‘It’s OK.’ Without waiting for him to finish, Angie dashed down the hall to the main room where she saw David sitting at the table with a skinny, mopey-looking man dressed in an ancient black suit. There was a Scotch bottle and three, almost empty, glasses between them.
She stood in the doorway and smiled happily. ‘Hello, David.’
He looked up as if she were interrupting him. ‘I’m a bit busy at the minute, Angel.’
Bobby squeezed past her and went and joined the other two men at the table.
‘Right,’ she said, feeling hurt, like a child being dismissed by the grown-ups. ‘Sorry.’ Hadn’t he even realized she’d been out all night? She had to get his attention somehow. She couldn’t leave it like this. ‘I was wondering if I could have a friend over.’ The moment the words had left her lips, she regretted coming out with such a genuinely childish question. Talk about botching things up.
The dark-suited man made a noise that was probably a laugh but could as easily have been a hacking, tubercular cough. ‘Not a boyfriend, I hope?’
‘No.’ Angie was offended. ‘My friend, Jackie. Jacqueline.’
‘Ignore Toby,’ David said kindly. ‘Course you can have her over.’
‘When?’
Toby rolled his eyes. ‘For gawd’s sake. Look, sweetheart, we’re trying to do business here. Birds keep their traps shut, right? They don’t ask questions and they don’t butt in.’
David said nothing to the man about being so rude to her, he just poured three more drinks and said, ‘Go through to the kitchen, Angel, and make yourself some coffee or something. I won’t be long. Me and you’ll shoot out later.’
Without a word, Angie did as she was told.
As she opened the cupboards to look for the cups, she could hear David saying that there was some rubbish that had to be got rid of, and while it was obvious he wasn’t talking about dusting round the flat, she couldn’t really figure out what he did mean. It was as if he was talking in secret code.
But even if she didn’t understand the details of what David was going on about, it was obvious from his tone that it was serious. Very serious.
She was just revving herself up to go through to them, to ask if they fancied a cup of coffee or some tea maybe – anything that might cheer up that miserable Toby – when Bobby came into the kitchen.
He strode over to the transistor on the window ledge and snapped it on at full volume, drowning out David saying something about Toby remembering he owed him a favour.
As the Yardbirds exploded into the opening lines of ‘For Your Love’, Angie grabbed him by the sleeve and wailed, ‘Bobby, what are you doing? You’re rattling the windows.’
Bobby said nothing, he just frowned and stared down at her fingers that were still gripping his jacket – they looked pathetically small against his big, meaty arms – and waited until she had let go and had backed away from him. Then, with a disappointed shake of his head, he left, slamming the kitchen door firmly behind him.
If Angie had not been frozen into wide-eyed shock by Bobby’s mute belligerence, she might have had the courage to have lowered the volume, then she would probably have understood the rest of the men’s conversation quite easily, as it was, in its own macabre way, relatively straightforward. David was negotiating with Toby, who was an undertaker, the rate for what he was referring to as a double burial, in order to rid himself of potentially incriminating evidence: the mortal remains of Mikey Tilson. The exchange between them would further have revealed that, in his final resting place, Mikey Tilson would be sharing a coffin with Arthur Cedric Baker, the late, not-much-liked, landlord of the Nag’s Head in Canning Town.
‘Make sure you don’t let Mr Baker’s family know nothing about all these arrangements, Toby,’ David had said, with a wink, as he let the undertaker and Bobby out of the flat, ‘or they’ll be expecting me to go halves, and I ain’t laying out for no boiled ham tea for people I don’t even know.’
Within moments of Bobby and Toby leaving the flat, Angie’s and David’s bodies were entwined on the big, still-unmade, double bed, and all Angie’s fears about David no longer being interested in her were completely forgotten, and Bobby’s behaviour was not even a vague worry somewhere in the back of her mind.
When they eventually emerged from the bedroom, David wouldn’t let Angie tidy up, but instead had taken her shopping for something to wear that evening, while a team of caterers and cleaners he had hired organized the little Flood Street flat for the party that Angie and he were apparently throwing there that evening.
‘So, you are Angel.’ The olive-skinned man, with the slightly lisping, foreign accent, who had introduced himself as Salvo, smiled winningly at Angie as he took her hand and shook it gently.
‘That’s right. I’m a friend of David’s.’
‘Aren’t we all?’
Angie wasn’t sure what to say next. She was getting a bit better at speaking to strangers at parties, but it was still really hard, especially when they were as sophisticated and stylish as this lot. She was on the verge of fleeing to the lavatory when a magazine article she had read recently – had read particularly carefully – popped into her head. Ten things to keep your man interested. Number three: smile and ask him about his work
‘Do you work with David?’ she asked brightly.
Salvo raised his eyebrows and looked at her with ill-concealed surprise at being asked such a question. ‘I am involved with the import-export side of commerce, so I work with many people.’
Another silence loomed. ‘David persuaded me to give up my job.’
Salvo inclined his head to show interest.
‘But I think it’s a bit boring doing nothing. You can only do so much shopping, can’t you?’ She forced out a tinkly laugh. ‘He was so surprised earlier, when I started clearing up the flat. He said that Sonia, you know, his housekeeper, could learn some things from me. Although she does do lovely flower arrangements.’
‘I see! Your English sense of humour.’ Salvo was now laughing heartily. ‘Asking about my work. And Sonia being David’s housekeeper. You are very funny.’
Angie thought he was probably a bit bonkers, but at least she’d amused him.
‘No wife would care to be described as her man’s housekeeper. But one with Sonia’s looks? Very funny. How angry she would be.’
‘Wife? No, Sonia’s not his wife. David’s not married. She’s his housekeeper. Honest.’
Salvo smiled coolly. ‘David is a fortunate man to have a friend as lovely as you. Now, if you will excuse me.’
Angie managed a tiny smile in return. He must have misunderstood. He was foreign, after all. And a loony. The way he’d laughed like that.
‘You all right, Angel? Enjoying yourself?’ It was David.
She nodded, looking up into his handsome face made her feel the usual flutter of excitement, but, this time, it also made her feel queasy. Say that Salvo was right? Say David really was married? ‘I’m fine,’ she said quietly.
‘You don’t look it. Salvo not upset you, has he? I know what them Italians are like.’
She felt the tears begin to prickle. ‘No. It’s not Salvo. Well, not him exactly. I’m still not used to people like this. That’s all.’ She was babbling, but she didn’t care what she was saying.
‘Like what?’
Had she really been had by one of the oldest tricks in the book? A bloke pretending he was single? ‘You know,’ she said, distractedly. ‘Posh people.’
David threw back his head and laughed. ‘So that’s it. I told you before. You’re special. And you’re certainly better than any of this lot, darling. Miles better.’
Angie sipped at her champagne, but the glass was empty.
David took it from her and replaced it with a full one from a passing waiter.
She knocked back a big swig, noticing, incongruously, that it no longer seemed to make her cough or tickle her nose as it had once done. She must be getting used to it.
‘I’m goin
g to introduce you to each and every person in this room, Angel, and they’re all going to love you. But, before I do, I’m going to teach you another lesson. A very important lesson. OK?’
‘OK.’ Her hands were shaking, it was all she could do to stop spilling her drink.
‘Look around this room. There’s all types. And, one way or another, they all fit into this crap you hear about the so-called London scene, where duchesses mix with dustmen, and they all go to the same clubs and parties, sharing their drugs and beds. But, when you get down to it, it’s just a load of old bollocks.’
Angie was too preoccupied to even wince at, let alone be surprised by, David’s foul-mouthed hostility.
‘Sure they might meet, they might even have a dance, might even have a screw. But they all still know their place. This trendy, swinging scene, Angel, is as unfair and as unequal as the rest of the world. You can change the way you speak and dress, but the really posh ones, they know the difference. They might pretend they’re your friend – to do business with you, or to lay you – but really they despise you. But knowing that means you can use it to your advantage. It’s when you start believing the lies that you’re in trouble.’
She was barely listening to him now, all she could focus on was that she had to say something. She had to.
‘Take my Sonia.’
That had her listening again.
‘She comes from Birmingham. Dudley.’
‘What, your housekeeper?’
‘Yeah. That’s right.’ He took a gulp of whisky. Nearly, you silly sod.
This was it. Her opportunity. ‘Your friend. Salvo.’
‘Yeah.’
‘He said.’ She paused, finding it hard to say the name. ‘Sonia was your wife.’
David puffed out his cheeks, picked up a bottle of champagne from a side table and led Angie through to the main bedroom and out on to the balcony.
‘So you really are divorced?’ Angie was standing among the flower pots and troughs, holding on to the white-painted railing, staring unseeingly at the pretty Chelsea street down below.
‘Yup. I really am.’ He lit two cigarettes and handed her one.
Angie no longer held a cigarette as if she were an actress playing the part of a smoker, but did so automatically, drawing the smoke deep into her lungs.
‘And it’s all over. At last. But for a long time she just wouldn’t give up hope. Kept thinking we had a chance to get back together. It was a bit pathetic. She’d turn up at the Mayfair gaff at all hours, fill the vases and that. Do what she could to try and make it all homely. Act like she was still my wife. She was a liar even to herself. Pitiful really.’
‘That’s sad. How did you finally persuade her?’
David took her by the shoulders, turned her to face him and kissed the tip of her nose. ‘I told her all about you, Angel, and she knew she had no chance. Poor old Sonia’s not very attractive, see.’
Angie remembered Salvo mentioning something about her looks, and how angry she would be about being mistaken for a housekeeper. She felt almost sorry for her. ‘Is she all right?’
‘I’ve looked after her as far as money’s concerned, but she hated giving up all this. The parties and that. She loved all this. That’s what was hardest for her, losing the people she’d thought were her friends. But, of course, they were here because of me, not her.’
Angie dropped her chin. ‘Whatever must they think of me?’
‘You? They think you’re great. You act yourself. Natural. But you have to remember, in the end, they’re just amusing themselves, mixing with the likes of us. They think going to the Krays’ gaffs or the West Indian clubs is all one big laugh, and that when they’ve had their fun, or done their bit of business, they can go back to their better lives and leave the likes of me behind. But – and this is another lesson for you – the truth of the matter is, they are no different from anyone else. No one. They can set themselves up as being better, but I know the truth. In fact,’ he raised his glass at the French doors, ‘I know more about the people in that room than you’d credit. Kinky or crooked, or both, most of them.’ He pointed to a man, familiar to Angie from the television news. ‘Politician, right?’
Angie nodded.
‘I went to a party over at his drum once. Coked out of his brain, he was.’
‘Sorry?’
‘Cocaine.’
‘Oh.’
‘Anyway, he had this one-way mirror where you could see him having it away with—’
‘What? See him?’
‘Yeah. See everything, you could. He was going with this young girl.’
‘But he must be at least fifty.’
‘Nearer sixty. And the kid was no more than what, fourteen, fifteen.’
‘That’s—’
‘The way of the world. So don’t you ever feel inferior to anyone. They probably act a lot worse than you ever would, and, if you knew the truth of it, with a lot less scruples than you would ever dream of, in all their so-called superior lives. Here, see that bloke just coming in?’
Angie turned round and found herself staring through the glass doors at a bronzed, muscle-bound actor, famed for his good works in his foundation for deprived children. Up until now, he had been no more to Angie than an heroic image on one of the posters given away with My Guy that had adorned her bedroom wall in Dagenham. Now she was practically in the same room with him.
As David, in a tone more suited to discussing whether it was getting a bit nippy for her out on the balcony, gave Angie details of the hunky actor’s very particular private interests – involving being treated like a baby, with nappy-changing and regular feeding thrown in – her mouth gaped open like the entrance to the Blackwall Tunnel. She really did have a lot to learn about the world.
‘Before I forget, Angel,’ David added casually, draining the last of the champagne into her glass. ‘A good friend of mine, Albert; he’s going to be staying in the spare room here for a few days. He won’t be no trouble.’
Vi reached under the table and squeezed Craig’s thigh. God he was sexy. ‘I’ve had a lovely time,’ she purred at him. ‘The hotel was lovely, and this restaurant is just beautiful.’
‘I’m glad.’
And that Scottish accent! It made Vi’s toes curl.
‘I’ve been thinking about moving down south.’
‘Have you?’ Vi’s mind started whirring. ‘Any reason?’
‘Most of my business is down here now, so why not?’
She considered her words carefully. ‘How about your family? Won’t you miss them?’
Craig clicked his tongue at her. ‘Very subtle, Vi.’
‘What d’you mean?’
‘My wife, who I believe you are referring to, has decided that what she wants from life is a house in the country – somewhere full of children, dogs and home-cooking – and a husband who never leaves her side. I’m afraid it’s not how I see myself.’
‘So …’
‘So she’s found someone who does.’
‘See himself in the country, with …’
‘Exactly.’
‘Well.’ Vi fiddled with her wine glass. ‘Fancy that.’
‘And you know I enjoy your company.’
‘Thank you, Craig,’ she breathed, thrusting her bosom across the table at him. ‘And I enjoy yours.’ Where was all this leading?
‘You’re so uncomplicated.’
That didn’t sound so good. ‘Am I?’
‘Yes. And I’d like to think we’ll be spending more time together.’
This was better. ‘So would I.’
‘But—’
Definitely not good. ‘There’s a but?’ There’s always a but.
‘I don’t want you seeing anyone else.’
Vi lit up as if someone had put a shilling in her meter. ‘Craig, you are so sweet.’
‘Not really. I just don’t fancy getting the clap. And if I’m going to be seeing more of you, I don’t want to push my luck.’
Rather
than being put out by such bluntness, Vi simply nodded. ‘Right, fair enough, Craig. You’re on. And there’s no time like the present, as they say. So I’m going to let you order me a glass of brandy to have with my coffee, while I go to make a phone call.’
Rather than using the restaurant phone – she wasn’t keen on being within earshot of Craig as she wasn’t sure how the call was going to go – Vi dashed out of the restaurant and ducked into the greasy spoon along the road, which had a payphone hanging on the grimy, tiled wall by the serving hatch.
She dialled the number of the shop, knowing that Sam would be cashing up for the night, standing there in his overalls, hoping that she might pay him an unexpected evening visit to give him the only thrill he had to look forward to in life.
The phone began ringing.
This really couldn’t have come at a better time. She was past letting a bloke she didn’t fancy have it away with her on a grotty sofa in a box-filled store-room, just for the sake of a steak dinner and a few gin and tonics. Even if he had been good to her.
God, what a terrible thought. She had been going with someone because he was good to her. Not because he was handsome, or exciting, or just because he was a bloody good lay like Craig. But because he was good to her. Christ, that made her feel old.
The connection was made. ‘Hello. Sam Clarke here.’
‘Sammy, it’s me.’ The sob Vi managed to catch in her voice, made her sound pitiful – overcome with emotion. ‘I’ve got something to tell you.’
‘Violet. My dear. Whatever is it?’
‘Sam, it’s … I … I don’t think I can see you any more. My conscience won’t let me.’
‘But I’ve told you,’ Sam sounded desperate, ‘I’ll leave her. You’ve only got to say the word and—’
‘No. I can’t do this to you, Sam. Or to Cissie. It’s going to break my heart, but this is goodbye.’
With that, Vi slammed down the receiver, gave the grubby-looking man serving in the café a wink of thanks for the use of his phone – he had stumped up the sixpence when, surprise, she had not had the right change – and hurried back along the street to her coffee and brandy, thinking about what she and Craig could get up to in his big hotel bed by way of celebration.
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