Part 9 (1/2)

'Why don't you just shut up all that b.o.l.l.o.c.ks and go to work?' Gladys hissed, jerking her thumb at Tony's pants and then at the door in case he couldn't understand plain English.

In all of the three years her husband had had to come up with some words of wisdom for his daughter, following the breakup of her marriage to Nick Raven, it seemed that was the best he could manage. And he'd had to expose himself for good measure.

Tony glowered in humiliation, flung the letter on the table and stalked off down the hallway.

Ten minutes later, Gladys heard the front door slam as her husband went off to work in a huff. She turned from the was.h.i.+ng-up bowl to Blanche, still seated at the kitchen table, head in hands. Her daughter was in her dressing gown, hair tangled and face grimy with sleep. She would have been late again for work, no matter what had landed on the doormat this morning.

Inwardly, Gladys cursed the postman. If only he'd come at his usual time, after nine, instead of turning up early she could have at least got Blanche off her backside and out of the front door. The lazy little cow was taking more and more time off and Emo Goldstein had already dropped hints about sacking her if she didn't buck her ideas up.

'You've had time enough to get used to the idea of being Nick's ex-wife, my gel.' Gladys had decided that a bit of plain speaking might do the trick where sympathy had failed. 'Having a tantrum over it ain't going to get you that.' She clicked her fingers beneath Blanche's nose. 'Weren't so long ago you didn't want him, or his baby. You wanted Wes Silver instead.'

Blanche narrowed her eyes on her mother. 'Yeah ... 'cos you told me I could do better for meself than a lorry driver. Only Nick ain't a lorry driver now, is he? And if I'd stayed with him instead of listening to you I'd be doing all right.'

'Don't take that tone with me, young lady,' Gladys snapped, but had the grace to blush because of the truth in the accusation. 'Nick Raven was your choice and I was ent.i.tled to me own opinion on him.'

'It changed pretty quick, didn't it, when things started looking up for him? Can't do no wrong now, can he?'

Gladys bent down so her face was level with Blanche's. She grasped her daughter's chin in her fingers. 'Well, find yerself another man with a bit of standing to give you what yer want. Nick Raven ain't the only one around, y'know. And do it sharpish, miss,' she added. ''Cos you can take it from me yer looks won't last for ever and whining on like this won't get yer nowhere.' Abruptly Gladys straightened. 'For now, get off to work. I meant what I said about you paying your way while you're under this roof.'

Gladys flung off her pinafore and headed down the narrow hallway. She had her sewing machine set up in the boxroom upstairs. 'I'm getting started on the coats; when you see Emo this morning tell him I've run out of black b.u.t.tons, so he'd better drop me some by.'

Jennifer licked her lips nervously, hovering just inside the entrance to Gamages. She'd not set foot in the store in years. Even when she'd been a regular she'd never purchased anything not even a bottle of scent. But she'd removed lots of them in her time, and plenty of other lovely stuff too. She was confident she could do so again.

She knew she'd been looking a wreck lately, and this morning had done something about it, sorting out from her wardrobe her 'court clothes', as Bill called the outfit because she'd worn it when she'd been called before the magistrate for stealing when living over Lambeth way. She'd haphazardly run the iron over the plain dark skirt and prim white blouse with a Peter Pan collar, then buffed her best court shoes before setting about the rest of her appearance. Her dark blonde hair had been smoothed down flat and secured with a slide, then she'd powdered her face and put on a bit of coral-coloured lipstick. A dab of Coty L'aimant perfume that had lain forgotten in a drawer finished off her toilette.

If Bill wouldn't take her with him hoisting and give her a bit of cover while she did the necessary, then d.a.m.n him! She'd go to work on her own. She'd done it before when he'd gone to prison and been successful till she started to drink too much and got arrested in Liberty's in Regent Street with two lacy slips stuffed down her cleavage. The magistrate had let her off with a fine but the threat of a stretch inside had shaken her up enough to make her try her hand at something else to earn a living. Now she wished she hadn't gone on the game because that was a prison of sorts too.

Jenny had walked to Gamages as she'd not had the bus fare. By the time she'd arrived in Holborn she'd been feeling quite energetic, the fresh balmy air of the June day making her feel bright and breezy.

Once she was strolling in the sweetly scented atmosphere of the shop, a familiar fizz of excitement streaked in Jenny's veins. The breath caught in her throat and her stomach flipped queasily. She liked the sensation; she'd always been at her best when scared.

Head high, shopping bag lightly swaying, Jennifer joined the customers browsing nearby counters. Catching sight of her reflection in a mirror her lips twitched in satisfaction. She'd made a reasonable job of tarting herself up and beneath the face powder her complexion looked healthily pink from her walk.

Some Yardley lipsticks were within reach and as soon as the a.s.sistant turned to use the till she palmed two from the counter display. It was a small success but she sashayed buoyantly on in the direction of the ladies' lingerie.

Within fifteen minutes, Jennifer had filled her pockets and bag with a selection of cosmetics and pretty silky sc.r.a.ps. She was feeling light-headed with euphoria when a hand grasped her elbow.

'I'd like you to accompany me to the manager's office, madam. Now, no silly business,' the store walker growled, having received a forceful shove in the guts from a small fist.

Jennifer cursed beneath her breath, glancing to and fro and wriggling her arm, but he had a firm grip on her. He was just a regular flatfoot who would stick out a mile to a professional yet she'd not even noticed him. At the age of fifteen she'd have located him within minutes of stepping over the threshold but in her enthusiasm to get started she'd forgotten the cardinal rule of scouting for security guards.

'No trouble now, la.s.s; don't want to make a spectacle of yourself in front of all these folk, do you?'

His Yorks.h.i.+re brogue was irritating her and Jennifer felt tempted to knee him and run, as she'd seen Bill do with great success on one occasion. The fellow had gone down like a sack of spuds and they'd both got away scot-free, pockets jangling with solid silver. It had been just before one Christmas and they'd s.h.i.+fted the spoons and cruets easy as anything and had a fine turkey feast on the proceeds.

She allowed the Northerner to propel her towards the back of the store, knowing it was useless even trying to clear out her pockets. He'd got her arm in a vice-like grip and besides, she'd stashed away too much stuff to drop it all on the floor.

'Have you telephoned for the police, Miss Weston?'

The lanky woman nodded at her boss. 'A constable from a different station is coming over directly, Mr Thorpe, as our local fellows are busy with an emergency.' The young secretary slid Jennifer a despising look as she exited the room.

Rather than let the sn.o.bby b.i.t.c.h rifle her bag and clothing, Jenny had pulled out the pilfered items herself a short while ago. Now she stood quite still before the two men, eyes downcast, her mind frenziedly occupied in searching for a way out of the mess she was in.

Mr Thorpe was a short stout man, dressed in an elegant double-breasted suit. As Jennifer glanced at him, he raised his eyebrows, wordlessly demanding an explanation from her. He took such odious behaviour as a personal insult and was determined all shoplifters suffer the full force of the law.

Jenny had not volunteered a defence so far, even though the tally of her crime was littering the surface of the manager's desk. The sight of it made her simultaneously depressed and elated: if she'd got away with it Bill would have praised her to the skies. But there was enough value in the items to ensure that this time a magistrate wouldn't be so lenient and she'd get hard labour.

'Have you anything to say for yourself?' Mr Thorpe demanded, perplexed as to why the young woman continued with dumb insolence. She wouldn't even give her name. Usually, when caught, female thieves burst into tears, garbling apologies and tales of f.e.c.kless husbands and hungry babies crying at home ...

'Yeah, I've got something to say,' Jenny piped up, suddenly struck by an idea as the Yorks.h.i.+reman again eyed her from beneath a set of wiry brows. She'd noticed him staring at her bosom before, and his hand had lingered a little too close to her backside when he was ushering her into this office. 'I'm glad the coppers are on their way 'cos that one there's a pervert and I'm gonna tell 'em so.' She jerked a nod at the store walker. 'Had a go at getting his hand in me drawers, didn't he, before you turned up. Said he'd let me off if I was nice to him. But I ain't that sort of girl.'

Jenny felt no compunction at telling such a lie. She'd been used by enough men in her young life to resent the lot of them by now and gain satisfaction from getting her own back when she could.

She knew she'd struck lucky when the manager's jowls quivered and his eyes slewed to his employee. Jenny guessed the store walker was a randy sort who might have been disciplined before for trying to cop a feel of a woman.

'Wait just outside, Grayson, while I question this young woman,' Mr Thorpe enunciated. 'I'll speak to you in a moment.'

'I've not touched her, sir!' Grayson protested. 'The lying ...' he managed to swallow a snarled obscenity on hearing a knock on the door.

'The constable is here, Mr Thorpe.' Miss Weston was back with a policeman in tow.

It was a long time since David Goldstein had come face to face with Jennifer Finch. Nevertheless, he knew her straight away and desperately hoped his expression hadn't betrayed the fact. She was his girlfriend's twin and although they weren't identical, and Kathy was far lovelier, there was enough of a likeness between them for kins.h.i.+p to be obvious.

Jenny had never been introduced to her sister's boyfriend and realised it was because Kathy was ashamed of her. But she remembered David from schooldays, although they'd rarely spoken as he'd been in a different cla.s.s. He looked a typical copper in her opinion: stern and older than his years. Despite his professional poker face she knew he'd recognised her and she guessed he wouldn't keep this little episode to himself.

Kathy would kill her when she found out what she'd been up to; and of all people, Jenny wanted to keep her sister on her side. Kathy was the only true friend she'd got. Her heart sank and the defiance ebbed from her features. She stared at the parquet floor, cursing that her luck had just run out.

'Are you certain you don't want to bring charges?' David peered again at the array of expensive finery dumped on the manager's desk. He was no expert in women's undergarments and cosmetics but guessed the haul's worth ran into tens of pounds.

'It's not necessary. Bad publicity ... you understand. Not the kind we want at all.' Mr Thorpe shook his head vigorously. 'It could have been an error of judgement on her part ... or our part. Grayson can be ... overzealous ... at times, you see. Too good at his job.' He chuckled lightly. 'Who knows, the young woman might have bought the items before leaving, if left to her own devices.' Mr Thorpe politely ushered David towards the door.

'Did she say that was her intention?'

'I don't recall.' The manager's plump face wrinkled as he feigned concentration. 'Often the shock of being apprehended is too much for these women; they panic and either become hysterical or clam up, you know.'

'In which way did this one react?'

'Oh ... a bit of both, I believe.'

Closing his notebook, David put it in his breast pocket. Something wasn't right. He'd been dragged here from East London only to find he'd been sent on a fool's errand. Sergeant Booth had let him have one of the cars to bring the offender quickly into custody. The old boy wouldn't be pleased to know he'd bestowed an unwarranted little luxury on him.

'Right ... I'll be on my way then and escort Miss ...' David stopped himself just in time from naming the culprit.

'Oh, she wouldn't give her name ... too ashamed, I expect.' The manager opened the door, beckoning to his secretary.

Mr Thorpe felt relieved watching the young constable escorting the thief along the corridor until his gaze fell on Grayson, loitering with Miss Weston in the outer office. The two of them had been guarding the woman while he talked privately to the policeman.