all you want me to do is find out what Cunningham’s job is.’
‘Exactly. I want you to find out who he’s working for and what kind of reputation he has.’
The people in the room reacted to a signal that I’d missed, and began heading upstairs. We followed them into a large, front room, stripped of all furniture except for rows of seats. In one corner a man, who couldn’t have been more than twenty, sat at a piano. His youth, and the absence of any obvious physical defects, indicated to me that the reason for his not being in the armed forces lay in the probability that he was a member of the criminal class. I had heard that many of his kind had enlisted early, but that they had been dishonourably discharged after exploiting opportunities for violence and theft.
Gretel Beech leaned languidly against the piano; startlingly, she was completely naked. The audience took their seats, and whistled and foot stomped, and yelled obscenities. Everyone’s proximity to Gretel made it shockingly intimate. She pushed herself away from the piano and assumed a defiant stance, hands on hips, feet apart. Her eyes roamed over the audience, but I doubt she found the eyes of many in return. Their gaze was firmly locked on her breasts and her pudendum. The piano player struck a chord, and then another, and the audience began to quieten down. With swagger, assurance, and considerable skill, Gretel began to sing, and as she sang she began a reverse strip-tease, gradually re-clothing herself with all the sensual gestures of that craft, until by the time she delivered the final line of the song she was seated in a chair, fully dressed, but with her legs splayed obscenely. She sang:
If you’re a young man, or older,
I don’t mind, you’re a soldier,
And you’re willing to fight so we can be free.
I’ve a soft spot for privates,
And for sergeants I’ll sigh,
But they all stand to attention when they come home with me.
I ain’t scared of your guns, be they small ones or bigger,
And I know when to stay well away from the trigger.
You’re safe with me, boys,
Don’t run helter-skelter.
Come home with me, boys.
I’ve got room in my shelter.
‘So what did you think?’ she asked me on our way back to Clutterbuck’s house.
‘You have a fine voice,’ I said, being unsure how to address the most prominent features of her act. Clutterbuck laughed and put his arms around Gretel’s shoulders.
‘Gretel has more talent in her little finger than Gladys Moncrieff has in her whole body — and I don’t think many people would pay to see Our Glad do what Gretel does.’
When we reached the house Gretel said that she’d like a bath before the next show, which was still a few hours away. Clutterbuck went upstairs with her, and I took the opportunity to ring Mother. She said that there’d been no progress in the search for Darlene, and described how Brian was becoming more and more agitated about the attitude of the police towards him.
‘What I’m much more concerned about,’ she said, ‘is whether or not Darlene’s kidnapper intends to strike again, especially now that we know that we’re not dealing with a slightly built woman, but with a brute of unknown dimensions.’
‘Would you feel safer if I came home?’
‘Good heavens no, dear. I know you’ve only been gone one day, but we’re managing quite well. I’m worried about Fulton, too. I was sure a letter from him would come today.’
I said a few comforting words and hung up. When I walked into the living room, Clutterbuck was there, pouring himself a drink. He automatically poured one for me.
‘Gretel wants to soak for a while,’ he said.
‘Does Gretel know about your fiancée?’ I asked.
‘Of course,’ he said. ‘She makes no claims on me at all. She’s the original libertine. Mine isn’t the only bed she sleeps in, and I have never demanded fidelity. I’m sure you couldn’t help but notice from her performance that she’s not exactly a nun.’
‘She
‘Exactly. I want you to find out who he’s working for and what kind of reputation he has.’
The people in the room reacted to a signal that I’d missed, and began heading upstairs. We followed them into a large, front room, stripped of all furniture except for rows of seats. In one corner a man, who couldn’t have been more than twenty, sat at a piano. His youth, and the absence of any obvious physical defects, indicated to me that the reason for his not being in the armed forces lay in the probability that he was a member of the criminal class. I had heard that many of his kind had enlisted early, but that they had been dishonourably discharged after exploiting opportunities for violence and theft.
Gretel Beech leaned languidly against the piano; startlingly, she was completely naked. The audience took their seats, and whistled and foot stomped, and yelled obscenities. Everyone’s proximity to Gretel made it shockingly intimate. She pushed herself away from the piano and assumed a defiant stance, hands on hips, feet apart. Her eyes roamed over the audience, but I doubt she found the eyes of many in return. Their gaze was firmly locked on her breasts and her pudendum. The piano player struck a chord, and then another, and the audience began to quieten down. With swagger, assurance, and considerable skill, Gretel began to sing, and as she sang she began a reverse strip-tease, gradually re-clothing herself with all the sensual gestures of that craft, until by the time she delivered the final line of the song she was seated in a chair, fully dressed, but with her legs splayed obscenely. She sang:
If you’re a young man, or older,
I don’t mind, you’re a soldier,
And you’re willing to fight so we can be free.
I’ve a soft spot for privates,
And for sergeants I’ll sigh,
But they all stand to attention when they come home with me.
I ain’t scared of your guns, be they small ones or bigger,
And I know when to stay well away from the trigger.
You’re safe with me, boys,
Don’t run helter-skelter.
Come home with me, boys.
I’ve got room in my shelter.
‘So what did you think?’ she asked me on our way back to Clutterbuck’s house.
‘You have a fine voice,’ I said, being unsure how to address the most prominent features of her act. Clutterbuck laughed and put his arms around Gretel’s shoulders.
‘Gretel has more talent in her little finger than Gladys Moncrieff has in her whole body — and I don’t think many people would pay to see Our Glad do what Gretel does.’
When we reached the house Gretel said that she’d like a bath before the next show, which was still a few hours away. Clutterbuck went upstairs with her, and I took the opportunity to ring Mother. She said that there’d been no progress in the search for Darlene, and described how Brian was becoming more and more agitated about the attitude of the police towards him.
‘What I’m much more concerned about,’ she said, ‘is whether or not Darlene’s kidnapper intends to strike again, especially now that we know that we’re not dealing with a slightly built woman, but with a brute of unknown dimensions.’
‘Would you feel safer if I came home?’
‘Good heavens no, dear. I know you’ve only been gone one day, but we’re managing quite well. I’m worried about Fulton, too. I was sure a letter from him would come today.’
I said a few comforting words and hung up. When I walked into the living room, Clutterbuck was there, pouring himself a drink. He automatically poured one for me.
‘Gretel wants to soak for a while,’ he said.
‘Does Gretel know about your fiancée?’ I asked.
‘Of course,’ he said. ‘She makes no claims on me at all. She’s the original libertine. Mine isn’t the only bed she sleeps in, and I have never demanded fidelity. I’m sure you couldn’t help but notice from her performance that she’s not exactly a nun.’
‘She
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