Sons and Daughters Read online

  ‘There, I told you he could have recognized me that day in the market,’ breathed Mrs Kloytski. ‘Don’t let them in.’

  ‘I’m not an idiot,’ said Kloytski as the knock was repeated.

  ‘What shall we do?’

  ‘Stay quiet until we’re sure he’s gone,’ said Kloytski, ‘then do some packing and depart as soon as it’s dark.’

  ‘What if he fetches the police and they force an entry?’

  ‘At the sound of the first blow, we’ll have to slip out through the back,’ said Kloytski. Again the knocker thumped.

  ‘Into the back yard that’s hemmed in by other back yards?’ said Mrs Kloytski.

  ‘We’ll turn them into an escape route somehow,’ said Kloytski.

  They waited. There were no more knocks. Kloytski took another look through the spyhole. He saw nothing. He went into the parlour, and made a cautious survey through net curtains. The street was empty.

  At that moment, Boots, Tommy and Sammy were with Cassie and Freddy, with Boots doing the talking. Subsequently, Tommy called on Mr and Mrs Hobday.

  Thirty minutes later, when Kloytski and his wife were upstairs hurriedly packing, their knocker sounded again.

  ‘They’re back,’ said Kloytski.

  ‘I’ll take a look,’ said Mrs Kloytski. She descended the stairs quietly, Kloytski following. Through the spyhole she saw Cassie, a neighbour with a very attractive and decidedly masculine husband. ‘It’s only Cassie,’ she said, and opened the door.

  ‘Oh, hello, Mrs Kloytski,’ said Cassie, a dish in her hand, ‘I’ve brought you some—’

  Figures materialized at speed from the step next door. Kloytski turned in the narrow hall and bolted for the kitchen as Boots and Sammy, rushing past Cassie, landed on the mat to confront the paralysed blonde woman. Sammy took a brief look at her, saw the staring blue eyes, then went after the man.

  Boots closed the door. Cassie, pulse jumping, went back to her house to tell Freddy she had played the part that Boots had asked of her.

  ‘I’ve seen you before,’ said Boots to the blonde woman. ‘At Belsen.’

  Kloytski was unlocking the back door. Except on the occasions when he or his wife needed to put something into the dustbin, it was always kept locked, even though it only opened onto a back yard. All back doors could be vulnerable.

  Opening this one, with the sound of pursuit at his back, he tensed himself for a dash to the wall and a leap over it. Out he went. Tommy, who had climbed the wall from the Hobdays’ yard, was waiting for whoever emerged. Seeing it was a tall, arresting man who could obviously look after himself, Tommy delivered a thumping punch to his stomach. The man let out an agonized gasp, doubled up and collapsed.

  ‘Sorry about that,’ said Tommy, ‘but I had orders.’

  Out came Sammy. He looked down at the writhing man.

  ‘What’s he fussing about?’ he asked.

  ‘Search me,’ said Tommy, ‘I just gave him a tap, that was all.’

  ‘Is he the Polish gent?’

  ‘I suppose so,’ said Tommy, ‘but Boots said not to do fairy dances with him.’

  The writhing man was mouthing audible imprecations.

  ‘Dear, dear,’ said Sammy, shaking his head, ‘I don’t know what language he’s using, but I do know Chinese Lady wouldn’t like it. Let’s wrap him up. Boots said to.’

  ‘Now and again,’ said Tommy, ‘Boots will keep playing God.’

  Boots had the woman in her parlour now. Her face was white, but her blue eyes were full of the fire of hatred.

  ‘You’re German,’ said Boots.

  ‘Yes, I am German,’ she hissed, ‘and better than any of your women. The English? Pah!’ She spat. ‘Wait, only wait, and Germany will rise again and this time do what our race was born for, become masters of the world.’

  ‘Unfortunately,’ said Boots, ‘you don’t have the right knack of empire-building, only a talent for exterminating people.’

  Sammy and Tommy appeared, with their prize, whose wrists were lashed behind him, his face livid, his strangely expressionless eyes bulging. Boots looked at him. Recognition arrived at once. God Almighty, thought Boots, he escaped Nuremberg too.

  ‘Well, I’m damned,’ he said, ‘Major Kirsten of Himmler’s SS, I believe.’

  This was the man sent by Himmler to arrange the despatch of all surviving inmates at Belsen.

  ‘And you,’ said ex-Major Kirsten between grinding teeth, ‘are the most cursed of men.’

  ‘I’ll have you know,’ said Tommy, ‘that you’re talking to my family’s Lord-I-Am. So watch yourself, mister, or you’ll get struck by thunder and lightning.’

  Boots used the captives’ phone to put a call through to Scotland Yard, and was connected to the Special Branch. Three plain-clothes men arrived no less than thirty minutes later, to take charge of prisoners and to carry out an intensive search of the house. After which Erich Kirsten and Hanna Friedler, once of Himmler’s SS, were taken away for a thorough investigation into their background.

  Boots and his brothers thanked the Hobdays, as well as Cassie and Freddy, for their invaluable help, then departed homewards.

  ‘Tommy,’ said Vi, wide-eyed, ‘I don’t believe it.’

  ‘I know how you feel, Vi,’ said Tommy. ‘You and me, we live quiet lives, except when Chinese Lady is chasing me over something I shouldn’t have said or done. We’re not used to sensations, but if anyone can surprise us, it’s Boots. Would you credit he could pick out a woman in the Walworth market and convince himself she was one of Belsen’s bitches?’

  ‘I don’t know what to say about it all,’ said Vi, ‘and I should think Cassie and Freddy were a bit struck dumb, weren’t they?’

  ‘Freddy offered to lend his muscle,’ said Tommy, ‘but Boots said it would be enough if Cassie could trick the Polish geezer or his missus into opening their door.’

  ‘I still can’t believe what happened,’ said Vi.

  ‘Vi, me girl,’ said Tommy, ‘you can believe my every word. Boots, Sammy and yours truly copped ’em, and some blokes from Scotland Yard took ’em away.’

  ‘They really were Germans?’ said Vi.

  ‘They admitted it once they were copped, and blowed if they didn’t brag about it,’ said Tommy. ‘Tell you what, Vi, Cassie was as chirpy as a summer cricket that Scotland Yard took ’em away. She said Freddy was safe now from that voluptuous woman.’

  ‘What?’ said Vi.

  ‘Voluptuous.’ Tommy grinned. ‘Came out with it just like that.’

  ‘Oh, help, and what did Freddy do when she said it?’ asked Vi.

  ‘Fell about,’ said Tommy.

  ‘Sammy, don’t you ever do anything like that again,’ said Susie. ‘Suppose they’d had pistols or machine guns, did you think of that?’

  ‘Well, no, Susie—’

  ‘If I’d known exactly what you and Tommy and Boots were going to do when you phoned,’ said Susie, ‘I’d have stopped you.’

  ‘Now, now, Susie, it was—’

  ‘Suicide, good as,’ said Susie.

  ‘Well, you know, Susie, when Boots acts the sergeant major—’

  ‘Yes, I know, you and Tommy behave like he’s got you on parade,’ said Susie. ‘Wait till I next speak to him. I may adore him as my brother-in-law, but that won’t stop me giving him a headache.’

  ‘Susie,’ said Sammy, ‘how many times have I told you you’re not supposed to adore him? Blimey, each time you say it, I can’t believe me own ears.’

  ‘Oh, dear, what a shame,’ said Susie. ‘Now tell me more about what happened, I’ve never heard anything more thrilling.’

  ‘Women,’ sighed Sammy.

  The twins had long been in bed by the time Boots arrived home. Polly, on hearing all the details, shook her head at him. However well one knew him for what his mother called his airy-fairy ways, one would have thought he would at least have shown some reaction to the events in Walworth, even if only a slight flush of triumph. But no, the steely light had g
one, and he was as much at peace with his world as ever. He had done what he was determined to, and in doing so had discovered that the man living with the woman was a cold-blooded SS officer first encountered at Belsen.

  ‘You old fraud,’ she said, ‘you enjoyed it all.’

  ‘A slight measure of satisfaction,’ said Boots.

  ‘Dear God, a what?’ said Polly. They were in their modernized kitchen, the preserve of their maid Flossie until six each day, except at weekends. Boots was eating a tomato salad covered with curling flakes of shredded cheese, a glass of his favourite dark ale beside his plate. The salad, he’d said, was all he wanted. Polly, sitting opposite him, had her elbows on the table, chin cupped in her hands. ‘A slight measure of satisfaction?’ she said.

  ‘You could say so, Polly.’

  ‘Objection,’ said Polly. ‘It’s like describing an earthquake as a slight upheaval.’

  ‘Hardly.’

  ‘The comparison’s fair,’ said Polly.

  ‘Well, all over now,’ said Boots.

  ‘Oh, just another little hiccup, would you say?’

  ‘Tommy did an excellent job on Kirsten,’ said Boots, swallowing a mouthful of ale.

  ‘You’ve already told me that.’

  ‘Well, it was worth a second mention,’ said Boots.

  ‘You airy-fairy old dog,’ said Polly, ‘you’ve laid a couple of German war criminals low and you’re behaving as if you’ve just been shopping for a new tie.’

  ‘Do I need a new tie?’ asked Boots.

  ‘You never seem to need anything,’ said Polly.

  ‘That, Polly, is because I have everything any reasonable man could want,’ said Boots. ‘Most of all I have you and the twins.’

  Polly’s eyes actually turned misty. That was so like him. Ever since the end of the calamitous war of the trenches and the return of his sight, he had been grateful for being alive. No wonder Emily had been fierce in keeping him to herself. Emily the spitfire, with her thin face and peaky nose, but glorious auburn hair and expressive green eyes. What had been her thoughts when she was dying from the shattering blast of the bomb? That she was leaving him, losing him? Perhaps nature had been merciful enough to smother any coherent thoughts.

  ‘Boots?’

  ‘Well, Polly?’

  ‘I’m grateful too for being alive.’

  ‘Polly dear girl, we’re two of a kind,’ said Boots. ‘By the way, I’ve invited Cassie, Freddy and their children to Sunday tea sometime. Will you get in touch with her and set the date?’

  ‘Sunday tea, Sunday tea,’ said Polly. ‘Well, that’s putting everything back to normal, isn’t it?’

  ‘Normal?’ said Boots. ‘Sunday tea with visitors is supposed to be special in this family.’

  ‘Bless us all,’ said Polly.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Bess Adams was home from her holiday in the Lake District. Sammy and Susie were delighted to have her with them for a few weeks before she went back to Bristol University. She was quite willing to tell them of her encounter with Jeremy Passmore from Chicago, and did so at length. He was, she said, a very nice man. That made Susie look at her with interest.

  ‘Very nice, Bess?’ she said.

  ‘Yes, and not at all like a noisy cowboy,’ said Bess.

  ‘Wait a minute, isn’t Chicago in America?’ asked Sammy.

  ‘Yes, of course it is,’ said Paula.

  ‘Unless it’s slipped a bit,’ said Jimmy.

  ‘You mean he’s an American?’ said Sammy.

  ‘Daddy, yes, if he comes from Chicago,’ said Phoebe.

  ‘Unless it’s slipped into Canada,’ said Jimmy.

  ‘Funnycuts,’ said Paula.

  ‘Half a mo’,’ said Sammy, ‘we’ve already got one American in the family. Our Patsy. But she comes from Boston. Chicago, well, I don’t know. Doesn’t Al Capone live there?’

  ‘Crikey, we don’t know any Al Capone,’ said Phoebe.

  ‘And we’re not likely to,’ said Bess. ‘He’s a long-dead gangster. And I think our dad is jumping the gun.’

  ‘I’m doing a bit of natural presuming if this bloke Jerry has made an impression,’ said Sammy.

  ‘Presuming is still out of order,’ said Bess. ‘And it’s Jeremy, not Jerry. Listen, everyone, I don’t even know if I’ll see him again.’

  ‘But, Bess love,’ said Susie, ‘you did say he promised to contact you.’

  ‘I also said he was thinking of going back to Chicago,’ said Bess.

  ‘He won’t if he’s got any sense,’ said Sammy. ‘Al Capone might be dead, but the place is still full of bootleggers.’

  ‘Sammy, all that was over years ago,’ said Susie.

  ‘Before some of us were born,’ said Jimmy.

  ‘Yes, their President repealed the act,’ said Paula, ‘and their pubs opened up again.’

  ‘Who’s giving us this information?’ asked Sammy.

  ‘Paula,’ said Phoebe,’ she’s good at geography.’

  ‘You mean modern American history,’ said Bess.

  ‘Yes, that as well,’ said Phoebe.

  ‘I accept the compliment,’ said Paula grandly. ‘Bess, what’s he like, this American? Anything like Clark Gable?’

  ‘Not really,’ said Bess, ‘and I think we’ve talked enough about him. Let’s just say I met him, and that I might or I might not meet him again.’

  ‘Wait till Patsy knows he’s American,’ said Paula.

  ‘But Chicago, I ask you,’ said Sammy. ‘Don’t they gun each other down there?’

  ‘No, that’s in Dodge City,’ said Jimmy.

  ‘Have I heard of Dodge City?’ asked Sammy.

  ‘The American Wild West,’ said Jimmy.

  ‘Why’s it called Dodge City?’ asked Susie.

  ‘Because it’s where hot lead flies around, and you’re stone dead if you don’t dodge it,’ said Jimmy.

  ‘What a feeble joke,’ said Paula.

  Jimmy smiled and thought of stunning Jenny Osborne in her RAF shirt. There was nothing feeble about Jenny.

  The interrogation of Erich Kirsten and Hanna Friedler by British Security representatives was slowly grinding on.

  The Parson was busy taking his time. He had Sammy and Boots under observation, noting their daily business routine, their prompt arrival at their Camberwell Green offices above a ready-to-wear clothes shop, their lunchtime emergence in the direction of a pub opposite, and their further emergence at the end of their day. Each had a car parked a little way from the premises. The spot fronting the shop seemed to be reserved for a small delivery van, which occupied it from time to time.

  A car job could be injurious right enough, but there was no way of guaranteeing the right result, which was required to be an arm or a leg. And guns were noisy. He never used a gun. In any case, guns left clues, such as the bullets. He contrived fatal accidents, like death by unfortunate drowning.

  He lay in bed one night thinking about the right kind of method. He had a woman he visited, but no wife. In his particular line of business, a professional couldn’t afford to live day in, day out, with a wife without her getting to know too much. And wives tried to do conversion jobs on husbands.

  A picture entered his mind, that of the two brothers leaving at the end of the day. They used an entrance at one side of the shop, and always stood there together talking for a few moments before separating. Four trousered legs all in a row, four knees all in a row.

  Got it. A bolt from the blue. That would smash any knee and leave the leg permanently crippled. It might even take the leg right off from the knee downwards.

  That’s it, I’ll use Little Blaster. Little Blaster’s bolt went right through a certain gent a year ago, making retrieval kid’s play, and the law still wasn’t sure what had made a fatal hole in his chest.

  The phone rang in Sammy and Susie’s house one morning. Sammy and Jimmy were at work, Susie was out shopping, and Bess, who had been home three days, had taken Paula and Phoebe up to town be
fore the young girls went back to school. And Susie’s daily help was on holiday with her family.

  The ringing phone went unanswered.

  It rang again half an hour later, but to no effect. That evening, Susie answered the ringing phone.

  ‘Hello?’

  ‘Hello, would that be the home of Bess Adams?’ said a man’s voice.

  ‘Yes, I’m her mother,’ said Susie.

  ‘Oh, good evening, Mrs Adams, I’m Dan Passmore down in Tenterden, Kent, and I’m phoning on behalf of my American nephew, name of Jeremy.’

  ‘Oh, we’ve heard of Jeremy,’ said Susie, ‘he and Bess met in the Lake District.’

  ‘So they did, yes,’ said Dan Passmore, ‘and Jeremy reckoned Bess might be coming home from there about now.’

  ‘She’s been home three days,’ said Susie.

  ‘Could I talk to her? Jeremy hoped to reach her on the phone this morning. He tried twice, but there was no reply.’

  ‘Oh, so sorry,’ said Susie, ‘she was up in town with her sisters and the rest of us were out.’

  ‘Ah. Right. Well, I’d be obliged if you’d tell her Jeremy’s had to go home to Chicago, his father being seriously ill.’

  ‘Oh, I’m really sorry,’ said Susie. ‘Please hold on, and I’ll call her so that you can talk to her yourself.’

  ‘Much obliged, Mrs Adams.’

  Bess, called to the phone, spoke to Jeremy’s English uncle, who said he was pleasured to talk to her. He repeated what he’d said to Susie, that Jeremy had had to go home to Chicago on account of his father being seriously ill. He’d received a cable from his sister, asking him to return as soon as possible. He was actually flying from London Airport this evening.

  ‘Flying?’ said Bess.

  ‘He always said that when he did go back home, he’d sail in the old Queen Mary, but now that he’s got to get there in a hurry, he’s going by plane. Anyway, I promised him I’d do what I could to let you know, and to give you his best wishes.’

  ‘Well, thank you, Mr Passmore, and I do hope his father will recover,’ said Bess.

  ‘I’m sure we all hope so. Otherwise, Jeremy says his mother will probably want him to step into his father’s shoes. He says he’s a farmer now, not a packaging expert. That’s his father’s business, packaging. Well, I’m glad I’ve been able to let you know about all this, Miss Adams, and I daresay Jeremy will write to you. He spoke very highly of you.’