CHAPTER 1
The tram trundled down from the Vauxhall Bridge and screeched reluctantly to a halt, pausing long enough to allow two women to jump down to the pavement. They waved to the conductor as it left, then looked around at their surroundings. The short brunette got her bearings while consulting a set of directions scribbled on a torn envelope. The tall blonde carried a small valise. She looked in all directions, avidly surveying every building, every person, even the piles of rubble waiting to be collected from the bomb sites.
“So this is Lambeth,” said Gwen.
“This is Lambeth,” confirmed Iris. “You’ve been in Lambeth before, haven’t you?”
“I’ve been through Lambeth,” said Gwen. “On the way to Brixton Prison and, goodness, I’m saying that like it’s a normal thing. But I’ve never actually set foot in Lambeth proper. Should I be doing the Lambeth Walk?”
“Please don’t,” said Iris. “You have too much of the Mayfair touch to pull it off. And thanks for sticking that tune in my head. This way.”
“I liked Me and My Girl,” said Gwen wistfully as they walked along the Thames. “I thought Lupino Lane was terrifically funny. We saw it in ’37, not long after it opened.”
“We?”
“Ronnie and I, of course,” said Gwen. “One of our earlier dates. What ‘we’ did you think I meant?”
“You just recounted a memory of him without starting to tear up,” observed Iris.
“I did, didn’t I?” exclaimed Gwen in surprise. “I’ll have to tell Dr. Milford. That’s—I was going to say progress, or something. I don’t know if it is.”
“If your goal is to reclaim your life so you can start living it again, then it’s progress,” said Iris.
“As is today’s adventure,” said Gwen. “How much farther is he?”
“About five minutes walk,” said Iris, glancing at her directions. “Five for me, anyway. About three for you if you seize the bit.”
“Thank you for setting us up,” said Gwen. “And for coming with me.”
“Of course,” said Iris, smiling up at her. “I wouldn’t dream of you meeting him without me there. Consider me your chaperone.”
“I scarcely need one at my advanced age.”
“You’re a reputable young blue-blooded widow heading into a seedy neighborhood to meet a strange man. What will your in-laws think?”
“They will think nothing,” declared Gwen. “Because I don’t plan to tell them about it.”
“But if it ever comes out, you have me as a witness to your respectability.”
“There isn’t anything respectable about this,” said Gwen. “Not in the circles I travel in.”
“Times are changing,” said Iris. “You’re changing with them.”
They walked up Lambeth Road. The railroad ran alongside them, raised above the neighborhood, cutting off the view of the river. The broad arches supporting the track bed provided homes to warehouses and the odd commercial establishment.
“Will he like me, do you think?” asked Gwen. “Will I like him?”
“I don’t know,” said Iris. “Liking isn’t really the point, is it?”
“It’s just that I’ve never been this—”
Gwen hesitated.
“Go on,” said Iris.
“This—physical with a man. With anyone.”
“It’s going to be a hot and sweaty experience,” said Iris.
“And I’ve never really had that. Is he—is he a brute?”
“He has to be a brutish sort to do what he does,” said Iris. “But he’s disciplined.”
“A disciplined brute,” said Gwen. “I’ve never encountered anyone like that.”
“You were never in the army,” said Iris. “Two arches over from the Fitzroy Lodge, he said, which is coming up. Glad to see they’ve found some new digs.”
“Who are they?”
“A boxing club. They were bombed out during the Blitz. Just opened the new location. Ah, there it is!”
MACAULAY’S MARTIAL ARTS, read the sign. ORIENTAL COMBAT TECHNIQUES. FITNESS TRAINING. SELF-DEFENSE COURSES FOR MEN AND WOMEN. A group of photographs taped to the window showed men wearing white cotton jackets belted over drawstring trousers grappling with each other. One in particular was featured throwing other men over his shoulder or sending them to the mats with force so fierce that it was evident even in the frozen moments of the photographs. In the center, the man stood at attention in a British Army uniform. Underneath, a caption read: “As taught by former Master Sergeant Gerald Macaulay, His Majesty’s Army.”
“That’s him?” asked Gwen.
“That’s him,” said Iris. “Are you ready?”
“Library skills and martial arts,” said Gwen. “That’s what I wanted to learn from you.”
“And we’ve already been to the library,” said Iris. “In you go, soldier.”
She opened the door and they went inside.
There was no anteroom, although a desk sat in the front corner for whatever business matters needed to be conducted. A large square mat covered most of the interior, while around the periphery were punchbags, mostly heavy but some speed. In the rear stood several thick wooden poles with small crosspieces fixed at various heights and angles.
Copyright © 2021 by Allison Montclair
