A Matter of Love and Death Read online

  ‘Watch,’ he said, as the mallard dipped his bill down to gobble faster and faster, while the rest of the brace closed in. A handful of ducklings paddled in their mother’s wake as fast as they could.

  Frances took some bread and flung it towards them.

  ‘Don’t drop anything on the ground,’ he said, ‘or we’ll be ankle-deep in ducks in the flap of a wing.’

  She squatted down, crumbled more bread between her fingers. ‘You don’t mind, do you? Here, ducky.’ She rubbed the last crumbs off her fingers, watching the ducklings flap around in search of more. She rose, feeling slightly better.

  ‘Thirsty?’

  Her throat was parched. She nodded.

  Jack handed her the lemonade bottle. ‘We don’t have glasses, but will a drinking straw do?’ His hand went inside his jacket, producing two paper straws.

  ‘Lovely.’ Frances took a long sip before handing the lemonade back. She looked at Jack, shading her face with one hand.

  ‘You sound a lot like my brother, and you look a bit like Rob, too,’ she said. ‘Or maybe it’s the way you can arch just one eyebrow.’ She sighed. ‘He always did it to annoy me because he could do that and I can’t.’

  ‘He’s gone, I presume?’ Jack twirled the drinking straw with one finger.

  ‘Yes. Rob married a Brisbane girl a couple of years ago, when he went there to take up work as an assistant veterinary. They’ve got a baby boy already.’

  ‘So, you’re Auntie Frances.’

  ‘Too right,’ she said, smiling at the thought of her nephew. ‘What about you?’

  The sun must have dazzled him, because he turned his head away. ‘No nieces and nephews,’ he said. ‘My sister went to live with relatives in New Zealand a while back, and my mother left for home ages ago.’

  ‘England? That must be hard for you, not being able to see her. It must be tough for her as well.’ Frances frowned. ‘Mum is fretting about Rob and Lucy and the baby being so far away, and that she hasn’t seen Uncle Fred since Rob’s wedding. I wish I could buy her a train ticket.’

  ‘A real uncle? Or another Sal?’ He raised his hand as she glared at him. ‘I don’t mean to say anything against Sal, Frances. He’s a real character. You can count yourself lucky to have him around.’

  ‘We are,’ she said. ‘I’d be lost without him. He does all kinds of odd jobs around the house, and he watches over Mum, she is such a soft touch when it comes to people in need. Without him, she’d buy pencils and doilies and whatever someone knocking at the door is hawking by the cart-load. We have a drawer-full as it is.’

  A frustrated sigh escaped her. ‘I know most of them have a tough spin, but we’ve got our own bills to pay. There’s only so many people I can look after.’ She reined herself in. She’d almost blurted out her recent money trouble caused by Mum’s generosity.

  ‘Which is where Uncle Sal steps in?’ He smiled at her.

  She smiled back. ‘He does what he can to help me. It’s hard enough looking after family and friends.’

  ‘It is. Even if they’re far away. So, Uncle Fred is a real uncle? Where is he?’

  ‘They live in Melbourne, although Mum keeps hoping that he and Aunt Millie will come back home to Adelaide, now that Uncle Fred’s retired from the force.’ She shrugged. ‘Well, at least he sent us Phil. Uncle Fred worries about Mum, since Rob left.’

  Jack gave her a questioning look. ‘He doesn’t seem to have too much faith in Uncle Sal’s protection.’

  ‘What do you expect? Uncle Sal is half a head shorter than you and a retired music hall entertainer, which, for Uncle Fred, is one step short of being as useless as a hat stand. Uncle Fred stands six feet one in his socks, with shoulders like an ox and a will of granite.’ She shook her head. ‘Besides, coming from a long line of coppers means you’ve got a suspicious mind to begin with.’

  A slow grin appeared on Jack’s face. ‘True words. I suspect that we should get going before anybody thinks that something has happened to you.’

  10

  The umbrella had gone, as had the table, the chairs, and their occupants. A red-haired giant leant against the trunk of a tree, eyes closed.

  Jack tapped him on the shoulder. ‘Where’s Dolores, Bluey?’

  The man’s eyes snapped open, wide as a child’s. ‘Home, along with the cove she was with.’ He blinked. ‘She said it was all right, that she was getting tired of fending off the mozzies. So, I took her and the cove home and then I took the old bus back to get you.’

  Frances stepped out from behind Jack’s shadow. ‘I’ll better be going, too,’ she said.

  ‘No,’ Jack said, holding her back with one hand. ‘It’s all right, Bluey. The cove’s name is Phil, by the way, and he’s my guest, the same as Miss Frances here.’ He nudged her towards the road. ‘Would you mind coming up to the flat for a bit as well? I’ll take you home, but I’d rather make sure Phil’s supply of anecdotes hasn’t dried up before Dolores has had her fill.’

  She hesitated. She’d love to see how the glamorous singer lived, but for a strange reason she didn’t want to see how Dolores and Jack lived together. Mum would be horrified if she knew about the irregular situation. She wasn’t too sure how she felt about it herself.

  Jack raised both eyebrows. ‘Don’t worry, you’ll be as safe as in your brother’s hands. I promise.’

  On the other hand, seeing that she was his guest, it was only polite to give in to Jack’s request. ‘I’ll come in for a few minutes.’ She hoped her voice sounded firm.

  ‘Whatever you wish.’ He led her to the car and opened the door for her, motioning to Bluey to climb into the backseat.

  ‘Sorry about that,’ Jack said, ‘but I need to make sure young Phil can hold his tongue if Dolores has brought out the fizz.’

  ‘But she wouldn’t drink while it’s still light outside, would she? And on Good Friday, too.’

  Jack accelerated. ‘That depends on what Phil told her about the war, kiddo, and how good he is at twisting things a bit. Sometimes there’s a lot of solace to be found in a glass.’

  ‘What do you mean, twisting things?’ She held on to the handle dangling above her as he forced the car around a sharp bend.

  Bluey said, ‘Steady, Mr Jack. She’s a good bus, but you want to go easy on her. Do you want me to take the steering wheel?’

  Jack slowed down.

  ‘I don’t understand a single word,’ Frances said, getting more confused with every minute. ‘First you want Phil to meet with Dolores to talk, then you make sure they are uninterrupted, and now you get all nervy and upset because they’re alone together too long?’ That could be jealousy of course, but she doubted it.

  ‘We’re nearly there,’ Jack said. ‘And yes, I thought it was a godsend, having someone who was with Simon in those last few weeks.’ He took one hand off the steering wheel to tap his right temple. ‘Someone who’s got a bit of action going on in here. The thing is, there’s a limit to how long you can spin things out.’

  ‘He’s lying to Dolores?’

  ‘If he’s the decent bloke I take him for.’

  She stared at Jack’s calm profile. ‘But that’s rotten. She trusts him!’

  He blew out his breath. ‘Frances, you ask anyone who’s been there about the war, and he’ll clam up or he’ll lie the blue out of the sky to you. That’s God’s honest truth.’

  ‘Oh. I see.’ Her voice sounded as small as she felt.

  Jack pulled up along the kerb, stopped and cut the engine.

  ‘You must think I’m stupid,’ she said.

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘Only very young. How old are you, by the way?’

  ‘I’m twenty-two.’

  ‘I thought as much. And I'm almost thirty-six.’

  ∞∞∞∞

  They stood at the back of the Top Note. Four steps led down to a basement door. A wall sconce burned already, illuminating the worn concrete.

  Jack unlocked the door and pushed it wide open, feeling on the wall for a light switc
h. She followed him. Solid oak doors led left and right from the hallway. Straight ahead another flight of stairs led to what must be the club.

  He stopped three yards short of the stairs and pushed two doors on the right-hand side open to reveal a lift.

  She stared at the riches in front of her. The walls of the lift were painted ivory, with gilt mouldings framing them. On the left side, from top to bottom, ran a bevel-edged mirror, next to a row of buttons on a steel panel. Two fold-down chairs upholstered in green velvet completed the picture.

  He pressed a button, and the lift doors closed. The ride, though jerky, was short-lived. The doors opened as Jack pushed another button. Soft music flowed from behind one of the three wooden doors that led off the landing. Thick grey carpet covered the floor, silencing their steps.

  He rang a door-bell.

  ‘Darlings!’ Dolores flung the door wide open. She had changed into flowing pants and a silk kimono more reminiscent of a boudoir. Again, Frances was glad her mother wasn’t here. She sometimes had very old-fashioned ideas. Not that she herself wanted to wear daring clothes like that, of course, but still, they were nice to look at. And they suited Dolores. Her pale face was flushed with excitement. ‘Do come in.’ Dolores swayed, humming in tune with the music.

  Jack raised an eyebrow at Frances in a silent question.

  ‘Ten minutes,’ she said. ‘Mum will be worrying.’

  ‘I’ll take you home as soon as we’ve said hello to Phil. Maybe he wants to leave as well.’

  She gave Jack a quick glance under her lashes. Judging by the laughter from what she supposed to be the parlour, Phil was having have a bonzer time, but Jack didn’t seem to mind.

  ‘What takes you so long?’ Dolores called out.

  Jack gave Frances a rueful grin and ushered her inside the apartment.

  It was even more elegant than she’d expected, with chrome and glass in abundance. The furniture alone must have cost enough to feed a family for a year. Phil looked very much at ease in these surroundings. He sat in a black, leather wingchair, his hands folded behind his head. A marble ashtray stood next to two half-filled glasses and a wine decanter on a butler’s tray table.

  Dolores motioned for Frances and Jack to sit down on the settee, before she put a new record on. ‘Everyone shush now,’ she said, lowering herself on to the second armchair, legs drawn in under her. A rich voice filled the room, singing ‘Swing low, sweet chariot,’ a song as familiar to Frances as the Lord’s Prayer, and yet it was as if she’d never heard it before. She closed her eyes to hide unexpected tears. Someone took her hand and gave it a light squeeze before he let go.

  ‘Dame Nellie Melba,’ Dolores said, with the reverence of a student in the presence of a master. ‘I’ve got all her recordings, thanks to darling Jack.’ She tilted her head to the side, as if listening to music nobody but she could hear. ‘It was when I heard her sing Verdi that I knew I’d never make the big time.’ Dolores reached for her glass, watching the ruby-red liquid swirl. ‘So here I am, singing my heart out for jokers who couldn’t care less about my voice, and a bunch of tarted-up gold-diggers.’ She swilled her wine.

  ‘Shh, darling.’ Jack moved over to Dolores. He stood behind her armchair, giving her shoulders a gentle massage. ‘You’re still the biggest attraction in town, and masses of people love you.’

  She shook her head. ‘You’re just saying that to be nice. Or is he, Phil? Frances?’

  Phil gave Frances a helpless look. She swallowed. ‘I’ve never heard anyone to rival you, Dolores. Uncle Sal says so too, and he’s travelled everywhere. He’s toured England and all of the continent before the war, so he knows what he’s talking about.’ Her glance met Jack’s. He gave her a quick nod.

  ‘He’s a sweetheart,’ Dolores said. ‘Promise me you’ll bring him along the next time you call on us, won’t you?’

  ‘Sure,’ said Phil. His teeth gleamed as he smiled at her.

  Jack let go off Dolores’ shoulders. ‘I’m taking Frances home. Care for a ride, Phil?’

  ‘You’re not leaving yet, are you, Phil?’ Dolores pleaded. ‘I’ve already arranged for supper.’

  ‘How could I say no to a lady?’

  ‘In that case, we’ll tell your landlady not to wait for you,’ Jack said.

  ∞∞∞∞

  ‘You must forgive that melodramatic moment upstairs,’ Jack said, as soon as they sat in the car, this one a Rover roadster with its canvas-top rolled back.

  ‘Do you mind terribly?’

  ‘Mind what? That Dolores tends to become very emotional and dramatic when she’s upset?’ Jack shrugged, fingertips drumming on the steering-wheel. ‘I can’t say about your Uncle Sal, but most artists are a bit highly-strung.’

  ‘I don’t mean that,’ Frances said. ‘There were some men there practically drooling as they ogled her all the time, and of course she’d hate pouring her heart and soul into her art, singing in a what’s nothing but a night club after all, instead of an opera house, where she’d belong.’ She clapped her hand over her mouth. ‘I didn’t mean it the way it sounded.’

  Jack gave her another inscrutable glance. ‘Too right you did, kiddo, and it’s true. The Top Note’s a decent place, and I keep it clean, with solid fun and good entertainment, but it’s nothing but a night joint all right.’ He chuckled softly. ‘But at least it keeps us all in bread and butter and the best fizz that money can buy.’

  ‘But you do mind about Phil’s staying?’ She felt her cheeks grow hot, glad Jack couldn’t see it in the dark.

  ‘Why should I? Dolores is a grown woman, but if Phil turns out to be less of a gentleman than I take him for, he’s in for a fight. One press of a bell, and he’ll have half a dozen seasoned soldiers ready to teach him a thing or two.’ Jack grinned. ‘That is, if he’s so lucky. The last leery cove who got a bit of a funny idea got chased by Ginny. That woman’s the size of a bantam hen, but strike me pretty if she didn’t scare the living daylights out of the joker with her frying-pan.’

  ‘I see,’ Frances said, glad for Phil that Jack didn’t seem to be jealous but at the same time puzzled by his cavalier attitude towards Dolores.

  He pushed his hat back on his head. ‘Ginny Barker’s our cook and housekeeper upstairs. She and her husband Archie live in the third flat.’

  ‘Third flat?’ Now she was even more confused.

  Jack pulled over to the side to let another vehicle past. ‘That driver’s had enough over the eight to make sixteen,’ he said. ‘See how the car swerves? God help the poor soul who gets in his way.’ He eased the Rover back into the middle of the lane.

  ‘I had the whole floor converted when I took over the building,’ he said. ‘Much easier than in our first digs in Whitmore Square, where Dolores had no dressing-room in her apartment and the poor Barkers had to bed down in a box-room. Archie still swears they didn’t mind and that after France, this was princely accommodation, but he lit a dozen candles for the Virgin Mary when first the house in Wellington Square and then this place came up.’

  ‘I can imagine,’ she said, the wheels in her head spinning. So, Jack didn’t live with Dolores after all. She found herself breathing easier but there were still a few things that confused her.

  Not that Jack’s and Dolores’ private affairs were any of her business, of course. She tried to keep her voice neutral. ‘Mr Barker was in the war with you?’

  ‘We all were, Bluey, Danny, Archie and all the rest. Simon, too. Ah, there we are.’

  He insisted on walking her to the door. ‘I promised I’d deliver you in good time,’ he said. ‘Barely eight.’

  Frances fumbled for the door key. Holding the key in her left hand, she stretched out the right. ‘Thank you for a lovely day.’

  Jack took her hand in his, smiling at her. ‘Like I said earlier, my pleasure. And don’t wait up for Phil. I might join him and Dolores for a bit. If it gets too late, someone’ll put him up for the night.’

  She turned the key.

  ‘And, Fr
ances?’

  ‘Yes?’

  Jack pressed a ten-shilling note into her hand. ‘For Henry Cooke’s funeral. Give my regards to the widow.’

  Frances frowned. ‘But—’

  ‘Shush. I like your cloche, by the way. At least you won’t block some poor cove’s sight with a wagon wheel on your head when we go to the talkies tomorrow.’

  ‘What—’

  He interrupted her again. ‘I’ll pick you up about three? It’s Easter Saturday, so all the cafés will be open for business. We’ll have some tea, then the pictures. I hope you’re not a Rudolph Valentino or Theda Bara admirer. I’ve had a bellyful of drama today.’

  ‘I like comedies.’

  ‘I knew you had good taste. See you then.’

  11

  Maggie and Uncle Sal sat listening to the wireless. A tray with tea things and eggcups complete with shells stood on the side table. Maggie promptly picked it up to take it to the kitchen. ‘I didn’t feel like tidying today,’ she said. ‘Did you have a good time, love?’

  Frances sank down onto the sofa. ‘It was a nice picnic, wasn’t it? I wish you’d stayed a bit longer.’

  ‘It was good enough for me, and I really couldn’t let Edna and Bertha down.’ She sighed. ‘I’ll go with them to Dobbs’ funeral parlour to see if we can come to some arrangement.’ She picked the pieces of eggshell out of the cup, avoiding Frances’ gaze. ‘I wish we—’

  ‘I’m sorry.’ Didn’t her mother ever get it into her head that they could afford only so much charity? ‘Tell Bertha that repaying the rest of the money can wait, but that’s all. Anything I can save is for our roof. We need to get it fixed.’

  Uncle Sal opened his mouth, but she shook her head. ‘You’re brilliant, Uncle Sal, but I can’t have you climbing up there and trying your hand at tiling.’ For a fleeting moment, his jaw set in an obstinate line, but then he nodded at her.

  She took Maggie’s hand. ‘Please tell me you haven’t gone and promised her more money.’