Between Friends Read online

  ‘What for?’

  ‘How do I know? Perhaps Mr Willmer wants to show you his tame turtle.’ There was much ribald laughter which Meg ignored for she was well used to the broad humour which was directed at her own determination to ‘get on’. The other girls were jealous of her success and of her looks and the men frustrated in their efforts to get their hands on what they considered she flaunted and so they taunted her whenever they could, for the most part good naturedly for despite her ‘standoffishness’ she was always willing to give a helping hand to anyone in need of it.

  She took the lift down to the basement, surprised to find it so deserted. She could hear a telephone ringing somewhere and someone must have answered it for it stopped and there was absolute quiet. The light was dim for it was late evening and the bustle of the day was over. Those who had laboured had gone and the few who were on night duty were off somewhere in one of the dozens of small kitchens which honeycombed the basement. She trod softly through interminable passages, corridors, cellars and underground apartments, passing through empty kitchens which in the daytime would be crowded with chefs in spruce white linen caps and overalls, cooks and assistants, meeting no-one, hoping she was going in the right direction for the last time she had come down here she had been accompanied by Mr Willmer, the manager. Even he had heard of her thirst for knowledge and who amongst us can resist airing what we know? It was cold here for there were ice-chests filled with meat, game, poultry and fish, and she shivered suddenly and for some strange reason her heart missed a beat.

  ‘Mr Willmer,’ she called and her flesh began to tingle and crawl and she hesitated. The thought of being down here alone with all those slow swimming, quite obscene – in her opinion – creatures in their tanks was giving her the creeps and if whoever it was who had sent for her – who the devil could it be? – did not show himself soon, she was off and he could whistle!

  It was almost a repeat of the scene of two years ago for he stepped out from behind something, she could not have said what it was, like a genie appearing from a puff of smoke. This time the light was behind him, outlining his overcoated figure and his shadow fell across her, touching her with its cold presence and she began to shiver more violently. She could not see his face for it was in darkness but of course she knew who it was at once. Only his eyes were visible as they gleamed like star pricks in the dark. Like rats’ eyes will. They were cold and grey and narrowed and Meg felt the wash of despair flow over her, wondering as he walked towards her why she had been so naive as to imagine he had given up, gone to some other place and forgotten her. Men like Benjamin Harris did not forget, nor forgive an insult, an offence, an injury, real or imagined and though it was nearly two years since she had seen him he acted as though it was merely yesterday.

  ‘Well Megan, we meet again as I promised.’ His face was in the light now and his fox’s smile widened but he made no move to touch her. It would do him no good, she realised to create a scene here on the premises of Liverpool’s most renowned hotel. She was quite safe from physical assault – wasn’t she? – whilst they were here, even in the depths of the basement since it was too close to where staff worked who might come upon them in the course of their duties. Her thoughts were wild and frightened, darting like captive birds from one question to another. Where had he been these two years? What had he been doing? … The criminal fraternity, was that how he lived? His clothes he … looked as immaculate as any of the dozens of gentlemen who stayed here and why … why was he here? And why, why had he not come back to intimidate her … and Tom … until now?

  It seemed he read her mind.

  ‘It has been longer than I intended, Megan,’ he went on, ‘since I have been away. On business, shall we say, here and there, wherever there was a profit to be made, but I never forgot you, my dear and at the first opportunity which presented itself I came hurrying back to see you. I was distressed at first that we should be parted for so long, and then the delicious thought occurred to me that perhaps it was better this way. You had hoped I had gone, had you not, Megan? For good, I mean. You had begun to believe you were not to see me again, were you not? You were doing well, you and Fraser, and the old woman was spending her declining years in well deserved comfort and your world was shaping up very nicely, was it not? You had forgotten about me! I had dropped out of your life completely so how … titillating, it seemed to me, to leave it awhile! Give you a few months of believing all was well with your world, and then … pouff!’ he made a movement with his hands like that of a magician producing a rabbit from a hat, ‘… here I was back again. Yes, I liked the idea Megan. It seemed most appropriate. My word, it really is a most civilised way in which to collect what is owed one.’

  He smiled with silken menace.

  ‘Have you nothing to say, Megan? Nothing to say in greeting of an old friend? No! Then may I add that you have grown quite delightfully since last we met. One wonders where the time goes. You have become … a woman, my dear, and a most attractive one. But then you were a very pretty girl!’ He eyed her superb figure, gloating on the curve of her magnificent breast, her slender waist and the thrust of her curved hips. She was nearly nineteen and had reached her full maturity, tall, full-bodied and strong, five feet nine of superb womanhood and she carried herself and her height with a natural, quite instinctive grace.

  ‘And how is Fraser?’ he continued, not, it seemed, expecting her to speak. ‘Well, I trust, and getting on in his … career! Gardener’s boy now, I believe.’ His lips curled in a sneer, ‘And most suited for it, I suspect, whereas you …’ Again his eyes crawled over her, ‘… are going from strength to strength. Oh yes, I have my informants, my dear. I keep up to date with all the news of Liverpool. I am here now and again, of course, for I would not wish to lose touch, shall we say, with my friends. You understand?’ His smile was as cold as his eyes and Meg shivered again.

  Instantly he was full of false contrition. ‘You are cold, Megan? Now why is that? I find it quite comfortable here in the humidity which houses these handsome creatures. They are enormously interesting, don’t you think, and yet … stupid! They allow themselves to be caught, to be fed and even … petted, I hear, before being led to the executioner’s block. Strange is it not?’

  He made no move to touch her and yet in her imagination she felt his dreadful hand make contact with her face and neck and linger at her breast and she felt the horrified scream rise in her throat and he saw it begin.

  ‘Don’t do it, Megan. Make no sound for if you should alert the staff and bring them here you might be inordinately sorry. I got in here so easily and I wish to get out the same way but … if I do not, my friends who are waiting will know the reason why. I am a guest here, Megan, did you not know? Of course you did not since I am not on your floor. Oh yes, I know just where you work, my dear. I could have summoned you to my suite but I did not wish to draw attention to our relationship so I had a message left for us to meet here. Naturally it was worded so that it gave the impression one of those in charge wished to see you. More suitable, I thought and such a marvellous atmosphere down here. Do you not like it, Megan? The smell of … what is it, do you think? A strange smell … a smell of death … yes … for that is what takes place here, would you not agree?’ He smiled charmingly and Meg knew that if he should put a hand on her she would be unable to move to stop him. She was probably stronger, even heavier than he, for he was as thin as a garden rake but his eyes hypnotised her and her limbs would be frozen until he released her. She could hear the hiss of steam from the tanks up ahead and a curious bubbling sound and her head felt strangely heavy as though it was stuffed with bricks.

  ‘Well Megan, what shall we do now, you and I? We are alone here and there is no-one to hear us if we are quiet about it. Now what shall it be, my dear …?’

  He cocked his head suddenly, turning it in a listening attitude and though she heard nothing for she was deaf as well as paralysed, he began to move away, treading backwards softly.

  �
��It seems we are not to become better acquainted just yet, my dear, for I do believe there is someone about. What a pity! Never mind, you could come to my room later. I have some friends who have confessed to me they find you quite … delectable. We were about to have a party, a celebration for we have just concluded a most successful business deal. Highly illegal, naturally but very lucrative.’ He smiled slyly. ‘I confide in you since I am quite convinced of your … loyalty. But I must go, Megan before our trysting place is discovered. We must keep our … friendship a secret, must we not? Au revoir then, Megan, until later, and I hope by then you will have found your tongue. My friends do like to be entertained!’

  The cellar man who found her was most concerned, telling her sternly she should not be here alone at this time of night, and yes, the damp heat and the smell of the turtles could sometimes be quite overpowering and enough to make even a strong man swoon, as she had done, and to take his arm as he guided her to the lift.

  She crept along the passage to her room and her feet made a swishing sound on the oilcloth for she found she could not lift them to step out. For an hour she sat on her bed, deep in shock and she could utter no sound.

  ‘What am I to do?’ she whispered at last and a pulse beat painfully in her head. She stood up and groped her way to the tiny dormer window of the room which was her’s and stared sightlessly at the lights of Liverpool and felt a terrible desire to laugh creep up her throat from her chest. She did not know why for God knew there was nothing humorous to be found in the sickness and terror which swamped her but hysteria rose in her, choking her, shaking her body from head to foot.

  ‘How long?’ she muttered. ‘How long can I go on with this?’ She turned and walked on unsteady legs to the low chair and sat down. She bent her head to her knees and the dread and panic which had been held at bay by shock flooded her body and she thought she would drown in it as it reached her lungs making it difficult for her to breathe. What was she to do? Dear Christ, what was she to do? She could not go on with her life in the certain knowledge that at every turn, at each moment she felt herself to be drawing near to her goal, he would be there to pull her down. Her goal! Her dreams! They had begun with the plans she had conceived. They had thrived with the energy she had created, strung from her weary bone and muscle when they cried for rest but she had forced herself onwards and she was almost there. An hour ago she had been filled with jubilation, ready to take on the world for she was almost there, almost there and now it had been blown away as though by a capricious breeze and had slipped from her grasp.

  It was then that the merciful curtain fell about her and she slumped sideways behind it.

  It was six-thirty the next morning when they knocked on her door and Miss O’Hara was most put out when she could not open it.

  ‘Megan, open this door at once! Do you not realise the time? The maids on your floor are hovering about like marionettes without you to tell them what to do. Megan!’ She rattled the door handle, clearly becoming more angry by the minute, ‘… what on earth have you got on the other side of this door? I cannot open it. Are you ill, girl, answer me.’

  Had it been anyone but Megan Hughes there was no doubt Miss O’Hara would have given her no chance at all to explain this dreadful event, for an unreported absence with no warning was the most heinous crime to be committed in an industry which relied completely on the trustworthiness of its staff. Guests must be fed and kept warm and comfortable for after all that was what they paid for, and if they were not they would simply take their business elsewhere! Megan Hughes was the most reliable member of Miss O’Hara’s team and not once had she been known to be a minute late in reporting for her duties. She took no time off to which she was not entitled and indeed, often stayed on to work when her shift was finished. She was never ill, or if she was she did not complain of it. Now, like a bolt from the blue, she had simply not turned up for work!

  There was a scratching from the other side of the door and it opened a crack and Miss O’Hara fell back from the apparition which swayed there. If she had not known better she would have said Megan Hughes was suffering from a hangover! Her face was grey, quite shapeless really as though the flesh had slipped somewhat and her eyes had sunk an inch or two into her skull, deep and dusty and blank. Her hair fell in tattered swathes about her face just as though she had pushed her hands through it time and time again.

  ‘Megan … my God … what is the matter with you, girl?’

  Megan Hughes could remember nothing of the night which had just passed. She recalled his face, of course since it would haunt her until the day she died, and the words he had spoken to her, and the ride in the lift with the solicitous cellar man and her own pathetic gratitude when, concerned about her, he offered to take her to her bedroom door, for really Miss Hughes, who everyone knew for the sprightliest of girls, had seemed quite out of her mind about something. She had groped her way inside and the rest was shut away somewhere in her head for she could not remember straining every muscle in her back, as she must have done, to shift the heavy dresser across the door and even then her fear had driven her to push the bed behind it for that was where it lay, barring Miss O’Hara’s entrance.

  ‘Megan, my dear … are you ill? You look dreadful.’ The housekeeper managed to push her way through the small space between the door and the frame, then turned to stare in astonishment at the dresser and the bed, all askew behind it.

  ‘What … Megan … dear God, girl, have you taken leave of your senses? What on earth is going on here …’

  She looked wildly at the younger woman, her own face quite appalled by the expression on Meg’s for she stood there like a whipped child and for a moment Miss O’Hara was hard pushed to remember that this was the girl she herself had picked from the floor beside her scrubbing pail and groomed … yes, that was the word … groomed for the position she now held.

  ‘What is it, Megan?’ Her voice had become stern and she folded her arms forbiddingly over her ample bosom. ‘Has someone been … forcing their attentions on you? Why are you barricaded in here, girl, tell me at once. If one of the men has been … has made advances then I wish to know about it.’ Not for one minute did it occur to her to suspect a guest! ‘My God, lass, have you seen yourself in the mirror? Now then, his name, if you please and I shall see what’s to be done …’

  ‘No …’

  ‘No! Do you mean there is no-one, or are you protecting his name? Come Megan. I mean to get to the bottom of this.’ Miss O’Hara sniffed and lifted her head imperiously. If there was anyone intimidating this young woman she wanted to know about it. She was a good girl and besides she did not want to lose the best worker she had ever known, and if her manner was anything to go by that was just what was about to happen. Megan Hughes looked as though she was about to disintegrate beneath some burden which she could not carry alone.

  ‘Come Megan, answer me at once. What’s to do here?’

  Sympathy would have finished Megan Hughes just at that moment. If Mrs Whitley had come upon her, opened her arms and called her name, Megan would have walked into them, wailing her fear and her despair and would never have been the same again. She wanted nothing more, and would gladly have curled up on the old cook’s knee, if she had been allowed, and wept like a child. Like the child she wanted to be again, but Eveline O’Hara was not Mrs Whitley and would allow none of that, her expression said. Good honest advice she would give, if asked, and sensible support but no pampering of her work force. If there was trouble she would deal with it. Megan Hughes looked as though she was at the end of her tether but if she was about to hang herself with it then the housekeeper did not intend to stand and watch it. Get her back on her feet was her remedy in the only way she knew how. Hard work, perhaps a cup of tea first and in the satisfaction of doing a good day’s work this girl would recover. She was certain of it for Megan Hughes was made of strong fibre, her expression said so. It stiffened Meg’s spine and she straightened her drooping shoulders. She put up a faintly tremb
ling hand to her dishevelled hair and brushed it back.

  ‘No Miss O’Hara, there’s nothing like that,’ and the housekeeper knew she was lying but admired her for it just the same. She would shoulder this trouble alone then! ‘I have a … I have not been well in the night. I did not want to be … disturbed.’ She stared at her superior quite defiantly and dared her to contradict her and the housekeeper watched her as she quite visibly pulled the damaged threads of her self-control about her. Something had badly frightened this young woman and she was determined to keep it to herself apparently but Eveline O’Hara meant to find out what it was. She would get nothing from her now. Question her and she might be spun off into whatever dread had held her in the night but leave it awhile, watch her and perhaps she would give it away herself. There were a number of menservants, young and self-opinionated who would gladly give Megan Hughes a tumble. The only thing that disturbed her was the absolute certainty that, should one of them have tried it, Megan would have put him in his place before he had so much as given her the time of day! It really was a mystery!

  ‘I’ll … I’ll have a wash, Miss O’Hara,’ Megan was saying, ‘… and get changed and be down in ten minutes.’

  ‘Good girl.’ The housekeeper nodded her approval. ‘And, well, it might be a good idea if you, well why don’t you take tomorrow off? Go and have a chat with your friends. Now, ten minutes, no more and in the meantime I’ll get your girls on the move. God knows what they’d do with themselves if left alone. Sit and drink tea, I shouldn’t wonder, imagining themselves to be duchesses!’