The Death Beat Page 3

  Ike grunted and continued reading the list. Eventually he looked up, shaking his head. “You’re mad, Rollo, utterly mad, but…” he grinned, showing his large, square teeth, “I think we can do it. It’s good timing actually – what with the miners’ strike there’s not going to be much else on the agenda. Even if there is a scoop it won’t make it onto the front page – not with the country about to grind to a halt.”

  Rollo grinned back at his chief reporter. “That’s the spirit!”

  “But…” said Ike, his ink-stained finger pointing to the last item on the list, “what the deuce are you thinking by this – get Poppy out of the picture?”

  “What?” said Poppy, grabbing the list from Ike, then tossing out a quick “sorry.”

  She too ran her finger down the list and stopped at number ten. It did indeed say get Poppy out of the picture. “What’s that supposed to mean?” she challenged Rollo.

  The editor shrugged and grinned sheepishly. “I’m afraid, Miz Denby, you are a liability.”

  She opened her mouth to speak but Rollo held up his hand to silence her. “Hold your horses. What I mean is that in the nine months you have worked here our advertising revenue has increased every time you’ve unearthed a big story. First the Dorchester scandal, then that Russian malarkey in the autumn. Things have been quiet for a while, but, as you know, I’m a betting man, and the odds are in favour of another big story sometime soon. With you out of the picture and Ike focused on the miners, we minimize our chances of unearthing it.”

  Poppy flushed slightly. It was a backhanded compliment. Yes, she did have a knack of exposing big stories but now, apparently, she was a liability. What was he planning on doing with her?

  She cleared her throat. “So, are you sacking me, Rollo?”

  Rollo’s eyes widened to the size of saucers. “What gave you that idea? Of course not!”

  “Then what are you planning?” asked Ike, taking the list out of Poppy’s trembling hands.

  “I’m planning on taking her with me. That is, if she’ll come.” He turned to Poppy, his eyes taking on the look of a pleading puppy. “I’m going to be working on The Times for three months. I’ve arranged for you to get a job there too. Will you, Poppy? Will you come with me to New York?”

  CHAPTER 3

  “So what are you going to do?” asked Delilah Marconi, cutting her cucumber and egg sandwich into squares.

  Poppy sighed as she placed a tea strainer over her cup and poured herself a second helping of the golden brew. The Empire Tea Rooms were busy with lunch-time customers. Perhaps this was not the best place to discuss work. She looked around, checking to see if any journalists from the Globe’s rival paper The Courier were there: they weren’t. Good. They’d no doubt find out soon enough, but she didn’t want to be the leak.

  “I really don’t know,” answered Poppy.

  The dark-haired Maltese woman put down her knife and appraised her friend. “Well, I think it’s a spiffing opportunity. You’ve never been to New York, have you?”

  Poppy shook her head. Until last summer, she’d never been any further than Northumberland. Since then she’d been to London and Paris. But New York? New York was on the other side of the world…

  “You’ll love it. They call it ‘The City That Never Sleeps’. There are theatres on every corner! And then there’s Tin Pan Alley, and the moving picture studios…”

  The young actress’s face lit up as she recounted tales of her visits to New York with her wealthy father and influential great uncle, Guglielmo Marconi. “Uncle Elmo has been overseeing the launch of some radio stations there. And he said he can arrange an audition for me.”

  “Sounds like you’re the one who should be going – not me,” said Poppy.

  “Well actually, I was planning on going over the summer, but I can always bring it forward a month or two…”

  “What, you mean go at the same time as me and Rollo? If I go, that is…”

  “Yes! Oh, won’t that be the bee’s knees? You and me strolling down Broadway together? And then we can go shopping on Fifth Avenue! And then there’s Central Park, and the parties out on Long Island…”

  Poppy held up her hand and repeated Rollo’s phrase from this morning: “Hold your horses, old girl. I haven’t said I’ll go yet.”

  Delilah pouted, her mouth forming a shape some of the male arts and entertainment journalists in London claimed could rival Mary Pickford’s. “What’s stopping you?” she asked.

  Poppy sighed and took a sip of her tea.

  Delilah scowled. “It’s Daniel, isn’t it? You don’t want to go because of him.”

  Poppy wanted to deny it but couldn’t. Yes, it was because of Daniel. She hadn’t yet had a chance to tell him of Rollo’s offer – and had asked Ike and the editor to keep quiet until she did – but she already knew what his reaction would be. He would not be happy.

  Delilah picked up her sandwich, holding it daintily between thumb and forefinger, and declared: “It’s not as if you’re married or anything.” And then took a large bite and chewed.

  Poppy chewed too, but not her food. Delilah was right. She and Daniel were not married. And although they had been stepping out for about six months, there had been no sign that he was ready to put a ring on her finger – or that she would accept.

  The problem lay with his domestic situation. When she had first met him – on her very first day in London – there had been an instant attraction between them. Then, six weeks later she got a job on the same newspaper he worked on. The attraction continued to deepen to the point where he asked her out to dinner. But in the midst of her first big story for the paper, she had got the idea that he was not quite as available as she had been led to believe. At first she thought he was married, but then she discovered that he was in fact widowed, and the woman she thought was his wife was his sister, who had come to live with him to help look after his two young children.

  Once that confusion had been laid aside, she and Daniel had started courting. However, it had taken them quite a few months before she was able to meet his children. His sister, Maggie, had considered it too soon after Daniel’s wife’s death to bring a “new woman into the home” – as she put it – and although they started courting in the summer it was November before she was able to meet little Arthur and Amy.

  They were delightful children – six and four – with the eldest, Arthur, just having started school. Amy was still at home with her aunt Maggie. They took to Poppy instantly – much to Daniel’s delight – but the same could not be said for Maggie. Maggie had lost her fiancé during the war, and now at thirty-two feared she was destined for a life of spinsterhood. Her brother’s children were very much her surrogate babies and she was not going to give them up easily to anyone – certainly not to a twenty-two-year-old career woman who was likely to put her job before family.

  During a particularly tense Sunday lunch Maggie had made her views known. Daniel defended Poppy, saying of course she would put the children first and would be prepared to leave her job if necessary. This had irked Poppy no end as he had not spoken to her about it first. Afterwards, when he drove her home, she told him she thought he had been out of line and that they had not yet even discussed the possibility of marriage, nor what she would do with her job if they did. He had apologized and said it was something they most definitely should discuss.

  Yet, despite her protestations, Poppy knew she was just as much at fault as he. Perhaps more so. Every time he tried to raise the issue, Poppy would change the subject – much to his confusion. She had started to suspect Daniel’s views on the role of women in the home were more on the traditional side during her second big story for the newspaper, when he had implied a woman should not be investigating things on her own. Yes, he had been worried about her safety – and that, in itself, was charming – but it suggested to Poppy that there may be problems down the line if she chose to continue with her career.

  Delilah knew all about this. She and Poppy had sa
t up many a night in Delilah’s flat, after an evening at Oscar’s Jazz Club, discussing Poppy’s options. Yes, they both admitted, Poppy and Daniel loved each other, but he’d made his views on marriage clear. And Poppy didn’t know if she was ready for that. She was only twenty-two and had landed a plum job as a journalist on a London tabloid. Not many women had the opportunity she had to forge a career. Would she be prepared to give it up for marriage? Perhaps she might, one day. Or maybe she didn’t have to – couldn’t she do both? She wasn’t really sure. But she did know she wasn’t prepared to do so yet. Nor, however, was she prepared to give up on her romance. Oh, why had she met Daniel now and not a few years into the future? It was a cud she and Delilah had chewed until it was dry.

  And now, here they were again, in the Empire Tea Rooms. “You know what, old girl? Men are just not worth it,” declared Delilah as she lit a cigarette, sucked, and then exhaled over the table.

  Poppy wafted the smoke away from her tea cup. “Are we talking about Daniel or Adam?” she asked.

  Delilah’s nostrils flared. “I thought we weren’t going to mention his name ever again.”

  Poppy gave Delilah an apologetic pat on her hand. “I’m sorry. How are you feeling about it all? That’s why we were going to have lunch, anyway – not to talk about my problems.”

  Delilah gave a melodramatic sigh and tears welled in her eyes. She dabbed them delicately with a napkin. “How is one expected to feel when the love of one’s life runs off with someone else?”

  Poppy pursed her lips. She didn’t mind helping soothe Delilah’s wounded heart, but she wouldn’t do it by perpetuating falsehoods. “He didn’t run off with someone else, Delilah. He said yes to a job offer as the assistant to one of the world’s greatest theatre directors.”

  “Well, it’s the same thing,” Delilah pouted. “He knew it would require travelling – spending months away from me at a time – but he chose Stanislavski over me.”

  Poppy made sympathetic noises and patted her friend’s hand. Delilah was not used to being put aside and her pride was hurt. But Poppy knew it was more than that; her friend had truly fallen in love with the young actor. She felt desperately sorry for Delilah; however, if truth be told, it was actually Adam she sympathized with. Wasn’t he too torn between love and career? Why, oh why, couldn’t she have them both!

  Poppy had just put the finishing touches to her lipstick when the doorbell rang. She heard the click of heels down the hall, signalling that her aunt’s companion, Miss Gertrude King, was going to answer it. Poppy had been living with her father’s paraplegic sister, a former suffragette and retired West End leading lady, since arriving in London the previous summer. The young reporter took a moment to appraise her reflection. She’d come a long way since she first stepped through the Chelsea townhouse door wearing a serviceable but dowdy beige suit. Tonight she was wearing a Jean-Charles Worth satin evening gown. It had been a gift from the designer – a friend of her aunt’s – as thanks for a warm review she had given in the Globe of his latest collection. She had been reluctant to accept it at first, worried that it was tantamount to a bribe; however, when Aunt Dot pointed out the dress came after the review, not before, she had received the gown with thanks. She was a tad worried about what might happen when Worth’s next collection came out. Would she be expected to gush about that too?

  She smoothed down the pale pink calf-length satin gown and checked that the mother of pearl brooch was securely fastened to the sash at her hip. Then she leaned forward to make sure her bodice did not gape too much. The ribbon straps, strung with pearls, held her weight and she smiled as she thought of what Daniel would say when he saw her: it was a far cry from the flighty little flapper frocks she wore to Oscar’s Jazz Club. As this was a film premiere – where Rudolph Valentino himself was going to attend – she thought the more sophisticated look was just what was called for.

  She slipped her silk-stockinged feet into kid leather shoes with pearl-encrusted buttons and flicked a dusky pink-fringed shawl over her shoulders.

  There was a knock on her door. “Mr Rokeby is here, Poppy,” came the clipped tones of Miss King.

  “I’ll be right down,” answered Poppy.

  The babbling cinema-goers gushed out of the auditorium and waited for the appearance of the star: Rudolph Valentino. They didn’t wait long. As they entered the foyer, Mr Valentino and his entourage were greeted by rapturous applause. The film, it seemed, was a hit with Londoners – as it had been in every city it was shown. The American-Italian heart-throb, in white coat and tails, flashed a dazzling smile and announced that if anyone would like to join him, he was heading down to Oscar’s to celebrate. This was greeted by cheers and a round of “For he’s a jolly good fellow” as the well-heeled audience – including leading socialites, politicians, and show business celebrities – followed their new idol onto King’s Road, where they were greeted by a phalanx of press photographers.

  “I hope Max has got a good position,” observed Daniel, standing on tiptoes to see over the crowd.

  Poppy squeezed his forearm. “Seeing you briefed him within an inch of his life, I’m sure he will,” said Poppy and then pulled him out of the flow of traffic to stand next to a life-size poster of Sheik Ahmed and Lady Diana Mayo in a passionate embrace. Poppy felt a chill go down her spine and pointedly turned her back on the screen lovers. Unlike the rest of the audience, it seemed, Poppy had not enjoyed the film. She simply could not see how they could applaud the abduction of a woman, her subsequent rape – however tastefully it was presented – and the fact that she eventually falls in love with her repentant assailant. At the beginning of the film Lady Diana had been a strong, independent woman; by the end she was a willing victim in the name of romance. Poppy knew exactly what Aunt Dot and her suffragette friends would say about the film – and she agreed with them. She looked at the delighted expressions on the audience members’ faces as they passed her by. And remembered too how Daniel had cheered and applauded with them during the standing ovation. She sighed. Perhaps she was reading too much into it, imposing her own situation onto the screen story; her own fear of being trapped by love.

  “What’s up?” asked Daniel, looking at her curiously.

  Poppy pulled her shawl tighter around her shoulders. “Nothing. I just don’t feel like going to Oscar’s, if that’s all right. It’s supposed to be our night off but I think both of us will want to slip into work mode when we’re there.” She gestured towards Daniel’s apprentice, who appeared to be holding his own. “Let Max deal with it.”

  Daniel nodded his agreement. They stood against the wall as the stream continued to flow by. “Do you want to call it a night then?” he asked, not trying to hide the disappointment in his voice.

  “Of course not!” said Poppy. “In fact, quite the opposite. I want to spend time with you, not half of London.”

  Daniel grinned. “Now that’s what a fella likes to hear. Should we go to The Queen’s Head, then? They have a good supper menu and with word that the Sheik’s heading to Oscar’s we should easily get a table.”

  “The Queen’s it is,” agreed Poppy.

  Twenty minutes later they were seated in the small restaurant of the public house, had ordered their food, and were sharing a bottle of chardonnay.

  “To us,” said Daniel, raising his glass.

  “To us,” agreed Poppy and clinked his glass. But what does “us” mean? she wondered. She had been doing a lot of thinking in the afternoon after she’d left Delilah at the Empire Tea Rooms. And when she’d got home she had spoken to her aunt. She’d told her about Rollo’s request for her to accompany him to New York. Without missing a beat Aunt Dot had declared, “But of course you should go with him! It’s the chance of a lifetime!” Yes, it was the chance of a lifetime. And it was only for three months. If Daniel loved her as much as she thought he did, then he would understand that this was really important to her and would support her in her career; he would encourage her to go but eagerly wait for her ret
urn. Three months apart might even do them some good. What was it they said – absence makes the heart grow fonder?

  “Penny for your thoughts,” said Daniel, the quizzical look back on his face. “What’s up with you tonight, Poppy? You don’t seem yourself.”

  Poppy took a sip of her wine and then put down the glass. “Yes, I know; I’m sorry. It’s just that I’ve got something to tell you. Something that came up today. Something to do with Rollo…”

  Daniel’s grey eyes narrowed. Did he suspect what it might be?

  “He hasn’t asked you to do anything underhanded, has he? To try to undermine the New York editor when he’s here?”

  Poppy smiled at the way Daniel’s mind worked. Rollo was his friend and boss but he was under no illusions about the weaknesses in his character. “No, not that. But it’s related.” She then went on to tell him Rollo’s plan to ensure Archie Weinstein would not manage to increase the Globe’s ad revenue, including his request that she accompany him to New York to make sure she didn’t get any scoops while he was away.

  Daniel’s war-scarred hand tightened on the stem of the glass as she spoke. When she had finished he raised the glass to his lips and took a long sip, then put it down. His lips pursed and released and then he spoke. “I expected him to do something like this. Don’t worry, I’ll talk to him. It’s wrong of him to make you do something you don’t want to do.”

  Poppy’s eyes opened in surprise. Something she didn’t want to do? She hadn’t yet told Daniel what she thought of the proposal, only what it contained. And he was assuming she wouldn’t want to go? Why on earth did he assume that? How dare he assume that!

  Poppy was just about to speak when the waiter arrived with their meals. They sat back and allowed the platters of steamed new potatoes and lamb chops to be placed on the table. Daniel rubbed his hands together and tucked in.

  Poppy did not make any moves towards hers. He noticed and put down his cutlery. “Sorry, Poppy, were you going to say grace?”