“First we are going, then we
we’re not. Or at least you say you’re not, James, you are dumping me in the
back of beyond, then swanning off somewhere by yourself. I’ve told you before I
am not going anywhere by myself. We go together or not at all.” The attractive
redhead stood in the private office at the back of the brothel bar,
arms firmly planted on her hips.
Her look with her thin smile
sent shivers up Sowerbutt’s back. Standover merchants, hard cases, the Stepney
Reds did not faze him, but Polly. One look and he was helpless.“It’s not like that, Polly. We’re leaving London to make sure you are safe from the bombing which is about to start at any tick of the clock. Gingernut has offered me a fistful of readies again to do a job for him which will take a few days. Then I’ll be back, that’s all. Tipper and Nero are staying in the house in Luton with you to make sure everything is good.
“That’s another thing, James if you care to remember,” Polly said angrily, jabbing her man painfully in the ribs with her fingers, a trick she had learnt from her mother when she ran the brothel. “I haven’t seen your wonderful little house, have I? Has it been painted or is there a single stick of furniture there? Do they have proper bathrooms in Luton, I am not using a lean-to. Nor am I living in a slum. You go off buying these places without talking to your partner - is that what I’m called or not these days?”
Sowerbutt was not game to tell her that the builders had been working from dawn to dusk on the building in Cheapside. The shop windows were blacked out and a sign said the cobbler’s business had closed for the duration. The outside toilet had been demolished and a new bathroom and American kitchen complete with refrigerator put in. The latest furniture from John Lewis in Oxford Street had been transported by army lorries up the A1; a local contractor, supplied with petrol coupons, bringing the loads across to Luton.
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