Shadows of Deceit (3 page)

The landlady looked down at him,

“He’s bewildered, poor thing.”

“Like all of us.”

Harry said.

The two talked for a few more minutes before he left to walk to a local café. ‘Poor sod’ he thought, ‘I’ve only stayed there a week, I’ve lost a few clothes but she’s almost lost her entire home.’

He ordered some tea and toast and sat down at the only vacant table by a window that was misted with condensation. A wireless fixed to a bracket high on the wall behind the counter was providing some cheery background music.

His mood had now changed from the pronounced blackness of earlier. He began tapping his fingers to the rhythm.

‘My ol’ man said follow the van

and don’t dilly dally on the way,

off went the van with my ‘ome packed in it

and I followed on with my old cock linnet…’

“Dilly,” Harry repeated to himself, “Dilly!”

No one had heard him.

Dilly would surely know what to do he thought?’

The song had brought back a childhood memory, about his imaginary friend called Dilly.

He couldn’t remember how or why he had named her and he couldn’t recall when he had last thought about her.

‘It must be over twenty years’ he thought.

He was about six, maybe seven when he first chanced upon her. It was during a difficult time at home, his father had left his mother and she had to somehow cope in bringing up his younger brother David and him. Divorce, which was rarer then, was made more burdensome because they were a Catholic family. But his mother did manage to get by. She established a small kindergarten in the house during the mornings, as well as running an afternoon taxi service with her small car. Harry smiled to himself upon remembering the small St Christopher statue that his mother had stuck to the dashboard.

‘Great innocent memories’ he thought.

And now here he was, much older, with a decision to make.

‘Dilly’ would know what to do he thought and smiled again. Whilst waiting for his food, he reviewed the options now available to him. The separate events of the last evening had now forced him to re-evaluate his situation. Could he carry on with some minor black market activities? He had had some success after all. Should he return to his brother and sister-in-law in London? They would know he had stolen the ring, so perhaps it wouldn’t be appropriate to return; especially now that he had lost it!

Should he travel to Ireland? There was no conscription in the north, so he could blend in and find some work there perhaps? Or he could make his way south to the Free State; that was another consideration. Or should he simply go back to Andrew to find out what job he was offering?

By the time his food had arrived he had already tossed a coin in his mind and whilst it was spinning in the air he already knew which way he wanted it to land!

“Do you dress to the right usually sir?”

“As is.”

Harry said becoming more irritated with the tailor who was double checking his measurements.

“Inside leg thirty…two inches…yes. Remember we can’t offer turn ups now, you know shortages and…”

“Yes, I understand, how much longer will you be?”

“Finished now Mr Davies. Now let’s quickly recheck the original …” He called across to his assistant.

“George, bring the pad over. Let’s do a resume.”

The tailor continued,

“Yes… here we are…height just below six foot, forty four chest, thirty six waist and thirty two inside leg. Now sleeve and button detail…yes I have those already, that’s it then sir, we’re all finished.”

Harry put his own jacket back on, retrieved his mac and
threw it
over one shoulder
whilst reaching for his wallet.

“It’s OK, Mr Davies, the deposit has been paid by Mr Kirkland; he’s a regular customer here. I don’t suppose you’ve any clothing coupons though?”

The tailor looked up at Harry’s face that remained stony and unsmiling.

“Thought not, well we’ll just do the usual arrangement.

“What are the usual arrangements?”

Harry asked still feeling ill-humoured.

“Well Andrew…Mr Kirkland…will pay cash and we just keep things quiet between us. I won’t put any labels in the suit so it can’t be traced back here. We just keep things on a friendly basis and barter a bit if we can. Mr Kirkland said I could explain this to you.”

“Oh did he?”

“Now what about a hat, a nice trilby…over here look, they’re still very much in fashion?” The tailor smiled eagerly.

“No thanks, I don’t wear hats.”

The tailor’s optimism weakened; he contemplated offering Harry a different style but quickly thought better of it.

“Yes well, thank you for your custom, we’ll have everything ready for you in about two weeks. I’ll telephone Mr Kirkland.”

Harry put his mac on, said his farewells and left the building, grateful to breathe fresh air again and to get away from the intense scrutiny of the tailor and his assistant.

‘Haircut next.’

Harry thought to himself.

His hair was longer than was usual at the time; he decided to have it cut shorter so as to blend in with the ubiquitous military styles. He walked away from the narrow back streets and made his way towards the centre of the city. On route he came across a small barber’s shop and within twenty minutes his full dark curly hair was shorn away. He emerged with a fixed brilliantined lustre that he immediately tussled up to resemble something of his previous style.

‘Now back to base.’ He thought.

He decided to walk back to Andrew’s flat. The sky was clear blue and bright, the low wintry sun illuminating the buildings in a burnished gold light. For the first time in several weeks of uncertainty he felt relaxed and at ease. He had a job on offer, cash in his wallet and new clothes on order.

“Things are on the up.” He thought.

However, his mood shifted abruptly as he passed by some recently bombed out shops and houses. The adjacent cinema had also received a direct hit. He stopped under its canopy and recalled the pre-war excitement of a trip to the pictures with a girlfriend; the carpet of light shining over the wet pavements outside; the smell and the warmth of the foyer; people mingling around looking forward to the prospect of a night out, sitting in luxurious surroundings.

“Magical palaces.” He thought as he walked on, trying to recall in his mind some of his favourite films he had seen before the war.

Harry used the key that Andrew had loaned him and entered his flat. As he climbed the stairs he could hear classical music drifting down from above. He found Andrew sprawled out on one of the settees listening to gramophone records and reading the newspapers. Andrew looked up,

“Well look at you!” He said inspecting the new hairstyle.

“That’s enough of that, the sooner I get my own place the better.”

“You’ve only been here three days.”

Harry ignored the remark.

“We need to talk Andrew; I want to know a bit more about this job you’re offering.”

Andrew stretched his arms and yawned,

“I’ll tell you what, let me get dressed then we can go down the club for a chat. It’ll be easier there, less formal than sitting face to face here.”

“As long as this ‘club’ is not one of your usual haunts!”

“That’s a deal, I suppose. I’ll get dressed. Help yourself to a drink if you want.”

Andrew walked across the room and switched the gramophone off. He emerged from the bedroom ten minutes later dressed in slacks and blazer, white shirt and blue spotted tie.

“We’re only going to a pub aren’t we?”

Andrew pretended not to have heard the comment as he put on the shabby overcoat, his ‘disguise’ to blend in with the neighbourhood. As they walked to the ‘Royal Stuart Club’ about a mile away Harry began questioning Andrew.

“Tell me something, why is it you were limping the night I first met you?”

Andrew laughed,

“Limping? – oh yes. For no other reason than one of my shoes had let water in. My sock had turned under my toes; I must look to buy a decent pair again”

Harry smiled to himself,

“And I thought the lameness was another part of your disguise, along with the overcoat?”

“No, it’s only the overcoat I wear around here. If you appear too smart you could look out of place and get picked on.”

“Well your overcoat didn’t help much the other night did it?” Harry continued,

“Next question, why, in your comfortable financial situation do you need to use a pawn shop to obtain money?”

“That’s all part of a sideline to my property business. You see I buy houses and you’d be surprised what people leave behind, especially if they have to move away quickly. Sometimes I discover abandoned items left in the loft or cupboards, you know, clocks, pictures, gramophones, mirrors etcetera. So I examine them and decide which is worth putting aside.”

“You mean sell them?”

“At first I thought of selling them through the trade, but I’m now trying to be a bit more, what’s the word, philanthropic!”

Harry frowned in disbelief as Andrew continued,

“You see I give the vendor the benefit of the doubt. I simply pawn them for a few months, and if on the rare occasions a vendor returns and remembers an item they’ve left then I redeem the goods and hand it over to them.”

“What happens if the owner turns up later than that?”

“Well that situation is very unusual, it did happen once though and I was able to buy the item back at full price from the pawn shop which luckily hadn’t sold it on. Of course I charged the vendor storage costs then, so I didn’t lose too much!” Andrew grinned.

“You fucking amaze me.” Harry said as Andrew directed the way across a busy road.

“Think about it, you either throw away the items found or you make them work for you.”

At the club Andrew signed Harry in as a visitor. Once inside they ordered some beers and moved across to the window. The smoky lounge was quite full of people, a lot of them in uniform. Andrew took off his overcoat with a theatrical flourish and sat down on a window seat to get a better view of the room. A few R.A.F. Officers nearby stared across at the two newcomers and quietly made a joke amongst themselves.

“It’s not that obvious is it?” Harry asked Andrew.

“What?”

Harry nodded towards the group sitting nearby,

“Your kind of inclinations, I think they feel we’re together.”

Andrew looked across to the Officers and smiled,

“We’ve met haven’t we, recently – I’m trying to remember where?”

The Officers became embarrassed and turned away muttering quietly to themselves.

“That’s got them thinking, a knowing smile works every time. Don’t worry about them. Now to business, the job I’m offering.”

Harry sipped his drink,

“Firstly,” Harry asked,

“How did you start in the property business?”

Andrew drank deeply down his glass and sat forward,

“I’ve mentioned before that I helped my father out with his construction work for a while but when he died I decided to concentrate on doing something else that I could control myself. He had carried out some major new build and refurbishment contracts during his life. My Dad was a skilled tradesman and knew the industry backwards and could easily manage the various subcontractors required. You see for me I never felt totally confident that I could manage and trust these people. I wasn’t a tradesman so I could easily find myself out of my depth, not fully understanding what their problems were. The antiques market was also poor at the time so I was looking for another opportunity to keep me going. I had managed to save some cash and decided to buy a property in town to convert to flats and rent them out. I scrutinized the renovation quotations that came in, selected the most cost effective and tied up a legal contract with one builder. I didn’t have to deal with all the various trades like my father did. The rentals provided a regular income for me each week. Then I decided to buy another property and convert that one as well. I hired someone to work with me and I set up an Agency. As I bought more cheap houses to convert, the income I received was more than paying for my assistant and later for a secretary. I decided to branch out and advertised that I could manage the letting of houses for absentee landlords as well.”

“How does that work?”

Andrew downed more of his drink before replying,

“The landlords pay me a fee to set up the tenancy; the tenants pay me through my bank. I take my cut and later in the month pass on the balance to the owners. You see that way I’m not using any of my own money, all the funding flows from the owners and the tenants. I just arrange to collect rents and it rolls on month after month. The tenant’s money is lodged in my bank account for a few weeks before I pass on the owner’s share, after deducting my commission. It really is very simple, and by the way, I also collect the bank interest on the cash sitting in my account as well.”