Jazz Baby

by Téa Cooper

  Jazz Baby

  Téa Cooper

  www.escapepublishing.com.au

  Jazz Baby

  Téa Cooper

  In the gritty underbelly of 1920s Sydney, a fresh-faced country girl is about to arrive in the big, dark city – and risk everything in the pursuit of her dreams.

  Sydney is no place for the fainthearted – five shillings for a twist of snow, a woman for not much more, and a bullet if you look sideways at the wrong person.

  Dolly Bowman is ready and willing to take on all the brash, bustling city has to offer. After all it is the 1920s, a time for a girl to become a woman and fulfil her dreams. Turning her back on her childhood, she takes up a position working as a housemaid while she searches for her future.

  World War I flying ace Jack Dalton knows he’s luckier than most. He’s survived the war with barely a scratch, a couple of astute business decisions have paid off, and he’s set for the high life. But a glimpse of a girl that he had forgotten, from a place he’s tried to escape suddenly sets all his plans awry. Try as he might he can’t shake the past, and money isn’t enough to pay the debts he’s incurred.

  About the Author

  Téa Cooper is an Australian author of historical and contemporary romance. In a past life she was a teacher, a journalist and a farmer. These days she haunts museums and indulges her passion for writing.

  Acknowledgements

  As always my thanks to my fabulous critique partner Eva Scott and her Grammar Guru, your ongoing encouragement and patience defy description. Also to Kate Cuthbert, the Escape team, especially my editor, Sharon Ketelaar, and all of the Escape Artists for your support.

  I would also like to acknowledge the assistance of Kate Dunbar, celebrated Australian jazz musician. She put me in touch with Bill Haesler, Australian jazz historian, avid jazz record collector, discographer, broadcaster, writer and washboard player whose knowledge of vintage and classic jazz is legendary. Thank you. Making contact with such amazing people is half the fun of writing historical fiction.

  For my own Jazz Baby

  and all those magnificent men and their flying machines,

  most especially

  Captain F.A.B. Cooper

  Contents

  About the Author

  Acknowledgements

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Bestselling Titles by Escape Publishing…

  Chapter 1

  Sydney, 1923

  Clutching five pennies in one hand and a borrowed suitcase in the other Dolly Bowman stared up at the three identical terrace houses — and prayed her Ma and Pa weren’t watching over her.

  A volatile mixture of excitement and trepidation clawed at her throat. The blood red front doors reminded her of an old man’s missing teeth, dark and cavernous between the double-hung windows. Even the delicate iron lacework on the overhead balconies failed to alleviate the brooding mood of the place. Not in her wildest dreams had she ever imagined a place like this when she’d announced she was going to the city in search of work. But beggars couldn’t be choosers and a job cleaning at Mrs Mack’s boarding house was one step up from the rundown watering hole in Wollombi where she’d spent the past months trying to earn enough money to keep body and soul together.

  One step at a time — she had to get through the interview before she could count herself employed. It couldn’t be too difficult, although she had country not city experience; surely changing sheets and cleaning had to be the same everywhere.

  The winter sun had already disappeared behind the terraces and it wasn’t even four o’clock in the afternoon. No matter how far back she craned her neck the ominous shadow of the house covered her face. She opened the gate, flinching at the squeak of the black metal latch then scuttled up the steps and dumped her suitcase on the polished tiles.

  Before she had a chance to rap on the ornate brass knocker the door flew open and two girls tumbled out and pushed her aside, startling her with their shrieks of laughter and noisy exuberance. They bolted past her and ran down the steps into the street.

  She took a deep breath and peered through the wide-open doorway into the hall. A series of gold-framed pictures cast an eerie glow against the red walls. ‘Hello!’ Her pathetic squeak failed to rise above the toe-tapping jazz number and the playful sound of chitchat wafting down the hallway. She tried again. ‘Hello. Is there anyone home?’

  Faced with two choices — walk in or walk away — and despite the overwhelming desire to pick up her suitcase and run, she stepped over the threshold, raised her hand to the knocker then slammed it hard three times. ‘Hello!’

  The music rose to a crescendo before grinding to a halt on a discordant note. A door down the passageway opened. Horrified by her boldness, Dolly reversed down one step and plastered a tight smile on her face.

  Heeled shoes tip-tapped on the black and white floor tiles and she gawked at the vision framed by the narrow hallway. A shiny-black beaded frock, fringed and tasselled, stopped almost at the woman’s knees and her long slim legs, encased in the sheerest silk stockings, led to the most elegant ankle-strapped shoes ever seen. Smoothing her hands down her brown worsted coat, Dolly blinked and peered at the woman. Her bobbed hair lay like a waved helmet on her head and the ribbon holding it all in place looked like a fine bandage.

  Halfway down the hall she stopped and gave a little shimmy. ‘Well hello! What have we here?’

  ‘I’m here to see Mrs Mack, about the job.’ Dolly screwed up her face, cringing at the squeaky sound of her voice.

  ‘Oh! A new girl. How exciting!’ Lifting her hand to her mouth the woman dragged on a cigarette in an ivory holder, then exhaled a cloud of perfect smoke rings that made Dolly’s eyes water.

  ‘Darling!’ the woman called behind her. ‘Come and meet the new girl. So exciting.’

  ‘Bring her in. Bring her in.’ A deep baritone reverberated down the hallway.

  ‘Jolly good idea. Leave your suitcase here, sweetheart.’ The woman, though perhaps no more than a girl, waved her cigarette randomly at some place inside the door. Dolly hefted her case and propped it against the wall next to a mirrored hat stand.

  ‘Close the door and come with me.’

  Taking great care, Dolly shut the front door and followed the intermingled cloud of perfume and cigarette smoke, trying not to gawp at the outrageous pictures in the gold frames: women in all manner of undress, lying across every kind of overstuffed furniture, and even a piano.

  ‘Come along. Don’t dawdle.’

  Hot on the woman’s clattering heels, Dolly entered the room.

  A snug fire burnt in the grate and deep red velvet curtains blocked the view of the street. A large dimpled leather sofa sat in front of the window, festooned with a series of cushions of varying sizes. Everything had tassels.

  ‘Jack,’ the woman purred. ‘This is the new girl.’ She stepped aside and Dolly gaped at the man lounging on the sofa dressed in an immaculate evening shirt and black trousers. His loosened bowtie hung casually around his neck and his long legs sprawled out over the thick carpet.

  ‘Come and say hello, sweetheart.’

  Speechless, Dolly blinked at the nonchalant body reclining in front of her. ‘Jack!’

  ‘Dolly!’ He leapt to his feet, a look of horro
r etched across his familiar face. ‘What in God’s name, do you think you’re doing here?’

  ‘Well! This is cosy. You two already know each other.’ The purr changed into something more menacing. ‘I am at a disadvantage, I’m afraid.’ She put out her hand. ‘I’m Cynthia.’

  Dolly dragged her eyes away from Jack and stammered, ‘Cynthia, nice to meet – ’

  ‘Oh for God’s sake, don’t be so ridiculous, woman. Sit down.’ Jack’s words bounced off the striped wallpaper.

  With an exaggerated sigh, Cynthia perched on the arm of a chair and disentangled her burnt out cigarette from the holder while her catlike eyes raked Dolly.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ Jack’s voice held a hint of the warmth Dolly remembered from their childhood, but his coal black eyes bore into hers, making her insides squirm and sending her mind into a stupor.

  ‘Darling, I told you,’ Cynthia interrupted from her perch on the armchair. ‘She’s the new girl.’

  ‘No, she bloody well isn’t. Not if I have anything to do with it. What are you doing in Sydney, Dolly? Why aren’t you at home?’ The bit of warmth in his voice vanished and the first prickle of tears scuffed behind her eyes.

  ‘I’m here for an interview with Mrs Mack about a job. I wrote to her from Wollombi and she invited me to come up and meet her.’

  ‘Does your father know what you are doing?’

  Dolly hiccupped back a noise that was something between a growl and a sob. Of course her father didn’t know. ‘Pa died, six months ago.’

  ‘Oh God.’ In an instant Jack’s big, warm hand rested on her shoulder and he eased her down onto the sofa. ‘I had no idea. I’m so sorry.’ He settled her amongst the voluptuous cushions then stood staring at her with a perplexed frown on his face.

  Foraging in her pocket for a handkerchief, Dolly kept her eyes in her lap, not daring to look up into Jack’s face. The last time she’d clapped eyes on him he and Ted had been marching down the street with huge grins on their faces. Off to fight for King and Country and show the world no one messed with Australians or their mates. The battered Union Jack she’d waved was tucked with the other reminders of home in the corner of her suitcase; she had no intention of showing it to him.

  ‘Here, have mine.’ An immaculate white handkerchief waved in front of her face.

  Taking it she blotted the tears trailing down her cheeks.

  The sofa sagged as he settled next to her. ‘Let me look at you.’ He tilted her chin.

  She peered up at him, grinning through her tears, nearly dizzy from surprise and his comforting proximity. Struggling for words she managed to stammer, ‘It’s great to see you, Jack.’

  He held out his arms. ‘Come on, give me one of those bear hugs. You remember?’

  ‘It’s very touching, Jack, however I’m feeling a bit left out.’ Cynthia’s voice dripped with disdain and Dolly leapt to her feet, shocked she’d forgotten the woman’s presence in the room — not a good recommendation for an interview.

  ‘I beg your pardon, Miss. Seeing Jack surprised me. He’s an old friend of my brother’s and I haven’t seen him since…’ She paused. How could she explain she hadn’t seen her childhood hero since the day he and her brother hot-footed it down to Sydney with mad ideas about shooting down all the German air aces.

  ‘Why don’t you go and get us all a drink, Cyn, while Dolly and I catch up,’ Jack said.

  With a long-suffering sigh Cynthia uncurled her sinuous body from the arm of the chair and sauntered to the door. ‘Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, Jack darling. You don’t know where she’s been.’ She tossed the comment over her bare shoulder as she left the room.

  Paying no attention to Cynthia Jack stared into her face. ‘So how are you, Dolly-girl?’

  ‘I’m all right.’ The old term of endearment reminded her of a simpler time and she smiled. ‘It’s so good to know you are home…and safe.’ Try as she might she couldn’t resist sneaking a look at his leg. She hadn’t noticed him limping; she’d been too surprised at the sight of him to think about much else.

  ‘Ted?’ They spoke the word in unison and both shook their heads.

  A bit of the pleasure in the room dissipated; no matter what happened the shadow of her brother would always be between them.

  Jack leant forwards and rubbed his thigh. Wollombi had been full of stories about the heroic way he’d struggled back across the English Channel, his leg and his plane shot to pieces.

  ‘We received a telegram telling us Ted was missing in action. Pa took it really hard. I think he just ran out of hope in the end.’ She shrugged her shoulders, not caring how dispassionate she sounded. The memories still lurked too close to the surface to risk letting them free.

  In front of her eyes Jack’s smile vanished and the delight she had seen on his face melted into discomfort, filling the room like thick smog. A tic flickered in the corner of his eye. ‘So, explain to me exactly why you are here. You’re the last person I would have expected to turn up on Mrs Mack’s doorstep.’

  ‘I’m here for an interview. With Pa gone and Ted — well, you know. I couldn’t earn enough money to keep the house. Father George found someone else to rent it and Alf, down at the hotel, arranged this interview for me.’

  Jack let out a loud puff, an irritated sound she remembered from her childhood. ‘And what exactly do you imagine you’ll be doing here.’

  ‘Why cleaning, changing the linen, that kind of thing. I wrote to Mrs Mack. She knows I’m coming. I get food and lodging thrown in. It’ll give me time to get on my feet. Get to know Sydney and earn some money before I find a real job.’

  ‘Dolly!’ Jack pushed himself to his feet and stared down at her, shaking his head. ‘Can you really be so naïve? How old are you now? Sixteen, seventeen?’

  ‘Twenty,’ Dolly replied, raising her chin and looking him straight in the eye. He must have forgotten how long ago he and Ted had left.

  ‘Yes, well I suppose you must be.’ He frowned and rubbed the bridge of his nose. ‘That’s not the point. I don’t care how old you are. This is not the place for a girl like you.’

  ‘Woman.’ Dolly wanted to make clear to Jack she wasn’t a child, the little sister he threw up onto his shoulders and tickled until she screamed for him to stop.

  His eyes narrowed, the planes of his face standing out in the shadows thrown by the fringed table lamp. ‘Not here. No, Dolly. Not here.’

  ‘Yes, Jack. This is the job I’m applying for. It’s my business. I am not a child anymore.’ She sucked in a deep breath, pleased she’d made her point and cleared the air.

  He glared at her. ‘Look Dolly, there are a hundred other places you could work. Let me help you find something else. Lend you some money for the time being. We can work it out.’

  They couldn’t. And besides she didn’t want Jack to solve her problems for her. She wanted to stand on her own two feet. She’d been doing it for the last four years while she’d watched her father drown in his misery. This was her chance to make her mark on the world.

  ‘What would Ted say if he found out you were working in a place like this and I’d sanctioned it?’

  Typical. Trust Jack to play the Ted card. There was nothing he or anyone else could do about it. Ted lay somewhere in France, God only knew where, and as much as she wished otherwise nothing could change the fact. ‘Ted’s not here and I intend to look after myself. Just because I work in a place like this…’ — she waved her hand around at the opulent surroundings — ‘…doesn’t mean I’ve sold my soul to the devil.’ Besides, it was the twenties, time for women to reach out and make their own way in the world. Do what they wanted to do. She intended to go places she’d never been before, experience every sensation and Sydney was just the beginning.

  Jack stared down at her, shaking his head from side to side. ‘Dolly — ’

  ‘No.’ She wanted this job and she was going to do her level best to make sure she got it.

  Chapter 2

  Cynthia r
eappeared rattling a tray with three glasses, ice and a decanter of whisky. Jack’s mouth watered, he needed a drink, badly. Anything to dispel the cold stone lodged in the pit of his stomach. Shy, sweet, innocent Dolly might as well have been his little sister — she needed taking care of and Sydney was no place for a country girl. Darlinghurst and Kings Cross were dangerous places, with all the bordellos and sly-grog shops springing up like a pox.

  Surely Father George knew better than to condone Dolly’s mad idea. Why did she need to come to Sydney? Couldn’t she have found a nice young man in Wollombi, one of the local farmers or a schoolteacher, to look after her? What in God’s name was this ludicrous idea of hers about managing on her own?

  She ought to be married by now — safe and secure, not in the middle of this den of iniquity. He had enough trouble covering his own back and the last time he'd tried to watch anyone else’s it had turned into a bloodbath and they’d all gone down gasping.

  ‘Drinkies, darlings.’ Cynthia settled the tray on the sideboard, added ice to the crystal tumblers and splashed the amber liquid almost to the brim. Giving her trademark salacious smirk she sashayed over to the sofa and handed him a glass. ‘Chin-chin.’ She winked as she clinked her glass against his and took a sip. ‘Oh, how silly of me. Dolly, help yourself. I’m not sure how Mrs Mack feels about her girls drinking but since you’re not technically one yet, I’d make the most of it.’

  ‘No, thank you.’ Dolly shook her head.

  ‘Oh, come along, a sip or two won’t do you any harm, a bit of Dutch courage before your interview,’ Cynthia offered again.

  ‘No, really. I don’t drink alcohol.’

  Jack breathed a sigh of relief. That was one good sign, or was it? If Dolly fronted Millie Mack smelling of alcohol she wouldn’t get the job. Then he could get her back on a train out of here.

  The carriage clock on the mantelpiece chimed. The pubs would be closing. Millie would walk through the door any minute, preparing for the evening, chatting with the girls and making sure the place ran like clockwork, same as every other evening. Number Fifty-Four Boundary Street was a law unto itself. Millie presided over the place with an iron hand, determined to cater only for the rich and famous. Publically the politicians and businessmen supported the new laws restricting drinking hours although it didn’t mean they intended to give away their own vices. Instead they’d taken them behind closed doors and Number Fifty-Four reaped the benefits.