by Wendy Reakes
“Keep me a table for one o’clock. I may as well sample the wares before I find out who else has been sampling them and not friggin’ paying.” Then he slammed the phone down.
“I wish you wouldn’t talk like that, Frank,” Yvonne Warner said. “May I remind you that he’s my son? Our son, Frank. You’ve always said it.” She rubbed herself up against him, brushing an imaginary speck off his shoulder.
“The little bastard’s ripping me off, Yvonne. How do you expect me to talk?”
“You don’t know that yet,” she said, cajoling him. “When you see him tomorrow I’m sure he’ll have a perfectly good explanation. You’ll see!”
“I hope you’re right, Yvonne. Family is one thing, but business, well business is friggin’ business and nobody screws with ol’ Frankie Warner.” He looked down at his wife, peering up at him with a doe-like pleading look in her eyes.
And she was another one who was screwing him.
Yvonne Warner wasborn and raised in Manchester in the fifties and if anyone asked her which part of Manchester she was from she always told them Didsbury. She told them she was from a discreet middle class family and that she was raised by loving parents. Her father was a respectable doctor with his own general practice, and her mother a stay-at-home-housewife. But it was all a lie.
Yvonne was born Bette Davis, named after the screen goddess, the one whom her mother often said she could never live up to. Her father was an alcoholic who picked up time when he was sober while her mother worked in a big house, cleaning it, dreaming of one day meeting her idol, Bette. They all lived together in Manchester, not in Didsbury as Yvonne would have people believe, but in Moss Side, a part of Manchester nobody ever wanted to live.
As a young girl, Bette spent every waking hour planning her future, a future away from Manchester and away from her parents. She had plans for greatness; wealth being her primary target, and then beauty and lastly a place in society where she would be respected and admired. She knew that if she played her cards right she could have it all. As long as she married well! She also knew that if she wanted to catch a good husband, she would have to up her game; improve her looks and her grooming, change her accent, learn about social graces and of course, get the hell out of Moss Side. Most of all she looked forward to the day when she could change her name, always knowing she would call herself Yvonne, after her English teacher at school, Yvonne Laver. She was everything Bette wanted to be: beautifully groomed and well spoken, with a refined English accent from somewhere in the south.
Bette Davis didn’t have big round eyes. Her eyes were small and they made her brow seem too high. She had a fine straight nose but her lips were too thin. She had nice auburn coloured hair, but she had protruding ears. It sometimes upset her that her looks were never going to be her fortune, but it comforted her to know that her body could be. She had a long neck, long legs and a slim curvaceous frame, and above it all, she had her one true asset, ‘or two’ as her mother often told. Bette had an extremely generous bosom, big and round, two great breasts that were the envy of every girl and the desire of every boy, and if needed, she planned to use them to their fullest advantage.
When she was fifteen, her mother took Bette to work with her at the big house. The head of the household was a doctor, who practiced in the front parlour, while his patients waited on three chairs, lined up in the hall. The doctor had a son who was studying medicine in the hope he would follow in his father’s footsteps. The boy's name was Lance, and Bette decided it would be he whom she would marry.
Their first encounter had been in the basement, in the corridor next to the kitchen. When she’d seen him approach her, she’d stepped back against the wall allowing him to pass. He’d used the opportunity to ask her if he could kiss her. “If you like, sir,” Bette had said, unable to think of anything else to say.
His face had moved towards hers, his wet lips wide and his mouth resembling a cold, dark cave. Then he put both his hands on each of her breasts and rolled them hard against his palms. She’d squealed a little at the shock of it before he kissed her. It was cold, wet and slippery, not at all she’d expected from someone so wealthy and mature.
Bette feigned pleasure with a little moan, just like the girl in the well-worn paperback her mother kept under the mattress. Bette had read it many times and she felt experienced enough now to know how to please a boy. A moan here and there was more than a little encouraging, so she had surmised from chapter six.
Bette was pregnant by the autumn of that year in 1951. Then she was fired. The family would have nothing to do with her, denying their son ever had contact with her. “As if!” the doctor’s wife had said.
Bette met and married Bradley Corner within a month of leaving the house. He was a local boy who had always had his eye on her when they were at school. When he found out about her condition, he offered to marry her and take the child on as his own. Bette changed her name to Yvonne when she married, leaving only her birth certificate stating her true identity. At last for Bette Davis, the burdensome name she had carried around with her for the past sixteen years was finally over. Yvonne Corner was born.
Yvonne gave birth to Benjamin in 1952 and took a job in one of Didsbury’s large houses, as a wet nurse for a rich family who had just produced twins. Bradley’s aunt got her the job, figuring she had plenty of milk to go around from those generous breasts of hers. Bradley could never get over the fact the boy wasn’t his, so the marriage failed and he left her when Benjamin was just four-years old.
Fortune turned for Yvonne Corner the following year. She had carried on working for the family whom she had served both as a wet nurse and later a housekeeper, while she paid Bradley’s aunt a retainer for looking after Ben. One day she answered the door to a visitor. He was a friend of the family and his name was Gregory Spender.
They were married within four months. It turned out Gregory was sole heir to his father’s estate and was richer than Yvonne could ever have imagined. He accepted she had a son, but she preferred to tell him that Benjamin’s father had died the previous year. He never knew her divorce had just been granted, and she certainly never told him about her past, prior to her marriage to Bradley Corner. As far as Gregory Spender was concerned, Yvonne was Yvonne from Didsbury, with absolutely no connection, by name or otherwise, to any actress. Goddess or not!
Four-years later, whilst they were making love, Gregory Spender died of a heart attack. Yvonne never discussed the matter if she could help it. She just always thought of the location and position of Gregory’s demise as being plain undignified. There wasn’t much else to add.
She met Frank Warner soon after and by 1987 they’d clocked up thirteen-years of marriage. They’d been through some bad times, that was true, but mostly life had been pretty good and they’d stayed together, which was more than some could say.
Now trouble was knocking on the door and it was Yvonne’s son doing the banging.
That evening after Frank left the house, Yvonne removed her clip-on earring and balanced the telephone receiver on her shoulder while she dialed the only number she could remember off-by-heart. “It’s Mummy, darling,” she said, when Ben picked up the phone.
“Hello, Mother.”
“Well, this is a pretty kettle of fish. What on earth has been going on, Benjamin? Frank has been ranting and raving all afternoon. I’ve been doing everything I can to calm him down, but you really are going to get it in the neck when he sees you tomorrow.”
“Yes, I gathered that when I spoke to him earlier. His language really is shocking, Mother,” Ben teased.
“Benjamin! You won’t know what bad language is if Frank finds out you’ve been stealing from him. I really can’t imagine what he’s going to say when he gets hold of you tomorrow, so just you concentrate on that.” She needed to take a breath and to regain her composure. She lit a cigarette and inhaled. “Tell me the truth, Ben. Have you or have you not been cooking the books?”
“Cooking the books?” Ben laugh
ed. “These books are sizzling, Mother, and I’m burning my bloody fingers off.”
Yvonne’s accent changed to Manchurian as she became more and more agitated by Ben’s attitude. “Calm down, babe. There’s no point getting upset. I understand you’ve had to make a few adjustments. A little fiddling is necessary in a small business.” She was simply practicing the speech she’d be using on her husband after he'd seen Benjamin.
“A little fiddling is putting it mildly,” Ben said. “This is the whole string quartet and tomorrow the shit is going to hit this conductor right in the face.”
Yvonne hate that kind of talk. “Will you watch your mouth? I have enough of that with your father.”
“Warner isn’t my father. Christ, Mother! Are you deliberately trying to wind me up?”
“He’s been good to us, Ben.”
It’s true. He had been good to them. Thirteen-years ago, a week after their honeymoon, Yvonne suggested that Frank should look at buying a few properties Manchester way. She recalled Frank being a little put out at the time. He was adamant she was to have nothing to do with his business, but after she rubbed her breasts up against him with the promise of ‘something special’ that night, Frank agreed to at least look at the idea.
That’s what started a whole new venture for him. Frank loved the fact he could buy cheap properties in the north and still command the same price for a cup of tea as he did in the south. It was a revelation and so he decided to buy more. By the end of their second year of marriage, Frank had acquired sixty more cafés in the north, spreading out as far as Liverpool, Blackpool and Southport.
She also persuaded him to buy a family home after she suggested he look at how long he’d been on the road and that perhaps he’d forgotten about his family life. She mentioned how good it would look when he was entertaining his business associates. “Imagine their faces when they see you opening the door to a classy looking residence in Didsbury,” she said, brushing an imaginary speck off his lapel while pressing her breasts up against him.
In those days Yvonne got everything she desired. She used every trick and every female ruse in the book, talking Frank into whatever she wanted. And later, when Benjamin found himself in a quandary over his future, she persuaded Frank into financing a restaurant for him. “And as a gesture of good will,” she said, “it would be nice if you transferred the lease into Ben’s name. Show him you care, Frank.”
Now it appeared that Ben has abused the trust Frank showed him when he agreed to sign over the lease. “How much money are we talking about here, darling?”
“If I got the chance to put it back…ballpark, about a hundred grand.” He paused. “Not that I’ll get the chance to put it back, because for one, I haven’t got a hundred grand and two, he’s going to kill me when he finds out.”
“No one’s killing anyone, love. I know you’re in a spot of bother but Frank will understand. He’ll probably realise he would have done the same thing himself and not blame you entirely.” She took a long drag of her Silk Cut.
“That’s bullshit, Mother. He’s got no finesse at all. He’ll probably have my legs broken.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“How do you think he keeps that little empire of his going? You think the monkeys he brings into the restaurant are fellow cafeteria entrepreneurs?”
“They’re not cafeterias, sweetheart. They are profitable and efficiently run fast-food restaurants.”
“No shit!”
“Look, Ben.” Yvonne said slowly. “I’ve been thinking for a while now about telling you something, but there’s never been the right opportunity.”
“No time like the present. Shoot.”
“Well, you see, son, it’s like this…”
“Can you get on with it, Mother? I have a got a restaurant to run, you know and I’ve got Daddy coming tomorrow.”
“That’s just it, baby. Obviously he’s not your Daddy, but the fact is…well, neither was Bradley Corner.” There was silence as Yvonne waited for his response. “Ben, are you still there?”
“Well, that’s taken my mind off things. Nice one, Yvonne! Do carry on!” Ben was being deliberately rude and flippant as far as his Yvonne was concerned, but maybe it was justified…just this once!
“Everyone has their little indiscretions, son.”
“So that’s why my father…I mean Bradley Corner, left us. You had an affair.”
“No, it wasn’t like that.” It was upsetting, talking about the past. Yvonne believed the past should stay in the past, and her past most of all. “I was in love with a boy in the house I worked at. He was the son. Lance Willington.”
“Why are you telling me this now?”
“Ben.” She felt the need to spell it out. “They’re a very wealthy family and you’re one of them. Do you hear me, Benjamin? You are a Willington.”
Chapter 35
Ben Corner kept his finger on the bell to the flat. It was Monday night, so Kathy’s was closed. He cupped his hand over his eyes as he tried to peer through the glass, then he rang again until finally, Katherine opened the door. “Can we talk?” he said as he pushed his way in.
His stepfather, Frank Warner had just left the Corner a few hours ago before Ben jumped into a cab to Ealing. He needed the Killa girl more than anything. He needed to feel her body and touch her hair, to kiss her and to make love to her. He needed to bury his worries deep within her.
“What are you doing here, Ben? Are you okay, you look upset?” Katherine closed the door as he trundled up the stairs to her flat.
At the top he grabbed her and pulled her to him. “I just need to see you, Kath. I’ve missed you.”
“No, Ben! No way.” She pushed him off.
“What’s wrong?”
She gave an ironic laugh. “You have got to be joking. I haven’t seen you for months and you come here and expect me to jump into bed with you.”
He grinned as he puts his arm around her waist. “Well, we could have a little drink first.”
She shoved him away and went into the small kitchen just off the main room. He could hear her switch on the kettle. “You’re unbelievable.” Katherine called. “And it looks like you’ve already had a few little drinks.”
He sat down on the sofa and glanced around the room. Her flat looked different. “What have you done to this place?” It was merely an observation. He wasn’t particularly interested in her reply.
Katherine came out of the kitchen and leaned against the door frame. “I’ve just changed a few things to make it look more like home. I’m really happy here, Ben.”
He looked at her standing there looking all fresh faced and rosy cheeked. Her long dark brown hair was tied back in a ponytail and she was wearing denims with an old black sweater. Her feet were bare but her toenails were painted a daring red. She looked sensational, even in jeans.
She brought in two mugs of coffee and sat down on the chair opposite his. “What wrong, Ben? Since when did you start drinking like this, in the daytime?”
He looked into his coffee cup. “I’ve just got a few issues at the moment, that’s all.” He needed her sympathy and he knew just how to get it. “My mother tells me I’m illegitimate.”
Katherine gasped, but she stayed silent. He could see her eyes glaze over. He wanted to stroke her hair. She was such a softie.
“She had a fling when she was a chambermaid…or something. You know one of those, servant-girl-master-things. Shagged themselves senseless until she got knocked up and he kicked her out. That’s it in a nutshell.” Ben shrugged. “Suffice to say, I was the end product.”
“I’m sure it wasn’t as cut and dry as all that, Ben. It must have been very hard for her. They weren’t so lenient in those days about girls getting caught.”
“No shit, Katherine!” He saw her wince and he was instantly sorry. Sometimes, she couldn’t take a joke. “Now I’ve found out she’s been lying to me all my life. She told me Bradley Corner was my father and I’ve spent a lifetime hating hi
m for abandoning us.”
Katherine looked into her empty cup. “Did she tell you who your real father was?”
He guffawed sarcastically. “Of course. What do you think this is, frigging Dallas?”
Katherine jumped to her feet. He grabbed her wrist to stop her from leaving. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to take it out on you. I’m upset, that’s all. Sit down. Please.”
She relented and sat on the sofa next to him. He dragged his hands through his hair. “I’m sorry! I’m beginning to sound like my crass stepfather.” Draining his coffee cup, he continued his story. “His name is Lance Willington. He’s an eye specialist in Manchester by all accounts. Private money and all that!”
“What are you going to do?”
His mood suddenly lifted now that he had Katherine eating out of his hand. “I’m going to give him a bell. I’m sure he’ll be thrilled to hear from me.”
“Are you serious?”
“Too right I’m serious. Besides I’ll have to see him if I want him to give me a hundred grand.”
“A hundred thousand pounds!” Katherine repeated. “Are you serious?”
“Will you stop asking me that? I’ve never been more serious in my life. I’m going up to Manchester to meet him and you’re coming with me.”
Frank Warner parked just over the road from Kathy’s.
After their meeting at The Corner in Covent Garden, he followed Ben to Ealing, and now, suddenly everything made sense. “So this is where my money’s been going,” he muttered. “The little runt’s laundering it into another friggin’ business.”
He found out he was being ripped off a few months back when his auditor rang him. “There’s a discrepancy,” he’d said. “It’s stock and cash to the estimated value of one hundred thousand pounds, taken over a two-year period.”
Frank had been furious. To be ripped off by staff was one thing, but by someone in his family…someone who he’d bought the restaurant for out of the kindness of his heart. Someone who owed him so much in return. “The ungrateful little bastard.”
