Mrs Simpson sipped her gin and tonic, her foot twitching. ‘I blame whoever got her pregnant, that’s whose fault it is, and if I ever find out who he was, I’ll wring his neck.’
The Judge picked up the Evening Standard, muttering that if he ever found out who it was, he’d take a shotgun to him. He retired behind his paper, the print blurring before his eyes as they filled with tears. Seeing his daughter that way had hurt him more than he would ever be able to tell.
His wife continued, ‘Well, she won’t be coming out this season, that’s for sure.’
The Judge turned the page. ‘I don’t want to talk about it, subject’s closed.’
Mrs Simpson sighed, wondering if there could be any truth in the suggestion of a connection between Harriet and her sister. She dismissed the thought immediately, blamed the entire illness on the father of Harriet’s baby. She banged her glass down. ‘I hope he rots in hell.’
The following day Harriet left to stay at a clinic. She went quietly, without argument. She looked older — strangely old — wearing a hat pulled down to hide her face. When Mrs Simpson went into her daughter’s room she found an auburn heap on the untidy dressing table. Harriet had cut her hair.
Chapter eleven
Alex sat with Dora in the office. He had taken a while to come back to her with his analysis of the club’s accounts. She was slightly afraid of him — he spoke so quietly, and was obviously nervous himself. He made it brief — the gambling part of the club was badly run. They had just a few poker games, private sessions, which could be opened up into a much more ambitious operation, a much bigger money earner. First, she should put in a roulette wheel.
‘Well, I know that, darlin’, but if you’ve got a partner that plays your own tables, forget it. I did have one for a while, but I had to close it right down.’
Alex waited for her to calm down. ‘Johnny’s boozing and gambling away all the profits, right? Well, you’re his partner, and I’m telling you the accounts indicate you could double the earnings on this place. But you’ve got to off-load your husband first.’
Dora threw up her hands and said she was working on it, but there was only so much she could do.
‘What’s his share worth, Dora, twenty-five grand? That’s being generous. You could buy him out. This place is leased, you don’t even own the building — all you got is the licence, the lease and the fixtures and fittings.’
He had her full attention now. She listened, sipping at her water. ‘I’ve not got that kind of money, Alex. You should know, you’ve got the books, for Chrissake.’
Alex stared at her and his eyes frightened her, they were so expressionless. ‘First you have to have a legal document stating what the partnership is worth, how much cash. That I can do for you.’
Alex was making notes on a small slip of paper, and he said that rather than go for the highest estimate she had to go for the lowest. ‘Forty thousand, you want the place insured for that, all legal, just so should anyone ask you know exactly how much you want if someone offers to buy you out...’
Alex continued, she had to make Johnny sign another document making her a legal partner, the papers she had at the moment would not really stand up to scrutiny.
‘I’ll sack that bloody lawyer of mine, he’s useless. He was supposed to do it.’
Again Alex waited patiently for her to calm down, then in his steady, low voice he went on. ‘The papers must be verified by a good company, a known company. There must be someone who works for some big law firm among your customers — use him, use his company. Legal, it has to be legal.’
Dora hesitated. She knew everything Alex had said was true, but there had to be a catch. ‘Okay, come on, out with it. Why are you doing all this?’
‘I took a fall for Johnny, years ago, but what did he do for me? A few words here and there with some prison barons, but he never came to see me, never asked how I was. I don’t owe Johnny anything — so listen carefully. I’ve found out Johnny owes money all over town, even at Harry Driver’s. He plays for high stakes, likes poker sessions... he’s also hooked on the booze. You an’ me, Dora, we’ll pull a sting, one that’ll leave you owning the club outright.’
Dora’s jaw dropped. There he sat, like a big oaf, and yet he talked as if he knew exactly what he was doing.
Taking his time, Alex outlined the plan, and Dora didn’t interrupt once. When he had finished she sat chewing her lips for a moment. ‘What do you get out of it?’
Alex smiled, lifted his hands in a casual gesture. ‘I’ll run the place for a nice wage. Better than sittin’ on me backside in Harry Driver’s sweatshops.’
Alex was already packing his briefcase. Dora sighed. ‘All right, let’s do it.’
Alex gave her one of his strange smiles. ‘That’s a clever girl.’
Edward knew exactly the scam he and BB would pull to make them rich. It was far-fetched, requiring a lot of time and hard labour. It would take at least four years. This was summer 1947, and Edward had been in South Africa almost a year. Under Edward’s instructions, BB had purchased four ‘dead’ mines. He already owned five non-productive mines, all lying dormant. He questioned Edward as to why he was to buy still more, but as always there was no reply. BB had grown accustomed to the mask-like expression Edward used when he didn’t wish to discuss something. He could be jovial, even laughing, but as soon as BB pushed for information his eyes went blank. It was chilling, this ability to switch moods so rapidly. At times BB felt afraid of him, but his usual good humour and friendship touched the old man, and he eventually stopped probing.
However, things began to change after BB received a letter from his son Richard, who was living in England. He went to Edward’s room and found him sitting at the microscope on his makeshift desk, as usual, surrounded by hundreds of test tubes and stacks of notes and files. BB coughed and waited for Edward to give him a nod that it was all right to speak.
‘Just got a letter from Richard. He’s doing quite well, working for De Veer’s in Hatton Garden. He says he’ll be coming over quite soon... Edward? I said I got a letter. You met Richard at the Simpsons’, didn’t you?’
Edward dropped his pencil, moved the microscope aside and rubbed his eyes. He held out his hand for the letter, and read it while BB wandered around the room looking at the hundreds of sample phials filled with sand and rock, all neatly tagged. Edward shook his head in disgust, the contents of the letter infuriated him. ‘He’s asking for more money! What does he want another house for?’
BB stared at one of the ampoules, taking it out of its wooden rack.
‘Don’t touch anything, BB.’
Poor BB jumped nervously and immediately replaced the thin glass tube. Edward continued, ‘You should let him earn his own money if he’s got such a good job. What’s he coming to you with his hand out for?’
BB straightened his tie, stood with legs apart. ‘He’s my son, that’s why. Look, I think I’ll take a little trip into town, all right with you? Anything you want? Zelda’s got bobotie for your dinner.’
Edward was already back at work, squinting intently through the microscope, and he didn’t answer. After shuffling his feet for a moment BB departed. Edward worked on, and when Zelda brought him a supper tray he looked at his watch and was startled at how late it was. ‘BB not back yet, Zelda? He called at all?’
She shook her head, then went to the window and lifted the blind. The old Bentley could be heard churning up the gravel outside. She let the blind drop. ‘I made you a nice melktert for your pudding... Eh, eh, he’s home, boss, and he drunk. He cut right across the flowerbeds again.’