“Are you going to marry him, Polly? If you don’t mind me asking.”
Polly blushed, it was a question she had asked herself many times. “I don’t know, Dot, is the answer. Does Sorbay want to marry me? He’s never mentioned it, he was married before but never talks about it. Doesn’t talk about the future, not here often enough to talk about anything."Polly would not admit it to her exasperating man but she was worried about the talk of bombings and the imminent German invasion. Sowerbutt's assurances about his Blackshirt contacts were one thing, but England would never be the same again. Besides she and the girls could be hurt in the fighting.
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"Apart from your good self, Brendan, we owe much to your brothel-keeper friend, Mr Sorbay," Churchill growled. "He helped us save London and he has helped us persuade the Cousins of the righteousness of our cause. Our coffers would have been empty without him."
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Sowerbutt opened the last file and muffled a gasp. The first three sheets were typed in German; at the bottom of each was the unmistakable scrawl of Rudolf Hess. A fourth letter, written in English, bore the bold sloping signature of Walter Funk with the title of Reich Minister of Economics underneath. Glancing at it, Sowerbutt read that preferential distribution rights and manufacturing partnerships were being offered to American companies. A fifth sheet of paper was headed Summary of Tariff Treaty, Report to Secretary of State Hull.
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"Television was starting to take off in the years before Sorbay disappeared." The retired writer for the East London Pioneer, who still has the notebook from his early 1960s interview with Sowerbutt, said: "There was a waiting list for TV sets and money was still tight. Jimmy said he had a cast-iron alibi for the night. But the HMV factory up in Hayes was broken into and TV sets appeared in the East End, particularly in pubs, at a good price. No doubt, others were sold to the nobs in the West End at a much higher price."
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“You know the rules, son. I’m always ready to talk business with anyone. But no-one comes onto the Family’s patch without permission. If you are too young to know that, you shouldn’t be out alone on the street.”
Sowerbutt nodded to Nero and Tipper. In seconds, the youngsters’ cheap black shoes were off and tossed out onto the road, one landing in a pile left behind by the horse-drawn cart delivering bags of flour to the bakery. Next came the suit trousers and the baggy underpants. Without a second glance, the young street-sellers were racing westwards along East India Dock Road, suddenly swerving down a side street to avoid Poplar Police Station and the elderly reservist standing guard on the steps.Sowerbutt relaxed with a glass of Old Bushmills, George Melachrino and his resident band at the Cafe de Paris playing the new Tommy Dorsey number, Indian Summer. Before he left, he would check with Martin Poulson, the maitre d’hotel, about how the club’s liquor stocks were faring. He knew of several elegant London residences with fine wine cellars whose occupants had vanished to more remote parts of the country “just for a couple of weeks to re-charge the batteries, old boy”.
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Another Irish lad fell before One-Line’s onslaught, then he was caught up in the melee where Sowerbutt’s men were coshing and exchanging punches with their opponents. One of Spaghetti’s cousins was facing down a burly Irishman with his Frosolone flick-knife, opening and closing the razor-sharp blade; the Irishman mesmerised. The cousin jabbed at the big man, slashing his jacket. With a shout, the Irishman swung his fist, dropping to his knees and staring at his bloody arm in disbelief where a second lightning-fast lunge had left its mark. The cousin wiped his blade on the stunned man’s jacket, pushed him over and turned back to the fight.
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Sowerbutt, concealed behind a nearby holly bush, watched as One-Line charged the IRA line, bellowing like an angry bull. He had seen his friend run wild before; outside a pub in Whitechapel where some Reds drank. Three men had tumbled to the pavement like nine-pins, the other three fled. Inside the pub was pandemonium as drinkers dropped their pints on the floor, jumped the bar and raced through the kitchen, trying to escape the wild man.
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Churchill paused as he passed Brendan Bracken’s chair, his eyes twinkling. “Mr Sorbay, dear boy, deserves a medal. He was in the thick of it when we met. What messages does he have for us about his people? How long they can take the bombing? He must know how they feel, he runs half of London. I must question the fellow immediately.”
Sowerbutt picked up his glass of Old Bushmills. “The weakest point, gentlemen, is when the money-bags are in the warehouse. That’s where we hit. The caretaker is in his office and the Post Office lads are away in the terminal again, filling their faces. We’ll take some girls with us. An older lady, dressed as a cleaner, to distract the caretaker and two girls, dressed as passengers, for the Post Office lads in the terminal. Nero, find out if the caretaker is still up for a bit. Once his pants are down, he won’t notice what’s happening around him."
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A civilian came down the steps of Luton Hoo to welcome the visitor as he alighted from the car. Not a word was said as the black-uniformed man walked stiffly into the grand house, carrying his briefcase which was marked with a small golden swastika.
"Talkative bastard, wasn't he guv?" Nero said as they drove away.The aircraft slowly turned, lost height and made its final approach, its swastika markings visible to the onlookers in the moonlight. The Hurricanes circled in the distance, their pilots watching every move. “OK lads, as soon as it lands we’ll head out and pick up the VIP,” Sowerbutt shouted.
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Sowerbutt picked up his glass of Old Bushmills. “The weakest point is when the money-bags are in the warehouse. That’s where we hit. The caretaker is in his office and the Post Office lads are away in the terminal again, filling their faces. We’ll take some girls with us, one in each vehicle. An older lady, dressed up as a cleaner, to distract the caretaker and two girls, dressed as passengers, for the Post Office lads in the terminal. Nero, find out if the caretaker is still up for a bit. Once his pants are down, he won’t notice what’s happening around him."
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The aircraft slowly turned, lost height and made its final approach, its swastika markings visible to the onlookers in the moonlight. The Hurricanes circled in the distance, their pilots watching every move. “OK lads, as soon as it lands we’ll head out and pick up the VIP,” Sowerbutt shouted.
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By the time the car reached the hangar, a tall dark-skinned man with thick black hair and sunken eyes was standing by the stationary aircraft. He was wearing a leather flight jacket and pale blue Luftwaffe overalls. “Keep me covered, just in case,” Sowerbutt whispered as he stepped out of the car. “Welcome to England, sir. I have been ordered to take you to Luton Hoo for discussions with our government.”
https://www.amazon.com.au/Colour-Red-Deal-Sowerbutt-Novels-ebook/dp/B00RL9FGKM
A civilian came down the steps of Luton Hoo to welcome the visitor as he alighted from the car. Not a word was said as the black-uniformed man walked stiffly into the grand house, carrying his briefcase which was marked with a small golden swastika.
"Talkative bastard, wasn't he guv?" Nero said as they drove away.Polly put a plate of field mushrooms on toast in front of Dorothy who was sitting at the dining table in the Cheapside flat. “One of the few pleasures you can get off ration these days. Sorbay had some tinned Canadian bacon recently, but that went quick smart. If I ever see the dear gentleman again I’ll tell him to leave some stuff for you and the girls. You need feeding up, the rate you work.”
“If you see him? He hasn’t gone and left you?” Dorothy said.The aircraft slowly turned, lost height and made its final approach, its swastika markings clearly visible to the onlookers in the moonlight. The Hurricanes circled in the distance, their pilots watching every move. “OK lads, as soon as it lands we’ll head out and pick up the VIP,” Sowerbutt shouted.
https://www.amazon.com.au/Colour-Red-Deal-Sowerbutt-Novels-ebook/dp/B00RL9FGKM
By the time the car reached the hangar, a tall dark-skinned man with thick black hair and sunken eyes was standing by the stationary aircraft. He was wearing a leather flight jacket and pale blue Luftwaffe overalls. “Keep me covered, just in case,” Sowerbutt whispered as he stepped out of the car. “Welcome to England, sir. I have been ordered to take you to Luton Hoo for discussions with our government.”
https://www.amazon.com.au/Colour-Red-Deal-Sowerbutt-Novels-ebook/dp/B00RL9FGKM
