'Act dumb,' Tara said quickly. 'I'll think of something before he gets here.'
She felt faintly sick as she walked upstairs. Reason told her she could spend her time with whoever she chose, but given Josh's sympathetic manner at hearing her gran was ill, she had every reason to feel guilty.
Mum and Gran wouldn't like it either. When they discovered she'd been with Harry, they'd probably freak out!
They had stayed a second night at Southend because they couldn't bear to part, and left early this morning to get her back to work. Her face was sore from Harry's stubble, she was tired from so little sleep, weepy because she wanted to be with Harry, and now this.
As she got up to her flat it began to rain, huge drops that sent the people out on the street scurrying for shelter. She put the kettle on the gas, lit the grill for some toast, then went into her room to change. She was buttering her toast when she heard Josh's feet on the stairs and, for the first time since she moved in here, she wished she had a place of her own with a proper front door.
'Want some tea and toast?' she called out, trying to behave normally.
He didn't answer but stood outside the kitchen door glowering at her.
'Well?' Tara put her hands on her hips question-ingly. 'Do you want tea or not?'
The kitchen was long and narrow, with no room to sit. She felt cornered with him in the doorway and nothing but a window behind her.
'You managed to get back then? Gran wasn't at death's door after all?'
'OK, I give in,' she said lightly. 'I didn't go home, only said that because I didn't want the third degree about where I was going.'
When Josh smiled he could pass as handsome. Scowling did him no favours at all.
'And where was that?'
'None of your business.' She tossed her hair back and took a bite of her toast.
'None of my business?' he roared. 'You take two days off just when I wanted you to work on these wholesale designs, and then you say it's not my business!'
His face was red with anger. Josh wasn't an entirely reasonable man. She'd seen him sack girls for taking five minutes extra on their lunch hour. She was sure he wouldn't actually sack her, but bearing in mind his tender words to her just three days earlier, he was bound to flare up if she told him she'd been with Harry.
'Josh, you owe me so many days off I'll never catch up with them.' Her tone was crisp. 'Most nights I'm still working gone ten. There's never been a time I didn't have samples ready for a deadline, even if I've had to stay up all night to hand-stitch the hems. If I can't have a couple of days off when the sun's shining, I think it's time I found myself a new job.'
'Who were you with?' he shouted, taking a threatening step towards her.
'What's it got to do with you?' She turned her back on him and put another slice of bread under the grill.
'Off modelling for another porn magazine, were you?'
She had the boiling kettle in her hand, ready to pour it into the teapot, but her hand stopped in mid-air.
'You what?'
He didn't look normal at all. His pupils were so tiny she could hardly see them, his thick lips had flecks of foam at the corners. Could he have had an overdose?
'I said, were you off modelling somewhere for a porn magazine?'
'Don't be ridiculous,' she snapped, slamming down the kettle. 'If you've been taking drugs, go somewhere else and wait for it to wear off.'
'I'm as straight as an arrow,' he said haughtily. 'Which is obviously more than I can say for you. Don't I pay you enough? Aren't you getting enough glory? And to think all this time I've fallen for the timid little virgin bit.'
She realised then something else had happened. His anger went far beyond catching her out in one little lie.
'Look, Josh, I don't know what this is about. Come on down to the workroom. Sit down, have a cup of tea and tell me what I'm supposed to have done.'
She could hear the girls from the shop going in and out of the stockroom on the ground floor, and doubtless their ears were pinned back.
'I could put the modelling down to a lark,' he shouted. 'But blackmailing me! That's just the end.'
Tears glittered in his dark eyes, and suddenly she realised he was really wounded.
'Josh, I don't know what you think I've done.' She put her hands on his shoulders and propelled him towards her room. 'But we're going to talk about this properly, sitting down.'
He seemed shell-shocked, and he let her push him into a chair.
'I don't know how you could do this.' He sat on the very edge, rigid with anger.
The smell of burning toast made her run back to the kitchen. She turned off the grill and opened the window, then went back to him.
'OK, I lied about where I was going, but that's all.' Tara knelt down beside him. 'Now explain yourself!'
For a moment he just sat, staring at the floor. He was wearing a light blue suit, and a cream shirt which looked none too clean. He hadn't even shaved, he smelled sweaty and his clothes reeked of tobacco. His hand disappeared into an inside breast pocket and pulled out a foolscap-sized brown envelope.
'You explain those!' he snarled and threw the envelope at her.
Tara pulled out the contents – photographs with a letter folded round them. As she removed the pictures she gasped.
'Come on, now,' Josh needled her. 'Don't tell me you've got a twin and that's her!'
One glance at the picture of the schoolgirl sitting astride a chair masturbating was enough. She knew exactly who had taken it, and where. She sat back on her heels and covered her face in her hands.
Back in that little cottage it had seemed a bit naughty to let Simon catch her in that pose, something to giggle about. But now it sickened her.
'Oh, Josh,' she whispered. 'No wonder you're upset.'
'When were they taken?' he asked in a shaky voice.
'Not recently, if that's what you thought,' she said weakly. 'And not to be sold. I was just sixteen. It was down in Somerset, he talked me into it. I thought it was just for him.'
'Who is this he?'
'A man called Simon Wainwright, he's an actor.'
'Was this before I met you?'
'Yes, of course. He was the man I ran to London to be with, but everything went wrong.' She stopped suddenly as the full horror of what this meant washed over her. 'Is he blackmailing me?'
'You?' Josh gave a hollow laugh. 'No, me! Read the letter, why don't you. Either I pay him a thousand pounds or he sends these prints to The News of the Screws. He reckons it will ruin me!'
Tara read through the letter. It was typed, with no address at the top, but its style and content suggested an articulate, well-educated writer.
'Dear Mr Bergman,
I enclose some photographs of your designer Tara Manning. Recently in the press there was an article about this young lady's talent and how her designs have brought you fame and fortune. A quote I found particularly entertaining was 'Tara brings her own innocence and romanticism to her clothes'. These prints do not show either romance or innocence, surely?
I am fairly certain a man like yourself would not knowingly employ a girl who modelled for shots like these and I'm sure you would be frightfully embarrassed if such news should get out to the press or these prints sold on to them. We all know that the parents of your many young girl customers would be nervous about allowing their children into your premises once this got out.
Fortunately I am in a position to help you. I can locate the negatives these prints were taken from, round up the spare prints and return them to yourself and give an undertaking that the matter of your designer's modelling career in pornography is over. If you would be so good as to put a thousand pounds in ten-pound notes in a box and bring it to the Leprechaun on the Uxbridge Road at Shepherd's Bush, it will be exchanged for your photographs. Please do this within the next seven days, otherwise I will have no alternative but take them to The News of the World who will pay more than I am asking you for. As you approach the bar with the bo
x, just say to the barman "Would you please exchange this for the envelope you have addressed to Patrick Mulligan".
I do hope you will take up this limited offer, needless to say should you try alternative methods to recover the negatives I will be forced to teach you and your company a lesson in obedience!
Yours
Patrick Mulligan'
'Oh, Josh!' She felt sick, but despite the embarrassment to herself, her first thoughts were for Josh and his business. 'It's just a try-on. This man Mulligan must have got them off Simon. Tell him to stuff himself. Why should you pay him?'
'Don't be naive!' he exploded. 'It's a well-documented fact that you've worked for me for almost four years. No-one will believe I'm nothing to do with this. He's quite right about the young girls. Do you think parents will want their daughters coming in here once these have been bandied around?'
'What do you suggest we do?' Tara asked later.
She had made him a cup of coffee, drunk two herself to try to calm her nerves, and told him the whole story. She had tried to make Josh see that the man was an actor and he could hardly try to get these published without smearing his own name. But Josh didn't see it that way.
He pointed out that Simon Wainwright wasn't a name anyone had ever heard of. Anyway he might not even be involved but merely passed on the pictures to this man Mulligan. If Josh was to march into this pub demanding the negatives it would probably only be minutes before either his head was kicked in, or the newspapers had the story. Then of course there were Tara's mother and grandmother. What would this do to them?
The police were suggested and then rejected. As Josh pointed out, this bit of smut would get round faster with them on the case.
'What hurts me most is that you never told me about this guy,' Josh said finally. 'It's just another of those secrets you keep hidden. How many more will come out before I get to the bottom of you?'
She had to tell him about Harry then. Not to hurt him further, but because she knew Harry was perhaps the only person who could sort it out.
'I see.' His face set like concrete, a chilly look in his eyes. 'I might have known.'
'I'm going to phone him now. He'll know what to do.'
'What can he do that I can't?' he jeered. 'Send round a couple of heavies?'
That was meant to insult Harry but Tara wasn't going to be rattled.
'Maybe that's just what this needs. Anyway, I think he'll feel it's his place to stop this man,' Tara said quietly. 'Remember, Josh, I've known him all my life.'
Strains of 'Bridge over Troubled Waters' drifted up the stairs, along with the perfume of joss-sticks. Tara made more coffee and insisted Josh ate a sandwich.
'I'll just pay the money.' He sighed deeply as he finished the sandwich. 'There's nothing else for it.'
'That won't work and you know it,' she said sadly. 'He'll be back for a second lot, then a third, and the more successful my designs are for you the more he'll want each time.'
But as Josh slowly calmed down, Tara's fears for herself grew. Not just over her smeared name, or her family's shame, but Harry, too. It was one thing having admitted to a relationship with Simon, another having to show Harry graphic pictures of the event. Would it taint everything?
Miranda's voice called up the stairs. 'Tara, here a minute!'
Tara wiped away tears from her cheeks and brushed past Josh. At the bottom of the stairs Miranda waited, an anxious expression on her face.
'It's Harry,' she whispered. 'In the shop. I told him Josh was up there with you and tried to make him go away, but he seems to think you wanted him here.'
'I did, Miranda.' Tara tried to smile. 'Sorry, I should have told you.'
'Is everything all right?' Miranda wiped a stray tear from Tara's cheek, her eyes full of concern. 'He hasn't sacked you or anything?'
Tara shook her head. 'Just a bit of a show-down. Tell Harry to come up.'
Harry seemed to tower over Josh as the pair coldly shook hands. Ironically it was Harry who looked the real businessman today, as he'd changed into a navy suit and striped shirt ready to see his bank manager.
'Let me see the letter,' Harry said quietly.
Josh passed it to him with the pictures. Harry held the prints with one hand and read the letter.
Tara felt so faint she had to sit down. Any minute now he would look at the pictures and the loving kiss he gave her at the bottom of the stairs just now might well turn out to be the last.
He folded the letter and put it in his inside pocket then, without even looking at them, he tore the batch of prints in half.
'You haven't seen them,' Josh's voice rasped.
Harry took out his lighter and held it to one of the prints, setting it alight and dropping it into the waste-paper bin. As they watched he did the same with all ten.
'There was no point in doing that,' Josh spoke up. 'He'll have copies.'
'I don't want to see them, nor do I want anyone else looking at them.' Harry looked at Josh as if he was a maggot. 'I'll go and sort that pervert out now.'
The flames in the bin died down and the room was filled with an acrid smell.
'You'll do more harm than good.' Josh's eyes went black with anger, irritated by Harry's quiet control. "This is something that needs negotiation.'
'Fuck off, Josh.' Harry stood up, poised to leave. 'That louse wants stamping on and I'm surprised you're even considering anything else.'
'He might retaliate out of spite if you hit him,' Josh argued.
'He might end up dead if he tries.'
Tara looked from one to the other. Harry was far bigger than Josh, leaner and healthy, and she loved him. Next to him Josh looked insignificant, effeminate with his long curls and jewellery, but she valued his friendship. An electric current of jealousy sparked between the men and she knew for certain that, whatever came of this business, there wasn't room for both of them in her life.
'I'll come with you,' Josh said as Harry made for the door.
'No.' Harry shook his head. 'Tara's my girl. I do it alone!'
He was off down the stairs so quickly Tara was shocked.
'Harry, wait,' she called, running after him. She caught him at the door through to the shop. 'Be careful.' She reached up and kissed him.
'I'll ring or call round after I've seen him.' Harry held her briefly. His eyes were colder than a January morning. 'We'll have to find you a new place to live, too.'
Harry sat in his car, reproaching himself for not beating the shit out of Simon Wainwright personally four years ago. He had got a couple of lads round to give him a good kicking, whispered in the right ears that this bloke needed castrating. But clearly he hadn't frightened the man enough.
Reaching into his jacket Harry dug out the old envelope he'd just collected from his flat. He slid his thumb under the flap and pulled out the contents. Just a photograph of the man and the pitifully small list of productions he'd been in. Harry had got this from Wainwright's agent's office just a couple of days after Tara was tucked up safe with George and Queenie.
It had taken a few drinks to persuade the secretary to open up, but she'd been bruised by the man too and Harry convinced her it would be therapeutic to talk. He'd learned how the man used his charm on both sexes, but mostly on the rich and middle-aged who showed their gratitude with things like his Jaguar, holidays, expensive clothes and jewellery. The child modelling agency was owned by one of his lovers, as was the house in Shepherd's Bush. The woman went on to say she was sure Wainwright was involved with blue film-making.
Harry studied the black and white picture. It was out of date now, possibly taken ten years earlier. The man could have lost that blond hair, put on several stones and lines could cover that matinee-idol face. Maybe that's why he'd turned to blackmail now!
He looked at his watch thoughtfully. It was almost twelve, the Leprechaun would be open now and, if the clientele was as he expected, buying a few rounds of Guinness should encourage someone to give him a bit of information.
'W
hat'll it be, sir.' The red-faced Irishman behind the bar with a nose like a diseased sausage polished glasses, pulled pints and carried on a conversation all at once. The pub was precisely how he expected it, a Victorian watering hole that had been left intact except for electric light, a juke box and a small stage in one corner.
'A pint of Bass, please.' Harry took out a handkerchief and mopped the rain from his face. 'I only parked a few yards away, it's piddling down out there.'
'Ah, we need the rain. 'The barman smiled. 'That hot weather isn't good for trade!'
'I didn't think anything kept an Irishman from his drink,' Harry joked. 'By the way, is this the only Irish pub round Shepherd's Bush?'
'Well, it's the best-known one.' The barman seemed willing to chat.
'Do you know a guy named Tom Clancy?' Harry used the name of an Irishman who lived near his father. 'That's why I came in, I've got a message for him.'
'Tom Clancy?' The barman rubbed his chin thoughtfully. 'I know a Sean Clancy, but he's gone back to Dublin now and I don't think he had a brother. Tell me what the man looks like?'
'Good-looking bugger.' Harry leaned one elbow on the bar while he made up this fictitious character. 'Black hair, blue eyes, big shoulders, did a bit of acting at one time.'
The barman shook his head. 'I'd remember him for sure if he'd been in. Don't get many good-looking people in here.' He laughed at his own joke.' 'Cept you of course, sir!'
'I'm sure this was the pub they said.' Harry frowned. 'He used to hang around with another actor called Simon, big blond-haired bloke.'
'I know a Simon,' the barman said. 'Yeah, he's an actor all right. He's not Irish though.'
'He wouldn't be a bit suspect, would he?' Harry grinned wickedly. 'Likes blokes as well as birds?'
The barman grinned and Harry knew he'd struck gold.
'Don't you go saying that to the boss.' The Irishman's eyes twinkled and his voice was lowered as if he didn't want to be overheard. 'She's kind of sweet on him, and she hasn't noticed anything odd yet.'
'Is it true, then?' Harry leaned forward conspiratorially.
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