Later on that afternoon, when Briony had left Kerry in Mrs Horlock’s capable hands, she and Mariah walked round Berwick Manor with Mr Jackson, the solicitor instructed to sell the property. He was a tall thin man with iron grey hair and a small moustache, perfectly waxed. He blew his nose often, to the amusement of Mariah who rolled her eyes at Briony, making her smile.
They toured through the rooms, taking in their size, the high ceilings and old fireplaces. There were four large reception rooms with huge windows which looked over the Essex countryside. There were two large kitchens, with pantries and what would once have been the butler’s and the cook’s sitting rooms. There was a huge cold store, with marble slabs to keep butter and milk cool in the summertime.
A large sweeping staircase led up to a galleried landing. Off this were eight bedrooms, and above these a rabbit warren of servants’ rooms. More stairs, steeper and narrower now, led up to the attics.
Briony saw the dilapidated state of the property, but she could also see its potential. From the upstairs bedrooms the whole of Essex seemed to have been laid out before them. The Berwick Pond Road was quiet, unsurfaced, and would ensure they kept their privacy. The outbuildings were still in a decent state. Even the stables were still usable. It was only the inside that had been allowed to deteriorate. The soldiers who had convalesced there after the war had used and abused the rooms terribly. Wood panelling was wrenched off the wall, the carpets were worn, and the curtains, once beautiful Austrian silk, were in tatters. Mr Jackson, to give him his due, pointed out the finer points as best he could. But even his powers of persuasion flagged as he surveyed the interior.
‘Of course, ladies, the outside is still very much as it was before the war. A very picturesque property, don’t you agree?’
Briony walked over to the inglenook fireplace and stared at the remains of a fire. It seemed the paintings and the furniture had eventually ended up as kindling.
‘It needs a lot of work to bring it back up to scratch, Mr Jackson. It’s Tudor, isn’t it? Do the cottages at the beginning of the lane form part of the property, and if so are they occupied?’
Mr Jackson was in a terrible quandary. The big blonde woman was intimidating enough, but this little redhead was worse. He wasn’t sure which question to answer first when Briony began talking again.
‘Also, the stables will have to be turned into garages. Neither myself nor my colleague ride. So that will be an added expense if we do decide to purchase. Also the kitchens need refitting and I notice that electricity hasn’t been installed. Another expense. How long has the house been up for sale? Since 1919? So it’s been empty for six, nearly seven, years. I should imagine the damp’s got in by now.’
Mr Jackson leapt to the house’s defence. ‘The roof is in perfect condition, madam, I can assure you of that.’
Briony wiped her fingers daintily on her handkerchief and said sweetly, ‘I’m glad to hear something is.’
Mariah grinned.
‘If you would be so kind as to leave my friend and myself alone for a few minutes, Mr Jackson ...’ With a last trumpeting blow of his nose, he left the room.
‘I shall wait outside by my vehicle until such time as you have concluded your business.’
When he had gone, Mariah said, ‘Well, conclude, Briony, conclude!’
‘Is he all the ticket, Mariah?’
‘I don’t know about that, Bri, but if he blows his nose once more I’ll scream!’
Briony grinned. ‘It is a bit disgusting.’
Mariah looked around the large drawing room and said, ‘So? What do you think?’
Briony looked at her friend and smiled.
‘I think it’s perfect. We can do a lot with it. I thought upstairs we could really go to town, you know? There’s so much scope for the bedrooms, and even the servants’ rooms could be made up to accommodate customers. It’s exactly what we want.’
Mariah relaxed. ‘I knew you’d like it. It’s like a shithouse at the moment, I know, but that’s to our benefit. It’ll get the price right down, but think how it could look, eh?’
‘I think I’d like this room in dove grey and deep burgundy, it would look stunning. We’d easily accommodate thirty or forty men here at any given time. If the cottages aren’t part and parcel of the deal, we’ll buy them somehow. They’re too close for comfort. The people who come here want guaranteed privacy and we’ll make sure they get it.’
Mariah laughed in delight.
‘So shall we put in the offer today or let Mr Jackson and his client sweat it out?’
Briony shrugged.
‘We’ll put in an offer. Now let’s get going, I’m dying for a cup of tea.’
They left the house, happy now they were both in accord. Mr Jackson watched them emerge and sighed. They were not ladies, not by any standards. What was the world coming to?
Kevin Carter was at home having his dinner. He had three young daughters, all with dark hair and brown eyes. His wife Annie was a small girl with black hair and a small, pretty face. She opened the door to Briony and smiled widely.
‘Hello, Miss Cavanagh. Kevin’s just having his dinner. Come through, I was making a cup of tea anyway.’
Briony walked into the house and down the tiny hallway into the dining room. Kevin saw who the visitor was and stood up. ‘Sit yourself down and finish your meal, I’m ready for a cup of tea anyway.’
She sat on a large overstuffed chair by the doorway. Three identical little faces looked up at her hopefully. Carmel, the eldest, said shyly: ‘Have you got something nice for me?’
Briony laughed, and opening her bag took out three mint creams in bright green paper.
‘You shouldn’t ask, Carmel!’ Kevin’s voice was loud.
Briony flapped a hand at him and said airily, ‘Leave her be, Kevin. If you don’t ask, you don’t get!’
Ten minutes later she sat in her car, with Kevin driving her to the house in Barking.
‘By the way, Kevin, I want you to go and pick up a bloke for me today. Marcus Dowling. He’s interested in becoming one of the team.’
Kevin whistled softly.
‘He’s getting a name for himself, is Marcus.’
Briony cut him off. ‘When I want your opinion, I’ll ask for it.’ Her voice dripped ice and a shocked Kevin turned slightly to look over his shoulder.
‘Drive the car, Kevin, that’s what you’re paid for. And one last thing. If I tell you to frighten someone, that’s what you do, get it? If I want him cut, I’ll tell you. Evander Dorsey was bleeding. I never asked you to do anything but scare him. You ever take something like that on yourself again, and you’ll feel the full force of my anger. Do I make myself clear?’
Kevin nodded almost imperceptibly.
‘Yes, Miss Cavanagh.’
‘Good, now we know exactly where we stand, don’t we?’
Kevin didn’t answer, but Briony had not expected him to.
Briony could hear the new band through the walls of her office. The Velvetones were good, but they weren’t Kerry. Bessie Knight, the singer, had a good voice, but it was Kerry people came to see. She sipped at a glass of brandy and lit herself a cigarette, dispensing with the holder while she was alone. She heard a small tap on her office door and bellowed: ‘Come in.’
Jonathan la Billière walked into the office with a wide beaming smile on his face.
‘Someone upset you, Briony?’ His thick eyebrows rose quizzically and she smiled.
‘I’m feeling a bit fragile to say the least.’
Jonathan sat on a chair and, crossing his legs, said jocularly, ‘Drinking alone? Shouting? All the symptoms of an old maid, my dear. Be careful, you have been warned!’
Briony laughed gently.
‘What can I do for you?’
‘I want to ask a favour actually. We’re filming again in two weeks. Now I have a little girl in mind to star with me, but Rupert’s not too happy about her. He has another one lined up and quite frankly, Briony, I couldn’t fancy her baked, fried or boiled! In fact, I want to concentrate more on a real acting career, you know. I’ve been asking around and I think I may be in line for a part. But it’s Rupert ...’
His voice trailed off and Briony nodded at him, and smiled.
‘He’s mad about you, Jonathan, you knew that at the start. What you’re saying is, now you have someone else who can help you, you want me to give Rupert the bad news. Am I right?’
He had the grace to look a little ashamed.
‘Well, I wouldn’t put it quite like that ...’
‘Of course you wouldn’t. But I would, because I always say what I mean.’
Jonathan squirmed in his chair.
‘Look, Briony, the deal was a couple of art pictures then he’d consider me for something serious. And that isn’t happening. Now you hold all the cards in your hand, he’ll listen to you. In fact, you’re the only person he will listen to, period. I deserve a break ... just one break. I can act, I’m good. And I look good on film. I don’t want to spend my life at Rupert’s beck and call.’
Briony stubbed out her cigarette.
‘Can I ask you something?’
Jonathan spread his arms.
‘Of course, anything you like.’
Briony took a deep breath. ‘Are you really the son of an impoverished vicar? Only, now and again you sound very South London to me.’
Jonathan looked at her for a second, his piercing blue eyes boring into her deep green ones, then he laughed.
‘How long ago did you suss me out?’ He’d dropped the affected accent slightly and Briony warmed to him then.
‘From about five minutes of meeting you, actually. Look, Rupert will keep his side of the bargain, I know he will. You have to learn how to handle him is all. Drop a word here and there about your other offer. Don’t tell him anything concrete, just hint. He is serious about going into the legitimate film business. As silly as he acts at times, he’s shrewd. It’s only with the young boys he loses his head. But I expect you’ve noticed that yourself?’
Jonathan rolled his eyes.
‘You’re telling me! Honestly, Briony, how he hasn’t been locked up, I don’t know. He sails really close to the wind at times. Now he’s gone on Lord Hockley’s boy, and I mean this kid wears full make-up! I’ve told Rupert to be careful, the boy’s father’s up in arms about it, but they’re seen together everywhere. That’s what bothers me, I don’t want to be tarred with the same brush. In fact, Briony, he’s never been near me. I wouldn’t want that. I am mercenary, I admit, I want to get on, but not that way. So far I’ve kept him at arm’s length, and young Peter Hockley’s keeping him occupied. But now I want out.’
‘I’ll see what I can do. But keep your eye on him and the boy in the meantime. That kind of thing could bring us all down. Lord Hockley’s got a lot of sway in this town. He’s rich and influential. If he decides to do something about his son, it could affect us all. Me as well as you. Does the boy know much about our business dealings?’
Jonathan nodded vigorously.
‘He knows it all, Briony. I warned Rupert to keep quiet but you know him after a drink, and the cocaine doesn’t help. The other morning I found them both lying on the floor naked with a couple of Arab boys. It made me realise just how low Rupert was sinking. I mean, he’s not even trying to hide his preferences these days. It’s as if he wants everyone to know. When it was just him, it was all right, but now that young Peter’s involved, it could all end in tears. The boy’s only nineteen. I don’t think he even shaves. But he’s hardly as sweet and innocent as he makes out. It’s him who arranges their little diversions. Frankly, Briony, it’s like a three ring circus in that house some nights. Even you would be shocked at the goings on.’
She frowned.
‘It’s really worrying you, isn’t it?’
‘It should be worrying you, too, because he knows enough about you and me and Tommy to get us all up before the beak. Hockley threatened Rupert only a week ago because of Peter. He’s not a man to cross, Briony, yet Rupert refuses even to countenance not seeing the boy. Peter seems to find it all exciting. I think he’s enjoying the stir he’s creating.’
‘I’ll keep an eye out, all right? But if I was you I’d take up that other offer, Jonathan. The way things are going, you might be glad you did.’
After he had left she pondered the situation. If Lord Hockley caused a ruckus then it would be a big one. He was a leading industrialist, owned a newspaper, was a member of parliament. All in all, a man to fear. If only Rupert could see that. Hockley’s son’s sexual preferences would be hidden, no matter what it cost. Hockley had the money and the influence to ensure that.
Chapter Twenty-seven
As Denice O‘Toole opened the front door of her semi-detached house in East Ham to Briony and Kerry, her face was beaming smiles. ‘Come in, my dears, I’ve just made a pot of tea.’
Briony and a white-faced Kerry were ushered through to a small overstuffed parlour that was far too warm and far too full of knick-knacks.
Kerry sat down on the edge of a chair, and Briony settled herself at a small table.
Denice bustled about pouring the tea, pouring milk and enquiring who took sugar and who didn’t. Kerry felt as if she was stuck in some kind of bad dream. This was the last thing she’d had expected. In her mind’s eye she had pictured a dim dirty room, with an old wizened hag holding a crocheting hook. Somehow that picture seemed more fitting for what she knew was going to happen.
Denice smiled at her in a friendly fashion.
‘Don’t you worry, my dear, everything will be all right, I promise you.’
Briony sipped her tea. The atmosphere in the room was one of gentle conviviality. Her girls had never seemed to mind coming here. Briony always asked them if they would like to keep their child, and was always amazed at the number who said no. A clear and categoric no. For them the child inside them was just a nuisance, a problem to be solved by Denice and her ministrations. It was their body and their life. Now she sat here with her sister who did not class her pregnancy as an occupational hazard, something to be sorted out like the laundry or a little domestic problem.