Desperately, she tried again. “I want my parents back,” she said in a voice that she couldn’t keep from shaking. “Do I have to sleep with you to make you act?”
He sat back and laughed. One of the young engineers looked round and stared at them. Radleigh saw this, and fell silent again. Then: “My dear Jennifer, if I were the kind of man you plainly think I am, my answer to that would be that you had to sleep with me to find out!” With a languid move, he refilled both teacups and smiled.
Jennifer felt a tear break free from her eye and roll onto her cheek. Another moment, and she’d have to reach for a handkerchief. If Radleigh did stand up to go, she’d never get out of her own chair. She fought with failing strength to keep control. Even as her vision blurred, she looked into Radleigh’s face. Though dreadful, it seemed to keep her from dropping into the void that had opened deep within her. But, when Radleigh did move, it was only to shove his right thumb into one of the teacakes and break it to pieces with savage ill-humour. He looked for a moment into its wreckage, then reached into his jacket for a gold cigarette case. He opened it and offered it across the table. “They’re only Lambert & Butler,” he said with a return to smooth charm. “But you can’t be too fussy nowadays.” He smiled at Jennifer’s refusal and lit one for himself. “Go away!” he snapped at the waiter who came fussing straight over. He looked up at the ceiling and breathed out a stream of grey smoke. He looked back at Jennifer and went through the motions of relaxing. “Very well, my dear,” he said at last. “Since you’ve been there, you might at least tell me what it’s like across the Channel. Is everyone really dying of typhus, as the news reports claim?”
As if hearing someone else, Jennifer found herself speaking of the dense forests, or the clearings planted with crops, of the dirt and universal poverty—and also of the cheerful monasteries dotted along the broken road left by the Romans that led deeper and deeper inland. She spoke of the ceremonious politeness and honesty of even the common people, and of the endless music and dancing on holy days, and of the eager welcome that she and her father had always had since his first contact with Count Robert and his friends. She ran on and on, in no particular order. Then—“So you will help Mummy and Daddy?” she asked, no longer trying to keep her voice from shaking.
“Your father’s an idiot,” he sniffed. “The worst I can say about him is that he probably knows the full nature of what he’s got himself into. If it were him alone, I’d already be across the road with you in Charing Cross, to arrange your return to Deal. You should never have left it.” He paused and looked steadily at her spoiled makeup—perhaps this hadn’t been quite as elegant as she’d thought it. He sighed and changed tone. “However, your mother is a most remarkable woman—too good for Richard. If I will now do whatever I can to get them back from the SSB, I want you never to forget that it’s for your mother alone—oh, and of course for you, my dear,” he added with an enthusiasm even she could see was contrived.
Radleigh took a long puff on his cigarette and looked happily about the room. One of the waiters mistook his glance and had to be waved away. “When we walk out of this room,” he said, not moving his lips, “you’ll hold onto my arm and smile.” He frowned and sat upright. “I’ll do what I can. There’s someone I know who has a contact. It will mean calling in some very big favours. I don’t promise anything, mind you—this is the SSB, not the police.” He raised his voice back to its normal volume. “You’ll have to pardon me for one of those calls that Nature makes with pressing urgency on men of my age,” he said, trying for the air of a jolly uncle. “I suppose you know the ladies is also up the iron staircase?” he whispered.
Chapter Eleven
Stepping out into Whitehall Place, Radleigh made sure to give the doorman a silver penny. “Some people, I’m sure you’ll agree, deserve more than rubbishy paper.” He looked up and down the wide pavement, before leading Jennifer to the kerb.
Behind them, one of the dozen or so geriatrics who’d been brought out into the sun was talking in broken sobs about a house in Edmonton. Apparently, his wife was waiting there for him to get back from the office. He was silenced by a Catholic nun, who leaned over him with a bowl of soup. Jennifer had sometimes wondered about the fate of the old in modern England. The news reports had alluded to the closure of all the care homes and their replacement by “care in the community.” It made sense that those of the incapable old who’d made it through The Hunger were being looked after by the churches.
“Come and see me tonight in my flat,” Radleigh said. “I’m sure you can remember the way. For now, I’ll have you taken past Trafalgar Square. The beggars who are tolerated there can be most pressing.”
He was again looking about, when what may have been the car Jennifer had seen the previous morning purred round the corner and came to a stop. One of the rear doors opened. It was the same car. And it was the same young man. “You’re late!” he said with haughty impatience. “I’ve been sent to get you.” He pulled himself out of the car and noticed Jennifer. His eyes widened. “Nice one, Basil!” he said with a change of tone. “I didn’t know you were into cradle snatching.” He laughed and gave her a leering inspection that started at her white high-heeled shoes and finished at her probably beautiful hat. No doubt, he was less interested in what she was wearing than in what she might look like out of it. He took out a creased handkerchief and tried to wipe dandruff from the lapel of his jacket.
“My dear Wapping,” Radleigh said, charm competing with a certain stiffness, “I was unexpectedly delayed. But there really was no need for you to come over.” He gave up altogether on the charm, and frowned. “I thought we had all agreed on confidentiality. I don’t regard official cars outside my club as within the spirit of our agreement.”
His frown deepened to an impatient scowl. Wapping shrugged and poked out his tongue at one of the dead CCTV cameras. Radleigh turned back to Jennifer. “I do regret,” he said, speaking very soft, “that the joy of your acquaintance had quite abolished all thoughts of other business.” He looked at Wapping, who’d been listening. He spoke up, as if wanting to be generally heard. “You must come and see me this evening in my flat.” He paused for a stare of theatrical lust into the top of her blouse. “Do come at midnight.”
“You’re supposed to be in Tenterden tonight,” Wapping said, haughty again. He looked at his watch. “So it’s just your belly you’ll be feeding tonight!” He sniggered and gave Jennifer another long stare of his own. “But I suppose I could stand in for you.” He wrapped his handkerchief about his left forefinger and began cleaning black dirt from his nostrils.
A baffled look on his face, Radleigh stared at one of the more decayed geriatrics. She’d put both hands over her face, and was crying inconsolably. Jennifer noticed that her ring finger was missing and her ear lobes were torn to shreds. “Yes, I am busy tonight,” he sighed. “So come to me tomorrow at midnight.” Wapping stepped forward and opened one of the car doors. He motioned Radleigh to get in with him. Radleigh didn’t move. He was watching two men with brooms hurry forward from the direction of Northumberland Avenue. “But you can’t possibly be thinking to cross that road by yourself,” he cried with an enthusiasm he didn’t remotely show. He waved at the carpet of steaming filth that lay between both kerbs. London had more motorised traffic than Jennifer had seen since before The Break. But it also contained a growing volume of animal traffic, and this made crossing the road a problem for anyone with shoes to spoil.