The Unquiet heart

NINE

Eve announced she wanted to move upmarket. In the three weeks we’d been working together she’d written about warehouse theft and dog doping at White City. Now she wanted to tackle corruption among the toffs, bearding them in their fancy gambling dens.

“The one in Mayfair,” she said. We were walking in her lunch hour through Lincoln’s Inn, sidestepping blokes in wigs and winged collars. It was like the movie set for David Copperfield.

“Carlyle’s? Start at the top, why don’t you? How do you know about that?”

“Danny, it may be illegal but any cabbie will take you. All I need is an escort.” She took my hand and gave me her most winning smile. She knew that I knew she was conning me. She also knew I was a sucker for her smile.

I tried to be practical. “You also need a sponsor. It’s a very private club. No coppers, no press. Especially no press.”

“Jimmie Hutcheson has it all arranged,” she said gaily. “A friend of a friend who didn’t want her name in the papers. Divorce can be so messy.”

“You folk have the morals of an alley cat.”

She waved the notion away. “As Jimmie says, it’s all bread and circuses. The baying crowds want blood. And if it’s the blood of wealthy spivs or the ruling class so much the better. It makes our fellow citizens feel less guilty about buying that extra sausage without a coupon.”

I laughed and agreed we’d put on the glad rags and enter the den of iniquity on Thursday night.

In honour of the occasion I spent an hour at the slipper baths in Camberwell and came back glowing and gleaming. As I scraped my face with my razor I thought of the night ahead with a mixture of excitement and apprehension. The fact that everyone had heard of Carlyle’s should have meant the place was closed down years ago. But everyone also knew of the existence of two laws in this country: one for folk who take the bus and one for those who ride in the back seat of a Rolls. Places like Carlyle’s existed in a parallel universe in which the police wore blinkers and the judges were kindly old men with unlimited reserves of tolerance and compassion. But only for the weak and foolish members of the moneyed class. Or blokes they went to school with. Usually the same thing.

It was also said that in the case of Carlyle’s, illegal didn’t have to mean squalid. Behind the reinforced doors was a set-up as lavish as anything this side of Monte Carlo. Which meant we had to dress the part. I was renting a tux for the first time in my life. I plastered my hair down, crammed my neck into a winged collar, and spent ten minutes wrestling a bow-tie into submission. I felt both an idiot and a prince as I sauntered into the American Bar at the Savoy where we’d agreed to meet. It would put us in the right mood, Eve said.

My mood was controlled panic. This was a different species of watering hole from the George. The floors had carpets, not sawdust. Smart waiters in white gloves served you, not a fat-chested blonde with black roots and a fag in her mouth.

The pianist was playing Irving Berlin, not Knees up Mother Brown. And I was supping a Tom Collins, not a pint with a chaser. If my dad could see me now, or his pals from the working men’s club.

As the alcohol hit and my panic subsided, I began to speculate how I could live like this on a permanent basis. Then a vision walked in and stole a dozen men’s hearts. Mine had been purloined weeks ago. I got to my feet, collar suddenly too tight, as she walked down the four stairs into the lounge bar. Two flunkeys were at her side in a flash, taking her cape and throwing rose petals in her path.

The dress was silver and ankle length. It clung to every curve like the skin of a salmon. Her neck and shoulders were bare except for a silver chain with a small amulet pointing into the magnetic groove of her bosom. Fine white gloves clothed her hands and arms up to above her elbows. How does a reporter afford such finery? Her jungle of russet curls had been twisted and tamed into a soft crown of red and gold. For a second I was jealous; other men’s eyes could make out the lines I had grown to love so well. Then I felt fear; how could someone this beautiful and smart want someone like me? Then she was with me and I could tell the flunkeys were disappointed in her choice. Her eyes – wider than I ever remembered them – looked hesitant and anxious.

“Is it all right? Do I look all right? Not too…?”

“… lovely? Absolutely. You are far too lovely for this shabby place and this poor suitor.”

Her face broke its serious mask and she grinned. “And you look very distinguished.”

“I feel a prat. What will you drink?”

“Same as you, darling.”

My insides melted at the word. I nearly called for the bill and a cab to whisk us straight back to my hovel, but this lady deserved to be on show. We took our cues from the other smartly dressed drinkers and reclined gracefully in our chairs, pecking at our drinks and smoking, as though we did this for a living. I tried not to look too smug, or to catch the eyes of the men that kept staring at her.

“The Trumpet pays better than I thought.” I indicated her ears. “Are those real pearls?”

She touched the little clusters that hung from her lobes. Her neck coloured again.

“Family heirlooms. My mother’s. I’m sure they’re artificial.”

“And the dress? A jumble stall in Petticoat Lane?”

“Mum again. I had it taken in.”

“I hope Carlyle’s has polished the silver.”

We left after our second drink and before our heads became too fuddled. I need to approach gambling sober, before I start believing a three-legged nag is a sure-fire bet just because it’s called Scottish Warrior or Highland Miracle. The flunkeys grovelled all the way to the door and into the cab.

As we moved off into the Strand I glanced casually around. I let my eyes slide off him. He was reading a paper on the corner, and in the wing mirrors of the cab I saw him fold it and wave to someone behind him. A minute later a car settled behind us, not too close, but not so far away as to lose us.

“Anything wrong, Danny?”

“What could be? Just watching your loyal subjects out there. Wave to them, princess. They expect it.”

She laughed and took my hand and I wished to god that my mind was playing tricks. But I knew better. There had been watchers on us for two weeks now.

Correction: not us; her. I never saw them when I was alone. They were tailing her. A team of four. They were good, but I was better. I tried to put it out of my mind. I didn’t want to spoil the evening. And for a while it worked.

I was prepared to be turned away at the door, but old Hutcheson’s blackmail had worked; that and the five guineas a head. They checked us off a list at the door and we passed through into what must have been an old ballroom. Now it was aglow, with chandeliers sparkling in resonance with the diamonds on the women’s throats. Short-skirted cigarette girls wound their way through the crowds at the tables, dispensing free cigars and cigarettes. Waiters offered a constantly refilled tray of cocktails and champagne. Our entrance fee began to seem less exorbitant; it covered everything except the chips on the tables.

My initial sense of being out of my depth soon left me, and it wasn’t just the booze. A closer look at the gamblers, and some eavesdropping, made me realise what a motley group this was. The men were all in tuxes, but some wore them easier than others. The accents strayed from Chelsea to Stepney. And there was a coarseness and a flashiness to some that suggested that the money they were throwing around hadn’t necessarily been the result of twenty generations of careful husbanding of the family heirlooms. Mind, even the best families started out through some act of skulduggery. On which subject; one or two of the faces were familiar from dodgier venues I’d dragged Eve to. Villains rubbing shoulders with stockbrokers. Gambling: the great leveller.

We could have left within half an hour having got what I thought we came for:

Eve had all the material she needed to describe the workings of the flashiest illegal gambling den in town. But she seemed in no hurry to leave. She bought some chips and I lost them at baccarat. She didn’t mind; the paper was paying.

We strolled about watching others at play, but I could see she was looking around, looking for someone.

It was nearly midnight, way past my bedtime. I didn’t begrudge Eve her night of glory, but she ignored my warnings of pumpkins and abandoned glass slippers.

Just as the clock struck the hour, there was an eddy at the door. A party of three entered: two hulking outriders shielding a smaller character in a white dinner jacket. A big cigar was clamped in his jaw. The trio walked straight across the floor parting the crowd like a spoon through porridge. They disappeared through a door on the far wall. I caught a glimpse of a room, softly lit, with a card table and expectant croupier. A private room within a private club. This was for high rollers. Eve had seen him too. Her eyes were alight and she gripped my arm hard enough to leave a bruise. This was what she’d been waiting for. Or whom.

Next thing, she’s walking away from me, fast, following the man in white. I charged after her, but got involved in a quickstep with a waiter and a cocktail tray. By the time I was on the move again, Eve had reached the door and was sweet-talking the six-foot thug in a too-tight tux who stood guard. She must have been convincing for he leaned down and opened the door. She slipped through and for a long few seconds she was inside. I stopped my headlong rush and sauntered casually towards the door, lighting a cigarette as I went.

I was within ten yards when the door shot open and Eve was bundled out by a muscleman with her hand rammed up her back. Her face was contorted. They were closely followed by the man in the white tuxedo. The thug at the door grabbed her other arm and pulled. She was stretched between them, two heavy paws on each slim wrist. They looked like they were going to make a wish. I closed the gap in a heart beat.

The SOE taught me how to disable an opponent. It’s easy, one-on-one, in the dark, coming up behind with a knife in your hand. This time there were two of them, facing me in the full glare of the chandeliers. Fortunately Eve was making enough of a fuss to distract them. But the odds were still worse than on any of the card tables around me. This was no time for Queensbury Rules or the variations thereon at Les’s boxing academy.

I went for the one on the right. He was standing feet well apart and legs straight to take the strain of holding Eve. I ran directly at him, got within three feet, pivoted on my left leg, drew my right up towards me and lashed out low and hard. My heel drove into his knee cap and I felt it give. Knees don’t normally bend backwards. The big guy squealed and fell like a tree hit by an axe.

I followed through on my pivot to end up facing the second goon. He’d dropped Eve’s arm and moved into a crouch. His right arm was already digging inside his jacket. I didn’t think he was reaching for his fags.

I kept my momentum going. His head was now level with mine and I took one big step forward and lunged. The human skull is a helmet coated in skin and hair. It does a great job of protecting the brain, as my own scars can testify. The strongest area is where the forehead rises to the hair line and slopes back. The most vulnerable point is the nose. It juts out, bone and gristle, just asking for trouble. It’s why the Normans and their ilk had a flap of steel hanging down from their helmets. This bloke wasn’t wearing one.

My forehead hit his nose with the power of a mallet. I felt it burst and explode, and he went down with blood erupting from his face. Adrenalin made the whole action take place in slow motion. I bent over, slipped my hand inside his bloodied jacket. and pulled out a smart little Beretta M1935. Semi-automatic.

Fires.32 ACP ammo from an 8 cartridge magazine. Has the stopping power of an old lady’s handbag beyond twenty feet, but it’s easy to conceal and deadly up close. We captured thousands from the Eyties and Jerry.

I stepped back panting, surveying the havoc and only now hearing the first screams of women behind me. Why do women do that? Though not all women; Eve was staring at me as if she was curious what I’d do next. She was rubbing her wrists thoughtfully.

The bloke with the knee problem was writhing around, clutching his leg and cursing. I hoped he didn’t have an England trial the next day. The other one had pulled himself back against the wall and was trying to staunch the bleeding with a red-soaked hankie. He seemed to be having trouble breathing. I held the gun steady in two hands but aimed at the floor. Didn’t want to cause serious injury.

The man in the white tux was looking like he’d explode. More goons were running towards us from the front door. I moved to put my back to the wall, dragging Eve with me and tucking her behind me. I lifted the Beretta up and aimed it steadily at white jacket’s head, looking straight into his mad eyes. He was plump and sleek with grey streaks contrasting perfectly with slicked-back dark hair. There was sweat on his brow. His mouth was snarling like a wolf eying a pet rabbit that had miraculously strayed into its den at dinner time.

Keeping my eyes and gun on him I turned my head to the crowd and called out, “Touch me and he’s dead!”

The rush towards me stopped. I glanced round. It was like a firing squad. Five of them. They must have bought a job lot of Berettas. I could see the gears of their peanut brains grinding round. They’d been trained in a limited range of actions. They were trying to decide whether their boss was in worse trouble if they shot me or if they didn’t. Their preference was to shoot me anyway, then beat my corpse to a pulp.

“Easy, boys. Easy,” I shouted. “Fight’s over. These blokes were manhandling my girl. I don’t like that. But it’s over. OK? We’re going to leave here quietly.

No one else gets hurt.” I turned back to white jacket. “OK?”

Out of the corner of my eye I saw one of them step forward, the one from the door. He flexed his shoulders and I could see his trigger finger going white. I straightened my gun arm so that the barrel was two feet from his boss’s head.

White jacket’s eyes widened. He got the message.

“Enough, Len! Put the bloody gun down!” White jacket sounded for all the world like the man who ran the Italian chip shop in the Gallowgate. “All of you!”

Eve took her chance. She stepped out from behind me and took my arm, my free arm, not the gun arm. Her accent was pure upper class. “Oh, darling, there’s been a terrible mistake,” she gushed in her ritziest tones. “I thought I was going to the loo. Silly me! These men were having a private game of cards or something and I must have broken their concentration.”

It was such an outrageous speech that I nearly laughed out loud. No one else seemed to think it was funny, especially not the two groaning heavies on the floor. I looked round at the ring of muscle that surrounded us. I could see doubt appear on some faces. They were having to think so much I feared their brains would seize. But they lowered their guns.

“But she said she was with Mr…” the door-guard began.

“Shut it, Len!” white tux cut him off. He looked us up and down. “I know who she is. I seen her face enough in that rag she writes for. Lies, all lies. But who are you, pretty-boy? And who gave you the side parting?”

Eve cut in. She dropped the accent and the attitude. “He’s hired for the evening. He watches my back, Gambatti.”

The name was no surprise to me. Eve had planned this all along. How did she know he’d be here tonight? Maybe Gambatti was always here.

“Better mind the front too, missy.” He leered at Eve’s cleavage and got a reverential chuckle from his boys.

“That’s enough, Mister Gambatti,” I said moving between him and Eve and sliding my hand under her arm. “We’re leaving now.”

“Good. Saves having you thrown out. Len, see them to the door. Find out how they got in. Make sure it don’ happen again. And get these idiots out of my sight.”

He pointed at his disabled men.

“Smile and walk,” I said to Eve. I slipped the Beretta into my side pocket.

We began to move forward, slowly. The circle of goons parted and we stepped between them, like an honour guard. The hushed crowd moved back as we made to the door. The bride and groom. Though no one was tossing confetti and no one was smiling. Except us, in a forced sort of way.

“What a story!” she hissed.

“You are a mad woman.”

“You did the violence!”

“You knew he’d be here. Why didn’t you say?”

“You’d have gone all pompous and talked me out of it. I’d have missed a story.”

“Pity you can’t use it.”

“Don’t be crazy. This is front page.”

“What exactly?”

“Look around.” She had a point. The room was awash with money. Until we’d interrupted play these chattering socialites were bent over spinning wheels or sitting at green baize tables studded with cards.

“Eve, we’ve just poked a tiger with a stick. He’ll rip our heads off!”

“He wouldn’t dare. I’m too public.”

“I’m not. And I have to work in this town. I have enough enemies.”

We reached the front door. Two big men held it open for us and glared at us as we sailed past. I thought about tipping them but they might not have seen the funny side. I felt my back itch all the way down the stairs and out into the road. I prayed they wouldn’t think it smart to put a bullet in my back. As we made our leisurely getaway I turned to her. She had to know.

“Speaking of enemies. Someone is having you followed.”

It got no more than a tightening of her lips but it was enough to tell me she wasn’t as surprised as she now made out.

“Don’t be silly. People don’t like my column, but it doesn’t make them my enemy.”

“They’ve been following you for at least two weeks.”

She stopped and shook her head. “Don’t be so melodramatic, Danny.”

I stood in front of her. I took her hands. “Princess, they could have been around long before that, but I was so… well, let’s say I had my blinkers on.” I smiled at her. “I could have missed them.”

“You are crazy, Daniel McRae. Why would anyone follow me? Where are they, then?”

She swivelled her head round looking for them. “Yoohoo! Come out, come out wherever you are!”

The sarcasm surprised me. Why was she being so perverse? After what we’d just been through? “You won’t see them. They’re good.”

She poked me in the chest. “I think you’re seeing things. But if you want to play big brave protector, that’s OK. Take me home, my hero.”

I did, and we made love, but something had changed. She clung to me in the night as though tomorrow was D-Day and I was leaving for France. And over scraped toast, marge and meat paste in the morning she was cool. As though she’d stepped back from me and was watching from a distance.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

“Nothing. I’m fine.”

“Is it the story? You want to splash Gambatti’s name around? Go ahead. It’s your skin. But I’d rather it stayed on your back. I love your back.”

“It’s not Gambatti.”

“Are you worried about being followed?”

“Danny! Let’s stop this! I am not being followed. All right?”

“Why are you so angry? I’ve never seen you like this.”

“You’re upsetting me with all this stupid detective talk.” She saw she was getting to me and her face softened. “Just a bit hung over I expect.”

It was a hangover that didn’t improve. Over the next few days, she made excuses and wouldn’t even see me, far less make love to me. When we finally met I couldn’t get through to her. She would smile but not with her eyes. It was as though a sadness had settled on her that she couldn’t share. We still had the watchers but she wouldn’t believe me. Didn’t even want to talk about them. I guess that’s what made me do it.

It had been a week since we’d made love and we were walking towards her office after a desultory sandwich and tea at the coffee house on the Strand. I had used up all my weak attempts at humour and we were quiet with each other. I wanted to shake her and find out what was going on in her head. But I was scared what I’d hear. Then I saw one of them. He was keeping pace with us on the other side of the street. I waited till a bus came between us. I scuttled round the back of it, sidestepped a car and grabbed the man by his lapels as he turned to face me.

“Who are you! Just who the fuck are you, pal? Why are you following us?” My face was an inch off his. I watched the shock turn into amusement.

“What the hell’s going on, buddy? You limeys drink too much at lunch time, you know that?”

His American accent threw me. I began to loosen my grip. “You’ve been following us for weeks. Don’t give me that phoney yank stuff!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, buddy. Now, unless you take your goddamn hands off me, I’m going to call the police.”

“Danny! Danny! What the hell are you doing?” Eve was running across the road, careless of the traffic. She reached me. Her face was red and angry. She dragged me away.

“Sorry, mister. Sorry. He’s OK. Just had a bad day.” She hauled me along the pavement. “What are you doing? You’ve gone mad, Danny. I don’t know you any more. This is crazy.”

“I’m crazy? What’s happened to you? We had it all. We were good. Are good. But you’re in trouble. Don’t you see it? I know what I’m doing. This is my job, Eve!

Trust me!”

“Stop it! Stop it! There’s nothing!”

We were shouting at each other. Tears were running down her face. I scraped them from mine. I knew I had to shut up or lose her. But all I could do was go on and on about how I needed her and how I feared for her. Every word I said was killing us, sending me further from her. Her eyes were full of pity. I rambled to a halt, my chest heaving and my tears blinding me.

She spoke softly now. “Danny, we need a break. From each other. Just let it go.”

“No, oh no. Please…”

“We must…”

“We mustn’t. Don’t do this.” I gripped her arms. I couldn’t let her go. If we parted now, it was for good.

“I have to. I have to go. Just give it a few weeks. Don’t call. Don’t come round. Just give us time.” She pulled free and was already turning away. I should have held her, hugged her to me till the madness left us. But all I could do was stand like a dummy, watching her go. Watching the best thing in my life walk away from me.

I don’t know how I got home, but I picked up a bottle of Red Label on the way. I threw my jacket off and loosened my shirt. I got a jug of water and a glass and sat them beside my chair. I took the first gulp without water and felt it rip my throat. I gazed at my bed and saw us, saw her, tumbled and lovely on the cover.

I couldn’t accept this was the end. I’d find a way. I’d drop all this shit about followers. She thought I was mad. Maybe I was. Maybe this was one of the side effects of the head wound. Prof Haggarty would know. That’s it; I’d call him and ask his advice. But that would be tomorrow. Right now there was nothing more I could do than wait to get drunk.