The Birthday Present (6 page)

Opening the large wardrobe she found nothing but a smell of mothballs. The drawer below contained a selection of toys, mostly showing signs of loving attention over many years. Crumpled books, a box of ludo, a top but no whip, a wooden sailing boat with a damaged mast and a few skittles minus the box. She picked out an ancient pixie, handmade in green felt, and gave it a hug to prove it had not been forgotten. There was a blue knitted rabbit, a doll with yellow wool for hair and a small velvet mouse with button eyes. Rose loved them all on sight and wondered which toy had belonged to which member of the family. Naturally, the doll belonged either to Marie or Letitia, the rabbit might have been Steven’s but the teddy bear definitely belonged to Marcus. Arms and legs ramrod straight, it appeared to be standing at attention. It gave no sign that it had ever been cuddled, its fur was fresh and unfaded and its brown glass eyes seemed to stare at her with cool disinterest.

‘You’re a dear, sweet thing,’ she told it, rearranging the legs so that it could sit up on top of the chest of drawers. ‘There! That’s more comfortable, isn’t it?’

Turning away, she examined the large, almost empty room. Velvet curtains, polished wooden floorboards with a patterned carpet – a far cry from her own room at home with its cracked linoleum and a rag rug made years ago by her mother. There was a washstand in one corner of the room with a jug of cold water and a basin, a folded towel and a soap and flannel. Rose made use of them and then dressed in her everyday clothes.

While she did this, she tried to recall the last few hours of the party when she had definitely drunk too much wine and hoped she hadn’t made a fool of herself and let Marcus down. She remembered Steven proposing to her, going down on one knee and everyone laughing.

‘I’m sorry,’ she had told him, smiling down into those beautiful but cold blue eyes, ‘but I’ve decided not to marry until I’ve made a name for myself in the music halls – but thanks ever so for the proposal. It’s my first ever!’ Which was a small white lie because a boy at school had asked her to marry him and she’d said ‘yes’ because at that time they were both six years old and she hadn’t decided on her career path. Last night everyone had cheered Steven’s proposal and her rejection and he had pretended to be heartbroken. Only Marcus had seemed unimpressed and she felt that, in his eyes, she had let herself down although she was unable to work out how or why. But she had seen the look on his face and it troubled her.

Ten minutes later, at five to seven a.m., someone rang the front door bell and roused the entire household. Letitia opened her eyes, looked at the bedside clock, kissed the photograph of her beloved Bernard, turned over and went back to sleep.

Marie awoke, wondered who it was but knew that it was not for her. She decided to stay awake and revel in the happy memories of the previous evening. Marcus had carried her in his arms to dance and had made her feel very important and said she looked glamorous. Bernard had also carried her round but had looked very self-conscious so that when he asked her a second time she had claimed to be too tired and had pretended not to see the relief in his eyes. Steven hadn’t danced with her but she didn’t care because she had never forgiven him for treading all over the sandcastle she had made when she was five years old.

The bell also awoke Marcus and he went downstairs but Steven was already at the front door.

‘It’s for me,’ said Steven.

‘How can you tell? You haven’t opened the door yet.’

‘I’m expecting someone. Go back to bed, you look awful.’

‘You don’t look too good yourself!’ Marcus replied but he turned back and was halfway up the stairs before Steven opened the door.

As Steven had suspected, Andrew Markham stood outside. Part-owner of Andy’s Supper Room, he was a man in his early forties, thickset with cold, grey eyes and a permanently aggressive expression.

Steven’s heart quailed but he tried not to show his anxiety. ‘What are you doing here? I told you never to come to my home.’

‘And I told you I do what I like and if you don’t want a home visit from me or my brother, you should pay your debts on time – and you haven’t. You owe twenty-three pounds and eleven shillings and I’m here to collect!’ He paused, took a deep breath and went on. ‘And don’t give me any sob story about your dying sister because I don’t give a damn about her. She’s your problem and you’re mine!’ His grey eyes were cold as stone.

Steven said, ‘Give me twenty-four hours and I’ll—’

‘I want it now!’

‘I can’t give you what I haven’t got!’ He had lowered his voice and now glanced anxiously behind him in case his brother was lingering out of sight. ‘I’ve had unexpected expenses. My sister has only weeks to—’

‘My heart bleeds for you!’

‘Christ! You’re a hard-hearted brute!’

‘You should have thought of that. You rang up a bill and now you have to pay it.’ He thrust out a meaty hand and instinctively Steven stepped back.

‘I’ve told you – I’ll give it to you tomorrow. Twenty—’

The blow from Markham’s fist caught him under the chin and sent him flying.

‘Jesus Christ!’ he muttered groggily as he tried to pick himself up.

To his horror, Markham had advanced over the step and was in the hall. He loomed over him. ‘Plenty more where that came from!’ His voice was low but full of menace. ‘How would you like me to break your arm? Or flatten your nose. You wouldn’t be such a pretty boy then! Or I could set a couple of my lads on to you.’

Steven was terrified. He regretted ever setting foot in Markham’s damned supper room and he certainly regretted running up a tab for food and drinks  . . . but from nowhere an idea suddenly came to him. ‘Wait a moment!’ he begged as he scrambled to his feet. ‘I’ve had an idea. You like pretty girls, don’t you, Andrew?’ He glanced over his shoulder to make sure he wasn’t being overheard.

‘What if I do?’ He hesitated, his fist at the ready.

‘And you take on singers at your place.’ Steven was already feeling nervous about his idea but it was too late to back out now. Time was not on his side. At any moment one of the family or the housekeeper would stumble upon them and awkward questions would be asked. Crossing his fingers he said, ‘Look, get back outside. We can’t talk in here. Someone might overhear us.’

Reluctantly Markham backed out of the door and on to the step and Steven followed him. Pulling the front door behind him he said, ‘Suppose I could get you a girl – a very pretty girl. Very young. She wants to go on the stage and you could  . . . you could help her. Take her under your wing, so to speak. I’m not promising anything but  . . .’

Markham looked interested. ‘Single, is she, this girl?’

‘Yes. I could bring her along one evening.’

He was obviously interested, thought Steven, and let out a sigh of relief. Markham had lowered his fist. Perhaps the danger was past.

‘So what’s her name, this singer?’

‘Rosie Lamore. She’s  . . . she’s very new. Sings at The White Horse and writes some of her own songs. She could be big with the right manager.’

‘Hmm  . . . And she’s, you know, willing? She knows what it takes and who she has to please?’

Steven managed a short laugh and resisted the urge to feel his jaw which was very painful. Perhaps the blighter had broken it. If so he would have to fake a fall downstairs and blame it on the accident. ‘That’s for you to find out!’ he said. ‘All I’m saying is  . . . if you forget the money I owe, just this once, I’ll introduce her to you. The rest is up to you.’

‘Forget the money? Pull the other leg!’

‘She’s got real talent. If you signed her up  . . .’

There was already a gleam in Markham’s eye, thought Steven. He set great store by his good looks. He thought of Rose and felt a twinge of conscience but tried to convince himself that he was doing Rose a favour. ‘Plenty of talent.’ Yes, he must concentrate on the fact that he was trying to promote Rose’s career. Marcus must never suspect the truth.

‘And pretty and young?’ Markham narrowed his eyes. ‘If you send me a scraggy old tart  . . .’

‘Would I do that to you?’ Steven was sweating. He hoped none of his teeth had come loose.

Markham grunted. ‘Bring her round Monday afternoon. If I don’t reckon her, or she doesn’t understand what’s expected, you still owe me! If I take her on, we’ll call it quits.’

He turned and walked away and Steven closed the door with a hand that trembled. As he made his way into the drawing room to pour himself a stiff drink, he told himself it would all turn out for the best. He had tried to do his brother’s friend a favour. That was all. It was up to Rose now. No one could blame him if things went topsy turvy.

In number twenty-three Albert Street, the day had also started badly for Alan Paton. He was also awoken from a heavy sleep by someone at the front door. He sat up and looked at the alarm clock.

‘What the hell? Five past eight?’ He threw off the bedclothes. ‘I hope it’s not Baby!’ he muttered as his mind raced. If it was Baby it meant trouble.

He pulled on his trousers as the banging continued and, abandoning the idea of a shirt, rushed downstairs to open the door.

Two police constables stood on the step and his fears multiplied.

‘What?’ he demanded, trying to brazen it out. ‘I suppose you do know the time!’

‘Morning, sir.’ The older man glanced past him into the hall. ‘Wondered if we could come in and have a nose round. See if you’ve—’

‘Well, the answer’s “No” so beat it.’ He hoped he sounded both confident and innocent, and regretted the absence of his shirt and shoes.

Ignoring his comment, the two constables pushed past him and made their way along the passage to the living room, leaving him to trail behind them. His heart thumped uncomfortably. Was this a random call or did they know something, he wondered. If they had got Baby and he had blabbed  . . . His mouth felt dry but he knew he had to bluff it out. If they knew nothing about the stolen goods, his best bet was to act innocent and outraged.

‘You lot got a warrant?’ he blustered. ‘Cos if not then  . . .’

‘A warrant?’ The young constable stared at him. ‘Now why would you think that, sir? Got a guilty conscience, have you?’ He grinned at his partner.

The older man said, ‘Want to get anything off your chest? Come clean, as we say. Confession is good for the soul, sir. Did you know?’

They began to poke around, opening and closing the drawers, looking under the table and behind the chairs. One of them glanced up at the water tank and Alan’s heart rate speeded up. He said, ‘Want to rip up the floorboards, do you? Think I’ve got a dead body stashed away under there? Or enough explosives to blow up Buck House? Be my guest!’

Distracted, the older man glanced out of the window into the garden, his eyes narrowed. To his partner he said, ‘Take a look round the shed.’ When he had gone, he said, ‘Your friend Baby is in a bit of bother and is down at the police station trying to explain away some stuff stolen from Colonel Fossett. Know anything about that, Mr Paton?’

‘Stolen stuff?’ He tried to look innocent. ‘No I don’t, and if you ask me you’ve got the wrong man. Me and Baby – we’ve both been straight for years and you lot know it.’

‘Well, for your information we
haven’t
got the wrong man, Mr Paton, because the pawnbroker identified him as the man who pawned a valuable clock the day after it was nicked! He claims he bought it from a man in a pub. Now isn’t that original!’

He stepped into the scullery, opened a few cupboard doors and looked inside the oven. ‘Dear oh dear! This oven needs a good clean. You want to speak to your housekeeper!’

‘Oh that’s very funny, that is. You should go on the stage.’

The second man returned from his visit to the shed, shaking his head, and was sent upstairs to ‘take a gander aloft’. Alan was beginning to recover from his fright. They knew nothing. Baby had kept his mouth shut, thank the Lord! But using the pawnbroker! That was sheer stupidity and he would have something to say about that when he saw Baby.

They waited in silence until the constable confirmed that there was nothing to be discovered upstairs.

‘I hope you haven’t made a mess of my bedroom.’

‘It’s a lot tidier, sir, but you should try opening the window to let the fresh air in. Smells of old socks!’

‘Open the windows? I couldn’t do that.’ He was growing bolder now. ‘A burglar might climb in!’

‘You’d know about that, wouldn’t you sir!’

They both laughed, drifting along the passage in the direction of the front door.

When they’d gone Alan gave a sigh of relief. He was grateful that Rosie was away at the party but she was bound to hear about it from the nosy neighbours. He’d have to tell her but he was going to get away with it. He mopped his face with a grubby handkerchief. That had been too close for comfort.

When Rose arrived in the dining room she found Letitia eating toast and marmalade.

‘Come and join me, Rose,’ she said with a smile. ‘Marcus has already eaten and is in the garden. Steven is his usual uncommunicative self at this time in the morning. Marie is sleeping late but that’s to be expected. Did you sleep well?’

‘Yes thank you. I looked in the wardrobe – I hope you didn’t mind – and saw all the old toys.’

‘Not at all. Help yourself to eggs and bacon from the sideboard. Or there’s stewed prunes.’

Rose hesitated. ‘I don’t know how much time I have. Marcus is calling a taxi.’

‘Let it wait. You must eat.’

As Rose tucked into her breakfast with enthusiasm, Letitia said, ‘Perhaps you would like to come to our wedding. Poor Marcus has no real friends so he could invite you.’

Rose looked startled. ‘Oh no! I mean, I’d love to but  . . .’ What on earth would she wear? she thought desperately.

Letitia went on as though she had not spoken. ‘It will be a grand affair, Rose. The da Silvas are a very wealthy family. Very highly admired. Marrying Bernard will transform my life. Not long now so I’m praying that Marie will still be with us, of course, and fit enough to attend.’

She reached for the toast rack and helped herself to another triangle. ‘The trouble is, Rose, that she wants to spend time with Mother in France. Marcus is prepared to travel with her but she really needs a woman to help her with  . . . the womanly things of life – if you understand me. Personal things that a man doesn’t need to know about.’ As Rose opened her mouth, Letitia rushed on. ‘And I refuse to accompany her. I know how it will be – she will arrange to go for a week and will then beg to stay on with Mother for another week and then another, and I will be stuck there with her when I should be here seeing to the wedding arrangements.’