‘Well? Can I come in?’
Ginny stepped aside. ‘Sorry. Of course. Come in.’
‘Get your clothes on. I’ve got something to show you.’
‘Can I just make some tea first?’
‘No. Go and get dressed.’
Ginny nodded. ‘All right.’ She went back into the bedroom, shut the door and started to sort herself out. What should she put on? A dress? Slacks? A skirt and blouse? A skirt. Yes. But which—
‘How many sugars?’ she heard him call from the kitchen.
Ginny mugged at herself in the dressing-table mirror. Billy Saunders was in the kitchen. Making her a cup of tea . . . ‘Er none thanks,’ she called back. ‘Just a splash of milk.’
Whatever next?
‘It’s just a little something. To say thank you. You’ve done a good job.’
‘Where is it?’ She stood on the steps of the club, glancing up and down the alleyway, completely at a loss to know what she was supposed to be looking at.
‘There.’
‘What? The car?’
‘Yeah.’ Saunders handed her a key hanging from a silver fob engraved with her name.
She twisted round to look at him. ‘For me? Really?’
‘Don’t get too excited,’ he said, leading her down the steps to where the car was parked at the kerb. ‘It’s only a little Anglia.’
‘I know.’ Ginny touched a tentative finger to the shiny turquoise bonnet. ‘It’s the new one. I’ve seen it in all the magazines.’
‘Can you drive?’
She thought of the times Ted had made her drive them home when he’d been too drunk even to hold the steering wheel. ‘A bit.’
‘Well, get in, and we’ll soon have you racing about like Fangio.’
‘Fangio?’ she gasped, as she slipped into the driver’s seat, her skirt riding up high around her legs. ‘I feel more like Kay Kendall. You know, in Genevieve.’ She laughed happily, running her hands round and round the steering wheel. ‘Sorry, I forgot. You don’t know much about the flicks do you?’
‘I could, if the right person wanted to teach me.’ He reached across the few inches that separated them and let his hand rest on her thigh.
Ginny felt his heat like a brand on her flesh. She had begun to long for that touch, but didn’t want to make a fool of herself by misinterpreting its intention. ‘I thought this was meant to be a business arrangement.’ Her voice sounded odd. Sort of breathless.
Billy laughed easily and held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. ‘Fair enough. I ain’t never had to force meself on a bird yet.’
Ginny swallowed hard. He’d called her that before. In the same sort of tone. Was that all she was to him? Just some bird?
What else could she expect, taking off her clothes and going with all those men? And she a married woman. Even if she had let Billy believe she was single.
‘You’re a strange one, Ginny, d’you know that?’ He half turned his body so that he was leaning back against the car door, folded his arms and studied her through narrowed eyes.
To avoid his gaze, and to hide her flushed cheeks, Ginny stared out of the window. Did he see her any differently from the way Ted had done? A bit of decoration to be used when he felt like it.
Ted.
Ginny was surprised to realise she hadn’t really thought about him for weeks. The timid little thing who used to jump like a scared rabbit every time she heard a sudden noise, fearing it might be him, was gradually fading away. She no longer looked nervously over her shoulder at every single shadow, scared out of her wits that he might be standing there, asking for a bed for the night, because Nellie had locked the door on him. Or because Dilys was fed up with his womanising and – as she could now get by very nicely without him what with the extra money Ginny was sending for her and Susan – she’d thrown him out on his ear.
‘Want a fag?’
Ginny looked round, as though she was surprised to see Saunders sitting there.
‘Sorry. I was miles away.’
‘I could see.’
As he lit her cigarette, Ginny was still thinking about Susan and Ted: how she still missed Susan with all her heart, but how all she felt for Ted was contempt. Then Billy’s hand brushed against hers and the confused feelings of desire and a still lingering self-doubt flooded through her again.
‘You okay?’ Saunders asked. ‘I ain’t upset you, have I?’
She shook her head. ‘No, I’m fine.’
And it was more or less true. She wasn’t completely fine, maybe, but almost.
She didn’t have Ted hanging around her neck, and she was actually having fun for a change, the sort of fun that made her feel like a woman again. She’d missed that feeling.
It was as though the excitement of the past weeks had begun to waken her from a long sleep, just as London itself was waking. She was leaving the drab blacks and greys of the bomb-sites behind and was embracing a world of brilliant Technicolor, a new way of life, where there was plenty for everyone and people were smiling again. Just as they did in the films.
And in the films, didn’t the hero always win the girl?
Ginny took a deep breath, slowly raised her head and looked directly into Billy’s eyes. If he really did think of her as just another bird, she was about to make a very big mistake.
‘You know what you said about not having to force yourself on me, Billy?’
‘Look, I didn’t mean—’
‘It’s all right, I just want you to know that I don’t intend putting up a fight.’
Billy grinned happily as he reached across and opened the car door for her. ‘Well in that case, we’d better go back inside then, hadn’t we? There ain’t much room in these little motors for what I’ve got in mind.’
It was a Saturday afternoon in October and the autumn chill was really beginning to set in, but as Ginny walked along the wide London street, all she noticed was the beauty of the afternoon sun shining through the golden leaves of the plane trees. There was a spring in her step and she felt glad to be alive, as she headed for the private hotel, just around the corner from Claridge’s, where she was meeting Leila for afternoon tea.
Not only was the club showing a healthy profit after being open for only a month – without her having to open any rooms ‘upstairs’ – but, what was more, she was in love.
As Ginny paused at the hotel reception, Leila, who was already seated at their table, watched as she handed over a pile of bags and parcels, all bearing the names of exclusive shops, for safe keeping.
‘Bond Street, eh, sweetie?’ Leila said, as Ginny joined her. ‘You’ve learned well.’
‘It’s only what you taught me, Leila.’ Ginny kissed Leila’s offered cheek and sat down opposite her, moving the red-shaded lamp and the extravagant flower display to one side so they could see one another.
‘A few months ago, you wouldn’t have dared touch that vase in case someone told you off.’
Ginny rolled her eyes. ‘I wasn’t that bad.’
‘Weren’t you?’
A formally dressed waiter appeared by their side.
‘Would you order, Leila?’
Leila did so.
Once the waiter was out of earshot, Ginny leaned across the table and whispered, ‘I still struggle with the way I talk sometimes, but I’m getting better.’
She took a gold case from her handbag and offered Leila a cigarette. ‘It is all down to you, Leila. Honestly. You gave me the confidence to do things. It’s like when Billy told me to treat myself to something.’ She jerked her thumb over her shoulder towards the reception desk. ‘I didn’t argue, I just gave them shops a right caning.’
Leila took a deep lungful of smoke.
‘And I reckon it’s down to you that I’m finding Ginny’s so easy to run an’ all. Hard work. But there’s plenty of people helping me. You know, it still tickles me, having the place called after me.’ She smiled happily. ‘I miss Soho, of course, and the girls, but I’m really happy being in char
ge.’
Leila smiled back at her. Much as she would have liked to knock Ginny down to size, telling her that she was no more running the place than the meanest lavatory cleaner, Leila would never break Billy’s trust. It wasn’t only loyalty that made her keep her mouth shut, she knew a side of Saunders that Ginny probably hadn’t even imagined. ‘I’m pleased for you, darling,’ she said. ‘Now, tell me all about it.’
As the waiter set their lavish tea before them, Ginny launched into an excited description of her life at the club, any shyness about her speech completely forgotten.
‘You should see the sort of people we get, Leila. Really surprising. I mean, it’s in the middle of the East End, but I’m playing hostess to all sorts of customers. They’re from “right across the social spectrum”, Billy says.’
As she poured tea into the delicate china cups, Leila had to stop herself from yelling out loud: Billy says, what do you know about what Billy says?
‘They’re out slumming, if you ask me. But wherever they come from, I’ll tell you this, all the customers have got money, whether they’ve earned it from some posh job in the City, been born to it, or robbed it from a bank. Mind you, from some of the things you hear them saying, I don’t know that there’s a lot of difference between some of the so-called honest ones and the crooks.’
Ginny took a gulp of tea and a bite from one of the tiny crustless sandwiches. ‘You’d have been proud of me the other night, Leila. I’m not the soft touch I used to be.’
‘I can see that,’ she answered quietly.
‘See, when I realised one of the girls was working a spinner—’
Leila’s eyebrows shot up. ‘A spinner?’
‘Fixing the roulette wheel.’
‘I know what it means, I’m just surprised that you’re familiar with the term.’
‘I’m familiar with all sorts now, Leila.’
‘I’ll bet you are.’
‘Well, I told Billy straight away and he chucked her right out and the bloke she was working with. Right out of the door they went.’
While Ginny continued with her tales about running the club, Leila sat listening with increasing bewilderment at just how in control Ginny seemed to be.
‘It’s from what I saw in Frith Street, I suppose,’ Ginny went on. ‘That’s how I know how to attract the customers. That “artistic” stuff we used to do in the tableaux, that’s all old hat. People want something modern, contemporary. You should see the girl I’ve got doing a routine to “Diamonds Are A Girl’s Best Friend”. Billy said it makes my fan dance look like an evening with the Girl Guides!’
‘Is Billy at the club very often?’
‘Yeah. Most of the time.’
‘Really?’
‘Mmmmm. He seems impressed with what I’m doing.’
Leila busied herself pouring more tea. No wonder she hadn’t seen him for nearly a month.
‘I nearly forgot.’ Ginny took another swallow of tea. ‘He asked me to say hello. Said he hadn’t seen much of you lately.’
Leila shook her head, making the feather trim on her hat shimmer in the lamplight. ‘Not for a week or two.’
‘How about Shirley? Any word on her?’
‘She could be on the streets for all I know.’ Leila did her best to smile brightly, although the effort was nearly killing her. What she really wanted to do was scream at Ginny that she was a stupid little tart who was getting involved way over her head, and if she had any sense she’d get back where she came from and get her bloody claws out of Billy Saunders.
But Leila had never been one to display her emotions.
Ginny emptied her cup and picked up the teapot for a refill. It was empty.
‘Shall I order some more?’ Leila asked, a study in graciousness.
Ginny wrinkled her nose and looked at her watch. ‘No thanks, Leila. It’s nearly half four already.’
‘You’re going?’
‘Yeah. I don’t like being away from the club for too long.’ She pulled on her gloves and grinned happily. ‘I take my responsibilities very seriously, you know. I want Billy to feel he can trust me.’
‘But when I told the girls from Frith Street we were meeting up they said they’d see us in the Three Greyhounds in Greek Street.’ Leila paused, checking the desperation that was creeping into her tone. ‘So we can all have a natter and a drink together.’
‘Sorry, Leila. Better not. But don’t let me stop you going to have one with them.’ Ginny stood up, took a large white five-pound note from her purse and put it on the table. ‘And treat the girls for me, eh?’
With that, Ginny pecked Leila on the cheek and left, pausing in the doorway to look over her shoulder and waggle her fingers in a gesture of farewell, then she wiggled her way out to reception on her now customary stiletto heels to collect her shopping.
Leila didn’t need to look round to check, she just knew that every man in the room had his gaze fixed on Ginny’s backside.
Later that evening, as Ginny was putting the final touches to her hair, Dilys was standing in her bedroom in Stepney looking at her watch for the tenth time in so many minutes.
‘That’s it,’ she snapped, throwing up her hands. ‘Half past seven. I’m off. I’ve waited long enough for you, Ted bloody Martin. In fact, I’ve given you more chances than I’ve got lipsticks and that’s saying something.’
She pulled her coat from where she’d chucked it over the back of her chair the night before, slipped it round her shoulders and ducked down for a final glimpse in the dressing-table mirror.
As she looked in the glass, she saw the reflection of Susan standing behind her in the doorway.
‘What d’you want?’ Dilys asked, wiping away a smudge of lipstick from the corner of her mouth with the tip of her little finger.
Susan gnawed the skin around her thumb-nail, unsure how much she dared say, but her empty stomach overcame her fear. ‘I’m hungry,’ she said quietly.
‘I told you, there’s stuff in the maid-saver.’
‘There’s not, Mum. I looked.’
Dilys sighed wearily, twisted round and snatched her handbag off the bed. ‘Here,’ she said, rummaging in her bag. ‘Go and get yourself a bag of chips. And don’t leave the lights burning when you go to bed. I ain’t made of money.’
With that, Dilys threw some coppers on to the eiderdown and flounced out of the room without so much as a goodbye, let alone a good-night kiss, for her little girl.
While Dilys was out doing her now familiar Saturday night round of pubs, looking for men willing to treat her – not a difficult task as she had vamping down to a fine art – Shirley was sitting on her foul-smelling bed in the little room in Berwick Street she was renting from the most unpleasant Greek woman she had met in her entire life, wondering what on earth she was going to do next.
When Leila had first thrown her out, Shirley had found the room straight away and things hadn’t seemed too bad. She had only ever had to deal with the landlady’s husband and he had been a right mug; not worrying if she was late with the rent and even occasionally letting her off an entire week at a time, so long as she gave him a free seeing to now and again. But then he had gone back to Crete on some sort of family business, and Shirley had been left dealing with his monster of a wife.
As soon as the woman had realised that Shirley didn’t work in the market, as her husband had claimed, but was on the game and using the room as her ‘lumber’, she had put up the rent, demanded a share of Shirley’s weekly takings and now, worst of all, was insisting that Shirley should be nice, as she put it, to her elderly father as he was missing his wife who was back home in Crete.
When the landlady had said what she expected her to do if she wanted to keep a roof over her head, and for absolutely no money, Shirley had laughed, thinking she was having a joke. But the woman had just stared at her with her sunken, piggy little eyes and cursed at her in Greek.
Shirley cursed back in English. She wouldn’t take that sort of crap from a runty li
ttle middle-aged woman.
But runty or not, the landlady had meant business and had cracked Shirley – smack! – right round the side of the head with a pair of brass knuckles that Shirley hadn’t even suspected she was wearing.
Shirley stumbled backwards across the room, clutching her ear as blood dripped between her fingers.
She had only gone round there to pay the rent and the woman had come up with this bloody nightmare of an idea. It wasn’t as though Shirley had never done an old man before, she had, plenty of times, but at least there had always been money involved. And this one looked as though he was on his last legs. His face was all yellow and shrivelled with age, and his wrists were so thin they looked as though they might snap at any minute. It would be like going with a corpse.
As Shirley pressed herself against the wall, staring at him, as he sat dwarfed by the carver chair in the woman’s kitchen, she knew she wasn’t going to go through with it. It wasn’t just the thought that the effort of getting him on to the bed would probably be more excitement than he could take – let alone what the act itself would do to him – it was the thought that the woman would be taking her for a mug, and before Shirley knew what she was doing, she’d have all the old cow’s uncles and cousins queuing up for a free go as well.
So, here she was in her room, with a half-empty bottle of gin and the few clothes that Leila had let her keep stuffed into a brown paper carrier, knowing that she had had enough, that this wasn’t the life she deserved. But what next?
She couldn’t think straight. All that filled her head – apart from the pain from the blow and a raging hangover – was the knowledge that this was Ginny’s fault. She hated the bitch. Hated her more than that Greek cow downstairs and her disgusting father; more than Leila for throwing her out; more than anything in the whole fucking world.
Slowly a smile began to form on Shirley’s lips.
Ginny had caused her all this trouble, so it was only fair that she should get some too. Shirley would get her own back. She would get revenge.
Dream On Page 32
