A Prisoner of Birth (54 page)

"I haven't decided yet," said Danny, "but not before midnight."

He picked up his ticket from the box office, handed over three pounds in exchange for a program, and followed a group of fellow latecomers into the stalls. Once he'd found his seat, he began to turn the pages of the program. He'd meant to read the play before this evening, but it had remained on his desk unopened while he tried to keep up with Milton Friedman.

Danny stopped at a page that displayed a large, glamorous headshot of Katie Benson. Unlike so many actresses, it was not a photograph that had been taken years before. He read the brief résumé of her credits.
A Woman of No Importance
was clearly the most significant role she had played in her short career.

When the curtain rose, Danny became lost in another world, and resolved that in future he would go to the theater on a regular basis. How he wished that Beth was sitting next to him and sharing in his enjoyment. Katie was standing on stage arranging some flowers in a vase, but all he could think about was Beth. But as the play unfolded, he had to admit that Katie was giving a polished performance, and he soon became engrossed in the story of a woman who suspected her husband of being unfaithful.

During the interval, Danny made a decision, and by the time the curtain
came down, Mr. Wilde had even shown him how to go about it. He waited for the theater to empty before he made his way to the stage door. The doorman gave him a suspicious look when he asked if he could see Miss Benson.

"What's your name?" he demanded, checking his clipboard.

"Nicholas Moncrieff."

"Ah, yes. She's expecting you. Dressing room seven, first floor."

Danny walked slowly up the stairs and when he reached the door marked 7, he waited for a moment before knocking.

"Come in," said a voice he remembered.

He opened the door to find Katie sitting in front of a mirror wearing only a black bra and panties. She was removing her stage makeup.

"Shall I wait outside?" he asked.

"Don't be silly, darling, I've got nothing new to show you, and in any case, I was hoping to arouse a few memories," she added, turning to face him.

She stood up and stepped into a black dress, which strangely made her look even more desirable. "You were wonderful," he said lamely.

"Are you sure, darling?" she asked looking at him more closely. "You don't sound altogether convinced."

"Oh, yes," Danny said. "I really enjoyed the play."

Katie stared at him. "Something's wrong."

"I have to get back to London. I have some urgent business."

"On a Friday night? Oh, come on, Nick, you can do better than that."

"It's just that—"

"It's another woman, isn't it?"

"Yes," admitted Danny.

"Then why did you bother to come in the first place?" she said angrily, turning her back on him.

"I'm sorry. I'm very sorry."

"Don't bother to apologize, Nick. You couldn't have made it more obvious that I'm a woman of no importance."

"S
ORRY, BOSS, BUT
I thought ye said no before midnight," said Big Al, quickly finishing his hamburger.

"I changed my mind."

"I thought that was a lady's prerogative?"

"So did she," said Danny.

By the time they reached the M11 fifteen minutes later, Danny was already fast asleep. He didn't wake until the car came to a halt at a traffic light on Mile End Road. If Danny had woken a few moments earlier he would have asked Big Al to take a different route.

The light changed, and they sped through green light after green light, as if someone else knew that Danny shouldn't be there. He leaned back and closed his eyes, though he knew there were some familiar landmarks he wouldn't be able to pass without at least a fleeting glance: Clement Attlee Comprehensive, St. Mary's church, and of course Wilson's garage.

He opened his eyes, and wished he'd kept them closed. "It can't be possible," he said. "Pull over, Al."

Big Al brought the car to a halt, and looked around to make sure the boss was all right. Danny was staring across the road in disbelief. Big Al tried to work out what he was looking at, but couldn't see anything unusual.

"Wait here," said Danny, opening the back door. "I'll only be a couple of minutes."

Danny walked across the road, stood on the pavement and stared up at a sign that was attached to the wall. He took a pen and a piece of paper out of an inside pocket and wrote down the number below the words
FOR SALE
. When he saw some locals spilling out of a nearby pub, he ran quickly back across the road and joined Big Al in the front of the car.

"Let's get out of here," he said without explanation.

Danny thought of asking Big Al to drive him back to the East End on Saturday morning so he could have a second look, but he knew he couldn't take the risk of someone even thinking they recognized him.

A plan began to form in his mind, and by Sunday evening it was nearly in place. Every detail would have to be followed to the letter. One mistake and all three of them would work out exactly what he was up to. But the bit-part players, the understudies, had to be in their positions long before the three lead actors could be allowed to walk onto the stage.

When Danny woke on Monday morning and went down to breakfast, he left
The Times
unopened on the kitchen table. He played over in his mind what needed to be done, because he couldn't afford to commit anything to paper. If Arnold Pearson QC had asked him as he left the kitchen what Molly had given him for breakfast that morning, he wouldn't have been able to tell him. He retreated to his study, locked the door and sat at his desk. He picked up the phone and dialed the number on the card.

"I will need to move a small amount of money sometime today, and very quickly," he said.

"Understood."

"I will also require someone to advise me on a property transaction."

"They will be in touch with you later today."

Danny replaced the phone and checked his watch. No one would be at their desks before nine. He paced around the room, using the time to rehearse his questions, questions that mustn't sound prepared. At one minute past nine, he took the piece of paper out of his pocket and dialed the number.

"Douglas Allen Spiro," said a morning voice.

"You have a for-sale sign outside a property on Mile End Road," said Danny.

"I'll put you through to Mr. Parker, he deals with properties in that area."

Danny heard a click. "Roger Parker."

"You have a property for sale on Mile End Road," repeated Danny.

"We have several properties in that area, sir. Can you be more specific?"

"Wilson's garage."

"Oh, yes, first-class property, freehold. It's been in the same family for over a hundred years."

"How long has it been on the market?"

"Not long, and we've already had a lot of interest."

"How long?" repeated Danny.

"Five, perhaps six months," admitted Parker.

Danny cursed to himself as he thought about the anxiety Beth's family must have been going through, and he'd done nothing to help. He wanted to ask so many questions that he knew Mr. Parker couldn't answer. "What's the asking price?"

"Two hundred thousand," said Parker, "or near offer, which of course includes the fixtures and fittings. Can I take your name, sir?"

Danny replaced the receiver. He stood up and walked across to a shelf that had three files on it marked
Craig, Davenport
and
Payne
. He took down Gerald Payne's file and checked the phone number of the youngest partner in Baker, Tremlett and Smythe's history, as Mr. Arnold Pearson QC had been so keen to inform the jury. But Danny had no plans to speak to Payne today. Payne had to come to him, desperate to be part of the deal. Today was saved for the messenger. He dialed the number.

"Baker, Tremlett and Smythe."

"I'm thinking of buying a property on Mile End Road."

"I'll put you through to the department that handles East London."

There was a click on the end of the line. Would whoever picked up the phone ever discover they had been randomly selected to be the messenger and shouldn't later be blamed when the earthquake erupted? "Gary Hall. How can I help you?"

"Mr. Hall, my name is Sir Nicholas Moncrieff and I wonder"—slowly, very slowly—"if I've got the right man."

"Tell me what it is you need, sir, and I'll see if I can help."

"There's a property for sale in Mile End Road that I'd like to buy, but I don't want to deal directly with the vendor's estate agent."

"I understand, sir. You can be assured of my discretion." I hope not, thought Danny.

"What number in Mile End Road is it?"

"One four three," Danny replied. "It's a garage—Wilson's garage."

"Who are the vendor's agents?"

"Douglas Allen Spiro."

"I'll have a word with my opposite number there and find out all the details," said Hall, "then give you a bell back."

"I'll be in your area later today," said Danny. "Perhaps you could join me for a coffee?"

"Of course, Sir Nicholas. Where would you like to meet?"

Danny could only think of one place he'd ever been to that was anywhere near Baker, Tremlett and Smythe's offices. "The Dorchester," he said. "Shall we say twelve o'clock?"

"I'll see you there at twelve, Sir Nicholas."

Danny remained seated at his desk. He put three ticks on a long list in front of him, but he still needed several other players to be in place before midday if he was going to be ready for Mr. Hall. The phone on his desk began to ring. Danny picked it up.

"Good morning, Sir Nicholas," said a voice. "I manage the bank's property desk in London."

Big Al drove Danny to Park Lane, and drew up outside the terrace entrance of the Dorchester just after eleven thirty. A doorman walked down the steps and opened the back door of the car. Danny stepped out.

"My name is Sir Nicholas Moncrieff," he said as he walked up the steps. "I'm expecting a guest to join me around twelve—a Mr. Hall. Could you tell him I'll be in the lounge?" He took out his wallet and handed the doorman a ten-pound note.

"I certainly will, sir," said the doorman, raising his top hat.

"And your name is?" asked Danny.

"George."

"Thank you, George," said Danny, and walked through the revolving doors and into the hotel.

He paused in the lobby, and introduced himself to the head concierge. After a short conversation with Walter, he parted with another ten-pound note.

On Walter's advice, Danny made his way to the lounge and waited for the maître d' to return to his post. This time Danny took a ten-pound note out of his wallet before he'd made his request.

"Why don't I put you in one of our more private alcoves, Sir Nicholas? I'll see that Mr. Hall is brought across to you the moment he arrives. Would you care for anything while you're waiting?"