‘It was very short notice, Ginny.’
‘I know. And I didn’t mean to be ungrateful, but I want something better out of life.’ She paused. ‘And I really didn’t mean to get you in no bother.’
Leila closed her eyes. ‘I don’t suppose you did,’ she said flatly.
‘So d’you honestly think I could do it? And d’you really promise it would be more money?’
Leila’s eyes flicked open again. ‘Sorry?’
‘Run the club. D’you really think I could do it?’
‘Of course you can do it, sweetie!’
‘But I never meant—’
‘Look, just give it a go. What have you got to lose?’
Leila stood in the doorway of the sitting-room, a chilled bottle of champagne in each hand, trilling a loud, ‘Dadaaaa!’ like a conjurer’s assistant – she had, after all, just pulled off a successful illusion. But her intended big entrance fell flat on its face. The historic events were still flickering away on the screen in the corner, but the sound had been turned down and nobody was paying any attention to it. Instead, they were all slumped back in their seats, with faces like kites.
‘What on earth’s going on?’ Leila asked, scanning the room for Shirley, who, no doubt, had been spreading more of her poison. ‘It’s more like a funeral than a party.’
But Shirley was sitting perfectly quietly at the far end of the room nursing another large drink.
Carmen peered over the back of the sofa. ‘We were just talking, Leila,’ she said, flapping her hand in the direction of the television. ‘Seeing all this going on: all the fuss there’s been in the papers and on the newsreels. It makes you sick when you think about them girls what have been mullered and how hardly anything’s been said about them.’
‘D’you know what makes me sick?’ Patty chipped in. ‘If he’d been doing in nice little housewives, or shop girls, it’d be all over the papers and everyone’d be demanding something was done about it. But they don’t give a fuck about us working girls.’
‘Patty!’ Leila’s face was like stone. She didn’t allow the girls to use such language. ‘I think you’ve said enough.’
‘I’m sorry, Leila, but it’s like we don’t count for nothing. I get so wild thinking about the way we get treated.’
Leila took a deep breath and pinned on a smile. ‘Well, I’m doing the treating today. So let’s all get fresh glasses and have a toast, because we girls now have a reason to celebrate. Ginny, would you, please?’
Ginny went around the room with the tray of champagne goblets Leila had given her to bring in from the kitchen.
A once more serene vision in emerald green, Leila stepped into the centre of the room, leading Ginny by the hand. ‘Not only are we drinking to this new Elizabethan Age, and to the success of Hillary and Sherpa Tensing—’
‘Whoever he is when he’s at home,’ said Patty gloomily.
‘Thank you, Patty,’ Leila replied graciously. ‘But we now have cause for a more personal celebration.’
Having finished handing round the glasses, Ginny stood by Leila’s side.
‘I know you’ve all heard the talk about Ginny being offered a manager’s job. Well, I’d like you to be the first to know that it’s true and, what’s more, she’s decided to take it.’
‘I said I’d discuss it with Mr Saunders,’ Ginny whispered under her breath, nervously twisting the stem of her glass between her fingers.
‘It’s the same thing, darling,’ Leila whispered back, while flashing one of her most dazzling smiles. ‘Now, let’s drink to the future. I’m sure it’s going to be wonderful for us all!’
Everyone in the room raised their glass. Everyone, that is, except Shirley.
She sat alone at the far end of the room, the smell of booze that she carried with her now nothing compared to the hatred that was oozing from her very pores. Leila had it in for her and it was all Ginny’s fault. Shirley’d known she’d be trouble the first time she’d set eyes on her.
The girls crowded round with kisses and congratulations. It was fine by them if Ginny got promoted. They certainly wouldn’t have wanted the responsibility of running a club, but there might be a few bob for them somewhere in this new deal. And maybe a little nightly spot taking over the fan dancing wouldn’t be such a hardship either.
Shirley watched Ginny and Leila smiling at the girls as though they were a pair of princesses acknowledging the dues of their sycophantic courtiers. And she hated the pair of them.
Afraid that Ginny might get stroppy, or nervous, and change her mind about the job, Leila was on the telephone first thing in the morning, organising a get-together between Ginny and Billy Saunders. It was arranged that they would meet on the corner of Bethnal Green Road and Club Row at one o’clock the next day and Saunders would take her to see the building.
Ginny was nervous, but she still turned up; in fact, she arrived nearly half an hour early. She’d dressed in a simple navy costume she’d borrowed from Yvette – the plunging neckline hidden by a matching chiffon scarf; styled her platinum curls into a discreet French pleat; and topped off her outfit with a neat pill-box hat – courtesy of Carmen’s going-to-church-with-her-mum wardrobe – that had a cute little spotted veil that stopped just above her mouth. She looked more like a guest at a society wedding than a fan dancer going to meet a night-club owner in the East End. The effect was intentional.
Even though Saunders had seen her performing, part of Ginny wanted to give a good impression, to look business-like and refined; to show that there was more to her than blonde hair and a body. But another part of her said she must be stark, raving barmy, and that she should get on the first bus back to Bailey Street and throw herself on the mercy of Ted and Nellie.
Ted and Nellie. The thought of those two brought her back to her senses immediately and to the reality of her situation. She couldn’t let Leila get in trouble, just because she was a coward. She had to do this.
So she waited and, as she stood there smoking one cigarette after another, she went through all the advice she had been given by Gloria, her surprise champion, about what she should and shouldn’t do. Gloria was right, she knew that, this was a real chance and she mustn’t mess it up.
When Saunders eventually arrived at a few minutes past one, in his big, chauffeur-driven car, it had started to rain. But Ginny didn’t mind, she had her umbrella, and anyway, she had other things on her mind more important than a summer shower. She had been practising what she was going to say and she knew she had to get it out before she lost her nerve completely.
Before Saunders had a chance to say hello, she took a deep breath and she was off, counting the points on her navy-gloved fingers.
‘So I get a rent-free flat. Not a room. And it won’t be shared. And it’ll be near the job. I won’t have fares or nothing to pay—’
Saunders grinned. ‘Blimey, you been practising?’
Ginny fiddled with her umbrella, anything to avoid his gaze. ‘I just want to get things straight. To know where I stand.’
‘Good. Me too. So let’s get under that umbrella of your’n and go and have a look at this gaff. And I can tell you all about it.’
Saunders told the driver to stay with the car and held out his arm to Ginny.
She paused for a moment before taking it, then allowed him to lead her through the still bomb-damaged and debris-littered streets. They walked past soot-blackened, semi-collapsed buildings with boarded-up windows and doors, deeper into a part of the East End that even hardened locals thought twice about venturing into without good reason. It was an area that had so far been neglected in the efforts to return London to its pre-war greatness; City offices and middle-class housing obviously coming first in the order of things.
As they walked, Saunders spoke. ‘Well, there’ll be no rent to pay. The flat’s got about four rooms altogether. I think that’s right. And it’s all yours. So there’ll be no sharing. Unless you decide otherwise, of course. And, as it’s right over the shop, I do
n’t reckon it could be no nearer.’
Ginny felt herself relax. It was strange; Saunders was a big, handsome, forbidding man, but on the few occasions she had spoken to him, he always gave her that rare feeling that she had known him for years. It was a feeling she enjoyed, it made her comfortable, put her at her ease. Sensations which Ginny had experienced all too rarely.
Suddenly Saunders stopped. They were at the top of a little unnamed alley off Virginia Road, just at the back of where the old Columbia Market stood.
‘Any other questions?’ he asked.
‘Yeah. The big one really. Why me? I know you said you like women running the places, but there’s lots of others—’
‘Look, Leila said you’re kosher. You’ve got a brain, you learn quick and you don’t ask stupid questions. And’, he looked her up and down, ‘you look good. With or without your clothes. Now, anything else?’
She shook her head; her face burning behind her veil.
‘Right. So that’s that. But now I’ve got a question.’ He gave her a cigarette. ‘Like I said, Leila reckons you’re kosher, but is there anything I should know? Anything that could cause me problems?’
‘What sort of thing?’
‘Let’s just say that you’d know if there was anything I should be worried about.’
Ginny shrugged. ‘Well, in that case, no.’
‘Good.’ Her jerked his head towards the alley. ‘It’s down here.’
Gingerly, she followed him along the rubbish-strewn cobbles.
‘Here we are.’
She held her umbrella to one side to get a good look. ‘This?’ she gasped, staring up at the decrepit four-storey Georgian building.
‘Granted it needs a bit of work.’
Saunders pulled open the rusting iron gate – a new-looking padlock dangled from one of the railings as though someone had just unlocked it – took the flight of wide stone steps two at a time, shoved open the solid wooden door and stood aside so that Ginny could go in ahead of him.
Surprisingly, there were electric lights blazing everywhere.
Ginny stood her umbrella against the door jamb and stepped inside. She saw a spacious entrance hall, with a wide central staircase and heavily panelled doors leading off both sides. And it was absolutely filthy, derelict almost.
Disappointment flooded through her. She’d thought this was a chance to better herself at last, but she couldn’t work here. She was going to have to let Leila down after all.
‘What d’you think?’
She looked about her, considering what to say. ‘You got this lease before Christmas? What, six months ago?’
‘That’s right.’
‘And you ain’t thought about making any changes?’ Unless this is your idea of decoration, she thought to herself, as she pictured the squalid tenement where she lived.
Saunders rubbed his hand over his chin. ‘You know what it’s like. I’ve been busy. I’ve been setting up over Virginia Water way. Very exclusive it is. Tell you what, you’ll have to come over there one day and have a butcher’s.’ He grinned wickedly. ‘You’d have a right laugh watching all them stockbroker types. They love mixing with the stars, don’t they. And with the villains. Then they get a thrill reading all about it next day in the Sunday papers, knowing they’ve been there. And they can lie to their mates on the golf course that they know Diana Dors and that.’
‘I don’t know if I could live with this wallpaper,’ she said, carefully avoiding responding to his invitation. It was probably one of those suggestions made out of politeness rather than a genuine offer, and she didn’t want to make herself look any more stupid than she did already. Fancy her thinking that anyone would want her to run even a half-way decent sort of place. ‘Mind you,’ she sighed to herself, ‘it’d take my mind off the floor. My feet are sticking to it like it’s been covered with glue.’
Something darted across the filthy black-and-white tiles.
Ginny grabbed Saunders’s arm. ‘What the hell was that?’
‘Er . . . A cat?’
She pulled herself together and stepped away from him. ‘Funny-looking cat.’
‘Look, I don’t intend leaving it like this, do I? I’ve already got blokes in here looking the place over for me.’
The sudden irritation in his voice immediately had Ginny on guard. He was a big, powerful man and she was alone with him.
‘Mr Saunders, I didn’t mean—’
‘Well, it is a dump,’ he said flexing his shoulders. ‘And the name’s Billy.’
‘It’s not a dump exactly—’
‘Look, I’ll be honest with you, blondie. I ain’t done nothing yet, ’cos I was waiting for you to do it up how you fancied. Give it the woman’s touch, like. That’s why I had ’em come in and set up all these lights, so you could see what you reckoned.’
She frowned in bewilderment. ‘You’ve been waiting for me?’
‘Yeah.’
‘But how did you know I’d take the job?’
He grinned. ‘How could you resist me?’
She hurriedly turned her head and peered at the wall as though she were studying it. He wanted to see what she reckoned? Was she going mad? ‘I reckon, it’s . . . er, got, you know, plenty of, what’s is name, potential,’ she stammered.
‘I hope so, darling.’
‘And . . .’ she blustered, ‘yeah. I’ll bet it’s got a great big cellar.’
‘I think it has.’
‘Well,’ she went on, her words now coming out at a nervous gallop, ‘we could have a lovely room down there. A cellar club. Right continental that’d be. Just like you see at the pictures.’ Ginny strode over to one of the grimy but elegantly proportioned Georgian windows and stared wildly at the faded tapestry pelmet dangling drunkenly from a tarnished brass rod. ‘I could be like Calamity Jane. You know when she put them little curtains in that shabby old log cabin to make it all pretty, and—’
‘I’m sorry. You’ve lost me, darling.’
That stopped her burbling. She spun round. ‘What, you haven’t seen it?’ She saw the blank look on his face. ‘It’s a film.’
‘I don’t get no time for films.’
‘So you’ve never heard “Whipcrackaway” or “Secret Love”?’
He shook his head.
‘You do know Doris Day?’
He thought for a moment. ‘Don’t think I’ve had the pleasure.’
‘She’s American.’
‘I don’t get the time to meet everyone what comes in the clubs.’
‘You must know her.’ Ginny, stunned that anyone could even claim not to know about Doris Day, started singing, ‘Once, I had a secret love. The way that dreamers often do . . .’ and immediately wished she hadn’t. She couldn’t imagine what had come over her. ‘Now d’you know her?’ she asked sheepishly.
‘Sorry.’
Just as Ginny was beginning to think that she’d ruined everything by showing she really was mad, and that she might as well go over to the window and throw herself out on to the spiked railings below, one of the doors opened and two men joined them in the entrance hall.
‘Afternoon, guv,’ one of them said.
‘Where’s George?’ Saunders asked.
‘In the music room, for a change.’
Saunders shook his head as though that was just the answer he had hoped not to hear. He went over to another of the doors, banged on it with his fist and hollered, ‘Georgie, get out here. You spend more time in that lav than a flaming plumber.’
The door opened and a short, thin man appeared. He had a newspaper tucked under his arm and was concentrating on buttoning his trouser fly.
‘Yes, Mr Saunders?’ he said, looking up. When he saw Ginny he cringed and covered his front with the newspaper. ‘Didn’t know there were ladies present.’
‘This, believe it or not, is our architect.’ Saunders rolled his eyes. ‘I was just telling Miss Martin here how, with her help, we’re going to transform this place into something special. And I
want you to tell her about the structural plans you’ve drawn up.’
‘How d’you do,’ Ginny said with a smile. She was going to add that it was Mrs, not Miss, Martin, but for some reason changed her mind.
By the end of September, the club had indeed been transformed. Staff had been engaged, bars had been stocked and in the cellar there was now a gaming room boasting the most modern of equipment. All that was left to do was for Ginny to move into the flat and the place would be ready to open.
There had been a moment, when Saunders had explained that the gambling would be what he called ‘a bit on the informal side’, when Ginny had paused to wonder exactly what she was getting herself into, but Leila had turned up to reassure her that all the clubs had gambling. And as they were only talking about a few hands of Kaluki and chemin de fer, and one simple little roulette wheel, there was nothing to worry about.
That conversation had been over a week ago and, although Leila seemed a bit strange – sort of distracted for some reason – Ginny had been persuaded. Now she had other things on her mind. If she was about to move in, she was going to make sure that her flat above the club was really as spotless as it looked. She had had enough of living in a slum and the image of the ‘cat’ running across the black-and-white tiles three floors below was still too vivid to be ignored. So she’d kitted herself out in a pair of slacks and a shirt, tucked her hair up into a scarf and was concentrating on giving the freshly laid lino a final going over with a bucket of Izallaced hot water.
The sound of someone opening her new front door startled her. She looked over her shoulder, scrubbing brush still in hand, to see Saunders in the doorway, obviously amused by the sight of Ginny on her hands and knees, covered in suds.
‘Leila said you was a hard grafter. But I’m well impressed. Didn’t they do it out right for you?’
‘Yeah, but I just wanted to make sure it was really clean.’
Saunders pushed himself away from the door frame and walked in, his nostrils twitching at the disinfectant. ‘I’ve brought a few things round for you.’
Dream On Page 30
