Love & Freedom (Choc Lit)

by Moorcroft, Sue

  Both the mules and the short skirt made the ascent into the BMW sports vehicle a challenge but she scrambled up and soon the vehicle was bowling smoothly along Marine Drive, past Saltdean and then Rottingdean, the lights from the pier and the Brighton hotels looming closer and closer, twinkling as the sun prepared to dip into the sea.

  On this summer’s evening every parking space along King’s Road was taken, but Martyn found a spot to ease the BMW into in a side street. Honor discovered that, worse than scrambling up, dropping down from the perched-up passenger seat of the big vehicle in a short skirt and high heels was damned near impossible without flaunting her underwear or letting her footwear drop from her toes. Watching her struggle, Martyn swore, seized her by the waist and swung her down, as if dragging a naughty child out of a tree.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said, meekly. ‘I didn’t think about climbing in and out of your SUV.’

  Martyn had changed into a midnight blue shirt and he looked exactly what he was – a pin-up. His hair flipped sexily around his collar while hers wiggled around her head like the Gorgon’s snakes.

  King’s Road was thronged, unsurprising in a resort at the height of the summer. Martyn grabbed her hand and tucked her behind him, which had the double benefit of advancing their progress and providing relief from the wind. When they reached the well-worn exterior of Ali Spangles he stopped short, bringing her around beside him. ‘Ah. That explains how he can get in.’

  Outside Ali Spangles, on a blackboard decorated with silver stars, they read: Under 18s Nite at Ali Spangles! Wickid DJ! Only £5!

  ‘Oh …’ Honor deflated. ‘I never even thought of that. I guess he’s just hanging out with his friends. I just jumped to stupid conclusions. I’m sorry I dragged you out here.’

  Martyn studied the three doormen, standing in a row like thuggish penguins. ‘Yes, but it is Ali Spangles. As we’re here, maybe we should look around.’

  They gazed up the stairs and into the entrance passage. Every scuff on the badly painted walls showed. Teenagers straggled in trying to look cool and mainly looking furtive as electronic music pounded and scratched out into the street.

  Martyn approached the biggest doorman, a bald guy with two crosses in one ear. ‘Is it under 18s only? Or can we get in?’

  The doorman raised his eyebrows, looking from Martyn to Honor and shrugging. ‘OK with us, mate. You pay your five quid, you go in. Long as you behave yourself.’ He smirked. ‘They might ID you if you try and buy alcohol.’

  Martyn gave him a tiny smile and brushed past, paid ten pounds to a different penguin at a window and drew Honor up the narrow stairs and down the corridor that let out into the bowels of the club. Honor didn’t know whether to put her hand over her eyes or her ears at the swooping neon-green lights and shrieking teenage voices over headaching music, trying not to wince at the number of show-off boys barging around squealing girls. It wasn’t lost on her that the girls, who Stef would have termed jailbait, were dressed pretty much like her – tottering on heels, hemlines high, necklines plunging.

  Her eyes got used to the wheeling lights but there were a lot of bobbing heads to block her view. She had to rely on Martyn, his gaze raking the room methodically. ‘I can’t see him,’ he said, bringing his mouth down close to her ear, ‘but there’s some kind of big meeting taking place in the far corner. Let’s wander in that direction.’

  Tucking in behind his formidable height as he wove along the edges of the heaving dance floor, Honor was able to negate the worst of the mob effect of excitable kids crammed into too small a space. A whole bunch of wide girlish eyes drank Martyn in as he made his way through the throng, sliding on then to check her out. She wondered how many of them were thinking: he could do better–

  ‘He’s right in the corner, talking to two older guys,’ he said, suddenly.

  Now that they’d made it past the dance floor, Honor was able to step out from behind him and crane up to see that Ru and a group of teens around him were listening and nodding as the two men, one white and wholesome-looking and one black and über-cool, talked. Aaron and Jermaine. Fury flamed inside her. ‘Those dumbass morons!’

  Martyn’s eyebrows shot up. ‘How come you’re so well acquainted with local dumbass morons?’

  She staggered on her tiptoes, trying to become taller even than the spike heels made her. ‘The guy who brought me here before? He’s Aaron, the white dumbass. The guy who he brought me to see, who seems to control the local grey labour market – he’s the black dumbass, Jermaine. Aaron works at an employment agency and if he can’t fit someone into a legit job, he brings them to Jermaine to get them work off the payroll. Aaron was so mad when I passed on the opportunity that it’s obvious he gets a commission.’ She dropped back on to her heels. ‘I’m going to talk to those guys.’

  Incensed by the trust on the face of Ru and the teens clustered around him, she flung herself through the horde of clubbers-in-training. With a final shove, she burst into the small clearing about Aaron and Jermaine. ‘Well, hi there!’ She beamed around.

  Ru looked astonished.

  Aaron and Jermaine looked shocked and wary.

  She locked her eyes on Ru. ‘What’s up?’

  ‘Nothing.’ He shrugged. His expression switched abruptly to dismay. ‘Wait a min–!’ A groan went up from the other kids.

  Honor wasn’t surprised, when she looked back at the yard of floor that Aaron and Jermaine had been occupying, to see it suddenly empty. Martyn was standing close by, watching their departing backs and smiling.

  ‘They’re going!’ objected Ru. ‘But we hadn’t finished.’

  Honor sighed. ‘Shame. I’ve had a bad day and I wouldn’t have minded trying that pressing the button thing. Were they talking to you about a job, Ru?’

  The muttering crowd began to disperse as he hid his eyes behind his hair. ‘They said they could get me work in Brighton. I hate working for Mum.’

  ‘Is it really that bad? It gives you a little money in your pocket.’

  Ru stopped hiding with a flick of his head and an incredulous laugh. ‘It doesn’t.’

  Honor paused. ‘It doesn’t?’

  ‘Mum doesn’t pay me. That’s why I hate it. It’s slave labour.’

  ‘I guess it is,’ she said, slowly. ‘She doesn’t pay you a cent?’

  ‘Not a cent, not a penny. Not as a wage. She’ll give me money for a particular thing, if she feels like it. But she doesn’t often feel like it.’

  ‘Oh.’ Honor looked into the eyes that were both wary and trusting. ‘Well, I hate to break it to you but those guys, they aren’t on the level, either. They specialise in getting work for people who want work but there’s some reason that finding it is difficult. Foreigners like me and, I guess, young kids like you. They don’t pay the going rate and I’m pretty sure they don’t pay taxes or any of those tiresome things. It’s not legit. They’re bad news.’

  Ru’s lips set. ‘But they would pay me something. Which is better than nothing.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Honor nodded. ‘But they could get you in a whole lot of trouble. Maybe we can figure something out. Something better. How about you come with me and we talk about it?’

  ‘S’pose.’ Digging his hands into his pockets, Rufus allowed himself to be shepherded back through the crowd, shuffling disconsolate feet up the corridor and down the stairs, collecting polite goodnights from the doormen.

  ‘OK,’ said Honor, as soon as she’d somehow clambered back up into the X5 – taking the mules off first, which turned out to be helpful. Turning to face Ru in the back seat, she could watch his deeply shadowed expressions in the half light. ‘Will you work at the Teapot if I make her pay you?’

  Ru stilled. ‘Yeah,’ he conceded, suspiciously. ‘But I bet you can’t make her.’

  Honor smiled. ‘Bet I can. She wants to go to that Global Gathering thing, right? I’m going to make her an offer she can’t refuse.’

  From the driver’s seat, Martyn groaned as he started the BMW up. ‘Fantas
tic. She’s going to try and reason with Robina.’

  Martyn hadn’t been able to talk her out of it. Half-an-hour later, having struggled once more out of his car after he’d parked it behind the Starboard Walk shops, Honor was seated on an iridescent green-and-purple, crushed-velvet beanbag in Robina’s lounge.

  The whole place – two storeys over the Eastingdean Teapot – was like some old hippy hang out. Web and feather dreamcatchers hung in doorways, crystals stood where they’d catch the light, posters covered entire walls and the ceiling was painted dark purple. Jos sticks burned on the mantel and fat white candles lit a room devoid of TV or any furniture that had legs. Surreal.

  Even though sitting elegantly on a beanbag in a micro skirt was no easier than climbing in and out of the X5, Honor didn’t feel disadvantaged by her station because Sophie, Robina and Ru were each flopped on beanbags of their own.

  Kirsty lay on a futon. On the floor beside her were a couple of crackers on a plate, one nibbled. Honor, dismayed, spoke to her first. ‘I didn’t mean to disturb you, Kirsty, or tire you out.’ How on earth had Robina hardened her heart sufficiently to ask this shrunken wreck of a female to drag herself into the Teapot to work for even an hour, let alone an entire weekend, so that Robina could go off and enjoy herself?

  Kirsty’s skin stretched tight around her smile. Her eyes were sunk into circular black shadows. ‘Nice to see a new face. Newish, anyway.’

  ‘So,’ interrupted Robina, ‘what’s Ru been up to? And why are you done up like a doll?’

  Honor was shaken to realise just how chilly she felt towards Robina. When she’d first arrived at the Teapot she’d considered her quirky and fun, and anticipated that Sophie was the one who would irritate the hell out of her. Instead, Sophie had turned out to be a warm-hearted, hard worker, who just happened to hero worship her best friend, warts-and-all, though occasionally was prepared to stand up to Robina if Robina was being extra warty.

  Stef was self-absorbed but Robina had him beaten, hands down.

  Honor hid her thoughts behind a smile. ‘Ru and I, we’ve just been having a little chat and we’ve come up with a way that will mean you can go to the Global Gathering.’

  ‘Fantastic! How?’ In an instant, Robina was as shiny-eyed as a kid who had just discovered Santa Claus.

  Honor put up a restraining hand. ‘Whoa! There’s a deal involved. So don’t go agreeing to anything until you’ve heard it. OK,’ she began. ‘Like any other teenager, Ru doesn’t just need a job – he needs to be paid for doing it.’

  Robina shrugged. ‘But he’s family.’

  ‘So what? It’s not written in stone that you have to be mean to your family.’

  They stared at each other. Robina’s eyes glittered. ‘What has little Ru got to do with a deal? And why are you making me one?’

  Honor ignored the last question. ‘The deal is this: I’m prepared to work whatever hours it takes to run the Teapot this weekend while you and Sophie swan off to your music festival if you’ll leave Ru behind to work with me – and you pay him the same hourly rate as you pay Aletta, not only for this weekend but for every hour he works for you from now on. This weekend is just about doable if we don’t open the back dining room and I think I can make Aletta work a little harder than she has been doing.

  ‘And you and Sophie have to get downstairs now and make enough scones and cakes to see us through whilst you’re away.’

  ‘That’ll take all night,’ Robina objected.

  ‘But we could do it!’ stuck in Sophie. ‘Let’s, Robbie! I want to go.’

  Robina considered. All attention was on her. Her eyes moved from Honor to Ru, to Kirsty. ‘Maybe if you, Ru and Kirsty pitched in tonight–’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Ru isn’t as old as Aletta so I can’t pay him the same–’

  ‘You can. He works twice as hard as her. It’s the only deal on the table, Robina. And if I find out that you’ve dragged Ru or Kirsty down there tonight, the deal is off. You ought to be downright ashamed of yourself even thinking of making poor Kirsty work, anyway.’

  Angry roses bloomed in Robina’s cheeks.

  But Sophie clapped her on the shoulder. ‘Come on, Robbie, we can do it! Then we’ll get straight in the van and head off to Stratford and grab a few hours once we’ve got the tent up.’

  ‘OK then,’ said Robina, with bad grace. ‘It’s better than missing it.’

  Honor waited, but she obviously wasn’t going to get a thank you. Neither was anybody going to ask whether she really felt that she could run a tearoom after working there as a waitress for less than two weeks. Maybe they simply shared her confidence that she’d had enough experience of making things work out to know that she could avoid complete disaster.

  And at least gratitude was shining from Ru’s eyes.

  She struggled up from the depths of the beanbag. ‘Leave the keys with Ru and I’ll be here at eight in the morning. You, too, Ru, OK? If you’re on the payroll, you have to be punctual.’

  ‘All right.’ Ru walked her down to the front door, tucked away up the walkway from the street. ‘You were wicked,’ he said, simply, before he shut the door behind her.

  Chapter Twenty

  Martyn had been waiting in the dark for thirty minutes but he wasn’t tired or sleepy. When he saw the slight figure emerge from beside the Eastingdean Teapot he let her totter on her huge heels down The Butts, then started the engine, flicked on the lights and wheeled slowly out of the car park.

  At the side of the road, Honor paused, and he eased the big vehicle up beside her, rolling down the window. ‘Everything arranged to your satisfaction?’

  She grinned. ‘Just about.’ Her hair lifted from around her face in the breeze.

  ‘Hop in,’ he suggested, opening the door and putting out a hand to help her up the tall step. He didn’t trust himself to get out to do it, getting behind her in that short skirt …

  With a laugh and a whoop she made the jump, her eyes gleaming in the light from the street lamps. ‘Did you hang around just to save me a five-minute walk home? You’re a regular knight in shining armour.’

  He shook his head, letting the X5 roll down the street past the silent shops. ‘I hate the idea that you may judge Brighton by Ali Spangles. Brighton’s a fabulous place. I thought you might like to see somewhere a bit nicer.’ He turned right, on to Marine Drive.

  ‘OK,’ she said, cautiously. ‘But I’ve sold my soul to the devil and agreed to look after the Teapot until Monday so I can’t be real late.’

  ‘OK. Just an hour or so to enjoy yourself before the hard graft begins.’

  He drove back towards Brighton. The coast road at night always did something for him; the sea black and oily below, glittering with yellow lights, the pier’s skeleton exposed by a million bulbs. Turning right into the Old Steine, following the traffic system up through Marlborough Place, he eventually turned off into a quiet nook above the North Laines and parked behind wrought iron railings.

  One of the fabulous Regency houses with a curved front and several storeys, it could have been almost anything behind the big black door with 4 Fox Square painted in white. He keyed in his pass number, swiped his card and the door buzzed him in.

  ‘What’s this place?’ Honor gazed around at the high moulded plaster ceiling and glossy tiled floor.

  ‘Somewhere quiet.’

  A steward in black materialised. ‘Dining, sir?’

  ‘Just a drink in the lounge.’

  The dark figure nodded and faded away, leaving Martyn to lead Honor up carpeted stairs, past the bar on the first floor, loud with talking and laughter, glasses clinking. Past the second floor where diners clustered around tables with snowy cloths, the whisper of cutlery a grace note to the murmur of voices. On to the top floor and a small lounge, empty but for sofas and chairs upholstered in shades of gold and low wooden tables where newspapers had been dropped as if half-read. Martyn chose a curved sofa in an alcove beside a tall white fireplace with plants instead of a
fire basket.

  A waitress materialised and he ordered beer and once Honor discovered that they served both Budweiser and Schlitz she said, ‘Beer for me, too.’

  And whilst they waited for the drinks she gazed around at the room with its worn wooden floor, chair arms burnished to a gentle shine. ‘So, here we are,’ she said, when the waitress had left the drinks. ‘Should I be worried?’

  The low lighting painted starbursts in her eyes. He was intrigued. ‘Why?’

  She lifted the Bud, served in a condensation-coated stemmed beer glass. ‘This place. It’s kind of secluded, isn’t it?’

  He let his lips curve. ‘It’s just a club. There are private members clubs all over England. Fox Place is mainly for people in the media and the arts – kind of an East Sussex Groucho Club. A lot about Brighton is centred on tourists. I like to know a couple of places that aren’t. And it’s somewhere I can count on never finding Robina.’

  A group of four women and a man surged into the lounge, splintering the hush, choosing facing sofas in another corner and ordering champagne. One of the women was pink under her smart silver hairstyle and kept protesting, ‘Oh, this is silly! A proper engagement, at our age.’ But she didn’t seem to be able to stop admiring her ring finger.

  ‘I think I’ve heard of the Groucho,’ Honor admitted, relaxing against the back of the sofa after watching the new arrivals. ‘So why are we here?’

  ‘To chat over a beer. I think you thought I’d brought you to some den of vice? To introduce you to all my deviant practices?’

  ‘Of course not.’ But a quirk in her smile told him that maaay-bee such a suspicion had crossed her mind.

  It wasn’t what he’d planned to talk to her about but his heart stepped up its beat at the thought. ‘Any particular deviances you have me down for?’

  She tilted her head. ‘I haven’t really thought about it.’ But she smiled.

  He was tempted to pursue this interesting avenue but, as the champagne arrived for the group in the corner, he dragged his focus back to the conversation he meant to have.