‘My God, Clara, I want you,’ Vinnie murmured. He traced his fingers across her neck and began unbuttoning her blouse.
Clara pulled away, heart hammering, suddenly alarmed. This was how he would seduce her — and in a few weeks grow tired and move on to another. She was not going to be taken in by Jack Buchanan songs and sweet kisses.
‘No,’ she whispered. She could hear his laboured breathing.
‘What’s wrong?’ he asked. ‘I know you feel as strongly as I do.’
Clara pulled her jacket about her. ‘I’m not used to this,’ she said. ‘We shouldn’t have come here. Don’t play with my affections, Vinnie.’
‘I’m not playing,’ Vinnie said sharply, ‘I’m serious about you, Clara. I’m not after a quick affair.’
He sat back in his seat and let out a long breath, then started the engine. They drove back in silence; the atmosphere between them charged with uncertainty and suppressed passion.
After that, their goodnight kisses were brief and chaste, both pulling away before desire quickened. Clara found being with Vinnie exquisitely bitter-sweet. The less they touched, the greater her desire for him grew. Just the brush of his lips against her ear or the casual linking of fingers in the dark of the cinema set her pulse racing and her skin tingling. She began to need Vinnie’s physical presence like a daily drug. No other man had made her feel like this. Benny’s boyish kisses had been passionless. Even her love for Frank now seemed ridiculously romanticised. And what had it been founded on? No more than a young girl’s calf-love. One that had not been returned.
Vinnie, on the other hand, made no secret of the fact that he desired her. He lavished her with presents and compliments. He insisted on buying her new clothes, jewellery and perfume if they were to meet up with their well-to-do friends. When Clara baulked at his generosity and tried to refuse, he seemed so hurt that she quickly gave in. He told her he was making good money at the boxing and his other businesses — the garage made enough now to employ Patience full time in the office — and it gave him pleasure to spend it on her.
‘I love to see you dressed up to the nines, lass,’ he said admiringly. ‘You look better than any of the other women —.a real star. Don’t you see the looks of envy I get from the other men?’
‘Don’t talk daft,’ Clara laughed.
In November, for Vinnie’s thirty-second birthday, Cissie organised a surprise party at the Sandford Rooms. She telephoned Clara at work and told her to alert as many of Vinnie’s friends as possible. Clara had a slight pang of disappointment that the party was not to be at Hoxton Hall. Despite Cissie’s many promises, they had never yet been invited to the country house. She suspected the brigadier vetoed the idea.
‘Don’t want that uppity little journalist, what!’ she mimicked to Vinnie on one occasion.
‘Give it time,’ was all he would say.
She enlisted Dolly’s help in contacting old family friends and the boxing fraternity and Ted Blake’s for his Rotary friends. She insisted Patience must be there too. Her mother’s excitement was infectious and Clara paid half a week’s wages for a new dress for Patience in her favourite beige with a brown velvet collar. Clara asked Clarkie to help get Vinnie to the restaurant.
‘What shall I say it’s for?’ he asked.
‘A club lecture,’ Clara suggested. Vinnie had recently become a member of the Thursday Club which met at the Sandford Rooms once a week for talks and dining. ‘Say it’s an extra meeting about Mosley’s new British Fascists.’
There had been much talk about Mosley’s latest political move at a recent dinner party at Madras House. The former Labour MP had formed another new party, the British Union of Fascists. The Bell-Carrs had seemed particularly excited by it. Clarkie winked at her conspiratorially. Clara knew he liked any excuse to drive Vinnie’s gleaming green Austin Ten, bought that autumn. He arranged to pick up Clara, Patience and Dolly an hour beforehand.
When Vinnie arrived for the expected lecture, he was greeted by a roomful of raucous friends calling out ‘Happy Birthday!’ to the sound of hooters and popping balloons. For the first time in her life, Clara saw Vinnie quite lost for words as George Templeton led a toast in his honour and Cissie thrust a glass of champagne into his hand with a kiss.
‘Great things are afoot in this country.’ Cissie made an impromptu speech. ‘There is a new thirst for change, for leadership. Strong men like Vinnie who care about the common people are the future. Here’s to the British Union of Fascists!’
A few people raised their glasses, others looked bemused. Clara noticed the brigadier scowling at his wife. He obviously thought her intervention out of place.
Vinnie sensed the awkwardness and recovered his poise. ‘To our most generous hosts, the Bell-Carrs!’ he toasted them. Everyone followed. The lively chatter began once more.
‘There’s just one other thing I’d like to say,’ Vinnie boomed out. ‘Seeing as it’s my birthday.’ The noise petered out. He turned to Clara and pulled her forward, hugging her with his free arm. ‘All of you know how much I dote on this lass.’ There was a chorus of cheers. ‘And there’s only one birthday present I want this year. And that’s for Clara to say she’ll marry me.’
Clara’s insides somersaulted as the guests gasped and called out encouragement. She stared at Vinnie. How could she refuse in front of all these people? She caught sight of her mother’s face. It looked suspended in shock. Patience gave her a pleading look.
Clara felt giddy in the packed room under the glint of the chandeliers, the pungent cigar smoke and expensive perfume assaulting her senses. This was her future if she accepted Vinnie’s proposal. She would never go hungry or lie awake sleepless fretting about debt again. They all waited. Her pulse drummed in excitement. Besides, she craved his sensuality, his maturity, his supreme self-confidence. She swallowed any lurking doubts about his single-mindedness or ruthlessness in business. That was just Vinnie’s way. In the heat of that opulent room, Clara made the decision to abandon any last hankerings after Frank. She looked into Vinnie’s brown eyes.
‘Yes, I’ll marry you.’
For a split second his eyebrows were raised in surprise. Then he was pulling her against his dinner jacket and kissing her roundly on the lips. Applause broke out around the room.
‘Good lass,’ he murmured.
Friends rushed to congratulate them and refill their glasses for more toasts. Patience fell on her daughter in a tearful embrace. ‘I’m so happy!’ she wept. She cried all over Vinnie too, wetting his starched shirt. He produced a handkerchief.
‘Here, keep it,’ he said, winking over at Clara.
Later, Cissie pushed them both on to the dance floor and they clung together, laughing at what they had done.
‘Do you always get what you want for your birthday?’ Clara joked.
‘Always,’ Vinnie answered, squeezing her closer.
The party went on till late. In the early morning, a yawning Clarkie dropped off Clara and Patience before taking Vinnie and Dolly home.
‘You can count the days you’ll live in this hole,’ Vinnie told her, a little drunkenly. ‘You’ll all come to Larch Avenue.’
Patience burst into fresh tears. Jimmy was woken up and given the news. He whooped with excitement.
‘I’m that proud of you.’ He beamed at his sister. ‘Me and Vinnie brothers-in-law! That’s the end of all our troubles.’
‘God willing,’ Patience sighed.
Chapter 2O
The wedding was set for January. Once marriage had been proposed, neither Clara nor Vinnie wished to delay.
‘We’ll go to Italy for our honeymoon,’ Vinnie declared. ‘Go and have tea with Mussolini in Rome, eh?’
Clara was thrilled with the idea. She had never thought to travel abroad. Vinnie was an increasing admirer of the Italian leader for his tackling of poverty and slum clearances through new public works.
‘He’s getting things done,’ was Vinnie’s opinion, ‘while our government sits on its
arse.’
Just before Christmas, Vinnie and Clara received an invitation to a house party at Hoxton Hall.
‘Tea on Saturday afternoon,’ Clara read out to Patience in excitement, ‘dinner at seven-thirty followed by the Yuletide dance. The Templetons went last year. Willa says the dance is for all the estate workers and neighbours too. Then there’s Communion at the parish church on Sunday and luncheon. Isn’t that grand!’
Patience wanted to see the invitation for herself. ‘So they’re religious?’ she asked with a raised eyebrow.
Clara shrugged.
Patience was blunt. ‘So they won’t approve of any corridor creeping on Saturday night.’
Clara went crimson. ‘Mam! Vinnie’s a gentleman, remember.’
Patience astonished her by saying, ‘It’s you I’m worrying about. Well, if you can’t be good, be careful.’
‘Nothing’s going to happen before the wedding,’ Clara insisted.
‘The sooner you two are married the better,’ her mother said with a knowing look.
Vinnie arranged for them to drive over to Hoxton Hall with the Blakes. It was a long winding journey south of the Tyne and west up through woods to the Durham fells. Clara sat in the back feeling slightly sick while Mabel talked endlessly about her sons’ schooling and Ted discussed Mussolini and the railways with Vinnie.
She was thankful when they pulled up out of the damp mist into crisp wintry sunshine and the walled grounds of Hoxton Hall appeared. Stretching as far as the eye could see was moorland dotted with grazing sheep, and the occasional isolated farmstead. The Hall huddled behind its moss-covered walls, rooks screaming into the air out of the bare trees as Vinnie tooted the horn to announce their arrival.
The Hall was a solid red-brick mansion with faded green shutters at the windows, some of which were bricked up. The drive was choked with weeds and the lawn in front was more like a rough field, with ponies grazing on it. Clara had a momentary pang of disappointment that it did not resemble more closely a Hollywood depiction of a stately home.
They were greeted warmly by Cissie in a dingy wood-panelled hallway, its walls crowded with portraits and stags’ heads. The stair carpet was threadbare but there were cheerful garlands of holly and ribbon adorning the banisters and rails.
A young boy, who turned out to be Cissie s eight-year-old son James, helped carry Clara’s bag upstairs.
‘You’re in the pink room,’ Cissie told her. ‘I hope you’ll be warm enough. There’s no fire, but plenty of extra blankets in the wardrobe. Help yourself.’
The Blakes were in a room further down the corridor, while Vinnie was led away to the floor above by an arthritic footman. Clara’s bedroom was arctic. It was plainly furnished with a washstand and chair, a high bed, a side table and a large wardrobe. The wallpaper was of faded pink flowers, as was the bedspread. She perched on the bed and it sagged in the middle. The small window looked out on to dilapidated sheds and stables. Clara was surprised by the shabbiness of Hoxton Hall. The slump had affected the Bell-Carrs too, it seemed.
Still, there was electric lighting and a bathroom at the end of the draughty corridor. It was more luxury than she had encountered for a long time. Clara forced herself to remove the winter coat that Vinnie had bought her — ‘part of your trousseau, lass’ — and headed down to the drawing room where a huge log fire blazed. An enormous Christmas tree filled the bay window, cheerily lit with candles.
‘Come and sit by the fire.’ Cissie beckoned her. ‘You look frozen. Jane will pour you tea.’
A young girl in a long black uniform handed Clara tea in a china cup and a large wedge of cake on a matching plate. She sat beside Willa who was talking non-stop in her nervousness at finding herself next to her host Alastair. He was dressed in plus-twos and sturdy brogues that had left a trail of mud across the worn carpet. He grunted a couple of times at Willa’s attempts to engage him in conversation then turned to talk politics with Ted Blake.
Clara tried to save her friend’s embarrassment by asking after Robert.
‘Oh, Baby’s with Nanny for the night,’ Willa said, eyes shining. ‘We’re going to have the most wonderful Christmas — he’s so excited about Father Christmas this year.’ Willa put a hand on Clara’s lap. ‘I can’t wait for you and Vinnie to get started. Then Robert will have a new playmate.’
Clara laughed, not knowing what to say. Vinnie came over.
‘Did I hear my name mentioned?’
The two women glanced at each other and burst into laughter.
‘Yes,’ Willa giggled, ‘but we couldn’t possibly tell you why.’
Clara smiled at him as he sat down next to her. ‘Where’s your room?’ she asked quietly.
‘With the bats in the belfry,’ he joked.
‘My room’s freezing,’ Clara whispered.
Vinnie gave her a look that made her insides melt. ‘We’ll have to do something about that.’
‘Look at you two lovebirds.’ Cissie came over. ‘It’s very sweet, but you can’t keep Clara to yourself all weekend, Vinnie. You must allow her to meet our other guests.’ She took Clara by the hand and introduced her around the room. One couple sitting in the corner, half hidden by the Christmas tree, looked familiar.
‘Major and Mrs Lockwood,’ Cissie announced. ‘Dear friends of Alastair’s. The major met my husband in a field hospital on the Western Front. Isn’t that so, Major?’
‘Major Lockwood!’ Clara gasped. ‘I knew I’d seen you both before. You used to go to those dances at the Cafe Cairo.’
‘Indeed,’ the major exclaimed. ‘But I don’t recall. . .’
‘Oh yes, I do,’ his wife interjected. ‘Pretty young thing like you. You came with your friends — handsome dark-haired boy — couldn’t dance.’
‘Benny.’ Clara laughed. ‘That’s right. His brother was in the band.’
‘The violinist?’ Mrs Lockwood asked. Clara nodded. ‘He was awfully good. Is he still playing?’
‘Probably,’ Clara said, glancing in Vinnie’s direction. She was aware of him watching her. ‘He’s in Germany now, I believe.’
‘Whatever for?’ cried the major.
Clara hesitated. She did not want to get embroiled in a political discussion and was not sure of the Lockwoods’ feelings about Germans. ‘I really don’t know.’ She smiled. ‘I hope we’ll get to chat more at dinner.’ She retreated back across the room to Vinnie.
‘Found someone you know?’ he questioned, slipping a possessive arm round her waist.
‘Not really; just met them the once,’ she said lightly, smiling into his dark eyes. She experienced a sick surge of longing as his hand tightened on her hip. Then they were being ushered out of the sitting room to make ready for the evening.
Clara lay in a steamy stupor, luxuriating in the first hot deep bath she had had since leaving Tenter Terrace. The bathroom was icy, its tiles cold underfoot, but she was cocooned in warm water, thinking dreamy thoughts. Tonight, if Vinnie came to her room, she would let him make love to her, despite her assurances to her mother. She wanted him with the relentless nagging of toothache. Tonight she would show him how much she loved him.
Her skin was soft and wrinkled and the water tepid by the time she forced herself out of the bath. She thought with pleasure how soon she would be able to take as many baths as she wanted in Larch Avenue. Clara hurried back to her chilly bedroom and changed into a soft pink evening gown with a plunge back. She had deliberated long and hard about whether it was too risqué but Patience had urged her to buy it.
‘Vinnie’s a man of standing; you have to look the part too. All the society ladies are wearing them.’
Clara piled up her hair in loose coils on the top of her head to accentuate the slenderness of her neck and clipped on faux diamond earrings and a pendant that Vinnie had given her. She applied her make-up carefully in the long wardrobe mirror and was satisfied that she looked older and more sophisticated than her eighteen years. The look of admiration on Vinnie’s face when they
gathered in the drawing room for cocktails set her heart racing with expectation.
At dinner they had to gaze at each other from opposite sides of the vast dining table in the main hall. The only lighting was from huge silver candelabras and a deep open fire. On this special occasion, James was allowed to eat with the adults and sat next to Clara. He was shy and the woman on his other side talked exclusively to her neighbour about hunting and her dogs, so Clara made a point of paying the boy attention. He told her he was quite happy at school, though he missed his mother, and he wanted a bicycle for Christmas because horses made him nervous after he was thrown off one at six years old. His favourite films were with Charlie Chaplin and he would like to show her one in the library before she went home.
‘That would be grand,’ Clara grinned. ‘Just you and me and a box of chocolates, eh?’
‘I like you, Clara,’ he said solemnly, ‘even though you speak funny.’
She laughed and ruffled his hair. ‘I like you too.’
Clara had never eaten so much food in one meal. There were five courses and she watched James carefully to see which cutlery he used. White wine was followed by red in a different crystal goblet. She began to lose count of how much she had drunk as the butler kept topping up her glass and Ted Blake, sitting to her right, patted her knee and encouraged her to indulge.
The conversation grew raucous, laughter echoing in the high-ceilinged room, and Clara felt bathed in a hazy contentment. After the pudding course of gooseberry and cinnamon pie, Alastair got to his feet.
‘Like to propose a toast - on your feet!’ he ordered.
Everyone stood up. Clara swayed and grabbed on to Ted to steady herself, giggling.
A HANDFUL OF STARS An enthralling story of poverty, passion and survival: one of the Tyneside Sagas Page 21
