Sowerbutt's Trap

“Two big beefy boys roughed up Jack Shakes and no-one touches my friends. They were after his tenant who has scarpered. It’s a question of checking where the roaring boys have visited, where they'll go next and springing a trap,” Sowerbutt said.

“Farewell them, guv. You are not worried about how they go?”

“No goodbyes, Spaghetti. Give them a beating they won’t forget, strip them and chain them to railings, and throw away the keys. Take a bucket of violet gentian with you and give them a good daubing. That’ll get them twitching. I’m sending a message to their boss, whom we can’t touch, that nobody pokes their nose into the Family’s patch.” 

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Sowerbutt's Punishment

A crowd was gathering in Commercial Street to watch the entertainment as the two Russians were stripped and chained to a lamppost outside Toynbee Hall. “Swear words, I’d say, guv,” Cocker said above the shouting as Spaghetti started painting the two struggling men with violet gentian.

“Didn’t know you were a budding Rembrandt, Spaghetti. Where did you learn to paint?” shouted a voice.
Spaghetti looked at the crowd and grinned. “These are the Russkie heroes who did those poor Finns over last year and now they are cosying up to Jerry. Food and steel for the bastards who are bombing us out of our homes every night.”

An angry roar swept through the crowd. As Spaghetti stepped away from the Russians, the first over-ripe tomato from a nearby fruit stall hit, then another and another. A couple of well-aimed stones from the street boys followed, accompanied by handfuls of mud from a burst water pipe. 

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Sowerbutt's Jackpot

Sowerbutt roared with laughter as he and Tipper walked along Savoy Row. “I didn’t realise you found the briefcase, my friend,” he said.

“Wasn’t much in it, guv. Some official-looking papers in Spanish, a couple of scented handwritten letters and £200 in fivers which are in my pocket. And the bag.”

Sowerbutt peered into the small bag and put it into his jacket. “So that’s his game - smuggling in industrial diamonds. Probably flown in from Brazil on the Ala Littoria flights. These will be worth a few bob, Tipper. I know a couple of factories that could put them to good use.”
“A worthwhile visit, guv?”
“You’d say so, old friend. Cash, some vital information for Brendan Bracken and a small fortune in diamonds. We’ve hit the jackpot.”

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Sowerbutt's Hats

Sowerbutt grinned: “My Polly has gone into millinery, George. She has taken over a hat factory in Luton with some very talented designers.”

He took an elegant toque out of its box and laid a well-cut turban as well on the cluttered desk.

His face a picture, the chief buyer at Marshall & Snelgrove took hold of the toque, bedecked with velvet flowers, and held it up. He gasped: “Oh my, Mr Sorbay, beautiful, just beautiful. I love it, I could sell this tenfold in seconds. It’s a sensation.” 

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Sowerbutt's Robbery

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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Sowerbutt's VIP

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.

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Sowerbutt's Visitor

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.”

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Sowerbutt's Hopes

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.
"Regular barrel of laughs," Sowerbutt smiled. "Let's hope he brings peace."

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Sowerbutt's Departure

Polly put a plate of field mushrooms on toast and a mug of tea in front of Dorothy who was sitting at the  dining table in the Cheapside flat. “One of the few pleasures off ration these days. Sorbay had some tinned Canadian bacon recently, but that went quick smart. If I ever see the dear man again, I’ll tell him to start leaving some stuff for you and the girls. You need feeding up, the rate you all work.”

“If you see him? He hasn’t gone and left you?” Dorothy said.
“Just being sarcastic. Such an exasperating man. He came home in the wee small hours, waking me up. Then about 4 o’clock, some idiot was banging on the door and Sorbay got up. The next thing, he’s grabbing his clothes and he’s disappeared. No explanation. But leave me, Dot? He wouldn’t dare, he knows I’d skin him alive.” 

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Sowerbutt's Battle Plan

“They will come down the track single-file or two abreast. Muscle in front, perhaps the big guy that Nero mentioned. The leader behind him and then the rank-and-file. Somebody experienced at the back. They’ll all be armed. But they won’t be expecting anything, they’ll just be on the lookout for army patrols," Sowerbutt said.

“I want One-Line to start off at the front, his man won’t get up. I’ll go for the ones behind and use my shooter if necessary. The lads will fall in from both sides and I’ll put Missionary at the rear. He can use his shooter if anyone breaks out, we want a clean job. Brendan Bracken will clear up any mess.”

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Sowerbutt's Supplies

Churchill growled into the telephone: "Our brothel-keeper and his men will take care of the IRA. Any difficulties and we can release the story of a gang turf war or an IRA shoot-out. Yes, I approve.

“The brothel-keeper is well-equipped? Where does he get his supplies from? Should we lend him to the Beaver to get supplies flowing for our Hurries and Spitfires? Probably selling the Beaver materials already. I don’t wish to know any more, dear boy.
“We may well say Mr Sorbay is the man who saved London.”

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Sowerbutt's Mail

The robbery had gone smoothly so far. Two mail bags were stashed in the car boot and one on the back seat, covered with an old blanket. Sowerbutt was ready to speed off as soon as Sally and her friend returned at the agreed time. The lads would head back in the Chevy truck painted in the livery of a non-existent transport company and the Austin builder’s van. The plan was to drop some canvas over the truck’s side on the way back to the Smoke; the builder’s van had been smothered in mud and sand to obscure any names.

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Sowerbutt's Knowledge

Churchill paused as he passed 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.”

Bracken looked up with a start, he could not risk Sowerbutt meeting the Prime Minister again. “Leave it to me, sir. You must not invite him to No 10. The House would not stand for the Prime Minister colluding with a brothel-keeper. Nothing like that has happened since the days of Gladstone, a Liberal, thank God.”

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Sowerbutt's Housekeeping

The two men were sitting at the dining table in the Cheapside flat. Sowerbutt had insisted on covering it with layers of newspapers, “otherwise I’m a dead man. She will kill me if it is marked”.

Spaghetti had a pot of heavy-duty engine grease in front of him and was slowly rubbing it into his wooden cosh. Sowerbutt was cleaning his Smith & Wesson.
“That stuff stinks, Spaghetti, why do you always use it?” “An old boy down at the East India Docks, guv, gave me the tip. He used to tell me stories about the fights in the old days to get jobs. His length served him all his days, he still had it when we used to chat. The ones belonging to the other dockers would splinter on a dustbin lid or an iron bar.”

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Sowerbutt's Memory

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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Sowerbutt's Melee

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's Breakfast

Spaghetti knelt down besides his cousin, pale-faced and sweating but still conscious. Checking the rough tourniquet on his leg, he called to Missionary and the two men carried the wounded bloke in a fireman’s hold to the army huts behind Luton Hoo. An uniformed doctor cleaned and bandaged the leg before a camouflaged ambulance, bell clanging, took the patient to the new hospital on Dunstable Road.

“Alright lads, you’ve done well. Let’s be on our way and leave someone else to clean up the mess. See you in the Engine for a good breakfast,” Sowerbutt grinned.

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Sowerbutt's Cushions

Sowerbutt was looking forward to some time with his lady; a quiet meal at the George Hotel, round the corner in George Street, was the plan. The chef was past the call-up age but still passionate about his cooking. His liver dumplings with fried onions and roast breast of lamb with mint stuffing were legendary across Bedfordshire. Sowerbutt licked his lips thinking about the chef’s spiced apple fool.

Smiling, he opened the door to the upstairs flat to be greeted by two high-heel shoes followed by the local, thankfully thin, telephone directory. “Ooh, you bastard, I’m running out of things to throw at you,” Polly shouted. Fending off a succession of red, black and gold cushions from the settee, he made his way into the lounge He never knew what to expect with Polly, anger or amore. 

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Sowerbutt's Muscle

Brendan Bracken nodded: “There’s an airfield at Barton up in Bedfordshire. Flew in there on one nightmare occasion with Harry Wernher, never again. RAF has requisitioned it now. We could go on to Luton Hoo, about 15-20 minutes away, for the talks, Eastern Command HQ as you know. Besides Sowerbutt is working in Luton. We’ll use his muscle to seal off the area. The fewer official fingerprints on the envoy, the better.”

The military man swallowed the rest of his Black Label. “I’ll motor up there, sir, and make some discreet inquiries. We’ll need a flight plan from someone we can trust in the RAF and we can lock down the nearby RAF bases, AA emplacements, radar stations etc on the night. We don’t want some enthusiast shooting down the Jerry plane.”

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Sowerbutt's Rations

Brendan Bracken said: “The bombing goes on night after night, Sorbay. It is relentless. Our information is that more Jerry bomber squadrons are waiting in the wings. How long can London take it? How long before serious riots start, warehouses, offices and shops looted? We’ve had some bad incidents already. We haven’t got enough police to maintain order and we can’t call the troops out. Jerry propaganda and the American Isolationists would have a field day.”

Sowerbutt nodded: “The East End is on a knife edge, Mr Bracken. There’s much more you don’t hear about. Families won’t stand by and see their children starve. The high and mighty are eating well in the West End restaurants, while we are going without. Ration cards are fine, but if the housewives can’t find food for their families, what’s the use?”

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Sowerbutt's Diversion

"We’ll create a diversion in the empty building next door to give his lads an excuse to leg it. We’ll tie him up, strip the place and load up our lorries, then drop a match. The silly bastard can hardly complain to the stoppers about his black-market stuff being nicked? It doesn’t exist. Stuff for smuggling to the Russkies," Sowerbutt said.

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Sowerbutt's Supplies

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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Sowerbutt's Bombs

Polly smiled: “I’ll be glad of some decent food. The rations are hopeless, that is if you can find anything.  It is alright those politicians talking about fighting the Jerries on the beaches. Meanwhile we’re wasting away. Talk about slim figures, walking skeletons more like. Thank goodness for those tins of steak you got hold of.”

Sowerbutt took a mouthful of tea. “The fact remains we are in danger of getting killed if we stay here. Look at the fight the Brylcreem Boys are putting up to stop the Jerries. Day after day and planes dropping like flies everywhere. They downed tools at Manston the other day, had enough of it.
“The Jerry bombers are going to come for London and the RAF can’t stop them. We will get it in the neck. What about that raid last weekend, the City and Millwall copped it. I saw it all at Guernica, death and destruction.”

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Sowerbutt's Rules

“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.

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Sowerbutt's TV

"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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Sowerbutt's Housekeeping

The two men were sitting at the dining table in the Cheapside flat. Sowerbutt had insisted on covering it with layers of newspapers, “otherwise I’m a dead man. She will kill me if it is marked”.

Spaghetti had a pot of heavy-duty engine grease in front of him and was slowly rubbing it into his wooden cosh. Sowerbutt was cleaning his Smith & Wesson.
“That stuff stinks, Spaghetti, why do you always use it?”
“An old boy down at the East India Docks, guv, gave me the tip. He used to tell me stories about the fights in the old days to get jobs. His length served him all his days, he still had it when we used to chat. The ones the other dockers had, he said, would splinter on a dustbin lid or an iron bar.”

https://www.amazon.com.au/Colour-Red-Deal-Sowerbutt-Novels-ebook/dp/B00RL9FGKM

Sowerbutt's Memory

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.

https://www.amazon.com.au/Colour-Red-Deal-Sowerbutt-Novels-ebook/dp/B00RL9FGKM

Sowerbutt's Melee

Another lad fell before One-Line’s onslaught, then he was caught up in the melee where Sowerbutt’s men were coshing Irishmen and exchanging punches. One of Spaghetti’s cousins was facing down a burly bloke 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.

https://www.amazon.com.au/Colour-Red-Deal-Sowerbutt-Novels-ebook/dp/B00RL9FGKM

Sowerbutt's Breakfast

Spaghetti knelt besides his cousin, pale-faced and sweating but still conscious. Checking the rough tourniquet on his leg, he called to Missionary and they carried the wounded bloke in a fireman’s hold to the army huts behind Luton Hoo. An uniformed doctor cleaned and bandaged the leg before a camouflaged ambulance, bell clanging, took the patient to the new hospital on Dunstable Road.

“Alright lads, you’ve done well. Let’s be on our way and leave someone else to clean up the mess. See you in the Engine for a good breakfast,” Sowerbutt grinned.

https://www.amazon.com.au/Colour-Red-Deal-Sowerbutt-Novels-ebook/dp/B00RL9FGKM

Sowerbutt's Cushions

Sowerbutt was looking forward to some time with his lady; a quiet meal at the George Hotel, round the corner in George Street, Luton was the plan. The chef was past the call-up age but still passionate about his cooking. His liver dumplings with fried onions and roast breast of lamb with mint stuffing were legendary. Sowerbutt licked his lips thinking about the chef’s spiced apple fool.

Smiling, he opened the door to the upstairs flat to be greeted by two high-heel shoes followed by the local, thankfully thin, telephone directory. “Ooh, you bastard, I’m running out of things to throw at you,” Polly shouted. Fending off a succession of red, black and gold cushions from the settee, he made his way into the lounge. He never knew what to expect with Polly, anger or amore.

https://www.amazon.com.au/Colour-Red-Deal-Sowerbutt-Novels-ebook/dp/B00RL9FGKM

Sowerbutt's Muscle

Brendan Bracken nodded: “There’s an airfield at Barton in Bedfordshire. Landed there on one nightmare occasion with Harry Wernher, never again. RAF has requisitioned it. We could go on to Luton Hoo, about 15-20 minutes away, for the talks, Eastern Command HQ. Besides Sowerbutt is working in Luton. We’ll use his muscle to seal off the area. The fewer official fingerprints on our envoy, the better.”

The military man swallowed the rest of his Black Label. “I’ll motor up there, sir, and make some discreet inquiries. We’ll need a flight plan from someone we can trust in the RAF and we can lock down the nearby RAF bases, AA emplacements, radar stations etc on the night. We don’t want some enthusiast shooting down the Jerry plane.”

https://www.amazon.com.au/Colour-Red-Deal-Sowerbutt-Novels-ebook/dp/B00RL9FGKM

Sowerbutt's Nightlife

The atmosphere in the fashionable Café de Paris in Coventry Street was different to his last visit, Sowerbutt thought. Quieter, more sombre. A lot of the men were in uniform, one with a black patch over an eye, another with his sleeve  pinned across his chest, glinting with several medals. He spotted several ladies in smart ATS uniform; women in the Army took some getting used to. The chatter and laughter seemed forced. The bombing in London was non-stop now, night after night after night.

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Sowerbutt's Break-In

Sowerbutt, Spaghetti and Tipper sat in the pitch black, many feet below London's streets. The Central Line tube had stopped for the fifth time in as many minutes. "Electricity supply, guv," Tipper said. "Too early for bombs though we are safe enough down here."

Glancing round the empty carriage, Sowerbutt said: "You're clear about what we are doing. The Brigadier's security lads are bending over backwards to help us.
"His lads from the GPO have been inside the US Embassy for a couple of days, fixing faults. They'll slip a window for us on the ground floor. I've got a map of the building from the Brigadier's mates at Westminster Council. We'll head straight for Joe Kennedy's study. Good being on the side of the righteous for a change."

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Sowerbutt's Letter

"To tell you the truth, Mr Sorbay, I wasn't sure what to do with it," Dipper, a long sausage of a man, said. "It was over our boiled eggs this morning that the missus remembered our recent work together was for a government bloke, you said."

Sitting in the front room of the Stoke Newington house, Sowerbutt looked at the typewritten letter. The flimsy paper had been folded but the signature was unmistakable, a bold Rudolf Hess trailing off the sheet as though the writer was losing concentration.
"When I saw it was in German, I got Panda to have a squint. He did those German courses with Spaghetti a while ago?
"It talks about the Old World oppressing the colonial peoples and exploiting their trade. The New World should take them over and make them democracies. The Yanks are trying to pinch our Empire."

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Sowerbutt's Find

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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Sowerbutt's Thanks

"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's Revenge

The early edition of the Evening Standard was leading on a story about a Russian being found unconscious outside a notorious Soho club in a state of undress, as the paper put it. It speculated that he was a senior diplomat conducting secret negotiations in London and quoted an unnamed police source as saying the police forensic laboratory was examining a restricted substance found on the man’s body. Neither the Foreign Office nor the Soviet Embassy had any comment.

https://www.amazon.com.au/Colour-Red-Deal-Sowerbutt-Novels-ebook/dp/B00RL9FGKM

Sowerbutt's Supplies

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”. 

https://www.amazon.com.au/Colour-Red-Deal-Sowerbutt-Novels-ebook/dp/B00RL9FGKM

Sowerbutt's Warning

Brendan Bracken said: “The bombing goes on night after night, Sorbay. It is relentless. Our information is that more Jerry bomber squadrons are waiting in the wings. How long can London take it? How long before serious riots start, warehouses, offices and shops looted? We’ve had some bad incidents already as I’m sure you’ve heard. We haven’t got enough police to maintain order and we can’t call the troops out. Jerry propaganda and the American Isolationists would have a field day.”

Sowerbutt nodded: “The East End is on a knife edge, Mr Bracken. There’s much more you don’t hear about. Families won’t stand by and see their children starve. The high and mighty are eating well in the West End restaurants, while we are going without. Ration cards are fine, but if the housewives can’t find food for their families, what’s the use?”

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Sowerbutt's Suspicions

 

“You’ll meet your Jerry guest and do the honours at the airfield or Mr Bracken?”

The military man smiled thinly. “Rather you did it yourself, old boy. There’ll be a small RAF team in the control tower, looking after the lights and so on. But they’ll be keeping to themselves. You might like to pick up the parcel by yourselves and deliver it to us at Eastern Command HQ in Luton Hoo where we’ll take over.”

Sowerbutt swallowed the rest of his Old Bushmills. “Am I being set up as the patsy if anything goes wrong?”

“Certainly not, wouldn't dream of it. You know Churchill has a soft spot for you. "

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Sowerbutt's Ballet Lessons

Sowerbutt had not expected Coach Marigold’s answer when he asked his old friend whether much had happened during his recent weeks away. The gymnasium in King George’s Hall on East India Dock Road had been the same since he boxed there as a boy. The two men always laughed at the Coach’s standard reply, “the only change is that we are getting older”.

Coach would never admit it openly but he was pleased to see the hard-faced businessman back in Poplar. He blurted out: “We’ve started ballet lessons.”

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Sowerbutt's Invasion

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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Sowerbutt's Rations

“Dublin was disappointing,” Sowerbutt said. “I checked the books for that half-share in the brothel, but there wasn’t the turnover. Plenty of red-blooded lads, but it is a small town, too strait-laced.

“Still it was good to catch up with the Blueshirts I knew in Spain and we’ll be getting some deliveries soon of Irish beef and butter. Make a pretty penny.”
Polly smiled: “I’ll be glad of some decent food. The rations are hopeless, if you can find anything.  It is alright those politicians talking about fighting the Jerries on the beaches. Meanwhile we’re wasting away. Thank goodness for your tins of steak.

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Sowerbutt's Necklace

“Did I show you what Sorbay bought me last time he was in trouble.” Polly slipped into the bedroom, bringing back the stunning silver necklace studded with small diamonds.

“Oh Polly. That’s beautiful. You should wear it and enjoy it. He’s very fond of you?”
“I suppose you’re right, Dot. I’m like most East End girls, hiding away their valuables somewhere safe in case they are caught in a raid.”

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Sowerbutt's Prospects

“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 or not. 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."

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Sowerbutt's Fears

“After a couple of glasses, she told me that first thing this morning, he was up at Luton Hoo with some IRA bloke. She is scared, doesn’t want her new boyfriend to be locked up like her old man. Says she doesn’t want to be on her own again.”

Sowerbutt was on his feet, strapping on his shoulder holster. “Christ, Nero. An IRA attack on Luton Hoo. An attack on the army base or do they know who is staying there? Why would they want to kill our VIP or do they want to kidnap him like the Haganah?”

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Sowerbutt's Mission

"The brothel-keeper and his men will secure the airfield. Less conspicuous and no official fingerprints, Prime Minister. He and his men were Blackshirts, so it could be described as an attempted coup, led by Jerry, if anything should emerge into the public arena," Brendan Bracken said.

“Sorbay will drive the Jerry envoy down to Luton Hoo, 20 minutes away. Good security there being the new Eastern Command HQ."

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Sowerbutt's Letter

“This is a letter to Madame Komarovski from the son of an old friend from her Moscow days. He goes on about poor Papa who died at the hands of the evil Reds and cursing them until his dying breath. After getting that lot off his chest, he comes to the point. Could she put up a seaman friend from Lisbon who has a letter for the English government from Jerry? Just until he finds his feet and gets hold of the VIPs he is supposed to contact.”

“Brilliant, guv,” Spaghetti said. “That bit about the Reds sounds genuine.”
“That should be bait enough for the Reds,” Sowerbutt said. “Pop and his matchbox men can keep watch on the streets and send a message when the Russkies are coming. We’ll grab them and hold them in the old laundry near Queens Theatre, the one that took a couple of incendiaries."

https://www.amazon.com.au/Colour-Red-Deal-Sowerbutt-Novels-ebook/dp/B00RL9FGKM