On that front. The domestic front was still in disarray. For the first time in their life together Pearl was moody and listless. To help her out of it, to charm her on her way, to give her a new interest, he had prepared a special surprise for her. An evening out. He had, he told her, bought two ring-side tickets for a boxing match at York Hall, Bethnal Green on the following Tuesday. Their friend Godfrey Brown was topping the bill.
Pearl stared: ‘What made you do that?’
‘Do what? Buy the tickets? I thought it would be a nice surprise for you.’
‘I don’t like boxing. I never have.’
‘But you went once to the Albert Hall – on your own. Do you remember? Last October, was it?’ Angell smiled and puffed and looped back his hair, the better to scrutinize her. ‘You thought I didn’t know, but you left the seat ticket and the programme in your room. It’s quite unimportant of course. I’m not trying to attach any importance to it.’
‘It was – a championship fight. I had nothing to do and went out of curiosity.’
‘Well, I’m going to this out of curiosity, my dear. To see how far – with our help – our little champion has progressed.’
‘I thought you didn’t like him – had lost interest in him.’
‘I never had an interest. The interest was yours.’
‘He called here to see you in the first place.’
‘Yes … Yes. That was a temporary convenience … But he is so ill-mannered; an oafish creature. A true product of the slums. I suppose one cannot expect too much of such a person.’
‘Then why go to see him fight?’
‘We launched him. This is his first important bout. I thought it would be – interesting.’
Pearl stared at her finger nails, which she had just revarnished. ‘I don’t want to go, Wilfred.’
‘But my dear, I’ve bought the tickets. They cost the ridiculous price of five guineas each. It’s really outrageous, almost three times the price of a theatre stall.’
Pearl screwed on the top of the varnish bottle. The peardrop smell was unpleasant to her. Something in Wilfred’s tone was also unpleasant. Five guineas. This was the pointer to something, but she did not know what. The expenditure of so much money indicated some harping persistence of interest.
‘How did you know about it?’ she asked.
‘About what?’
‘The fight? You never read sporting papers.’
‘He told me about it. I forgot to tell you he came to see me in my office recently. He wanted to consult me about a legacy he expected from Lady Vosper. How did you know about it?’
‘I didn’t know – you’ve just told me. What fight is it?’
‘Against a man called, I believe, Tokio Kio. He’s champion of Japan. Quite a big affair.’
‘Is he likely to win? Godfrey, I mean. Against a man like that.’
‘He seems very confident. D’you know.’ Angell gave a grunt of satisfaction. ‘He seems very confident indeed. We shall see, shan’t we.’
‘I’d rather not go.’
‘Brown said he would like us both to be there.’
‘He did?’
‘Yes. He did.’
To give herself time to think, Pearl got up and waved her outstretched fingers about, drying the varnish.
She said: ‘Has she left him a legacy?’
‘I don’t know. I declined to deal with the matter. It can’t be very much anyhow, as she had very little to leave.’
‘Is he still boxing under her name?’
‘I believe so … I think there was something deeper, more intimate between those two than one would have supposed.’
‘What makes you say so?’
‘Well, I think she may well have been his mistress,’ Angell said, watching her face.
‘Oh, that,’ said Pearl.
Boxing News ran a profile that week on ‘Godfrey Vosper, formerly Godfrey Brown, 23-year-old almost unknown feather-weight, who after only 16 professional bouts has been surprisingly chosen by Promoter Sam Windermere to replace accident-prone Kevin O’Shea to meet Tokio Kio, Champion of Japan, over 10 rounds at York Hall next Tuesday. Vosper who has won all but one of his professional fights became a pro four years ago after a successful run as an amateur.’ (The News charitably did not attempt to explain how a man came to have had only sixteen fights in four years.) ‘Vosper, brought up in an orphanage, changed his name from Brown earlier this year in gratitude to ex-racing driver and sporting benefactor Lady Vosper who died recently and who never wavered in her belief that he would become one of the leading boxing names of today. Bringing along a young fighter who shows great potential is, of course, no easy task. Too often we have seen a youngster fed on a string of soft touches, racking up victory after victory, then being tossed in over his head and found wanting. Yet this certainly looks like Vosper’s big chance, for Kio comes to Europe for the first time with a reputation as a fast man and a deadly puncher. Of forty-three fights to date he has won thirty-nine, twenty-one of his opponents not lasting the distance. One drawn bout, two adverse points decisions, and stopped only once fours years ago by the then world champion Saldivar; this adds up to a formidable record. Karl Heist will have to work hard to defend his new-won crown. In the meantime British fans will have a chance of seeing Tokio Kio in action on February 4.’
Tokio Kio said in soft Japanese: ‘Who is this man I am to fight? How is it that he is rated seventh only among the fighters of England? Is this not a reflection on my own position? Is it intended as an insult?’
‘When the cable arrived I knew nothing of this,’ said his manager. ‘The cable stated merely that the Irishman was injured and this Vosper was the best substitute they could get. Windermere I relied on as a gentleman. Ratings were not discussed. Windermere has agreed to pay you three thousand pounds in American dollars. There is no insult in that.’
‘Sam was sorry he couldn’t come to meet the plane himself,’ Ed Marks said, through his cigar. ‘But this charity show tonight, he couldn’t skip it. He sends his salaams and says he wants us all to meet up later this evening.’
‘What is it he says?’ Kio asked.
His manager translated. ‘That’s all right,’ he said to Ed Marks, smiling. ‘We understand. That’s all right.’
‘How small the automobiles are here,’ said Kio. ‘After the States, I mean. In a sense it is more like Japan. But the houses are ugly and old. You will see Windermere this evening about it? Perhaps I shall refuse this fight.’
‘And lose the purse?’
‘I could make an exhibition match—’
‘It would break the contract. There is no need to act hastily. This Vosper may be much better than his rating.’
‘Talking about Vosper?’ said Ed Marks through his cigar. ‘He’s a good boy. He’ll make a good showing, you can stand on me for that.’
‘What is it he says?’ Kio asked.
His manager translated. ‘That’s all right,’ he said to Ed Marks, smiling. ‘We understand.’
‘Seventh among the fighters of England,’ said Kio. ‘I did not imagine there could be seven worse than that Scotsman – what’s his name?’
‘Look, Kio,’ said his manager, ‘this is a warm-up for your fight with Heist. Fares and hotel expenses are paid. This is all sheer profit. If you want to fight an exhibition, fight it with Vosper. There will be no loss of face.’
‘And what will the papers in Japan say? Kio matched with a seventh-rate. That will show them how Kio is esteemed in England.’
‘I’ll talk to Windermere tonight. But I think it will be too late to do anything. And we can’t postpone.’
‘The women look interesting – and display a lot of themselves. There will be time to see what they are like?’
‘After Tuesday,’ said Kio’s manager nervously. ‘After Tuesday.’
There was silence for a time as the taxi was blocked in a traffic jam.
Ed Marks coughed through his cigar, and ash floated down on to his coat. ‘S
am says let’s all meet up tonight at the Colony. Say about eleven, he says. His show’ll be over by then, he says, and we can have a slap-up meal. How about that?’
‘What does he say?’ Kio asked.
‘He says I am to meet Windermere tonight after his show, in his office. There we can talk business.’ To Ed Marks, Kio’s manager said, smiling: ‘That’s all right. I shall be honoured to come. But for Kio it must be an early night. Bed at ten. I shall be honoured to dine with you.’
‘Seventh only among the fighters of England,’ said Kio, putting a sweet in his mouth and crunching it. ‘ I think it has been done to insult me because I am a Japanese. The English still hate the Japanese. They hate us for the beating we gave them in the last war. My father died from the hardships he suffered in that war.’
‘A lot of people died,’ said the manager. ‘Many people suffered. Why don’t you relax. I’ll ask Windermere tonight. There may be very good reasons why he has chosen this man.’
‘Oh, very good reasons, yes!’
‘I have heard that O’Shea would have been too easy for you. He’s on the downgrade. This young man, though he is unknown, may give you more to do.’
‘He will perhaps have more to do himself, picking himself up off the floor.’
‘That’s the way I like to hear you talk. Remember this is not the important bout, the next is.’
‘Every fight is important,’ said Kio. ‘Especially against an Englishman. But I have not decided to fight yet. You will see what Windermere says. I do not like this man who has come to meet us. He is of no account and his cigar is cheap.’
‘Take it easy,’ said his manager. ‘Windermere can’t be in two places at once.’
‘Tell him we got him a sparring session tomorrow at eleven. A couple of good boys,’ said Ed Marks through the smoke. ‘ That is at the B.B.B.C. gym at Haverstock Hill. Eleven o’clock tomorrow.’
‘What does he say?’ asked Kio.
Kio’s manager translated. ‘That’s all right,’ he said, smiling at Ed Marks. ‘That’s all right.’ To Kio he added, ‘If these boys are not good enough I’ll get you better over the week-end. There isn’t much time to get settled in.’
‘I don’t want to get settled in,’ said Tokio Kio, flexing his hands. ‘I am ready to fight now, tonight. But not with the seventh-rated fighter in England. I will not put up with that chosen insult.’
‘Relax. You may have to.’
‘Then I will be sorry for him.’
On the Thursday morning Angell found in his post a letter from the secretary to the Professional Purposes Committee of the Law Society. It enclosed a photocopy of a ‘letter of complaint’ from Viscount Vosper of four pages in length, and it invited his comments.
Anxious as never before about his own rectitude, Angell immediately began his reply. First he thought that as there was initially nothing to answer in Vosper’s letter of complaint he would write a single sheet of dignified denial and leave it at that. Then he suddenly felt the need to comment at length on every part of the letter, scrapped the first attempt, and ended up with a scribbled draft which would have filled eight pages. This too did not satisfy him and he took the matter to Esslin, who was astonished at all the fuss necessary to explain a matter of basic legal pragmatism. Angell returned to his office and began again. By lunchtime, when he was feeling very hungry indeed, he had made a third draft which seemed to him to embody the virtues of both the others. He dictated it to Miss Lock and then walked up to Holborn and had sole véronique, with six veal cutlets to follow, a rather good Christmas pudding and some perfectly ripened Camembert.
There are times in the lives of most people when difficulties, anxieties, problems seem to crowd on top of each other, and the solution or the removal of the most pressing only means there is room for the next one to take its place.
This week he had to come to a decision whether to let young Whittaker leave or give him the extra 5 per cent of the profits that would keep him. All winter he had been stalling off this painful decision; yet it had been submerged today, when he had hoped to give it full thought, by Vosper’s letter. Now that the Vosper letter was answered, instead of turning to Whittaker, his mind obstinately moved towards Pearl.
It seemed to him that this preoccupation with and worry over the Vosper business had been a thoroughly dangerous one from the beginning. To further it he had allowed Godfrey to make excuses to call at his house; in its encouragement he had gone to Switzerland and allowed Godfrey to sneak into his bed. In the very first place, long, long ago, nearly twelve months ago, his first flight to Vosper had introduced him to Pearl. Without it he would never have met her. Happy, happy time before he met her, when he had lived in his tightly cocooned world and had had nothing to think about but his food and his pictures and his furniture.
He nourished illogical expectations about the events of next Tuesday. The whole idea of this very appropriate revenge would never for a second have come to his mind except for Pearl prompting him to help Godfrey in the first place. It would be a fitting retribution – a wholly fitting retribution – if only one could be sure.
At times he could not bear to think how much hung on the outcome. If anything went wrong it was money thrown away, wasted, torn up. Two thousand pounds on the outcome of a few rounds of fighting. Two thousand pounds given away to this man Jude Davis, who was perhaps preparing to double-cross him and laugh in his face afterwards. There was no redress. One paid up and took a chance. The thought made him ill.
Soon after lunch, Miss Lock brought in the typed letter to the Law Society and Wilfred read it through carefully and signed it. Immediately afterwards he rang Pearl. There was no reply. Wilfred worried his way through another hour of the afternoon before he remembered it was the day for Pearl’s monthly lunch with that egregious friend of hers Hazel Timpson. This relieved him for a few minutes until he realized that Pearl’s appointment was probably only a blind for a secret meeting with Godfrey. Today, even at this very moment, they might be … He told Miss Lock to ring again; again there was no reply.
‘But I keep telling you,’ said Hazel. ‘You have changed. Not just in looks, I mean, though of course you’re thinner. It’s not just that. You seem to have changed, dear. This last two months, mostly.’
‘I’ve grown up,’ said Pearl. ‘It happens.’
Hazel eyed her with satisfaction. She thought Pearl looked restless, unhappy, her eyes were darker, older. She didn’t wish Pearl any harm but there was a grim compensation in observing a situation in which her friend, having so obviously married for money, wasn’t finding life a bed of roses. The first few meetings had been very hard to take: Pearl’s expensive clothes, Pearl’s ring, Pearl’s hair-do, the glittering restaurant, the gloves, the handbag with the nice little bunch of notes, the lizard shoes. In the time it took the leaves to fall she had changed from a rather ambitious shop-girl into a dignified, quietly sophisticated West End beauty.
Then before Christmas she had become absent-minded, more excitable than she had ever been before, eager to finish lunch and be gone, happy in a strained way, but almost rude, Hazel thought.
Now this third change, in which Hazel was welcome again, a new interest shown in the old scenes, all the time in the world to stay and talk, almost wanting to sit on and on. She had brought up that visit to the Trad Hall when she had thrown over Ned McCrea for that awful little man with the good looks who had taken her home. It was an occurrence that most girls would have wanted to forget, but Pearl insisted on talking about it today and about Godfrey Vosper as he was called. She seemed to want to go on talking about him. Apparently they had met several times – even met since her marriage. It was all very odd, Hazel thought, and suspicious. Yet it would be stretching it too far to suspect that Pearl, who had married for money and who even in the old days had really been too snooty for Hazel’s friends, should be having it off with a shabby little boxer. You couldn’t swallow that.
And Pearl, feeling herself more and more separated fro
m Hazel, more and more detached from the life she had led before her marriage, less and less interested in the doings of that world with its Saturday night hops and its fumblings in the back row of the flicks, its Ned McCreas and its Chris Cokes, listened to herself, heard herself talking on and on, bringing Godfrey’s name in every now and then because she had to talk about him to somebody and Hazel was the only confidante she had, the only one who had even met him. She tried to stop and yet went on with growing incredulity, knowing she had already said too much and watching the speculation grow in Hazel’s eyes. It was all so pent-up inside her that talking to Hazel, skirting round the essentials, never touching them with words but touching them in her own mind, was the only alternative to a hysterical outburst. Even so she had to watch her voice to make sure it was level, to keep the tears out of it.
She despised herself all the more because, not merely was her life with Wilfred so much superior to the way she had lived before, but even Godfrey, even Godfrey’s life with its tawdry gym and its brutal climaxes seemed to her far superior to any sort of life Hazel’s friends led. All right, she thought, you can’t get much lower than fighting for a living; and yet it had a vitality, a courage, a sincerity that most other ways of life lacked. You could cheat and figure the angle in most jobs and professions, but there was no show you could put on in the ring that didn’t have to be backed by guts and stamina and ability. There were no easy berths, there was no avoiding the issue, no way of passing the harsh responsibilities to somebody else. The weaklings were soon weeded out.
She had not seen Godfrey since the meeting in his bed-sitter. Something had gone wrong between them, and she knew that if they met again now it would not come right. She was offended by his casualness, hated him always for taking her for granted, was glad she had bitten him and would do so again. But she wanted to see him, she wanted the argument, the quarrel, the talk to go on and on. And at the end perhaps there would be agreement again and love. But she did not see him; he never called, rang, wrote. She might have dropped out of his life. Though she knew he was in strict training for his fight, she was racked with jealousy at the thought of the other women he most probably had.