The Toff and the Fallen Angels (6 page)

Rollison was acutely aware of three things. First, that although she was outwardly composed, Naomi Smith was in acute distress, and her mood was worsening. Second, that Angela was missing.
Angela,
whom he had sent here. And third, the chance that one of the residents had been trusted with a letter which she had not posted - unless, by some freak of mismanagement, it had been lost by the postal officials. He had to calm and reassure Naomi, and he had to find Angela
soon.
This was the only place to start.

He said: ‘I could do with a brandy and soda. While you're getting it may I use your telephone?'

‘Of course.'

She moved towards a cupboard near the desk, opened it, and revealed a row of bottles and several glasses.

Rollison dialled his flat, hard faced. Jolly answered at once, and Rollison said: ‘Miss Angela may be at the Oxford Street Corner House, Jolly - and could be in very great danger. Go and see what you can find out, will you? Tell the police if she doesn't turn up.'

‘Of course, sir. At once.' Jolly certainly wouldn't lose a moment.

Rollison rang off.

There was brandy, which he really wanted for Naomi Smith much more than for himself. He joined her, seeing her hands trembling.

‘Sit down,' he said, and poured brandy and gave it to her. He carefully poured himself a little, then drank with her. Before long the police would be here, and he wanted to hear what had happened before they arrived. The best way to learn would be by quick question and answer.

‘Did Angela tell you she was going out?'

‘No.'

‘Who did?'

‘One of the girls - Anne Miller.'

‘Were they friends?'

‘I—I think they get along all right. But since we've realised that Iris was missing, everyone—everyone's been nervous. I gave instructions that no one was to go out alone, and that their boyfriends must collect them and bring them back. That's why Anne told me Angela had gone off by herself - it wasn't simply breaking a rule to go out alone, it was walking into danger.'

It was so like Angela, too; she would be so sure that no rule applied to her, that she was free to come and go - it had probably not occurred to her that any risk might be involved.

‘Did Anne have any idea where?' he asked.

‘Angela—Angela hinted that it was to see a boyfriend.'

‘Had she met any boyfriend before? Or gone out by herself before?'

‘No. She was the last person I would have expected to—'

‘I'm sure. You say she telephoned you?'

‘She telephoned but I didn't speak to her. I was with one of the residents who's been very distressed lately. I was trying to soothe this girl, and Anne took the message.'

‘Anne Miller?' asked Rollison sharply.

‘Yes. Anne usually takes messages, she's really my secretary, I find her invaluable.'

‘Was it Anne Miller who was supposed to post the letter to me?' asked Rollison sharply.

‘No, that was Judy Lyons. Judy
is
a bit scatterbrained, she could have—oh, I hardly know what to say or what I'm saying!' exclaimed Naomi, and she seemed almost in tears. ‘Don't please start casting aspersions on the girls.'

‘Naomi,' said Rollison quietly, ‘you nearly had your head smashed in. Two of the girls are missing and might be dead. Angela, who is missing, was used as a decoy. A few aspersions here and there really don't matter. So you didn't speak to Angela yourself?'

‘No—Anne did.'

‘I'd like to see Anne, at once,' said Rollison.

‘But—but—'

‘Please send for Anne Miller,' Rollison grated; he had to fight against losing his temper.

Naomi hesitated, then put her brandy glass down with an unsteady hand and moved to the telephone. She picked up the nearest one, pressing a button beneath it; and almost at once Rollison heard a click, and the distant sound of a voice.

‘Come into my study, Anne,' Naomi said. ‘Hurry, please . . . I can tell you about that afterwards . . . Are they?' She seemed startled and now troubled by some additional worry. ‘Very well, I'll go and see them when you're here.' She rang off, pressing one hand against her forehead.

It crossed Rollison's mind that this
could
be acting, but as she lifted her face and looked at him, he thought, no; she's in deep trouble and distress. His heart went out to her, but he did not show his sympathy, as he waited, hard faced.

‘The girls are terrified,' she said. ‘I must go to the common room and talk to them.' She moved slowly away from the desk. ‘They know about the attack outside, one of their boyfriends saw it, apparently - the boy with the torch.'

‘Are there any other boyfriends here?'

‘I don't know,' said Naomi. ‘But Anne will.' As she finished there was a movement at the door. It opened to admit a tall, thin, sallow-faced girl with high cheekbones. Her dark hair, falling untidily to her shoulders, drooped over one eye. She wore a very short miniskirt, emphasising slender but well-shaped legs. ‘Anne,' went on Naomi Smith, ‘Mr Rollison wishes to ask you some questions. Give him all the information you can, please.'

Anne looked blankly - sullenly? - at Rollison, as Naomi went out, closing the door behind her. Anne did not move; the harder Rollison looked at her complexion the more like olive-coloured wax it seemed; and her eyes were the colour of dark olives, too.

‘Did you speak to Angela Pax-Elliott tonight?' asked Rollison.

‘Yes,' Anne said.

‘On the telephone?'

‘Yes.'

‘What did she say?'

‘She said she wanted to see Mrs Smith.'

‘Where?'

‘At the Oxford Street Corner House.'

‘When?'

‘She would wait until twelve o'clock.'

‘What else did she say?'

‘She said she was on to something.'

‘Were those her exact words?'

‘They were her exact words,' asserted Anne Miller.

Not once as she had answered the swift succession of questions had her voice changed from a low, monotonous tone. And not once had she moved.

‘What time did she call?' demanded Rollison, flatly.

‘At eleven-seventeen.'

‘How can you be so precise?'

‘Because I am a precise person by nature, and I have a watch.'

‘Did Angela sound alarmed?' asked Rollison.

‘No.'

‘How did she sound?'

‘Excited,' announced Anne Miller.

‘What was the name of her boyfriend?'

‘Who said she
had
a boyfriend?' Now there was an inflection in the girl's voice which made her answer very nearly insolent.

‘Didn't she tell you she was going to meet one?'

‘She indicated it, yes.' For the first time Anne's expression changed and it was difficult to judge whether it was in a smile or a sneer. She had small but quite beautiful lips, spoiled with pale pink lipstick which jarred against the sallow tone of her skin. ‘All of us indicate our romantic conquests whether they are true or not.'

‘Lie about it, you mean?'

‘“Hint” is a pleasanter word, don't you think?' suggested Anne.

‘From what I know, delicate hints about boyfriends are hardly necessary here,' said Rollison, bluntly. He knew that his words were cruel but he had to break through this girl's resistance somehow, and it wasn't going to be easy.

She narrowed her eyes, but did not speak.

‘Anne,' said Rollison. ‘Do you know what's going on here?'

‘No.'

‘Did you tell Mrs Smith that the other girls are terrified?'

‘Yes.'

‘Why are they terrified?'

‘Do you think we should
welcome
having our heads smashed in?' demanded Anne, her voice rising to a cutting scorn. ‘Or don't you think it matters, if such a thing happens to unmarried mothers?'

So he had hurt her, and had also loosened her tongue.

‘I think it matters,' Rollison said. ‘But weren't they terrified
before
the hammer attack on Mrs Smith?'

‘Quite possibly,' she said curtly.

‘Then,
what was it that frightened them?'

‘Mr Rollison,' said Anne Miller, as if suddenly overcome with weariness, ‘I don't know what you're doing here or why you came, but I can tell you you're getting nowhere, fast.'

‘What terrified the girls?'
persisted Rollison, obstinately.

After a brief pause, Anne answered: ‘All right, then. There have been telephone calls from a man threatening to kill us. He always says the same thing – “just one blow will be enough, one blow on the back of your head”. And then he rings off.' She half-closed her eyes but opened them wide again when he took a step towards her. ‘Wouldn't
you
be scared?'

‘Anyone would be,' Rollison answered gently. ‘When did this all begin, Anne?'

‘Three days ago.'

‘And you've
each
had a call in those three days?'

‘More or less. There's a telephone in each room, and we sleep three or four in a room. Whoever answered the telephone got the same message.'

‘What has Mrs Smith had to say?'

‘She doesn't know about the calls,' said Anne.

‘You haven't told the superintendent!' exclaimed Rollison, in astonishment mingled with disbelief.

‘Can't you see she has enough on her mind already?' demanded Anne. ‘We agreed we wouldn't tell her. She's warned us not to go out alone or come back alone. And she's called in the police. What more can she do? Of course we haven't told her,' she finished, in exasperation.

‘If you had done so, do you think she would have gone out alone tonight?' asked Rollison, quietly.

‘No one thought she was in danger,' Anne answered.

‘How could you be sure
she
hadn't had a threat by telephone?' demanded Rollison, and when Anne didn't answer but looked appalled, he went on: ‘Anne, who is doing this? Do you know?'

‘My God, if only I did!' she cried. ‘All I know is that we were happier than we'd been for ages.
All
of us. Can you imagine what it's like to be branded? Oh, we were fools, or else we deliberately defied convention, but we are branded. Even today you can stand at the window and see old women pointing and tut-tutting as they pass, and old men leering at us, and young men—' She was almost crying as she went on and the words were sharp and clear and yet every now and again her voice broke. ‘Do you realise
why
we're here? We've got good minds, some of us are brilliant at our own subjects but we've offended the great god, convention . . . and we haven't even had the sense to look after ourselves. Our critics think we're immoral and our one-time friends think we're fools—
God
! And there isn't one of us who can turn to friends or relatives. Do you know what I was doing when I came here? I was a counter assistant at Woolworth's haberdashery department - and I was a child prodigy, they tell me there isn't anyone at my age to touch me in higher mathematics. “That's one-and-eleven, please, penny change. Nail files? On the perfumery counter, madam . . . That's seven-and-sixpence exactly, sir . . .”.'

‘Stop it,' interrupted Rollison, sharply.

‘I won't stop it! I
can't
stop it! I tell you I was nearly out of my mind when I heard from Naomi Smith. It didn't seem possible! A chance to study under Professor Offenberger and nothing to pay except time. There's even a crèche here! We aren't under any pressure to have our babies adopted if we don't want to—God! It was like heaven! And then—and then the trouble began. First we had indecent telephone calls and beastly letters, then gradually the tone changed and we were told to go away from here. The very place we've come to love—oh, it's dreadful, it's dreadful!'

Rollison said briskly: ‘Yes, Anne, it is. And it won't get any better if you keep a single thing back.'

He looked at his watch. It was half-past twelve and there was no word from Jolly and no interruption from the police. Jolly would have telephoned had he seen Angela, of course - so she hadn't gone to the Corner House. He had never really believed she had.

‘I'm not keeping anything back,' Anne said, sullenly.

‘Did you speak to Angela in person?'

‘Yes.'

‘Are you sure it was her voice?'

‘Of course I'm sure, you don't think I could make a mistake about her, surely? She sounded excited, and very sure of herself. Has she been waiting all—'

‘No,' Rollison said. ‘I sent someone there as soon as I heard about the call. Anne, how well did you know Winifred de Vaux?'

It was a long time before Anne answered. She began to sway. Rollison took her arm and led her towards a chair, then poured out brandy. She lifted the glass, then lowered it again as she glanced up at him.

‘Not—not really well,' she said. ‘She wasn't easy to know. She—she was the only one here who really was obsessed with men, I don't think I've ever known anyone so oversexed - so obviously oversexed - and proud of it. Some would say she flaunted it, but she didn't, she was just proud. She thought it was glorious to be a woman. She—she's dead, isn't she?'

‘It seems a possibility,' said Rollison. ‘But what makes you think so?'

‘The man who telephoned tonight said she was,' answered Anne Miller, her voice dead, stripped of emotion. ‘And soon, soon, all the sluts and whores who lived here would be dead too.'

She tried to sip her brandy but her hand began to shake, and soon her slender body, until, inevitably, the tears began to fall.

And as she cried the door opened, and Naomi Smith came in.