“good”. I don’t think she knew good art from fried plaice.’
By then, Caroline had brought out a parlour guitar and was singing in some other language, sitting on the floor. This evolved into a form of charades when one of the men draped a shawl over himself and said he was John Singer Sargent’s Spanish dancer. People started to make references that Denton didn’t understand. He knew it was time to go.
‘I want to thank you,’ he said to Gwen John, whom he found near the door.
‘Did you learn anything?’
‘A little. She was modelling for somebody.’
She shrugged. ‘We’re going to get thrown out soon.’ The charades had got noisy.
‘I’m going.’
‘Wise man.’
He put out his hand. ‘I hope we meet again.’
‘Perhaps.’
Her steady, genderless gaze reminded him of somebody else. Only when he was in the street did he realize the somebody was Janet Striker.
CHAPTER TWELVE
‘Actually, they were kind of sweet — more like a church social than an orgy.’
Janet Striker chuckled. ‘What on earth is a church social?’
‘My God, don’t you have those here, either? They’re gatherings, socializings, in the church or arranged by the church so people can meet.’
‘I don’t think the Church of England do that sort of thing.’
‘We were Congregationalists. Sometimes there were box lunches — each woman would make a lunch and then they’d be auctioned off — you got to eat with the woman, sort of a picnic-Why are you laughing?’
‘I can’t picture you at such a thing.’
‘Well, I was a kid. In Maine, before the war.’
‘It sounds so awful!’
‘Well, they weren’t. Anyway, the wild Bohemians were nicer to me than most of the toffs I’ve met, and a good deal more innocent. ’
‘Not as clean, I’ll wager.’
‘It was dark. But they did give me that one fact — Mary Thomason had modelled for an older man, an RA.’
‘“Man”, they said man?’
‘RAs are men, aren’t they?’
‘Oh, of course. Naturally. And they said “RA” and didn’t mean just any older artist, but somebody actually with the initials after his name?’
‘No, she didn’t say that, and it was only the one woman, no “they”. And she was about half-asleep and not, I think, the brightest star in the firmament. It isn’t much, is it?’
‘Every bit helps.’
‘But what does it help?’
They were eating in the Three Nuns in Aldgate High Street because she had insisted she wanted to work late despite being on half days. He thought she was trying to avoid him, not see him every day. Something would have to be worked out soon, he thought; he hated running after her, hated more not being with her. ‘Why won’t you live with me?’ he said.
‘Because I’m not a whore any more.’
‘Oh, Jesus, Janet-!’
‘Don’t ask me, then.’
‘Playing around with trunks isn’t enough!’
‘That’s too bad about you.’ She smiled. ‘That’s what an Irish maid used to say to me when I was little.’
‘You mean I’m not thinking about your side of it.’
‘That’s part of what I mean. What did you mean, “Playing around with trunks”?’
‘You’re changing the subject.’
‘I’m glad you noticed.’
‘I meant that trying to find Mary Thomason is a mug’s game. I’m grateful to you for going after the trunk, but it’s all too distant and too long ago, and while it’s something we do together, it isn’t like the real thing! Plus Mary Thomason is a distraction; I’ve got better things to think about.’
‘Your book. And me, I suppose. I should be flattered that I’m one of your worries, Denton, but I’m not. I don’t want to be a worry, least of all yours.’
‘And then there’s Albert Cosgrove. I had another letter today — three, all told. One pleading, two threatening. He’s come entirely unglued.’
‘Threatening what?’
‘Oh, mostly noise. Having a tantrum.’
‘You’d think the police could find him.’
‘The police have better things to do. They’re keeping their watchers on me because of the letters, but the truth is they don’t know where to look for him. Or how.’ He hesitated, pushing a rather grey-looking green bean around his plate. ‘I think he saw us together,’ he said finally.
‘You and me?’
‘I think when you took the trunk away in the cab. He mentioned the cab and the house in the latest letter.’
‘But the police were supposed to have been watching!’
‘“The Lady Astoreth likes not rivals.”’
‘Don’t talk mysteries to me, Denton.’
‘That’s what he wrote in his letter. Something about seeing me at my door with — pardon me — my “painted harlot”, and then, “The Lady Astoreth likes not rivals.”’ He speared the bean. ‘My grandmother used to read the Book of Revelation. Cosgrove sounds like it.’
‘And the Lady Astoreth?’
‘Something he’s invented or heard about.’
‘One of his demons?’
‘Maybe.’ He chewed the bean. ‘I bawled Markson out for not finding him. I wanted him to put a guard on you. He says they don’t have the men. I told him to take them off me; he wouldn’t do it.’
‘I can take care of myself perfectly well.’
‘You could put Cohan to watching you.’
‘I’ll do nothing of the kind.’
‘He could take care of Albert Cosgrove with one hand.’
‘Denton, it isn’t me your man is after. It’s you.’
‘We don’t know that.
She put a hand over his. ‘I’m sorry — but I won’t have somebody trailing about after me. Concentrate on your book. When it’s done, we’ll worry about him. He’s more pathetic than dangerous. You can’t blame him for wanting his manuscript back. Why not give it to him?’
‘It’s police evidence now. Anyway, I don’t know where to find him. Atkins suggested an ad in
‘He doesn’t know my name or anything about me.’
‘He’s a clever bastard. I don’t like it.’
She smiled at him. ‘“That’s too bad about you.”’ She squeezed his hand. ‘You do your work. Forget everything
