Tara

by Lesley Pearse

  Tara laughed. 'When I'm rich enough to swan off to foreign parts I'll take you, too,' she insisted. 'I hope Harry's speaking to me again by then, otherwise it might prove embarrassing.'

  She saw the looks exchanged by them, sensed their surprise.

  'We had a fight,' she said, shocked he'd said nothing to them. 'He didn't tell me he was going to Germany and I haven't heard from him since.'

  'We thought you'd come over because he was away.' Queenie looked concerned. 'I was just going to ask you how he's getting on there.'

  'You haven't heard either?'

  'No.' George sat up straight in his chair, tipping back his old straw hat and revealing his bald patch. 'To tell the truth, love, we was a bit narked he didn't tell us he was going. First we knew of it was when I rang Needles.'

  A cold chill ran down Tara's spine. It was unthinkable Harry would go away without telling George.

  'I don't like this.' She felt her stomach turn over the way it always did when something was wrong. 'It's understandable that he hasn't phoned me, because we parted on bad terms. But he wouldn't neglect you, especially if he forgot to say goodbye.'

  'I'll ask Needles to pop over.' George got up quickly. 'He only lives around the corner, he said 'Arry's phoned the club several times. We'll ask 'im what he makes of it.'

  'So you only spoke to 'im once?' George repeated himself, making quite sure he'd got it right.

  'Yeah.' Needles looked too big for the dainty white garden chair he'd perched on. 'Most of the lads 'ave spoken to 'im at different times. I just ain't picked the phone up.'

  'When did 'Any leave?' George asked.

  'Must have bin Friday, not last week, but the one before. He was in on the Wednesday and 'e didn't say nuffin' about going nowhere.'

  'Thursday was the night I got back from Paris. He was at my flat when I got home.' Tara frowned. 'He said he was going to the club, he drove off there.'

  ' 'E never came. 'E belled me Friday morning.' Needles leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. 'Said 'e was at the airport, in a phone box, that's why 'e couldn't speak for long.'

  'So where did he go Thursday night?' George pondered, looking a little pale. 'What was he wearing, Tara?'

  'His dinner jacket, bow-tie, the usual.' Tara was worried. 'Needles, are you sure it was Harry that phoned you?'

  'Don't be daft, gel.' Needles' face broke into a broad grin. 'I've known 'Arry since 'e were a nipper. Fink I don't know 'is voice?'

  'Was it clear, Needles?' George asked. 'I mean the line, his voice. I can't see 'Arry bombing off on the town in a penguin suit meself. Neither can I understand why 'e didn't bell me before getting on a plane.'

  'You'd have bin at work,' Needles retorted. 'But now you come to mention it, the line weren't that good. He kept banging the receiver and there was this 'issing noise.'

  'Do you think it was someone pretending to be Harry, Uncle George,' Tara said in a small voice. 'Do you think something's happened to him?'

  ' 'Ang on a minute!' Queenie interrupted, leaning forward to pat both George's and Tara's knees. 'You're getting Tara all steamed up just because 'Arry's been a bit thoughtless. 'E'll turn up in a day or two, just you see.'

  'Queenie.' George put one hand over his wife's. 'In Harry's whole life I don't think 'e's ever gone away for more than one night without telling me. 'E ain't bin abroad much. Not more than three times, I don't think. If he was going to Germany 'e would 'ave bin spouting on about it. But we can settle this right now by going to 'is flat and looking around. If 'is passport's gone, I'll believe 'e 'as!'

  Tara got dressed again and went with George and Needles, while Queenie stayed home to cook the dinner.

  Harry's flat was neat and tidy, a bit like a hotel room, his shoes in the wardrobe in a straight line, the bottles in his bathroom lined up like soldiers. Even the bed was made to military standards by his cleaning lady.

  'Neat, ain't 'e?' Needles said as he rifled through the drawer by the bed containing letters bound up with rubber bands, receipts in a bull-dog clip and a box of loose change.

  'Never was till 'e got banged up,' George offered. 'But some of this is that cleaning lady, anyhow.'

  'It's not here.' Tara looked round from searching his desk under the window. 'This is where I last saw it.'

  She wanted to cry. It was all these things of his, the box of cufflinks on the dressing table, his hairbrush, the smell of his suits in the wardrobe, everything she touched reminded her powerfully of Harry.

  'His razor's gone, too,' she said sadly. It was a brass-handled one that usually sat in a pot on the bathroom windowsill. 'So's his toothbrush.' She rushed over to the wardrobe and found the light grey leather jacket he wore all the time. 'But look, George, when have you ever known him go anywhere without that!'

  George shrugged his shoulders, as if he didn't know what to think. Needles went back into the wardrobe.

  ' 'Is brown jacket's gone,' he said. 'So's his best navy whistle.'

  'Someone just packed those things,' Tara insisted. 'You know as well as I do he always takes that grey jacket. Is his dinner jacket there?'

  Needles looked again. 'No, it ain't.'

  'That settles it. He wouldn't take that with him. He's been kidnapped!'

  'It don't mean nuffin', him taking the penguin suit,' Needles said comfortingly. 'Only that 'e's expecting to go to a few posh places.'

  'His car!' George was pale, suddenly older looking. 'Where's that?'

  'It could be parked up at the airport,' Needles suggested. 'I'll take a run out there and look.'

  'Come back to the house first.' George didn't look well at all, he was shaking so much that he couldn't lock the door and Needles had to take the key from his hand.

  Back at Paradise Row Tara was all for going straight to the police to report Harry missing, but George stopped her.

  'Look at it the way they will,' he said haltingly.' 'E's phoned his club, stuff's gone from his flat, they ain't gonna believe anyone's snatched 'im.'

  'But you don't think everything's OK, I know you don't,' Tara insisted.

  George covered his face with his hands for a moment, leaning forward on to his knees.

  'I'm more worried 'e's got 'imself in a tight spot. You gotta understand that' Arry's always been in a difficult position, he grew up with some nasty people, even did time wiv 'em. Our 'Arry's loyal, I know 'e don't want to get stuck into villainy no more, but sometimes it ain't so simple.'

  Needles appeared to understand perfectly, he nodded glumly.

  'You really think he's in on something?' Tara was appalled. 'He told me he'd never go back to prison. I don't care how good a deal it seemed, he wouldn't take the risk.'

  'Wait a bit longer, Tara?' George warned her. 'Needles and me will sniff around like, ask the lads what's going on. 'Arry might not be in Germany, that could be just a smoke-screen, but if we call the plod in and 'Arry suddenly turns up we'll all look bloody daft. Know what I mean?'

  *

  Tara sat in the window of her flat watching as twilight turned to dark. She ought to have felt reassured that Needles had found Harry's car parked at the airport. But then again, he hadn't managed to find his name on a passenger list. Was that just because Needles didn't have enough clout? Or because he wasn't on one?

  Reason told her men like Harry were more than capable of looking after themselves, but still her stomach churned alarmingly. One thing came out of all this loud and clear. Harry's life was conducted on more than one level, and she would probably never discover all of them.

  George and Needles had opened her eyes to things she hadn't even considered – gang warfare, policemen on the take, drugs. Now George said she mustn't confide in anyone, particularly Josh, as he and Harry had many mutual friends and one careless word could make things much worse. But even if Harry had done something really wicked, she had to help him, she owed him that much.

  And she'd do it alone if necessary.

  It was after three when she finally got into bed. She
had made up her mind about Harry.

  However much she loved and wanted him, reason told her there was no future in it. He came from a world she didn't want to move back into. However much he claimed otherwise he would always see women as second-class citizens. Fighting, gambling, drinking, wheeling and dealing, they were all so deeply ingrained in his character he could no more cut them out than you could try to stop a cat from stalking birds.

  Her mother and grandmother were right, Josh was the right man to marry, to have children with. He might not make her feel weak at the knees, but did she want that anyway? She could put all her passion into her designs. She and Josh were real friends, they cared about the same things, had identical goals. With them there would never be a conflict of interests. People talked too much about love. You could love people in so many different ways, anyway. Who could say that the affection she felt for Josh was less valid than that painful, gut-wrenching feeling she had for Harry?

  Chapter 32

  'I've got to get in the club and search it,' Tara muttered to herself. She had been awake for more than an hour already and it was still only seven, far too early to get up on a Sunday morning.

  Tara was convinced that the key to Harry's disappearance lay in the club, and she felt sure that if she could get into his office she'd find some clue as to what had happened. There was no way she could go there openly – Duke Denning knew her and would wonder what she was up to. If she asked for Needles' help he'd be so worried about her he'd probably give the game away. As for breaking in, that was impossible. Men who had all done time for breaking and entering weren't going to leave a club vulnerable to burglars.

  There had been some developments during the week. One was that George rang her to say Harry had rung him twice. On the second occasion Harry had told him he'd flown back to England to pick up some more clothes, but he couldn't pop in as he didn't have time.

  George checked the flat the next day and found that Harry had swapped the brown leather jacket for his grey one, hung up his dinner suit and taken clean underwear and socks.

  Around a day later Tony took another call from Harry, asking him to collect his car from the airport and take it into his usual garage to get it serviced.

  'I asked him why he hadn't contacted you, sweetheart,' George said in a forlorn voice. 'All 'e said was "Leave it out, Dad, I've got enough on my plate right now."'

  That ought to have put Tara off, but in fact it made her more determined. It was beginning to feel like a conspiracy with even Uncle George joining in, but she was going to get to the bottom of it.

  All she had to do was work out some way to sneak into the club and have a snoop around.

  She got up soon after nine, unable to settle for her usual Sunday lie-in, pulled on a pair of jeans and went out to buy a newspaper. By eleven o'clock she had run out of ideas. She'd cleaned her flat, put clean sheets on her bed and read the newspaper, and the day loomed ahead of her endlessly.

  Sundays had always been spent with Harry. He usually arrived at around four in the morning, letting himself in with his own key and snuggling down beside her. Usually she would get up around ten, creeping out to buy newspapers, then come back to make him breakfast in bed. Sundays were about being close; making love, chatting, cuddling and dozing. On a nice day they might stir themselves to go for a walk, sometimes they went out to a pub or restaurant, but mostly they just enjoyed being alone together.

  Tara couldn't keep still. She moved the bed settee to a new position then moved it back because she didn't like it. She rearranged her collection of inkwells and paperweights, swapped prints round on the wall, then sat down at her drawing board in the window and tried to work on a new design.

  But it was hopeless, she couldn't settle. She jumped up to make coffee, ate half a packet of biscuits out of sheer boredom, then rang her mother.

  She hadn't mentioned Harry's disappearance, Amy had enough worrying to do with the farm without that.

  'What a lovely surprise.' Amy sounded as if she was smiling. 'You were lucky to catch us, we're just about to take Winston for a walk.'

  Amy seemed to have taken on a new lease of life. She barely mentioned the farm but spoke instead of Greg, his practice, their busy social life and wedding plans.

  'August 22nd,' she said. 'Just a small wedding – you, Harry, George and Queenie, then Greg's two old aunts and a handful of friends from down here. We've arranged to have a reception and buffet in the Crown. The bar there goes out on to a nice garden, so if it's good weather we can use that, too.'

  'What about the farm?' Tara felt slightly irritated by her mother's bouncy attitude while she was feeling at a loose end.

  'Greg found this super young lad, just out of college.' Amy was practically gushing now. 'He needs the experience of running a place on his own, and Stan likes him, too, so there's no conflict. I've let him have Paul's old room, so it means the house isn't standing empty.'

  Tara bristled; not only at the idea of a stranger in Paul's room, but at someone taking over her farm without any consultation.

  'You'd like Tim,' Amy carried on, unaware that her daughter's silence stemmed from anger. 'He paints, too. Sometimes in the afternoons when he's got nothing to do he takes his easel down by the river or the church.'

  'Sounds like everything's just about perfect there?'

  'Yes, it is.' Amy didn't appear to note the sarcasm. 'But you should come down soon for a long weekend and see for yourself. Make it before the wedding.'

  Tara put her head in her hands after she'd put down the telephone. She was ashamed of being so ratty, cross with her mother for showing more interest in Greg and Tim than in her. And she was desperately in need of someone.

  'Bloody Harry!' she exploded. 'Other girls fall out with men and it's over once and for all. Not you, you bastard. You have to go missing to prolong everything.'

  The telephone rang, a shrill noise in the quiet room. She reached for it eagerly, willing it to be Harry. But it was Josh.

  'I don't want you to think I'm crowding you,' he said gently, perhaps guessing her disappointment. 'It's just such a lovely day. I thought we could take a spin out to Windsor or somewhere. Have lunch and lie about in the sunshine.'

  A glance out into the sun-filled road decided her.

  "That would be wonderful. Come as soon as you like. I'll be ready.'

  Was it coincidence that the first dress she came to in her wardrobe was a revealing one with a laced-up low-cut bodice? She tied her hair up in a high pony-tail, teasing one or two strands loose round her face and quickly curling them with her tongs. The flimsy cheesecloth dress was white, with a tiny green pattern, and she wore nothing beneath it but a pair of white lace panties.

  A few squirts of perfume, a little make-up and a pair of sandals, and she was ready.

  Josh watched as she ran down the steps from her house and felt an ache of desire. She looked so beautiful, her golden hair gleaming in the sun. Her dress accentuated her small waist, and pushed up her breasts so they almost spilled over the top of the bodice like two ripe peaches.

  'I was so glad to hear your voice.' She slid into his open-topped Mercedes and reached across to kiss his smooth cheek. He looked quite different in an open-necked shirt and jeans, somehow less intimidating. 'I was feeling lonely.'

  'Sundays can be like that,' Josh said as he pulled away. 'All those people out there in twos, everyone having fun but you.'

  'I'm sure you never feel like that,' Tara retorted. 'You've got a book stuffed with girls' names!'

  'Spending time with someone you don't care for much is worse than being alone,' he said with a smile. 'I often spend Sundays working.'

  Tara's spirits rose as they sped out of London. The sun was hot on her arms and shoulders, she was in a smart car with one of the most eligible bachelors in London.

  The pub he took her to had a garden sloping down to the river. All the tables and chairs were full, but Josh bought a bottle of wine and two glasses and they sat on the small landing stage, the
ir feet dangling over the edge.

  'I can't believe an hour ago I was getting so uptight,' Tara said. 'I wanted to shout at Mum for being happy. I didn't even want some poor farm lad sleeping in Paul's bed.'

  Josh listened while she explained all that had been said.

  'I'm horrible, aren't I?' Tara pulled a face and laughed at herself. 'What would you prescribe?'

  'A holiday.' Josh smiled lazily. 'Somewhere hot, with white sand and brilliant blue sky and sea. Lots of good food and booze to make you relax, then a lot of good loving.'

  'That sounds blissful.' Tara took a deep breath of the delicious fresh air. 'Umm, it's nice here in the sun, too!'

  She wasn't sure she wanted Josh to talk about loving, but then she wasn't sure that she didn't.

  They ate baked potatoes stuffed with salmon and mayonnaise, finished the bottle of wine, and Josh bought another one to take away with them.

  'We need refreshments,' he said, his eyes twinkling as he stuffed two glasses in her bag.

  Tara felt a bit tiddly once they left the pub.

  'We'll find a place to lie in the sun, drink our wine and I'll roll us a joint,' Josh said.

  She had long since given up being concerned about Josh smoking pot. Everyone in London was at it and, anyway, it was supposed to be far less damaging than the speed he used to take. Harry had tried it, too, lots of times. It was yet another reminder of his double standards. He would go crackers if he thought she'd tried it, but it was all right for him.

  'Is it scary?' she asked innocently as Josh took a blanket from the boot of his car.

  'What, sharing a blanket with me?'

  Tara giggled. 'No, smoking dope. Harry wouldn't hear of me trying it.'

  Josh tucked the blanket under his arm, handed her the bottle of wine, then took her hand and led her towards a footpath along the river bank.

  'Men like Harry like their women barefoot and pregnant, in the kitchen.' He smirked. 'Letting them do mind-bending things like having a good job, smoking dope or even taking driving lessons is bad news.'