AllFreeNovel
Share Us
However, there was a change a few minutes later. An open car emerged from a side street and drove alongside the Fascist lines. Cheers went up. The lines straightened, the officers saluted, the Fascists stood at attention. In the backseat of the car sat their leader, Sir Oswald Mosley, a handsome man with a mustache, wearing the uniform complete with cap. Rigidly straight-backed, he saluted repeatedly as his car went by at walking pace, as if he were a monarch inspecting his troops.
His presence reinvigorated his forces and worried Lloyd. This probably meant they were going to march as planned--otherwise why was he here? The car followed the Fascist line along a side street into the financial district. Lloyd waited. Half an hour later Mosley returned, this time on foot, again saluting and acknowledging cheers.
When he reached the head of the line he turned and, accompanied by one of his officers, entered a side street.
Lloyd followed.
Mosley approached a group of older men standing in a huddle on the pavement. Lloyd was surprised to recognize Sir Philip Game, the commissioner of police, in a bow tie and trilby hat. The two men began an intense conversation. Sir Philip must surely be telling Sir Oswald that the crowd of counterdemonstrators was too huge to be dispersed. But what then would be his advice to the Fascists? Lloyd longed to get close enough to eavesdrop, but he decided not to risk arrest, and remained at a discreet distance.
The police commissioner did most of the talking. The Fascist leader nodded briskly several times and asked a few questions. Then the two men shook hands and Mosley walked away.
He returned to the park and conferred with his officers. Among them Lloyd recognized Boy Fitzherbert, wearing the same uniform as Mosley. Boy did not look so well in it: the trim military outfit did not suit his soft body and the lazy sensuality of his stance.
Mosley seemed to be giving orders. The other men saluted and moved away, no doubt to carry out his commands. What had he told them to do? Their only sensible option was to give up and go home. But if they had been sensible they would not have been Fascists.
Whistles blew, orders were shouted, bands began to play, and the men stood to attention. They were going to march, Lloyd realized. The police must have assigned them a route. But what route?
Then the march began--and they went in the opposite direction. Instead of heading into the East End, they went west, into the financial district, deserted on a Sunday afternoon.
Lloyd could hardly believe it. "They've given up!" he said aloud, and a man standing near him said: "Looks like it, don't it?"
He watched for five minutes as the columns slowly moved off. When there was absolutely no doubt what was happening he ran to a phone box and called Bernie. "They're marching away!" he said.
"What, into the East End?"
"No, the other way! They're going west, into the City. We've won!"
"Good God!" Bernie spoke to the other people with him. "Everybody! The Fascists are marching west. They've given up!"
Lloyd heard a burst of wild cheering in the room.
After a minute Bernie said: "Keep an eye on them, let us know when they've all left Tower Gardens."
"Absolutely." Lloyd hung up.
He walked around the perimeter of the park in high spirits. It became clearer every minute that the Fascists were defeated. Their bands played, and they marched in time, but there was no spring in their step, and they no longer chanted that they were going to get rid of the Yids. The Yids had got rid of them.
As he passed the end of Byward Street he saw Daisy again.
She was heading toward the distinctive black-and-cream Rolls-Royce, and she had to walk past Lloyd. He could not resist the temptation to gloat. "The people of the East End have rejected you and your filthy ideas," he said.
She stopped and looked at him, cool as ever. "We've been obstructed by a gang of thugs," she said with disdain.
"Still, you're marching in the other direction now."
"One battle doesn't make a war."
That might be true, Lloyd thought, but it was a pretty big battle. "You're not marching home with your boyfriend?"
"I prefer to drive," she said. "And he's not my boyfriend."
Lloyd's heart leaped in hope.
Then she said: "He's my husband."
Lloyd stared at her. He had never really believed she would be so stupid. He was speechless.
"It's true," she said, reading the disbelief in his face. "Didn't you see our engagement reported in the newspapers?"
