Page 34 of Ghost in the Garden
“Yes,” he admitted. “And yet I’ve grown to admire her for staying.”
A smile lurked on Juliet’s lips. “Shewouldleave it for you. To bewithyou.”
Shock washed over him like a wave. He didn’t know what it meant. He didn’t even know if she was teasing.
To be with me.
To be with her.
He couldn’t think about that now. In a rush, he said, “I can get you different premises, respectable shop, reasonable rent. And if he follows, I can make life difficult for Boggie’s lawful enterprises—rent increases, constant visits from revenue men and the police looking for stolen goods.”
She laughed, rich, disconcertingly Constance-like mirth. “That, I would love to see. You almost convince me, love, you do. But it’s my goods the police would be all over. ’Cause they know I can’t afford a place like that. You don’t want my kind of connections.”
“You needn’t teach me my business, Mrs. Silver,” he said.
“Jules will do.”
“And I shan’t teach you yours. But you could think about it.”
“Interesting,” she said pensively. “Everyone seems to be trying to move from one side of the law to the other. Boggie, Lambert… I’ll be frank with you, Mr. Grey. I can’taffordto be entirely lawful.”
“You could with a more visible business and wealthier customers. But that is up to you.” He looked at his watch and rose to his feet. “I must go.”
“I asked around about you, too.”
He paused, raising his gaze to her face.
“You’re a bit of a novelty, a bit of a mystery, and much too wealthy to be out alone in these streets. You’ll get lost in the fog. Gerry’ll go with you.”
Solomon had looked after himself in many of the world’s most dangerous ports. But he knew the advantage of accepting favors—or kindnesses. He hadn’t made up his mind which this was.
“Thank you,” he said, inclining his head. He laid a card on her desk, inclined his head once more, and walked away.
*
The fog wasswirling thickly outside the kitchen window. Bert was back, so presumably Angela was too, though she had not rung for Constance.
“What does she do out all day?” Constance asked him. “Take tea with friends?”
He regarded her pityingly. “Don’t be daft. She ain’t that kind. She helps his nibs, don’t she? Does the stuff he ain’t got time for.”
Constance didn’t quite like that. Whatever or whoever the ghost turned out to be, she wanted Lambert to pay for the collapsed building. She wasn’t sure she wanted Angela to pay too, just for being a good wife. And one who already felt guilty enough to be haunted by the dead victims.
As Bert went off, she stepped closer to the window and peered out into the darkness. The fog was impenetrable now. At least if Solomon managed to get here, no one would see them meet. Great, cloudy globs of it floated and swirled. Easy to imagine ghostly shapes out of it. As a child, she had done much the same in the darkness, when she had been alone and shivering in her cold attic, longing for her mother’s presence when she could hear her shrieking with laughter in the street, or in the room below.
She shivered, throwing off the memory. The maid Denise stood beside her.
“Ghost weather,” she said derisively. “According to Goldie.”
“Don’t you believe her?” Constance asked.
“I believe shethoughtshe saw something. Trick of the imagination, isn’t it?”
“Then you’ve never seen this ghost?
“Course not.”
“But Bert and Pat and even Mrs. Lambert saw it.”
