Sisters Three Page 26

  ‘True, that’s true. I remember when you were just a skittery wee lassie in ankle socks and sandals. How’s your dear mother, by the way?’

  ‘My dear mother is fine,’ Polly said.

  ‘And this lady…’

  ‘My sister Barbara.’

  ‘Charmed, I’m sure,’ Flint said.

  He strode around the enormous desk, kissed Polly on the cheek and Babs on the back of a gloved hand which she had sense enough to offer, wrist arched, as if she had entered a medieval court and not a room above the Stadium Cinema.

  ‘I’m Jackie Hallop’s wife, by the way. Maybe you know Jackie?’

  ‘By reputation. Aye, his reputation has preceded him.’

  ‘You can call me Babs.’

  ‘Honoured.’

  ‘Everybody calls me Babs.’

  ‘Still honoured,’ Flint, unruffled, said.

  ‘I thought Dominic might be with you,’ Polly said.

  ‘Dominic? What would Dom be doing here?’

  ‘Business,’ Polly said.

  ‘His business is round at the warehouse,’ Flint said. ‘Dom and me don’t see much of each other these days – not enough anyway. Don’t tell me you’re chasin’ your husband, Polly? Can’t give him peace even for a single minute, uh?’ He gestured to the banquette in the corner of the office. ‘Take a pew. I’ll order us up some coffee.’

  ‘Don’t bother,’ Polly said.

  Flint’s feigned bonhomie vanished. He cocked his head and studied the sisters, Polly first then Babs. He found Babs sturdy and unpolished and the more attractive of the two. She didn’t intimidate him with airs and graces or patronise him with her supercilious intelligence. He’d fancied Polly Manone when she was younger but his taste in women had matured since then. Babs Conway Hallop was more his type, big-breasted, fair-haired, confident but probably none too bright.

  ‘At least take the weight off,’ Johnny Flint said. ‘Here, these chairs are more comfortable than they look.’

  Polly and Babs seated themselves before the desk.

  Flint hesitated, unsure quite what the women wanted and how, therefore, to dispose of them before Harker arrived. He didn’t dare use the intercom to pass word to Cherry to keep Harker from barging into the office. He would just have to trust to luck that Harker would turn up late.

  He strode behind the desk again and sat down in the big chair.

  ‘So,’ he said, ‘what’s up, Polly? What’s the news?’

  ‘The war’s the news,’ Polly said.

  ‘War? What war? Been a war declared that I ain’t heard about?’

  ‘Tell him.’ Babs leaned towards her sister. ‘Go on, Poll, don’t beat around the bush. Ask him.’

  ‘Tell me?’ Flint said, raising his brows. ‘Ask me? What’s it to be, ladies? Asking or telling? What’s on your mind? You wanna place a bet on something?’

  Polly picked at the stitching on her glove and said nothing for a moment. Flint feigned patience. He had no idea what was coming but had a sneaky suspicion that dainty Mrs Manone was about to step into deep water and that he’d better be careful that she didn’t drag him along with her.

  ‘In a manner of speaking,’ Polly said, at length, ‘it is a gamble.’

  ‘Doesn’t Dominic know you’re here?’

  ‘No,’ Polly answered. ‘And I’d prefer to keep it that way.’

  Flint nodded. ‘Confidential?’

  ‘Highly confidential,’ Babs put in. ‘Tell him, Polly, for God’s sake.’

  ‘Do you know what my husband does?’ Polly said.

  ‘I know what he doesn’t do,’ said Flint. ‘He doesn’t run book and he doesn’t dabble in insurance any longer. Don’t blame him. Too damned risky for an honest family man.’

  ‘That wasn’t the question,’ Polly said.

  ‘Well then, the answer’s in the negative,’ Flint said. ‘I don’t know what he does these days – just that it seems to be profitable and don’t interfere with anythin’ going on in my neck of the woods.’ He frowned. ‘Hey, you don’t imagine I’m threatening him, surely? Is that what you meant by war?’

  ‘I meant the real war, the German war; Hitler,’ Polly said.

  ‘Tell him,’ Babs said again.

  The Hallop woman’s agitation was palpable, eagerness and guilt all mixed up. Her cheeks were flushed and she breathed high in her chest, her bosom rising and falling in a way that Flint found enticing.

  He looked to Polly, though, for answers.

  ‘If,’ Polly said, ‘war does come and it behoves us…’

  ‘Behoves? What kinda a word is that?’

  ‘If it becomes necessary for my sister and me to sell off certain parts of my husband’s business, would you be interested in buying them?’

  ‘Necessary?’ Flint said. ‘Necessary, like in the event of a war?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Okay,’ Flint said. ‘Cards on the table, Polly. You know there’s gonna be a war. Hell’s teeth, the car manufacturers are producing aircraft by the thousand and hard-workin’ entrepreneurs like me and Dominic are bein’ squeezed by extra taxes to pay for defence. War’s inevitable.’ He rubbed his long chin speculatively. ‘What’s your worry, Polly – that Dominic will be conscripted? Take it from me, Dom won’t be conscripted. How old is he? Thirty-eight, thirty-nine? Married with two young kids. They won’t scoop him up for military service until we’re fightin’ the Jerries hand-to-hand on the beach at Ardrossan.’

  ‘It’s not conscription that worries me,’ Polly said.

  ‘What does worry you then?’

  ‘Deportation.’

  ‘Deportation? Dom’s as Scottish as you an’ me.’

  ‘He’s not, you know. I think he’s registered under dual nationality.’

  ‘What!’ Johnny Flint exclaimed. ‘You mean he’s officially an alien?’

  ‘Possibly,’ Polly said.

  ‘Haven’t you asked him?’

  ‘If I did he would simply fob me off without an answer.’

  ‘Is that a fact?’ Flint said. ‘An alien, eh! Well, well!’

  ‘Do you see my predicament?’ Polly said.

  ‘Our predicament,’ said Babs.

  ‘I do, yeah, I certainly do,’ Flint said. ‘What about old Tony? Same boat?’

  ‘Same boat,’ said Polly.

  ‘You’ll just have to hope that Il Duce don’t sign a pact with Adolf then.’

  ‘If I…’

  ‘We,’ said Babs.

  ‘Yes, if my sister and I are left to fend for ourselves,’ said Polly ‘we’ll need someone we can trust to take over certain parts of the business and pay us our fair share or perhaps even buy us out.’

  ‘Buy what out?’

  ‘The best of it, the parts of it that will still make money.’

  ‘Black market goods?’ Flint said. ‘Is Dom importing those already?’

  ‘No, I mean special goods,’ said Polly. ‘Very valuable goods.’

  ‘Like what?’ said Flint.

  ‘I’m not a position to tell you just yet,’ said Polly. ‘All I require from you, Johnny, is an expression of interest in what I – what my sister and I – may have to offer if the worst comes to the worst.’

  ‘An interest in principle,’ Flint said, nodding. ‘Sure. Sure. I wouldn’t see you stuck, Polly, or you – Babs. I’m flattered to be asked. You can trust me to do right by you.’

  ‘Only if it becomes necessary.’

  ‘Pray God,’ said Flint, ‘it won’t. But if it does I’ll be there, ready and willing to do whatever I can to keep old Dominic’s flag flyin’.’

  ‘Won’t you be called up too?’ Babs asked.

  ‘Bad heart,’ said Flint, grinning. ‘Could go at any time,’ then, not grinning, said, ‘I can take over the collections easy, cream off his share from cafés and restaurants, particularly as we’ll most likely be dealin’ with inexperienced women. If Dom’s deported or interned half the Italians in Scotland will go with him. But the demand will still be there, folk
s will still want their ice-a-da-creams and fish and chips, places to drink coffee or go dancing.’

  ‘I was thinking of another sort of business, actually,’ Polly said.

  ‘What would that be?’ said Flint.

  ‘Money,’ Polly said. ‘Money as a commodity not a service.’

  ‘I don’t follow.’

  ‘Perhaps that’s just as well,’ said Polly.

  She got abruptly to her feet.

  ‘No, wait,’ Flint said. ‘Come on, Polly, don’t leave me in suspense. What’s all this about raw money? What’s your old boy got into that you can’t handle?’

  ‘In due course, Johnny,’ Polly promised then before Babs could open her mouth, caught her sister by the arm and yanked her to her feet too. ‘We’ve had a nice little preliminary meeting, but that’s enough for now. It’s comforting to know that we can count on your support in an emergency.’

  John Flint rose to his full height. He seemed capable of stretching himself, of gaining inches, and towered over the two young women as he came around the desk again. He had switched off his curiosity and was all avuncular charm. He put an arm about Babs’s shoulder, a hand on Polly’s arm and escorted them to the door.

  ‘Nobody ever spares a thought for the likes of us, do they?’ he said. ‘I mean, does anybody have any idea how tough it’s gonna be for those of us who don’t walk the sunny side of the street when the country’s crawlin’ with special constables and wardens and every Tom, Dick and Harry who wears a uniform will be ready to pounce on us for every soddin’ infringement? Oh, yeah, it’s gonna be hard times for the likes of us, Polly, and we’ll just hafta stick together and co-operate. Dom will come to appreciate that in due course. Meanwhile, though, we’ll keep it strictly to ourselves for a while.’

  ‘I was hoping you’d say that,’ said Polly while Flint steered her into the corridor and gave Babs’s waist a squeeze. ‘I’m relying on your discretion, John.’

  ‘Discretion,’ Flint said, ‘is my middle name,’ then blanched as the outer door opened and Harker stepped into the corridor.

  * * *

  They sat on a bench in George Square in the heart of the city. In summer the square was crowded with office workers eating lunch but in drab and chilly February few citizens cared to occupy the seats between the statues and the pigeons went hungry. The couple were too intent upon their conversation to pay much attention to the birds that flocked about them, begging for crumbs.

  The girl was whey-faced with cold and looked younger than her years; the man, hunched and angular and awkward, looked older. There was something pathetic in the way she stared into his face and appeared to hang on his every word. Even the raggle-taggle band of vagrants who inhabited the square at all seasons were leery of the couple for a sixth sense told them that he was a copper and not to be tampered with.

  ‘I don’t mean now, Rosie,’ Kenny said. ‘I don’t mean this week or even next month. I mean if there is a war, once it becomes inevitable, will you think about it.’

  ‘You are going to join up, are you nuh-not?’

  ‘I’m giving it serious consideration.’

  ‘Will they not force you to stay in the police?’

  ‘I’m not sure I want to,’ Kenny said. ‘If I resign now they can’t stop me.’

  Their contact was not of hands but of feet, legs loosely linked and touching.

  Rosie faced him, gloved hands clasped in her lap like an illustration from a Hans Andersen fable. Kenny had his scarf wound round his neck, collar turned up. The bitter little wind that scuffed down Cochrane Street past the City Chambers and the Cenotaph teased his curly brown hair. I must buy him a hat, Rosie thought, a fedora: he will look well in a fedora. He could be married before the registrar in trenchcoat and fedora, more fitting than a uniform. She didn’t want to see him in a uniform of any kind, not even policeman’s blue.

  ‘What do you want to do, Kenneth?’ she asked.

  ‘I want to marry you, Rosie.’

  ‘And then what?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said.

  ‘Do you wuh-want to go to buh-bed with me?’

  ‘Of course I do.’

  ‘Enough to marry me?’

  He sighed. ‘How can you ask such a question?’

  ‘There are a luh-lot of girls getting married because the war is coming and they do not want to be left on the shelf. They want to have a man make love to them before he…’

  ‘Dies?’ said Kenny. ‘Rosie, dearest, I’ve no intention of dying.’

  She looked down at the pigeons strutting at her feet. There were tears in her eyes, watery little effusions that may have been brought on by the gritty wind.

  ‘Kenny, I hardly know you,’ she said.

  ‘I’m just what you see, Rosie – and you’ve met my sister.’

  She glanced up to read his lips. ‘What does that have to do with it?’

  ‘I don’t need her approval, if that’s what you’re thinking,’ Kenny said. ‘But it would be better if you liked her, under the circumstances.’

  ‘Better?’

  ‘When – if I’m away for a while she’ll look after you.’

  ‘I do not nuh-need your sister to look after me. I huh-have sisters of my own to look after me,’ Rosie told him. ‘And my Mammy. And my Daddy.’

  ‘Daddy?’

  ‘Bernard.’

  Kenny stared bleakly across the square towards the monument. ‘Your brother-in-law too, I suppose.’

  ‘That is the problem, is it not?’ Rosie said. ‘Dominic Manone?’

  ‘I suppose it is, really,’ Kenny admitted.

  ‘You want to separate me from my family. And you can’t.’

  ‘It’s not going to be safe in Glasgow,’ Kenny said. ‘The minute we go to war with Germany bombs will start falling. Do you have any idea the amount of damage a single ton of explosive can cause?’

  ‘Stop it,’ Rosie said. ‘Stop trying to frighten me.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Kenny said.

  Rosie said, ‘I will have to get back to work.’

  ‘I know. Yes, I know,’ Kenny said. ‘I shouldn’t have asked, should I?’

  ‘No,’ Rosie told him. ‘It is too soon. And too difficult.’

  ‘Do you not want to marry me?’

  She got up from the bench, stood before him.

  ‘I would marry you tomorrow, Kenneth, if I could.’

  ‘I love you, Rosie. If I want to go to bed with you, I can’t help that,’ Kenny said. ‘It’s all so damnably uncertain.’ He got up and stood in front of her, sheltering her from the cutting wind. ‘But I do love you and I’d do anything to keep you from being hurt.’

  ‘I do not think that is a promise you can keep,’ Rosie said, ‘not the way things are.’

  ‘Then I’ll change the way things are,’ said Kenny.

  ‘How can you?’

  ‘You’re right, of course,’ Kenny said. ‘I can’t.’

  And then, in broad daylight among the pigeons and the tramps, he took her in his arms and kissed her tenderly on the lips.

  * * *

  There was something about him, something that Polly could not put her finger on, something that caused her to step back. Perhaps it was his aggression, the sheer force of his personality, a bullish rather brutal quality apparent in the way he stalked down the corridor between the cubicles. She had no time to examine her feelings, however, before the little man was upon her.

  ‘Harker,’ he said, gravel-voiced. ‘Edgar Harker. Pleased ta meetcha.’

  Flint, nonplussed, stammered, ‘This – this – these are…’

  ‘I know who they are,’ said Harker. ‘Couldn’t be anybody else.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Polly said. ‘Have we met before?’

  Flint had gone an odd colour, not pale but flame red.

  ‘Maybe.’ Harker said. ‘A long time ago.’

  Collecting herself, Polly said, ‘I saw you at the racecourse in November.’

  ‘Clever girl.’


  ‘You were talking with my husband in the enclosure.’

  ‘Right on the button.’

  ‘There was a girl with you, a blonde.’

  ‘Sure was, usually is.’

  He grinned and his moustache lifted to show brown, tobacco-stained teeth. For an instant Polly supposed that the upper lip had snagged then realised that the grisly smile was a scar, the result of a wound or an injury that had healed badly

  She tried not to stare, and said, ‘She’s not with you today, however?’

  ‘Nope, left her home today.’

  ‘Is she your wife?’ Polly asked.

  ‘In a manner of speakin’.’

  ‘Eddie,’ Flint found his voice at last. ‘Eddie, why don’t you toddle down to the office and help yourself to a drink. I’ll be with you soon as I see the ladies out.’

  ‘Keepin’ them to yourself, are you, Flinty?’

  ‘Come on, Eddie, be nice.’

  ‘Not me, pal. Never been nice in my life. If you’re Polly,’ Harker said, ‘I guess you must be Babs. You look just like her.’

  ‘Like who?’ Babs said.

  A dry, strident note in her voice indicated that Babs was more annoyed than charmed by Mr Harker’s familiarity. It occurred to Polly that perhaps her sister and the stranger shared an unfortunate characteristic – namely, a short fuse – and that the prudent thing to do would be to escape before tempers flared.

  ‘Well, it’s been a pleasure meeting you, Mr Harker, but Babs and I…’

  ‘Like who?’ Babs stood challengingly before the stranger, a hand on her hip. ‘If you’re referrin’ to my Mammy you’d better watch your tongue, Mr Harker.’

  ‘Spiky,’ Harker said. ‘Very spiky. I like that in a woman.’

  ‘I do believe,’ said Flint, taking Polly’s arm, ‘the ladies have another appointment an’ must be on their way.’

  ‘Gimme a break, Johnny,’ Harker said. ‘I ain’t gonna blow it.’

  ‘Blow what?’ said Babs. ‘An’ who are you callin’ spiky?’

  ‘Easy, sweetheart, easy,’ Harker said. ‘Where I come from most gals would take that as a compliment.’

  ‘Where do you come from then?’ Babs said. ‘Mars?’

  ‘Close enough,’ Harker said. ‘America.’

  ‘Philadelphia?’ Polly heard herself enquire.

  Without a moment’s hesitation, Harker answered: ‘New York.’