had offered for him to share her bed. She was sure she wouldn’t have minded too much, not if it had been Ray, but he had been too much of a gentleman to do that. Instead, he had cared for her and certainly had never laid a finger on her in an inappropriate way.
However, Ray wasn’t there, so it was down to her. She knew she had to find out exactly what she had done to Edwin Collingsworth. Her nerve ends quivered and she wished she could curl up in bed and pretend that the naked man, maybe lying dead at the bottom of the stairs, was nothing to do with her.
She shivered as she pushed the covers back, for the place was like an ice box and her head pounded as she lifted it from the pillow. She felt as if she was going to be sick, but she fought the nausea and slid her feet thankfully into slippers. She wished the silky wrap she tied around herself was a cosy woolly one, for though it looked fine, it was not made for warmth.
She doubted, though, that anything could warm her up properly, for it was terror that was filling her veins with ice. She padded across to the front door and, once there, it took all her reserves of strength to slide the bolts back and ease it open. She had picked up one of the torches Ray always left in a cupboard in the hall, and by its light, dim though it was, she saw there was nothing at the bottom of the stairs. There was no body, no clothes – nothing.
However, she had to be certain, and she descended the stairs, her senses on high alert, ready to flee at any moment. But, the stairwell was completely empty except for the little pool of blood at the bottom. Then her torch showed up something gleaming on the floor. She bent to look more closely and saw that it was a pair of gold cufflinks. Collingsworth’s she presumed, which must have fallen out of his cuffs when she threw his clothes down the stairs. She put them into the pocket of her wrap.
She should have felt relieved, but she wasn’t. What if someone had found him and summoned an ambulance, or maybe he had regained consciousness enough to dress himself before stumbling into the street to get help. Either way, it wasn’t necessarily good news for her.
She went back to the apartment, not bothering to slide the bolts now that Collingsworth was no longer at the bottom of the steps. In the kitchen she made a cup of tea, hoping it might stop her teeth chattering. And that was where a furious Ray found her a little later.
Collingsworth’s chauffeur, Will Baker, had brought Ray and Collingsworth to the apartment the evening before. His instructions were then to take Ray wherever he wanted to go, return to the apartment, and wait outside it until his boss might need him. However, it had been cold sitting in the car, and after an hour, the chauffeur had got out to walk up and down, slapping his arms to his sides and had stepped out of the wind into the entry just below Molly’s window to light up a cigarette.
When he heard the commotion, he had grimaced to himself, for he guessed the little quirk his employer had of occasionally beating up young girls and women had got the better of him again. There could be trouble over this if he had done her harm, because Ray had told him he had warned him not to hurt her in any way. He knew why too: the girl was lined up to go to Vera’s whorehouse the following week. ‘Installed before Christmas and working like a good ’un by the New Year,’ was the way Ray put it, and if she was damaged in any way, he knew full well Vera wouldn’t want her, or pay for her, till she was healed and could be of some use.
The chauffeur moved round to the front door of the house, though he knew that it was more than his life was worth to interfere. That was, until he heard the unmistakable sound of someone falling down the stairs. He knew then that his employer might have killed the girl. It wouldn’t be the first time either, he knew, and it had sickened him when he had heard his heavies boasting about it.
Anyway, he decided, whether Collingsworth liked it or not, he couldn’t leave someone who might well need help at the bottom of the stairs so he waited till all was quiet beyond the door before he cautiously opened it. Mindful of the blackout, he had to shut it behind him before he could turn on his torch and then his heart skipped a beat, for it was no young girl there but the battered and bruised body of his employer, and though he was as naked as the day he was born, his clothes lay in a heap on top of him.
Had the girl done him in? Fought for her honour, like? Dear Christ, she was in one heap of trouble, whichever way it was. Will leant across, felt for the pulse in his employer’s neck and was relieved that he was alive at least, so it wouldn’t be the gallows for that young girl, whoever she was.
But the man was still unconscious and the wound Will saw on the back of his head was bleeding profusely. He tried to stanch that with his handkerchief before shaking him gently and whispering, ‘Mr Collingsworth, sir. Mr Collingsworth. Wake up, sir. Wake up.’
He was relieved to see his employer’s eyes flutter open, even though he did shut them straight away, growling out irritably, ‘Turn that bloody torch away from my face, you fool. Nearly damned well blinded me. And where the hell am I anyway?’
But the chauffeur didn’t have to answer that, because the events of that evening had begun to seep into Collingsworth’s brain and consummate rage filled his entire body. ‘Help me into my clothes, man. Don’t just stand there,’ he commanded.
Will did most of the dressing, for Collingsworth was disorientated and badly co-ordinated. Though the chauffeur thought he should go to hospital to be checked over, particularly for the head injury, which was still seeping blood and matting in his sparse hair, even through the handkerchief, he said nothing. He knew that these people from the underworld seldom visited doctors or hospitals in the normal way. They had their own people to attend them, who were paid well to keep their mouths shut.
Will Baker didn’t like the colour of Collingsworth’s face at all and noted how he had to help him to his feet once he was dressed and then prevent him falling flat on his face as, taking almost all his weight, he semi-carried the man to his car.
‘Where to, boss?’
‘Home. Where else, you bloody fool?’
In Collingsworth’s house, in full light, the man looked worse and the chauffeur was worried enough to say, ‘Shall I ring the doctor, sir?’ knowing that he had a special doctor attend him.
But his employer brushed the suggestion away impatiently. ‘It’s not a doctor I want but that man Morris. Find him and bring him here.’
‘Yes, sir.’
The chauffeur had taken Ray to the casino, so he was likely spending the money Collingsworth had given him that evening.
It had been Ray that had put Will in line for a job with Collingsworth after meeting him in a pub one night. They had been at school together, though not special friends, but that night they caught up with news of one another. Will, feeling very sorry for himself, told Ray of being invalided out of the army after his lungs were buggered up after the rout at Dunkirk.
Ray, on the other hand, never specified what he actually did for a living, or how he had evaded the call-up, but he did tell Will that he might be able to do him a favour.
‘My boss is in need of a chauffeur and general dogsbody since the last one was called up. You can drive, I suppose?’
‘Well, yes, but with petrol rationed I wouldn’t imagine there will be much work in that line at the moment.’
‘Don’t you believe it,’ Ray had said. ‘This man, as well as being incredibly rich, has his finger in so many pies. Rationing of anything doesn’t seem to apply to him. Anyway, no harm in having a chat.’
Will agreed there wasn’t, but when he met Edwin Collingsworth
