The Camden Tales

66 - Life's A Peach

-=₪ July 1908 ₪=-

Queen's Gambit Hideaway / Camden / 10.07am

"Did you visit yer brother?" George queried, eyes lifting to meet Malka's as she entered his office.

"Yes, I did," she responded, casting an eye around the space. They were alone.

When Malka entered the hideaway, she immediately noticed Barry engaged in a card game with one of George's men. Apart from their low, concentrated exchanges, the club rested in its usual morning quietude, a familiar ambience during the hours it remained shuttered.

"Good. All go okay?" he asked, rounding his desk and settling on its edge. His eyes remained fixed on Malka, who hovered near the meeting table.

She nodded. "Where is Freddie?"

"Why?"

"You two seem very... chummy," Malka remarked casually, her attention drifting around the office with feigned curiosity as though absorbing its details for the first time.

"Yeah, I guess we are," George acknowledged.

"I thought we were close," she said.

"I thought we were too. Are we not?"

A palpable chill ran down George's spine as Malka's gaze, now unswerving and penetrating, fixed solely on him. Despite the shiver that accompanied the cold sensation, he smiled. The unique way she stirred feelings within him remained as intoxicating as ever.

"He knows of plans. I know not of plans," she stated coldly.

With her words, the smile that had taken residence on George's lips dissolved into the tense air of the office. Rising with purpose, he moved swiftly across the room to secure the door shut. Turning back to face her, he paused while selecting the best words to explain the weight and gravity of the information he was about to impart.

"None of the lads know this - only Freddie," he murmured, the timbre of his voice deepened.

In the quiet that followed, Malka remained patient, her senses attuned to the subtle vibrations of hesitation threading through George's demeanour, recognising that he was on the precipice of divulging something significant.

"What I'm about to tell you must remain confined within these walls. Should even a whisper escape, it would place a target squarely on my back. Do you understand?"

George's gaze bore into hers, hard and unyielding, as he took a moment to evaluate the foundation of trust they'd built. Malka nodded, signalling her grasp on the dangerous consequences that would unfold should his secret spill into the wrong ears.

"The truth is," George began, his shoulders easing in slight relaxation as he allowed a thoughtful pinch to his bottom lip, "I'm getting old, and whether I like it or not, I'm not as quick or strong as I used to be. But, perhaps more importantly, I'm just not as interested in the sport as I once was. A man's... priorities change as he gets older."

Malka's brow furrowed in confusion, her weight shifting subtly from one foot to another while she studied George and absorbed his words. "You... you are retiring?"

His eyes flickered briefly toward the office windows, noting with a discreet glance the swelling number of lads congregating in the club. Mindful not to reveal too much through overt gestures, he neither nodded nor made any conspicuous acknowledgement. With lips barely moving, he murmured in an almost imperceptible undertone, "I want out."

Malka blinked, processing his words. "And the plan?" she eventually enquired.

"Is my one-way ticket out," he replied quietly, his attention returning to Malka.