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“All what?”
“She was lying. Couldn’t you tell?”
“Of course she was.” Banks looked at his watch. “Want to grab a bite to eat?”
“Yes. I’m starving.”
They found a small café and sat outside. A
“But why was she lying?” A
Banks swatted a fly away from his sandwich. “She’s protecting herself. Or someone else.”
“After seeing her,” A
“Yes. And Gloria Shackleton was petite.”
“So what do we do now?”
“Nothing,” said Banks. “We’ll leave her to stew overnight and then have another go at her tomorrow. I get the impression she has a lot on her conscience. There was a definite struggle going on inside her. If I’m right, she’s near the end of her tether on this. It’s amazing how guilt has a way of gnawing away at you through the small hours. She wants to tell the truth, but she still has a few things to weigh up, to settle with herself; she doesn’t quite know how to go about it yet. It’s like that character in her book.”
“The one you were reading on the train?”
“Guilty Secrets, yes.”
“And what did he do?”
Banks smiled and put his finger to his lips. “That would be telling. I wouldn’t want to spoil the ending for you.”
A
“Vivian Elmsley’s not going to do a ru
“And then?”
“If it’s okay with you, I’d like to head out to Bethnal Green and see my son. His band’s playing there. We’ve got a few things to talk over.”
“Of course. I understand. Maybe I’ll go to the pictures. What about later?”
“Remember that naughty weekend you mentioned?”
A
“I don’t know if you’re still interested, but there’s this discreet little hotel out Bloomsbury way. And it is Friday. Even CID get to work regular hours sometimes. We’ll let Vivian Elmsley sleep on it. If she can.”
A
Banks laughed. “I’ll buy you one.”
“Last of the big spenders.” She turned to him, the corner of her mouth twitching in a smile. “I didn’t bring my nightie, either.”
“Don’t worry,” said Banks. “You won’t need your nightie.”
FIFTEEN
Over the next couple of weeks, as I continued to mourn Charlie, I noticed no improvement in Matthew’s condition. He remained at Bridge Cottage with Gloria. I don’t really think it mattered to him at that point where he was, if indeed he even knew, as long as his basic creature comforts were taken care of. There wasn’t a day went by when I didn’t spend time sitting with him, talking to him, though he never responded and hardly even acknowledged that he heard; he just stared off into space with that intense inward gaze of his, as if looking on horrors and agonies we could never even imagine in our wildest nightmares.
The London doctor was as good as his word and we soon got Matthew fixed up with Dr. Je
Matthew wasn’t any trouble; he just wasn’t there. He did, however, get into the habit of going to the Shoulder of Mutton every night and sitting alone in a corner drinking until closing time. Friends and neighbors who knew him would approach at first and ask how he was doing, but soon even those who remembered him most fondly left him alone. Once in a while he would have an angry outburst and smash a glass or kick a chair. But these were infrequent and soon passed over.
Gloria gave me a key, so I was able to pop in and out of Bridge Cottage whenever I could. She took as much time off from the farm as possible, of course, but she needed the income, and I don’t think she could have borne the pain and the heartbreak of being with him twenty-four hours a day.
It was hard to believe that the war was almost over after all this time, even though you could smell victory in the air. The Americans had crossed the Rhine, and so had Monty’s men. The Russians had Berlin surrounded. In April and May we started hearing the first rumors about concentration camps and human atrocities on a scale that had only been hinted at in the reports about Lublin the previous year. All the newspapers seemed at a loss as to how to describe what the liberating armies had found at places such as Belsen and Buchenwald. In addition to reading about Japanese ca
Along with all our personal losses, such as Charlie, and Matthew’s ruined health, it was impossible to take it all in. I don’t think we even tried. We had suffered five years of fear and hardship and we were damned if we were going to be cheated out of the big party when it was all over.
Banks walked into the cavernous Victorian pub, all smoked and etched glass, brass fittings and mirrors. Somehow, it had survived the Blitz, as much of east London hadn’t. Years of cigarette smoke had turned the high ceiling and the walls brown.
It wasn’t far from Mile End, where Gloria Shackleton had been born. She may have even been here, Banks fancied, though he doubted it. People tended to stick very close to home, hardly venturing more than a street or two away except on emergencies or special occasions.
He and A
It was half past five, and the band was due to start at six to draw in the after-work crowd. Not that anyone Banks could see in the audience looked as if they had been at work, unless they were all students or bicycle couriers. Brian stood on the low wooden stage along with the others, setting their equipment up. Maybe they were making money, but they clearly couldn’t afford a crew of roadies yet. The mountain of speakers made Banks a little nervous. He loved music, and he knew that rock sometimes benefited from being played loud, but he feared deafness perhaps even more than blindness. Back in his Notting Hill days, he had been to see just about all the major bands live – The Who, Led Zeppelin, Pink Floyd, Jimi Hendrix, The Doors – and more than once he had woken up the next day with ringing ears.
Brian waved him over. He looked a little nervous, but that was only to be expected; after all, he was with his mates and here was his old man coming to a gig. They would no doubt tease him about that. He introduced Banks to Andy, the keyboard player, Jamisse, the bassist, who was from Mozambique, and the percussionist, Ali. Banks didn’t know if Brian had told them he was a detective. Probably not, he guessed. There might be a bit of pot around, and Brian wouldn’t want to alienate himself from his friends.