Rita knew the man watching her wasn’t one of the American doctors as she’d been introduced to all of them earlier. So she surmised he’d arrived quite recently and that he had a partner somewhere, because Stephen Brooks always made a point of bringing the available men to the girls’ notice.
Rita wasn’t often impressed by the men she met at this sort of party – usually they were overweight, balding and not very attractive. But this man was some six feet tall, slim, with rugged features and thick white, beautifully groomed hair. She thought he might be as old as sixty, but in his case, age was no barrier. He wore his dinner jacket with the kind of nonchalant style that showed events such as this were commonplace in his life. She made up her mind then and there that she was going to have him.
When the record finished she made the excuse to her partner that she wanted some fresh air, left him and went out on to the terrace. It was growing dark now, but there were lights in the fountain and still more in the trees.
‘Isn’t it a wonderful night?’ she said breathlessly, and moving away from the French windows, she went over to the stone balustrade and she leaned over it as though admiring the garden below. ‘Can you smell the roses?’
‘I can indeed,’ the man replied in a deep, resonant voice. ‘It’s a smell which always takes me back to my childhood. I used to gather up rose petals with my mother. She used to make pot pourri with them.’
Rita had no idea what pot pourri was, but just the way he said the word sent tingles down her spine. He reminded her a little of James Stewart, even if he did have white hair and a terribly upper-crust English accent.
‘It’s such a beautiful garden,’ she said, turning to look at him. ‘How about coming with me to explore it?’
‘My dear, that would be a pleasure,’ he said with a languid but very attractive smile. ‘I’m afraid I’m not much of a party person. I don’t like to stand around in smoky rooms making small-talk to people I have nothing in common with. Strolling around a garden in the moonlight is much more to my liking.’
They were gone for almost an hour. She discovered his name was Ralph Peterson and that he’d been widowed two years earlier. She didn’t have to pump him for information to discover if he was rich; wealth seeped out of his very pores like a heady perfume.
Rita was very accomplished at pretending to be interested in everything men said to her – she’d learned to be in five years of working as a hostess in night-clubs – but for once she had found one who really was fascinating. He told her that his passion as a young man had been climbing, and as he spoke of mountains and faraway places he made her see them too.
‘I haven’t ever been outside England,’ she said wistfully. ‘In fact all I know is London.’
‘Well, perhaps I could take you to Paris as a starting point?’ he said. ‘I have to go there on business next week. I’ve been dreading going, it was my wife’s favourite city. But maybe with someone young like you I could see it all again through new eyes.’
Rita was astounded. As all her lovers were married men, even having dinner with them in public was difficult. She could hardly believe her luck, and she hadn’t even tried any of her seduction tricks yet. ‘I’d love that,’ she said.
‘Then we’ll go,’ he said, kissing her on the cheek. ‘I’m afraid I’m actually with a lady tonight otherwise I’d be tempted to try and whisk you away somewhere right now. May I have your telephone number? I could ring you tomorrow evening to make some arrangements.’
He wrote it down in a diary, then they made their way slowly back to the house.
‘Oh dear,’ he said as they approached the stairs back to the terrace. A statuesque dark-haired woman in a long white dress was standing at the top, looking down at them. ‘She looks cross.’
Rita wasn’t often thrown by another woman, but she was by this one. Although she was old by her standards, perhaps in her mid-thirties, she was a stunning, classical beauty, rather like Elizabeth Taylor with glowing olive skin, vivid blue eyes and her dark hair in a sleek chignon. Her gorgeous white gown, diamond necklace and drop earrings all smacked of someone who came out of the top drawer.
‘Where on earth have you been, Ralph?’ she called out, giving Rita a cold, suspicious stare. ‘I’ve been looking everywhere for you.’
‘I’m sorry, my dear, we’ve been looking at the garden.’ He looked at Rita, then back at the other woman. ‘Do you two know one another at all?’
‘No,’ Rita said, and quickly held out her hand. ‘I’m Suzie, a friend of Stephen’s.’
‘Daphne Dexter,’ the woman said curtly, ignoring Rita’s hand. ‘Come along, Ralph. You wanted to meet Frank Southerby, and he’s waiting for you in the library.’
It was around an hour later when Rita was upstairs in one of the bedrooms powdering her nose that Daphne spoke to her again. Rita guessed the meeting wasn’t a chance one – the woman glanced in and when she saw Rita was alone she came right in, shutting the door behind her.
‘Hullo,’ Rita said. She was quite tiddly after innumerable glasses of champagne and prepared to be nice to anyone. ‘It’s a good party, isn’t it?’
‘I don’t much care for this kind of party,’ the woman said, looking pointedly at Rita’s cleavage. ‘There’s always too many common little club girls on the hunt.’
Rita laughed. When another woman felt compelled to say such a thing, it meant they felt threatened. Clearly she wasn’t entirely sure of her man. But another thing pleased Rita still more – she could hear a very faint twang of the East End in the woman’s accent. As she came from a little village in Essex herself, that made them equals ‘Yes, there’s a lot of us about,’ Rita said. ‘Young ones, old ones and some plain cranky. Country house parties aren’t what they used to be.’
Daphne’s eyes narrowed. She took a step nearer Rita as if wanting to slap her. ‘Don’t even think of trying to hunt on my territory,’ she hissed. ‘Or you’ll be very sorry.’ And with that she walked away.
Chapter Thirteen
As Rita came out of Haagman’s at half past five on Friday evening, a tall, dark-haired young man was waiting at the bottom of the steps. He looked quizzically at her, and when he moved to speak to her, she guessed who it was. Andrew had telephoned the laboratory several times in the past two weeks, asking for Charlie. Yesterday Martin had lied and told him she had given up her job so that he wouldn’t call again. But clearly he didn’t intend to give up that easily.
‘Excuse me,’ he said, ‘would you be Rita?’
‘Yes, I am,’ she admitted. Charlie had almost certainly described her to him at some time, so it was rather pointless denying it. ‘And who would you be?’
‘Andrew Blake, Charlie’s old boyfriend,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry to waylay you like this, but I didn’t know what else to do. I’m so worried about her, and as I know you were friends I thought you might be able to tell me where she’s living.’
Rita had no intention of telling the lad anything. Charlie was adamant that she didn’t want to see or speak to him ever again. Rita had supported this decision, but now as she looked at him, her heart softened a little. She had expected an arrogant, plummy-voiced chap, but this lad was polite, softly spoken, and he looked so young and anxious. He had dark shadows beneath his lovely blue eyes, yet he was clean-shaven, his hair was neatly brushed, even his jeans and short-sleeved shirt were spotless. For someone to make such an effort with their appearance when they were clearly utterly miserable was evidence to her that he was a decent sort.
‘I’m sorry, but she left while I was off work,’ she said, lying through her teeth. Charlie was working overtime till ten tonight, and she was still staying with Rita. ‘She didn’t leave an address or telephone number. But she’s got mine, so I expect she’ll be in touch soon. You could give me a message if you like, and I’ll pass it on to her when she does.’
‘She’ll just ignore it,’ he said, and sighed deeply. ‘Do you know what happened between us?’
Rita nodded.
&
nbsp; ‘I honestly didn’t do anything.’ His eyes pleaded to be believed. ‘It was Meg that did all the running. I didn’t even like her. If Charlie had come in ten minutes later she would have found me gone. I certainly wouldn’t have made love to Meg.’
‘It was a shame then that you weren’t tough enough to put her in her place immediately,’ Rita said tartly. In fact she did believe him. Everything Charlie had said about Meg confirmed she was a man-eater, while Andrew looked about as worldly as a pet rabbit.
‘If I had known how things would turn out that night I’d have ridden over to Paddington and met Charlie from the train,’ he said fiercely. ‘I’d walk on hot coals right now to put things straight. I love her, Rita. She means everything to me and I can’t bear the pain of knowing she’s out there somewhere, all alone and hurting. Do you know if she’s got another flat? Is she safe?’
Rita had heard enough to banish any last suspicions about this lad. ‘Come and have a drink with me,’ she suggested. ‘I’m tired and thirsty, and although I don’t know where Charlie is right now, I might be persuaded to plead your cause when I do see her.’
They went to a pub further down Endell Street. There were no more than six people in there. One drink turned into two, as Andrew poured his heart out. Rita went so far as admitting Charlie had stayed with her for the first couple of days after she walked out of the Hornsey flat, but that was all.
‘We were so happy together,’ he said, his voice quivering with emotion. ‘I can’t believe it’s really over. We had planned to go on holiday down in Salcombe this week. My aunt down there and Ivor, the man Charlie used to work for, are terribly worried about her too. They haven’t heard a word from her.’
Rita knew that Charlie thought a lot of this man Ivor, and she was surprised her friend hadn’t written to tell him not to worry about her. ‘You can tell them both from me that she’s fine, and when I see her I’ll remind her to write to Ivor. I’m sure you can understand why she hasn’t liked to contact your aunt, though?’
‘Well, yes,’ he agreed. ‘I suppose she imagines Beryl would take my part. But you can tell Charlie she hasn’t. She told me I was a damn fool and I deserved it. She’s very fond of Charlie.’
‘I am too,’ Rita said. ‘I took to her right from her first day at Haagman’s. But I like what I see of you too, Andrew, and so I’m going to be straight with you. Charlie has immense pride, she won’t come running back to you just because she misses you. You’ve hurt her too deeply.’
‘But I didn’t do anything,’ he insisted. ‘Meg came mincing into that room without her clothes, leapt on me before I even had a chance to move and kissed me. I didn’t even kiss her back. If the roles were reversed and I caught Charlie with a friend of mine, I’d be prepared at least to listen before making a judgement.’
Rita thought he had a point, though she expected he’d be every bit as hot-headed as his girl. ‘But you’re forgetting that everyone important in Charlie’s life has betrayed her trust,’ she said. ‘Her father, mother and her first boyfriend. She’s strong, Andrew, but she isn’t indestructible. You’ve got to give her time. I will try and talk to her, but you must learn to be patient.’
They chatted about other things for a little while. Andrew told her that he had stayed on at the pub in Hampstead, but that he had arranged to move into a shared house with his old friends at the end of the month. He spoke too of his final year at university and the need to get a first-class degree if he was to be taken on by a good company. ‘IBM are looking for graduates,’ he said earnestly. ‘I really believe computers will change the face of business and industry within ten years or so. I want to get in on the ground floor.’
Rita’s only experience of computers had been as a temporary filing clerk at the Egg Marketing Board a few years earlier. Their one was a vast machine taking up an entire floor. As she remembered, it was always going wrong and it appeared to be more trouble than it was worth. But she supposed Andrew knew what he was talking about, so she nodded in agreement.
‘I hope this trouble with me hasn’t stopped Charlie thinking about a real career,’ he went on. ‘She’s so bright, I’d hate to think of her getting stuck in a dead-end job.’
Rita was just about to say how highly Mrs Haagman thought of Charlie. She was a rude, inconsiderate and totally ungrateful woman but Charlie appeared to have won her round. Only this morning she’d called Charlie into her office to offer her the chance to go on a training course for the technical side of film processing. But then Rita remembered Martin had told Andrew that Charlie had left the firm.
‘I don’t think that will happen,’ she said quickly. ‘She’s got a very ambitious streak.’
Andrew looked harder at Rita. He had arrived at Haagman’s imagining that the friendship between Charlie and this woman was a very casual one. Charlie had laughingly described her as ‘a red-headed vamp in missionary’s clothing’. He had wondered at the time why anyone could be bothered to spend their lunch-breaks with someone who sounded so weird and so much older than themselves. But now, after almost an hour in Rita’s company, he understood the attraction, and why Charlie had confided so much in her. Her character was the same odd mix as her appearance. On the surface she was just a staid mother figure, warm, understanding and kind. Yet she was too aware, too free-thinking to be called ordinary. She was obviously very astute, and had studied Charlie very closely. And he thought she almost certainly knew exactly where Charlie was and what she was doing.
Andrew admired loyalty, and he felt that if Charlie had this woman on her side she must be safe. As he sensed he was not going to make any further headway tonight, he thought he’d better go, and leave her to confer with Charlie.
‘I’d better be going,’ he said, looking at his watch. ‘I’m due behind the bar at eight. Thanks for listening to me, Rita, I hope you will press my cause with Charlie. If you have any news for me, could you phone me at the pub?’ He jotted down the number for her on a piece of paper. ‘By the way, before I go. I fully intend to start digging about her father, like we planned, with or without her. From next week I’m only working in the evenings, so I’ll have plenty of time.’
He was out the door before Rita could say anything more. She drank the last of her gin and tonic and thoughtfully lit up one last cigarette.
Charlie had told her Andrew’s ideas of how to set about tracking DeeDee down. Rita had wanted to laugh at the naivety of a man who believed he could get information about anyone in Soho by pretending to be a researcher. There were only two ways she knew of extracting information from people in Soho. One was with money, the other was violence.
But now she’d met Andrew she couldn’t laugh. He was a nice lad, as bright as a button, and handsome enough to persuade a few working girls to help him. And he had absolutely no idea how much trouble that might lead him into.
*
Rita was sitting in the dark by the open window, deep in thought, when Charlie came in.
‘Has the electric gone?’ Charlie giggled and switched on a lamp. ‘Oh no, my nosy friend is just spying on people.’
‘Hullo, love,’ Rita said, her spirits lifted slightly by Charlie’s cheerful tone. ‘I must be getting old, I hadn’t noticed it getting dark. How was work this evening?’
‘So so.’ Charlie pulled a face. ‘The Hag came back at half seven and hauled me into her office to talk some more about that course. It’s in York of all places and I’ve got to go there on Tuesday.’
‘That’s great,’ Rita said. She could see by Charlie’s expression that she was torn between apprehension and glee. ‘A change of scene will be good for you. Is she putting you up in a hotel?’
‘Yes, she said it was a good one too, and I wasn’t to let her down by fooling around. But I expect you’re right, a change will be nice, and I’ll be out of your hair.’
Charlie disappeared into her room to put her nightclothes on. While she was gone, Rita made her tea and a sandwich. She didn’t really know how to broach the subject of Andre
w, but she knew she must tell her tonight.
‘You are a love,’ Charlie said when she came back out into the living room and saw the tea and sandwiches waiting on the coffee table. ‘You’re so mumsy the way you look after me.’
‘I enjoy being mumsy,’ Rita said with a fond smile. It was actually far more than that. Having Charlie staying with her had filled a void in her life; for the first time in years she felt needed and useful. She hoped her young friend might want to stay indefinitely.
Charlie was exhausted and she really wanted to go to bed, but she sensed Rita had something on her mind. ‘I can’t thank you enough for having me here. I don’t know what I would have done without you,’ she said. ‘But I don’t want to outstay my welcome, so just say the word when you want me to go and I’ll find somewhere else.’
‘Now, whatever brought that on?’ Rita asked in surprise.
‘Well, guests are like fish, after three days they begin to go off,’ Charlie said.
‘Is that what that smell is?’ Rita sniffed the air in an exaggerated fashion. ‘I’ve been wondering about it all evening.’
Charlie laughed. Rita was a natural comedienne, and it was mostly that which had helped her through these past two weeks. If she’d had too much sympathy she would never have got out of bed. But then Rita was a remarkable woman all round. She knew when to listen, when to offer a hug, and when to give a kick up the pants. Charlie had received several of those from her. One morning when she refused to get up for work, Rita pulled the covers off her and slapped a wet flannel on her face. The first Sunday here Rita had insisted they bought Red Rover tickets on the bus and went all over London so Charlie couldn’t sit and brood. ‘Stop wallowing,’ she’d intuitively shout from the kitchen when a love song came on the radio, knowing it was likely to remind Charlie of Andrew. Often she refused to let Charlie talk about him, and insisted she told her about Guy, Ivor or even her old schoolfriends instead. It worked too – Charlie often found herself laughing over her reminiscences. She hoped that one day soon she’d find something about her time with Andrew to laugh about, rather than cry over, too.
Charlie Page 32
