Authors: Barbara Cleverly
Phyllis listened to Lily’s account in disapproving silence. ‘An unofficial boss? Can’t say I’d be happy with that arrangement. When you’re dealing with a man you should always agree terms and get things down on paper.’ Catching a quizzical glint in Lily’s eye she pursed her lips and admitted: ‘All right! I’m one to talk. The Awful Warning if your mother’s to be believed. Arrangements don’t come more informal than my own.’
Lily smiled and hurried to murmur: ‘I never know when it’s the right moment to ask but I’m always wondering, Phyl … the Slip-up? How’s he doing?’
Phyl grinned. ‘There are times even I’d rather not hear … but for the moment he’s doing well. Going up to university next term. Hardly seems possible, does it? Little Teddy at the London School of Economics? Doesn’t seem ten minutes since you were teaching him to count to five, love, with conkers in a jam jar. He was just asking about you before he set off for Florence. We’ll have a party when he gets back and you can check him over yourself. I’m more concerned about you at present.’
‘And next you’ll be telling me never to sign anything until
you’ve
taken a look at it.’
‘Good advice! Did I ever say that? Well, listen now to the voice of experience. I say again – this man’s after
something.
It’s all here,’ she said, tapping the card. ‘Choice of flower first. What do we read into that? Lilies for a Lily, eh? Bit bloomin’ obvious, isn’t it?’
‘Well, the lily’s my birthday flower – May. He’d have known that from the notes. And it signifies purity. But
that
I’m sure he would not have any information on!’
‘Loverish whimsy are we thinking? Can you be sure he chose them? We can’t assume that – not of a man with a secretary to do the domestic for him. Still, if she’s the supercilious cow you describe, you’d have ended up with a bunch of daisies from the back garden. I’m calculating
he
chose them to flatter and amuse. Now let’s read these runes. They look like runes. Black … chiselled … bossy. Mmm … I don’t much like what I’m seeing. These message cards are very small. Most men, in their excitement, run over and finish the message on the back, have you noticed?’
Lily smiled.
‘
Oh, Phyl! I wouldn’t know. This is the first shop-bought bouquet I’ve ever had. A bunch of sticky bluebells and an even stickier kiss from Billy Benson on a charabanc trip to Epping Forest in 1914 is the best I’ve done so far.’
‘Pity your first had to come from a rogue then. Yes – rogue. Look – do you see the writing fills the given space exactly? And he uses a thick-nibbed pen. He’s adjusted his normal style and tailored his message. It’s calculated to the tenth of an inch. He’s given it careful thought. I definitely don’t think he’s planning to have his wicked way with you, though. Out of the question. A man in his position – in the public eye, two or three more steps more to go on the ladder, would that be? He’s not going to risk the scandal of taking advantage of one of the female staff. Too much to lose. No, I reckon you’re safe as far as that goes. He’s not planning to twang your elastic.’ Phyl eyed Lily’s outfit with distaste. ‘Besides, I don’t expect he’s noticed there’s a pretty girl in there.’
‘Well, you may just be wrong, Phyl. I did come in for an inspection of sorts. He checked my height and weight and age. He rather insisted on seeing me without my hat. I thought he might be about to look at my teeth and feel my fetlocks.’
‘Dirty devil! And no other female present while he sniffs around, poking under your hat and measuring your hemline? Well, that’s a breach of the rules for a start. Complain to Miss Peto! She’ll be down on him like a ton of bricks.’ Phyllis shook her head. ‘But I still can’t see what’s in it for him. Where the thrill would be.’
‘Never underestimate a man’s capacity for perversion, Phyl! There’s something about the uniform that sets them off. They love to be dominated, you know.’
‘Where on earth do you get all this rubbish from?’ Phyl was scandalized but intrigued.
‘I learned that from an old jam-tart who trawls the Baze, sitting on a bench in the park. I could have had her arrested but didn’t. I usually don’t.’ Lily laughed. ‘In reward for my kindness, she treated me to a lesson in … not quite sure what you’d call it … um … bending gentlemen to one’s will, I suppose. Then, once you’ve got them bending, you give them a good spanking. Whilst wearing a uniform.’
‘Which party’s meant to be in uniform?’ Phyl asked with a grimace of distaste.
‘Either or both, I expect. Phyl, you’d be surprised to hear the inventive suggestions I’ve had for bringing my navy serge into disrepute. The offers roll in! I could make a fortune if I were that way inclined. More if I were a nurse, of course.’
Phyllis grunted her disapproval. ‘There’s probably a word for that sort of thing. Something in Greek that I’d rather not hear. But that’s not this man’s problem, evidently. He wants to see you in “something sparkling at the wrist and throat”. I’m
assuming
something in between … yes? I can see you intend to accept this invitation, if that’s what it is – it reads rather more like a royal command. So what are you planning? Got any sparklers?’
‘He has no idea! I expect he only knows women who visit Asprey the jeweller’s twice a week and have wardrobes full of evening clothes.’ Lily’s voice was bitter. ‘He could have asked any of the other recruits. They don’t exactly have their tin lockers at the hostel stuffed with ball gowns but they’ve got silks and satins by the furlong stashed away at the family seat, you can bet. I should think he doesn’t even know the price of a pair of evening gloves.’
She gave the cocoa an over-vigorous stir. ‘I know. Barmy of me even to think of accepting. I nearly chucked in the towel when I thought about it. But – all too easy to do a Cinderella and stay behind blackleading the grate and sighing with frustration. I can’t do that.’
Phyllis looked at her with affection. ‘No, love. You were never a Cinders. More of a Little Red Hen – “I can do it myself”. God, that can be annoying!’
‘I have to find out what this man’s up to. Even if I have to kit myself out from a stall in Petticoat Lane. It could be that he really wants me to do a bit of serious detective work and that’s a chance I’m not going to pass up. So, I have to work something out. I thought I’d borrow my mother’s black silk evening dress – the one she wore to the Mayor’s Armistice Day do last year. I could tack up the hem and put a belt round it. You could help me tiddle it up a bit … I wouldn’t tell her and she’d never notice. I can just afford a pair of new shoes and I wondered …’ Lily hesitated, hobbled by the task of asking a favour from anyone, even from the woman she was closer to than her own mother.
Phyllis read her thought. ‘… wondered if I’d lend you a little cocktail hat to distract from the God-awful black number you’ll be wearing? A little bit of nonsense in silver and pearl trembling over the right eye to hold his attention? Of course I will. You’ve a dozen to choose from. But look, love, this needs a bit of planning. This sparkling bit is the bloke’s way of signalling evening dress. It means he’ll be in tails. The Royal Opera House? The Ritz? Either way, your ma’s silk is not going to rise to the challenge. And it’s summer still – no one under thirty’s going to be wearing black. Inconsiderate oaf! Why couldn’t he have been more precise? Think back. Did he give you a clue while you were having your chat – express an enthusiasm for Puccini, rave about the
sole normande
at the Caprice?’
Lily shook her head. ‘We’re not on those terms, Phyl. But I don’t somehow see him at the opera. I doubt he could sit still long enough. He’s a bit too outdoorsy and twitchy for that. I can more easily imagine him cutting a rug at a jazz club.’
‘Gracious! How old is this gent? I’d imagined some old fart with mutton-chop whiskers and gouty knees.’
‘No, not at all. He’s younger than Uncle David. Not thirty yet, I’d guess. Too young for the position he holds, everybody says. The others of that rank
are
moustached, mouldering old codgers who do nothing more energetic than shift papers from one side of the desk to the other all day, checking staff rotas and sacking people. This one’s different. After the Paddington station performance, I asked around a bit. “Know your enemy.” He oughtn’t to feel like an enemy, but he does. What the men say is that Sandilands is one of the new generation of officers – you know, brought in from outside the force to put a bit of grit in the mix and train on for higher things.’
‘My word! Can this be the dear old Yard we all know and hate? I thought you had to wear out fifty pairs of boots plodding the streets before they made you a sergeant.’
‘It’s the post-war stir-up,’ Lily said. ‘Talent shanghaied and shoehorned in at the highest level. General Macready, then Brigadier Horwood, made Commissioners … Hor-wood’s only qualification was three days as a Chief Constable of a county force when he was invited to take over. And what they do is appoint younger men in their own image. They favour ex-military. Though Sandilands predates Macready, they say. He’d already done his regular beat-bashing when he was spotted.’
‘Is he good looking?’
Lily considered. ‘I’d say so … if you don’t mind the scar.’
‘Scar?’
Lily put up a hand and mimed raking it across her brow. ‘Tiger claw is what they say in the canteen. Silvery against the tanned skin.’
Phyl stared. ‘Oh, I don’t think I’d mind the scar. Is he much liked?’
‘Oh, yes, he is!’ Lily stopped short. Her response had been too ready and too warm. She tempered it with: ‘Well – as far as any of the upper echelons are ever popular with the men. Here’s your cocoa, Phyl. They like him, first because they actually think they know him – he goes out on the beat with them sometimes and talks to them. Remembers their wife’s name next time they meet and all that rot. And then – he’s active. Gets things done.’
‘You’ve got to admire that.’ Phyl spoke grudgingly. ‘What’s he stirring up at the moment?’
‘Several irons in the fire. He’s all in favour of getting the motorized division going and he’s running experiments – I’m not kidding – with radio telephone systems to install in the pursuit cars. They think soon they’ll be able to direct the drivers from the top floor of the Yard! I talked to one of the sergeants who’s training as a driver for the Flying Squad. He was full of information. Sandilands prides himself on what he calls his “hands-on” style. A bit too literally, according to the sergeant, when the hands in question are on the steering wheel of a car doing fifty miles an hour down Oxford Street. “Terrible driver but halfway human” seems to be the verdict.’
‘And what do
you
make of him, this half-human Jehu who likes to get his hands on things?’
‘Oh, he presents himself well. Good tailoring but nothing flamboyant. Neat haircut, army wrist-watch. Looks like a soldier in civvies.’ And, reprimanded by Phyl’s arched eyebrow, she added: ‘Well, he has a very nice smile.’
‘So, they say, did Brides-in-the-bath Smith. Is that it? Could be any of ten thousand men in London. He doesn’t seem to have made much of an impression.’
‘He does make an impression. He looks crisp and energetic … you know … fresh out of the shower and looking for trouble.’
‘How tiring!’
‘He eats three gypsy creams in as many minutes.’
‘Well, you’ve got something in common at least. But you can add to your picture manipulative and up to no good,’ Phyl said. ‘All things considered, though, I’d say this toff was worth our attention.’ Her eyes gleamed with intent. ‘But he doesn’t know what he’s taking on. We’ll have him on toast, shall we, Lil? Listen – if he was an officer in the last lot, he’s probably got something to hide. I’ll ask Albert. Albert’s a member of a rather seditious old soldiers’ drinking club in Soho. He can ask about. Follow him. See where he goes after dark. If there’s anything to know to your boss’s discredit, he’ll know it within the hour.’
Albert was Phyl’s chauffeur and debt-collector. His magnificent physique, combined with his deceptively sweet smile, secured instant cooperation from Phyl’s defaulting clients. People seemed to understand at once that, should they demur or cause a moment’s distress for Phyllis Wentworth, his loyalty to his employer would compel him, against all his pacific instincts, to ‘take steps’. Albert’s ‘steps’ were known to be earthshaking.
‘But first I’ll take a quick look through this month’s Society and Entertainment pages … see if I can’t outguess him. Pass it over, will you?’ She settled to thumb her way down the columns. ‘Now, if I were an energetic gent on mischief bent where would I be planning to spend my Saturday night in evening dress?’
Phyl worked her way patiently through the listed entertainments. ‘I see their majesties have opted for the Wagner at Covent Garden. But you say opera’s out. Well then, there’s early keyboard music at the Royal Institution. No? How about a trip down the Mile End Road to the People’s Palace of Delight? They’re staging a variety performance for the Excelsior Philanthropic Society in front of the Duke and Duchess of Norfolk. Ouch! Poor dears. Spending their Saturday night down the Mile End – now that’s philanthropy for you.’
Lily snatched the pages from her. ‘Let’s be serious. Theatre – that’s my best hope. What have we got on offer? … Oh, I say. We could be going to see
The Man in Dress Clothes
at the Garrick or
Partners of Fate
with Louise Lovely. Of course, there’s any number of balls on at the moment. One or two charity suppers. Let’s pray it’s not a charity dinner-dance – how dull. Only one of those promises to be the least bit interesting – the Russian émigrés one. At least it’s on at Claridges. Well, where else? Not short of a bob or two, these Russians.’