This time Evelyne was so startled that she yelped. There in front of her was Miss Freda with a large tray of toasted scones.
‘Shush, not too loud, yes it’s me, Miss Freda.’
Freda beamed at Evelyne, her frizzy hair trapped beneath a frilled white cap.
‘I work here now, I’m not supposed to talk to the customers, but I will bring you over some cakes … shusssh … then maybe we can meet and talk, yes?’
‘That would be nice.’
Evelyne was thrilled to see Freda, but a little worried about Freddy and Lady Primrose, at the next table. Freda gave her a little wink and scurried to her customer’s table, getting a stern look from a stout woman with an enormous bosom who was taking up her position at the pay desk.
While Evelyne eavesdropped on the conversation between Freddy and Lady Primrose, several waitresses passed her table, each depositing a cake in front of her with a wink. She ate her way through a piece of strawberry gateau, a cherry pie, and a large white meringue filled with fresh cream, and still they kept coming.
Rising to his feet, Freddy leaned once more across the table.
‘Can we meet this afternoon? I can’t bear being apart from you, it’s been three whole days, will you call me and I’ll arrange a room?’
‘You’d better leave, darling, they’ll be arriving … I’ll call you, I promise.’
Evelyne hid behind her napkin as Freddy walked past her table. One of the waitresses blocked him from view as she laid a paper bag by Evelyne’s plate.
‘Freda says for you to put the ones you can’t eat into this, but careful, she’s got eyes in the back of her head.’
Evelyne looked at the woman behind the pay desk while the waitress cleared Freddy’s teacup. She slipped three cakes into her paper bag and put it beneath the table. As she raised her head she found the woman with the huge bosom looming over her.
‘Your bill, madam.’
Had she been spotted? Evelyne flushed, but the woman pivoted on her heel and made her way around the room, depositing more of the little pink slips on other tables.
Freda sidled over to Evelyne. ‘Where are you staying?’
‘I’m here, room twenty-seven … I mean, suite.’
‘Here? You are staying here? Well, I’ll see you later.’
She whizzed away through the swinging kitchen door, thinking to herself that Miss Evelyne certainly must have more money than she knew what to do with.
Holding her bag of cakes close to her side, Evelyne gave two shillings to the stern-faced woman with the bosom, and her sixpence change clattered down a chute. She struggled to get it out with one hand, afraid to lift the other to reveal the bag of illicit cakes.
‘Do come again.’
Turning quickly away she bumped into Sir Charles Wheeler, who stepped aside and apologized then surveyed the room from behind his monocle. The cashier beamed and led him to a small booth, murmuring that she felt sure Sir Charles would find it suitable. He sat with his back to the room and opened a copy of The Times.
Evelyne pressed the lift button and waited. The brass was so highly polished it was like a mirror, and she adjusted a stray curl of hair … then her heart stopped.
David Collins strode in to the hotel, paused to smile at the manager, flicked his gloves off and walked towards the tearoom. He looked handsomer than ever, wearing the latest Prince of Wales single-breasted suit, a tie with a Windsor knot, and carrying a brown trilby. With an ingratiating smile the fawning cashier directed him to Lady Primrose’s table.
The lift gates clanked open.
‘Do you want to go up? Madam, up?’
The snooty bellhop doubled as lift attendant during teatime.
‘Third floor.’
Evelyne stepped out of the lift and the boy nearly caught her coat as he slammed the gates shut behind her. On the carpet outside her room lay a newspaper, and looking up and down the corridor she saw that there was one outside each door. At least something was included in the price of the suite.
The headline ran in big, black print: ‘Gypsy to stand trial for killings.’ Ed Meadows paid his twopence and opened the paper as he made his way to the tearoom.
‘Yes, have you booked a table?’
Ed stared around the room then pointed to Sir Charles’ table. The cashier was aghast, the man looked dreadful in a shabby suit and down-at-heel shoes. She was about to stop him when Sir Charles laid down his newspaper, turned, and gestured for the new arrival to join him.
‘Well, guv, that’s the gyppo up the spout, you seen the ‘eadlines, they got ‘im not fer one murder but free … I dunno, what a bleedin’ waste.’
Freda stood by the table as Ed looked over the menu. ‘You got eggs an’ bacon, somefink like that, eh?’
Sir Charles raised his eyebrows and turned to Freda. ‘Welsh rarebit, for two please, and a pot of coffee.’
Her legs aching, Freda moved off, jotting down the order as she went. She was tired and wanted to sit down, but she had hours to go yet.
Ed leaned across the table. ‘I just come from Taffy and his manager’s place, the man was cut bad an’ I’d say it’ll open up again first bout he has, be at least five weeks before he’s healed up, an’ he’s pudgy, you know, not in good nick at all.’
Sir Charles frowned. ‘You think the knockout was fixed, what?’
Ed spread his chubby hands and sighed. ‘Guv, that gyppo could’ve ‘ad ‘im in round one, what a fighter, it’s tragic — it’s bloody tragic. Far as I could make out old Taffy was bleedin’ surprised to floor the gyppo ‘imself. Now, ‘is manager was givin’ me the old story, yer know, about Taffy’s bein’ famous for ‘is left uppercut, but I said, I said, do me a favour, mate, the punch was a wide, open-‘anded right, couldn’t ‘ave floored a flyweight wiv it, never mind a big’un like Stubbs.’
Sir Charles mused, fiddling with his cutlery. ‘So … we forget about Taffy, what? He may be useful as a sparring partner, but I doubt anything else.’
‘You ask me, guv, ‘e’s ready fer the knacker’s yard. I got a theory, see the ‘eadlines? Now, yer know the police was after ‘im — what if he got tipped off and done a runner, like? Hadda go down ‘cause ‘e knew the law was on to ‘im? That’s the way I sees it.’
‘Either way, old chap, we come out the losers. Pity, really felt that fellow Stubbs was champion material, damned shame, but then these gyppo fellows are not to be trusted … Ah, jolly good, breakfast!’
Freda placed the Welsh rarebits in front of them. Ed stared in horror. ‘Gor blimey, what in hell’s name is this?’
Freda put down the coffee-pot and a jug of hot milk.
‘Will that be all, sir?’
Sir Charles nodded, picking up his knife and fork. ‘Try it, Ed, it’s quite tasty.’
Ed poked at his plate, then sighed. ‘Fair breaks me ‘eart. What a fighter, they’ll ‘ang ‘im … We goin’ back ter London then, guv?’
Sir Charles carefully cut through his toast. Yes, they would return first thing in the morning, he had some relatives he might call on. Ed looked at the orchestra and began to hum along, ‘Tea for two …’ Then he took an enormous mouthful of rarebit, chewed and pulled a face.
‘Sooner the better, I’ve ‘ad enough of Wales, Welsh rabbits an’ all … can’t taste any meat in this, more like cheese ter me.’
***
During her lunch break Freda went to Evelyne’s suite. She took a great interest in the furnishings, then flopped down on one of the single beds, exhausted. To Evelyne she seemed happy-go-lucky as she related, with little shrugs, the story of her business failing and the fact that she was working to save for another shop. Secretly, Freda wondered where Evelyne was getting the money to stay at the Grand. Perhaps she had some cash to spare, and they could go into partnership together.
