A Sunday Kind of Woman

by Ray Connolly

  Then suddenly she had come to him one day to tell him that she was already packed and had booked her flight back to Canada.

  ‘The police are letting me go home if I promise to be back for the committal proceedings,’ she had told him. Big Willie, Keith and Daley were all facing murder charges, and Harrigan, who had been arrested at his Essex suburban home claiming innocence of everything, was facing all kinds of charges from arson to murder.

  ‘I see,’ Charlie had said, trying to understand, but knowing only that she was once again disappearing out of his life.

  ‘I’ll be back,’ Kate had said, ‘but I have to get away and sort out my life.’

  Charlie had nodded. Of course she would be back. The police would insist upon it. But would she come back to him? He didn’t dare consider it.

  In the weeks that had followed her leaving Charlie had slowly rebuilt his life. He had been appalled to hear of Marty’s butchering at the hands of Daley, but Marty had scoffed away his apologies. ‘Think nothing of it,’ he had said, ‘let’s just up the commission to twenty per cent. In the meantime, let’s try to get those hands back in shape. Whoever heard of a piano man in bandages?’

  The bandages had finally come off Charlie’s fingers three weeks after the fire. Charlie’s hands looked, as Colin had been quick to point out, a mess, and only likely to be shown on TV during the horror movies, but within a week Charlie had them back pounding the keys, and scoffed away any talk of cosmetic surgery. They worked. That was all he cared about.

  By mid-September he had gone back to the Mystery Train to resume his career. After re-recording Wild Strawberries, this time in a proper studio and with a full orchestra accompaniment, he was, to Marty’s great delight, beginning to cause not a little talk in the business. How much of this was due to his involvement with Kate, and indirectly with the whole scandal, Charlie neither knew nor cared. What was certain was that the delicate letter from the principal of Prince’s Gate School for Girls explaining why he would not after all be welcome back for the autumn term was most obviously a direct result of the scandal. He was disappointed. But he understood their position. If he were a parent he probably wouldn’t have wanted someone like him around his daughters either, he had told Colin philosophically.

  And then, when he had decided not to expect it, the call from Kate had come, a timid uncertain request to meet, a plea that there was no way he was ever going to be able to refuse.

  She was waiting for him, sitting on one of the outside benches of the park as he made his way across the lawn of the open-air theatre and up the steps. The day was bright and golden, and everywhere horsechestnut leaves turned cartwheels as they tumbled from the surrounding trees. The air was sharp and acrid with the smell of burning leaves.

  She had, he thought as he spotted her, chosen quite the most romantic place in the whole of London for a meeting.

  ‘Hello, Charlie,’ she said cautiously as he drew close to her. A fur hood was pulled around her face and she was snuggling up inside a pink velvet coat.

  He smiled a welcome, noticing that her nose was pink, too, from the cold air. It was reassuring to know that she wasn’t perfect in every detail.

  ‘I wasn’t sure that you would want to see me again,’ she said. ‘I never bring you anything but trouble.’

  ‘That’s true,’ said Charlie. He was teasing, but Kate was unsure of how to take him.

  A long pause followed. Some small children clustered around a grey uniformed nanny as she pushed a pram in the direction of the peacocks. They both watched her in silence. Charlie felt cold. The sun was already going, and he had come out without his overcoat.

  At last he said: ‘Are you living in your old flat again?’

  She shook her head: ‘No. The police are still working out who owns it. You know they haven’t been able to discover a single one of Sarah’s partners … despite all the rumours.’

  ‘She did her job well,’ said Charlie.

  For a moment neither of them spoke. It wasn’t easy. At last she said: ‘I read a review of your record …’

  ‘Comes out next week … to coincide with the court hearing.’ said Charlie, half apologetically. That had been Marty’s idea. He wanted all the exposure he could get, and Charlie’s involvement with Kate was going to mean front page leads for at least the next week. ‘I’m sorry if it seems … tasteless.’

  Kate smiled: ‘It doesn’t matter to me. It’s a lovely song. I heard that you were back at the Mystery Train.’

  ‘This is my last week.’

  She hesitated: ‘Would it be all right if I came along one night … I mean, no one would recognize me.’

  He laughed: ‘Everyone would recognize you … and it would be great,’ he said. ‘Listen, Kate … I don’t mind. I told you before that none of all that stuff matters to me. Everything I told you in Sicily and in the flat … well, it holds good today just like it did then.’

  Kate looked at him for a moment and then said: ‘Well, if you’re sure it’s all right, perhaps I’ll come tonight.’

  ‘Yes, please,’ he said, and felt a buzz of excitement inside.

  She came early and sat all night at his side watching him play. At first he was embarrassed when he had to sing and his voice stumbled over the notes, but it didn’t appear to bother her or the audience, and he quickly gathered more confidence.

  As he had expected she was recognized, and no sooner had she slipped in among the crowd then there appeared to be half a dozen photographers snapping away at her like excited little dachshunds, booking their space on the front pages of the next day’s papers. Before the end of the evening a couple of rival reporters also turned up and made clumsy and futile attempts to get comments from the two, but Charlie played on, determined not to be drawn, and Kate’s eyes never left him.

  At eleven he was finished, and knowing that the place was now humming with media people seeking any possible new tit­ bits on the scandal the manager showed them out through a rear exit. Hailing a cab they quickly lost their pursuers in the London traffic.

  ‘I’m afraid you’re going to have to get used to this for the next few months,’ said Charlie when they were safely alone in the most fashionable of restaurants.

  ‘I’d rather be chased by the Press than by Daley,’ said Kate.

  ‘I suppose you are safe from Daley now, aren’t you? I mean he couldn’t get some of his pals on the outside to do you over?’

  ‘I’m safe. Without Sarah he’s just another hoodlum. She was the centre of operations. Without her there doesn’t seem to be any danger to anyone particularly. She kept all her files and pictures in her home, right away from the modelling part of the business. The fire seems to have taken care of most things.’

  ‘Apart from your reputation.’

  ‘I didn’t have much of a reputation to lose, so I haven’t come out of it too badly. The hard part was facing my family. They’d read all about it in the papers before I got home … it wasn’t easy.’

  ‘But it’s okay now’

  ‘It’s okay now.’

  Their conversation stopped while he ordered dinner. She looked at him in between consulting the menu and smiled widely, a smile which was contagious in its happiness.

  ‘You are sure you wanted to see me tonight, aren’t you?’ she said when they were alone again. ‘I mean you weren’t just being polite?’

  ‘I wasn’t just being polite. I’m sure. I always will be sure.’

  ‘You once told me that you thought romance was finite … that it had a beginning, a middle and an end,’ she said.

  ‘I was wrong,’ he said. ‘Look, I have something for you …’ He felt in his pocket and found the cheap trinket ring he had bought for her in Sicily. ‘You left this behind when you left Taormina. I’d like you to keep it,’ he said. He felt embarrass­ ment filtering through him: ‘Actually, it’s too small for me.’

  She took the ring from him and slipped it on to one of her fingers: ‘I wanted you to find it in Sicily. I think I wa
nted you to keep it safe for me … to keep it away from everything else,’ she said.

  Charlie nodded: ‘What are you going to do … I mean tomorrow … and the next day … and so on?’

  ‘I don’t know. I feel as though I’m just starting my life again. I feel as though I’m seventeen.’

  ‘You once said you didn’t feel young when you were seventeen.’

  ‘I do this time round. I feel young and gauche, and I’m afraid of saying the wrong things to you.’

  ‘That isn’t possible,’ he said. And very carefully he pushed a hand across the table.

  She caressed his wrists, fondling the now healed burn marks.

  ‘If you play with fire, you get burned,’ he said.

  After dinner he walked her home. She was staying in an ordinary tourist hotel just off Gloucester Road. As they entered the lobby he wondered whether he ought to say good night to her there, but as there was a huge crowd of chattering Japanese spilling around the place, he decided to leave it until he got her back safely to her door.

  Outside her room, he was reminded of another occasion, when she had stumbled and stammered to find the right words.

  ‘Can I see you tomorrow?’ he asked, as she turned to him.

  ‘Charlie. I know it sounds sordid, but, please don’t go yet. Please come inside,’ she said.

  She opened the door and together they went into the room.

  About an hour later he leaned on one elbow and, looking down at her, said: ‘I think that if we’re going to start behaving like this we ought to get married.’

  There was a long silence before she said: ‘Are you quite sure?’

  ‘I’m sure. Think of all the publicity. Marty will be able to retire when the record comes out.’

  She smiled: ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘Let’s do that.’

  Acknowledgements

  The author wishes to express appreciation to quote from the following songs:

  THE MAN I LOVE (from Lady Be Good). Music by George Gershwin, words by Ira Gershwin. © 1924 Harms Inc. (Warner Bros) Chappell Music Ltd. Reproduced by kind permission. WHERE OR WHEN (from Babes in Arms). Music by Richard Rodgers, words by Lorenz Hart. © Chappell and Co. Inc. Chappell Music Ltd. Reproduced by kind permission. YOU’RE GETTING TO BE A HABIT WITH ME, Warren/Dublin. Reproduced by kind permission of B. Feldman and Co. Ltd. 138-140 Charing Cross Road, London WC2H oLD. BLUEBERRY HILL, words and music by Al Lewis, Larry Stock and Vincent Rose. © 1940 Chappell and Co. Inc. Chappell Music Ltd. Reproduced by kind permission. AMERICANA STRAY CAT BLUES, words and music by Ray Connolly. Dayray Music Ltd. GREAT BALLS OF FIRE, Hammer and Blackwell. Reproduced by kind permission of Carlin Music Corp. TUTTI FRUTTI, words and music by R. Penniman, D La Bostrie and Joe Lubin. © 1955 Venice Music Inc. Reproduced by kind permission of Venice Music Ltd. BENNY AND THE JETS, music by Elton John, words by Bernie Taupin. Dick James Music Ltd. Reproduced by kind permission. GENTLE ON MY MIND, music and words by John Hartford. ©1967 Glaser Publications Inc. Acuff Rose Music Ltd. Reproduced by kind permission. NIGHT FEVER, words and music by Barry, Robin and Maurice Gibb. © 1977 Brothers Gibb B. V. RSO/Chappell. Reproduced by kind permission. STAYIN’ ALIVE, music and words by Barry, Robin and Maurice Gibb © 1977 Brothers Gibb B. V. RSO/Chappell. Reproduced by kind permission. ELEANOR RIGBY, words and music by John Lennon and Paul McCartney. © 1966 Northern Songs Ltd. for the World. Reproduced by kind permission. WITH A LITTLE HELP FROM MY FRIENDS, words and music by John Lennon and Paul McCartney. © 1967 Northern Songs Ltd. for the World. Reproduced by kind permission. WHY DO FOOLS FALL IN LOVE? music and words by Frankie Lymon and George Goldner. © 1956 Patricia Music Publishing Corp. Chappell Music Ltd. Reproduced by kind permission. SMOKE GETS IN YOUR EYES from Roberta. Music by Jerome Kern, words by Otto Harbach. © 1933 T. B. Harms Co. Chappell Music Ltd. Reproduced by kind permission. LOVE YOU INSIDE OUT, words and music by Barry, Robin and Maurice Gibb. © 1978 Brothers Gibb B. V. Stigwood Music Inc. RSO/Chappell. Reproduced by kind permission. DON’T BLAME ME, words and music by Fields and McHugh. Reproduced by kind permission of Campbell Connelly and Co. Ltd., London.

  A Note on the Author

  Born in 1941, Connolly was brought up in Lancashire and attended the London School of Economics, where he read social anthropology, and where Mick Jagger was a fellow student. He then interviewed sixties pop stars for the London Evening Standard. He has written numerous newspaper articles for the Daily Mail, The Sunday Times, The Times, The Daily Telegraph and The Observer, in addition to penning several novels, television series, TV plays, films and documentaries, radio plays, short stories.

  Discover books by Ray Connolly published by Bloomsbury Reader at

  www.bloomsbury.com/RayConnolly

  Forever Young

  Newsdeath

  Stardust

  Stardust Memories

  The Sun Place

  That’ll be the Day

  The Girl Who Came to Stay

  Trick or Treat

  For copyright reasons, any images not belonging to the original author have been

  removed from this book. The text has not been changed, and may still contain

  references to missing images.

  This electronic edition published in 2013 by Bloomsbury Reader

  Bloomsbury Reader is a division of Bloomsbury Publishing Plc, 50 Bedford Square,

  London WC1B 3DP

  First published in Great Britain 1980 by William Collins Sons & Co. Ltd

  Copyright © 1980 Ray Connolly

  All rights reserved

  You may not copy, distribute, transmit, reproduce or otherwise

  make available this publication (or any part of it) in any form, or by any means

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  publisher. Any person who does any unauthorised act in relation to this publication

  may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

  The moral right of the author is asserted.

  eISBN: 9781448210862

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