Читать книгу Five Silver Daughters - Louis Golding - Страница 15

Table of Contents

It was an evening in July, nineteen hundred and twelve, six months or so after Silver had acquired the Horowitz factory. Susan Silver stood at the corner of Oleander Street looking anxiously up and down Blenheim Road. Now and again she doubled rapidly down the length of Oleander Street to take up her position at the Aubrey Street corner. This was Susan Silver, not Elsie. It was more in keeping with Elsie’s character that she should stand on the qui vive at street corners, to see what men might be coming that way.

“Oh, there you are!” exclaimed Susan at length. “Where did you get to?”

“Where should I get to?” asked Polednik. “Are you losing patience, Susan? I’ve waited longer than you!”

“No, I’m not! You know I’m not! That’s not why I’m here!”

“Well, then?”

“I’d rather you didn’t come in this evening!”

“Why on earth not? We’ve a lot to get through to-night.”

“I’d rather you didn’t come in.”

“Is anybody ill?”

“No!”

“What’s the mystery?”

“I’d have brought out the stuff myself, but I couldn’t stand here with all those pamphlets. I didn’t quite know when you were coming.”

“All right. If you’ve got some idea in your head, I won’t argue. There are other people to argue with. I’ll just come in and help you collect the stuff.”

“No, Boris, no. May’s in, and that young fellow, Stonier. He’ll bring it over to the corner here.”

“Now look here, Susan. This is idiotic. If I can’t even put my nose inside the place—— What’s the matter?” He paused. “Are you getting nervous? You don’t mean to tell me that the police——”

“No, nothing of the sort. Somebody’s turned up I don’t want you to meet. That’s all.”

“Oh, oh!” He raised his head and lowered it two or three times.

“That fellow?” he asked.

“Yes.”

He turned on his heel away from her and strode ten yards down Blenheim Road quickly, then back again. Then once more, down and back again.

“I don’t think you need worry,” he said to her dryly.

“You promise that there won’t be anything like—like last time? You understand? It was—unpleasant!”

“Listen, Susan,” he said. “That sort of rat is only dangerous when you don’t see it. When it comes out into the open it ceases to exist at all. He doesn’t concern us. He’s not there, I tell you.”

“We’d best be getting in,” she said.

Alexander Smirnof was sitting on the sofa, with Sarah Silver at his side. Sam Silver sat at right angles to them, at the head of the table. Flanked by such supporters, what harm could befall him? And who would wish to harm Alexander Smirnof? Who could object to eyes that were so grey and tired? Who could object to a mouth that was so forlorn? The faint wash of reddish hair behind the broad bulby temples was fainter than before.

Time had not dealt kindly with Smirnof these two years. He had grown a little fatter, but clearly not through good living. His black coat was shiny with age. It was so tight for him that the buttons strained at their threads. He wore a waterproof dicky, clean enough, but too small for the waistcoat to contain it. His ready-made black bow was shiny, too, from too much touching up with a flat-iron.

“You like it?” asked Sarah solicitously. “You must eat up every drop.” A bowl of lentil soup steamed fragrantly before him.

“Thank you,” he smiled at her. “I have never eaten soup one quarter so delicious.”

“Eat. Don’t mind the others.”

He inclined his head to Mrs. Silver and then to her. His manners were perfect.

There were a dozen people there that night who were present on that occasion more than two years ago when Boris Polednik had sought to strangle Alexander Smirnof. They were orating, arguing, drinking, to-night as then.

“Good evening, all,” said Polednik, as he entered.

“Good evening,” they replied. They did not for one moment suspend their orating, arguing, drinking. If anything, they talked louder and drank deeper. Mrs. Silver dropped a glass. But that meant nothing, for she dropped a glass just as easily when the kitchen was empty as a churchyard.

But did they a little furtively follow Polednik’s movements; how he sat down, how he breathed on his tea to make it cooler, how he took a newspaper out of his pocket and pointed out a passage to Susan? Did it take them five minutes, ten minutes, to satisfy themselves that he could not have been so long in the room without becoming aware of everyone who sat in it, including the fat threadbare creature lifting spoonfuls of lentil soup so delicately to his lips?

“Yes, Susan,” they heard Polednik say—heard him with relief, perhaps. “There’s a lot to get through to-night. Shall we go into the other room?”

Susan and Polednik rose. Polednik looked straight before him. Smirnof did not raise his eyes from his plate.

“There’s some more,” said Sarah. “Are you sure you’ll have no more?”

“No, no. I thank you.” There was a spotlessly white handkerchief in his pocket. He dabbed his lips with it.

“Listen, father!” said Sarah, plucking at his coat-sleeve.

He turned round. “Yes?”

“Father. This gentleman——”

“Yes?” His voice was gentle. No one could look so side-tracked as Smirnof without bringing all it had of gentleness into Silver’s voice.

“This gentleman was a book-keeper in Russia,” she said.

“Oh, yes?”

“Well, father, wouldn’t it make a great difference? Isn’t that what you want, a book-keeper?”

“No, no!” Smirnof objected. “Please!”

“A book-keeper?” repeated Silver.

“You know you never know how many bundles you get and how many garments you send out! You never know how much work you pay for this week that the men carry over into next week——”

“A book-keeper!” mused Silver. It took him all his time to come out on the right side himself, let alone book-keepers. It seemed to him that the Silver concern could just as well run to an office in Albert Square, a dozen typists, and a commissionaire with gold braid, as a book-keeper.

“Father!” implored Sarah.

The tone of her voice put his mind round on a new tack. Rather uncomfortably, as if he were spying on the fellow, his eye took in the too small dicky, the buttons that were straining away from the jacket. There were pouches under the fellow’s eyes. The way he had taken up the last lentil from the plate, even though he had eaten like a perfect gentleman, even though he had refused a second plateful—it showed he was hungry. But it was the handkerchief that decided the matter. It was so spotless, so gallant—suddenly Silver found himself gulping painfully. He looked away for half a minute, then turned his head again.

“Of course I need a book-keeper!” he said. “How can my business go on without a book-keeper? Mr.—excuse me, I’m so bad with names.”

“Smirnof.”

“Of course, Smirnof. Could it be convenient to come in on Monday?”

“Oh, Mr. Silver—but I wasn’t dreaming——”

“I wouldn’t hear of anything else.”

“Well, I thank you, I thank you. I’m not bad at figures. Perhaps I can make it worth your while.”

Silver waved his hand airily. “Not to mention it, please!” he said.