On Mother Brown's Doorstep (9 page)

‘Very good, Miss Brown, if that’s all we’ll now get on with our work.’

‘It’s not all,’ said Susie, and came round the desk to bend over him.

‘Miss Brown, not in the office—’ Too late. Susie delivered a warm and loving smacker. Sammy yielded a
principle
or two and made an advance of his own. Inside the jacket of her costume, Susie quivered and straightened up.

‘What’s that doin’ there?’ she asked, and took his hand out.

‘It’s mindin’ its own business, I’d say,’ observed Sammy reasonably. ‘Well, what’s mine is yours, Susie, and what’s yours is mine.’

‘Not yet it isn’t, and certainly not in the office,’ said Susie. ‘You’re always breakin’ your own rules, Mister Sammy Adams.’

‘I don’t recollect—’

‘I do.’

‘You sure, Susie?’

‘Mmm, lovely,’ said Susie, ‘but kindly stop helpin’ yourself to what’s not yours till the weddin’ certificate’s signed. And even then, wait till we leave the church. I don’t want you committin’ unlawful sacrilege.’

‘In front of the vicar? Perish the thought,’ said Sammy, ‘he’s been my vicar man and boy, and I don’t want to get struck by his lightning on me one and only weddin’ day. It might be fatal. Fine thing that would be, gettin’ married and goin’ to me own funeral on the same day. All me old friends and neighbours would talk. Well, that’s definitely all, Miss Brown, now let’s get on with things.’

Susie laughed. There was no-one quite like Sammy, the driving force behind Adams Enterprises and its associate companies.

‘Sammy love, you’re sweet for what you did for my dad.’

‘Well, I can’t have me dad-in-law sweepin’ floors, not when he’s up to runnin’ a scrap yard.’

‘You’re still a sweetie,’ said Susie. ‘Oh, there’s something else.’

‘If it’s not business, I’m not listening,’ said Sammy.

‘Yes, you are. Sammy, we’re goin’ to have a horse and cart for our weddin’.’

‘A whatter?’ said Sammy, who had work to do, including reading every word of a contract relating to Adams Fashions.

‘A pony and cart, actually.’

‘I was under the official impression that me best man Boots is arrangin’ to drive us from the church to the weddin’ breakfast in our motorcar.’ Sammy was the owner of a motorcar. He wore the approved peaked cap and goggles when driving it, which had made Susie tell him he looked as if he was about to enter a race at Brooklands. Sammy said he quite fancied that. Susie said she’d blow the car up if he got serious.

‘Yes, I know about that arrangement, Sammy, but I’ve just been speakin’ to Mr Greenberg. He’s with Boots, they’re talkin’ about Mr Greenberg supplying our new upstairs offices with furniture. Sammy, you didn’t tell me that both your brothers and your sister Lizzy all had Mr Greenberg’s pony and cart for their weddings. I want that too, it’s a fam’ly tradition now, and Mr Greenberg’s goin’ to be really upset if we don’t ask him to do the honours.’

‘Well, Susie—’

‘I don’t want any flannel.’

‘I’m not in the habit—’

‘Yes, you are, but like your mum says, you’re a nice boy really.’

‘That was fifteen years ago. I now happen to be—’

‘Yes, you’re lovely, Sammy. I’ll ask Mr Greenberg to come and see you.’

‘What’s the use?’ mused Sammy as Susie disappeared. ‘I can’t even answer her back now. I’m done for, I’m already gettin’ careless about me overheads – here, hold on, what’s
this
, a hundred per cent disclaimer clause in the event of delivery failing to be made on the due date? That’s not friendly, Harriet, nor Christian.’ Harriet de Vere was the chief buyer for Coates, a West End store with branches all over the South of England, and the contract was between Coates and Adams Fashions. ‘That’s not up for signin’, Harriet me female alligator, that’s up for discussion.’

Susie reappeared, in company with Mr Eli Greenberg, who had known Sammy as a boy and had long been his most obliging business friend. He was also a family friend. A family friend who doubled as an obliging business friend was priceless. Mr Greenberg advanced with his mittened hands lifted in a gesture of expansive pleasure. He wore an old round black hat and a dark grey overcoat with capacious inner and outer pockets. His grey-flecked black beard split in a happy smile and his white teeth moistly beamed.

‘Sammy, my poy, vhat a pleasure, ain’t it? You and Susie in a state of expectant marriage, vhat a joy to my heart, and vhat a fair princess, ain’t she?’

‘Hello, Eli, old cock.’ Sammy stood up and shook Mr Greenberg’s hand. ‘Mind, I’m up to me ears.’

‘Vhen veren’t you up to your ears, Sammy? Up to your ears has cost me time and money, but who minds starvin’ vhen it’s in the name of friendship? The vedding, a blessing, ain’t it?’

‘I’m not denyin’ it,’ said Sammy, ‘and I’m refrainin’ from mentioning what it’s going’ to do to me wallet. I’m notin’ your kind sentiments, Eli, and am takin’ the opportunity to say Susie and self would be obliged if you’d do us the favour of transportin’ us from the church to St John’s Institute in your pony and cart.’

Mr Greenberg beamed again.

‘Vhy, Sammy, vhat a pleasure, vhat a privilege. Already
I
am invited to the veddin’, now I am to cart you and Susie. Vell, don’t I remember doin’ the selfsame for Lizzy and Boots and Tommy? Vhat a privilege indeed, my young friend.’ Mr Greenberg took out his large red handkerchief and blew his nose. ‘You’ll ask vhat vill I charge you. Not a penny, Sammy, not even a farthing. It vill all be for friendship and Susie’s blue eyes.’

‘You’re a love, Mr Greenberg,’ said Susie.

‘Ah, vhat a fine turn Sammy has come to, Susie. Business is business, vun can’t say it ain’t, but vhere vould it lead a man to if he vas married to it and not to a young lady like you?’

‘To my dad’s chopper,’ said Susie.

‘Ah, such a joke, Susie.’

‘It’s no joke,’ said Susie, and Mr Greenberg’s deep chuckle rolled up from his broad chest and gurgled in his throat.

‘Vell, I must be on my vay now,’ he said, ‘I have had the pleasure of obligin’ Boots regardin’ handsome furniture at a price that vill take the shirt off my back, and now I have to oblige a handsome lady.’

‘If I had the time and wasn’t church-goin’, I’d oblige her meself,’ said Sammy.

‘Over my dead body,’ said Susie, and Mr Greenberg departed still chuckling.

The moment the door closed behind him, Sammy said, ‘This contract, Susie, is a pain in me posterior. There’s a delivery clause in it which could make us walk the plank with nowhere to go but down. And the pirate captain is Harriet.’

‘Miss de Vere of Coates?’ said Susie.

‘Selfsame,’ said Sammy.

‘Well, kindly let her know that you’re mine, Sammy, not hers, and that you’re not to be made to walk the plank
so
that she can rescue you from drowning, dry you out and get you into something comfy in her flat. Or I’ll push her face in.’

‘Don’t like the sound of that, Harriet with her face pushed in,’ said Sammy. ‘It might be considerably detrimental to Adams Fashions. Further, Susie, my mother, bein’ fond of you, wouldn’t like to hear you talkin’ in an unladylike manner. I’ll deal with Harriet, I’ll phone her and arrange to see her tomorrow afternoon.’

‘Sammy darling, don’t be silly,’ said Susie. ‘Tomorrow’s Saturday.’

‘Yes, I’ll see her in the afternoon,’ said Sammy.

‘You won’t,’ said Susie.

‘Did I hear you right, Miss Brown?’

‘Yes, Mister Sammy Adams, you did. Tomorrow afternoon is when we’re going out to buy the rest of our furniture.’

‘Ah,’ said Sammy. He had acquired a handsome house in Denmark Hill, and Susie, excited by all it meant, had been leading exultant charges into furniture emporia to help him spend his money. He’d had to tell her that each charge was causing him personal ruination. Susie, who knew him through and through by now, noted with affection that he accepted ruination manfully.

‘You promised,’ she said.

‘Well, Susie, a promise is a promise,’ he said. ‘Is this one goin’ to cause me serious injury?’

‘Oh, it won’t be fatal,’ said Susie.

Boots came in then. Long-limbed, grey-eyed and twenty-nine, he was the man who held everything together. He had the gift of easy communication and a very whimsical side. Women always looked twice at him, and most of the office girls had crushes on him. His left eye, almost sightless, sometimes seemed a little lazy. He’d
been
blinded on the Somme. An operation had cured his right eye, but the left one was fairly useless.

‘Still at it, Susie?’ be smiled.

‘I’m a slave to his nibs,’ said Susie. ‘This is his nibs.’

‘His nibs would like to do some work,’ said Sammy.

‘Sammy, have you seen the contract I left on your desk?’ asked Boots.

‘I’ve seen enough to know we’re not goin’ to sign it,’ said Sammy.

‘The delivery clause?’ said Boots.

‘You spotted that too?’ said Sammy.

‘Can’t let it stand, Sammy. Not as it is. Harriet de Vere is trying it on. What they’ll do if delivery is late, of course, will be to accept the stuff at a reduced price. We’ll lose our profit, they’ll increase theirs.’

‘You happen,’ said Sammy, ‘to be speakin’ to the managin’ director of Adams Enterprises, which is me, a highly sharp business bloke already arrangin’ to smack Harriet de Vere’s posterior.’

‘She’ll like that,’ said Boots, ‘lay it on like a man, Sammy, and she’ll see a new clause is written in.’

‘I’m hearin’ things,’ said Susie.

‘Startling, perhaps,’ said Boots, ‘but glad you like that kind of action, Susie.’

‘I’m glad too,’ said Susie, ‘glad you’re jokin’.’

Boots winked, lazily, using his left eye, then asked how her brother Will was.

‘Oh, he always looks fine,’ she said, ‘but if he’s really asthmatic, he’ll have to leave the Army, won’t he?’

‘Probably,’ said Boots, ‘and he’ll have to fight for a disability pension. The Army’s bound to say his condition wasn’t brought about by soldiering. But they gave him a medical in the first place and must have passed him A1 for service or they wouldn’t have taken him on. So he’s got a
case
. If it comes to a fight with the Ministry of Bowler Hats, Susie, I’ll pitch in with him.’

‘Oh, that’s so good of you, Boots,’ said Susie. She knew he’d committed his help, that as a soldier of the trenches he’d stand with Will if necessary. She felt Will might need a pension if he had to leave the Army, because jobs were as scarce as ever and his asthma might limit him in what he could do.

‘Work on Harriet, Sammy,’ said Boots, and returned to his office.

‘Sometimes,’ said Sammy, ‘I’m not sure if it’s Boots who’s teachin’ me to suck lemons or if it’s me heavenly Father.’

‘Yes, he is heavenly, isn’t he?’ said Susie a little wickedly. ‘Doreen says she can’t sleep at night for thinkin’ about him.’

Doreen was the general office maid-of-all-work, although she had an office boy to help her now.

‘Well,’ growled Sammy, ‘you tell Doreen that if I catch her bringing her bed to the office to get some daytime kip, she’ll get dropped on her head.’

‘Oh, dear me,’ said Susie, ‘I’m not sure even that will cure her.’

‘Well, oh dear me for nothing,’ said Sammy, ‘then I’ll have to get your dad to chop her up, won’t I? Now can we do some work, Miss Brown?’

‘Yes, very good, Mister Sammy.’

A house damaged by fire in Rockingham Street, by the Elephant and Castle, was being demolished. The last of its walls collapsed under an iron pounding and amid spurting clouds of dust. Ten minutes later, the little gang of labourers packed up for the day. Henry Brannigan put on his long black serge overcoat, straightened his cap, and set
off
for his lodgings. He did not button the coat and it flapped as he walked. Tall and muscular, he might also have been handsome, but his face had lost flesh and his eyes were hollow. He lived with his sister and her husband in Stead Street, off Brandon Street. They’d given him a room after the death of his wife seven months ago.

A seemingly dour and introspective man, he did not mix well with people, but his sister, a lazy woman, did not mind having him as long as he paid his rent and didn’t make work for her. He had no children, was set in his ways at forty-five and didn’t intrude on either her or her husband.

He had a very obsessive habit when walking the pavements. He measured his strides to avoid treading on the lines that divided the paving stones. People who got in his way or stood in his way made his blood boil, for they could cause him to deviate and put him in danger of treading on a line. And if that happened, it ruined the whole day for him and it also meant bad luck.

He made a square turn into Larcom Street from the Walworth Road. Two approaching women blocked his path and intense irritation seized him. He did not check, however, he barged straight on, bruising his way between them. One woman staggered.

‘’Ere, you brute, what d’you think you’re doin’ of?’ shouted the other woman.

‘Time you learned to keep out of me bleedin’ way.’

‘Time you learned some manners!’

He went striding on. He crossed the street, walked past St John’s Church and entered the paved path that led into Charleston Street. There he encountered a very lean man in a black frock coat. He carried a rolled brolly. One man or the other needed to step aside. Mr Ponsonby would have done so without argument, but Henry
Brannigan
, rageful at this new obstacle, came straight on with the obvious intention of compelling him to shift himself. Offended, Mr Ponsonby came to a dramatic halt and Henry Brannigan was brought up short by the rigid point of the umbrella. It actually dug into his stomach.

‘Sir?’ said Mr Ponsonby querulously.

‘Get out of my way.’ Henry Brannigan struck the umbrella aside. That did him no good, for the point returned at speed and dug him in the chest.

‘Manners, sir, manners,’ said Mr Ponsonby.

‘You bleedin’ interferin’ ponce,’ said Henry Brannigan, and looked down at his feet. They were no more than half an inch from a line. He quivered, it was a hair’s-breadth escape. If he’d trodden on it, it would have meant worrying about his immediate future and the advisability of changing or cancelling any plans he’d made. He didn’t like doing that, but it didn’t pay not to. Bad luck came along otherwise. As he’d told a coroner seven months ago, he’d trodden on a line coming home from work on a Saturday, and on the Sunday he’d taken his wife on a planned day trip to Brighton, not wanting to disappoint her by cancelling it. In the train, she’d got up to look out of the window, the door swung open and she fell out and killed herself. That was the worst bit of luck he’d ever brought on himself for treading on a line, and that only happened because some fool of a woman had been in his way. The coroner had the gall to make some very peculiar remarks about it, damn him.