Dark Fires Shall Burn (29 page)

‘Dot?' He's been meaning to ask and he's got his pluck up tonight. ‘Have you heard from Annie?'

It's Dot's turn to deal and she throws the cards roughly, cutting them on the table and then in half again. ‘Have you seen her walk in here?' she says curtly, and he can hear that the subject is closed for discussion.

‘I mean, has she sent a message or … anything?' he ventures nevertheless.

‘She's a piece of work, if you ask me,' Nellie chimes in. ‘I know she's your sister and all, Lucky, but her and Jack Tooth are made for each other. What a pair!'

‘Nell,' Dot warns.

‘What? Well, she is. What does she expect? To go turncoat on you both. Leave you to look after the lad — her own brother?'

Templeton bristles. ‘I can look after myself.'

‘Don't make any money though, do you?' Nellie shoots back. ‘It's us that feeds ya.'

‘Nell, leave him alone.'

‘I just wanted to know if she'd sent any word, that's all, to see how we were.'

‘No,
Aniołku
. She hasn't.' Dot lights a wilted cigarette. ‘Roberta neither,' she adds as an afterthought.

A tapping on the side door interrupts them and Bob steps through, showing in two men and a woman. ‘Pardon me. Is Ms Tipper here?' the taller man asks, looking about like an inquisitive bird. He must be at least six-foot three, Templeton thinks, and he's well built, with an unusually long and graceful neck.

‘We're old friends,' says his smaller companion, a wiry, olive-skinned Balt or Greek, who takes off his jacket and hangs it on the stand by the doorway as if he does so all the time. He loosens his tie and takes a seat. His companion rocks back and forth on his brown wingtip Oxfords, palms turned outward and thumbs stretching his trouser pockets.

‘Are you? I've never seen you before,' Bob says, but his tone is not unfriendly.

‘Oh yes. Way back. I knew it when this place was her father's — old Lionel Tipper,' says the Greek. ‘Did you know him?'

‘No, mate. Never had the pleasure.'

‘So it's Else's now, is it? After they lost Lionel Jr at Fromelles?'

‘I suppose it is.' Bob claps his hands together. ‘But she's not in.'

‘Oh well, perhaps we'll wait then. In the meantime we'll all take sherry, thank you,' the tall one says with a nod at Bob.

Bob looks at him for a long moment before loping off, muttering, to bring a bottle. Dot and Nellie fold their cards, intrigued by the newcomers.

‘Six glasses!' the tall man calls out to Bob. ‘If you ladies would care to join us? I beg your pardon; ladies and
gent.' The tall man has striking eyes: the colour of the sea at Bondi in the morning, Templeton thinks.

‘Don't mind if we do.' Nellie holds up her drink.

‘Cheers!' their female companion proposes, once they all have drinks. She is a real knockout: black curls set in fat corkscrews and a high, tiny waist cinctured by an emerald-coloured belt around rolling, even curves.

‘But what should we cheers to?' Dot asks.

‘To new beginnings,' the Greek says and stretches a hand across the woman's shoulders.

‘New adventures,' the woman says with a smile, arching her back.

‘
Sláinte
!' Nellie smiles.

‘
Yamas
.'

‘Have you known Tipper long?' Nellie asks the tall man. ‘I've been here since '44 and I don't think we've met. I would've remembered.' She winks. Templeton rolls his eyes; she's flirting, just as she had with Errol.

‘We go way back,' the man says again. ‘She's a very gracious hostess. She knows how to accommodate … all kinds of different tastes. She has what you might call an affinity with the uncommon.'

‘A soft spot for perverts, more like it,' Nellie says. There is silence for a moment. Then Nellie hoots: ‘Lucky for us woofters and bastards who like a bloody drink!'

The table breaks out in relieved amusement.

‘Another round! Another round, barkeep, if you please,' Nellie yells, but Bob has peeled away outside so she pours from the bottle herself.

Templeton shifts in his seat. He strains to finish the first drink and then stares gloomily at the next one as she pours it. He doesn't like sherry. It leaves a burning, sugary trail down his throat.

‘Well, that's precisely why we're here, now that you come to mention it. What we're looking for is a certain kind of, ah — show — that we've had here once or twice before.' The Greek looks over at Dot. ‘Although it was rather a while ago.' He leans and whispers something in her ear. Dot's eyebrows raise and she crosses and uncrosses her legs below the table. He pulls out a thick stack of bills from his money clip and places it casually next to the ashtray. Nellie and Dot look at it, practically licking their lips like cartoon wolves, Templeton thinks.

‘I think we can provide what you're after.' Dot clears her throat. ‘Bob will make sure that we're not interrupted. Lucky, run outside and tell Bob there will be no more visitors tonight.'

Nellie walks over to the side bureau and pulls out a candelabrum. ‘Give me your matches, Dot.'

But Dot is intercepted by the tall man, who is quick to draw his own matchbook, and soon five candles burn lustily. ‘Most excellent,' he says.

‘If you say so.' Templeton gets up from the table and turns the lamps down for them. He takes a half of gin from the shelf and pockets it, grinning crookedly. ‘We'll want something to keep the cold out.' He puts his hat on. ‘G'night, then. Enjoy yourselves.'

‘No. You can stay.' The tall man reaches a hand towards him, brushing the front of his shirt.

Templeton looks to Dot. ‘Well …' she hesitates. ‘Stay if you want, I suppose, Lucky. But he doesn't have to do anything if he doesn't want to,' she says to the tall man, who nods his acquiescence. ‘We'll just go and freshen up,' she tells the strange trio.

Templeton goes out to give the gin to Bob with his orders and returns to find the Greek and the woman whispering excitedly in low voices. The Greek is stroking her cheek. They must be a couple.

‘How long have you been here at Tipper's?' the tall man clears his throat to ask him, as he folds into the empty chair beside him.

‘Uh — a little while. Few days,' Templeton answers through another unpleasant mouthful of sherry.

‘Hmm.' He nods. ‘Fresh.'

‘I don't work for her, if that's what you're thinking.' Templeton picks at his packet of cigarettes, making little white scratches on the cover with his fingernails.

‘Of course not. I didn't mean to imply …'

‘Good. Because I'm not — that's not what I — I'm my own man, is all. That's what I'm saying. I work for myself.' Templeton turns pink. He realises he sounds like an idiot. He sees that the couple have stopped fondling each other and are looking at him keenly, as though they find him entertaining.

‘You're very good-looking, you know,' the woman says. ‘Very
androgyne.
' She takes a sip of her drink. ‘A little young.'

The Greek seems to approve. ‘Not for Berlin though, back in the day. Not for Paris.' He casts a sly eye at his friend. ‘They like them young there. Young and beautiful.'

‘Gather ye rosebuds while ye may.' The tall man turns the warmth of his smile upon Templeton.

Dot and Nellie come back down wearing only robes, Nellie's long hair loose. They pick up the saffron chaise longue and drag it towards the table. Templeton can smell the gusts of Tabu they've put on. Nellie points a practised smile at the couple and then turns to Dot, who puts a hand on Nellie's bare brown thigh and turns to face her. Nellie smirks at her, and Templeton can see Dot about to laugh before she regains composure.

They kiss, tentative at first, with their lips closed, but then Nellie's hand slides up to Dot's face and their mouths open. Templeton sees their tongues. Dot kisses Nellie's neck and her head lolls back. She licks her throat, and Nellie's legs part. Dot's hand moves up and down. The Greek and the woman lean forward, their limbs still intertwined. Dot slips her hand into her mouth and sucks on her fingers. Nellie makes a sudden low groan. She takes Dot's fingers out, licking them herself, and shoves them roughly down between her legs.

Templeton sneaks a glance at the tall man. He is looking at what is happening on the chaise but disinterestedly, as if watching a horse race he hasn't bet on. The couple's cigarettes are burning down to twin red circles. And the woman is breathing heavily; Templeton can hear her from his seat.

‘Keep going,' the Greek says, somewhat hoarsely, and the woman swallows and nods in agreement.

‘Do you want to see me make her take her pleasure?' Dot asks them. She's acting, Templeton knows she is, but he looks away, bashful. He doesn't think Nellie is acting. She is quite naked, her robe long flung on the floor, and is enjoying herself vocally. Dot still has her robe mostly about her, for which Templeton is thankful. He clears his throat, wondering if he can make a swift escape. Dot slides off the chaise and throws Nellie's thighs open, moving in close and putting her tongue in the shadow between them.

Just as he is about to sneak away, he feels the tall man's hand on his thigh under the table. The man looks at him with a question in his eyes.

Templeton stands up awkwardly, a little too suddenly, and leaves the room to get some whisky. He's not sure how this works. The memory of the man at the fountain rises involuntarily and stirs him. He dawdles at the shelves, hoping it will soon be over. But Nellie's moans are too regular and show no sign of reaching a climax. They must be trying to stretch it out and give them their money's worth; Templeton knows enough to know how it works.

He pours a tumbler and downs it before he returns with the bottle. ‘Do you want a glass?'

‘This'll do me fine, for starters.' The man takes the bottle from him and necks it, eyes on Templeton before he looks away. ‘I need a stiff one.'

‘What? You don't like it?' Templeton says conspiratorially, gesturing at the show.

‘Oh no, I wouldn't say that. I wouldn't say that. Just not my cup of tea, exactly.'

‘Right.'

‘I'm after something more, ah, specialised this evening. A little bit more exotic.'

‘What? Like darkies or chinks? Tipper doesn't do that sort. You're out of luck.'

‘No.' He puts one finger on Templeton's jaw. ‘That's not what I had in mind.' Templeton recoils, but only slightly; enough to keep him interested. ‘Now. You're your own man, as you say. And I am a businessman. What price for business?'

He thinks about the man from the fountain and the pound he put in his pocket. ‘A quid a suck. Two for anything else.' Templeton looks him in the eye. He is flushed and excited by his own confidence.

‘You're underselling yourself: a young boy like you.' The tall man strokes his cheek.

And suddenly their transaction is eclipsed by Nellie's loud pleasure, and the couple on the couch cannot contain themselves any longer. They leave their chairs and fall upon Dot and Nellie with groans. Quickly there is a writhing entanglement of bodies. Nellie lets the man heave against her, and the woman has Dot spread-eagled against the couch, where she's making low guttural sounds in the back of her throat.

‘Shall we make an exit?' Templeton says, and he is already showing the tall man to the door.

TWENTY-SEVEN

The cemetery has become a whispered thing of legend, a simmering thought. Every day the stories grow wilder. Even though she has not been back to school since Frances' death — there is no point now they're leaving, her mother says — Nancy hears what they whisper on the street outside her house. Sometimes she cannot bear it and flings open the door to scream at the boys to shut their traps, and they're fearful and somewhat in awe of her: ‘You're that dead girl's friend!'

But other times she listens, wondering if the tall tales could be true. One is that Frances was murdered by a gang of devil-worshippers as a child sacrifice to Lucifer. (Had it been a full moon? Close, and good enough.) Another, that she was murdered by a lunatic American soldier on a rampage, a man who'd killed before and will kill again.

She had asked her mother if she could take a casserole over to Mrs Reed just so she might be able to sit in Frances' room a while. ‘I want to feel near her.'

‘I wish you could, but didn't I tell you? Mrs Reed's gone. There's nobody there,' Kate told her. ‘The house is empty. I think she left the baby with Ada.'

‘How could she?' Nancy asked, sour with contempt. ‘How could she leave? The police are still doing their work. They might want to ask her more questions. She doesn't even care.'

‘Don't be uncharitable, Nan. That woman has been through hell. A man from the factory, Mr Langby — the boss, I think — leant her his property in Berry for a little while. To recover from the shock. I don't think she's been doing very well.'