My Life in Black and White (19 page)

I
’d managed several hours of fitful sleep when the phone rang. Trinity was already out, gone to her rescheduled physical and to return Amber’s file. She was going to ask as subtly as she could when the doctor reported the cast’s results to the insurance company and the producer. I crawled to the phone feeling like hell. It was Frederick Marshall at the other end. He wanted to talk to me about my proposition and gave me an address to a pub in the east end. He told me to be there in an hour and not to keep him waiting. I didn’t like his tone; gone was the flirty lilt, his voice drained of even rudimentary friendliness, but then again, I had threatened him. I didn’t know whether Frederick knew about the pregnancy or not, and I decided it was best if I kept my mouth shut on the topic to see how it played out.

I took my time getting ready. I chose a snug-fitting dark dress with lace sleeves and a lace panel that covered my décolletage but provided ample cleavage viewing. I knew it was necessary to come to this meeting fully armed.

Once outside, I heard my name and Saffron came through the mist at me.

“Sorry to bother you,” she said. I could tell she was worried. Her face was devoid of makeup, and her normally perfectly coiffed hair was dishevelled and, more to the point, she was in flats.

“I’m off to an important meeting,” I began, then thought about it. I was the one in charge, not him. Frederick could wait. “Is something wrong?”

“It’s Larry again,” she said. “I know you don’t like him much, but he’s disappeared. His mum said he still hasn’t turned up.”

“Have you tried his editor at
Talk?
” I asked. I didn’t like Larry and wasn’t sure why Saffron thought I would know anything of his whereabouts.

“We rang him and Larry hasn’t filed a story or checked in since day before yesterday,” she said.

“Maybe he’s with a girl,” I suggested, biting my tongue rather than suggest she check a brothel.

“That’s unlikely. You’ve met him,” she said and smiled faintly. “I know he was working for you …”

I waved her off. “No, he wasn’t. He did one story, but after that Amber feature we broke off our agreement. I can’t help you. Sorry. I’m sure he’ll turn up.”

I watched her walk away and disappear, her face covered in a pale silk scarf. I started to make my way to the tube station. But I hadn’t gotten far when I saw the faint glow of a black cab.

“Why, it’s you again,” I said as I stepped into the cab. The same driver was behind the wheel. “You’re always here when I need you.”

“It just works out that way, love,” he said and smiled. “Where to?”

I looked down at the scrawl I’d made on a piece of paper. “Some place in the east end, Whitechapel? In a pub called The Ten Bells?” I said.

He looked concerned. “That’s not a nice part of town, miss. Are you sure?”

“It’s what he told me,” I explained, a wave of foreboding washing over me.

“Well, if you’re meeting a gentleman, then I feel better taking you,” he said.

I smiled and settled into the back seat.

“It’s quite far, will take us some time in this fog,” he explained cheerfully.

“So be it,” I said.

It did take ages to get there, and the closer we got the worse the landscape looked. Still recovering from being bombed out in the war, there was much rubble where buildings had stood and had yet to be rebuilt. Shop windows were boarded up too. I remembered studying how the King and Queen had toured this area after the Blitz, visiting homeless families. There didn’t seem to be many homes now either. Even the trees and shrubs looked forlorn and neglected. The people we passed wore depressed expressions to match the surroundings.

When we pulled up outside The Ten Bells, the cabbie whistled. “This is the place,” he said. “Strange spot for a date.”

“It’s not a date,” I explained and stepped to the curb, but his remark got my attention. “What makes it strange?” I asked as I looked up at the pub; it looked like every other pub in London.

“This is the neighbourhood where Jack the Ripper murdered his victims,” he said ominously. “The Ten Bells was where two of the women drank their last ales before he stabbed them to death.”

Without another word, he drove away, leaving me alone in the street. I wrapped my scarf around my head and shivered. Was Frederick meeting me here intended as a macabre joke, or was he trying to frighten me? My fingers were clasped around the door handle when I hesitated; it felt as though someone was watching me. I looked slowly side to side, but in the fog you couldn’t see more than a few feet in any direction. Taking a deep breath, I went in.

He was waiting at a back table. I removed my coat and scarf at the door so that I could display my figure to full advantage as I walked towards him. His eyes never left me, but he definitely wasn’t pleased to see me. His manner was cold, but it was the menace I sensed the
most as I sat down. I wasn’t accustomed to making people angry with me; I had always wanted people to like me. Though my behaviour of late belied that trait. Besides, if he despised me, our fledgling friendship was a sacrifice I was willing to make.

“You don’t seem very happy to see me,” I said and was rewarded with a blank stare for my efforts.

“Your little stunt the other day took all the romance out of it.” His tone was all business, like we were in a penthouse boardroom in a glass office tower, not a tight-fitting table for two in an East End pub with a notorious past.

Frederick ordered for us—two English ales. I despised the taste and the smell of beer, but I had my reservations that The Ten Bells could produce a sidecar. When it arrived, I picked up the enormous frosted glass with foam on top thick as cream. One sip was unable to alter my opinion of the drink, and so my glass stayed on the table fully committed to remaining untouched. Frederick had drunk half of his tankard before at last he got to the point.

“I want those photographs.”

So he had bought my lie.

“Not until you fire Amber,” I said sternly, looking for any indication that he knew about her condition. “And cast Alicia Steele.”

He drank more of his beer, somehow managing not to get even a whisper of foam stuck to his upper lip. The foam was probably too afraid.

“Your friend’s audition was done yesterday,” he said icily. “I’m prepared to give her a small part in exchange for the photos. I won’t even bother looking at the screen test.”

The light from the rudimentary pendant lamp overhead cast a large shadow across his face. His small black eyes never wavered from me. He just stared, unblinking, giving the impression he didn’t have eyelids.

“I hope you don’t feel I pushed you too far?” I asked and shoved a dose of the demure female into my voice, wondering if he had looked at his wife the night she died like he was looking at me now. Had she pushed too far?

“Amber Ward got the lead because she was that good. She read like a pro and, better still, she looks like a star,” he said, those dead eyes daring me to contradict him.

“Is that so?” I asked as irritation won the battle with my self-restraint.

He pulled out a cigarette case, and for a moment I was reminded of Niall. I wondered what he’d think of me being here, ignoring his warnings to stay away from Frederick. I took a cigarette. I leaned forward so he could light it for me and sucked in the nicotine and did my best not to blow smoke in his face. “As for your new proposition, no dice. Lead role and we have a deal.”

He smirked. “I’m not going to fire Amber,” he said.

I kept quiet. I was convinced that Frederick didn’t know about the pregnancy. This was merely gamesmanship. I understood why actresses like my grandmother coveted the femme fatale part. It was fun.

“Your silence impresses me,” he said calmly. “I can’t read you at all. It’s what I like about you.”

He didn’t speak for a moment, but his eyes wandered about the room as though surveying it, scrutinizing it. Then he fixed his glare on me once more. “This is my favourite pub, though not fashionable enough to entertain movies stars. Mica despised it. I stopped coming here when we were married because she found it eerie. After she died,” his voice trailed off, lost in a stream of thought he wasn’t going to share. Shaking it away, he said with a note of finality, “Now I come alone. Except today.”

“Seems quite far from your house.”

“I hate that house. Mica wanted it, not me. As you pointed out when we met, there is little there that speaks to the kind of man I am. I will sell it after the film wraps and buy a home around here.”

“I appreciate all the personal information but I think it’s time for me to go. You need to think things through.”

“As do you,” he said. “I can assure you that those pictures would not damage me in the slightest.”

I shrugged and stood up. “Then why do you want them so badly?”

He swallowed. “Perhaps this bit of blackmail has aroused me more than I care to admit, as much as your silky red hair. I will get what I want, Clara Bishop. I always do.”

I turned away, about to retrieve my coat and scarf, when he spoke again.

“Be careful out there, Clara. All that fog, a girl can simply turn a wrong corner, and, well, you get the idea.”

I didn’t look back as I grabbed my things and walked through the door.

I
realized as I started to walk away from The Ten Bells that I hadn’t the faintest idea how to get home. The streets were narrow and twisty, and it wasn’t long before I became disoriented. I kept looking over my shoulder thinking that someone was following me, but there was no one. Not even the faithful cabbie appeared. Then I saw a young man on a delivery bicycle and I waved him to stop.

“I need to get to Tufnell Park,” I explained, aware of how anxious my voice sounded.

“I can give you a lift to the Thames if you like. You can catch the tube from there,” he said kindly.

I looked at the giant flat basket on his bicycle. It was designed to carry dry goods, not passengers. It wouldn’t be easy and it wouldn’t be ladylike, but it sure beat being lost in Jack the Ripper’s hunting ground. Especially after Frederick’s parting words. Within a few moments we were off, and he speedily navigated the streets with me bouncing behind him like a sack of flour. Then through the fog came the smell of the river and I knew we were close. He pulled up on a corner for me to get off his contraption, which I did with minimal grace.

“Just follow this road. It will go to the Victoria Embankment and you can take the Northern line,” he explained and smiled. Only then
did I notice he was missing a front tooth and how ragged his clothes were. I dove into my handbag and found a five-pound note and placed it in his palm. It must have been a lot, for he removed his hat and practically bowed at me.

“Thank you, miss!” he grinned and got back on his bicycle, waving at me like a schoolboy, which he probably was.

I walked along the embankment, taking in the stench of the Thames, not daring to look over the side. What was most certainly a cold, black body of moving water had no appeal to me. I was spooked enough already. I kept my pace up but my shoes were starting to pinch, so after a while I sat down on a bench. That’s when I saw a sign for The Strand. Good God, I was within walking distance of The Savoy. It was like returning to the scene of a crime. Amber was probably safely tucked into the luxury loo, puking her guts out from morning sickness as Dean proudly ordered tea for three. I was tempted to waltz into the American Bar and order a sidecar for one. I’d earned it. But no sooner had I made the decision than I saw a woman coming towards me out of the fog. I ducked behind the bench because she looked all too familiar, and as she grew closer I saw at once that I
did
know her. It was Amber. Only it was a different sort of girl who made her way through the mist in a full-length trench coat and cloche hat. Certainly hers was not the face of a budding actress on the verge of stardom. Maybe between my leaving The Ten Bells and here, Frederick had gotten word and fired her. I wanted to tell her to cheer up; at least she was carrying the child of a man we both loved. I crouched down even tighter so she wouldn’t see me, but there was no need. Amber walked past like she was in a trance. Her tempo and carriage weren’t those of a person on a casual stroll. Hers had purpose and direction.

Curiosity and my years of celebrity stalking got the better of me and I followed her. She was hard to keep pace with, not least because she was wearing smaller heels. Mine were killing me, but I made sure not
to lose sight of her in the fog. She turned up a small street away from the Thames and then down an even smaller street, almost an alley really, that came to a dead end. I waited on the corner and watched her knock on a large wooden door. She didn’t have to wait long before someone opened it. I couldn’t see who was inside, so I waited a few minutes, then dashed back down the alley. The door was unmarked, not a name or business sign in sight. I stood back and looked up to the windows. The blinds were closed but lights were on like it was Christmas Eve. There was a sign on the building next door.
Smith’s Textiles and Tailoring
. My best guess was that Amber was up there getting a wardrobe fitting; perhaps the buildings were connected by a hallway or something. There was no point lurking in the alley, so I found my way back to the embankment.

I was contemplating removing my shoes and going barefoot when a car horn blasted through the air. I whipped around, panicked that I’d ended up in the middle of the road, only to see the usual cabbie pull up beside me.

“Need a lift?”

“How did you know I was here?” I asked, baffled.

“I didn’t. Dropped someone off at The Savoy and was coming around to go home when I saw you.”

“I’m awfully glad you did.” I practically fell into the back seat, my feet were burning so badly. “I sure wish this fog would lift.”

“It’s brought the whole city to a standstill. Buses have been shut down entirely.”

He turned up The Strand and we drove past The Savoy. A shiver ran up my back. “So who did you drop off there?”

“Just some chap. He said he was in the movie business.” The shiver returned and then some. Had Frederick gone to see Amber?

“Was he English or American?” I asked.

“To be honest, I’m not sure. He was a stern fellow.”

We rode the rest of the way in silence as I rubbed my stocking feet, but when we arrived at the flat, Niall was standing outside.

“I’ve changed my mind, keep going,” I instructed the driver.

But it was too late. Niall jumped in front of the cab, and the driver had no choice but to stop. “Just drive over him!” I yelled, but obviously he didn’t listen. Niall ran around to the passenger door and tried to open it.

“Clara! Come out or let me come in!” he said and pressed his face against the window.

“What shall we do, miss?” the driver asked. I sighed.

“I’ll get out,” I said and paid him. I stepped out in my bare feet, my shoes hanging from the fingers of my left hand.

“What happened? You hurt yourself?” Niall asked.

I ignored him and shut the cab door. Then I marched up to the front of the townhouse and fumbled for the key. Niall was behind me.

“Saffron told me what happened. That you saw me with my son,” he said with urgency in his voice. “Will you listen to my side?”

“Let me guess, you forgot to tell me?” I asked and at last found the key. I opened the door and let him follow me up to the flat. Once inside, I saw that we were alone and sat on the sofa as if I didn’t give a damn. I also put my shoes back on, cringing as I squeezed my feet into them. There was something about a confrontation that required proper footwear. He moved to a spot on the sofa beside me, but I waved him off.

“No one said you could sit down. You won’t be staying that long.”

He shook his head. “I didn’t forget. I didn’t tell you I was married on purpose.”

“What a surprise,” I said sarcastically.

“My marriage is over. My wife, Gloria, she had an affair. Couldn’t take the scandal I got messed up in, I guess. The only reason I’m still living with her is my son, Sam.”

“You’re a martyr! How wonderful for you.”

I rose up from the sofa and began to pace across the floor. I liked how my heels sounded on the parquet. Maybe I’d take up tap dancing when this was all over. Niall kept spilling it.

“Sam needs a strong parent. His mum spoils him. He’s just got in with that bad lot you saw the other day, wearing that getup. He’s joined a rock ‘n’ roll band!”

I rolled my eyes. “Not that!” I said sarcastically. Niall kept going.

“There’s a part of me that felt I deserved the unfaithful, unloving wife. I’d broken the law; why should anyone want to be with me?”

“If you or she were that unhappy, one of you would have left. Remember, I have experience in this area. You could say I’m an expert.”

“Dean is a first-class chump,” he said and that made me laugh.

“Pot. Kettle. Black,” I said harshly.

This stopped him for a moment. “I suppose that’s a fair assessment,” he continued. “I wanted to tell you, but after we slept together, how could I?”

That got me. “How
could
you? How
couldn’t
you? I told you about Dean. You should have told me from the get-go, but once you saw where we were headed, you owed it to me. How dare you make me party to an affair? I’m not Amber Ward. Not every woman willingly sleeps with a married man.”

I stood rigidly, my arms folded, my foot tapping on the wood floor like a drummer in a military parade, the pain momentarily forgotten.

“The gist of it is I’m married with a teenaged son but I’m falling for you, Clara,” he said and rushed over and tried to kiss me.

What I did next was pure reflex and one-hundred-percent instinct and, well, perhaps a dose of Alicia Steele too. I swung my right hand back and slapped him once across the face, good and hard. I was stunned. He was stunned too and stood rubbing his face. Does it make me a bad person to say it felt good? Then I’m a bad person. I
was also sick to death of being played with by men like Niall, Dean and Frederick. To hell with the lot of them.

“If you think I’m going to apologize,” I stated firmly.

“I deserved it,” he agreed, and that disarmed me a little. “You got to know I’m going to ask for a divorce. Gloria won’t be surprised.”

I turned away from him, not knowing what to believe. It was another couple’s drama, and I had enough of my own to contend with.

“You have to trust me,” he pleaded.

“I don’t have to do anything!” I said. “Goodbye, Niall. I’ll see you in the funny papers, or at least I’ll read your byline.”