Essex Poison

‘What on earth is this place?’ asked Miriam.

‘This,’ I said, ‘is the modern world. I’ll maybe get a few photographs,’ I said, ‘and then we can be on our way.’

‘Well, if this is the modern world, Sefton,’ said Miriam, ‘I want no part of it.’ Which of course is what made Miriam so thoroughly modern.

As I was carefully framing a shot for Morley, featuring the dusty boulevards of Becontree, and while Miriam sat smiling regally at the passers-by ogling both her and the Lagonda – not an everyday sight in south Essex, either of them – a man came sauntering proprietorially along the pavement towards us. His hat was pulled down tight on his head, his hands deep in the pockets of his double-breasted overcoat, and he had the kind of bullying walk that suggested he was prepared to pick a fight with anyone, at any time, and preferably now. It was Willy Mann, Mr Klein’s business agent and fixer. The last time I’d seen him was just the night before, when he was all shiny and naked in the Turkish baths: now, thank goodness, he was cooled off and dressed, though no less menacing.

‘Well, well,’ said Willy. He was the very definition of shifty, with a habit of moving and shrugging inside his clothes, as though avoiding a punch, or calculating his next blow. ‘Sefton, again.’ He nodded towards my cuts and bruises. ‘Trouble?’

‘Hello, Willy,’ I said. ‘Sorry, I didn’t recognise you with your clothes on.’

‘A joke, presumably?’

‘Don’t encourage him,’ said Miriam, lighting a cigarette.

‘Hello, hello,’ said Willy, removing his hat and going to shake Miriam’s hand. ‘You’re not with him, surely, a fine young lady like yourself?’

Fortunately Miriam was accustomed to compliments from men far more accomplished than Willy and was more than ready with a put-down.

‘“With him” in the strict sense of being accompanied by him, sir, yes.’ She paused and took a long thoughtful drag on her cigarette, effectively establishing her dominance over the conversation, over the cigarette, and of course over Willy. ‘But certainly not “with him” in the broader sense of having, possessing and thus, crudely and colloquially speaking, being in a relationship “with him”, if that’s what you’re asking, certainly not, no.’ She took another long draw on her cigarette and raised an eyebrow at Willy. ‘So it rather depends in what sense you were using the term, doesn’t it?’

‘Goodness me. Lively one,’ said Willy to me. ‘Not her who roughed you up, was it?’

‘I haven’t laid a finger on him,’ said Miriam.

‘More’s the pity, eh?’ said Willy, nudging me.

Miriam gave a furious little growl at this and flashed her ruby-red fingernails at Willy, cigarette aloft, one of her more alarming gestures, suggesting a panther – or some blonde equivalent thereof – about to pounce. ‘I suppose you’d better introduce me to your witty little friend here, Sefton,’ she said wearily to me. ‘Since you are “with” me, though only in the strict and obvious sense.’

‘Yes, of course,’ I said. ‘This is Willy Mann, Miriam. Willy, this is Miriam Morley.’

‘Very pleased to make your acquaintance,’ said Willy, with, I thought, rather too much feeling in his ‘very’: Miriam tended to have an instant mesmerising effect on men. I recall there being one or two chaps in fact who proposed marriage within an hour of meeting her. I hoped Willy wasn’t going to embarrass himself.

‘And where do you boys know each other from?’ asked Miriam.

‘Sefton and I—’

‘Have a lot of mutual friends,’ I interrupted.

‘I didn’t know you had any friends,’ said Miriam, blowing smoke, as she liked to, as though in an aside.

‘Sefton always likes to play his cards close to his chest,’ said Willy. ‘I didn’t have you down as a man to be driving a Lagonda, for example.’

‘I think you’ll note that I’m driving the Lagonda, actually,’ said Miriam, from the driver’s seat. ‘Sefton is my passenger.’

‘Indeed,’ said Willy. ‘All the more remarkable, Sefton.’

‘Anyway,’ I said, ‘what are you doing up around these parts, Willy?’

‘I might have asked you the same thing, old chap. Not your usual stomping ground, is it?’

‘Not exactly,’ said Miriam, on my behalf. ‘But here we are. And why are you here, Willy?’

‘Mr Klein has business interests up here,’ said Willy.

‘Ah, yes,’ I said, vaguely remembering what Willy had explained to me the night before.

‘And who is this Mr Klein when he’s at home?’ asked Miriam.

‘He’s a businessman,’ said Willy. ‘Good friend of ours.’

‘And what would be Mr Klein’s business in Becontree, of all places, if you don’t mind my asking?’ Miriam was cursed with her father’s curiosity.

‘Do you have half an hour?’ asked Willy.

‘No,’ I said.

‘It rather depends,’ said Miriam.

‘I thought perhaps I might show you something,’ said Willy.

‘Did you now?’ said Miriam. ‘And I wonder what that might be?’

She had a habit sometimes, I noticed, when she was talking to men, of moving her cigarette between her fingers very slightly and very carefully. She was doing it now – a subtle and expressive gesture.

‘You’ll have to trust me to find out,’ said Willy.

‘Hmm. What do you think, Sefton? Should we trust Willy here to show us something? Or should we not?’ And she again moved the cigarette ever so slightly between her fingers. She had us both in the palm of her hand.

CHAPTER 7 (#ulink_a173d85f-bb44-5e2c-8ec3-490464fea5d6)

THIS IS ENGLAND (#ulink_a173d85f-bb44-5e2c-8ec3-490464fea5d6)

AS SO OFTEN, with so many people, and so many things, what Willy actually had to show us was something of an anticlimax. What he had to show us was a building site on Klein’s new development on the edge of Becontree. He was shouting facts and figures at us, vainly trying to impress Miriam, as lorries went thundering past.

‘You see, apart from the construction,’ he yelled, ‘there’s all the haulage and the materials themselves. So in the average house you’ve got perhaps forty thousand bricks, plus your lime and sand and cement, and then there’s your plaster and roofing tiles, fireplaces and what have you. Which is about a hundred and fifty tonnes worth per house, which has all got to be hauled to site somehow – plus your excavations. So you’re looking at quite a job.’

‘And quite a profit,’ said Miriam.

‘Exactly,’ said Willy.

‘So Mr Klein builds the houses, he provides the materials, and he provides the means by which the materials are transported? Is that right?’ said Miriam.

‘That’s right.’

‘Quite a business model.’

‘I didn’t know he was into haulage as well,’ I said.