A Promise Between Friends (28 page)

Marianne nodded. ‘One would have preferred to frame something a little more sensitive to their romance,’ she mused. ‘But there you are, the image obviously meant something to
them.’

‘Yes, it did,’ Ruby said quietly, wondering if she would ever find out just what that something was.

Bernie waited for Ruby by the shop’s front door. Though this Marianne lived on another planet to him, she clearly had a soft spot for Ruby. She’d disappeared
downstairs to search the record books. A couple of window shoppers passed and some posh geezer was making an enquiry. While the place had all the trappings of success, Bernie reckoned they were
short on business.

His mind drifted to Pete. Had he kept Joanie a secret for a reason? Was she a working girl? Could she already be shacked up with another geezer? Ruby hadn’t given any thought to that one
of course. Pete was lily-white in her eyes. But if Pete’s romancing was as dodgy as his punters, then Ruby might be in for a shock.

Bernie heaved a long sigh, watching Ruby turn towards him, a look of excitement on her face. She was holding a piece of paper and Bernie’s heart did a flip.

‘Marianne’s given me this,’ Ruby said as Bernie read aloud the address. ‘Soho Square. It ain’t much, is it?’

‘It’s all we’ve got.’

‘No number?’

‘No.’

‘Well, I hope the house jumps out and bites us. Cos I reckon we’re on a fool’s errand. Pete didn’t give a number cos there wasn’t one.’

‘Stop beefing, Bernie. Go home if you want. I’ll manage on my own.’

‘You know I wouldn’t do that.’

‘Then come on. We’ll walk there. It ain’t far off.’

She took his arm and together they made their way through the warren of Soho streets. Past the poky shops, cafés and restaurants, the dingy strip joints and through the milling tourists
and eccentric-looking locals.

When they entered Greek Street, Ruby stopped. ‘There’s something familiar here.’

‘Like what?’

‘Pete told me all these stories about Soho. Its history. How all these foreigners came to London to live and work.’

‘Yeah, and this is called Greek Street, ain’t it?’ he said impatiently. ‘There’s Greeks, obviously, Italians, French—’

‘Shut up, Bernie, I’m trying to remember.’

‘Remember what?’

‘See those trees at the end of the road there?’

‘That’s Soho Square.’

‘Bernie, I do remember this place! It’s where Pete took me that Sunday.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘I think so.’ She gazed up at him with her big shimmering eyes.

‘Come on then.’

When they got to the small green park, Ruby gave a choked gasp. ‘Look, that shop used to sell books. It was very pretty once.’

‘It ain’t now. It’s all boarded up.’ Pete studied the small, abandoned and smoke-stained façade. ‘Don’t look like it’s been used in a
while.’

‘The door next to it,’ Ruby replied. ‘That’s Mr Raymond’s house.’

‘You’re certain?’

‘Yes. Pete must have given this as his address.’

They walked slowly across the road and Bernie went up to the weathered, neglected door. ‘There’s no handle, no way of getting in. No bell even.’

‘It was a shiny black door once,’ Ruby whispered. ‘Oh Bernie, it was so beautiful.’

‘So this was Pete’s boss’s place?’

‘Pete called it Mr R’s bolt hole.’

Bernie rubbed his chin thoughtfully. ‘He’s certainly not here now. The place is empty and boarded.’

They stepped back on the pavement. Bernie could see that once the gaff had been quite elegant in its own way. London was full of these tall, once imposing buildings, and this place had certainly
seen better days.

‘Visiting here was the best day of my life,’ Ruby told him in a dreamy voice. ‘Pete served me scones and jam with a silver spoon. I felt like a princess.’

‘Did you see Mr Raymond?’

‘No. But I felt like – well, there could have been someone else there.’

‘Why?’

‘Don’t really know. It was just a feeling. If it was Joanie, then why didn’t Pete introduce us?’

‘Christ, Ruby,’ Bernie objected, ‘he was showing you a good time. Wasn’t that enough?’

Ruby stared up him. ‘Yes, but if he had a girlfriend wasn’t it only natural for him to show her off?’

‘S’pose so,’ he admitted. ‘But I reckon we’re drawing a blank now. At least you know where it was that Pete took you to. If Joanie was ever here, she ain’t
now.’

‘Yet, I still feel something and don’t know what.’

‘I told you, it’s memories, gel. They pop up and do your head in sometimes. But look at it. Empty. Deserted. Abandoned. There’s nothing more to find out.’ As Bernie slid
his arm around her waist, intending to leave, he saw an old man waving at them from the bench across the road. He was tempted to ignore the torn filthy mitten exposing the nicotine-stained
fingertips that waggled in the air, and the long straggly beard and old raincoat tied at the waist with string. But something made him pause, as the old gent threw his dog-end to the ground to join
the many others littering the rough grass.

‘You wanna know about that place?’ shouted the man as he pushed his ancient bicycle towards them, staggering under the weight of the many bags attached to its handlebars.

Bernie and Ruby nodded together.

‘Give us a shilling,’ demanded the tramp from under his tousled bush of matted grey hair. His long nose poked out from hairy eyebrows and his toothless grin made
Ruby squirm. She could smell his body odour and the alcohol on his breath.

‘Why should we do that?’ Bernie said in a warning voice, pushing Ruby out of the way of the fumes.

‘Cos you’d like a bob’s worth of information, that’s why.’

Ruby was surprised at his clear speech and twinkling eyes just visible under the woolly fringe.

‘What sort of information?’ Bernie demanded.

‘About that gaff.’ The head nodded to the door they had stood outside.

‘What do you know about it?’ Ruby asked eagerly.

‘A shilling first, missus.’

Bernie dug into his pocket and pressed a coin into the grubby hand. ‘Now, spill the beans,’ he said as the tramp inspected the money, then pushed it into one of his bags.

‘It’s not been used since before last Christmas,’ the old man told them.

‘That could be a year ago,’ Ruby said disappointedly.

‘And how would you know anyway?’ said Bernie suspiciously.

‘I live here, don’t I? Under that tree over there. That gaff is locked up good and tight now. I’ve tried to get in meself.’

‘Do you remember when the bookshop was open?’ Ruby asked.

‘Before the fire, you mean?’

‘What fire?’ Bernie said in surprise.

‘The fire someone started. Dunno who. Them books went up like a bonfire. I tell you, it was the warmest I’d been that winter.’

‘Was anyone in the house at the time?’ Bernie asked.

‘That’ll cost you a quid.’

‘Your rates are going up fast,’ Bernie complained.

‘I’ll be on me way then.’

‘No!’ Ruby put up her hand. ‘Bernie, please pay him.’

The tramp took the pound note and spat on it. ‘Yer, they took the corpse out. I saw it all with me own eyes.’

‘Who was it?’ Bernie asked suspiciously.

‘Don’t yer read the papers?’

‘No, so who was it?’ Ruby demanded.

A toothless grin appeared on the man’s face. ‘Ronnie Raymond, a loan shark who was too mean to toss me a sixpence when I asked for one. He deserved what he got, I reckon. Loaded, he
was. But he wouldn’t give you the time of day without charging, the mean sod.’

Ruby held her breath as the small, piercing eyes narrowed into slits. ‘Good riddance to bad rubbish, that’s what I say.’

‘Is there anything else you can tell us?’ Ruby said desperately.

‘For a quid we deserve more than that,’ Bernie grumbled.

‘What do you want to know?’ the old man replied tersely. ‘The bleeder’s shoe size? Go on, bugger off, the pair of you.’

Ruby stared at him as he began to push off his bike. She felt the tears very close as Bernie put his arm around her shoulders. ‘This really is the end of the line, Ruby.’

‘If Mr Raymond had been alive he could have told us all about Pete. And maybe Joanie.’

‘P’raps it’s better this way,’ Bernie replied as he urged her back towards Greek Street. ‘He don’t sound a very nice bloke. Come on, we’ll go for an
espresso.’

Ruby’s thoughts were once again in turmoil. Mr Raymond was dead, the last person in London who could have led them to Joanie.

Bernie arrived at Tilbury early on Wednesday morning. After giving his boss some spiel about yesterday and his self-appointed day off, he was on his way to have a gander at the
old tug; see if he could suss out anything more, now that the quarantine men had given it the once-over.

But when he arrived at the wharf he was startled to see an empty berth where the ship had been. His gaffer had said nothing about it being removed and he didn’t like to go back and
enquire. Just then, as he was staring down into the murky waters as they lapped hungrily at the mossy wharf stone, he heard a group of men talking about how the work was drying up and how standing
on the stones waiting for a job to come up was reminiscent of the old days before the war. So Bernie moved towards them, hands in pockets, trying to earwig on the conversation.

He was in luck. One of the port labourers had been there all day yesterday, touting for work. ‘Nothing but that sick foreigner,’ said one man. ‘And it would have taken more
than a day’s pay to persuade me to work on her.’

The others all agreed. ‘Someone had to do it,’ another said. ‘So Shorty Evans volunteered and a couple of his mates.’

‘Shorty’s up for most things,’ was the reply. ‘With a habit like he’s got, he might as well grow four legs his bleeding self.’

‘Yeah, lives at the track. If he had a wife, she’d be keeping him in a kennel.’ They all laughed at they stamped their booted feet to keep themselves warm.

‘So what happened to the ship?’ Bernie enquired as he surreptitiously joined the group.

‘PLA condemned it. Took it off to the knacker’s yard.’

‘Anthrax?’ Bernie asked.

‘You could smell the rot a mile off,’ said the man. ‘I wouldn’t like to be the patsy who tried to pull one over on the authorities.’

‘And the crew?’ Bernie said.

‘Bloody Soviets! But they say the finger is pointed at someone local and, whoever that punter is, they’ll slaughter him for giving Her Majesty’s men the hag.’

Bernie couldn’t have agreed more.

Especially as he knew who the culprit was.

Unable to wait any longer, Ruby made her way to the Bayswater Road. She was going to confront Nick and ask for the truth, even if it was what she didn’t want to hear.
Better knowing than not, she had decided.

The big block of flats was easy to recognize and she entered the glass front door and studied the bell plates. She searched for the name Brandon, but couldn’t see it, though there were one
or two unmarked bells.

Well, she would just go up and knock on the door. Glancing in the large, brass-framed mirror, she studied her reflection: an attractive blonde in a navy-blue coat with blonde hair styled down to
her shoulders. Navy-and-white button earrings – discreetly visible, a light coating of powder on her nose and a pale apricot lipstick. Confident of what she saw, she entered the lift and felt
her heart leap. She knew she had to be strong and not let her emotions get the better of her.

She exited the lift and walked along the cold, cheerless passage. Nick had been so kind and attentive, taking care of her that night Charles attacked her at the Manor. But on Monday she had seen
a different side to him. Which one was real? she wondered.

Ruby stopped at the plain, unvarnished door. She stood still, trying to compose herself. There was no noise of traffic as the small, square-paned window at the end of the passage was securely
shut.

She raised her hand to press the bell. Then she noticed the door was slightly open. Her heart missed a beat. Pushing the door with her fingertips, Ruby peered in. The small hall was deserted.
‘Nick, are you there?’ she called uncertainly.

There was no answer.

Closing the door softly behind her, she walked into the lounge. ‘Nick?’ she called again. Only silence greeted her.

In the kitchen she saw an empty wine bottle and several glasses on the drainer. She touched the glasses lightly, remembering the nights they had spent together in each other’s arms.

Pushing the memory aside she returned to the lounge. The pictures on the wall –
her
pictures – and the cushions, those they’d bought together, were all still there, and
the radiogram and stack of records.

Retracing her steps, she went to the small bedroom. The bed was bare. There were no pillows or covers. Her legs felt weak as she hurried into Nick’s bedroom. The bed was unmade. The door
swung open on the wardrobe.

It was empty.

All his suits, shirts, socks, shoes – everything – gone! For several minutes she stared at the vacant shelves. His smell was still there, as if only a short while ago he had been
standing where she was standing.

Ruby went to the drawers beside the bed. They, too, were empty. A crushed Gauloise was lying in the ashtray. She stared at it, breathing in all that she could of the man who had made love to her
so passionately in this bed.

Her final search was in the bathroom. No razor, soaps or personal effects. A half-used tube of toothpaste stood on the hand basin.

Ruby went back to the lounge. The silence was almost painful. The flat was just an empty shell.

‘His clothes were all gone,’ she told Kath, who had been surprised to see Ruby turn up at the Windmill and had taken her into the dressing room that, so early in
the morning, was deserted. Kath had pushed away the costumes and Ruby sat down on a stool in front of the long mirrors, refusing to let the tears fall.

‘Did you knock on his neighbour’s door?’ Kath asked, passing Ruby a cup of strong tea.

‘No. What would be the use?’

‘So where do you think he is?’

Ruby shrugged. ‘Bernie said he’d probably leave London.’