‘My compliments on the dress,’ he said. ‘A vast improvement.’
‘I don’t get a chance to dress up very often,’ she told him.
‘Well let’s make the most of it.’
He took her hand and pulled her on to the floor before she could protest. One of the bands was playing a slow foxtrot. He started to hum the tune. ‘You do that well,’ she said.
‘Ah, well, I have a small gift for music. I play the piano badly. You, on the other hand, dance rather well.’
‘It’s better out here in the middle of all these people. Nobody notices.’
She was obviously referring to her limp. Devlin said, ‘Girl dear, nobody notices anyway.’
She tightened her grip, putting her cheek against his shoulder and they moved into the crowd, the glitterball revolving on the ceiling, its rays bathing everything with blue light. The number came to an end and the other band broke into a fast, upbeat quickstep.
‘Oh, no,’ she protested. ‘I can’t manage this.’
‘All right,’ Devlin said. ‘Coffee it is then.’
They went up the stairs to the balcony. ‘I’m just going to the cloakroom,’ she said.
Til get the coffee and see you back here.’
She went round to the other side of the balcony, limping noticeably, passing two young men leaning on the rail. One of them wore a pin-striped double-breasted suit and hand-painted tie. The other was a few years older, in a leather jacket, with the flattened nose of a prize-fighter and scar tissue around the eyes.
‘You fancy that, Mr Carver?’ he asked as they watched Mary go into the cloakroom.
‘I certainly do, George,’ Eric Carver said. ‘I haven’t had a cripple before.’
Eric Carver was twenty-two years of age with thin, wolfish features and long blond hair swept back from the forehead. A tendency to asthma attacks had kept him out of the Army. At least that’s what it had said on the medical certificate his brother’s doctor had provided. His father had been a drunken bully who’d died under the wheels of a cart in the Mile End Road. Jack, already a criminal of some renown and fifteen years his senior, had looked after Eric and their mother until cancer had carried her off just before the war. Her death had brought them even closer. There was nothing Eric couldn’t do, no girl he couldn’t have because he was Jack Carver’s brother and he never let anyone forget it.
Mary emerged from the cloakroom and limped past them and Eric said, ‘I’ll see you later, George.’
George smiled, turned and walked away and Eric moved round the balcony to where Mary leaned over the rail watching the dancers. He slipped his arm around her waist and then ran one hand up to cup her left breast. ‘Now then, darling, and what’s your name?’
‘Please don’t,’ she said and started to struggle. ‘Oh, I like it,’ he said, his grip tightening.
Devlin arrived, a cup of coffee in each hand. He put them down on a nearby table. ‘Excuse me,’ he said.
As Eric turned, slackening his grip, Devlin stood on the right foot, bearing down with all his weight.
The young man snarled, trying to pull away, and Devlin picked up one of the cups of coffee and poured it down Eric’s shirt front.
‘Jesus, son, I’m sorry,’ he said.
Eric looked down at his shirt, total amazement on his face. ‘Why you little creep,’ he said and swung a punch.
Devlin blocked it easily and kicked him on the shin. ‘Now why don’t you go and play nasty little boys elsewhere?’
There was rage on Eric’s face. ‘You bastard. I’ll get you for this. You see if I don’t.’
He hobbled away and Devlin sat Mary down and gave her the other cup of coffee. She” took a sip and looked up at him. ‘That was awful.’
‘A worm, girl dear, nothing to worry about. Will you be all right while I go and see this Carver fella? I shouldn’t be long.’
She smiled. Til be fine, Mr Devlin,’ and he turned and walked away.
The door at the other end of the balcony said ‘Manager’s Office’, but when he opened it he found himself in a corridor. He went to the far end and opened another door on to a carpeted landing. Stairs went down to what was obviously a back entrance, but the sound of music drifted from above so up he went to the next landing where a door stood open. It was only a small room, with a desk and a chair on which the man George sat reading a newspaper while music sounded over the radio.