Tara (59 page)

'Penny for them?' She jumped as Harry spoke softly in her ear, she hadn't heard him creep up on her.

'I was wondering if we'll be like Queenie and George when we're as old as them?'

'No.' He shook his head. 'We'll be thinner, sexier and a great deal richer. Come and dance with me. I want an excuse to hold you.'

'Why do you need an excuse?' She leaned her head on his shoulder as they danced. She often wondered if she was the only woman in the world that got a buzz out of her man's body. Not just during sex, but any time. The sensation of hard flesh against her soft body, running her fingers down the muscles in his legs and arms, the flatness of his stomach. Even his hands made her feel weak, so strong, yet when he chose to be gentle his fingers were more sensitive than a child's.

'Because if I stood around cuddling you people would think I'd gone soft,' he whispered in her ear, running his tongue round the edge. 'It's all a matter of face, Tara. I've got a beautiful girlfriend, they know I'd kill anyone who tried to hurt you, but I can't act like I'm going over the top.'

'Are you going over the top?'

'Oh, yes.' He moved one hand against her cheek, the other holding her waist, blue eyes looking right into hers. 'You mean more to me than anything else in the world. This club is only a stepping stone to a better kind of life for us.'

Her heart thumped and she wished she could describe to him just how much she loved him. 'Would you really kill for me?' She put her lips to his cheek, ran one finger round his ear.

'I hope no-one ever puts me to the test.'

It was after three when the last guests left. Tara sat on the stairs, watching as Needles called cabs and helped women into coats. She was deliciously drunk, she didn't know where her shoes were and her jacket kept falling off her shoulders.

'All right, babe?' Needles called out. 'Anything I can get you?'

'Has Harry taken loads of money tonight?' she asked, slurring her words.

'Looks that way, darlin',' Needles hitched up his trouser legs and sat down beside her. 'He's up there in his office stuffing it in the safe right now. It's gonna be all right.'

'Where's your wife, Needles?' she asked. 'I didn't get introduced to her.'

'She's at 'ome, sweetheart, tucked up in bed waiting for me.'

'Wasn't she here?'

He laughed, a deep growl of a laugh from his belly.

'This is my job,' he said. 'She won't be coming 'ere. 'Er place is at 'ome wiv the kids.'

Tara was too drunk to digest that just now, but it seemed to her Needles' wife got a raw deal.

'I can't see you waiting till the end of the night with me very often.' Harry opened the door of the flat with Tara over his shoulder. She had fallen asleep in the cab and he'd carried her in.

'I'll learn to drive then I can come home alone,' she replied as he sat her down on the settee.

'I wouldn't trust you to drive safely,' he tossed over his shoulder as he drew the curtains. 'I'll put you in a taxi.'

'Afraid of me becoming independent?' She stood up a little unsteadily, threw the cushions off the settee and unfolded the bed. It was already made inside and she got the pillows out of the cupboard.

She could smell smoke everywhere, on her clothes, hair and skin. She wanted to have a shower, but she knew she was too drunk.

'I suppose so.' Harry looked faintly ashamed. 'That and the fact I don't approve of lady drivers!'

It was almost four in the morning. She had the day off this time, but it crossed her mind she wouldn't be able to stand this sort of pace for long.

'Will it always be this late?' She sat down on the bed and slipped off her shoes.

'Later sometimes.' Harry took off his jacket and the bow-tie he'd loosened in the car. 'Once we get big card games going it could be all night.' He sat down next to her and pulled her into his arms. 'We have to remember it's not forever,' he said softly against her hair, unzipping her suit. 'Once everything's running smoothly I'll be able to take time off. But it's going to be hard for the next three or four months. I bet Josh has predicted I'll be bust by then?'

'No, he's given you till Christmas.' Tara giggled. 'By the way, you never told me what Josh said about you sorting out Simon.' She had seen them talking, just before Josh left, and she knew it was about that.

'Not a lot. What was there to say? Just thanks.'

His chauvinistic attitude suddenly irritated her – first the suggestion she couldn'tbe trusted to drive and now this put-down. Didn't he realise her brain was as sharp as his?

'What exactly did you do to Simon?'

'Nothing. Just marked his card.'

Tara moved round to face Harry, her suit falling down over her shoulders to reveal her breasts. He looked unconcerned, as calm as if she'd been referring to someone back home in the village.

'Don't try to fool me, Harry Collins,' she said firmly. 'I know perfectly well the man who was found tied up and tortured was Simon, even though they didn't print his name.'

'Don't ask me about it.' His eyes suddenly grew dark with anger. 'I got the negatives, and the spare prints. So I used a little force to get him to open up. What did you expect me to do, charm him? Screw him?'

Tara drew back from him, suddenly nervous. She'd seen this attitude before – in her father!

'I only asked,' she whispered, pulling her suit back up over her body.

'Forget that man,' Harry almost snarled. 'Put him out of your mind. He got far less than he had coming to him, that's all you need to know.'

Tara got up and held out his jacket. 'You'd better go home,' she said in a small voice. 'Don't ever, ever speak to me like that!'

Harry looked up at her and instantly felt ashamed of himself for being so harsh. She looked so forlorn now, one hand clutching her suit over her breasts, her ringlets loose and bedraggled, mascara smeared under her eyes and that soft, sexy mouth quivering as she held back tears.

He'd been speaking the truth earlier when he said she was the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen. When she walked into the club he almost burst with pride. Until tonight he'd had a rosy idea that Tara would be at the club with him most of the time. He'd imagined her at his side, having a drink and chatting to the customers. But tonight, even though it was a happy, fun-filled evening, he'd sensed the club's real style.

It would become a villains' watering hole; he couldn't prevent it even if he wanted to. They would bring women, stylish, glamorous women, but they wouldn't be their wives. When the pubs turned out all around the East End they'd descend on him in their droves. It would be a place to take the tart you want to impress, and if you haven't got a girl, there's always the lads to chat to, or a game of poker.

But Tara didn't belong in that scene.

'I'm sorry, babe.' He got to his feet and reached out for her. 'It came out all wrong. I only want to protect you.'

Tara stepped back from him, her amber eyes filling up with tears she could no longer hold back.

'But I have a right to know what happened. It was my pictures you had to get back, remember!'

'There's ugliness all around us, darling.' He caught hold of her hands. 'You've got so much talent, you're so beautiful – I don't want you to be contaminated by people with ugly minds and dirty thoughts.'

She let him hold her again, she couldn't resist him when he spoke like that, with that tender expression in his eyes.

'Roses are beautiful, too,' she said, looking up into his face. 'They grow best in shit, Harry, and they have thorns. I might just be a little tougher than you think.'

Chapter 28

Christmas 1969

'Her place is with her family at Christmas,' Mabel snapped, 'not gallivanting round a gambling club. You should have put your foot down!'

'When are you going to realise you can't dominate everyone?' Amy tried to keep calm. It was eight o'clock on Christmas Eve, Greg would be arriving within the hour, and the last thing she wanted was another row.

Mabel was stuffing the turkey, rosy in the heat, wrapped in a big white apron. Bunches of holly tied with red ribbon turned slowly in the heat above their heads, the tree was lit up in the sitting room, gaily wrapped presents beneath it, and the whole house smelled of mulled wine, mince pies and pine needles. Everything was the same as it was every Christmas, but this year Tara wouldn't be there.

Amy lifted the tray of mince pies out of the oven, kicked the door shut with her knee and took them over to the table.

'Is it so extraordinary she wants to be with the man she loves?' She flicked back her hair from her hot face. 'I wouldn't call it gallivanting, either. From what I understand they're both exhausted!'

Amy was as disappointed as her mother, but she understood the pressure on both Tara and Harry. For weeks now they'd both been frantically busy and hardly seen one another. Besides, Queenie and George would give them a far more rapturous welcome than Mabel would!

'It's all right for you!' Mabel broke off from her task, put her sausage meat covered hands on her hips and glared indignantly at her daughter. 'You'll be spooning with Greg and I'll be left alone.'

'Don't be so ridiculous.' Amy banged the mince pies down on to the cooling tray in anger. 'We've got Ena and Herbert coming for lunch tomorrow and, as you well, know Greg is on call so he might not get here at all.'

'It won't be the same without Tara,' Mabel said stubbornly. 'Besides, both she and Harry could rest just as well here as in London.'

'It's a long drive,' Amy reminded her. 'Anyway, the club will probably be open till three or four.'

'Gambling on Christmas Eve!' Mabel snorted with disapproval. 'Taking food from children's mouths, encouraging men to drink when they should be home with their wives!'

'You are the most cantankerous, selfish old woman I've ever met!' Amy shouted. 'Has it occurred to you the real reason she's not coming home might be because she can't bear your nasty digs all the time?'

'The girl's a fool if she can't stand the truth.' Mabel's eyes flashed. 'She should marry Josh, he's rich, well educated, and Jewish men don't cheat on their wives. They've got so much in common, far more than she has with that piece of riff-raff!'

'In my eyes Harry has proved himself,' Amy said defiantly. 'How dare you call him riff-raff!'

'He'll let her down, I tell you,' Mabel insisted. 'He's a gambler, they always do.'

'Why do you always bring up that ridiculous argument?' Amy snapped back at her. 'Harry might own a gambling club, but it doesn't mean he gambles his own money away. Anyway, Greg will be here soon. Go and change ready for church.'

'I'm not coming.' Mabel's voice took on a plaintive note. 'I know what Gregory Masterton wants, you think it's you don't you?'

Amy gritted her teeth and left the room.

'It's not you he wants,' Mabel shrieked after her. 'It's this farm.'

Upstairs Amy slapped cold water on her face and resisted the temptation to scream aloud. 'Sometimes I hate you, Mother,' she whispered, taking deep breaths to calm herself. 'You'd try the patience of a saint!'

She peeled off her everyday clothes down to her white petticoat, looking at herself in the mirror. Next year she would be forty. She might still be as slim as the day she married Bill, but she could see tiny lines round her eyes and a slackness on her jawline. Tonight's anger wasn't only about Tara and Harry, it was about her mother controlling her. She had to make a stand soon, otherwise she'd end up like Mabel, a frustrated and bitter woman.

Looking down at her sapphire and diamond ring, she sighed. Surely no couple of their ages had ever had such a long engagement?

Mabel used Greg when it suited her. She saw him as another unpaid worker, a source of advice, an ear to bend when she chose. But the moment Greg mentioned setting the day, she bristled and made things impossible.

They were trapped. If they went to live in his house, Mabel would let things slide again. If Greg moved in here he would be insulted, treated with suspicion and derided if he made any suggestions. But they couldn't go on snatching odd moments together like a couple of teenagers.

All day Amy had had a feeling of foreboding. Was it because she felt herself being pushed to the edge by her mother? Or was it anxiety about Tara? There was nothing concrete to be worried about. Despite Mother's fierce words about Harry before he opened the club, she had mellowed enough to invite him down with Tara on several occasions in the last eighteen months. Happiness and love shone out of them and there wasn't one person who wasn't charmed by both Harry and the aura that surrounded them.

But recently Tara's letters and many phone calls had had a wistful air to them. She seemed to be alone a great deal, yet reticent to talk about that, or Harry's business.

The Top Cat Club, and Harry, had become well-known. Personalities from the stage, screen and sporting world were always being photographed at the club and he had been on television several times himself.

But was Harry being sucked into the seamier side of clubland, as they'd feared? Was he really earning enough legitimately to pay for that brand new Mercedes? His hand-stitched jackets, shoes specially made in Curzon Street, monogrammed silk shirts and gold Rolex watch – were they all from the profits of drinks and gambling or was he involved in something more?

Protection rackets, drugs, prostitution, even gun-running passed through her mind. Could a man who'd tasted the high life ever settle down to a normal family life?

'Come with us, Mother?' Amy pleaded one last time as she stood in the kitchen ready to leave for church with Greg. They had smoothed over the early fight, but Mabel was still being awkward.

'No.' Mabel pursed her lips, looking at Greg's new camel overcoat disapprovingly. 'I've got things to do. Besides, he looks like a used-car salesman.'

'Mother!' Amy admonished her. 'It's a lovely coat, and anyway, what's that got to do with the midnight service?'

'Peace and goodwill to all men!' Greg said, laughter in his voice. 'Come on, Amy, or we'll be late. I'll see you tomorrow, Mabel. I won't wear the coat!'