13
“MR. HERSH,” THE PUBLICAN HOLLERED, “TELEPHONE for Mr. Jacob Hersh.”
But it wasn’t Nancy.
“Is Harry with you?” Ruthy asked, her voice quivering.
“No.”
“He was supposed to be here for dinner more than an hour ago. I don’t know where he is.”
“Calm down.” If he’s skipped bail, Jake thought, it will only cost me 2,500 pounds. Well, in for a penny, as Ruthy was so fond of saying, in for a pound. “I’m sure he’ll turn up soon,” he lied.
“What if he’s done something to himself?”
Too much to hope for. “He’s out walking somewhere, Ruthy. Or maybe he’s fallen asleep.”
“Don’t you think I tried his flat?” she asked, breaking into sobs.
“Do you want me to come over?” he asked wearily.
“But if he found you here with me, he’d be furious.”
“Yes, that’s right. Take something, Ruthy.” Cyanide. “He’ll turn up eventually. Nothing’s happened to him. If I know Harry he can hardly wait to sit in the stand again tomorrow.”
“That’s nasty.”
“Yes, Ruthy. No, Ruthy. Good night.”
But Ormsby-Fletcher, concerned, felt that Jake should not antagonize either of them, and he insisted that he look in on Ruthy. So they finished their drinks and walked to the car park behind the Old Bailey, assuring each other once more that it had been a most encouraging day in court. Ormsby-Fletcher dropped Jake off at Ruthy’s place.
“Has he come yet?”
Ruthy shook her head, biting back the tears.
“Have you got anything to drink here?” Jake asked, sinking into the only chair that wasn’t buried in clothes waiting to be ironed.
“There’s some Shloer’s. I’ve also got a bottle of Babycham.”
If only, Jake thought, Remy Martin went in for contests, and, remembering, he dug into his jacket pocket. Hoping to mollify Ruthy, he made her a gift of a dozen Kit-i-Kats and six Knorr labels, withholding his five Beefeaters for the moment.
“Would it be too much trouble to make me a cup of coffee?”
The children were in bed, alas, and so, as she prepared the instant coffee, Ruthy was free to run through her dolorous litany of complaints again. Harry had wanted to mend his ways and settle down, he had given up that sort of girl, and the photography, until Jake had taken him to C. Bernard Farber’s, that party, thrusting him into temptation.
Jake, playing his part, wearily pointed out that he was doing all he could for Harry. He sprang awake only when Ruthy tried a new twist.
“Harry brought the girl to the house for you. He didn’t want her at all.”
Suddenly, all the ugliness inherent in the trial, the coarseness, the necessary lies, crystallized for Jake in the buxom shape of flatulent Ruthy. “My dear Mrs. Flam,” he said quietly, “listen to me. I’ve got a wife and three children. I’m risking more than I should for Harry’s sake. All I want in return is the truth. No last minute tricks.”
“You say one thing, he says another. How do I know what happened? I wasn’t there.”
“Even you can’t be that stupid, Ruthy.”
“Ta.”
“Why would I have Harry bring a girl to my house for me?”
“You’re a man, aren’t you?”
“If I was going to have a girl while Nancy was away, I wouldn’t have Harry there too.”
“How would I know what sort of games you fancy?”
“Oh God,” Jake said, rising, and he shoved the five Beefeater labels at her just as the doorbell rang.
“It’s him! It’s Harry!”
Harry stared at Jake, his eyes narrowed with suspicion.
“Well, hello. And where have you been? Out murdering somebody?”
He didn’t answer.
“Or was it just a little rape round the corner that kept you?”
Pinched and pale, Harry said, “What are you doing here?”
“Ruthy was worried. I came to comfort her.”
“To bribe her,” Harry said, pouncing on the labels, “to turn her against me.”
Don’t antagonize them, Ormsby-Fletcher had said. Jake reached into his pocket and came up with a small bottle of pills. “You’re not to take more than two, Harry.”
Harry snickered.
“It went well today,” Jake said. “I think we’re going to be all right.”
“You’ll be acquitted on Monday, mate. Not to worry. It’s me they want.”
“Why is your barrister a Q.C.,” Ruthy asked, “and Harry’s isn’t?”
“They work as a team,” Jake said.
“You’re fucking right they do. Against me.”
“That’s just not true, Harry.”
“He’s got connections,” Ruthy said.
“Right. And failing everything else, I’m sure to get a Queen’s pardon. I spoke to Phil only yesterday. He promised. Good night. I’ll phone in the morning, Harry.”
“Don’t worry. I’m not doing a bunk.”
“I am not worried. I will phone to see how you are.”
“He’s ever so thoughtful,” Ruthy said.