1953 - The Things Men Do Page 2

  "Yes, Mr. Collins. There's a young lady out there, asking for you."

  "Okay." I pushed back my chair and stood up. "You might check the petrol tanks, Tim. I don't want to buy any this week if we can run on what we've got."

  He gave me a quick look and nodded. I hadn't told him how bad business was, but he was no fool. He must have guessed I was having a struggle to meet the weekly bills.

  I went into the dim, big shed that served as a workshop and garage. Apart from the equipment, the ten-ton truck Tim was working on, and my own truck, it looked pretty deserted and forlorn. There was room enough in that shed to house twenty big trucks.

  A girl was wandering around the tool benches: a girl in a dark blue linen dress, hatless, and carrying a lizard skin bag slung from her shoulder.

  "Good afternoon," I said, wondering what she wanted.

  "Anything I can do for you?"

  She turned.

  Have you ever tampered with a faulty light switch and got a sodden jolt up your arm? That was the feeling I got when she turned: a jolt that went through me and set my heart bumping unevenly and turned my mouth dry.

  Don't jump to the conclusion that she was a beauty: she wasn't, although her face and figure compelled attention, and any man would look at her twice, maybe three times, but there was more to it than that. She had that thing men go for: call it sex if you like: it was more than sex. It was an animal sensuality; something right out of the jungle.

  Her face was a little too long and narrow for any claim to beauty, but she had high cheek-bones that gave her a Chinky look, and her eyes were dark and sultry and held a half-concealed promise of unspeakable things.

  Then she had a shape on her that was as provocative as it was blatant. She wore that dress not to conceal her figure but to accentuate it. Her small, heavy breasts strained against the dark linen as if trying to break loose. Her waist was small It curved out to compact, solid hips that in turn tapered down to long, slim legs neat in nylon stockings.

  "Hello, Harry," she said and smiled, showing even white teeth, and when she smiled there was a sparkle in her eyes that was something to see.

  Every so often, during the past two days, she had crept into my mind, and I had wondered if I would see her again. I had half convinced myself that she wouldn't come, but here she was, out of the darkness now, better, more exciting, and much more dangerous than my imagination had made her when I had let my mind think of her.

  "This is a surprise. I didn't expect to see you again." I scarcely recognized my voice: it sounded like a husky croak She was looking me over with the same intent curiosity as I was looking at her.

  "I said I'd come."

  I suddenly became aware that Tim was staring at us, and I pulled myself together with an effort.

  Her eyes went from me to Tim. They stayed on Tim long enough for him to turn red and move off to the other end of the shed.

  "Funny looking boy. Does he help you?"

  "He's smarter than he looks."

  She laughed.

  "He'd have to be. I want to garage my car here."

  I knew instinctively that I should tell her I had changed my mind. The way I was feeling about her now was dangerous. I shouldn't see her again. I should stop it before it went any further. I knew that. I knew if I saw much of her, there could be trouble.

  "This isn't a lock-up." I sounded as feeble as I felt.

  "Besides, you'll probably find something nearer you."

  Her dark eyes flickered over my face. Her pencilled eyebrows came down in a frown.

  "I'm not asking for a lock-up, and it's near enough, but if you don't want my car, just say so."

  "It's not that I don't want it. I was thinking of your convenience."

  "You don't have to worry about me. I'll pay thirty shillings a week and five shillings when I want the car cleaned. Is it on or isn't it?"

  My mind was saying it wasn't on, but my voice said, "That suits me. If you'll keep it over there against that wall it won't be in my way, and it'll be easy for you to get in and out."

  The frown went away and her eyes sparkled again.

  "That's fine." She opened her bag. "I'll pay a month in advance. I'd like a receipt."

  "Come into the office then."

  We walked to the back of the shed, passing Tim who was getting the measuring rod for the tanks out from behind a lot of junk that was lying on the floor. He glanced up and stared at her after she had passed him. I saw his look of disapproval, and for the first time since he had begun to work for me, he irritated me.

  I pushed open the office door and stood aside.

  "I'm afraid it isn't much."

  She passed me, her arm brushing against my sleeve, and I caught the faint fragrance of her perfume.

  "What does it matter so long as the work gets done?"

  "I guess that's right."

  She put a five pound note, two pound notes and a ten shilling note on the desk.

  "I'll pay for the cleaning when I want the car cleaned."

  "That's all right."

  I went around to the other side of the desk.

  "Sit down, won't you?"

  She sat on the rickety straight-backed chair and crossed her legs, a little carelessly. From where I sat I could see a knee and a small triangle of white thigh where the skirt had rucked up. My mouth was as dry as a handful of dust.

  I got out my receipt book and wrote out a receipt. I had trouble to write clearly. The words looked as if they had been written by an old man of ninety.

  As I looked up to give her the receipt I saw she was watching me. I had an idea she knew she had me going, but her eyes were expressionless as she smiled.

  "I'll bring the car over sometime tomorrow. I don't use it much." She paused and then asked, "How's business, Harry?"

  I gave her a wry grin.

  "Pretty good today: pretty near a record. Two pounds in petrol, ten bob for fixing a brake lining, and seven pounds ten for garage hire. The money's rolling in."

  She gave me a long look out of her Chinky eyes, closed the bag and stood up.

  "If you can't make money one way . . ."

  "I know: you can make it another. I heard you the first time. Not so easy as it sounds. Maybe you've got some ideas you can pass on to me."

  She moved over to me. I was standing now, away from the desk. Her perfume was as sexy as her shape.

  "Do you want ideas?"

  "I'd consider them. I'm not proud."

  She reached up and removed an imaginary speck of Buff from my lapel. There was an unmistakable invitation in the black, sparkling eyes. I found I was clenching my Sets behind my back to stop from grabbing her.

  "Then I must think about it. I might have an idea for you."

  "Harry!"

  Ann's voice floated down the stairs.

  She stepped back as if some invisible force had come between us and had shoved us violently apart.

  "Are you there, Hurry?"

  A little unsteadily I went to the door and opened it.

  "Could you come up a moment?"

  "I'm coming."

  "Is that your wife?" Her voice was pitched low, and she moved close to me again.

  "Yes, I've got to go up."

  We were speaking like conspirators.

  "I'll be in tomorrow with the car. Good-bye, Harry."

  "Good-bye."

  She dipped past me and walked quickly down the length of the garage. I noticed her hips rolled a little as she walked. If I hadn't been in such a fluster I would have known she was deliberately rolling them for my benefit.

  I went up the stairs two at the time.

  Ann was struggling with the screw-cap on a bottle of fruit.

  "I just can't move it."

  "Give it to me."

  I twisted the cap. It didn't move at first, then when I tried again, it shifted.

  "I hope I didn't disturb you, Harry."

  I looked sharply at her.

  She was wearing an old sweater and a pair o
f blue slacks that had been washed so often they had shrunk away from her ankles and were now much too tight across her seat.

  A lock of brown hair fell over one eye, and she had a smudge of dirt on her chin. A half an hour ago I would have thought she looked cute, but now my eyes were still dazzled by the smart blue linen dress and the shape beneath it.

  "For the love of Mike, Ann, can't you smarten yourself up a little? Those pants make your bottom look twice its size, and that old sweater is fit only for the dustbin."

  I saw the look of startled surprise lump into her eyes, then she laughed.

  "Sorry, darling. I know I look a fright, but I've been turning out. I'll get changed." She put her arms round my neck. "I didn't mean to look a slut. It's just that I've been terribly busy."

  I felt suddenly ashamed of myself for talking to her like this and blood rushed into my face.

  "I didn't mean anything, Ann. I just want you to look as pretty as you always look."

  "Some husbands don't even notice what their wives are wearing. I'm flattered, Harry."

  "I don't know about that." I bent and kissed her. "See you in a little while. I'm just checking the ledger."

  "Found any mistakes?"

  Ann kept the books, looked after the insurance stamps and the rest of the inevitable forms. Once a month I checked everything, just to be on the safe side.

  "Everything's perfect." I gave her a light slap on her behind. "And get out of those pants. They're indecent."

  "Only you see me in them." She looked down at them with a comic expression of dismay. "Well, all right I'll find something else. Harry, I suppose we couldn't run to a new pair? They do save my stockings."

  Gloria's five pound note was burning in my pocket. I took it out, knowing that I wouldn't feel so guilty about her if I spent the money on Ann.

  "Get a new pair. I've hired space in the garage for a car. This is part of a month's payment. Go ahead and get them."

  Ann's eyes opened wide.

  "Oh no. I was only joking. We can't afford to buy clothes just yet, Harry. We owe . . ."

  "Never mind what we owe. This is something out of the blue. I'm not putting it through the books. Go ahead and get them. Get them tomorrow."

  "But we must be sensible . . ."

  "Oh, for God's sake! Don't argue! Get them!"

  I shoved the note into her hand and went downstairs.

  For some minutes I sat at my desk, feeling hot and irritable and a little sick. I never shouted at Ann before. I have never criticized her before. I could still see her startled, hurt expression as I left her. I thought of how Gloria and I had stood like conspirators when we had heard Ann's voice. The writing was on the wall. This had got to stop. When Gloria, came with her car I'd tell her I'd changed my mind. If she garaged her car here, I'd be seeing her often. I remembered the look she had given me when she had flicked away that imaginary speck of fluff. Women don't look like that unless they mean trouble. I felt something cold and wet run clown my face.

  Just to think of her that way made me sweat.

  Tim Greensleeves pushed open the door.

  "Will there be anything else, Mr. Collins? I've checked the petrol. There's enough for this week. If there's nothing else, I'll get off home."

  "That's okay, Tim."

  He looked at me, a puzzled expression in his eyes.

  "Well, good night, Mr. Collins."

  "Good night."

  When he had gone, I got up and put on a white coat just in case anyone wanted petrol, propped open the office door so I could keep an eye on the garage and started work on the ledger again.

  I worked half-heartedly for half an hour. My mind wasn't concentrating. I tried to keep Gloria out of my thoughts, but she kept forcing her way in until I tossed down my pencil and pushed back my chair with a grunt of irritation.

  I went down the long aisle to the street entrance and stood for some minutes watching the traffic edge past. The traffic was heavy all day, and Eagle Street was used as a backway to Piccadilly, to avoid the traffic lights of Regent Street.

  Across the way was a postal sorting office: two mail vans were parked in front of the entrance, and postmen were busy loading sacks of mail into the vans.

  I watched them at work without interest then suddenly spotting Bill Yates as he dumped two mail bags on the pavement I waved to him.

  Bill had been in my battalion during the war. We had fought together at Caen, had been wounded on the same day, and had spent a month in the same hospital ward. We had even been demobilized on the same day, and soon after I had opened the garage, I had discovered he was one of the permanent staff at the sorting office, across the road.

  He came over, a broad grin on his red, humorous face.

  He was a little man, nearing forty, with powerful shoulders and short stocky legs.

  "Hello, Harry: how goes it?"

  "Pretty much as usual."

  He winked.

  "Don't kid me. Who was that piece I saw come out a while back? Blimey! She'd got a dairy on her that had me throwing myself out of the window."

  "She wanted to garage her car here."

  "She did? So I'll be seeing more of her, shall I? Don't often get a chance of studying form down this street. Phew! It's lucky you're a respectably married man. Between you and me, Harry, she wouldn't be safe if she garaged her car with me."

  "Should have thought you had got beyond all that by now." I tried to smile, but it didn't come off. "What are you looking so pleased about?" I was anxious to change the subject. "Don't tell me you've got a rise?"

  "More than that: promotion. I'm Guard Yates from Monday. No more shoving ruddy bags around. I just sit in the van and look menacing. That's right up my alley."

  "Congratulations, Bill. What have you got to guard?"

  "You mightn't believe it," Bill said, grinning, "but every so often we carry valuables in these 'ere vans, and when we do, yours truly in the future will look after the driver and see no one gets the wrong ideas about the stuff. It's a pretty cushy job, come to that; a lot better than what I've been doing."

  "Not so cushy if there's a hold-up."

  "I wouldn't mind a little excitement. Remember the old days? Remember that time when you and me . . ."

  One of the postmen bawled from across the road, "Hey, Bill! What do you think you're doing? Come on and get stuck into it."

  Bill's face clouded.

  "The whole blooming lot's jealous of me now. Well, if these vans are going to get off tonight, I'd better do something about it. No one else but me does any work. Be seeing you, Harry."

  He went back to the van.

  When I returned to my office I found Ann there. She had changed into a frock and had brushed her hair. The frock was one she had made. She was clever with her needle. I don't know how I would have managed if she hadn't been able to make all her clothes.

  "Where did the perfume come from, Harry?"

  I felt myself change colour. Ann's eyes looked questioningly at me; surprise showing on her face.

  "Perfume? I don't smell anything. Perhaps—possibly Miss Selby had perfume. I didn't notice it. I meant to tell you, Ann. You remember the girl I gave a lift to the other night: the one who makes lingerie? She came in just now and wanted to garage her car here. She's paying seven ten a month. I thought it would be a good idea."

  "That's wonderful!" Ann's face brightened. "You know, Harry, we've lots of room here. Couldn't -we get other people to garage their cars here?"

  I looked sharply at her.

  "It's not a lock-up. Most people want lock-ups."

  "Well, she didn't."

  "She's not fussy. Most people want them."

  I lit a cigarette awl sat on the edge of the desk.

  "Bit of luck really that I gave her a lift." I tried to be casual but it didn't come off. "Give the place a bit of tone to have a Jaguar here."

  Ann looked at me then stared down at the floor.

  "Yes."

  We sat for a long moment in silenc
e while I wracked my brains to think of something to relieve the sudden tension.

  "By the way, Bill's got promotion. They've made him a guard."

  "Have they? Is that good? What does he have to do?"

  "Sit with the driver and keep off bandits." I grinned. "Bill says it's a cushy job. Trust him to find himself something cushy."

  "It sounds rather dangerous."

  "I don't know. We haven't had a mail robbery for years as far as I can remember."

  "Harry . . ."

  I looked at her.

  "I've been making a list of the outstanding bills."

  "Have you? Bad?"

  She nodded.

  "Eighty-nine pounds."

  I whistled.

  "It can't be as much as that."

  "It is, Harry. I've put that five pounds in the petty cash box. We must be sensible. We'll want every penny we can scrape up."

  "How about the monthly accounts? What do they look like?"

  "If they all pay their bills it'll be worth about fifty pounds, a little more perhaps. We shouldn't have bought all that new oil. We're not selling it."

  "That damned traveller! He'd talk a rat into buying poison. Well, they'll have to wait for their money."

  "I was wondering. If you got rid of Tim, couldn't I take over the pumps?"

  "You? Now look, Ann, your place is running the home. You do enough as it is. Besides, you don't know anything about car engines. No, that's not the solution. We can't afford to be without Tim. I've got to stop waiting for trade and do something about it. I've got to get an idea."

  Her brown eyes became suddenly alert "What sort of idea, Harry?"

  "I don't know. I'll have to think about it."

  We sat in silence for a while, then she said, "Do you really mind me wearing those slacks? There's still a lot of life in them, and I've got to think of my stockings."

  "No, I don't mind. Please yourself." I spoke impatiently because I was thinking what Gloria had said: I must think about it. I might have an idea for you.

  "Then I'll go on wearing them."

  I scarcely heard her.

  Could Gloria find me something? She might put something in my way. She might know the right people. She might even have influence.

  "Harry . . ."

  I looked up, frowning.

  "What is it?"

  "Is Miss Selby smart? Does she wear good clothes?"