‘Old sweetheart, eh?’
‘That’s right … the prettiest thing you ever did see – older now, much like myself, but I don’t mind betting she’s still the beguiling creature that slipped through my fingers long ago.’
The old man tipped his hat. ‘Age don’t matter nothing,’ he declared with conviction. ‘It’s what’s inside that counts, the feelings and belonging.’
‘My sentiments exactly!’ Trent affirmed. ‘She might have a few more wrinkles, same as me, and could be she’s not as lively as she was but I’ll tell you what, matey … I’ll only have to look into them beautiful eyes and like you say, nothing else will matter.’
‘Well, good luck to you.’ The old chap ambled away. ‘If you catch up with this sweetheart of yourn, don’t let her get away this time, or like as not you’ll never get another chance.’
‘Oh, don’t you worry.’ That had been Trent’s avowed intention these twenty years – to find Lucy and hold onto her, one way or another. Then, seeing the elderly man moving away, he called out: ‘Hey! You there … Is the Prince Albert public house still open?’
‘What, the one on Victoria Street?’
Trent nodded affirmatively. ‘That’s the one.’
‘Well, you’re in luck. There’ve been one or two old pubs closed down, but the Albert is still up and running, or at least it was when I last called in a few nights back.’
Trent gave a whoop of joy. ‘Then that’s where I’m headed!’ He had another question. ‘I don’t suppose Peter Bentley is still the landlord, is he?’
The old man shook his head. ‘Pete retired some years back,’ he answered. ‘His missus took bad and the work got too much for them, so they retired and bought one of them terraced houses on Gas Street. His eldest son Mike is the landlord now.’ He frowned. ‘Though I must say he’s not a patch on his father … stays out most nights gambling. His wife works hard though, bless her heart. They’ve got a woman living in and helping behind the bar. Between them, the girls manage to make up for Mike’s shortcomings. You’ll find Pete calls into the pub most days, but he never interferes. He just sits at the bar chatting and lets them get on with it.’
It was enough for Trent to know that the pub was still up and running. ‘I might just look him up,’ he said. ‘Me and Pete Bentley supped many a pint together in the old days.’ Patting the old man on the back, he told him, ‘Nice meeting you, matey. It’s a change to speak to somebody who isn’t looking for a fight!’
As the elderly man set off again, he mumbled under his breath: ‘Rough sort. I wouldn’t mind betting he’s just out of gaol. He’ll probably get drunk as a skunk and won’t be able to find his way to bed, let alone go after an old sweetheart!’
When he got to the Albert, Trent stood for a moment, just soaking in the familiar things; that same worn dip in the pavement outside the door, where the feet of many a thirsty traveller had walked. The street-lamp which still leaned slightly to the left, and the name-sign over the pub door, cracked down one side, and creaking as it swung in the breeze.
Licking his lips at the prospect of that smooth dark liquid running down his throat, he pushed at the door, growing impatient when it remained fast. ‘Damn and bugger it!’ He pushed again, and when it still wouldn’t budge, he banged his two fists on it. ‘Come on, open up!’
‘Hey!’ a voice called from a window above. ‘What the devil d’you think yer playing at?’
On looking up, Trent could see a shadowy face behind a fluttering lace curtain. ‘I’m a customer,’ he yelled. ‘Open the blasted door.’
‘You’re too early – can’t you see we’re closed? Go on, bugger off!’
Something about the tone of the woman’s voice evoked a memory. ‘Lizzie? Good God, is that you, Lizzie?’ Stepping back to get a better view, he tried to focus on the face behind the glass. ‘LIZZIE MONK, IS THAT YOU HIDING BEHIND THE CURTAINS?’
‘Who’s asking?’ The voice sailed out, the face remained hidden.
‘It’s me, you fool! Edward Trent as was.’
‘You lying bugger, Eddie were hanged years back … an’ if he weren’t, then he should’ve been.’
‘Look at me, you silly mare!’
Standing well back, he threw out his arms. ‘I’m not a ghost. I’m all flesh and blood, you can bet on that!’
Suddenly the window slid up and a woman’s face appeared; in her early forties, without lipstick and her long brown hair wild and dishevelled, she made an awesome sight.
Trent was astonished. Some long time back, he and this woman had enjoyed a brief fling, but she had been a young girl then of barely sixteen, while he was over twice her age.
Nothing ever came of it, mainly because her elder sister Patsy took charge and drove a wedge between them. She tried every which way to drive him out of town and even informed their father of the affair. After that there was no real sense in having the girl anyway; her virginity was gone, and so was the fun. So he left.
Besides, by that time, he had already met Lucy.
Lizzie Monk was eager fodder, while Lucy was elusive and unwilling. That only made him more determined to have her; which he did in the end. And he would have her now, just as before, once he had tracked her down. But there was time enough yet. Meanwhile, he would catch his breath and enjoy whatever came his way, including Lizzie.
‘Well, as I live and breathe, it really is Lizzie Monk.’ He beckoned to her. ‘Come down ’ere, you little darling! I’m gasping for a pint.’ With the memories now stirring deep in his groin, he was gasping for something else too, but first he had to see the lay of the land.
Patsy was a loud-mouthed, formidable type – not that Trent was worried about her in particular, but if she was still around, the bitch, she just might cause enough of an uproar to get him sent back inside, and that was not a risk he was prepared to take for any woman, let alone the likes of Lizzie Monk.
The latter appeared downstairs a good ten minutes later, looking more human with her hair brushed loose and her make-up impeccably applied; in fact, she almost looked inviting. ‘I honestly thought they’d hanged you long since,’ she said, her brown eyes ogling the sight of him. ‘My God, but you’ve kept well.’
She noted the strong arms and the thick muscular neck, and his long coarse hair gave him a youthful look. ‘What are you now, Edward Trent? You must be getting on for sixty, but you still have the body of a younger man.’
‘Never mind all that, me beauty.’ Grabbing hold of her, he swung her round, eagerly anticipating the fun they might have in store. ‘You’re the first familiar face I’ve seen in a long time,’ he told her, ‘and, if you don’t mind me saying, Lizzie my darling, you look as lovely as ever.’
Setting her on her feet he took stock of this buxom brown-eyed woman who, despite being in her forties, was only lightly worn round the edges, and still somewhat of a looker.
Laughing, she shook her head in disbelief. ‘Eddie Trent, of all people! Where in God’s name have you been all these years?’ But before he could answer, she put her fingers to her lips, saying, ‘No! Don’t tell me. You’ve been locked up, haven’t you? My sister Patsy said that’s where you’d be – “locked up till he rots away”, that’s what she said.’
His grin became a frown. ‘As I recall, your sister never did have a good word to say about me.’
‘You can’t blame her though, can you? I mean, I was still wet behind the ears when you took advantage of me. For some reason, from the first time she clapped eyes on you, she said you were no good.’ Lizzie scowled. ‘Come to think of it, she was right too, wasn’t she, eh? Once you’d had your fun, you were away like your heels were on fire!’
‘Ha! You can thank your sister for that – and your father. Jesus! He was a crazy man.’
‘Crazy like you, you mean?’ It was all coming back now, how she had suffered at his hands, and still bore the scars to this day.
‘What! I’m nothing like him. He were a damned lunatic!’ Trent glanced about, wondering if the
y were being watched.
She answered the question that was crossing his mind. ‘No need to be nervous.’
He took umbrage at that. ‘You’ll never see the day when Edward Trent is nervous. But I have good reason not to get involved in skirmishes and the like.’
‘Really? It’s never bothered you before.’
‘So, why isn’t he around?’ Lizzie’s father was the only person whose strength and temper matched his own. Because of that, Trent held a slight but grudging regard for him. ‘Moved out the area, has he?’
‘You could say that,’ she replied. ‘Four years ago, our mammy took ill and didn’t get better, and he followed her soon after.’
He was pleased at that. ‘Oh. So you’re an orphan then?’
She laughed. ‘A bit old to be called an orphan, but yes, I suppose that’s what I am all right.’
‘And your sister?’ His intense dislike for Patsy had never gone away. ‘Did she leave the same way as the other two?’ He wished.
‘That’s a cruel thing to say!’
He asked again. ‘Is she still around?’
‘Would it bother you if I said yes?’
‘Not particularly, no.’
‘Don’t give me that,’ she teased. ‘I know you, and I know you’re after bedding me, and you’re worried she’ll make life difficult for you. That’s the truth, isn’t it?’
‘What makes you think I still fancy you?’
She glanced down. ‘Because I can see the bulge in your trousers.’
He laughed out loud. ‘How do you know that’s not my baccy tin?’
‘Hmh! Funny shape for a baccy tin.’ She nudged him playfully. ‘Come on, then – do you fancy me or what?’
‘Mebbe. Mebbe not.’ He fancied her like he might fancy a cut of beef. At the moment, any warm, red-blooded woman would do, just for the night, until he was satisfied, rested and cleaned up, and ready to face the one real love of his life.
‘There’s no need to hide and pretend,’ she promised. ‘I’m a grown woman now, or haven’t you noticed?’
‘Oh, yes, I’ve noticed all right.’ In fact, all he could see was the considerable size of her firm breast and the bold way she stood, legs astride, as though inviting him inside.
‘You never married then?’ he smirked. ‘Never got over me, eh?’
‘Don’t kid yourself! I got married a year after you left.’
‘Did you now?’ Damn and bugger it, he thought. On the one hand there was her sister Patsy, and now a husband to contend with. Bedding Lizzie Monk might not be as straightforward as he would have liked. ‘So, you’re happily wed then, eh?’
‘We might have been, if the bastard hadn’t gone off with some tart from Ackeroyd Street!’
That was more like it, he thought. ‘Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.’
‘Liar!’
‘No, I am really.’ He always prided himself on being as good a liar as the next bloke. ‘Bet you weren’t on your own for long though, eh? A good-looker like yourself?’
‘I was for a while,’ she answered soulfully. ‘Then I hitched up with the landlord from Daisy Street, and life didn’t seem so bad after all.’
‘Oh, I see.’ Disappointment betrayed itself. ‘You’re not one to waste time, are you?’
‘It didn’t last long though,’ she grumbled. ‘All he wanted was a good time. He didn’t want to go serious, so I dumped him.’
‘So now you’re on your own again?’ he probed. ‘Or is there another man in tow?’
‘Well, kinda.’
He cursed under his breath. ‘Someone I know, is it?’
She grinned wickedly. ‘His name’s Edward Trent … the only man I ever really loved, but he went away and broke my heart.’ She gave him a come-on wink. ‘I’m wondering whether he might stay this time?’
Secretly thrilled and giving little away, he answered quietly, ‘I’m sure he’ll stay, if you was to ask him nicely.’ The most satisfying thing in the world was making a woman grovel.
‘All right then, will you stay?’
‘Only if you keep your sister at bay. I can’t be doing with nagging women.’ His smile slipped and his eyes grew darker. ‘Women like her send me crazy. They make me liable to turn nasty.’
‘She won’t nag you. If anything, it’ll be me she has a go at. But don’t worry, I’m not that foolish young girl any more. I’m all grown up, and able to take care of myself.’ Lizzie looked him in the eye. ‘You would do well to remember that.’
Ignoring the hint, he asked guardedly, ‘So where does she live, this Harpy of a sister?’ He glanced up at the window. ‘Not here with you, I hope?’
‘Nope.’ She leaned closer. ‘As you can see, I work here.’ Her fingers stroked the back of his neck, making the hair stand on end. ‘Mike, the landlord, is away with his wife. They asked me to stay the night to keep an eye on things. I do stay over on the occasional night, and up until recently, I used to live over. But I got taken advantage of, getting caught for extra hours at the bar and nothing in return. So, I took a little house on Dock Lane. It’s not much, but my name’s on the rent book.’
Dropping her hand to his nether regions she squeezed up to him. ‘We could go there later, if you want?’ she said, nibbling his ear. ‘Mike and his wife are due back about eleven. I can ask the barman to shut the pub, and there’ll be no need for me to stay tonight.’
Trent gave her a smile that melted her at the knees. ‘You little hussy,’ he teased, and thought he might give her a kiss, but decided not to rush things. Make her wait, he thought, make her hungry for it. She’s not Lucy, but she’ll do for a couple of nights, until I’ve got my bearings.
Taking hold of her hands he pushed her away. ‘Your offer is real tempting and I dare say I’ll take you up on it later. But right now, believe it or not, all I want is a long cold drink.’
‘A drink it is then.’ Surprised and disappointed, she led the way inside to the bar. ‘You still haven’t told me where you’ve been all this time.’
‘I’ve been away at sea. That’s all you need to know.’ The fewer people who knew where he’d been the better, he thought cagily.
‘Hmh! I might believe that, but my Patsy wouldn’t.’
Her remark made him curious. ‘“My Patsy”, is it? So, you two get on all right, do you – even after she made it her goal in life to split us up?’
‘She looks after me. She always has.’
‘Bosses you about, more like!’ But Patsy was a stupid cow who didn’t deserve a minute more of his time. ‘Stop the gabbing, Liz, and get me a drink, will you?’
Hoisting himself onto the stool, Trent watched her moving about behind the bar. ‘I’m in no mood for questions, so leave it be, because I’m back now and raring to go,’ he said. ‘First a few pints, then a hot bath, and after that I wouldn’t mind wrapping my arms … and legs … round a warm female. If you know what I mean.’
He winked meaningfully. ‘You don’t happen to know of a sexy woman who might be looking for a randy fella to keep her occupied, do you?’
‘I expect that has to be me,’ she laughed. ‘No one else would want a ruffian like you.’ Taking down a pint glass from above the bar, she slid it under the beer tap, to release a torrent of froth and ale. ‘One pint coming up.’
Making his mouth water, she leaned forward, just far enough for him to see the rise of her voluptuous breasts inside the open neck of her shirt.
She slid the pint of beer towards him, pointing to the crooked bend in her elbow. ‘That’s thanks to you,’ she said, not smiling this time.
‘What d’you mean?’
‘That day when you ran for it – remember you and Dad got into a terrible fight? I tried to stop you, and got a broken arm for my trouble.’
‘I didn’t know that.’
‘That’s because you didn’t stop to find out. But I’m not blaming you. All’s fair in love and war, isn’t that what they say?’
Edward Trent recalled the fight in detail; him and
her father, and that witch of a sister who started it all by opening her big mouth. He pushed it to the back of his mind, preferring instead to remember the fun he’d had while he and Lizzie were on the rampage. ‘We had a good time though, didn’t we, you and me?’
‘The best!’
‘After all the disappointments you’ve had with lesser men than me, I hope you haven’t forgotten how to please a fella.’
‘That’s for me to know and you to find out,’ she murmured coyly.
When other drinkers started arriving, Trent retired to the corner table. ‘Keep the pints coming,’ he told her. And she told him he’d be no good to her with Brewer’s Droop.
‘You’ve no need to worry on that score,’ he promised. ‘I have been known to cover three women in one night of non-stop boozing.’
‘That I’d like to see.’
‘Well, you won’t, because I’ve got eyes only for you,’ he lied.
‘That’s all I need to hear,’ and she told him how she couldn’t wait to have him all to herself.
In fact, after the bar was closed and he had downed some five pints, Trent was not even halfway drunk. He waited for the bar to close, and he watched while Lizzie helped the portly barman shut up shop, and afterwards he walked her to Dock Lane and took her inside. ‘You’ve been teasing me all night,’ he said hoarsely, ‘so now let’s see what you’ve really got.’
No sooner were they in the door than he was tearing at her clothes. ‘Hey! Watch the new blouse!’ Pushing him off, she made him wait while she peeled off the blouse and the skirt, and then her frilly undergarments one after the other, each strip more tantalising than the last.
‘My God!’ It had been too long since he’d seen a woman stripped to the bone. ‘I could eat you,’ he growled. ‘Every last ounce of you.’
She laughed nervously. ‘Then there’d be nothing left for you to love.’
And love her he did, wild and wanton, with the appetite of a man condemned. In the first hour he took her once on the floor and twice in the bed, and then again when he woke from a slightly drunken stupor.
Journey's End Page 19
