by RJ Hunter
"Look at you, Lizzie, always so elegant, always dressed to turn heads. You must be doing so well in your job. I envy you sometimes and wish I had something more."
"I don't believe what I've just heard!" Exclaimed Lizzie. "I would swap places with you any day! What more do you need? You have a lovely house, you've brought three gorgeous children into the world, you have an adoring husband to look after you, and you seem okay for money."
"Yes, I know you're right, Lizzie. I don't want to sound ungrateful. William does earn a good income, but it all goes on the mortgage, the cars and bills etc. I don't bring anything in, and that's the problem, I miss my independence, and want to wear nice clothes again. Can you understand that?"
Lizzie sighed, and went to light a cigarette. Then, thinking twice about it, in view of the children, she returned the packet to her bag.
"Listen Sally, the truth is, I work as a typist, nothing more, despite what you may think, and maybe what I've implied. I detest my job, but in about ten years, I may be good enough to become a private secretary to some boring old fart, but it's not what I want." Confessed Lizzie, taking a sip of her Chablis. "Do you really think, I could afford to buy these clothes? No, of course not. I make them myself!"
Sally glared in amazement at Lizzie's eye-catching black and white, flared trouser suit. It was perfectly cut, with unusual, swirling patterns, and large, circular holes cut out in the top half, to reveal Lizzie's slim, midriff.
"Lizzie, are you telling me you made that outfit?"
"Of course I did. Do you like it, it's not too daring is it?"
"It looks fabulous! I would never have guessed." Gasped Sally excitedly. "But who taught you to make clothes?"
"My mother, she learnt dressmaking during the war. She made all her own clothes too."
"Lizzie, can you do something for me?"
"As long as it's not going to cost me!"
"Can you teach me to make clothes?"
Within a few short months, and under Lizzie's expert guidance, Sally was creating her own distinctive wardrobe. Initially, she stuck to simple dresses and skirts, but as her confidence grew and her dressmaking skills improved, she found she could tackle much more complex designs on a wider variety of materials. Although her creations were by no means quite as bizarre as some of Lizzie's, they did exude a certain glamour in an era setting new boundaries in women's attire.
Unwittingly, Sally and Lizzie now found themselves at the forefront of establishing their own clothing label. At first, the women were simply supplying their own circle of friends and contacts, who were desperate to be the first to wear these exciting, innovative creations. Word soon got around, and within a year they were supplying several well-known retailers in and around central London on a regular basis. The opening of, Scarlet's boutique, in Richmond was a natural progression, once William and Jeremy had found suitable premises. Subsequently, Lizzie moved closer, and a workshop was set up in the rear of the building, so that garments could be produced on the premises, rather than at Sally's home. Because of Sally's family commitments, it was Lizzie who automatically became the principle partner in the venture. This was an arrangement that suited them both, and resulted in the business becoming a highly successful concern. It was a short time later they had to hire their first employee, as business was becoming so brisk.
Once William was satisfied that his wife's business enterprise was bearing enough fruit, he sold out entirely to Jeremy, and extricated himself completely from the buying and selling side of things. Instead, William moved into the field of interior design.
Jeremy on the other hand found himself getting more involved with Scarlet's, from providing essential maintenance work to the building, to running errands and delivering stock. However, it was soon to become apparent that his interests were something a little more than business-related.
12. MAYFAIR
Pauline checked herself in the full-length mirror before taking the Piccadilly line tube from Hammersmith to Hyde Park Corner for her evening shift at Lake's. She would then walk the short distance along Park Lane, before turning right into Curzon Street. It was a pre-requisite of the job that all hostesses looked immaculate at all times. Pauline had grown quite accustomed now to getting ready and being at her best in a short space of time. Mrs. Lake had even taken the trouble to take Pauline aside, during her first week and give her a crash course in choosing and applying the correct make-up to achieve the greatest effect.
Pauline was very jumpy, she had it in her mind that the police were going to come and arrest her at any moment, after she had unwittingly set up Mr. Bloom for Frank to murder. It was the evening following her husband's atrocious act, and the last thing Pauline felt like was going in to work. She knew there would be questions, especially as it had been her who had last seen the old man leave the club. Pauline had even considered taking a few days off sick until the dust had settled, but Frank had told her to go into work, and just act normal as if she didn't know anything about it. She knew he was right, but she didn't possess, his ruthlessness, and found it difficult to distance herself from the appalling events of the night before.
It was busy, Saturday nights always were. Inside, the atmosphere was dark, and smoke-filled. She could hear the rich, deep tones of Yvette, a cabaret singer, who was a regular performer at the club. She was belting out a Shirley Bassey number, and from the applause she received, the audience were certainly impressed. Pauline made her way to the staff changing rooms and hoped she would be put in the poker room. There were often high-stakes games held at the club, during the weekends. These were probably illegal, but no less popular, and tens of thousands had been won and lost over the years. Pauline preferred the poker room as the men were so involved with the game, they had little time for flirting and trying to touch up the young hostesses. Although Lake's was supposed to be exclusively for men, more and more women were now frequenting the club, mainly at weekends as a result of the changing times. There were even a couple of highly talented women players who would regularly play at the poker tables, Claire Lake being one of them. Claire had made a mini fortune, by using skill and guile to outwit her male opponents. She knew most of them would be fairly drunk by late evening, and those that weren't, she'd order champagne on the house for. Claire was on a winner. She would often lose a few hands on purpose, then as her rivals grew in confidence, she would wait until she had an unbeatable hand, before moving in for the kill. Being the only player sober, she found it always worked with maximum effect. Frank was also an avid poker player, and was probably one of the very few to notice what Claire was doing. He made a habit of watching her play, and vowed to go in there one day, pretending to be drunk, and take her for every penny.
Pauline greeted the five other girls coming on duty, and with practised efficiency, put on her black mini skirt, tight frilly white blouse, and tiny black apron, as was the customary uniform for hostesses at the club. Stockings and suspenders were also obligatory, but like the other girls, Pauline would wear them under her every day clothes to save time hooking them up once she'd arrived.
"Pauline, I'm glad you're here, it's been hectic tonight." Exclaimed Claire, looking unusually flustered. "Can you attend to tables, six through to twelve, with two of the other girls. We've got a Conservative MP sitting at table six, and I'd like you to look after him."
"Yes, Claire, I'll go immediately."
"Thank-you, Pauline, and before I forget, can you please see to Yvette." Added Claire, surveying the young hostess in her uniform. "She has a half-hour break to get changed after her next song. She likes a thinly-cut smoked salmon sandwich, and a flute of champagne." She then waited for Pauline's reply. "Are you with us tonight, or was I talking to myself?"
"Yes, sorry Claire, I was deep in thought." Replied Pauline, uneasily.
"Perhaps, I've been working you too hard, Pauline? We'll have a little drink together tonight, when we close. I think you deserve it." Claire then moved in close to Pauline, almost kissing her on the lips, be
fore the younger woman managed to move aside.
"I would love to, but I have to get back home for the babysitter."
"I'm sure we can get around that, Pauline." Smiled Claire, I'll get one of the girls to go. I take it, your Frank is out for the night again?"
Pauline nodded, before she was summoned into the main kitchen to help carry plates of food through to the hungry clientele. She then had to rush back as Yvette finished her song. Fortunately, the sandwiches had already been prepared, and finished off with a salad garnish, so all Pauline had to do was pour the singer a glass of champagne.
The dressing rooms were in the basement, twelve in total, six being on each side of the damp, cold corridor. Like the rest of the club, the rooms had seen better days and needed a vast amount of money spent on them. Pauline hated going to the basement. She had seen a mouse scurrying around down there once, and now looked around anxiously, in case it might return. Stepping over a puddle of water on the concrete floor, she arrived at Yvette's dressing room. The door was ajar, but Pauline still knocked.
"Come in, come in, I don't have much time!" Was the terse reply from inside.
"Hello, you must be Yvette? Claire asked me to bring you this." Said Pauline, as she placed the tray on a side table.
"Thank-you," replied the singer with a slow, but distinct French accent. "So you must be Pauline?"
Pauline was shocked to discover that Yvette was naked, apart from what looked to be, a huge, extravagant blonde wig. She was standing next to a rail of sequined dresses and smoking a strong-smelling, foreign cigarette.
"Yes, I'm Pauline," Came back the nervous response, but she couldn't help being amazed at the aura the professionally-trained singer was exuding. "Will there be anything else, Yvette?" She gasped, feeling herself go red, as she stole a glance at Yvette's body.
"Yes, I want you to zip me up." Yvette then selected a glittering, gold number from the rail, and proceeded to take it off the hanger.
"Come now, Pauline, don't be shy. I'm sure you've seen a naked woman before. I have nothing that you don't have. Besides, I always go naked under my stage costumes, as I don't want the lights to pick up a panty line."
Pauline watched in silence as Yvette pulled off the garish blonde wig, to reveal a short dark bob underneath.
"I'm sorry, you took me by surprise, that's all!" Came Pauline's muted reply.
"When I take you, young lady, it wont be by surprise, I can tell you that now." Purred Yvette, running her tongue around the rim of her champagne glass. Before adding; "If you feel uncomfortable, you can send in one of the other girls?"
Pauline looked away, feeling embarrassed.
"No, I'll be fine," she answered, not wanting to come across as naive and foolish.
Yvette, like Claire was in her mid thirties, and had a lithe, supple dancer's body, with small, pert breasts. She moved with a cat-like grace, that made Pauline feel a little clumsy.
"Claire speaks very highly of you, Pauline." Smiled Yvette, as she pulled on the magnificent dress.
"Does she really? That's surprising, it's nice to be appreciated!"
"Oh, yes, Claire appreciates you, my dear."
"So are you and Claire friends?"
"Yes, we are great friends. We trained together at stage school in Paris, back in the fifties."
"How wonderful. I've loved your performance so far tonight. You are so talented."
"Thank-you, Pauline, that's a very kind thing to say, but you haven't seen anything yet." Smirked Yvette stubbing her cigarette out, and not taking her eyes off Pauline. "I understand you're going to stay back, and join Claire and I for a drink later?"
Pauline gulped as she zipped up the back of Yvette's dress.
"No, I'm sorry, I can't tonight. Perhaps another time."
Yvette turned, and selected another wig from her dressing table.
"I think you should reconsider, Pauline. Claire really looks after the girls who please her, and you don't want to disappoint your boss, do you? Now off you go and get back to your duties."
Pauline had been back out on the club floor for just five minutes, when Claire came looking for her, followed by two plain-clothes detectives. She knew immediately what it was about, and felt her legs turn to jelly.
"Pauline, can you please come to my office, these two policemen would like to ask you a few questions.
Claire's office adjoined a plush penthouse apartment at the top of the building, which had panoramic views over central London. As Pauline followed her employer, she felt she would crack under any questioning, and this was even before anything had been said.
"What's it about Claire, I don't understand?" She asked, trying to act as innocent as possible.
"I've just had some very disturbing news, Pauline." Replied, Claire motioning her to sit. "Poor Mr. Bloom has been found dead. It looks like he fell into the river."
Pauline feigned shock, and put her hands up to her face.
"I can't believe it, not that nice old man. He was very drunk last night though. Was it an accident?"
"That's what we're still trying to establish." Said one of the detectives, a tall, balding man in his fifties. "I'm DCI Miller, and this is DS Brookes," he continued, introducing his colleague, who was a much younger man, with sandy-coloured hair, and an intense, staring face. "So you saw Mr. Bloom, last night, Mrs. Gant?"
Pauline hesitated, she had to be very careful what she said. But even being put on a spot, she felt it odd, and even a little flattering to be referred to as 'Mrs. Gant', especially as her marriage was little more than a sham.
"Yes, I saw him frequently during the evening, I even went and sat with him."
"I see," continued, the Inspector. "So, you say he was drunk?"
"Yes, he was. He'd drank rather a lot of cognac."
"How did he get home, did he drive, or walk, or get a lift?" Butted in the younger officer, with an arrogant air about him.
Pauline felt her face was about to betray her, and began to stutter.
"Please, you must realise that Pauline knew the old man, and was his favourite - all this is a big shock to her." Said Claire, coming to Pauline's rescue.
"Thank-you, Claire," replied Pauline, gratefully, before turning to the younger detective. "No, he never drove, he would always get a taxi."
Claire was watching intently. She knew Pauline was trying to hide something, and was aware Pauline's husband, Frank had driven the old man. Now, she could use this to her advantage, when it came to seducing the younger woman.
"Did you call for the taxi, or did you see the driver, Mrs. Gant?" Asked the supercilious policeman, moving closer to Pauline.
"No, she didn't!" Interrupted Claire, "She was helping me. I imagine Mr. Bloom rang a taxi himself, he often did. There's plenty of telephones out in the lobby, all with taxi numbers attached to them."
"Did, Mr. Bloom have any enemies here, or do you know of anyone who would wish him harm?" Asked the Inspector, taking over the questioning.
"Nobody that I'm aware of." Replied Pauline, growing in confidence.
"Is there anything else?" Muttered Claire, irritably.
"Just one other question, did the deceased have a case with him?"
"Yes, he did." Blurted out Pauline, back on the defensive again. "He always carried a case with him.
The two officers glanced at each other.
"Maybe it's at the bottom of the Thames, Inspector?"
"Yes, it's possible, or the tide has taken it away. That's not discounting that a third party has it, of course." Replied the older man, turning to Pauline. "That's all for the time being, we'll be continuing with our investigations. But if you should recall anything, please get in touch. Thank-you ladies." With that, the two police officers took their leave.
"Stay here Pauline, while I show the gentlemen out." Ordered Claire, giving Pauline a wry smile.
While she was gone, Pauline checked herself in one of several huge mirrors in Claire's sumptuously decorated office. She took a few deep breat
hs and tried to calm herself back down, but inwardly, she was relieved it had all gone so painlessly.
Pauline glanced around the office, all of the furniture was in black, apart from the cream carpet. There was a large desk, with a leather chair located back towards the wall, and to one side was another circular table, with several other chairs placed around it, presumably for meetings. Then, right over in the corner was a soft seating area with a black leather sofa, and two more armchairs. Claire's office also contained a bar, boasting an impressive selection of spirits, mixers and wines in a glass-fronted fridge. Pauline certainly wasn't a drinker, but now she could have downed whatever was put in front of her.
Claire returned a few minutes later, and closed the office door.
"So what are you hiding?" She asked directly.
Pauline felt herself squirming again.
"Nothing, I was just nervous that's all, and couldn't think straight."
"Good reply, but I'm still not convinced. That's why I helped you."
"Thank-you, Claire." Replied Pauline, "Frank did drive him, but he said he dropped Mr. Bloom off at his destination, and left him there. So, he must have stumbled, and fell into the river after that."
"Yes, Pauline and pigs might fly!" Retorted Claire, pouring herself a vodka and tonic. She then poured one for Pauline, before eyeing her employee suspiciously. "I did it for you, Pauline. I can see good in you, but what are you doing with a man like Frank? He's bloody psychotic!"
Pauline took a long gulp of her drink.
"He's my husband, Claire, that's why." She replied in a none-too convincing tone.
"Then you are very misguided, that's all I can say. Get rid of him now, Pauline, before he totally destroys your life."
"I appreciate you helping me, Claire. I don't know how I'll ever repay you." Said Pauline, changing the subject and finishing her drink.
Claire put her glass down, and placed her hands on the wall, either side of Pauline.