Georgia

by Lesley Pearse

  ‘It’s not original,’ he smiled sheepishly. ‘I got it out of a book.’

  ‘Tell me about it?’

  ‘It’s quite long and I don’t know it all.’ He rolled over and pulled her into his arms, nestling her head on his shoulder.

  ‘Go on,’ she said softly. ‘I want to hear it.’

  His voice so deep and warm sent shivers down her spine.

  ‘“Love has no other desire but to fulfil itself.

  But if you love and must need have desires, let these be your desires.

  To melt and be like a running brook that sings its melody to the night.

  To know the pain of too much tenderness”.’ He looked down at her, wiping away the last of her tears.

  ‘“To be wounded by your own understanding of love, and to bleed willingly and joyfully.

  To wake at dawn with a winged heart and give thanks for another day of loving.

  To rest at the noon hour and meditate love’s ecstasy.

  To return home at eventide with gratitude.

  And then to sleep with a prayer for the beloved in your heart and a song of praise upon your lips.”’

  ‘That’s beautiful,’ she sighed.

  ‘The whole chapter is even better,’ he said softly. ‘I used to read it and think of us. No one could ever touch that special place I kept for you.’

  ‘But Peter,’ she whispered. ‘You do know there are people out there who will try to come between us? My life isn’t entirely my own any longer.’

  ‘Is anyone’s?’ He lifted one perfect eyebrow, turning over on his stomach to look down at her. ‘I can’t promise to be entirely yours either. I didn’t spend all those years studying just to throw it away to be your consort.’

  ‘But will we be strong enough to stand it when people whisper things about our past? Old friends can be tactless.’

  ‘It’s good to hear those incidents,’ he said running his hand over her shoulders. ‘Every person you meet and feel something for, leaves their mark. It’s that which makes a well-rounded human being. So we couldn’t share the last six years, but other people can put a new perspective to it.’

  ‘You are very wise,’ she smiled. ‘Is that what studying philosophy does for you?’

  ‘That was never more than a hobby and a second string,’ he grinned. ‘English is my main subject.’

  ‘There’s so much about you I have to catch up on,’ she said wistfully.

  ‘We’ve got the rest of our lives for that.’

  ‘Can we be that sure?’

  ‘Are you sure now?’

  ‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘Absolutely!’

  ‘Well, that’s all there is to it. Just take it one day at a time. Maybe in six weeks we’ll find it was just a mirage. But for now it’s real and beautiful. We don’t need chains Georgia. The last few years have taught us that if nothing else.’

  ‘I love you,’ she said, another tear dripping down her cheek. ‘Nothing in my life has ever felt so right.’

  All through the night they had to keep touching, as if to check that it was real. If they slept at all it was brief moments, only to wake to kiss again.

  As the first rays of sunshine crept through the curtains, Georgia looked down at Peter. Her heart felt as if it could burst.

  She was looking for a flaw, but she could see none. From his long knobbly toes, up the golden legs to his tight bottom, slim hips and smooth chest. Even the way he slept was perfection, legs splayed out, one curled up against her, one arm behind him, the other curled around his head. Golden lashes like brushes against peachy cheeks, even the stubble on his chin was blond. His lips were squashed against his arm, childlike and soft.

  She knew then just how much power he had over her. If he asked her to give up singing, to live in a terraced house in Manchester as a teacher’s wife, to give up her money, her car and never once again step out onto a stage, she would, willingly.

  As if sensing her eyes on him, he woke, rubbed his eyes and smiled.

  ‘I love you,’ he said, one sleepy hand coming up slowly to reach for her face.

  ‘You’re so beautiful,’ she said. ‘I could watch you for ever.’

  ‘Just think what handsome devils our children will be,’ he said pulling her back down to him.

  ‘Let’s get up and run away?’ she whispered. ‘Even now those newspapers are plonking down on doormats everywhere. The phone will start ringing soon. It will be a circus and I’ve had enough of that.’

  ‘Where could we go?’ His eyes lit up.

  ‘Somewhere warm,’ she held him tightly against her.

  ‘But my passport’s back in Manchester.’

  ‘So much the better,’ she sighed. ‘London airport is always swarming with press. We’ll drive to Manchester now and catch the first flight.’

  ‘I haven’t much money,’ he retorted.

  ‘I’ve got lots,’ she said. ‘Now don’t argue, just get in that shower. I’ll ring Sam and tell him to keep the dogs off our scent.’

  ‘My, but you’re bossy,’ he grinned. ‘What if I couldn’t stomach being a rich woman’s plaything?’

  ‘You aren’t a plaything,’ she said quickly, blushing as she realized she had been a little tactless.

  ‘So what am I?’

  ‘My love,’ she answered with a toss of her head. ‘So get going or I won’t play with you anymore either.’

  Chapter 26

  Sam whistled cheerfully as he made his way up Berwick Street to Bert’s café.

  Spring sunshine had finally found its way into the narrow streets of Soho. Shopkeepers were out sweeping their pavements. Stallholders were polishing apples, putting sale prices on winter woollies. The handbag stall was bright with pastel and white bags, flower stalls vivid with tulips. Even the pigeons had paused in their constant search for food to preen and coo in the sun.

  ‘She’s my girl all right,’ he thought to himself. ‘Impulsive, hot-headed, but I wouldn’t change her one bit.’

  Last night he had reluctantly left her to play at Ronnie Scott’s. She insisted she didn’t mind being alone; now she’d told her story she felt relaxed and secure. But he hadn’t been sure. She looked tense and anxious to him, despite her delight that the editor had agreed to find Celia.

  ‘I can’t keep you here wet-nursing me,’ she laughed at his concern. ‘Besides, it will be nice to be alone for a change.’

  When she rang him at his flat at seven in the morning, for a moment he thought some new disaster had erupted.

  ‘What is it? Has something happened?’

  ‘Oh yes,’ she sort of sighed and he could hear happiness buzzing down the wire. ‘I’ve found Peter, everything’s wonderful.’

  He didn’t want to admit even to himself that he felt a pang of jealousy. But that was it, whether he liked it or not. His little girl had a man in her life now and maybe she’d never have room for him again.

  ‘That’s wonderful, honey,’ was all he could think of saying, as she rattled on about the pair of them running off to somewhere warm, Max’s conspiracy to keep them apart and her conviction Peter was the love of her life.

  ‘Of course I’ll sort things out here. Have a good time. You need time alone together.’

  He couldn’t go back to sleep again. Every time he shut his eyes, mean thoughts came to him. Suppose he was just another fortune hunter? What if she promised to marry him then regretted it later?

  His other children plagued him too. He should get back to them. He had enough money now to bring them back to England and if he put himself about he could get enough work to keep them far more comfortably than they’d ever known. But somehow staying in England rested on admitting the truth to Georgia about himself.

  By eight he was too wound up to stay in. He could see the newspaper man across the street waving papers and the caption on his box looked ominous.

  ‘RAPE! Georgia tells all.’ It took him just a few minutes to jump into jeans and sneakers, then off across the road to pick up a paper.<
br />
  He paused only briefly to check they had written her story correctly, then turning to the inside pages a picture of Peter Radcliffe leapt up at him.

  It was a face of a real man, not a boy as he’d expected. Square jaw, bright eyes. An honest, open face.

  ‘I should have stayed with her that night,’ Sam read. ‘Anderson was drunk and in an odd mood, but you don’t expect something like that to happen. Next morning when the police took me in for questioning was the worst day in my life. I may have only been seventeen, but I loved her. How could any man do something as animal as that to a child he’d brought up as his own?’

  He spoke of the evening he discovered she’d run away.

  ‘Who could blame her? Her world was shattered, she knew the children’s department would take her anyway. In her mind it was the only option. She believed that by removing herself from the picture, she could protect us all.’

  He spoke of Celia, the beating she took from her husband when he returned home. The humiliation and the anguish of not knowing where her child was. The searching in clubs, bars and hostels.

  But it was his final words that cut through all the doubts.

  ‘I never stopped caring. Maybe our worlds are too far apart for there to be anything but friendship between us. But I won’t let that sick, tortured man hurt her further.’

  Charing Cross Road was heaving with people rushing to work. Traffic honked and snarled, exhaust fumes thick and choking. Yet for a moment Sam could have been standing in a garden.

  This wasn’t a boy wearing his heart on his sleeve, or some snivelling student with an eye to the main chance. It was a man who had held on to his love at all costs, who had searched for his girl. Someone who didn’t give up, crumple under opposition as Sam had done himself. How could he have thought badly of the guy?

  He took the paper into Leicester Square, sat on a bench and read and re-read the whole story.

  There were a great deal of omissions, some facts bent. But it was written so well Sam could pass over that. It lingered over the horror, created an impression Max Menzies had been her Svengali, but in the main it was accurate.

  As he sat there in spring sunshine he saw office workers flicking through the paper as they walked to work. By lunchtime the whole world would know the truth and with luck Georgia would be far enough away to escape further questions.

  Sam knew where he wanted to be now. Up in the market where Georgia’s real friends still lived. She had introduced him to so many of them while they were making the recording and he just knew the street would be buzzing with the news. It would be their opinion Georgia would want to know about when she telephoned again. So he’d just get himself up to the café and join in the celebration.

  Babs was red-faced and flustered as she poured tea, fried eggs and brushed back her straggly hair all at once. Most of the tables were taken, filled with men in donkey-jackets and flat caps, huge greasy breakfasts in front of them and mugs of steaming tea. Her yellow apron was stained and greasy, a lank lacy collar, half in, half out of a matted blue sweater, yet there was new bounce to her normal shuffling gait.

  As she saw Sam her round homely face burst into a wide grin.

  ‘Have you seen the news?’ Her voice was squeaky with excitement. Heads turned to him, smiles of recognition on weatherbeaten faces. A sense of anticipation and a desire to know more.

  ‘Just read it,’ Sam smiled, waved his paper at her and nodded to the men. ‘I knew I could rely on you to be as happy as I am.’

  ‘I don’t know why I feel so ’appy,’ she wiped a tear away from her eye with the corner of her grubby apron. ‘I started crying when I read what that man done to ’er. ’Er mate Janet always claimed that was what made ’er run away. I don’t know why I didn’t ’suss it out for meself. But it’s that old boyfriend that’s really got me going. Just look at him!’

  Babs held out the paper to Sam, pointing a wet finger at the picture.

  ‘A real movie star,’ Sam grinned. ‘Mind you, I’ve heard Georgia tell me how handsome he is for so long it’s no surprise.’

  Babs gave him one of those long stares, like she was thinking something but didn’t quite dare voice it.

  ‘Go on then, ask away!’ Sam laughed cheerfully. ‘Am I scared I’ll lose her?’

  Babs blushed. ‘Georgia said yous was just mates. Is that all?’

  Behind him he knew the men were waiting for his answer. His secret was bubbling inside him, like a child longing to tell a stranger it was his birthday. It would be so easy to tell Babs, she would burst into tears and give him one of those hugs she always gave Georgia. But he couldn’t. It wouldn’t be right.

  ‘Have you ever known her lie to you?’

  ‘No,’ she giggled and blushed again, rushing over to rescue burning toast. ‘She leaves things out, but doesn’t lie,’ she tossed over her shoulder.

  ‘Well she didn’t leave anything out this time,’ Sam retorted. ‘It’s true we are just mates. After all I’m –’ he stopped. He’d almost said it, old enough to be her father. ‘An old man,’ he added quickly.

  ‘I wouldn’t say that,’ she grinned wickedly, showing her broken front tooth. ‘There’s plenty round ’ere who wouldn’t mind going a few rounds with you.’

  ‘I’m all tied up,’ he joked. ‘You’ve had my heart since I met you Babs.’

  She giggled, showing more than a hint of the girl hidden beneath the slatternly apron.

  ‘Go on!’ she reproved him. ‘Me a married woman an’ all. So do you think anything will come of it?’ She leaned across the counter, her tired grey face alight with romance. ‘I mean, he’s clever, he’s got letters after ’is name.’

  ‘Shall I tell you a secret?’ Sam got up and leaned across the counter till his lips were right by her ear. She smelled of bacon and fried fat, a smell that took him right back to his own mother.

  ‘Go on,’ she nodded, her eyes twinkling.

  ‘Something has come of it. She met him last night and they’ve run off together.’

  Her face mirrored his own pleasure. She slapped her hands over her mouth, tears sprang to her eyes.

  ‘Oh Sam,’ she whispered. ‘Really?’

  Maybe he should have been more discreet, yet in his heart he knew Georgia would have shouted it from the roof tops.

  ‘She rang me this morning,’ Sam felt like a kid himself passing on an overheard secret. ‘But don’t you go saying anything to anyone, or I shan’t tell you anything else.’

  He had to go all over it again when Bert came in. What would happen at the studio? Would Anderson be charged with rape? Were Georgia and Peter getting married?

  ‘She ain’t ever ’ad anyone to look after her.’ Bert’s customary gloomy face broke into a wide smile revealing blackened teeth. ‘They’ve all made money out of her, worn her out, then wanted to kick her on the slag heap just because some old weirdo made up a load of lies. He deserves horse whipping.’

  Georgia had told him so much about this pair. The frugal way they lived, the endless hours of work. A life that could be made easy by selling up and buying themselves a nice house. Yet he understood now why they stayed, they were the cornerstone of the community. They needed other people, the hustle and bustle. It wasn’t money which kept them here, but long roots.

  The café had all the cosiness of his mother’s kitchen when he was a boy. Gossip and speculation hanging in the air like damp washing. Each and every market trader was urged to look at the paper if they hadn’t already seen it and as Sam sat eating eggs and bacon they plonked themselves down to question him.

  ‘What’ll happen now? Will she be on the box tonight? When will we get to see her?’

  ‘No wonder Georgia loves it round here,’ Sam said as he wiped up his egg with a slice of bread and butter. ‘I never saw so many caring people in one place.’

  ‘Well she’s our dream come true ain’t she.’ Babs shuffled round the counter to clear the tables. ‘Not many people make it out of ’ere, not unless they’re cro
oks. She’s our pride ain’t she?’

  It was pride Sam’s heart filled with too. That same feeling he felt back home in New Orleans when kids pointed to him in the street.

  ‘That’s Sam Cameron, he plays a real mean horn.’ These people might all be white but it was the same emotion that moved them as moved his folks. Screw the celebrities, the rich, and the tourists, making it was when your own people had that look on their face.

  ‘I bet the girls and Pop aren’t doing a stroke of work this morning,’ Bert said gleefully. ‘They’ll be all in ’ere soon, talkin’ the hind legs off a donkey.’

  ‘Speaking of work,’ Sam got up and felt in his pocket for some money. ‘I guess I’d better go up to the studio and see how the land lies there. They say there is no such thing as bad publicity. I’ll bet they’ll be itching to get this new album out now, and they ain’t gonna like it when they find their bird has flown.’

  ‘Stick that back in yer pocket,’ Bert said shoving the money back across the counter. ‘That’s on me today, and if you’ve got time around six tonight come in and we’ll have a few beers. Today we got some’at to celebrate!’

  Sam was right. Everyone was in a turmoil at the studio. Phones were ringing, voices raised, teleprinters clattering. Max was in a meeting already with the chiefs and every desk had a copy of the paper spread out on it.

  ‘Do you know where Georgia is?’ Ruth one of the secretaries rushed up to him. She had smears of mascara on her cheeks, eyes pink from recent tears, and this was a girl who was normally the blonde ice queen, efficient and unemotional. ‘They are all going mad because they can’t contact her.’

  ‘Sure,’ he grinned. ‘She rang me this morning. Shall I go in and put them out of their misery?’

  ‘Give her all our love,’ she whispered, laying one cool hand on his arm. ‘She deserves happiness after what that swine put her through.’

  Once inside the boardroom Sam’s elation vanished. His old jeans, grubby sweatshirt and sneakers, stubble on his chin, looked incongruous with their smart business suits. Apart from Jack Levy and Max he knew none of the other five men. All dark and Jewish, navy suits, white shirts and club ties. They cast suspicious glances at him over horn-rimmed glasses. Tight, humourless lips, faces that could have been born middle-aged. Plump, white hands rested on the polished table, water, fountain pens in readiness before them.