Perseverance Street (33 page)

‘We don’t get too many in here from the camp. One or two of the officers, but they’ve got their own transport.’

‘Unlike us squaddies,’ grinned Charlie. ‘Anyway, I’m out of it now and I’ve got my own limousine – that’s if you call a Morris Eight van a limousine.’

This raised a smile from the landlord as he placed Charlie’s pint on the bar and pressed a brandy glass into an optic.

‘I actually knew a bloke from round here,’ Charlie went on. ‘Met him in a pub in Malton. I think he had a farm. Great big bloke, six foot six … trying to remember his name.’

‘Charlie, you’re useless at names,’ chipped in Lily.

‘I am not!’ protested Charlie. ‘Give me a second, I’ll remember it.’

‘A second?’ said Lily. ‘I could give you an hour, you wouldn’t remember it.’

The landlord was grinning at this banter as he placed the brandy on the bar. ‘That’ll be two and threepence,’ he said, then added, ‘I’m the same for forgettin’ names. Only yesterday I was tryin’ ter remember the name o’ that bloke who was in
Gone With The Wind
. The more yer try ter remember the more yer mind goes blank.’

‘Clark Gable,’ said Lily.

‘That’s right – no, I did remember but only after I stopped tryin’.

Charlie handed
him half a crown and told him to keep the change, then added, to Lily. ‘I’ll remember that bloke’s name if it kills me.’ He took a sip of his drink and looked at the landlord. ‘Big fella, needed a haircut, red face, big nose – you must know him. He likes a drink. He’s got a farm near Thorpe Newton, at least he had two years ago.’

The lone customer, who’d been listening to the conversation, called out, ‘Sounds like Bert Pinkney ter me.’

‘Aye,’ grinned the landlord. ‘It’ll be Bert. He’s the only one farming round here what fits that description.’

Charlie held up a delighted finger. ‘Bert! That’s his name’ He turned to Lily. ‘Told you I’d remember.’

‘You didn’t remember,’ said Lily jabbing a thumb over her shoulder at the customer. ‘It was that gentleman who told you.’

‘You’re splitting hairs again.’ Charlie grinned, then to the landlord he said, ‘Does he drink in here? I know he likes a drink.’

‘He likes too many drinks, that’s his trouble. I’ve lost count of the number of times I’ve barred him fer causin’ trouble.’ He scratched his head. ‘In fact I don’t know whether or not he’s barred right now.’

The customer called out again. ‘Yer missis barred him last Sat’day. Told him not ter bother comin’ back. Hey! She’s got some bloody bottle has your Doris.’

Charlie pulled a face and said, ‘Oh dear. Does he live far away? I might pop in and see him.’

‘What on earth do you want to see him for?’ said Lily. ‘He doesn’t sound like someone I’d like to meet.’

‘Well, as a matter of fact,’ said Charlie, ‘he owes me five bob I took off him at darts. He didn’t have it on him at the time and he told me he’d be back the following week to pay me, but I got transferred. He’s bound to remember once he sees me.’

‘Is that
why you brought me here?’ said Lily, in mock protest. ‘To track down five flipping bob a bloke owes you?’

‘No, I’ve only just remembered. Five bob’s five bob. I might not be round here again.’

The landlord and the customer were grinning at each other. ‘If you turn left out o’ the car park,’ the landlord said, ‘his farm’s half a mile on yer right. Yer can’t miss it. It’s called Beckwater Farm.’ He leaned over the bar and spoke to Charlie confidentially so that the customer couldn’t hear. ‘Look, I don’t know how well yer know him but, I’d be careful.’ He tapped his temple with a forefinger. ‘He blows hot and cold does Bert – if yer know what I mean. Personally, I’d forget about that five bob.’

‘Right,’ said Charlie. ‘He did strike me as being a bit, aggressive.’

‘Oh, he can be a lot aggressive, can Bert.’ The landlord leaned even closer. ‘There’s a rumour that he used ter be in Mosley’s mob. Yer know what I’m sayin’?’

‘I think I do, yes. Thanks for the warning. Does he live alone?’

‘He’s got a lad as big as him, and he used to have a foreign bloke stayin’ there. Greek refugee, he told me. I never saw him but there’s them as did. Why he’d take a refugee in, God only knows. Mebbe a bit o’ cheap labour or mebbe there’s some good in him what I don’t know about. There’s nowt as queer as folk, is there?’

‘Is the Greek still there?’

‘No, he
left a few months back, accordin’ ter Bert. Hey, I should leave well alone if I were you.’

‘That Greek refugee might be Mancini,’ said Lily, after they’d got back in the van. ‘How would anyone round here know the difference between a Greek accent and an Italian accent?’

‘That’s what I was thinking,’ said Charlie. ‘In any event, Bert’s definitely our man. By the way, well done for joining in back there. I think we gave a convincing performance.’

‘I might have been a bit more convincing had you warned me what you were going to say.’

‘How did I know what I was going to say? I was just playing it by ear.’

‘Why couldn’t you just give the landlord the bloke’s description and ask if he knew him?’

‘Because,’ said Charlie, ‘these villages are very parochial. A stranger comes in the local pub and starts after asking about one of the neighbours, their very first reaction is suspicion. He might have told us, he might not, but either way he might well have been on the phone to this Bert Pinkney the minute we left.’

‘That’s if Bert Pinkney’s got a phone.’

‘That’s a risk
I wasn’t prepared to take. I didn’t want Bert to be expecting me. Forewarned is forearmed and all that.’

‘I don’t think the landlord has any great love for Bert – I doubt if he’d have warned him.’

‘We know that now.’

‘This is more stuff you learned in the army? Blimey, Charlie! The army’s made you paranoid.’

Charlie pressed the starter. ‘Paranoid, but still alive, Lily.’

He was smiling inwardly. The exchange had pleased him. They were talking like a couple who owed each other explanations.
A proper couple
. As they approached Beckwater Farm he changed his mindset to prepare for confrontation, perhaps physical. He’d come more prepared than Lily knew about. He hadn’t told her everything.

‘I’m going to assume the Greek is Mancini.’ He said it as much to himself as to Lily.

‘OK,’ she said, not knowing the implications of what he’d decided.

There was a driveway to the farm which stood about a hundred yards from the road. Charlie turned in and drove slowly, taking in deep, controlling breaths. Lily looked at him and decided not to disturb what was going on in his mind. Whatever it was, it was for her benefit. It was to get Michael back.

‘Charlie,’ she murmured. ‘Whatever you do, I’m with you all the way.’

He nodded without looking at her and got out of the van. She got out as well. Whatever happened next he wasn’t in this on his own.

The door was
large and heavy, no doubt like its owner. It had no bell or knocker so Charlie rapped on it as loudly as his knuckles would stand. He heard bad-tempered grumbling from within and winked at Lily.

‘I think I’ve aroused the denizens.’

The door was opened by a giant of a man dressed in capacious corduroy trousers held up by a broad leather belt that served the dual purpose of keeping his huge stomach in check. Braces, obviously held in reserve for additional trouser support, hung down by his thighs. He had the red face and big nose that Mary had described, plus the unkempt hair. His general attitude wasn’t welcoming to these strangers at his door. Charlie smiled and held out a hand of greeting, which was ignored.

‘Good afternoon, Mr Pinkney – Charlie Cleghorn.’

Pinkney looked beyond him to the van and read the lettering. His voice was broad Yorkshire and harsh. ‘We don’t want nowt demolishin’, so bugger off!’

Charlie maintained his smile. ‘We’re not here on company business, Mr Pinkney, we’re here to discuss a mutual friend of ours. May we come in?’

Pinkney instinctively
stood to one side as Charlie pushed past him into the farmhouse, closely followed by Lily. The door opened into a large room, maybe twenty feet square. It was an unattractive room furnished with heavy furniture. A smell of sweat, stale beer and cigarette smoke hung in the air. There was a long, wooden table littered with dirty crockery, empty beer bottles and a sleeping dog. Several chairs were scattered around, some wooden, some upholstered. None of them looked all that comfortable. A crackling radio was playing music and in one of the chairs was a younger man, probably the same size as Pinkney. He was drinking beer from a bottle, reading a newspaper and paying no attention to the new arrivals.

‘So,’ said Pinkney, ‘who’s this mutual friend?’

‘Major Mancini,’ said Charlie brightly. Lily was wondering if he was taking the right approach.

‘Never heard of him.’

‘Oh, I think you have. He stayed here for quite a while after he did a bunk from Eden camp. You told everyone he was a Greek refugee.’

Lily could see Pinkney’s eyes bulging with rage. The son had put his paper down and had got to his feet. Charlie nodded at him. ‘You’ll be Bert’s son, will you?’ He held out a hand. ‘Charlie Cleghorn.’

His hand was ignored. The son said nothing but the look on his face told Charlie he wasn’t welcome in this room. Lily was now comparing the size of these two giants to Charlie, who was a good six feet tall and athletically built, but a dwarf compared to these men who must each have weighed at least eighteen stone. Their combined weight was three times that of Charlie.

Pinkney stepped right into Charlie’s face and growled at him. ‘Are yer callin’ me a liar?’ He pushed Charlie with a huge hand. Charlie staggered backwards but didn’t react. ‘’Cos if yer are I’ll break yer bloody neck and hers as well.’

He looked at Lily
and gave a frightening grin full of rotten teeth. The son was grinning as well. His teeth showed promise of ending up like his dad’s. ‘In fact,’ smirked Pinkney, ‘we might have a bit o’ fun wi’ this one’s body afore we break her neck.’

‘Mancini abducted a small child, no doubt with your assistance,’ Charlie went on. His manner was eminently reasonable, to Lily’s amazement. These two men were threatening to do heaven knows what to her and he was being polite to them. Pinkney reached out and placed a hand on her breasts. She reacted by slapping him hard across the face. He roared with laughter. ‘By God, yer’ll definitely pay fer that with yer body, girl!’ He began to unbuckle his belt. ‘The coppers can’t touch me. Yer trespassin’ in my house. I can do what I like wi’ yer.’

‘I don’t think so,’ she said uncertainly. Charlie was saying or doing nothing to help her situation. Jesus! she thought. Have I got him wrong. Is he a coward?

Bert was sniggering in anticipation. ‘Well, I don’t give a toss what yer think – Ezra, strip the woman naked fer yer father’s pleasure, I’ll leave enough fer you ter pleasure yersen after I’ve done with her.’

Ezra gave a menacing snigger then stepped forward and lunged at Lily. Charlie brought an arm up and jabbed his elbow into Ezra’s face with extreme, bone-breaking force. Lily heard the bone snapping and stepped away from the spraying blood. In the blink of an eye Charlie jabbed his elbow again, this time breaking several of Ezra’s teeth. Blood ran down Ezra’s face and he screamed with pain. Charlie’s voice was still the voice of reason as he turned his attention to Pinkney. From somewhere he’d produced a pistol and was holding it against the big man’s left eye.

‘You see, Mr
Pinkney, I’m doing my level best to be reasonable here and you’re not helping me. You’re not helping me at all.’ He moved the gun slightly to one side and pulled the trigger. The report was deafening, more so to Pinkney as the bullet took away part of his ear before embedding itself in a door. The man screamed with pain and rage and threw a violent fist at Charlie.

Charlie ducked under the punch at the same time as sticking the gun in his pocket. He hooked the big man’s flailing arm under his right arm then, with his left hand took hold of Pinkney’s wrist and and bent it back to breaking point causing the farmer to howl in even more agony.

Ezra, still in pain with his broken nose and teeth, had now taken note of what was happening to his father. He stepped towards Charlie who held on to Bert’s wrist with his left hand, easily avoided Ezra’s flailing punch and swung his right hand in a well-practised, backhanded chop to the side of Ezra’s neck, landing his blow smack on the carotid artery. It was the most effective weapon in his armoury: a karate blow he’d perfected during his time in Italy. If expertly delivered, it would render the biggest of men unconscious without noise, or blood. Ezra collapsed to the floor like a puppet with its strings cut.

Charlie’s voice was still calm but had now taken on a manic tone. His grip on Pinkney’s wrist had the big man bent almost double. ‘Right, Mr Pinkney. Can we talk sense now or do you enjoy pain? Tell you what, why don’t I break a few fingers to make you more cooperative?’

With that he
took a grip on Pinkney’s left thumb and snapped it backwards with a sickening crack. Pinkney yelled with this new pain that now obscured the pain from his ear.

‘Will that do it, Mr Pinkney, or would you like me to carry on? You’ve got nine more fingers to go at before I start on your arms and legs – or shall I remove your manhood?’ He took out his gun again, held it against Pinkney’s groin and pulled the trigger. The bullet didn’t touch anything but Pinkey felt the heat of it in his private parts. He lifted Pinkney’s head up with the barrel of the gun and stared into his face. Charlie’s eyes had widened into those of a madman. Lily was pleased he’d forewarned her about this act.

‘Damn! Missed!’ said Charlie. He let go of Pinkney’s hand and pointed the gun directly between the stricken farmer’s legs. He closed one eye to take aim. Pinkney was moaning in pain from his damaged ear and broken thumb. He sank to his knees.

‘I’ll call t’ police, yer know.’

‘Be my guest,’ said Charlie, hefting the gun in his right hand. ‘Call them and tell them you’re a member of the British Union of Fascists who’s been helping an Italian prisoner of war to abduct a British child. In fact you harboured the man under the guise of a Greek refugee. How long do you think they’ll lock you up for?’