Chapter Fifteen

Bonskeet’s builders were pushing on with the bungalows over the hill from Blackstone Farm. The big villas were already up and subject to the attentions of plasterers and electricians. The first would be occupied before Easter, most of the others by June. Lyons & Lloyd’s had taken their percentage as agents. The rest of the profit would go into Bonskeet’s coffers from which, Bernard supposed, Dominic would duly extract his share.

The bungalows were proving much more difficult to shift, however, for the market had gone stone cold in recent weeks. Allan Shakespeare had suggested that the properties be advertised as safe havens from German air raids, which, Bernard knew, was a palpable untruth. Hardgate, Duntocher, Blackstone and Breslin lay close to the Clyde and however efficient the Luftwaffe might be he doubted if German bombardiers would be able to target the shipyards with precision.

Such thoughts bobbed about in Bernard’s head as he tramped up the track from the road and, stepping over a fence, approached the farm.

It was a breezy day, cloudy, more moist than cold, the wind gusting from the east. He heard nothing from the farm until he reached the whitewashed wall behind the stables and picked up the clack of machinery running an interrupted pattern that reminded him of a weaver’s loom. He looked up at the roof. There wasn’t a pigeon, crow or gull to be seen on the slates, not one hungry sparrow; whatever was going on inside was noisy and constant enough to keep the birds away. He tightened the belt of his overcoat, went around the gable, found a wooden door, opened it and slipped into the building unseen.

Beams overhead, a stone floor, empty horse stalls: he faced a flight of wooden steps that led up to a gallery protected by rails and straw bales. He climbed the steps and looked along the level of the raw wooden boards at the deafening machine. At first he thought there was no one there, only a scowling tabby crouched on the straw above him, Then a chap in a collarless shirt emerged from behind the machine, a screwdriver clenched between his teeth, an oilcan in his hand.

Catching sight of Bernard, he removed the screwdriver from his mouth, and shouted, ‘Who the hell’re you?’

‘I’m looking for Dominic Manone.’

‘What?’

‘Dominic Manone, I’m…’

The machine cut off abruptly. Dougie set down the oilcan but not the screwdriver. The tabby stirred, arched her back and surveyed Bernard with unnerving indifference.

‘Dominic Manone,’ Bernard said. ‘I’m looking for…’

‘Never heard o’ him.’

‘And just who are you?’

‘Ah work here.’

‘Doing what?’ said Bernard.

‘Ah work at not answerin’ stupid questions.’

‘You’re printing something, aren’t you?’ Bernard took a pace forward. ‘What are you printing?’

‘Posters.’

‘Show me.’

‘Who the hell are you, man? Are you the polis?’

‘I told you, I’m looking for Mr Manone.’

‘Never heard—’

‘Come off it,’ Bernard said. ‘Don’t give me your patter. I lease this place to Dominic Manone. What’s that you’re hiding?’

‘Tony?’ Dougie shouted. ‘Tony?’

It was hardly a blow at all, certainly not a punch. Bernard caught Dougie’s arm and swung him around, let him skip and fall to one knee, crying out. Then he scooped up an armful of the paper from the litter on the floor and selected from the trash a single wrinkled sheet. He studied it for a moment, then grunted.

‘Fivers, forged fivers. So that’s Dom’s game, is it? Dear God, what next!’

‘I guess that’s up to you, Bernard,’ Tony Lombard said from the top of the stairs. ‘Yeah, I guess that’s up to you.’

*   *   *

‘It’s a bit of a chortle, really,’ John Flint said. ‘I mean here she is tryin’ to sell me somethin’ I already own. I’m disappointed. I thought Polly had more class. Now the other one…’

‘Babs,’ Dominic said.

‘Yeah, Babs – now she I could believe, but not Polly, not your dearly beloved wife, Dominic, old son.’

‘She doesn’t know about the money,’ Dominic said.

‘Then what’s her game?’ Flint said. ‘I mean, hell, does she think I’m gonna shell out for a buncha stocks an’ shares that could be worth less than the paper they’re written on in six month time? I haven’t a clue what you’ve got tucked away, Dom. It’s your business, not mine. But Jesus, when a man’s wife tries to sell him out then I’ve gotta start askin’ questions, haven’t I?’

‘I told you – Polly can’t possibly have found out about the money.’

‘I only have your word for that,’ Johnny Flint said.

‘Big Q is, has she found out about me?’ Edgar Harker said.

‘What about you?’ Dominic said.

‘Who I am, what I’m doing here.’

‘How could she?’

Harker shrugged. ‘Same way she found out about the money.’

‘For the last and final time,’ Dominic said, ‘Polly knows nothing about—’

‘Okay, okay, keep your shirt on,’ Harker said. ‘I believe you, though thousands wouldn’t.’

‘How could she possibly have found out about Blackstone?’ Dominic said.

Harker said. ‘Somebody told her.’

‘Somebody? Like who?’ Dominic said.

Harker shrugged again. ‘Somebody on the inside. What about this guy Babs is married to? What about him?’

‘Hallop? No, no, not Jackie.’

‘Why not Jackie?’ said Harker.

‘Because he’s a nobody,’ said Flint. ‘Right, Dom?’

‘He’s also your brother-in-law,’ Harker said.

‘He runs a motoring showroom,’ Dom said. ‘Jackie Hallop has no connection with what’s going on at Blackstone.’

‘So,’ Harker said, ‘it’s Polly we hafta worry about.’

Dominic hadn’t taken off his hat or overcoat. He stood before the desk, hands stuffed into his pockets, shoulders hunched. He looked dejected, as well he might considering he’d just been told that his wife was planning to sell his business out from under him. However much you might be tempted to admire strength and determination in a woman there were limits to a man’s tolerance and Flint reckoned that Dominic Manone was close to that limit now.

No sounds drifted up from the cinema. It was too early for the afternoon show. Cleaners would be moving between the seats, a Gaumont van would soon deliver the weekend reels. In the projection room an assistant would be dusting the lenses. In outer offices telephones rang and teleprinters chattered monotonously but in Flint’s suite silence reigned.

At length Dominic said, ‘Did Polly mention Blackstone by name?’ He spoke as softly as if he were crooning a lullaby.

Flint had heard that tone before and knew it signified not capitulation but threat. He adjusted his position on, not behind the desk, crossed one leg over the other and folded his arms before he answered, ‘Nope.’

‘Did she say anything about fake money?’

‘Matter of fact, no.’

‘She asked if you would be prepared to help her run my business if something happened to me, is that correct?’ said Dominic.

‘Substantially correct, yeah,’ Flint said.

‘What did Babs contribute to the conversation?’

‘Not much. Moral support, I suppose.’

‘So you’ve not one shred of evidence that my wife knows anything at all about Blackstone or counterfeit money.’

‘For Christ’s sake, son…’ Harker protested.

Dominic turned on him. He moved more nimbly than any of the boxers John Flint had on his books. A sudden shift of weight and his hands were on Harker’s lapels. He pulled the man to him and turned him, snaring his arm and ramming it hard against his back, forcing Harker’s face to the wall. He leaned into him and spoke, still softly, into his ear.

‘Don’t think I don’t know who you are, Frank,’ Dominic said. ‘Don’t think I didn’t do my homework before I agreed to deal with you. You’re enjoying this, aren’t you? You just love the whole idea of stirring up trouble for Lizzie Conway and her girls, your daughters. I don’t know why. I can’t figure out your reasons, unless you’re just nasty. Yes, I think that’s it – nasty.’

‘You’re hurtin’ me.’

‘Oh, no,’ Dominic said. ‘I haven’t even begun to hurt you yet.’

Johnny uncrossed his legs and placed both feet on to the floor. It had been ten years or more since he had seen this side of Dominic Manone, the quiet, invidious, efficient use of violence, but he remembered all too clearly what had happened to his boss, the late Chick McGuire.

‘How did you recognise me?’ Harker said.

‘I wasn’t a kid when you skipped out,’ Dominic said. ‘I saw you hanging around the Rowing Club often enough to remember you.’

‘Yeah, but you thought I was dead, didn’t you?’

‘Why didn’t my father tell me you were working for him?’

‘’Cause I asked him not to,’ Harker said. ‘You think I wanna be here at all? Know what you are, son? You’re a hick, a third-rater. Always were, always will be. That’s why your old man left you behind in Scotland.’ He twisted his head, tried to look back over his shoulder. ‘You gonna tell Polly who I am, Polly and Babs? You gonna blow this opportunity just for the sake of a doll from the Gorbals, even if she is my daughter?’

Dominic released him. Harker eased round, massaging his forearm and shoulder, still grinning that ghastly, disabled grin.

‘Polly is my concern,’ Dominic said.

‘Then do somethin’ about her,’ Harker said, ‘before she gets us all sent up the goddamned Swanee.’

Dominic put his hands in his pockets, walked to the front of the desk and contemplated the opaque glass of the big window.

‘I sent her,’ he said.

‘You what? You sent her where?’ said Harker.

‘To him, to Flint, to test him out.’

‘What the hell for?’ Johnny blurted out. ‘Don’t you trust me?’

Dominic gave a little laugh, three chesty spurts of sound. ‘I sent the girls round here to dangle the bait, Johnny. Didn’t you guess?’

‘Well, I – I mean, I did sorta have a—’

‘Is this gonna change things?’ Harker interrupted.

‘No,’ Dominic answered. ‘It changes nothing.’

‘Just as well,’ Harker said. ‘Otherwise we could all wind up dead in the water. I mean it, son. I really do mean dead.’

‘What?’ Johnny said. ‘Me an’ all?’

Harker had seated himself on one of the red leather banquettes. He did not appear in the least ruffled. Jaunty, self-loving arrogance was so ingrained that no one, not even Dominic Manone, could shake it. He groomed his moustache with his hand, then said, ‘You too, Flinty, you an’ him an’ anybody gets in the way.’

‘I take it you’ve promised the money to an organisation none of us can stand up to?’ Dominic said. ‘I take it you know what the profits will be used for?’

‘I gotta fair idea,’ said Harker.

‘How did my father get tangled up with the Nazis?’

‘They came to him,’ Edgar Harker said. ‘They had the plates an’ the girl. They offered him the whole package. They wanted to set up in England but your old man talked them out of it. Scotland, he said, Scotland’s the place, all they think about in Scotland’s football an’ drink.’

‘Who do you rendezvous with over here?’ Dominic said.

‘Nobody yet.’

‘So how do you channel the cash to the agents?’

‘Agents?’ Johnny said. ‘What agents?’

Harker said, ‘I don’t.’

Dominic said, ‘What do you do then?’

‘Agents?’ Johnny said again. ‘You mean, like spies?’

Harker said, ‘It’s done through a private bank. The account’s already been established.’

‘Who opened it? You?’

‘Me, yeah.’

‘When the account has enough in it to make it worthwhile,’ Dominic said, ‘I assume you’ll transfer smaller sums to other accounts in the provinces.’

‘I won’t, but somebody else will?’ Harker shrugged. ‘I’ll have my whack by that time, your old man’ll have his. What do I care where the loot winds up?’

‘You could hang for this, Frank,’ Dominic said.

‘I could hang for a lotta things,’ Harker told him.

‘Will somebody please tell me what the hell you’re talkin’ about?’

‘It’s a secret, Flinty, a dead secret,’ Harker said.

‘I don’t like secrets. Fact, I hate secrets. Look,’ Johnny said apologetically, ‘what am I gonna do when Polly comes back here?’

‘She won’t,’ Dominic said.

‘You sure?’

‘I’m sure.’

Harker got to his feet, slapping his hands on his thighs.

‘Dominic knew all about it, remember,’ he said. ‘Sendin’ Polly here was all Dominic’s idea in the first place. Right?’

‘That’s right,’ said Dominic.

‘Dom’s got everything under control.’

‘That I have,’ said Dominic.

‘Includin’ my daughter, his wife.’

‘God Almighty!’ Johnny said. ‘What a soddin’ mess this is turnin’ out to be. I don’t know if I wanna be part of it any more.’

‘Too late now, Flinty,’ said Harker.

*   *   *

‘Bernard, for God’s sake, will you calm down,’ Tony Lombard said.

‘Calm down!’ Bernard shouted. ‘Calm bloody down!’

‘It’s got nothing to do with you.’

‘Hasn’t it?’ Bernard stormed. ‘It’s got a lot to do with me. I’m the mug arranged the lease on this place. My signature’s on the documents.’

‘Burn them then,’ said Tony. ‘Get rid of them.’

‘Bit bloody late for that, isn’t it?’ Bernard would not be placated. ‘So this is what it’s all about, is it? Coining? Who the hell’s he?’

‘Mah name’s Dougie.’

‘He’s the printer, I suppose?’ Bernard said.

‘Look, why don’t we get out of here. Go over to the farm an’ have coffee.’

‘I don’t want coffee. I want explanations.’

Dougie plucked the tabby from the straw and held her close against his chest as if he feared that Bernard would do her harm. Penny appeared on the stairs. She had been caught out and had flung on her clothes and a weird-looking turban. She knew who Bernard was but not his position in the Manone hierarchy and consequently let Tony do the talking.

‘Is Dominic not here?’ Bernard said.

‘No, you might be able to catch him at the warehouse.’

‘What about Conway, or Harker, or whatever the hell he calls himself?’

‘Conway?’ Tony said. ‘You don’t mean Frank Conway?’

‘I do mean Frank Conway,’ Bernard said. ‘The bastard wasn’t dead apparently. Now he’s back in Glasgow and in cahoots with Dominic and between them they’re wrecking my marriage.’

Tony spun round and grabbed Penny before she could retreat down the staircase. ‘Is this true? Is Harker Polly’s father? Is he really Frank Conway?’

She had known all along that Eddie had another identity. He’d emerged wounded from the trenches – had deserted, in fact – had stolen another man’s name before he’d sought refuge with Carlo Manone in Philadelphia. What hold Eddie had over Carlo Manone was just one more mystery.

She said, ‘I think it may be so.’

Tony turned to Bernard once more. ‘Does Polly know her old man’s come back from the dead?’

‘Dominic kept it from her, kept it from all of us, in fact.’

‘Can’t blame him,’ Tony Lombard said. ‘I’d have done the same.’

‘Because you’re all tarred with the same brush,’ said Bernard.

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘Eye-ties, traitors.’

Tony bristled. ‘Hang on just a damned minute…’

‘Not only traitors – cowards.’

The girl caught Tony’s sleeve before he could throw a punch. He wrestled with her and broke her grip but the split second’s delay brought his temper under control. He mustn’t allow the guy to rile him. He had spent the night in bed with Penny and on hearing Bernard Peabody’s voice he’d suffered a massive fit of guilt at betraying Polly. There was something about Peabody that he both feared and admired, like the sanctity of priests or the chastity of nuns.

‘Tony, he did not mean it,’ Penny Weston said.

‘Oh, but I did.’ Bernard jerked a thumb. ‘Is that who you’re making this counterfeit stuff for, the Italians?’

‘No, it’s just money,’ Tony said, ‘just business.’

‘God, doesn’t he have enough? Does Dominic have to risk his neck and Polly’s happiness by making even more.’ Bernard blew out a long breath. ‘Does this contraption actually work?’

‘Yep,’ Tony answered, warily.

‘Can it print anything else besides English fivers?’

‘Like what?’ said Tony.

‘Lira, Deutschmarks, Yankee dollars?’

‘Give us a break, mister,’ Dougie said.

‘Listen,’ Tony said, ‘if you want in on it, just ask Dominic. There’s plenty to go around.’

‘I don’t want any of his dirty money,’ Bernard said. ‘I just want to get my hands on Frank Conway. I want rid of him.’

‘Rid of him?’ the girl said in a strange, shrill voice.

‘I want him out of the country before he does any more damage to my girls.’

‘I don’t care what you do to Harker,’ Tony said, ‘but leave Polly out of it.’

‘I’m not that concerned about Polly. It’s Rosie I worry about.’

Tony had never understood men like Bernard Peabody, war veterans, hard-working, dependable, modest guys. In his younger days he’d thought of them as mugs and suckers until Dominic had taught him otherwise.

He watched Bernard lift another spoiled sheet from the floor.

It had been careless of him to sleep late, not guard the stable, keep watch on the track. Wardens, special constables and do-gooding patriots were everywhere these days. Only a matter of time before some nosy parker made his way up the track to Blackstone. Careless, he’d been careless. He had Penny to thank – or blame – for that. All he really wanted was Polly, Polly and a little hard cash.

‘How good are these?’ Bernard asked.

‘Good,’ Dougie told him. ‘As good as the real thing.’

‘How did Dominic come by the plates?’

‘Bernard,’ Tony said, ‘the less you know the better.’

‘You’re right.’ Bernard shook the printed sheet from his fingertips. ‘I’ve no desire to get involved in this dirty business.’

‘You will tell no one what you have seen here, will you?’ Penny said.

Bernard shook his head. ‘All I want is Conway, or Harker, or whatever he calls himself now. I just want that bastard out of our hair once and for all.’

‘What will the girls have to say to that?’ Tony asked.

‘They’ll thank me for it.’

‘You sure?’

‘In the long run,’ Bernard said, ‘I’m certain they will.’

*   *   *

‘Are you tellin’ me,’ said Lizzie, ‘you knew he was here in Glasgow?’

Polly shook her head. ‘No, Mammy, I had no idea who he was when Babs and I bumped into him.’

‘She had a feelin’, though,’ Babs put in. ‘Didn’t you, honey?’

‘Yes, yes I did.’

‘What sort o’ feelin’?’ said Lizzie.

‘Strange, as if we’d met before.’

‘Well, you had,’ said Lizzie. ‘A long, long time ago. He held you in his arms when you were a babby. Used t’ take you round to the Rowing Club to show you off. He was awful proud o’ you.’

‘Proud, was he?’ Babs said. ‘Well, he’d a bloody funny way o’ showin’ it.’

‘Don’t you remember him at all?’ Lizzie asked.

‘No, thank God!’ said Babs. ‘What was I – three or somethin’ when he skedaddled? I thought you said he was tall, dark an’ handsome.’

‘Isn’t he?’ said Lizzie.

‘He’s a nyaff,’ said Babs. ‘An ugly wee nyaff.’

‘And he has a moustache,’ said Polly. ‘A horrible brown moustache.’

‘I can see him wi’ a moustache,’ said Lizzie, wistfully. ‘Aye, I always thought a moustache would suit him. Is he on the run?’

‘Not as far as I know,’ Polly said. ‘He’s here to do business with Dominic, however, and Kenny MacGregor’s got wind of it.’

‘Can’t think why you want to meet him,’ Babs said, ‘not after what he done to us, runnin’ out an’ leaving you with three kids an’ in debt to the Manones.’

‘Twenty years in Philadelphia and he made no attempt to tell us he was alive,’ Polly said. ‘He knew how bad things were for us because he worked for Carlo Manone but we could have starved for all the help he offered you.’

‘I want to meet him,’ Lizzie said.

‘No,’ Polly snapped, and Babs threw up her hands in despair.

Lizzie had reached Raines Drive by bus and tramcar, navigating her way nervously across the city. Before leaving she had telephoned Polly from the box at Anniesland Cross and had asked – no, told – her to meet at Babs’s house. She had stubbornly refused to tell Polly what had upset her and had been saved from interrogation by a telephone operator who had conveniently cut her off.

Polly guessed that it had something to do with her father, not Bernard, the other one: that was how she thought of him now, the other one. She had sent Patricia round to Babs’s house with a message and instructions to bring baby April back with her which the nanny duly did. Pat would look after the child and also collect the Hallops from school, if necessary.

‘Rosie wants to meet him,’ Lizzie said.

‘Well, Rosie can just bloody want,’ said Babs.

‘Don’t you want to meet him?’ Lizzie said.

‘I’ve met him already,’ Babs said. ‘Once was enough.’

‘He’s your father, your natural father,’ Lizzie said.

‘He’s a bastard,’ Babs declared, ‘a natural-born bastard that’s what he is.’

‘Rosie doesn’t know that,’ said Lizzie.

‘Then it’s time somebody told her. Time you told her,’ Babs said.

‘There are things have t’ be settled,’ said Lizzie. ‘Legal things.’

Polly said, ‘Stop looking for excuses, Mammy. You are not going to meet him – and that’s flat.’

‘Since when did you become the voice o’ authority?’ said Lizzie.

‘Since the day I married Dominic Manone,’ Polly told her.

‘She’s right, Mam,’ said Babs. ‘As for the legal stuff – heck, I reckon the old bastard’ll run a mile if you just breathe the word “divorce”. I dunno what he’s up to but I’m willin’ to bet it’s crooked.’ She paused, scowling at her mother who sat in a floral-pattern armchair with her hands in her lap and her eyes cast down, not defeated or contrite but quietly obstinate. ‘What do you think, Mammy? Do you think he’s gonna present himself before the court to settle a matter he settled years ago. He’s dead, for God’s sake! He’s been dead for years.’

‘It just doesn’t feel right,’ said Lizzie.

‘What doesn’t?’ said Babs.

‘Bein’ married to Bernard now.’

‘Oh, God! Is that it?’ Babs exclaimed. ‘Suddenly you’ve got a conscience about poor old Bernard?’

‘Under law,’ said Polly, ‘Bernard is still your husband.’

‘Says who?’ Lizzie asked.

‘Father, my other father, was declared dead.’

‘No he wasn’t. They wouldn’t even give me a pension.’

‘That’s beside the point,’ said Polly. ‘Besides…’ She hesitated. ‘Besides, he’s married again too.’ Her mother’s mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. She uttered a little popping noise and swayed back in the chair. Polly pushed on remorselessly. ‘Married to a young woman who’s with him over here.’

‘You’re kiddin’,’ Babs said.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Polly, ‘I’m not.’

‘Did Dominic tell you that?’ said Lizzie.

‘Yes.’ Polly felt cheap at having to lie to her mother but the little ache of conscience passed off quickly. ‘He told me that Edgar Harker arrived in Scotland accompanied by his wife. I’ve actually seen her. Young, very young, and very pretty, if you care for that sort of thing.’

‘What sort of thing?’ Lizzie got out.

‘Blondes with big long legs,’ said Polly. ‘So, Mother, if you came here this morning hoping I’d be able to set up a meeting between you and my other father then you’re going to be disappointed.’

Lizzie began to protest. ‘But Rosie…’

‘It doesn’t matter what you or Rosie want. Our problem,’ Polly said, ‘is to get shot of Dad before he does anything drastic. You wouldn’t want to inflict a High Court trial on Rosie, would you, Mammy? God, the press would have a field day.’

‘Give in, Mammy,’ said Babs. ‘Forget he ever existed.’

‘I can’t,’ said Lizzie. ‘I can’t forget him. And I won’t forgive him.’

‘Forgive him?’ said Polly.

‘For goin’ away or for comin’ back?’ said Babs.

‘For sleepin’ with my sister Janet,’ Lizzie said.

*   *   *

‘How long ago did all this happen?’ Dominic said.

‘An hour,’ Tony said. ‘I gave Peabody ten minutes to clear the track then hopped in the car and drove straight here. I thought I’d better warn you he’s out for blood.’

‘Bernard isn’t going to harm me,’ Dominic said. ‘It’s Harker he’s scared of. When he cools down he’ll realise we’re on the same side.’

‘He knows about the money, though. He saw the machinery.’

‘Bernard won’t peach. He has too much to lose.’

‘Did you know this guy Harker was Polly’s father?’ Tony asked.

‘I found out for sure only two or three days ago.’

‘How did you find out?’

‘Through a friend, a good friend.’

They were alone in the office on the top floor of the Central Warehouse. Dominic had sent his secretary off to an early lunch and the corridor outside the pebble-glass door was deserted.

‘Somebody who knows Harker, you mean?’ Tony asked.

‘Somebody who knows him only too well.’

‘I wish to God you’d let me in on this. I’m sick of being kept in the dark.’

‘I have a friend,’ Dominic said, ‘who has a friend in Whitehall.’

‘I thought maybe you’d cabled your old man,’ Tony said.

‘Dad?’ Dominic paused. ‘Dad probably had good reason for not telling me and took a chance that I wouldn’t remember Frank Conway.’

‘Protecting your wife, was he? Protecting Polly?’

‘Protecting himself, more like,’ said Dominic.

‘Is he throwing us to the wolves?’ said Tony. ‘Is that why the printing’s being done over here instead of Philadelphia or New York? I can’t believe your old man couldn’t shake out a Yankee printer as good as Dougie Giffard.’

Dominic was seated on the edge of the desk, one leg stretched out. He sat very still, remote and distant as if he were thinking of other things entirely.

‘What we’re involved in,’ Dominic said at length, ‘is building a network of enemy agents. The plates probably originated in Germany, the paper was manufactured in Italy. Presumably the Nazis have planted a number of agents in strategic positions in this country and have to find a means of paying them. Harker’s managing the scheme but I doubt if even he knows who he’s working for. By that I mean, he isn’t going to be invited to tea at the Germany embassy. He’ll filter the counterfeit money through Flint and he’s already established an account in a private bank into which he can deposit the profit. Later, that account will be split and certain sums transferred to other accounts in other banks. By that time the money will be virtually untraceable.’

‘Where are these agents located?’

‘That’s something we’ll never find out,’ Dominic said. ‘Coventry, I expect. Portsmouth, Plymouth, here on Clydeside too for all I know. They’ll be strategically positioned in munitions factories or aircraft plants, on the boards of companies who have access to government orders. It really wouldn’t surprise me if there were one or two in Westminster, perhaps even in Whitehall itself.’

‘Nazis,’ Tony said. ‘We’re printing money for the Nazis.’

‘Germany may not be the enemy for long,’ Dominic said.

‘Hey, don’t tell me you’re going Italian on me?’

Dominic lowered himself from the desk, turned to the window and stared out at the river. ‘When the war does come,’ he said, ‘where will you stand, Tony?’

‘Where I’ve always stood,’ said Tony, ‘with you.’

‘No,’ Dominic said. ‘No, not with me.’

‘I don’t get it.’

‘It won’t be safe to stand with me.’ He swung round again. ‘I want you to marry Penny Weston and get her out of the country.’

Tony felt his blood run cold. He swallowed, spit sticky in his mouth, like glue. ‘What – what’s she to you, Dominic? What do you care what…’

‘Listen,’ Dominic said, ‘I know what’s been going on. I want you out of it.’ He smiled again. ‘She’s perfect for you, Tony. She’ll keep you in order. She’ll make sure you don’t stray.’

‘Stray?’

‘Don’t make me say it, Tony.’

He was silent, stunned but still unsure. Polly was in the forefront of his mind, Polly and adultery, Polly and betrayal. Was he being sent away because of his affair with Polly? Was Dom offering him the easy way out?

‘Oh, come on, Tony. You’d think it was a death sentence,’ Dominic said. ‘If it doesn’t work out there’s always divorce.’

‘I’m – I’m a Catholic.’

‘So?’

‘Please, no, don’t ask me to do this.’

‘I’m not asking you,’ Dominic said. ‘I’m telling you.’

‘What if Penny don’t wanna marry me?’

‘She will,’ Dominic said. ‘She’ll marry any man for a second chance.’

‘Second chance, what’s that supposed to mean?’

‘Anyone who’ll get her away from Harker.’

‘Harker? What does Harker have to do with it?’

‘She’s Harker’s wife,’ Dominic said. ‘They were married in New York just before the ship sailed.’

‘Did your pal in Whitehall tell you that?’

‘He didn’t have to,’ Dominic said.

‘If she’s married already,’ Tony got out, ‘she isn’t free to marry me?’

‘Widows,’ Dominic said, ‘are always free.’

‘Widows?’ said Tony. ‘You’ve lost me, Dom. You’ve left me way behind.’

‘I’m afraid that’s true, Tony,’ Dominic said. ‘I’m very much afraid that’s true.’

*   *   *

As soon as he entered headquarters Kenny knew something was wrong. Perhaps, he thought, the Irish had struck with another bomb blast in retaliation for recent arrests but there were no signs of agitation in the crowd that gathered in the hallway outside the muster room and he had hardly stepped through the door when DC Galbraith grabbed him by the arm.

‘Whoa!’ Kenny said. ‘What is it? What’s happened?’

‘It’s Wetsock,’ Galbraith said. ‘He’s gone.’

‘Gone? What, sacked?’

‘Nah, nah,’ said Galbraith. ‘He collapsed. One minute he was sittin’ at his desk talkin’ to your sister, next minute he was spewin’ blood from every orifice. What a soddin’ mess. The cleaners are still moppin’ up.’

‘Is Fiona all right.’

‘Oh, sure. You know her better’n I do,’ Galbraith said. ‘She had an ambulance at the door within five minutes, before she even reported to a senior officer. No sense o’ protocol, your sister.’

‘Never mind my sister,’ Kenny said. ‘How bad is it with Winstock?’

‘Bad, so I’ve heard. Busted ulcer. Suspected peritonitis. He’s in the Vickie undergoin’ emergency surgery. May not peg out.’

‘When did this happen?’

‘Ten or half-past this mornin’. Never know the minute, do you?’ Galbraith said. ‘Wonder what’ll happen to us now?’

‘Us?’

‘The Unit.’

‘Oh that!’ said Kenny.

‘Since we haven’t really achieved anything,’ Galbraith said, ‘maybe they’ll close us down. I don’t fancy goin’ back on regular duties, do you?’

‘No option,’ Kenny said, ‘unless they put somebody else in charge.’

‘Like who?’ Galbraith said. ‘Fiona?’

In spite of the gravity of the situation, Kenny chuckled.

‘We could do worse,’ he said. ‘Perhaps they’ll fetch someone up from Scotland Yard? One thing’s for sure, even if he does pull through that’s the last any of us will see of poor old Wetsock. I hope he’s okay.’

‘Me too,’ Galbraith said. ‘What do we do right now, though?’

‘Hang about, wait for orders,’ Kenny said.

He slipped his hand into his coat pocket and fingered the letter that he’d typed out on Fiona’s machine at home. He hadn’t told her that he intended to present a letter of resignation to Inspector Winstock at the end of the shift. It wasn’t that he had become disillusioned with policing or wished to plunge into army life. He felt guilty about Rosie and honour bound to try to make amends. In spite of everything, he still wanted to marry her. The thought of some other man stealing her away made his stomach hurt. Resignation was the only solution but it was going to take more guts than he possessed to stand before the Deputy Chief Constable and resign when Winstock was fighting for his life in the Victoria Infirmary.

Within an hour Kenny was summoned to the Chief Inspector’s room on the third floor. There he found not only Superintendent Rogerson but also Inspectors Caple and McLaren and, occupying the chair behind the desk, no less a person than the Chief Constable, Percy J. Sillitoe.

The interview was brief and succinct.

Kenny was informed that Inspector Winstock would not be returning to duty in the foreseeable future. Apparently the Inspector had been ailing for some time. The lack of satisfactory results in the SPU investigations might be laid therefore at Inspector Winstock’s door. A replacement was urgently needed. Would he, Sergeant Kenneth MacGregor be prepared to head the Special Protection Unit on a temporary basis with the assurance that he would receive a promotion to the rank of Detective Inspector if he proved himself worthy of the honour.

Kenny felt the letter in his pocket crumple of its own accord. He gave it a helping hand, stuffing it into the corner of his pocket as if he feared that the basilisk gaze of Chief Constable Sillitoe, scourge of the uncommitted, would penetrate the material and see just how little honour he, Kenny MacGregor, attached to being part of the thin blue line.

‘Well, MacGregor, what do you say?’ the Chief Constable asked.

‘I – I…’

‘Come on, lad,’ growled Rogerson, ‘surely you don’t have to think about it.’

Kenny swallowed hard. His stomach hurt. His collar was slick with perspiration but the letter of resignation was nothing but a crumpled ball in his coat pocket. ‘No, sir,’ he said. ‘Thank you, sir. I accept.’

‘Good man,’ Percy Sillitoe said. ‘But hear me well, Sergeant, I need results before I get any more flak from the Home Office.’

‘Yes, sir. I’ll do my best,’ said Kenny.

‘Your very best,’ said Rogerson.

‘My very best,’ Kenny promised.