Rita’s high heels click-clacked on the cobbles as she hurried across Oxford Street, quickening her pace as she approached Abercromby Square to avoid a man mooching in the gutter. He had the gait of the seafarer, taking a few short paces one way and then the same number back. She felt guilty watching him bend down and pick up a fag end. He took a tin from his pocket and placed the cigarette butt inside. She opened her handbag, took a sixpence from her purse and tried to slip the coin into his pocket without him noticing.
‘What are yer doing, girl?’ He grabbed her hand.
‘It’s just sixpence!’ She did not want a fuss.
He took the coin from her and his rheumy eyes held a tear. ‘God bless yer!’
‘And you, too!’
She made her escape, angry and sad. There were so many like him on the streets of Liverpool these days; they made her remember the poverty of her childhood. She would hate to go back to that again. As she approached the square she thought of her mother and wondered what she was up to. There had been no word from her for a while, although a letter had winged its way to Eve telling her about her engagement and the wedding planned in June, not that she expected her mother to attend. She wondered what Eve would make of the new house. Rita could easily picture the family of a rich merchant passing in and out of the lovely doorway topped by a decorative fanlight. He would be dreaming of the money he would make on cargoes of tobacco and cotton from New Orleans and rum and sugar from Jamaica. She could imagine his wife and daughters, long silk skirts brushing the floor.
She smiled thinking how times had changed. The square housed professional people or contained departments of Liverpool University these days. She thought of the brass plate that Sam had screwed into the wall next to their front door. It bore the words MARGARET SINCLAIR, Financial Advisor and Broker.
Shortly before they had moved, several advertisements had been placed in the local newspapers. At first there had been only a couple of inquiries and Margaret had talked of renting out several rooms, but so far nothing had been done about it. Business was picking up but they were still some way off from making a living. If it were not for the income from the yard and Margaret’s investments they would be in trouble. Money was tight but none of them were complaining because they were so much better off than lots of other people. Most of their clients were wives of professional men, and they had several medical students on their books. All were carefully vetted to make sure they could keep up with their payments or had some kind of collateral.
Birds twittered in the trees and outside the house stood a horse and cart. Sparrows pecking at the droppings from the horse’s nosebag flew up at her approach.
A man stepped out from beneath the overhang above the door. ‘I’m looking for Miss Sinclair. I believe she lives here but I can’t get an answer.’ He had a transatlantic accent but his features were barely distinguishable because the wide brim of his felt hat cast a shadow over his face.
‘Can I have your name, please?’ said Rita.
‘Jimmy Martin.’
She froze. The memory of his attempted rape came vividly to mind despite all her attempts to forget it. Anger welled up inside her. What the hell was he doing back here? Obviously he had not recognised her, but then, they had both changed. They were a couple of years older and she was better dressed and her hair styled differently, and she now carried herself with confidence.
‘Well?’ he demanded. ‘Cat got your tongue?’
She controlled her temper. ‘I’d heard you were living in America, Mr Martin.’
‘I was! But obviously I’m here now.’
‘What have you come for?’ She fumbled in her handbag for her door key.
‘I don’t think that’s any of your business. I’m here to speak to the organ grinder not the monkey.’
Rita wanted to hit him. ‘I think you’ll find it is my business.’ Her tone was icy. She stepped over the threshold and noticed an envelope on the floor. She picked it up and slipped it in her pocket before beckoning Jimmy inside. He was taller than she remembered, but there was none of that restless energy that had attracted her in the early days of their acquaintance.
‘What d’you mean by that?’ He removed his hat to reveal hair the colour of sun-bleached cotton. He was shabbily dressed, so whatever he had been doing in America he had not been able to avoid the effects of the Depression.
‘Last time we met you were hell-bent on making an honest woman of me after attempted rape.’
‘Rita? Bloody hell! It was hardly that! A misunderstanding!’ His blue eyes took her in from head to toe.
‘Keep your eyes to yourself! It was no misunderstanding! You tried it on and don’t think you’ve got away with it. Let’s be hearing why you’re here. My fiancé’ll be here in a minute and he’s got muscles like Charles Atlas. One wrong move and you’ll be spitting out teeth.’
She saw the flash of anger in his eyes and watched him struggle to keep his temper. He managed a smile. ‘Don’t be like that, Rita! My mistake! Put it down to your being such a looker I couldn’t resist you.’
‘You can cut the cackle and keep your soft soap. I’m nobody’s fool these days.’ Her voice was hard. ‘What the hell do you want? Out with it!’
‘I want the deeds to the yard. With my stepfather and stepbrother dead it belongs to me.’
His assumption infuriated her. ‘Been talking to your sister, have you? Well, you’ve been misinformed. We haven’t heard they’re dead so we’re not giving up hope. She shouldn’t have either!’ Rita walked away from him and into the office.
He followed her. ‘You’re just being bloody awkward. They must be dead if nothing’s been heard from them. Your aunt just wants to keep her filthy hands on what’s mine.’
‘Mr Brodie’s debt, you mean? Yeah, well, that’s outstanding. When are you going to pay it off?’ She went behind a large oak desk to put a barrier between them. She moved the ivory dragon pen and inkstand that her aunt had taken in exchange for a debt from a Chinese man in Pitt Street and rested her hands on the desk.
His eyes smouldered. ‘It must have been paid off by now. The yard looks like it’s doing well.’
‘Well as can be expected in a depression. But I hate to disappoint you; even if the debt has been paid off there’s another claimant to the property.’ How she enjoyed saying that and seeing the shock in his face.
‘You don’t mean a bloody long lost Brodie cousin? I don’t believe it.’
She had no intention of telling him about Jonathan, who held her heart and her aunt’s between his chubby little hands. ‘Someone like that. Of course, you can take it to court but it would cost money and even if you won I think you’d have to wait seven years before the court would declare Mr Brodie and Billy as dead.’
‘You’re bloody loving this, aren’t yer?’ He slammed his fist on the desk. ‘I’ve had it tough. You in your posh suit and high heels have no idea what I’ve been through! I’ve walked and walked from Texas to get here.’
‘Walked on water, did you?’
His eyes darted her a venomous look. ‘I want that Dixon up at the yard out and I’m putting myself in charge.’
‘Get lost! You haven’t got a cat in a dogs’ home chance of that happening.’
Jimmy lunged across the desk, caught her off guard and seized her by the throat. ‘I’d enjoy choking the life out of you right now,’ he said through gritted teeth.
She believed him and clawed at his hands and drew blood. He swore and his fingers tightened on her windpipe. Then came the sound of voices in the hall and he dropped her like a hot coal; he looked about him and spotted the filing cabinet. ‘I’m not going without those deeds.’
‘Don’t be bloody stupid!’ gasped Rita, feeling her throat. ‘Sam! Aunt Margaret!’ She made for the door but it opened before she touched it.
Sam entered, took one look at her face and then at Jimmy, who was struggling to force open a locked drawer in the filing cabinet, and shot across the room. Jimmy aimed a blow at him but Sam seized him by a wrist and elbow and performed a series of quick movements. The next moment Jimmy was on the floor with Sam’s knee in the small of his back.
‘Who is it?’ Margaret had entered the room in his wake.
‘Jimmy! And he’s come for what he claims is his inheritance. I told him to get lost and he tried to strangle me. Thanks to Sam he now realises his mistake. How did you manage that trick, Sam?’ said Rita.
He grinned. ‘Ju-jitsu! What d’yer want me to do with him?’
‘I’d like him battered, fried in boiling oil and then thrown to the dogs,’ she said.
‘I’ll take him to the chippy,’ said Sam.
‘Wait!’ said Margaret, eyeing Jimmy up and down. ‘You believe Will’s dead?’
‘Yeah! I bet you do, too, but yer want what’s mine,’ gasped Jimmy, struggling to get up, furious at being so humiliated by Sam.
Margaret was rigid with pain and anger. ‘You own nothing, so don’t you come round here again throwing your weight around. It’s time you learnt manners. Your stepfather cared about you more than you deserved. Take him out, Sam!’
Sam hoisted Jimmy to his feet. ‘But I’ve got nowhere to go!’ he yelled. ‘You can’t do this to me! Pops wouldn’t have done it!’
‘Your Pops was an old softie! Now get out.’ Margaret’s gaze shifted to Sam. ‘You’d better take the cart back. Heads will roll when I find out who let him take that.’
‘I’ll get you for this!’ said Jimmy, fixing Rita with a furious glare.
‘You and whose army?’ she said softly, picking up his hat and ramming it on his head.
Sam frogmarched Jimmy out of the room, calling over his shoulder, ‘I might be late. I’m teaching a new bloke how to drive.’
Rita looked at her aunt and saw the worry in her eyes and knew what she was thinking. ‘He’s wrong! They’re not dead.’
‘Is he?’ whispered Margaret.
‘Of course he is! Jimmy’s a selfish G-I-T.’
‘Will treated him like a son.’
‘That was his big mistake. He encouraged him to have expectations.’
‘I need to think,’ said Margaret. ‘I suspect he’s not going to go away.’
Rita thought she was probably right and a chill ran down her spine. The swine, she thought, as if we didn’t have enough to worry about. She hugged her aunt. ‘Don’t think on an empty stomach. Let’s have lunch. You’re feeding Jonathan, remember.’
They both left the room, Rita considering how love made you vulnerable. She went downstairs to the basement kitchen to see what Mrs Richards had left them. A widow, she shared the attic with her daughter, Babs, and looked after Jonathan. Today she was visiting her sister and had taken the baby with her.
There was a casserole in the oven and Rita put on the kettle before returning upstairs. She found Margaret at her desk, perusing Will Brodie’s file. ‘So what are you going to do about Jimmy? He attacked me. We should have called the scuffer. A few months in jail would give Jimmy a fright.’
Her aunt removed her spectacles and rubbed her eyes. ‘There’s a thought, but he’s family.’
‘Not yet he isn’t! And he’s not got our blood, thank God! Or any Brodie blood either.’ She perched her bottom on the edge of the desk. ‘If he comes near us again you should threaten him with the police.’
Margaret shook her head. ‘I can’t do that. But I’d like to know where he is so I can keep my eye on him.’
Rita frowned. ‘You mean hire someone like Sexton Blake to tail him?’
Margaret gave her one of her looks. ‘A job at the yard, where Mr Dixon and Sam can keep their eye on him.’
Rita slid off the desk. ‘You’re crazy! That’s a reward! The last bloody thing he deserves!’
Margaret’s eyes glinted. ‘Don’t you bloody swear at me! I’m running the place, not you! I know what I’m doing!’
Hot words sprung to Rita’s lips but she bit them back. Time would prove her aunt wrong – she just knew it. In the meantime she would carry a pepper drum around with her. Jimmy was not going to get the chance to take her by surprise again.
Sam was to surprise them the next morning when he came storming round to the house at what felt like the crack of dawn. ‘There’s been a smash and grab raid at the shop.’
‘Jimmy?’ said Rita, biting back a yawn.
‘I wondered, but I’ve got no proof,’ said Sam.
‘You can’t believe Jimmy would be so stupid?’ said Margaret, tightening the belt of her dressing gown.
‘He’s the obvious suspect. He did threaten us,’ said Rita.
‘So did Mr McGinty,’ said Sam in a hollow voice.
They stared at him. ‘Why d’you bring him into it?’ asked Rita.
He hesitated. ‘He’s escaped from prison.’
‘You’re joking!’ Rita clutched her aunt’s hand.
‘When?’ said Margaret.
‘I forget!’ Sam looked uncomfortable. ‘I’ve had other things on my mind. I saw a poster outside the bridewell. There’s a price on his head.’
‘You had no right to forget!’ snapped Margaret. ‘You know the kind of maniac he is.’
‘He’d be a fool to come here,’ said Sam, flushing. ‘It’s the first place the police would look for him. I shouldn’t have mentioned it. I didn’t tell you before because I didn’t want to worry you.’
‘Thanks, Sam,’ said Rita. ‘I’d be thinking “I’m glad Sam didn’t want to worry me” as he cuts me throat!’
Sam muttered. ‘D’yer have to go on? I’ve told you now, so there’s something else for you to worry about.’
‘I’d rather worry and be on me guard,’ said Rita.
Margaret nodded. ‘You can wait while I get dressed, Sam. I want to see the damage for myself. I just hope there won’t be any more surprises.’
She might as well have saved her breath, thought Rita a few days later. As happens in life, a string of events were to happen that were to completely take them by surprise.
‘Salt, pepper, mustard, vinegar!’ chanted Babs, turning the skipping rope.
‘Excuse me, duck, but is this the house where Miss Sinclair and her niece Rita have moved to?’
Babs turned a flushed face to the woman. ‘Yeah! Who are you?’
‘An old friend!’ The woman waved a cigarette holder. ‘Who are you?’
‘Babs! Me mam works here. Who shall I say is calling?’ said the girl, carefully pronouncing every word, remembering her orders for when people called.
‘Just say Ellen’s come to call.’
‘Ellen!’ repeated Babs, slinging the skipping rope round one of the railings that fenced off the entrance to the basement and opening the gate. She ran down the steps into the kitchen where her mother was cooking supper. ‘Visitor for Miss Rita called Ellen.’
‘Run up and tell her.’
Babs ran up the stone steps which led to the rear of the hall and shouted, ‘Miss Rita! Visitor!’
A door opened upstairs. ‘Who is it?’
‘An Ellen!’ Babs jiggled about on the tiles at the foot of the staircase. ‘She’s dressed like someone out of a pantomime and’s smoking out of a long stick.’
‘My God!’ Rita hurried downstairs, feeling a mixture of emotions. She remembered with gratitude the good times she had shared with Ellen but she could not forget Billy had been in love with her. ‘Where is she?’
‘Outside.’
Rita opened the front door, wondering what had brought Ellen to Liverpool. Perhaps she had come for news of Billy and, finding none of the family up at the yard, had been directed here. She stared at the woman with her back to her. Smoke formed a cloud about her head and, even from this angle, there was something glamorous about that figure. On her head was a glistening skull-shaped hat. She appeared to be wearing a long cloak in a variety of colours. The heels of her shoes were at least three inches high. Already she was attracting the attention of several of the students clustered round the garden gates in the centre of the square. Rita felt an old familiar stab of envy. No wonder Billy had fallen for Ellen. She was like a tropical bird among sparrows. ‘Ellen!’
She turned and her eyes widened. Then she laughed and ran up the steps holding out a hand. ‘You’ve grown up! It’s great to see you.’
‘Same here!’ Rita meant it. Interesting things always happened when Ellen was around. ‘Where’ve you been for the last two years? It was as if you’d been whizzed away in a flying saucer.’
‘That’d be different! I’ve been here, there and everywhere – by ship, mostly – but not once have I bumped into Billy. It’s him who’s the real missing person.’
‘You should have caught a slow boat to China.’
Ellen sighed. ‘No thanks. He must be crazy. I visited Alice in the States. She thinks he’s dead. It’s a sad loss if he is but I’m not going to believe it. He’s as tough as old boot leather, so I told her she shouldn’t give up on him yet.’
Rita was grateful for those words. She would rather Billy was alive and married to Ellen than his corpse was rotting in some Chinese city. ‘You must have supper with us. You look well.’
Ellen pulled a face. ‘It’s all window dressing, duck. Clothes home-made. I’ve told you before, us lady musicians are hard done by.’ She paused to draw on the long cigarette holder. ‘But I have friends and I still love to travel.’
‘You know Jimmy’s back in Liverpool?’
‘That idiot! Alice is worried about him so I said I’d look him up, but he wasn’t at the yard.’
Rita said, ‘No! He’s an idiot, as you said. Come on in.’
Ellen stepped into the hall and stopped. ‘Holy Mary, mother of God! This would make a bloody brilliant set for a play. I can just see Gertie gliding down those stairs.’
Rita was impressed. ‘You mean you’ve met Gertrude Lawrence?’
‘There’s only one Gertie. She and Noel – Coward – came and watched the cabaret of which I was a small part on their way to New York.’
‘What a life you lead! I envy you!’
‘Don’t tie yourself up in knots. It’s not all sequins and glamour, but grotty cabins beneath the waterline and being groped by rich old men.’ She rolled her eyes and laughed. ‘You couldn’t give me a bed for the night, could you?’
‘I can let you share mine if Aunt Margaret gives the wink.’ Rita noticed Babs watching them, obviously taken with their guest. ‘Go and tell your mam there’s an extra one for supper. Right now we’d like tea and some of her delicious scones.’
Rita took Ellen upstairs who lauded praise on the sitting room with its embossed ceiling. ‘Perfect for Oscar Wilde’s An Ideal Husband. Have you seen it?’
‘Too busy.’
‘You should make the effort. Sandy’s travelling theatre is due in Liverpool soon.’
‘You crafty thing! That’s why you’re here. One night will turn into a week, and so on.’
Ellen smiled and waved her cigarette holder. ‘I always knew you were sharper than you appeared.’
‘I enjoyed seeing Sandy act. How d’you keep yourself informed of his whereabouts, though, when you’re never in one place for long?’
‘Friends of friends in the business.’ Ellen curled up in a corner of the sofa. ‘You’re a lucky duck. Much nicer here than those rooms over the pawnshop.’
‘Sam lives there.’
‘Sam?’ Ellen tapped her teeth with the cigarette holder. ‘I heard that name up at the yard – something to do with a lorry.’
‘We’re engaged. He’s a lovely bloke,’ she said, trying to sound casual.
‘I’m glad you realised Jimmy wasn’t.’
They stared at each other and an unspoken message passed between them. ‘Poor Alice,’ said Ellen. ‘She really does love him, warts and all. I’m glad my brother’s not like him.’
No more was said on the subject of Jimmy as Mrs Richards appeared with tea and scones. Sam and Margaret came in and joined them. The latter agreed for Ellen to stay but stated terms right away.
‘I’ll have to do the impossible and find myself a job,’ said Ellen.
It was not until they went to bed, Ellen saying she would fetch her things from the left luggage in the morning, that she told Rita more about Sandy and the travelling theatre. ‘He’s planning on going out East because Dad’s leaving India and the pair of them never got on and so are best with an ocean between them.’
‘You mean Britain isn’t big enough for both of them?’
‘Dad would seek him out wherever Sandy was. He thinks acting is for sissies, not real men, and he’ll get at him.’
‘Poor Sandy. Where East is the company going?’
‘Ask me again when he gets here.’ Ellen yawned and snuggled beneath the covers. ‘A real bed to sleep in at last. Wake me up in a week.’
Rita smiled and turned on her side. That night she dreamt of being on a stage which was decked out just like Chinatown; sitting in a rickshaw were Billy and Ellen and she wanted to tear them apart. Then Jimmy appeared carrying a brick, which he was going to hit her with and she was running, running.