Chapter 71
Dottie had a new friend. After the success of her mission, she’d considered heading home, but the sound of the music coming from the underground bar had lured her back.
The new bloke’s name was Hal and he worked for the Ministry.
He wouldn’t say which ministry, said it was hush-hush.
But he seemed frightfully excited about it.
It was his first time here, he’d said. Heard all about it from friends at work.
The basement was a cacophony of sound. Dottie had to lean in close to listen to Hal, but she didn’t mind.
‘Do you come here often?’ he asked, practically shouting in her ear, his lips brushing her skin. ‘I say, that’s a terrible line, isn’t it! You must think me a complete bore!’
Dottie shook her head.
‘I don’t think you’re a bore!’ she shouted. But Hal couldn’t hear her. She leant in closer, shouting into his ear. ‘I don’t think you’re a bore at all!’
Hal beamed. He signalled to the barman for two more drinks.
‘Be right back!’ Dottie said, practically kissing him on the ear she was so close to him. She slid off the barstool, a bit unsteady on her feet. She grabbed her handbag and pushed her way through the crowd to the toilets. She was sweating from the heat, and felt a bit dizzy, now she was standing.
Someone bumped her, and she spun round to apologise, but they were gone. She felt like a pinball in one of those machines.
The toilets were empty – a minor miracle. She used the lav, then fixed her lipstick. Ruby had told her about this place, but she’d never imagined it like this. So . . . vibrant. Hard to believe this was all going on while people spent their nights in places like Tilbury, or the public shelters.
One more drink with Hal, then she’d make her excuses. What her chap back on the island didn’t know about wouldn’t hurt him.
The door behind her banged, but she didn’t look up. If she had done, she would have seen a man with a shock of red hair, and a stain on his shirt from the wine she’d used as a decoy when she’d robbed him.
What got her attention was the click of the lock.
She turned to see what was going on, but before she could see, she felt two arms around her in a bear hug.
He was behind her. He wrapped one of his hands around her throat.
Dottie struggled but he was stronger than she was, and her arms were immobilised.
‘Where is it?’ he said. His voice was calm. The calmness frightened Dottie even more than his holding her.
‘Can’t breathe,’ she gasped.
‘Give it,’ he said.
His hand squeezed her throat, tighter, choking her. She felt his fingertips digging into her neck, his thumb pressed against her windpipe.
Was this what had happened to Ruby? Dottie felt a desperate urge to breathe, but she couldn’t. The room was getting darker around the edges.
She stamped down on his foot, as hard as she could. Her heel dug into the leather shoe, felt between the toes. She pushed harder.
He let go of her and leapt backwards with a cry. She turned, but he hit her, hard, a backhand swipe across her face. She felt an explosion of pain, and a gush of warm blood – her nose broken, but at least his hands were gone from around her neck.
She backed away into the toilet cubicle and pushed the door closed, bolting the lock.
He had her bag, and she heard the contents clatter out, into the sink. Everything she owned, along with his wallet. Dottie hoped he’d be satisfied, having got what he’d come for.
The outer door banged, and then it was quiet.
*
Dottie staggered through the crowd. People were staring at her and backing away, but she didn’t care. The band music stopped, as a door opened in front of her, the doorman giving her a quizzical look, but keeping his distance.
The phones in the lobby were all in use. She caught sight of him, shrugging his coat on as he hurried down the steps, heading out.
He knew.
She followed him out, torn between wanting to follow him and needing to keep her distance.
The road was busy with evening traffic, but she couldn’t wait, so she rushed out into the first gap she saw, trusting the driver would see her in time. She got a blare of a horn, but made it across.
*
Margaret stood in the hotel lobby, watching through the revolving door as the young woman staggered across the road.
She’d been undecided – wanted to get out, get some air, but had lacked a destination.
Then the man with the red hair had pushed past her, and now came the young woman in the red dress, blood streaming down her face, following him out.
Margaret was curious. For all her confidence when she’d laid out the hypothetical story to Bunny – all that guff about stealing pearls from defenceless aristocrats, it turned out she really did want to know what the man was up to.
Some kind of confidence trick, no doubt.
She would have been content to let him run his game – who was she to judge?
– but now she felt a certain connection with the young woman.
*
By the time Dottie got to the other side of Piccadilly, the man was gone, swallowed up by the blackout.
Both of the telephone boxes in Albemarle Street were vacant and Dottie yanked open the door to the first one. She fumbled in her handbag for her purse, but it was gone. He must have taken it.
There was one thing he hadn’t got, though. She pulled his calling card from her bra. Dialled the number. It would ring, and she’d get a few words out before the pips cut her off. It would be enough to warn them he was on his way.