Dangerous Lady

by Martina Cole

  She followed Maura back into the flat. Maura was gratified at the friendly way in which she went into Jackie’s room. Maura picked her bag up from where she had placed it on the bed. Opening it, she took out five twenty-pound notes. ‘Do you have a freezer, Jackie?’ The woman nodded her head.

  ‘Good. There’s a hundred pounds there and I want you to fill her freezer and cupboards up. I’ll give you a score for your trouble. OK?’

  The fat woman stared at the money in astonishment. Then she took it from Maura. She guessed from Maura’s voice that she was not Social Services or Probation. When the woman went she would find out about her from Jackie.

  When the neighbour was gone, Maura poured Jackie and herself out some tea. Taking it into the bedroom, she placed Jackie’s cup into her hands. She had managed to pull herself up in the bed and Maura could see the purple bruises on her arms and shoulders. Damn Danny Rubens!

  Opening her bag again, she lit two cigarettes and gave one to Jackie. Maura studied her face. She had about thirty stitches in each cheek and would carry the scars for the rest of her life. She pulled out a building society book and gave it to the woman.

  ‘Inside there is five thousand pounds, Jackie. I want you to use it for a holiday or whatever. When you’re feeling better I want you to take over the job of head girl at the Crackerjack, our new club.’

  It took Maura a minute to realise that Jackie was crying. She took the tea from her and placed it on the floor by the bed. Then she put an arm around her shoulders.

  ‘Hey . . . hey. Calm down, Jackie.’

  She spoke with difficulty. ‘You’ve been so good. I was so worried. I thought I’d end up at King’s Cross with the pervies.’

  Maura looked into her eyes. ‘No way. You’re a good girl, Jackie. And the head girl’s job is a bloody good earner. You’ll be fine. Absolutely fine.’

  She picked Jackie’s tea up from the floor and passed it to her. ‘Now you drink this while I get you and me an ashtray!’

  When the fat woman got back from shopping she was amazed to find the ‘rich bird’, as she had termed Maura in her head, washing the kitchen floor. When Maura left a little later she was sure she had pushed up Jackie Traverna’s street credibility a hundredfold, and only wished Jackie had not had to go through all that pain and suffering to achieve it.

  When Maura got to her own house a bunch of white roses had been left in the glass porch. Intrigued, she opened the card. It said: ‘Happy Valentine’s Day. Mickey.’

  She smiled to herself, but deep inside a little voice was asking her why she never got flowers from any ‘real’ men. Men who were not related to her. Inside the front door was a pile of letters. Picking them up, she went through to her kitchen. She placed the roses on the draining board and flicked through the letters. Bills and circulars. Then she noticed a thick cream-coloured envelope. Opening it, she brought out a beautiful card. It had real velvet flowers on it, arranged in a basket made of gold thread. This was definitely not a Woolworth’s special. She smiled. Michael again. She opened the card and nearly died of shock.

  ‘Will you be my Valentine? Have dinner with me tonight. 7.30 at the Savoy. Willy.’

  For a few sweet seconds she felt that powerful excitement that a new love affair can bring. Then she glanced at her watch. It was past five now! She ran up the stairs to get ready. She was gonna knock his eyes out!

  William Templeton sat at his table. He sneaked a glance at his watch. It was twenty to eight. She wasn’t coming. He felt his heart sink. Maybe he should have rung her. Then she could have cold-shouldered him over the phone and that would have been the end of it. But he had seen that card in Harrods and had felt a foolish urge to buy it for her. He almost laughed. At his age? On the wrong side of fifty . . .

  He had that terrible feeling people get when they have been stood up. That feeling that makes them think that everyone knows what’s happened to them. That everyone is smiling at them behind their hands. He felt a shadow fall across him as he stared at the menu for the hundredth time and waved his hand imperiously.

  ‘I’m not ready to order yet, thank you.’

  ‘I should hope not. The least I’d expect is that you would wait for me to arrive!’

  His eyes lifted and she was standing there, looking lovelier than he had ever seen her before. She had on a grey fitted dress of watered silk. As with all her clothes, it was perfectly plain. But with her breasts and slim waist, she did not need any of the frippery that most women wore. In her ears she had perfect pearl earrings and around her neck a small single strand of the same grade. Her pale white skin brought them to shining life. Her silky white-blonde hair looked immaculate, as always. William took pleasure in the admiring glances that were coming their way.

  He stood up awkwardly. ‘I thought you weren’t going to come.’

  Maura sat down and smiled at the waiter who held her chair.

  ‘Well, I didn’t get your card until after five o’clock so I had to rush a bit.’

  ‘You look exquisite, my dear, like a very beautiful painting. Now then, some champagne, I think.’ He smiled. ‘Real champagne, not the dishwater that’s served in your clubs!’

  Maura laughed. Really laughed, for the first time in years. It felt good to be pursued. Wanted. And this man certainly wanted her . . . She relaxed back into her chair and let good feelings wash over her.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  19 March 1985

  ‘Where did you get the number plates from?’ Michael was keyed up.

  Leslie grinned. ‘I got the numbers from a motorway service station car park. I had the actual plates made up by Jimmy Charlton. He owes us a favour.’

  ‘Good. Are the Range Rovers ready to go? And the bikes?’

  Leslie nodded. ‘Yep. They’ve been serviced and valeted. They’re as clean as a nun’s knickers.’

  Garry grinned. ‘I’ve sorted out all the guns. They’re cleaned and ready to go.’

  ‘Good. Very good. You realise this is a big undertaking, don’t you? This ain’t like a normal blag. Every filth in the country is going to be looking for that gold. It will be the biggest chance of promotion since Ronnie Biggs had it on his toes.’

  ‘Well, they ain’t caught him yet.’ Maura’s voice was jocular. Everyone laughed except Mickey.

  ‘There’s still time for that. Whatever happens, don’t get too cocky, lads. Just keep to the ground rules I laid down and we’ll be OK.’

  Maura stood up and looked around at her brothers’ faces. ‘What about the hole?’

  ‘All done. Ready and waiting.’ This from Lee.

  ‘Then all that’s left is to sort out the alibis. I’ll leave that to you lot. Whatever it is, make sure it’s tighter than a duck’s behind. OK?’

  Everyone nodded.

  ‘See you in the morning then.’ Michael smiled at the faces around him. ‘Unless there’s any questions?’

  ‘I’ve got a question.’

  ‘It would be you, wouldn’t it, brain box?’ Maura’s voice was light.

  The chances were that if Garry asked a question it would be a good one.

  He adjusted his glasses. ‘What happens to the filth?’

  Michael and Maura had been half expecting someone to ask this.

  Michael answered. ‘I wasn’t going to tell you till the morning. But as you ask . . .’

  He paused for effect and swept his gaze around all his brothers.

  ‘You waste them. Every one of them. The fewer people to identify us, the better.’

  Roy coughed. ‘What about the old Bill though, Mickey? They’re in on it, ain’t they?’

  ‘Yep. Right up to their shitty little necks. All the more reason to get rid of them. People get jumpy.’ He shrugged his shoulders as if to finish his sentence.

  ‘Righty ho. Now who fancies a few pints?’

  The four younger brothers all got up from their seats.

  ‘No pissing it up tonight!’ Michael’s voice was stern. ‘And, Garry, contact lenses tomorrow.
’

  ‘Don’t worry, Mickey. Everything will be fine. As sweet as a nut.’

  When the boys left, Maura turned to Michael. ‘I ain’t happy about knocking everyone off, Mickey.’

  Michael sighed heavily. In his dark handmade suit and pristine white shirt he looked like a banker. Which was exactly the impression he wanted to create. In the small Portakabin they both looked out of place.

  ‘Look, Maws, you can never leave anything to chance.’ He went to her and put his arm around her shoulder, pulling her so close she could feel his breath fan her face. ‘You just let me do all the worrying now. You’ve done your bit.’

  ‘Once the killing starts, Mickey, we lose the protection of all our plants. You realise that, don’t you?’

  ‘Yeah, I realise that, Maws. But that Tory MP, the one soliciting in King’s Cross . . . well, he’s gonna be our scapegoat. The day after tomorrow the pictures we’ve got of him will be on their way to the gutter press. That should take most people’s minds off the actual robbery for a while. Until the main shock wears off anyway.’

  Maura was quiet and he took it as a sign of acquiescence. ‘Come on, girl, let’s get off home. We’re all a bit jumpy.’

  Driving home Maura was more than jumpy. She was positively terror-stricken. As she drove into her driveway she saw that all the lights were on and her heart lifted a little. Carla was here. She jumped out of the car with delight. That meant that little Joey was with her as well. She let herself into the house.

  ‘Auntie Maura! Auntie Maura!’ Four-year-old Joey ran towards her, his chubby arms outstretched.

  Maura picked him up in a big hug.

  ‘Hello, Tiger.’

  She saw Carla watching them from the kitchen doorway. As always when she saw her she was overwhelmed with a feeling of love and affection. Carla looked like a young Janine, with her red-brown hair and slim figure, except Carla had something more - she had a womanly aura that Janine had never had.

  ‘I’ve just made some dinner. You couldn’t have timed it better.’

  ‘What brought you here? I didn’t expect you until the weekend. Not that I mind. You could move in if you wanted to, you know that.’ Maura sounded almost her old self. She could kiss Carla for taking her mind off what was happening tomorrow.

  Carla went quiet. Her face closed up in the way that Maura knew so well. Something wasn’t right.

  ‘What’s happened?’

  Carla ran her hands through her long hair in her old familiar gesture.

  ‘Come and have dinner, Maws. I’ll tell you while we eat.’

  Maura followed her into the kitchen. She was frowning now. Joey was holding her tightly around the neck. In the kitchen she could smell a chicken casserole, and realised that she was in fact quite hungry. She sat at the large kitchen table and watched Carla while she worked. This was Carla all over. She would not tell Maura anything until she was good and ready. She guessed that the trouble was with Malcolm, Carla’s husband. After Benny’s death and Carla’s rejection of Maura and Michael, they had not seen her for nearly a year. Then one day Maura had come home to find Carla sitting on her doorstep. She had had a big row with her Nana, as she called Maura’s mother. Maura had immediately installed her back in her own room and all had been forgiven between them.

  Then, six years ago, Carla had married Malcolm Spencer. He had been two years older than Carla at twenty-six, and for Maura at least it had been loathing on first sight. He was an architect, he was middle-class, and he was the most pompous ass that Maura had ever come across. But Carla had loved him, so she had swallowed her own reservations and countenanced the match. When Joey had been born she had nearly liked the man who was married to the most important girl in her life. She could see how pleased he was with his son and it had made him seem human somehow. Until the christening.

  This had been a strained affair as her mother was there, naturally. Sarah had studiously ignored her eldest son and only daughter. That was bad enough, but then Malcolm had upset everyone there. Carla was holding the baby next to the font, everyone standing respectfully around. Carla had handed the infant to the priest and had lost her grip, only slightly. The priest had instantly taken a firm hold on the child and no harm was done. It was the kind of thing that in most families would have been considered an excuse for a joke. Brought up every now and then in family gatherings with a bit added on.

  Instead, Malcolm had snatched the child from his wife, causing Carla to lose her own balance. Maura and all her brothers had stood tight-lipped until the service was finally over. There had been no enjoyment after that. Everyone had just stood patiently waiting for it to end. After the service, outside the church, there had been murder. Michael had told Malcolm in no uncertain terms that if he ever as much raised his voice to his niece, or dragged her over again, he would bury him underneath the new motorway currently being built.

  Maura was sure that the incident had finally shown Malcolm what he had inadvertently married into. Since then there had been a strained truce between all parties concerned. Now here was Carla and little Joey and she would bet her last pound there was something seriously up.

  She played with Joey, who had recently learnt to sing ‘The Wheels on the Bus’, until such time as Carla finished preparing the meal. Finally, they were all seated and eating the chicken casserole. Carla had also made duchesse potatoes and broccoli and Maura was enjoying it until Carla started telling her what had happened.

  Carla and Joey were supposed to be going to the zoo with his playgroup. When Carla had driven him there, with a packed lunch and his mackintosh because the spring weather had been so uncertain, she had been told that one of the minibus drivers was ill so the trip had been cancelled. Joey was heartbroken and had refused to stay at the playgroup. So Carla had put him back in the car and instead of going to the zoo as planned, decided to take him home with her and catch up on some household chores. She guessed that Malcolm would not be too happy as he worked from home the days that Joey went to the playgroup, especially today as they were not due to come home until five o’clock.

  When she had reached her house she had noticed a pink Fiesta in the drive. She had parked her own car outside on the road, thinking that someone from Malcolm’s work had come round to see him. Getting Joey out of the car, she had gone around the side of the house and in the back door, reasoning that if she opened the porch door, and then the front door, she would more than likely disturb Malcolm and his guest. Inside the kitchen, she pulled off Joey’s coat and wellingtons and made him a drink of orange. He sat at the table drinking it, for once quiet and still.

  Putting on the kettle Carla decided to ask Malcolm and his visitor if they wanted a cup of tea. She left the kitchen, crossed the large entrance hall and went to the door of the room that was Malcolm’s office when he was home. She tapped on it and walked inside. Her mind registered the fact that the heavy brocade curtains were drawn. She had not noticed this from the front of the house as this room backed on to the rear garden. Although the room was quite dark she could see well enough. She could see that Malcolm was sitting on his office chair, and that sitting on top of him, with her blouse open exposing her breasts and her skirt pulled up to her waist, showing anyone who cared to look that she was knickerless, was Miss Bradley-Hume, Malcolm’s secretary. They were unaware of her for a few seconds and Carla stood rooted to the spot watching the rise and fall of Miss Bradley-Hume’s buttocks. Then Malcolm had put his head forward to kiss the woman and had seen Carla standing there. In his fright he stood upright, dropping the prim and proper Miss Bradley-Hume on to the floor. Carla was mainly aware of the fact that Miss Bradley-Hume had large, rather baggy breasts.

  Then she had the woman’s long mousy hair and was pulling her by it across the carpet. She could see the woman trying to free herself, clawing at Carla’s hands that had her hair in a vice-like grip. Malcolm was staring at Carla absolutely shell shocked.

  Giving Miss Bradley-Hume a hard kick in her stomach, she turned her attenti
on to her husband. Seeing him standing as he was with his underpants and jeans (his designer jeans that he thought made him look so macho) around his ankles, she was finally convinced that she had married a complete and utter fool. His little skinny legs with their sparse hairs looked like a chicken’s. She noticed that his member, which had never been that big to begin with, had now shrunk into a small wrinkled sausage and she had the urge to laugh. If only he could see himself! Mr Important!

  Miss Bradley-Hume had picked herself up off the floor and retrieved her knickers, which were on the drawing board. She stood now, fully attired, in front of Carla.

  ‘This is not what it looks like.’ Her refined twang sent shivers of diabolical hatred through Carla’s body.

  ‘Get out of my house, you slut. You fucking filthy dirty slut!’

  Miss Bradley-Hume’s long horsey face dropped with shock. Carla laughed, her eyes wild.

  ‘Oh, have I shocked you with a naughty word? Fuck . . . don’t you like that word? Well, that’s what you were doing, you upper-class whore. You were fucking my husband. Fucking, fucking, fucking . . .’

  Malcolm shuffled across to her as quickly as his trousers would allow. She felt the stinging blow as he slapped her across the face. Then she was calm. She watched Malcolm pull up his ridiculous jeans.

  ‘Get out of my house now. Both of you.’

  Miss Bradley-Hume went quickly. The change in Carla’s voice was enough to send her running to her car. On her way out of the door she knocked Joey to the floor. His shocked crying penetrated Carla’s rage. Going to him, she picked him up.

  ‘All right, baby. It’s nothing. Just a little accident, that’s all.’

  She turned back to her husband. ‘I meant what I said, Malcolm. I want you out of my home.’

  He tried to bluff his way out, his domineering personality coming to the fore.

  ‘I will not leave this house. You’re overwrought. I admit I’ve been a naughty boy . . .’

  ‘Naughty boy!’ Carla’s voice was incredulous. ‘You’re a fucking cretin, Malcolm, that’s what you are. And you’re getting out of this house, or I’ll get my uncles to move you for me!’