Anyone Who Had a Heart (27 page)

‘A Whiter Shade of Pale’ by Procul Harum was playing over the music system. Pale pouting lips sang the odd lyrics as though they made total sense.

A supply of felt hats with big brims was getting rapt attention from leggy blondes and brunettes wearing hip-skimming skirts and knee-high boots. The hats came in only two colours: black or purple. A new line in sunglasses had also come in. Marcie tried a pair on. They half hid her face.

‘Like bumble bees’ eyes,’ someone said to her.

She smiled at that.

‘James Bond if you wear the hat with it,’ said a girl called Sandy who’d taken Carol’s place when she’d left.

The phone rang, startling Marcie from her thoughts. Sandy answered it, blushed into the receiver then put her hand over it. ‘It’s for you,’ she said to Marcie. ‘It’s lover boy,’ she whispered.

At first she was going to refuse to take the call. On reflection she decided it would be better if she did take it. If she didn’t answer he might come round here after her. She didn’t want that. She was making plans and wanted to be out of here before he came round.

She curled her fingernails into her palm before taking the call. ‘Hello?’

‘Miss me?’

He sounded as though nothing had happened. She couldn’t believe his arrogance, but until things were sorted out she couldn’t afford to face his anger again.

‘What do you think?’ she replied as cheerily as she could fake.

‘You love me!’

‘Not now,’ she murmured, holding her hand over the receiver so he couldn’t hear. ‘What do you think?’

She heard him laugh. ‘You couldn’t survive without me, babe. We’re a team. If we weren’t I would have had that ring back off you by now.’

She fingered the ring. It had occurred to her to chuck it, but something stopped her.

‘So where are you?’

‘Round and about. Keeping my eye on you.’

The menace in his voice sent fresh shivers down her spine.

‘Do you want these?’ Sandy asked after she’d put down the receiver.

Marcie was still quaking with fear. Roberto could be anywhere, looking for her, watching to see what she was up to. She made a swift decision. ‘I’ll take them both. Can you put them on my account?’

Sandy said that of course she could. That was the other reason why working for Daisy Chain was a real
plum
of a job. There were so many wonderful perks. Nobody else paid like Daisy Chain. She knew now she should have questioned that. But it was too late and time was running out. She had to make plans – and fast.

The apartment was situated in an exclusive lot adjacent to an upmarket hotel. On showing the business card to the commissionaire, he directed her to the lift and told her that she wanted the third floor.

‘Miss Montillado should be there. I’ve just showed up another visitor.’

He was cheery and put her at ease, so the name he mentioned didn’t sink in at first. Not until she was standing in front of apartment number ninety-eight did the bells start ringing in her head. With a sudden start of realisation she glanced down at the card.

Miss Allegra Montillado.

‘Allegra!’

The elegant young woman looked as ecstatic as she felt herself.

‘Allegra?’ she said again, just in case she was mistaken.

Allegra’s eyes shone. Her hair gleamed and she wore pearls around her neck and in her ears. They
looked
expensive. Everything about Allegra was expensive.

‘Marcie! It is you.’

Her smile was jaw-breakingly wide and her welcome was genuine. The two girls threw their arms around each other.

‘You smell wonderful,’ Marcie remarked on being first to break their embrace.

‘French perfume,’ said Allegra. A true thoroughbred, her skin gleamed like a well-groomed and well-cared-for horse. She opened the door a bit wider. ‘I’ve given the maid the day off because I knew you were coming.’

Marcie was going to ask why, but the interior of the apartment was opulent enough to strike her dumb. Everything was white: the carpet, the curtains, the furniture – all except the cushions that were a soft shade of jade velvet. A large plate-glass window seemed to take up half of one wall. Through it she could see the roofs of Edwardian townhouses, apartment buildings and chimney tops stretching like a bumpy forest floor to a misted horizon. A grand piano obscured a portion of the view, though not too significantly.

A leopard-skin coat was draped over the back of the settee together with a black chiffon scarf.

Marcie remembered what the doorman had said about Allegra having had another visitor. She began
to
apologise for the intrusion. ‘Look, I really need to talk to you, but if it’s inconvenient I can come back another time. We could make a date, have coffee or something …’

Her words poured out like a mountain torrent. She just couldn’t stop them. Meeting Allegra again made her so excited.

Allegra shook her head and ordered her to stop. ‘There’s no need for you to go.’

‘Marcie!’

An internal door had opened. The woman standing there was blonde, curvy and very familiar.

‘Sally!’ Marcie stared then frowned. ‘But I thought … that bloody letter you sent me. You brushed me off.’

Allegra and Sally – two unlikely friends if their past association was anything to go by – exchanged looks.

‘There were good reasons to do that,’ said Sally. Marcie winced at the force with which Sally hugged her. ‘Let’s talk about it over the delicious refreshments Allie’s provided.’

A bottle of champagne sat unopened on the teak coffee table. Next to it were three glasses and a box of chocolates from Harrods. Next to that a bowl of strawberries.

‘I’ll do the honours,’ said Allegra, proceeding to open the bottle.

Marcie was speechless.

Sally winked. ‘Beats gassing over a cup of tea any day!’

Marcie had to agree with her.

The three old friends toasted each other, Sally suggesting that they dunk a chocolate in their drink as a thoroughly unique way of toasting the pregnant – and rather fat – girls they had been. They were now sleek, upmarket young women. Nobody argued with that, although Marcie didn’t regard herself as anything like upmarket. She was still as she was; her main residence the old cottage where her Maltese grandmother lived. The chocolates were gorgeous and so was the champagne.

Marcie was desperate to ask Sally why the negative letter, but Sally and Allegra were aching to ask something more important.

‘So how’s the nipper? Growing up as gorgeous as her mum is she?’

Sally said it so flippantly, with her face wreathed in smiles as though it really didn’t matter to her one way or another. Her eyes said otherwise. It
did
matter. It mattered very much.

Wary of rubbing an old wound raw, Marcie was careful with what she said.

‘She’s toddling now and knows a few words. It isn’t easy being a single mum, but I manage.’

Alan Taylor had told the staff at Pilemarsh that
he
was her father, so at least she didn’t have to explain anything about him – especially about the fact that he was dead. Or so she thought.

As they reminisced about Pilemarsh, discussing the staff and the surroundings rather than the sadness of giving their babies away, Marcie wondered at the change in herself and Sally. They were all well dressed, especially Allegra who always had had exquisite taste. Her dress was charcoal grey, the deep V neckline enhanced with a white collar. The dress had matching cuffs and her dark hair was cut into a fashionable shoulder-length bob. She was the most elegantly beautiful woman Marcie had ever met in her life.

Sally’s appearance also shouted of money but differently. Her clothes clung to her curvaceous figure, the neckline cut to display a deep décolletage. What looked like real diamonds flashed in her ears and a single diamond sparkled from the gold collar around her neck.

She saw Marcie looking and grinned in her old wicked way. ‘Would you believe me if I said it was from Woolworths?’

Marcie shook her head. ‘No.’

Sally threw back her head and laughed. ‘Too bloody right it isn’t! Christian Dior would throw himself in the bloody Thames if you’d said that!’

Christian Dior! And solid gold by the looks of it.

‘A friend bought it,’ Sally said in a quieter voice.

Obviously a man, thought Marcie. It was difficult to read the look in her eyes, but she sensed that Sally was still touchy about her class and her morals.

‘Good for you,’ she said, raising her glass. ‘Now perhaps you’ll explain the letter.’

Again a look passed between the attractive young women sitting opposite her. She sensed there was some secret they were sharing.

‘You tell her,’ said Sally. ‘It was your idea.’

Allegra cleared her throat. ‘You’re working for Daisy Chain and living under the Camilleri’s roof. They’re very good at helping young girls settle in London, but they don’t do it entirely out of the goodness of their hearts. Gradually they take over the girls’ lives and also take a great deal of their income. They also open your mail.’

‘I’ve already been told that.’

‘Blimey! Aren’t you the cool one.’ Sally poured herself another drink.

‘Aren’t you afraid?’ asked Allegra.

Marcie had been looking into what remained of her champagne, twirling the stem between her finger and thumb. ‘Only of Roberto Camilleri,’ she said, raising her eyes.

‘Ah!’

‘I already know what goes on and that’s why I wrote to you two. I need to get away from them, but I don’t know where to go. I’ve no friends here.
You’re
the only people I know in London besides my dad – and I don’t really want to live with him. Besides, I need to get Joanna away from the Isle of Sheppey.’

She didn’t enlighten them with the list of reasons for all this, though she recounted them in her mind.

Number one, she had to get beyond Rita Taylor and her bad mouthing about Alan’s death – just in case.

Number two, she had to get away from Roberto and from the future planned for her by the Camilleris.

Number three, she might very likely kill her father if she saw him. What the hell was he thinking of taking her to a place like that and telling them such a pack of lies? Just wait till he showed his face! But that was by the way. There were more important things to consider.

‘I want to stay in London. I want to bring Joanna here, but I’ll need a place to stay and a way of earning a living.’ She looked from one old acquaintance to the other. ‘Are there any openings in the jobs you two do?’

Sally burst out laughing. ‘Our jobs! Now there’s a thing.’

Allegra shifted in her seat, unfolding one elegant leg from across the other. It wasn’t correct to think that Allegra looked slightly flustered but there was a hint of embarrassment.

‘More champagne?’ asked Allegra.

Marcie shook her head and brushed away a crease on her skirt.

‘I like your outfit,’ said Allegra, pointedly eyeing the royal-blue blouse and checked hipster mini-skirt Marcie was wearing. ‘Whose design is it?’

‘Mine. I designed it and made it. Daisy Chain took me on for my design and sewing skills – anyway, that’s what they told me. Of course, I know better now.’

Allegra nodded. Her arms were folded on her knees. Her dark lashes swept her cheeks and she appeared to be contemplating the chocolates though Marcie noticed she’d only eaten one, nibbling at it like a mouse. Her fingers dipped into the strawberries.

‘I was shocked when I saw the return address on the letterhead of the first letter and then the second,’ Allegra said suddenly. ‘I take it no one knew you wrote to me?’

Marcie thought she saw fear in her lovely eyes. Now what would someone like Allegra have to fear from the Camilleris?

Marcie shook her head. ‘No. I posted the letters myself.’

Allegra seemed relieved.

‘So that bloke who collected you from Pilemarsh – he wasn’t your father, was he.’

Sally’s statement – it certainly wasn’t a question – came out of the blue.

Sally grinned. ‘I can see by your face that you’re surprised at what we know. But there, we’re part of the city scene. We know what goes on. Anyway, we know that Tony Brooks is your old man – right-hand man to Victor Camilleri. Ain’t that so, Allegra?’

For a split second Marcie thought she saw another flicker of embarrassment flush Allegra’s serene expression.

‘So I understand,’ Allegra said hurriedly. ‘Now let me get this straight,’ she said, determinedly changing the subject. ‘You want to move to London and bring your daughter with you.’

‘That’s right.’ Marcie was resolute in her manner.

‘And you don’t want to earn a living lying flat on your back,’ said Sally. One corner of her mouth upturned with amusement.

‘No!’

‘And you’re good at what you do – designing and sewing.’

Allegra got up, folded her arms and began pacing the room as she put Marcie’s requirements into some order.

‘How would you like your own sewing room and designing certain items for a very …’ She paused. Marcie waited. ‘… specialised market.’

‘Specialised?’

Thoughts of making overalls for factories or
hemming
sheets for hospitals were the first things that crossed her mind. None of them appealed; she’d had enough of hemming sheets at the hospital.

‘Look,’ she said rising to her feet. ‘Working for someone else isn’t going to make me much money, certainly not enough to take care of Joanna.
And
I’m going to need a nanny to look after her if I’m working in a factory or hospital. Even then that depends on whether they’ll have me. They’re not keen on hiring married women with children let alone unmarried.’

‘How about being your own boss?’ Allegra’s smile lit up the room.

Marcie frowned. ‘What are you suggesting?’

The stunning, elegant woman who had amazed both Marcie and Sally with her manner and her wonderful wardrobe when they’d first met crossed the room, opened up a shiny radiogram and put on a record.

Marcie was puzzled. Placing fists on hips, she was about to ask what Allegra was playing at when Sally began to dance. Not rock and roll or the twist or the shake, but something sexy and languorous to the tune of ‘The Stripper’!