The Nightingale Girls - By Donna Douglas Page 0,75

shaped like a little hand. But I don’t see it here . . .’

‘Ah, you mean the hamsa?’ Mr Solomon smiled. ‘I remember it now. That Riley boy brought it in a few weeks ago.’

Dora nodded eagerly. ‘That’s it. Do you have it?’

‘I’m afraid not, young lady. I made young Nick an offer for it, but he turned me down. Seemed to think it was worth more than I was offering. Cheeky little ganef thought he could swindle me in my own shop.’ He cleared his throat in disgust and spat into a grubby handkerchief.

Dora began to panic. ‘So where is it now?’

‘How should I know? Knowing that boy, he probably flogged it down the Rose and Crown.’ Mr Solomon shrugged. ‘You’ll have a job getting it back, I reckon. He should have sold it to me,’ he called after her, as she rushed out of the shop. ‘At least I would have kept it safe for you.’

Dora was seething as she stomped back through the market. It was a Saturday afternoon, and the street was busy. On one side, people picked and argued over secondhand clothes spread out on canvas sheets across the pavement. On the other side were stalls selling fruit and veg and seafood. The sharp, salty smell mingled with the tang of fried onions and the tempting aroma of freshly baked bread. Usually Dora loved the sights, sounds and smells of the market, but today she was too furious to notice them.

Mr Solomon was right, she stood no chance of getting her hamsa back. It could be anywhere. The thought of it hanging round the neck of one of Nick Riley’s tarty girlfriends made her feel sick. I should never have trusted him, she thought. Now she’d lost her precious hamsa and let Esther Gold down, and it was all his fault.

Back at the Nightingale, she headed straight for the porters’ lodge.

Mr Hopkins was very put out when she marched in. ‘What’s the meaning of this?’ he spluttered. ‘You can’t come barging in here . . .’

‘I’m looking for Nick Riley. Where is he?’

‘Having his tea break. But you can’t go in there!’ he shouted after her as she marched past him. ‘I’ll tell Matron. This area is restricted to porters only, not nurses. You have to go through the proper channels . . .’

Nick was in the back room, playing cards around an upturned tea chest with a few of the other porters.

‘I want a word with you,’ Dora said.

‘All right, Nick? What you been up to then?’ one of the other porters cackled.

‘Hope you haven’t been a naughty boy?’ another laughed.

‘Wouldn’t be the first time if he was, would it?’

Nick threw down his cards, rose to his feet and followed Dora out, to a chorus of cat calls from the other porters.

Outside it was cold, damp and already growing dark even though it wasn’t yet four o’clock. Nick lit a cigarette and took a deep drag. ‘What’s this all about?’ he asked gruffly.

‘Where’s my necklace? And don’t bother lying to me, I’ve been down to Solomon’s and he says he hasn’t got it. So where is it?’

He stared at the glowing tip of his cigarette. ‘It’s safe.’

‘Why didn’t you pawn it like I asked you to?’

‘Because he offered me next to nothing for it.’

‘So you thought you’d sell it to one of your mates instead?’

He didn’t meet her eye. ‘What do you care? You got the money for your books, didn’t you? More than old Solomon would have given you.’

‘That’s not the point. You knew what it meant to me, and you knew I’d want it back. How am I supposed to get it if you sold it?’

‘Who said I sold it?’

‘Don’t be clever with me, Nick Riley. I don’t want to hear any of your lies.’ Dora stared at his rigid profile. He couldn’t even look her in the eye. ‘You really don’t care, do you? You knew how much that necklace meant to me, and you just handed it over to any old Tom, Dick or Harry,’ she raged.

‘I got you the money, didn’t I?’ he growled.

‘So you say. I wouldn’t be surprised if you’d sold it and kept some for yourself!’

He turned slowly to look at her. ‘Are you calling me a thief?’

Anyone else might have been put off by his icy anger, but Dora was too furious to care.

‘I wouldn’t put anything past you, Nick Riley. I was wrong about you, wasn’t I? Everyone said you weren’t to be trusted,