‘You’re stiff and your voice needs much more projection and you’ve no idea of how to handle an audience, but with a lot of polish, you could make something of yourself,’ he told her, watching her get more annoyed with every word.
She tossed her head at him, her lovely mouth drooping into a delicious pout.
‘I don’t need to stand here listening to you. I’ve people waiting for me.’
So she did not cave in at criticism. So much the better, for she was going to need to be tough.
Spruce gave a shrug. ‘Well, if you’re happy to play the odd spot at a third-rate venue like this every few months, that’s up to you. I only represent professionals, and the best ones at that. Been nice talking to you, Miss – er. Good evening.’
He had hardly taken three steps before she called out. He ignored her, and just as he knew she would, she ran after him.
‘Wait, Mr Spruce.’
Her hand was on his arm and she was looking up at him with huge blue eyes, her lips parted. He felt a tug of desire, but kept it well hidden. Now was definitely not the moment.
‘Yes?’ he said.
‘You’re an agent? You get work for singers?’
‘Singers, yes, and dancers, comics, novelty acts.’
‘Could you get work for me?’
‘I might. Depends how willing you are to do what I tell you.’
‘Oh, I am. I want to be a singer. I want to work in the theatre.’
‘Very well.’ He pretended to relent, and produced one of his cards. ‘Come along and see me sometime and I’ll give you a try-out.’
‘Oh thank ye, Mr Spruce.’ With excitement, her accent became stronger. Then she slid him a sideways glance. ‘Ye’ll not regret it,’ she told him.
She was going to be fun, this one.
Sidney Spruce walked out into the foyer with a spring in his step. Mick Sullivan was there, talking to the box office clerk.
‘Wotcher, Sidney. Found anything you like?’
Spruce shook his head in wonderment. ‘I don’t know how you keep open, Mike. How do you get them in off the streets? You got nothing out there but a bunch of has-beens and amateurs.’
He left Sullivan snorting with annoyance.
Two to four days, he guessed. He was right. She turned up at his office the third day after he saw her perform. He was on the telephone at the time, his newly installed and very expensive toy. He waved her into a seat and carried on talking, taking care not to even glance at her again.
‘Right, well, I’ll tell you this, you’ve got a first-rate novelty act there. You ain’t never seen nothing like it. When them girls all get on that bicycle, it’s a sight for sore eyes. Have ’em coming back for more, night after night, you will. You’ll have ’em? Right. You’ll not regret it, I tell you. Now, of course, they don’t come cheap . . .’
Buoyed up by the prospect of what was to come, he got an extra half-a-crown out of the man. Then he hung the earpiece on the hook and swung round on his swivel chair to look at her.
‘Well now, it’s Miss – er?’
‘O’Donaghue. You saw me at Sullivan’s. You said to come and see you.’
‘Oh yes, of course. The little singer. Well, I don’t like to disappoint you, my dear, but I think I might have been a bit hasty the other day. I do have rather a lot of singers on my books. All good girls, nice voices and pretty faces, and all looking for work. I’m not sure whether I can really take any more on. Not with things the way they are at the moment.’
‘Oh.’ Her face fell. ‘But you said –’
‘I know, I know – trouble with me is, I’m too soft-hearted. Get carried away. But it’s a tough business, this. You got to have more than looks and a voice. You got to stand out from the crowd, got to have that something extra. I’m not so sure whether you got what it takes.’
‘I have. I know I have.’ She jumped up and leant over his cluttered desk. ‘Just try me, Mr Spruce. What would you like me to do? Sing? Dance?’
Sidney’s mind ran swiftly over half a dozen things he would like her to do. It brought him out in a sweat of anticipation.
‘Let’s start with a song,’ he said, going over to the piano.
He went through the motions, listening, criticizing.
‘Open up a bit. Smile! That’s it. Turn your shoulder a bit and look sideways, invite them, flirt a little – that’s better – now take a handful of skirt and swing it, show a bit of ankle –’
She learnt fast. And she had it – there was no doubt about it – that ability to lead a man into thinking she might just offer him everything. It just needed bringing out. Combined with that freshness and seeming innocence, she could be a knock-out. He almost decided it was worth forgoing the personal pleasure and the risk of scaring her off in order to make sure he got her on his books. But then he looked at her once more, at the glimpse of ankle, the slim waist, the full breasts, and his need grew into a pressing pain. He had been looking forward to this for three days now.
He moved to the sofa that filled a large part of the small office, sat back and patted the seat beside him.
‘Come and sit down and let’s have a little talk,’ he invited.
A certain wariness entered her face, but she came, and placed herself at the far end of the sofa.
‘Now then,’ he said, keeping his voice friendly, almost fatherly. ‘Like I said, you’re a nice little singer. With my help, you could make a first-rate artiste. If you’re prepared to learn from me, do everything I say.’
She nodded, her eyes fixed on his face. She was sitting bolt upright, her hands folded defensively in front of her. He controlled the urge to reach out and put a hand on her knee.
‘What did you say your Christian name was?’
‘Siobhan.’
‘Siobhan – Siobhan . . .’ He rolled it round his mouth. ‘Pretty name. Nice. I like it. Tell me a bit about yourself, Siobhan. How old are you? Where do you come from?’
She told him about her family in Ireland, why she had come to England, of her family on the Isle of Dogs – plenty of them, he noted, so she was not alone and unprotected – and her work at Morton’s, as well as her singing experience. She became animated, loosing her defensive stiffness. Every now and again Sidney put in the odd question, and found that there was no particular young man in her life, nor was she looking to marry yet. By the time she finished, he had a good picture of her background. Except for the army of cousins down on Dog Island, she was ideal.
‘All very interesting,’ he said. ‘Only trouble is, there’s lots of girls like you trying to get on the stage. I get dozens of ’em in here every week. I got plenty on my books already. Now, you got talent. With the right training, I could get you work. Thing is, are you going to play ball with me?’
‘Sure and I will, Mr Spruce. Didn’t I say that? I really want to go on the stage. I want it real bad.’
‘That’s good,’ Sidney said. He moved along the sofa and put a hand on her thigh. She drew in her breath, but did not push him away. ‘That’s really good. Because, you see, if you want to be one of my girls, the first thing you got to learn is how to please me.’
He slid one arm round her waist, the other round her shoulders, and drew her towards him. She resisted him, anger and obstinacy in her face.
‘And what exactly do ye mean by that?’ she demanded.
Sidney smiled at her. ‘I think you know what I mean.’
He kissed her then, long and hard, forcing her to open her mouth, thrilling to the feel of her breasts against his chest.
She pulled away, trying to lean back from him. ‘That’s enough.’
He looked her straight in the eyes, and said with slow emphasis, ‘Siobhan, do you want to go back to work at Morton’s for the rest of your days and always be poor, always live in a crowded house, never have anything nice to wear? Or do you want to stand up in the spotlight and have beautiful dresses and hear people clapping and cheering you because they love you? Which do you want, Siobhan?’
> She stared back at him. Gradually anger softened into acceptance, and then a knowing light came into her eyes and a smile tugged at her lips.
‘You know what I want,’ she said.
‘Good,’ Sidney said. ‘Now we both understand each other.’
He kissed her again, and this time she responded, putting her arms round him and kissing him with an expertise that sent his expectations soaring. He pulled her on to his lap, almost groaning with the pleasure of her buttocks on his legs, her soft thigh against his hardness. He cupped her breast with his hand, fondling until he could feel the nipple through the thin fabric. He kissed her throat and found her pulse was racing in time with his. He was torn in an agony of choice, wanting to prolong the pleasure, to spin it out, to experience every step, and yet wanting to have her now. He reached round expertly to undo the tiny buttons all down her back, then slid his hand inside to touch the silky skin above the armour of her corset. A shiver ran across her, and he knew it was not of revulsion. He pulled the dress down just a little, exposing one shoulder, then put his mouth to it, revelling in the taste and scent of her, working down to the top of her breast.
‘Ah, Siobhan,’ he breathed, ‘you’re a lovely girl, you are. I think we’re going to get on just fine together.’
Reaching down, he gathered up her skirt and explored up her leg, negotiating the maze of petticoats with the skill of a man who has found his way there many times before. His fingers slid over stockings and garters, found warm bare skin and caressed the soft flesh of her inside thigh, and felt her give and open up to his touch.
Then her hand came down on his arm and she pulled abruptly away from him.
‘I’m thinking that’s far enough,’ she said, smoothing the dress back into place on her shoulder with fingers that trembled.
‘And I’m thinking we’ve hardly started,’ he told her. He was seized with an overwhelming anger. He turned, tipping her off his lap and on to her back on the sofa, then rolled beside her to hold her down with his weight. He grasped her wrists and pinned them to the arm of the sofa.
‘On stage you can tease them as much as you like – promise it all and never give nothing away. But not here, d’you understand? I don’t like teasers and I don’t play games. You want to be top of the bill – well, this is where it starts.’
Still holding her wrists with one hand, he pulled up her skirts with the other, reached inside her drawers and kneaded and caressed her belly and thighs until she stopped resisting and relaxed and opened to him once more.
‘That’s right, that’s nice,’ he whispered. ‘You’re going to enjoy this. It’s going to be the best you ever had.’
He let go of her hands and kissed her as he slid his fingers between her legs. She stiffened at first, but as he gently explored the velvety creases she began to quiver and gasp with pleasure, pressing up to meet him and whimpering with disappointment when he stopped.
‘All right, my darling, just hold on. Let’s do this properly,’ he said, throwing off his jacket and tossing away his tie. ‘Let’s get this pretty dress off, shall we? Don’t want to spoil it.’ She sat up to let him pull it over her head, and he drew breath at the sight of her, half-naked and rosy in her underclothes. He undid his trousers and freed himself with a groan of relief, then released the one button that held her drawers, and slowly roused her to moans of desire. He rolled on top of her, seeking an entrance, almost unbearably excited.
‘Please,’ she whispered, and there was fear in her voice, ‘please – I haven’t – I never . . .’
‘It’s the first time?’
‘Yes.’ She sounded almost ashamed.
They all said that.
‘Don’t worry,’ he told her. ‘This is going to be the most beautiful thing you’ve ever done.’
He eased into her, gently at first, as she cried out and shrank back in the cushions. He disregarded that. They all liked you to think they were virgins. Desire took over, gripping him with need and pleasure. He thrust into her, hardly noticing her cries of pain, driving harder as her nails dug into his back. Then she began to move beneath him, meeting him with a mounting urgency, until he erupted ecstatically.
She was sobbing and trembling when he drifted reluctantly back to reality. In love with all the world now, he kissed away the tears.
‘There now,’ he said, his voice husky with satisfaction. ‘Didn’t I tell you it would be the best you ever had?’
‘I – didn’t know – it was – like that,’ she said.
‘Ah well, you’re with an expert now. I told you I could teach you a lot, didn’t I?’
He shifted to take his weight off her while still staying inside, and talked on contentedly about all he could do for her both in bed and on the stage, until the need for a cigarette impinged on him, together with the realization that there was still business to be done today. He sat up with his back to her and began getting into his clothes.
‘Here we are,’ he said, handing her her dress. ‘Best get moving. Nice to stay here all afternoon, but I got a living to earn. Perhaps we can arrange it better next time.’
‘Next time?’ she echoed, in a small voice.
He did up all the little buttons for her and gave her bottom a friendly pat.
‘Oh yes. You passed the audition all right. I’m going to start looking for bookings for you right away.’
‘Oh.’ She straightened her hair as best she could at the glass on the wall. Not looking at him, she said, ‘It’s just – it’s a sin, don’t you know.’
‘Catholic, are you?’
She nodded.
He’d had plenty of them before. All the guilt and the hand-wringing. It was all a lot of rubbish.
‘Oh well, you’ll have to go to confession, won’t you? Nothing to it. Give the old priest a thrill, eh? Do a few Hail Marys or what-have-you and Bob’s your uncle, good as new.’
She did not look convinced. He opened the door for her.
‘Come back next Wednesday and we’ll work on your act, and I’ll see a few managers. I know some who owe me a favour. We’ll get you up there in the spotlight before you can say box office.’
It was only after she had gone that he noticed the blood on the sofa cushions. So she had not been acting. She was a virgin, or had been until half an hour ago. His satisfaction was complete.
Ellen stood by the stall, wrapping a set of tumblers.
‘Look lovely on your dresser, they will,’ she said, holding one up to the light before deftly swathing it in newspaper. ‘How about a jug to go with them? We got them to match. See? Pretty, ain’t it? Got them same oranges painted all round the top. Nice to have the set while you’re about it. They’re the last. We won’t be having no more after these are sold.’
The customer hesitated, turning the jug this way and that while Ellen packed the glasses into her bag. Glancing into the crowd ambling by, she caught sight of Harry. He was standing in the middle of the road with his back to her and there were people milling in between, but Ellen recognized him just by the set of his shoulders. She watched him, unable to tear her eyes away. He was obviously waiting for someone, for there was an air of ill-contained impatience about him. As if drawn by the intensity of her gaze, he turned, and their eyes met. Ellen felt a hot blush rising up her neck and over her cheeks, much to her embarrassment. She nodded at him, stretching a bright smile over her face. It was essential to act normally. After all, they were neighbours.
‘Wotcher, Harry. Lovely day,’ she called.
‘’Afternoon, Ellen.’ He strolled over.
‘I dunno,’ the customer was saying. ‘I got a jug already. Don’t really need no more.’
With difficulty, Ellen switched her attention back.
‘But you ain’t got one to match, have you?’ she pointed out. ‘All the nobs up the West End have ’em to match. Water sets, they’re called.’
‘Oh –’ The woman considered the jug once more, indecision showing in her face.
Ellen could feel Harry’s
presence. It sent butterflies chasing round her stomach.
‘Tell you what,’ she said. ‘I’ll knock tuppence off, seeing as you bought the glasses. How about that?’
Satisfied, the customer paid up. Ellen wrapped her purchase and sent her on her way.
‘Busy today?’ Harry asked.
‘Middling. Lots of people, but they’re just out for the afternoon. They’re not all buying.’
His curly hair was blond from the summer sun and his face tanned, making his eyes seem very blue. For the thousandth time, Ellen regretted the silly quarrel that had made them almost strangers. But she could not back down. She enjoyed this job.
‘You enjoy this job, don’t you?’ he said.
She gaped at him. It was as if he could read her mind. ‘Yes,’ she managed to say, ‘yes, I do.’
‘Better than Maconochie’s?’
‘A million times better,’ she agreed.
‘And you’re good at it, too. I can see that.’
She almost said that Gerry seemed more than pleased with her, but thought better of it.
‘Thanks.’
A girl of about her own age came pushing through the crowd, carrying a string bag bulging with potatoes and lettuces. She looked Ellen up and down, trying to place her, then slid her arm possessively through Harry’s and gave it a squeeze.
‘Got them. That’ll keep Mum happy. All I got to buy now is the cheese. Mum likes to go to Smith’s.’
Harry stood his ground. ‘Yeah, in a minute.’
The girl looked at Ellen again, suspicion tightening her face. ‘Friends, are you?’ she asked.
‘Ellen lives down our street,’ Harry explained.
‘Oh.’ The girl relaxed. ‘I’m Vi. Harry and me’ve been walking out for three weeks. I expect you’ve known him a bit longer than that.’
‘All my life,’ Ellen told her. Jealousy clawed at her. Vi was a pretty girl, round and fair, with a dimple that she consciously used when looking at Harry. Ellen’s hands twitched. She very much wanted to pull Vi’s hair, to wipe that superior air of possession off her silly face.
Vi giggled. ‘You must know all sorts of dreadful things about him.’
Trinidad Street Page 20
