by Beezy Marsh
Then, I darted back into the corridor. Billy’s office door lay up ahead. Running towards it, I felt in my pocket for the key and stuck it firmly into the lock. I twisted it and turned the door handle, but it didn’t open. I tried again, rattling the key around in the lock a bit. Finally, after what seemed like a lifetime, I heard a click, turned the handle and gave it an almighty shove, tumbling through the door.
The flowers and dresses were gone; that had all been part of Billy’s plan to seduce me, I realised that now. The room stank of blokes, cigar smoke and fear.
I ran to the desk, but the ledger was nowhere to be seen. Frantically, I began to pull open the desk drawers one by one and although I found a handgun, a cosh, a wad of cash and some very nice diamonds in there, the ledger was missing. If he kept it in the safe, I was done for. The hands of the clock on the wall moved at lightning speed, as one minute and then another sped by.
With beads of sweat forming on my brow, I pulled out the whole of the middle drawer. It caught against something, as if it was jammed. Billy Sullivan was a trickster and a conman, wasn’t he? I ran my hands along the underside of the desk and there, hidden in a secret compartment, was the ledger. I flipped it open, and the list of policemen he was paying off lay before me. I had struck gold.
Then, to my horror, I heard Lou whistling out in the corridor and the unmistakable sound of footsteps approaching. My heart raced as I stuffed the ledger down my drawers, pulling my blouse out over the waistband of my skirt, to cover the bulge.
Quick as a flash, I sat down, picked up the fountain pen and started to scrawl a note. This was no time for half measures, I had to make it convincing.
Lou poked his head around the door.
‘What the hell are you doing in here?’ he said, his eyes wide with incredulity. ‘How did you get in?’
‘The door was unlocked,’ I said, as calmly as I could while my knees were knocking together under the desk. ‘And I’m writing a note to Mr Sullivan, it’s personal.’
‘I told you I would tell him…’ Lou began, moving towards me, his shoulders brushing through the doorframe.
‘No,’ I said, hiding what I had written. ‘Look, Lou, there are some things that are between a man and a woman and you may think you know everything your boss gets up to, but trust me, you don’t.
‘Mr Sullivan asked me a question and gave me time to think about it and I am just leaving him a reply.’
‘Let me see that,’ he said, angrily snatching the paper from my hand.
The ledger was digging into my ribs, and I swear in that moment I could barely breathe.
The note read: ‘Billy, you are right, we belong together.’
He took a step back.
‘Oh,’ he said, swallowing hard, ‘I see, it’s like that is it? Well, you’d better sling your hook because Mr Sullivan don’t like people in here without his say so. You should have asked his permission.’
‘Don’t you see, Lou, that Billy and me, we are beyond that stage? We know each other… personally,’ I replied, with a twinkle in my eye.
Poor Lou, he looked rather crestfallen.
‘I’m sure he’d hate to think you’d shouted at me just for saying ‘yes’ to him. In fact, I think he’d be quite cross because this was the answer he was waiting for. Billy always gets what he wants, doesn’t he? Billy always wins,’ I said.
I got up, with my dry cleaning in front of my stomach and my heart in my mouth as I walked towards the office door.
‘And I won’t mention the door was unlocked if you don’t,’ I said, over my shoulder. ‘It’s your job to check it, isn’t it? I expect Billy will blow a gasket if he finds out about your lapse of security. Shall we keep it as our little secret?’
‘But I could have sworn I locked it,’ Lou murmured to himself, scratching his bald head, as I waltzed off down the corridor.
Men in bowler hats were scurrying to and fro outside the House of Parliament, like a bunch of worker ants. What on earth did they do all day, those toffs at Westminster, with their briefcases full of important stuff? We were worlds apart but beneath their collars, suits and hats they were just men, with desires and weaknesses and needs that I was beginning to understand. Soho had taught me that and it was a life lesson I would always be grateful for because now I knew how to take advantage of them. No man would get the upper hand with me again.
Detective Sgt Hart was waiting for me on Westminster Bridge, looking like all his Christmases had come at once.
I pulled the ledger out of my drawers and held it firmly in both hands.
‘You have actually gone and bloody well done it, Nell!’ he cried, picking me up and spinning me around.
‘And now you had actually better bloody well keep your side of the bargain,’ I said, handing it over to him as he gently put me down. He flicked through it, raising an eyebrow at some of the names on Billy’s list of straightened cozzers.
‘I’ve already got the Ghost Squad on standby in Holborn,’ he said. ‘It’s all hush-hush, so the regulars haven’t a clue, which will keep Sullivan in the dark. I cannot wait to get him in the back of my black Maria. And will you be able to deliver Alice Diamond to me as well, like you said?’
I started running him through my secret plan: ‘The rest of the girls from The Forty Thieves will take the back exit out of the shop after the show, just as last models are starting off up the catwalk. Alice has told me she will create a distraction, to allow me time to get to the exit and she will follow me down the staircase.
‘I’m going to delay her by tripping on the stairs which is where you come in. You’ll have to move fast because once she’s on her toes, she’s a force to be reckoned with. I will have to fight you off to make it look convincing, but you will let me get away and collar her instead.’
He nodded: ‘Sounds good.’
I could hardly believe I was going to double cross her with this cozzer, but it was really happening. The waiting game had been worth it.
‘Billy’s men will be parked up in a lorry down one of the side streets, because they want to steal the Alaska fur van, so once we have got out of the way, you can move in and catch them at it.’
‘Oh, don’t worry your pretty head about Billy Sullivan,’ he said. ‘Leave him and his mob to me.’ There was a glint in his eye: ‘It’s been a long time coming and I’m not going to let him slip through the net. Besides, now I have the proof of his protection rackets, he’s banged to rights.’
‘And Jimmy?’ I said. ‘How is he doing?’
‘I’ve made sure he’s being made as comfortable as he can be in the cells, without drawing attention to it,’ said the detective. ‘But it’s fair to say he isn’t someone who is used to losing his liberty. You were right about that.’
‘Poor Jimmy,’ I murmured. ‘God knows how he’s going to cope inside.’
‘He’s lucky to have a strong woman like you in his life,’ he said, gazing at me, intently.
I poked him in the ribs: ‘Oh, flattery will get you… nowhere.’
He smiled: ‘The Home Secretary is waiting to see the strength of the case against Sullivan, but he will make sure the sentencing for Jimmy is lenient. I gave you my word and I will stick to it.’
‘Well,’ I said. ‘It’s been nice doing business with you…’
‘Might you fancy a drink with me sometime?’ he said, as I was turning to leave, with the raindrops pattering on my face. ‘I can leave my police badge at the door. I mean just you and me, getting to know each other a bit better…’
‘Oh, Detective Sgt Hart,’ I sighed. ‘It’s like a cat going out with a mouse, isn’t it? You and me would never work because I will always want to steal and you are as honest as the day is long.’
‘I’m sorry you think that way, Nell,’ he said, shuffling his feet about. ‘I was hoping I might reform you a little, persuade you to mend your wicked ways.’
There was something boyish about him. He really was quite charming when he wasn’t arresting people.
/> ‘I’m flattered,’ I said. ‘But no man will ever be in charge of me, as long as I live. I’m happy the way I am and, as it happens, I love going shopping up West. If the hoister’s drawers fit, then wear them, as the saying goes.
‘Still, we will always have our afternoons by the River Thames to remember each other by, won’t we? And the day you collared me in Gamages. That was very memorable, for all the wrong reasons.’
His shoulders drooped a bit.
Life was full of surprises.
Sgt Eddie Hart may have won the war in Soho, but he’d lost the battle for my affections, and he looked quite defeated by that.
Chapter Thirty-One
NELL
Holborn, London, March 1947
I hadn’t seen crowds like it since Stan Laurel and Oliver Hardy brought Piccadilly to a standstill when they visited London.
High Holborn was buzzing with people coming to the Gamages fashion show and spivs were milling about offering fake tickets, in the hope of making some easy money. It was a taste of luxury when we were all still being told to tighten our belts on our utility wear and that proved irresistible.
It was handbags at dawn to secure a seat, a real stampede by ladies who should had known how to mind their manners. But in that moment as the minutes ticked closer to four o’clock, they forgot everything they’d learned at finishing school and prepared to fight each other to catch a glimpse of Dior New Look dresses and the most beautiful furs.
I met Gypsy by the shop entrance, and we forced our way through the crowd. She was brilliantly pushy, like a steamroller: ‘Corblimey, get out of my way, why dontcha?’
When women turned to protest that she was elbowing them out of the way, she preened: ‘We are models for Monsieur Dior. Make way! Coming through….’
Upstairs in ladieswear, a section of the store had been closed off with screens, with rows of chairs at either side to form a catwalk down the middle. Some bright spark at Gamages had borrowed scenery from the theatre in Drury Lane. Roman columns with fake ivy hanging off them stood at either side of the changing room doors. A pair of heavy velvet curtains hung on a brass rail between the columns and to the side of that, some poor workmen were heaving a baby grand piano into position. The manageress, Miss Hunter, was strutting about with a clipboard giving orders to fellas in overalls who looked like they wanted to smack her one in the chops rather than adjust the ivy or shift another sodding chair into the right position.
‘No, Stanley, left a bit, please,’ she chirruped, while shop assistants darted about with a dustpan and brush to make the place presentable. ‘We must give as many of our customers as possible the chance to get close to the haute couture.’
She spied Gypsy and me approaching: ‘N’est-ce-pas, Mademoiselle Piaf?’
‘Oui,’ said Gypsy, who was beginning to enjoy being French. ‘Definitely, oui.’
‘You girls go on through to the changing rooms to start getting ready,’ she clucked. ‘Allez, vite!’
There were a few professional fashion models getting ready in the changing rooms and they looked askance as we came in. They were tall and thin as string beans and as graceful as racehorses. The Forty Thieves were just a bunch of pit ponies next to them, but what we lacked in experience, we made up for in enthusiasm – particularly because we were on the take and that was enough to give us a gee.
The Partridge twins were sensational, with their jet-black hair parted down the middle and pulled back into neat chignons, dressed in identical gold jackets with full black knife-pleated skirts. Em was a dead ringer for Judy Garland, but with blonder hair and freckles. She glanced up at me excitedly as a shop assistant helped her into a raspberry pink silk taffeta dress, which was fit for a princess. The Forty Thieves were always known for being almost like film stars around South London and now we were living up to our reputation on this side of the water.
‘Oh, my gawd, Nell,’ squeaked Em, ‘ain’t it beautiful?’
‘We’ll have that one, for sure,’ I whispered.
My outfits were hanging on a rail next to Gypsy’s and beyond that were rows of the finest furs from the Alaska. I could hardly believe that I was going to wear the pelts I had spent my days perfecting in the life I lived before.
I reached out and touched a beautiful full-length mink coat, and the snowiest white artic fox fur cape, feeling a glow of happiness, as I meticulously planned how I was going to nick them.
‘Five minutes, girls!’ boomed Miss Hunter, peering at us over the top of her clipboard, like an officious little sergeant major.
Gypsy was busy pouring herself into a silk polka dot creation, topped off with a massive hat. The material clung to every curve and she was a total knock-out in it. After I’d done up her dress, she helped me into a day-suit, made of the finest black gaberdine, with a skirt that swished out from the waist like the petals of a flower every time I moved. The jacket was trimmed with fur and I pulled on gloves and a hat. I peered at myself in the mirror and a very posh lady stared back at me. I wouldn’t have looked out of place at Buckingham Palace. Miss Hunter must have agreed because she bustled by and hung a little handbag over my arm to complete my outfit.
I poked my head around the velvet drapes to see if I could spy Alice. The room was filling up fast and she’d promised to turn up. I couldn’t spot her anywhere, but it was too late to back out now.
But someone else was there, right in the middle of the front row, adjusting his silk handkerchief in the top pocket of his immaculately pressed suit. Billy Sullivan glanced over in my direction and I felt my stomach lurch, before I quickly pulled the curtains closed.
‘What’s the matter?’ said Gypsy, ‘You’ve gone a funny colour. Is your dress too tight?’
I was beginning to regret telling him about the fashion show, not to mention writing that note to him. It was like inviting a bear to a dinner party and wondering if you were going to end up on the menu. I had no way of knowing whether he’d read my letter, but even if he had, once he realised his ledger was missing, I would be skating on very thin ice indeed.
‘I’m fine,’ I said, taking a deep breath. ‘Just remember to do what we discussed with Alice and everything will work out.’
The pianist started up. It wasn’t sort of stuff you’d hear in the club or down the boozer, but it set the mood for the fancy clothes we were wearing. The professional models opened the show, gliding effortlessly down the catwalk and we trooped off after them.
We followed in their footsteps, tottering along as if we wore clothes like this every day of the week, to gasps from the audience: ‘Oh, how divine!
‘Look, there’s so much material, the skirt’s almost to the floor!’
We twirled slowly at the far end of the catwalk and on the way back, I felt Billy undressing me with his eyes. Luckily, I wasn’t wearing the pink dress like Em was, or my face would have matched it by the time I got back to the changing room. He had such a way of making me blush.
I could have tried to pretend otherwise, but Billy Sullivan had an effect on me that I was powerless to control. It was like the funny flip I used to get in my stomach when I was a girl, standing on Waterloo Bridge looking down at the River Thames. Being around him was knowing that if you fell, you’d drown, but despite everything I couldn’t help imagining the thrill of jumping in anyway. I realised then, that putting him behind bars for what he did to Jimmy wasn’t going to switch my feelings off. But to give me and Jimmy a fighting chance, I had to get rid of him. A long prison sentence meant he’d be out of sight, out of mind, at least. While he was still running Soho, I’d be forever under his thumb.
I was gambling on a win against Billy Sullivan, but this time, I had fixed the deck in my favour.
In the changing rooms, gowns were hastily unzipped and in the confusion, as we changed into our next outfits and priceless dresses were chucked over chairs, the Partridges stuffed their Dior skirts and jackets into a shopping bag and one of them – I couldn’t say which, they were identical and only thei
r Ma could tell them apart – slipped out to the back stairs for her meet with the rest of Em’s girls. The girls took the bag and scarpered down the stairs to Alice Diamond’s Chrysler and the Partridge twin came back to the changing rooms, as if butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth.
I waited until Miss Hunter was helping to dress the models in houndstooth outfits, with hats to match, before rolling that lovely artic fox fur into a tight little bundle and shoving it down one leg of my hoister’s drawers. I pulled a mink stole from the rail and pushed that down the other leg, because you might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb. Then I put on a silk evening gown, with a full skirt and plunging neckline, and stepped out on to the catwalk. As I strode along, to murmurs of appreciation from the assembled ladies, I decided that the New Look was perfect for hoisting because you could have got a house underneath those dresses and no one would have been any the wiser.
The Partridges continued their ruse; one went on to the catwalk, the other flapped off to the staircase. I’d have loved a whole brace of Partridges in the gang; they were worth their weight in gold for the confusion they caused and the amount they got away with.
Gypsy was loving every minute of the show, even if she was almost falling out of some of the dresses, and she hammed it up every time Miss Hunter told the audience: ‘And now, we have our very own French model…’ which gave me more time to hoist stuff. I was having the time of my life doing that.
I threw on a beautiful sable coat and then, having told Miss Hunter I needed to answer a call of nature, dashed to the staircase where I quickly took off my evening dress, pulled the furs from my knickers and handed the lot to one of the Forties to take down to the car.
Miss Hunter was fuming by the time I returned, because I almost missed my slot on the catwalk. I darted on, pulling my fur coat tight around me as I gave my twirl at the end, because I had nothing but my underwear on and I didn’t want the hoity-toity ladies to have to pass the smelling salts.
We only had the final party dresses and evening furs to go now, and I had started to get really anxious about where on earth Alice had got to. I’d promised Detective Sgt Hart she’d be here and collaring her was part of the deal.
