hell of a time to knock it all down!’