“Let’s get you suited,” she said, taking his arm. She was in a white leather coat and red shoes with amazing high heels.
He wasn’t used to shopping in Knightsbridge. The assistant showed them to a sofa and brought coffee and biscuits before any business was done. Then they were handed a book of designs. Herbie was measured and they looked at cloths.
Chloe made all the choices. She had a clear idea of what would look best. She also picked the shirt, the tie, the shoes and the socks. The suit would be ready on Friday.
“That will do,” she said to the salesman, “and this is my treat, so I’ll settle for everything now.” While the bill was being prepared she took a wad of fifty-pound notes from her bag and handed it to Herbie. “The first thou, as promised. You don’t need to count it. Put it in your pocket and don’t get mugged on the way home.”
“What happens next?” he asked.
“You come back for a fitting in about a week and then you collect the suit when they tell you.”
“Will you be here?”
She laughed. “You’re a big boy. You can manage without me.”
“So what happens after?”
“You have a mobile?”
He told her the number and she stored it in her phone.
“I’ll be in touch,” she said. “Don’t lose any sleep. When it comes, it’ll be your benefit night.” She was texting as she spoke. “To my driver,” she explained.
As they left the shop, the Porsche pulled up outside. She kissed Herbie lightly on the lips before getting in. “See you soon, Herbie.”
He hailed a taxi. He wasn’t returning in the tube. He was in a bigger league now with his boxes of new clothes and a grand in his pocket.
In under two weeks the suit was ready. Superb. No one would have known he had a paunch. He was tempted to wear it to the pub, just to get a reaction from Paddy and the others, but he decided against it. They’d demand an explanation and he didn’t want to tell them the truth of it. Those yobs wouldn’t understand why he hadn’t spent the night with Chloe. He’d be a laughing-stock. And if he told them about the money they’d insist on drinks all round for the rest of the evening. Anyway, this adventure wasn’t over yet. Chloe had promised him a benefit night.
He heard nothing else for ten days. The suit waited in his wardrobe in its zipped cover. He’d unpacked the shirt and it was on a hanger next to the suit. He was beginning to arrive at an understanding of that strange evening at the night club — how a classy lady like Chloe must have been attracted by his chunky physique and rhythmic movement in the strobe lighting and then a touch disappointed by his Chelsea FC shirt and blue jeans when she got him home. Clearly she liked formality in her men.
He’d pushed to the back of his mind the sinister Brady who’d looked him over and said he would do. In Herbie’s eyes the night club episode had been all about Chloe and her taste in men.
The call came early on a Thursday morning when Herbie was walking back from collecting his paper and milk at the corner shop. Chloe’s sexy voice was unmistakable. “Hi, Herbie. Are you up for it today?”
“Try me.”
“Do you know the Black Bess in Hounslow?”
“I’ve heard of it.” But not in a good connection, a little voice said inside his head.
“Be there at nine-thirty sharp tonight.”
“In the gear?”
“Of course. Take a taxi. I’ll be inside with some friends. Walk in and kiss me on the lips and take a seat beside me. Someone will bring you a Diet Coke. That’s what you drink, right?”
“Actually I drink bitter.”
“Tonight you’re on Diet Coke. Everyone will treat you with respect, but you have to conduct yourself with dignity. At the end of the evening you get your reward.”
“I’m not much good in company.”
“Stay quiet then. Let the others do the talking.”
The suit made him feel like a movie star. He looked in the mirror and winked. Benefit night. He dabbed on some of his favourite aftershave.
He took the taxi as instructed. The Black Bess was a large pub in Hounslow High Street with an ornate Victorian exterior and a sign with a masked Dick Turpin galloping his famous horse. Maybe the idea of highway robbery had been the reason Herbie had been troubled when the pub was mentioned. He paid the driver, checked his watch, took a deep breath and went in. There was loud music and the yeasty smell of beer. He looked for Chloe and spotted her with some people at a table to his right. She had her back to him. He strolled over, rested a hand on her shoulder, leaned down and kissed her on the lips.
She said just for his ears, “What are you wearing?”
He said, “The things we bought.”
“The aftershave. It’s cheap. Wash it off at the first opportunity.”
The group had suspended whatever had been under discussion. They eyed Herbie with what seemed to be respect, even awe. One of them, he was disturbed to see, was Brady. Those cold eyes locked briefly with Herbie’s. Chloe said, “We left a chair for you.”
Herbie noticed it was a better chair than anyone else’s. He sat and drummed his fingers on the arms. One of the men (there were four altogether, all in good suits, and two women in black spaghetti-strap dresses) said, “What’s your poison?”
Herbie twitched. His nerves were getting to him.
“What are you drinking?”
“A pint of—” Herbie had to correct himself. “No, a Diet Coke.”
Brady snapped his fingers. The barmaid was watching, poised for the summons, and came over to the group. A fresh round of drinks was ordered. The others were drinking beer and vodka martinis. Herbie was envious but said nothing.
Chloe said to the others, “Well — what do you think of my discovery?”
Herbie came under full scrutiny again.
One of the men said, “You could have fooled me.”
The second woman said, “It’s uncanny.”
The man nearest to him said, “He’d good. He’s very good. But something isn’t right.”
Thinking of the aftershave, Herbie said, “Which way is the gents?”
The woman said, “Even the voice is spot on.”
Brady said, “I’ll show you.”
Two of them accompanied him. He felt as if he had minders, especially when neither of them used the facilities. He rinsed his face and used the dryer. On the way back to the table, Brady said, “Relax. We know who you are.”
But relaxing was difficult. The next two hours went slowly. The others talked among themselves about football and television, told a few jokes, ordered more drinks and did a lot of laughing. Brady took a few pictures with a digital camera. Herbie followed instructions and stayed quiet and sipped his Diet Coke, but it was a strain. He knew some better jokes than they did. He glanced a few times at Chloe to see if she’d forgiven him for the aftershave. He couldn’t be certain.
Finally Chloe said, “It’s eleven thirty, everyone.”
They got up to leave.
Then a camera flashed. Someone who had been drinking at the bar had moved in and sneaked a picture. Immediately Brady grabbed the man and pinned him to the wall. Chloe said to Herbie, “Keep walking. He’ll deal with it.”
The group reassembled outside the pub. Herbie wondered if he was going home with Chloe, but that didn’t seem to be in the plan. She said, “I’ve arranged for you to be driven home in the Porsche. You’ll find your pay on the back seat. If we need you again I’ll be in touch.”
“Is that it?”
“For tonight, yes. You did a good job.”
“I’d like to see you again.”
She said in a low voice, “Don’t push it, Herbie.”
The Porsche drew up and Herbie got in. As promised, an envelope stuffed with fifty pound notes was on the back seat. He tried to be philosophical and let the money cushion his frustration.