Tiger Ragtime (24 page)

He closed his hand over the pound note he’d tucked into his shirt pocket. His meal would come to sixpence and although he had plenty of change he resolved to pay the cashier with the note, so he’d have silver on hand to give her. Harry had warned him about women like Gertie, but he thought that what she had given him had been worth every penny of the two shillings he had paid her last time. Would she charge him the same again? Would she allow him to stay longer if he paid her more money? Would she be free to see him? What would he do if she wasn’t?

His meal came and, still thinking about Gertie, he ate quickly, paid his bill, stepped outside, and suddenly realised that he had no idea where she lived. He could find his way around the wilderness of the Brecon Beacons, no problem at all, but the built-up dockland was a different kind of wilderness, one where he hadn’t yet learned to recognise any landmark except the Pembroke Castle pub a few doors along from Helga’s house.

He walked up and down Bute Street for ten minutes, looked round every corner and down every side street but failed to distinguish one row of terraced houses from another, or indeed one house from another. They all had front doors that opened directly from the pavement, a sash window alongside it and two sash windows on the first floor.

He turned back and walked further down Bute Street towards the docks. Try as he may, he couldn’t recall if there had been anything different about the street or the house Gertie had taken him to. All he could remember was Gertie herself. He could conjure every detail of the green, white and pink pattern on her thin cotton dress. The way the flimsy fabric had clung to her breasts and legs, outlining them clearly while she’d strolled on ahead of him, her feet thrust into white, peep-toe sandals. The nails on her fingers and toes were painted a crimson that shone even through her white stockings.

Blood pounded around his veins at the memory. He had to find her. He simply had to! He stood still, looked around again and saw ABDUL’S written above a corner shop. He was sure Gertie had been standing outside it when she’d called to him – he’d turned back and seen her – they had talked for a few minutes, he had agreed to follow her and they had walked on for five or ten minutes. He turned full circle … the only question was in which direction …

‘You look lost, boy.’ A burly uniformed police officer loomed over him.

Intimidated, David muttered, ‘I’m looking for a friend.’

‘Male or female?’ the officer enquired.

‘A girl … David fell silent when he realised Gertie wouldn’t thank him for bringing her to the attention of the police.

The policeman grinned. ‘One of Anna Hughes’s tartlets?’

‘I don’t know Anna Hughes,’ David bit back defensively.

‘This girl – did she offer you a nibble of nectar, a dip of delight, a portion of paradise?’ The officer taunted. David squirmed in embarrassment and the constable relented. ‘Turn left back on to Bute Street, boy, take the next left, first right and it’s the house with birds woven into the net curtains.’

David practically ran from the officer. He followed his directions and found himself in a street that looked no more familiar than any of the others he’d been in for the last half an hour. As he couldn’t remember what side of the road Gertie’s house was, he walked up and down both sides of the terrace before spotting a front window covered by nets with peacocks woven into the design.

He walked up to the front door, touched the door knocker and the door swung inward. He leaned self-consciously inside the porch and knocked. The tiled floor was wet and, judging by the smell of soda, newly scrubbed. A narrow table holding a saucer full of coins stood below a row of hooks that held an assortment of ladies’ summer straw hats and flimsy, lightweight scarves.

A well-dressed man didn’t so much as brush past him, as push him aside. The man walked down the passage without turning around, or acknowledging his presence and disappeared through a door at the far end. David waited a few minutes before leaning forward and knocking a second time. That time he elicited a reply.

‘If you’re the milk man or the bread man, take your money from the table and go. If you’re looking for company then you can bloody well come in. If you’re not, you can stand out there all day for all we care. Just stop your bloody banging,’ a woman’s voice shouted.

He stepped forward as a middle-aged red-headed woman left the room at the end of the passage with the man he’d seen enter a few minutes before.

‘You looking for someone?’

‘Gertie,’ David answered timorously. When she continued to look at him he felt he had to add something so he said, ‘I’m a friend of hers.’

‘What kind of friend?’

Without giving David time to answer, the woman opened the door behind her and yelled, ‘Gertie, customer,’ before taking the man’s arm and leading him up the stairs.

Gertie wandered out into the passage. She was wearing a thigh-length dark blue rayon robe and navy blue slippers with white pom-poms and was holding a cup of tea in one hand and a cigarette in the other.

‘David, I wondered where you’d got to.’ She opened her arms wide, balancing the tea in one hand and the cigarette in the other, and leaned forward, inviting a kiss.

‘I went to sea.’ Feeling self-conscious he kissed her cheek, and breathed in a peculiar mix of strong tea, rose petal scent and nicotine.

‘And how was the sea?’

‘It didn’t suit me.’

‘I’m glad. I get to see more of my regulars if they’re ashore.’ She frowned. ‘You do have a job?’

‘Starting tomorrow, working on the old Sea Breeze,’ he said proudly.

‘You and three-quarters of the men on the Bay,’ she dismissed carelessly. ‘But you have your pay from the ship, right?’

‘They didn’t pay me.’

‘They bilked you?’

‘I don’t understand.’

She moved back towards the door. ‘They did you out of your wages.’

‘No, I knew before I went that I wasn’t going to get any.’

‘Then why did you go?’

‘To get experience,’ he explained.

She rammed the door with her hip, and opened it. ‘I don’t give out free samples.’

‘I have savings.’

She brightened. ‘Five bob?’

‘It was two last time,’ he reminded her.

‘For five bob you can have me all afternoon. Until seven o’clock,’ she added cautiously.

‘I have to be back at my lodgings for supper at half past six.’

She checked her watch. ‘Four bob until six?’

‘Two shillings and sixpence until five,’ he offered.

‘You drive a hard bargain, David …’

‘Ellis,’ he finished for her. ‘What’s your second name?’

‘What do you want to know for?’ she demanded suspiciously.

‘Just wondering.’

A man walked through the front door and stood behind David.

‘You’re holding up the traffic, David. You know your way up.’ She held up her cup. ‘I’ll dump this in the kitchen and I’ll be with you.’

David nodded to the man who looked right through him as if he wasn’t there. It was then David realised that they were in the house for the same purpose, something most men, especially if they were married, wouldn’t be eager to advertise. He walked up the stairs and looked at the doors at the top. Although there had been only two windows at the front of the house there were four doors.

‘Why are you waiting?’ Gertie was beside him.

‘I wasn’t sure which was your room.’

‘That’s not very flattering. How many girls have you visited since you were last here?’

‘None,’ he protested.

Gertie opened a door to her left and walked inside.

‘Close the door behind you,’ she ordered when he didn’t make a move. ‘I don’t want to give the other girls’ clients a free eyeful.’ She stood at the side of the bed, kicked off her slippers and held out her hand. ‘Half a crown.’

He took two shillings and a sixpence from his pocket and handed them over. She untied the belt on her robe and dropped it at her feet. He barely had time to register that she was naked beneath it before she pulled him down on to the bed.

‘Gertie … I can undress myself,’ he remonstrated when she started unbuttoning his flies.

‘All part of the service, lover boy.’ She licked her lips, moistening them. ‘Two of my regulars have left the area, and I’m out to replace them. For six bob a week you can have both their slots.’

‘That’s the one,’ Aled said decisively as Judy stood before him in a floor-length sable coat. ‘We’ll take it and the mink cape and the fox fur for day wear.’

‘You know quality when you see it, Mr James.’ Alice Johns transferred the three furs to the rack that held the day wear Judy had chosen – or rather Aled had chosen for her.

‘How long will the fittings take, Miss Johns?’ Aled rose to his feet.

‘At least an hour, Mr James. Miss King has a very slim waist and most of the gowns will need to be taken in. Would you like me to send word to you in the conference room when we have finished?’ She picked up a box of pins.

‘I should be back before then, Miss Johns, but if I’m not, I’d appreciate it.’

‘Show Mr James to the conference room,’ Alice ordered one of the assistants.

Aled picked up his hat and followed the girl into the corridor and through a door marked STAFF ONLY. She led him to the conference door, knocked and announced him before leaving.

Harry had deliberately sat at the side of the long table because he hadn’t wanted to put Aled at a disadvantage. But Aled had no compunction in taking the chair at the head of the table. He sat and looked at Harry sitting four chairs below him.

Harry rose to his feet. ‘Would you like some coffee?’

He lifted the pot from the tray. ‘It’s fresh. One of the waitresses brought it up a few minutes ago.’

‘I’ll just have an ashtray.’ Aled reached out and dragged one of the large onyx ashtrays towards him. He looked around. The floor was wood block, the walls papered in a pale green and cream abstract pattern. A map of Cardiff dated 1854 hung on the wall. Next to it was an old print of the Castle, but in pride of place facing the head of the table was an oil portrait of the man who had founded the company, Gwilym James. It had been painted half a century before when he had been middle aged. He looked Victorian, benign, and comfortable with his advancing years. Next to it was a photograph, a black-and-white studio portrait that could have been taken of either one of them. A young, fair-haired man sat behind a desk, pen in hand, inkpot and papers in front of him.

Aled raised his eyebrows. ‘That, I take it, is Daddy?’

‘You only have to look at the photograph to realise he fathered both of us,’ Harry agreed.

‘I wonder what he’d make of us sitting here together looking at his picture.’

‘I have no idea. I didn’t know him any more than you did.’

‘Of course, he died before you were born.’

‘Did you ever see him?’ Harry asked curiously.

‘No. And I wish my mother had never set eyes on him. She was stupid enough to work in Gwilym James in Pontypridd. She even thought she was lucky to get the job.’ Aled looked coolly into Harry’s eyes. ‘He seduced her, along with God only knows how many other women.’

‘My solicitor told me when I started working for the company that after Mansel James’s death, fourteen women claimed he had fathered their children. Annuities of a hundred and four pounds a year were paid out to all of them until their children reached the age of sixteen.’

‘And that makes it right?’ Aled questioned angrily.

‘No, it doesn’t, and I didn’t say that it did.’

‘You were the only one of Mansel James’s children to inherit any of his wealth.’

‘All I inherited from my father was his personal possessions. His watch, cuff links and tiepins.’

‘His fortune, the companies –’

‘Mansel James had no fortune. If he’d lived, his aunt, Gwilym James’s wife, would have left him hers, but he was murdered before she died. His personal fortune was small and left to her. She passed his jewellery on to me.’

‘Very convenient,’ Aled sneered.

‘After Mansel James’s death, Mrs James left the companies and her money to me in trust. She was our father’s aunt by marriage and my mother’s great aunt. Having no children of her own she loved my mother like a daughter. She wanted to provide for her and she thought the best way of doing that was to set up the trust in my name. And that is exactly what she did.’

‘And you think that because you were related to this aunt twice over you had the better claim?’

‘I claimed nothing. She simply set up the trust in my name. I won’t inherit a thing until I’m thirty.’

‘Then you’ve a few more years to go.’

‘And in the meantime, I’ll work for the company.’

‘But hardly on the same terms as every other employee. I dare say you can cajole the trustees into paying you as much money as you want.’

‘There’s only so much money a man can spend on living, Aled.’

‘Very true.’ Aled set his lighter down next to the ashtray. ‘And I’m Mr James, not Aled. I changed my name to our father’s.’

‘So my mother told me.’

Aled flicked open his cigar case and removed one without offering it to Harry. ‘I decided that I couldn’t possibly bring any more shame to it than our father already had.’

‘If you feel that way about him, why use his name?’

‘Because I needed to change it from Cooper. It became too well known in the wrong circles in America.’

‘Judging by your accent you’ve obviously spent a lot of time there.’

‘Enough to make a great deal of money.’

‘Miss Johns mentioned that you’re building a club in Bute Street and Judy King is going to be the resident singer.’

‘That’s right.’

‘She’s very talented.’

‘So we do agree about something.’ Aled exhaled twin rows of smoke. ‘Miss King also lives with your sister, Edyth Slater. She’s pretty, your sister, not conventionally so, but I find her attractive. Pity about her broken marriage.’

‘You’ve met my sister?’ Harry pulled out the chair to Aled’s right and sat down.

‘I took her out to dinner. Didn’t she tell you?’

‘Edyth and I have both been busy lately.’ Harry resolved that no matter what happened in the store that afternoon he would make time to see Edyth.