Lily of Love Lane (9 page)

She bent to read the small commemoration. ‘A ship was designed to carry it to England,’ she murmured in wonder. ‘Then it nearly capsized in the Bay of Biscay. It’s
amazing it ever got here at all.’

‘Yes, they are treacherous seas off the coast of Spain,’ said Charles, nodding as he bent beside her. ‘I’ve crossed them myself when I was at sea.’

Lily turned, wide-eyed. ‘You were in the Navy?’

‘Yes, in 1917. I enlisted, eager to serve my country. The sea held many romantic notions for a young man of twenty but the war soon changed all that.’

‘My dad don’t talk about it much. He was in France and said he was lucky to come home.’

‘He was indeed. Many good men died there.’

‘Half of our street lost a loved one. Mr James died, that’s Ben and Reube’s dad. And Sylvester, Hattie’s brother, got gassed. He’s still very ill because of
it.’

‘My sympathies are with his family. I saw men suffer and die, but to live and continue to suffer . . .’ His voice tailed off and Lily looked at her companion, admiring all she saw.
This was a man who was brave as well as handsome and kind; he understood what the men had gone through in the war.

‘Let’s sit here for a while and rest,’ he gestured to a bench nearby.

The river breeze blew her hair from her face as they made themselves comfortable. The exercise had kept the chill at bay. Lily’s cheeks were flushed with excitement.

‘Have you enjoyed today, Lily?’ he asked suddenly.

‘Oh, yes, I have.’

He smiled. ‘I hope I haven’t exhausted you.’

‘No. I enjoyed going in those shops and choosing lovely things, especially as I didn’t have to pay for them.’ She glanced up at him. He was so good looking she had quite
forgotten that they must have walked for miles. She didn’t care; every minute in his company had been enthralling.

‘You have very good taste.’

She blushed again. ‘I don’t know if I have. But I know what’s good and what isn’t from working on the stall.’

‘Invaluable experience,’ he nodded.

‘I’m lucky to have a job I like. I’d hate to work in a factory.’

‘Surely you wouldn’t do that?’ he asked, looking shocked.

‘It’s much better pay.’

‘But the repetitive work would be intolerable, wouldn’t it?’

She shrugged. ‘I’d have to do it if there was nothing else.’

A frown deepened across his brow. ‘So what is it you want to do with your life, Lily?’

She paused, looking under her lashes. ‘Well, like every girl, I suppose. To marry and have a family of my own.’

‘But you have tremendous business acumen. You have taste and style. And for a young woman, a great deal of confidence. You could do a lot with your skills, Lily.’

She laughed. ‘Such as?’

‘Have you considered working for a bigger concern than a market stall? Perhaps a specialist in furniture?’

Lily had never thought of such a thing. She just did her job and was happy to do it. The experience of selling old but interesting things had taught her a lot. She knew she would never be happy
in a factory, but as for working for a big concern . . .? Before she could give her reply Charles spoke again.

‘Or perhaps there’s someone special in your life and you already know your path? For instance, that young man of yours – Ben James.’

‘I’ve told you, he’s not my young man,’ Lily said adamantly. ‘Just a good friend.’

He looked at her intently. ‘I see.’

Why should he be concerned about Ben? she wondered. Or whether there was anyone special in her life? Her pulse began to race as she tried to work out why he was asking these questions.

He turned and slid an arm along the top of the bench. ‘Lily, would you agree to help me again?’ Sensing her hesitation, he added, ‘Those figurines you chose today would have
escaped my attention. A man’s point of view is so limited.’

Lily could hardly contain her excitement, just thinking about being with him again made her tremble. There might be things about him that she didn’t understand but the mystery made him all
the more exciting.

‘Sunday mornings are the only time I have free.’

‘Well then, perhaps our next trip should be to Petticoat Lane. I have bought many bargains there in the past.’

Lily’s eyes lit up. ‘I love it there. Uncle Noah used to take me.’

‘Well then, shall we say in a week’s time?’ She nodded and he gave her one of his wonderful smiles. ‘Thank you, Lily.’

As they sat in the silence, dusk fell around them, Lily thought this was the nearest to heaven she had ever come.

Then a small group of Salvation Army officers appeared. The women’s bonnets were tied with bows and the men wore flat caps, their red and blue uniforms were clearly distinguishable under
the lamplight. They sang ‘Onward Christian Soldiers’ and it brought a lump to Lily’s throat; she would always remember this night.

When it was over, Charles turned to her. He sighed deeply, his warm breath curling up in the cold air. ‘Lily, as much as I don’t want this evening to end, I must drive you
home.’

She looked into his gaze and, like him, was reluctant to end their time together. His eyes were dark and shimmered in the lamplight. Their unswerving intensity made Lily’s heart race. For
as long as she lived she would never forget this day.

It was Sunday night and Ben was standing at the bar of the Quarry. He and Reube were making their ales last as Reube enjoyed another rendition of the fight with the
Blackshirts. Ben noticed his tale had become taller and longer and smiled as he listened to this version, growing like Pinocchio’s nose. It was accepted on the island that everyone supported
each other when it came to outside disputes. And after a few ales, the loyalties were fierce and passionate.

‘If I’d been there I would have knocked his block off,’ remarked Solly Maine, a warehouseman from Cubitt Town. He was small in stature and past his prime but he pulled back his
shoulders and showed off a bull chest.

Ben grinned. ‘You might get your chance,’ he said, nodding at Reube. ‘They could come back for seconds, by the sound of it.’

‘Ain’t nothing to what we had just after the war,’ Solly shrugged. ‘Remember the siege of Sidney Street?’

‘They wasn’t Blackshirts though, they were villains,’ pointed out Harry Ward. ‘Now if you’re talking skulduggery, them Sabinis have got to take the
biscuit.’

Ben listened, as the group of men began to rekindle the heroic and not so heroic past. People’s ordinary everyday lives were normally unaffected by the realities of gangs and murderers,
but tonight his brother’s little ‘episode’ had caught the imagination and made for a lively discussion.

‘Them Sabinis are still operating locally I hear,’ nodded Solly Maine as he wiped the froth from his top lip, and the men all nodded.

‘They’re into the tracks more, though,’ Harry Ward spoke from under his cap. ‘Clocked a few of their men round the Newbury and Epsom pitches.’ When everyone frowned
at him, realizing that he’d had money in his pocket for such ventures, he added quickly, ‘As you know I like the occasional punt but only when I’m flush.’

‘If it’s the dogs and gee-gees they’re concentrating on,’ Ben, drew back their attention, ‘then good luck to them. The heat is off everyone else.’

‘The coppers should do something about them Blackshirts though,’ nodded Ernie from across the bar. ‘’Stead of letting them get away with blue murder.’

‘There was a time when the Italians would have sorted them out,’ Don Harrison remarked. He hadn’t found work in a month and was enjoying a free pint on Ben’s behalf.
‘The Cortesi brothers for instance, they was a real rough lot.’

Reube shook his head. ‘The Cortesis have folded, old son, I know that for a fact. No, I have to say it meself, but me and Ted were the ones to teach them Blackshirts a lesson they
won’t forget.’

‘A hundred and twenty boxes of fags went missing from Chalk Wharf the other day,’ said Izzy Ware, a foreman at the East India Dock Company. ‘Almost as much booze disappeared
from the
Gloria
’s hold overnight.’

Ben took a gulp of his drink. He’d heard there had been a lot of pilfering lately, in fact he’d turned down a couple of deals himself. They smelt fishy. Not that he wasn’t
averse to a little stretching of the law, but nicking and transporting in big numbers was a mug’s game. If you had a load of swag and got stopped at one of the bridgers, you might as well
give yourself up there and then. There was no way off the island if the bridges were up and the boats going under.

‘Is the
Gloria
still in dock?’ asked Reube, obviously thinking along the same lines.

‘They let her sail yesterday.’

‘Where was she out of?’

‘Copenhagen.’

‘No wonder then,’ said Reube, his eyebrows raised. ‘I’ve heard them ships come down from Russia and serve tobacco and booze up to the English like bread and
butter.’

Ben didn’t doubt this. He’d often seen lorries running at dead of night after he’d parked the lorry up. It was a dangerous game and someone was on a generous backhander. He
knew he could make a good whack if he offered his services, but sooner or later the law swooped. When they did it was curtains for the lorry driver and all his load. Once upon a time he might have
been tempted. In the early days when other drivers made five and six times as much as him in a week. He’d heard them boasting often enough, after a few jars. But, thank God, he’d had
enough savvy to resist temptation.

‘You all right, bruv?’ Reube nudged his arm, bringing him back to the present.

‘Yeah, was just thinking about me motor.’ Ben finished his drink but decided not to have another. He needed a clear head for the following morning. He was off to Bermondsey with a
load of bricks. It was supposed to be Monday’s job, but he was going to collect his new toy. He couldn’t wait to drive the Chariot.

‘You’ll need a lift up to Aldgate for your flashy new motor I ’spose,’ Reube said, grinning.

‘You offering?’

‘Course.’

‘What about the stall?’

‘I’ll get Lil set up and come back for you about ten, all right?’

‘Have you got Pedro to help?’

‘Yeah, he needs a drink for yesterday as well.’

Ben frowned as he heard this. ‘Saturday?’

‘Yeah, there was only me and him.’

‘Where was Lil? Thought she was working all day now?’

Reube frowned, knitting his brow reflectively. ‘Didn’t I say? That bloke you sold the po to, he took her up West.’

For a moment Ben was mystified. ‘What, this what’s-his-name, Charles Grey?’

Reube put down his ale. ‘That’s him. Came to the stall to buy more stuff, but those bloody Blackshirts put him off. We didn’t have nothing anyway. Told Lil he’d pay me
for her time. Wanted her to help him choose more stuff. So I come out all right really. Just got to give Pedro a couple of bob and whatever’s left over goes in the kitty.’ Reube smiled
broadly and turned to raise his empty glass. ‘One more, Ernie, for the road, ta mate.’

Ben stared at his brother, an unpleasant feeling settling in his stomach. That Charles Grey had looked up Lily again. But why? Because he wanted her advice again?

Ben straightened his back and twisted his neck in his collar. He felt constricted and uncomfortable. Why the dickens hadn’t Reube mentioned this before? He was too busy with his sums!

As Ben’s face darkened, he caught his reflection in the mirror. Was he any different to his brother? Nearly every penny he’d earned lately, had been saved for the Chariot. The
thought of the motor had obsessed him. All he’d been able to think about was how the first thing he would do was to put his hands on the steering wheel and look over his shoulder at those
thirty seats and imagine them all as ten bob notes!

Turning his back on the mirror, he took a deep breath. Clearing his throat, he pulled down his waistcoat. ‘Snap out of it, you daft ’aporth,’ he instructed himself sharply.

‘What’s that?’ frowned Reube as he turned back to the bar.

‘Nothing – nothing at all.’

‘When are you going to drive that old bucket of yours into the river and do some real work?’ Ted Shiner said as he came over to the bar and dropped his empty glass in front of
Ernie.

‘As soon as you start eating those rotten apples of yours,’ returned Ben with a forced laugh.

‘Ah, you’re both in the wrong line,’ said Reube good-naturedly. ‘Antiques and valuables – now there’s money to be made in those.’

‘What, your load of old junk?’ Ted scowled, his heavy jaws wobbling. ‘Bet you ain’t even seen a genuine antique, let alone sold one.’

‘Had a French clock the other day that Lily sold.’

‘Those Frenchies are all con artists,’ Ted pointed out. ‘And anyway I’d buy a clock off Lily any day, just to see that girl’s smile. Now she’s your real
asset, chum, not your fancy clocks.’

Reube aimed a playful punch at Ted’s shoulder and as Ted bought himself ale, the group of men resumed their conversation. But Ben’s mind had wandered again. What did Charles Grey
want with Lily? He had to find out. Though he wasn’t quite sure how.

I
t was Thursday and Lily was in a hurry to get home and call on Hattie. They hadn’t met up on Sunday as Sylvester had had a fit and the
doctor was called. When Lily knocked, Hattie opened the door. She was still wearing her coat and hat. ‘Come in.’

‘How is Sylvester?’ Lily stepped inside.

‘He’s in the parlour with Mum and Dad. The new pills the doctor gave him seem to be working. I’ve just got home from work.’

Lily followed Hattie into the kitchen. ‘Something smells nice.’

‘Mum’s baking a pie for tea.’

Lily sat down by the stove. She took off her hat and scarf and Hattie did the same. ‘Seems ages since we had a chat.’

‘I’ve got a lot to tell you.’

‘Is it about this Charles Grey?’

Lily looked up. ‘What makes you say that?’

‘Reube came round last night. Dad was giving Sylvester a wash down by the fire and he was starkers in the tub. He’s been in bed so he niffed a bit but it was too cold to wash him
outside. Anyway, Reube and me sat out here and he said . . .’ Hattie suddenly stopped mid sentence and looked round. ‘I’ve got to have a fag, Lil. I haven’t had one all day
and I’m gasping.’