The Toff and the Fallen Angels - John Creasey

CHAPTER 2

Fallen Angels

 

NAOMI SMITH smiled at Rollison, and something in her expression told him that she knew what had flashed into his mind, and was amused. She was dressed in a dark brown suit of good cut, with a most attractive figure. As she sat down he noticed her well-shaped legs, the skirt, which was short but not too short, the hand-made shoes, which were lighter than her suit but toned in with it.

As he took in these details, he moved towards a corner cabinet.

“What will you have to drink?”

“A gin and French, please.”

He poured out a whisky and soda for himself, carried the drinks across and sat down opposite her, the small table in between.

“Cheers.”

“Cheers.” Naomi Smith sipped. “And thank you for your courtesy.”

Rollison gave a vague gesture of acknowledgement.

“How can I help you?” As she stared at him with a curiously quizzical expression, he added, smiling: “Or have you come to help me?”

She had a very good complexion for a woman in her forties, he reflected. He was beginning to like her. Almost at once he reminded himself that she might have come to beg or to borrow, even to con him. Back in his memory he remembered a very plain woman named Belle, as convincing a confidence trickster as any he had ever met.

“No,” she said. “I want your help.”

He should have been wary, but he was not.

“In what way?”

“It’s a little difficult to explain simply,” she said. “Will you bear with me if I seem to ramble?” she sipped again. “I am the resident superintendent of a rather unusual hostel, for young women, and I am troubled by a situation which has developed quite recently. Something is frightening them, and two have left without any explanation. I could go to the police but if I did so there might be a scandal, and I’m sure that many of them would greatly resent it. And my control is positive but yet delicately balanced. I could undo in one day what I’ve done—or tried to do—over several years. These are not the easiest days for young people—or for those who try to help and guide them.” Naomi Smith paused, “Have I made any sense to you?”

“In some ways, a great deal,” said Rollison. He considered, and then said tentatively: “You run a hostel for fallen angels, I gather?”

Her smile disappeared, but not in disapproval.

“A very apt description.”

“Very special angels, I gather,” he said drily.

“They are indeed! And mine is a very special hostel’ “Do you own it?” Rollison asked.

No. I manage it fur a group of people who are greatly concerned for these particular young women.”

“I see,” said Rollison. “Is it a semi-luxury hostel?”

“In a way, yes.”

“Requiring certain qualifications,” remarked Rollison. He finished his drink, and gave a much warmer smile. “Would it be better for you to tell me more about the hostel, rather than have me ask a lot of questions?”

She considered, and then answered:

“If you will answer me one question satisfactorily, I will gladly answer all of yours.”

“That’s fair enough,” said Rollison, feeling more and more curious every moment. “I’ll try to be satisfactory!”

“Thank you. The question is, are you strongly prejudiced against young women whom you call ‘fallen angels’? Do you condemn them out of hand as being beyond the pale?”

Rollison began to like this woman very much. He settled further back in his chair, placed the tips of his fingers together and appeared to look over the rim of nonexistent glasses. He contrived, in those moments, to appear a little like the caricature of a pedantic parson.

“No,” he said. “I do not. On the other hand I don’t see the wisdom or expediency of encouraging them unduly.” After a fractional pause, he went on: “Is that satisfactory?”

“Yes,” she said, smiling again. “Yes. Ask me whatever you wish.”

“Very well,” said Rollison. “Will you stay for lunch?” She was obviously taken aback, almost confused.

“How very nice of you! I—” there was another fractional pause. “Yes, I would like that very much. Thank you.”

“I have a feeling we’re going to need a little time,” said Rollison. “Excuse me.” He pressed a bell-push in the wall by the fireplace where logs replaced the winter’s fires. “It won’t be anything fancy . . . Oh, Jolly, Mrs. Smith will be staying to lunch.”

“Very good, sir,” Jolly said, and withdrew.

Naomi Smith looked at the doorway in which he had appeared for a moment, but repressed the impulse to comment on Jolly. She seemed to settle back in her chair, more at ease. Rollison, having had time to study her, found it difficult to explain his first reaction; she was plain, certainly, but somehow, when studied feature, by feature, there seemed no reason for the general effect.

She looked back at him.

“Exactly what would you like to know, Mr. Rollison?”

“I think I’d like to learn more about these angels. How many are there?”

“When we are full—twenty-five.”

“And they can all afford the hostel?”

“I don’t quite understand you.”

“Isn’t the kind of hostel you have described expensive?”

“The girls don’t pay,” she said.

Rollison said, groping :

“You mean this is a state-sponsored institution?”

“No,” answered Naomi Smith, her expression changing as if something had touched her with disappointment. “You are prejudiced against young people, aren’t you?”

“Not knowingly,” replied Rollison. “What makes you think so?”

“Your last remark made it sound as if you were about to say that it was time young people fended for themselves, instead of being spoon-fed by the state.”

Rollison chuckled.

“And that is exactly what I feel about some youngsters. Don’t you?” The question came very quickly and there was a glint in his eyes.

She hesitated; and then laughed in turn.

“I suppose I do, about some. Have I given the impression that I—and the hostel supporters, are overindulgent towards the girls?”

“You have, rather,” said Rollison frankly. “Will you have another gin and French?”

She looked speculatively at her glass, before saying:

“No thank you. Mr. Rollison—”

“Yes?”

“I really am deeply troubled, and I really think from what I’ve heard of you that you are perhaps the only man who both could and would help. It is true that the girls are indulged in some ways. The problem of each differs in kind, of course, and each one needs special treatment and consideration. I try to give both, but it is becoming increasingly difficult. I do need help.”

“What is so special about these girls?” Rollison asked gently.

“It is this: each of the girls has some very special talent, a talent which could be going to waste. Each—as you were so quick to realise—has had a most unsatisfying affaire with a man—or men. Several have in fact been married and deserted, most have had an illegitimate child. You might say as many do, that these young women have asked for trouble, that their rejection of the conventions has made them forfeit some of their rights in society. To me, that is not the most important factor. I do not simply say that these girls need the special care of society because in a way they have been victims of it. I believe absolutely that each should be, and can be, a wholly responsible person in her own right, and that most of these girls can be not only responsible for themselves but of value to the community. But that too is beside the point, as I see it.”

“Ah,” said Rollison. “Is it very rewarding to help them?”

He saw on the instant that he had caused offence, but did not understand why: it had not been his intention. Naomi Smith’s expression changed, she put her glass down, placed a hand on the arm of her chair and stood up quickly and with unusual grace. No-one had ever looked at him with greater intensity or directness.

“I really don’t see any purpose in staying,” she said. “Thank you for sparing some of your time, Mr. Rollison.” She moved towards the door.

At the same moment, Jolly appeared in the other doorway, and said :

“Luncheon will be ready in five minutes, sir.” He realised what was happening and broke off, looking at the Toff as if pleading for guidance on what course to take.

Rollison waved him away and moved after Naomi Smith, who was half-way towards the front door. He passed her and put a hand on the door knob, but did not turn it.

“What did I say wrong?” he demanded.

“You know very well what you said.”

“I remember every word,” he admitted, “but I can’t see what made you take offence.” He turned the knob very slowly and with obvious reluctance. “Certainly, none was intended, but if you feel as touchy ever your young women as this perhaps it’s better for me not to try to help. Presumably we would have to work together.”

He opened the door wide—on to a landing and a flight of stone steps; this old terrace house had been converted into four flats, one on each floor, of which this was the top. He was not angry, but troubled.

He had a strange feeling that this beautifully groomed, hitherto very composed woman was on the point of tears. Certainly her eyes seemed to have become much brighter, and her lips appeared to be compressed to stop them quivering.

“Wasn’t that remark intended to be taken literally?” she asked.

“I asked you if it were very rewarding to help—” He broke off as understanding dawned. His face relaxed and his eyes actually laughed at her. “Now I see what a boner I dropped! It sounded as if I were asking if you were being well-paid.”

“It most certainly did!”

“It wasn’t even remotely in my mind,” Rollison said earnestly. “I really wanted to know whether you find it rewarding as a—as a vocation. I’ve somehow always associated guardians of fallen angels as somewhat more forbidding than you.” He put a hand lightly on her arm. “Please come back.”

She averted her gaze.

“Thank you for explaining,” she said. “I’m sorry I took offence.”

“It was an unbelievably clumsy remark,” said Rollison contritely. “Would you like to tidy up before lunch?” He was leading the way back into the big room, only to lead the way out of it by the other door. “Bathroom there,” he said, pushing a door open an inch or two.

She went in, her gaze still averted; and he felt sure that there were tears in her eyes.

He went back to the sitting room, puzzled and frowning. If she were really living on her nerves to the extent her reaction to the misunderstanding seemed to imply, how had she managed to keep up appearances when she had first arrived? He rang for Jolly. There was a spacious dining alcove one step up from the main room, and he drew curtains aside revealing a dining-table already set, Sheraton chairs and a long and graceful sideboard. Steaming vegetables stood on a hot-plate and there was a bottle of wine, the cork drawn. Before Naomi Smith returned, he had put two slices of Spanish honeydew melon on the table, laid so that two people could sit opposite each other.

He heard her coming. There were no signs of tears, now, and he could have been mistaken before, although her make-up was suspiciously new. But her smile was bright. He handed her up the single step, drawing out her chair.

“Sugar or ginger?”

“I don’t think I’ll have either,” she said. “It looks delicious.”

Rollison took a little ginger, and they ate, for a time, in silence. Then he asked with a gleam in his eyes :

“Do you find it rewarding?”

She drew a deep breath.

“It can be. But at the same time it can be—purgatory.” There was such feeling in her voice that he felt a kind of hurt for her. “And when things go wrong, as they have done lately, I almost despair.” She hardly seemed to notice Jolly’s soft-footed approach to change the plates, as she went on: “They really are girls of exceptional talent. I am quite serious about that. The hostel was founded three years ago, when there was a scandal at a red-brick university. A dozen girls were sent down for drug taking, and a certain amount of sexual promiscuity. At the time I was the matron at one of the main resi-dential houses, and four of the girls were under my care. I knew they were brilliant students. One was an outstanding architect, another had a positive genius for mathematics—oh, the details don’t really matter. They all were sent down and disgraced, their studies cut off as with a knife. Several of the professors were greatly disturbed about the waste. They knew the decision of the President was both right and just, but they also knew the talents of these girls and were desperate to find a way of preventing them from being wasted.”

Naomi Smith broke off, as Jolly held the appetising cottage pie with its potato crust perfectly browned, in front of her. She helped herself but did not cease talking, so absorbed was she in what she was saying.

“One of the professors was—and still is—very wealthy. And the others were prepared to give private tutoring if the girls could be cared for nearby. All the girls were scholarship undergraduates, none had enough money without the government grant. And each leapt at the chance of going on with her studies. That’s how it began,” Namoi went on. “That was how the house of the fallen angels, as you call it, was founded. In a way it’s been a great social experiment and on the whole very successful. But I have a feeling—oh, I have more than a feeling, I know someone is trying to make it fail.”

She was now quite oblivious of Jolly and the dish of young carrots he was proffering, as she stared at Rollison as if challenging him to believe everything she told him: willing him to promise to help.

CHAPTER 3

A Promise From The Toff

ROLLISON flickered a glance at Jolly, who immediately began to serve their guest, while he looked very straightly into Naomi Smith’s eyes, feeling great warmth for her.

“On the strength of your feeling,” he said, “I will help if I can.”

Jolly’s expression relaxed into obvious approval, and Naomi Smith caught her breath, as if the suddenness of Rollison’s decision took her by surprise. But in a moment she was gripping his hand, and her eyes blazed with rare radiance.

“Oh, thank God!” she exclaimed. “Thank God!” She held tightly for a few moments, then suddenly released him and turned away; for the second time her eyes were dimmed with tears. Almost blindly she picked up her knife and fork, beginning to eat as if she had no idea what was in front of her. “I really didn’t think you would, I couldn’t believe you were all you’re said to be.”

“I’m probably half as bad as my enemies say and half as good as my friends would like to believe,” Rollison said, to ease the tension. He paused, to eat; and Jolly came and poured out wine for the Toff to taste and approve. For the first time, Jolly was noticed; and smiled at. “But the one person who probably sees me as I am is my Aunt Gloria,” went on Rollison.