After he’d had another drink, Walter found himself shooting a line about the roaring forties and the head waters of the Amazon. It all came from books, for Walter Mills never had been any further than the Tower of London on a pleasure boat.
A couple at the bar joined in, and for more than an hour he kept them entertained. The girl wasn’t a patch on his pin-ups, and he guessed she was older than he was, but she had a nice complexion and soft dark hair.
“You made a hit with Noreen,” Mabel said when they had left.
“Was that her husband?” he asked.
Mabel gave a short laugh. “Curly? No, but he’d like to be. Noreen’s one of the lucky ones. Doesn’t have to work; she’s got money, enough not to worry about it.”
As he walked up the street to his lodgings he laughed to himself. How easily people were taken in. He was thinking of Noreen and wondering what her last name was, when it occurred to him that it would be a good idea if he had a new name. Walter Mills was too ordinary. He would like to be Captain somebody, but perhaps that was too risky. What about Marshall? That had something — Phillip Marshall.
Walter was mounting the steps to the front door when he saw his landlady coming up the area steps from the basement. It was dark and in the street light Mrs. Jones was looking at his suspiciously. In his new get-up he was obviously a stranger to her.
“Wot d’you want?” she called.
“I’m a friend of Mr. Mills,” he replied in a tone lower than his usual one. “Is he in, do you know?”
“ ’E’s never out so ’e must be in. Wot’s your name?”
It was ready on the tip of his tongue. “Marshall,” he replied.
“Well, ’e’s under the roof if you want to go up,” and with a sniff she turned away.
Up in his garret he smiled to himself as he took off the beard and rubbed his face. If he could fool Mrs. Jones, he could fool anybody. She wasn’t easily deceived.
To be a gentleman of leisure, to get up when he liked and do what he liked, was a new sensation for Walter Mills. With live hundred embezzled pounds in his savings account, he had no intention of getting a job till he had to. And it he had anything to do with it, he decided, he’d never have to. He had often dreamed of marrying a rich woman and lying around all day. Other people managed it. Why shouldn’t he? And if he couldn’t cut out Curly, there were plenty of fish in the sea besides Noreen.
But he found to his surprise that Mabel was right. Noreen Harper had fallen for him. Though he had to admit she wasn’t much compared to his dream girls, he could hardly credit his luck that he even had a girl, never mind once with a nice income and a smart-looking sports car.
He was soon taking her about to restaurants and fancy places in the West End that he wouldn’t have thought of going into before. Once when they were having a drink in the Black Swan, Curly came over and sat with them. Walter didn’t like the sharp way he dressed or the cold, hard-eyed look Curly gave him, and he was pleased when Noreen gave him the hint to push off.
Only one problem troubled him, his landlady. Whenever he went out dressed as Phillip Marshall, Walter had to creep down the stairs and slip out when he was certain Mrs. Jones was busy in the basement kitchen. Once he’d met her on the stairs and had hurried past saying he had been up to see Mr. Mills. He knew if she got wind of what he was doing, it would be all over the neighbourhood. They would hear of it at the Black Swan and that would put paid to his romance with Noreen. He didn’t dare risk that. He decided to move at night, when no once was about.
Walter found a room in a house on Maybury Street, which is two over from Corson Street, as he wanted to stay in the neighbourhood. He moved in as Phillip Marshall.
Because he liked rowing on the river, and also to impress Noreen, Walter bought a sailing dinghy at a boat club below the Embankment. It was second-hand and only cost twenty pounds. The boatman was giving him sailing lessons. It needed sanding down and varnishing.
One morning he was working on the boat when the tool slipped and cut his arm. Blood spurted over a canvas and the floorboards before he could stop it, but he managed to bind the cut with his handkerchief and ran up the steps to the Black Swan.
Noreen had just driven up and was going in. When she saw him she cried, “Oh, Phil, you poor thing; that needs bandaging properly. Here, jump in and I’ll take you up to my place.”
While Noreen was bandaging his arm her perfume, warm and inviting, surrounded him. Without realizing what he was doing, he bent down to kiss the nape of her neck beneath the soft dark curls. She turned her head at that moment and he found his lips on hers. The sensation overwhelmed him. He’d never kissed a girl before, but he soon found that didn’t matter.
It was late in the afternoon when he returned to the boatyard, elated and feeling very pleased with himself. There was still enough light and, as he wanted to get the boat in the water for the week-end, he went on working, thinking at the same time of Noreen. He’d wait a few days before asking her to marry him, he decided. After that he’d be on easy street. When he got fed up with her, as he already knew he would, he’d just have to get rid of her. There was always a way. Then he’d have lots of money and could look for one of his dream girls.
His thoughts were running riot when he heard footsteps coming down the wooden stairs to the yard. It was nearly dark but he could make out the thick-set figure of Curly as he came towards him.
“Doing all right, ain’t you, Phil?”
“Just finished,” he replied, looking down at the boat as he wiped his hands. “Put her in the water tomorrow.”
Curly’s large, hard hand shot out and caught him by the front of his shirt. “I’m not talking about boats, stupid. I’m talking about Noreen; doing all right, ain’t yer, Phil?”
Curly’s leering face was close to his and reeking of liquor.
Walter stammered, “I don’t know what...”
Curly reached up with his other hand and took hold of his beard. “How about it, Wally? Like me to rip this off and take you up to the Black Swan?”
Walter struggled to get out of Curly’s grip and tried to throw a foot to trip him, but Curly gave him a shake that rattled his teeth and nearly tore the beard off.
“Try that again,” Curly growled, “and I’ll stretch you. Wally Mills, the chinless wonder of Corson Street — who’d have thought it?” and he gave a low laugh. “Didn’t know I was on to you, did you, Wally? But I won’t let on, because you and me’s going to do a deal, see. Now listen; I got a load of stuff I don’t want round my place for the next two months or so. It’s hot, see, and you’re going to help me drop it in the river. You’ve got concrete mooring blocks with ropes and a float-can with a mooring ring on top, ain’t you?”
Wally nodded and Curly let go of him and took out a pack of cigarettes. When they had lit up, Wally asked, “Is... is there much of this stuff?”
Curly looked at him. “One sack — and it’s heavy.”
Wally had read of big robberies and saw a sack full of gold and silver candlesticks and plate. “I mean — what sort of stuff is it?”
“The less you know the better for you. What d’you think I am — stupid? It’s all wrapped up good and solid, so the water won’t get at it. My car’s backed up to the top of the steps, so let’s go.”
Wally hesitated and Curly came close to him.
“Would you like to go up to the Swan and have me rip that beard off in front of ’em all?”
Wally had been thinking about it and wondering if it wouldn’t be better just to take it off and be clear of the whole business. Life had been much simpler when he had been sitting on a high stool. But then he thought of how little money he had left, and of Noreen and how close he was to it. He knew Curly wouldn’t let on to anyone now he had something on him.