A Song for Joey (27 page)

At breakfast, next morning, I quickly showed Connor the letter, and introduced him to
Hans. I couldn't take up much of his time because he was on duty, but I needed the two
men to meet, for Connor to know who the stranger was, following me everywhere, and
Hans to know that Connor was a friend.

Jenny and John arrived mid morning. By then, I was sitting at a table in the bar, staring
into my cup of cold coffee. Hans occupied a table nearby, watching all activity around me
from behind a newspaper.

"We have to make some changes," John began, setting his pint on the table. "Jenny told
me about the letter. May I read it?" I took it out of my bag and silently handed it to him.
As he read it, his eyes narrowed. "I would say that's a fairly clear message of intent," he
grunted, passing it back. "Jenny says you have an idea who it might be?"

I knew I would have to tell them something, but how much? And what would they think
of me, afterwards. Under Burroughs' control, I had been nothing better than a prostitute,
and he was my pimp. I shuddered as the memories flooded back. Would I never be
allowed to escape his evil clutches?

John was leaning toward me, a look of concern suddenly on his face. "I'm sorry,
Belinda, I can see it's painful for you. You don't have to tell me anything."
His thoughtfulness touched me, and I gave him a smile. "Thank you, John. Let's just say
that he is an evil man from my past. His name is Gary Burroughs." Another shiver ran
through me as I said that name, but it was done. Just enough of the past was revealed to
satisfy the present.
Jenny took over. "John and Dan and I had an emergency meeting this morning," she
said. "We want you to move out of the hotel and into somewhere more secure. There are
just too many people wandering about here."
As if to emphasis her point, a hand appeared suddenly from beside me, but it was only
Connor, removing my cold coffee and, unbidden, replacing it with a fresh one. I smiled
my thanks.
"I understand. What do you suggest?"
John resumed: "I propose that you rent yourself a town house or apartment in a quiet
area, where Hamblin Security can control all access."
"But the cost ...?"
He grinned. "You may be surprised to know that you are already financially selfsufficient. Sales of your records and the money from touring have already cleared
everything Oberon laid out for you, and you have a comfortable bank balance."
I was, indeed, surprised to be solvent so soon. I nodded. "Ok, but I know nothing about
property."
"That's not a problem," smiled Jenny. "We have already contacted a few agencies, and
found a couple of places that would be suitable. Do you have any plans for today?"
"Even if I did, this is more important. I feel safe with Hans around, but I would like to
get away from here to somewhere Burroughs can't find me."
"Right then. Paul is waiting outside with the Roller, shall we go?" The three of us, with
Hans close behind, headed out to the car.
After a short drive, not more that a couple of blocks, Paul cruised to a halt in a quiet,
residential street, and we all stepped out into the cool afternoon air. I looked around,
thinking that the houses in this street looked far to large for me, but Jenny and John led
the way to a narrow opening between two houses, with a cobbled path leading into a
closed courtyard.
We crossed to a flight of ornate iron steps on the far side, which took us up to the first
floor of what appeared to have once been a stable. Jenny produced a key and let us in.
As we processed round the spacious, two-bedroom flat, I fell in love with it; it reminded
me a little, for some reason, of my rooms at the top of
The Lion In Winter,
though, of
course, far more upmarket. Hans pointed out to me that, from the security point of view, it
was ideal, having only one entrance door, and with windows on only the courtyard side. It
was a good start to our property search.
As we drove to the next address, Jenny suggested that I should not walk about London
as much as I had been, as it would be too easy for someone to hide in waiting.
"But I would go mad if I was shut indoors all day!" The idea was impossible.
"No, silly. I mean you should buy a car," she chuckled.
"Yes," I enthused, falsely, "Great idea! There's one small problem - I can't drive."
"You don't need to, just hire a driver like Paul," she grinned.
At that moment, we arrived at the second destination, another first-floor flat, but, after a
quick inspection, ruled it out. It just didn't touch me. It was the courtyard flat for me; I had
already made up my mind, and I had plans.

We were on our way from signing the contracts for my new apartment, heading back to
the hotel to gather up my things.
"What's up?" Jenny asked, a worried look on her face, as Paul pulled over and brought
the Roller to a halt at the kerb.
"Back there," I said, excitedly, "I saw the car I want."
She turned to Paul. "Can you park here for a while?"
"Better than that, I'll go round the block and drop you off at the showroom," he grinned.
"And I'll give you the benefit of my extensive knowledge of cars. There's more to being a
chauffeur than just driving, you know."
He eased the Roller back into the traffic, and, a few minutes later, we were stepping
onto the pavement outside an open yard, with rows of used cars laid out like gravestones
in a cemetery. Jenny looked up at the flashing neon sign, and her eyes swept the lot before
turning to me. "Are you sure about this?" she asked.
"I have no idea," I said. "I never bought a car in my life."
The five of us traipsed into the show yard, Paul beside me, the rest trailing behind. A
man in a check suit appeared beside us like a genie popping out of a lantern.
"Good afternoon, folks. How can I help?" he said, wringing his hands.
Before I could say anything, Paul stepped forward. "My friend," he waved a hand in my
direction, "wants to buy a reliable little car. I've come along to make sure she doesn't get
ripped off." It sounded really strange to hear Paul speaking so assertively - until then he
had always seemed quiet and reserved.
"Ah," smiled the man, slightly taken back by Paul's directness, "I'm sure I can help. How
much has the young lady to spend?"
"We'll come to that in good time," said Paul, apparently enjoying himself. I began to
wonder what his life had been like before he became chauffeur for Oberon. "Let's just see
if you have anything she likes, first, shall we?" He turned to me. "Which car was it that
caught your eye?"
"That one," I said, beaming, pointing to the pink Cadillac.

When Connor finished his breakfast shift I was waiting for him.
"Got any plans for the next hour?" I asked, barely hiding my excitement.
"Nothing more than drinking a cup of coffee and putting me feet up, me darlin'. What

you got in mind?"
"It's a surprise. Come with me." I grabbed his hand and headed for the doors. Two
blocks down, with Hans strolling behind, we crossed the road and I led the way through
the little cobbled alley into the courtyard and up the iron steps to my pad. I had already
decided that it qualified as a 'pad', not a 'flat'; this was the sixties, after all.
"Welcome to my new home," I gushed.
He looked around. "Nice. Very nice. So we won't be seeing you at the hotel any more."
There was a hint of disappointment in his voice.
"No, I had to move out for security. Because of that letter I showed you."
He nodded, seriously.
"Come with me, I want you to see it all."
I took him to the kitchen, the living room, the bathroom, chattering on about my plans;
then my bedroom and finally the second bedroom. There I lingered, suddenly uncertain,
lost for words.
"Yes, very nice, all of it," he said, turning to leave. Then saw the expression on my face.
"What's up, angel?"
"I .... erm .... I mean .... would you ..... Connor, would you like to have this room - share
the flat with me?"
His head tilted to one side, as it does when he's taking in something unexpected, not
uncommon when he was around me. I rushed on: "It would help me out. I don't want the
place empty when I'm off touring, and we can be company for each other when I'm home.
It's much nicer than that bedsit you're in at the moment, and I really would like you to ...
be ..." My voice trailed off; I was feeling emotional and lost for words.
"I know, darlin', but I don't think I can afford half the rent on a place like this."
"You don't have to pay half, the rent is already budgeted for, paid by Belinda Bellini
Limited." He was shaking his head, so I rushed on: "Of course you can pay something, if
you want to. Maybe what you are paying already for your room in Cardigan Street? Please
say yes, Connor. You're my best friend, my only real friend, actually, and I'm feeling
lonely and scared at the moment."
He put his arms around me, like a big brother, which was how I had come to think of
him, and hugged me. "You know what?" he sighed. "I would like to live here, and I could
help you by cooking and cleaning."
"You don't have to ... " I began, but he cut me off with a look that bore no argument.
I giggled and kissed him. "Ok, you de boss man. Now I have something else to show
you." I jumped up and headed for the door.
"What?" he exclaimed. "More?"
"Oh yes. I've bought a car."
A laugh like a question mark escaped his lips. "You are kidding me, right? Belinda
darlin', the roads won't be safe if you take up driving. People will lock their doors and stay
inside for fear of their lives."
I opened the front door and we began to descend the iron steps, Hans bringing up the
rear, as usual. "Bloody cheek! I bet I would make a good driver."
"You would make a good driver cry! Angel, you can't even walk safely, you crash into
people because you're so busy looking into shop windows." He laughed again, and I had
to smile wryly and agree with him.
"Anyway, I'm not planning to drive myself. I'm going to hire a chauffeur, with a
uniform, and a cap he can touch and say 'where to madam?' as he opens the door for me."
We walked the short distance to the car lot, coming to a halt beside my acquisition.
"What do you think?" I grinned.
"This is yours?" he finally managed to ask; I nodded, clutching his arm for approval.
I didn't get it. "Do you have a driver yet?" he asked, a wry grin pulling at the corners of
his mouth.
"Nope. Jenny and John are scouring the agencies as we speak."
"Then will you allow me to introduce you to a friend of mine? I think he may be perfect
for you ... and for this car."

I was packing my suitcase, ready for the trip. Most of my stuff - my costumes, day
clothes, wigs and personal things - were already on the bus, heading for Birmingham. All
I had to carry were some clean knickers, bras, some light clothes and toiletries.

On the coffee table was an envelope, addressed to The Reverend Potter, containing the
ten-pound note to pay for Joey's grave. It was a kind of superstition that had grown
without me noticing. I could have sent a cheque, which would have been safer and more
sensible, but putting cash into an envelope had become a routine that gave me a sense
of ... rightness.

My car would be picking me up in an hour - no more sharing with the guys. For
security, I had to travel alone, but for my bodyguard, and stay in hotels. It felt as though a
fortress was being built around me - like Norwich Castle, perched up on its mound,
remote, intimidating - and all I could do was watch from the walls as the world passed by
below me. This was my big tour - sixty-six gigs over ninety-one days - why did I not feel
excited?

The Rolling Stones had just finished singing 'Route 66' on my record-player, when there
was a knock at the front door. I heard Hans open it, then a few moments later, he came
into my lounge. "My boss is here to take over now, Miss."

There was someone else in the hallway, partly hidden by the door frame and Hans' huge
shoulders.
"Thanks Hans, see you again soon, I expect."
"Oh yes Miss."
He moved away and the other man approached. "Hello Belinda."
For a moment I was confused. The face was familiar, but out of context. It took several
seconds before I realised. "Oliver?"
He grinned, and that clinched it. The smile was still the same. I ran and threw my arms
around his neck. "What are you doing here?"
"As Hans said, I'm his boss. That means I get to choose who takes care of you, and from
now on it's going to be me."
"You mean, Hamblin Security is yours?"
"Yep. When I finished my National Service, I was well trained and had some money
saved up, so I started my own business. Done quite well, too, I'm glad to say."
"Well, so am I."
Emotions swamped me, first elation at seeing him, then confusion and ... and what? ...
the beginnings of a stirring inside?
"Come in while I finish getting ready."
He followed me across my room and sat on the big sofa while I stuffed the last few
things into my case. I couldn't concentrate, and found myself checking every few seconds
that he really was there with me. Each time I did, he was watching me, and we both
smiled, then looked away, embarrassed at being caught looking.
-♪-♫-♪

Neither of us spoke for a few minutes, while I busied myself throwing undies and things
into my little case, but, as I closed the lid and snapped the catches, I had to say what was
on my mind:

"Oliver, I spent the last two years thinking you were dead; Burroughs told me his thugs
had killed you."
"They nearly did. I was lucky that a woman saw what was happening through her
window and called the police. Two of the cowards ran off when the woman came out and
started screeching at them, but I managed to sit on the third one until the boys in blue
arrived."
"Were you badly hurt?" I moved over to the settee and sat beside him.
"They made a mess of my face." He rubbed a scar on his cheek. "I won't win any more
beauty contests," he grinned.
I touched the scar. It was long and jagged, and I could see that his cheekbone under it
was misshaped. I gently pressed my fingers on the flesh, feeling strange ridges. "How did
they do this?"
He shrugged. "Knuckle dusters, boots, I lost track of what they were doing. But, luckily,
they didn't connect with my skull. So, although I spent a week in hospital, there's no brain
damage."
"You know I've had a threatening letter from Burroughs?"
"I guessed it was him when Jenny told me about it." He gripped my shoulders gently
with his big hands, and stared intensely into my eyes. "He'll have to get past me, and this
time I'm ready for him," he growled.
His presence was having a strange effect on me. He had certainly developed into a fine
example of manhood - tall, physically toned, with broad shoulders and thick arms that
stretched the material of his suit. And his voice, with that warm, comfortable Yorkshire
accent, was seductive. I leaned over and kissed his damaged cheek. "I'm so happy to see
you again," I whispered, rather more huskily than I had intended.