‘And the men who work for me,’ he said, knowing that three of Judy’s uncles had been part of the building team.
Aled moved her on. ‘You must know Mr Arnold?’
Judy knew of Geoff Arnold, as did everyone on Tiger Bay, but the estate agent hardly moved in the same circles she did. She shook his hand.
‘And me, darling, we may have already spoken but I insist on being in the receiving line.’ Lennie held out his arms and tried to sweep Judy off her feet, as much as anyone six inches shorter than she was could have. When he failed, he stood on tiptoe and kissed her cheek instead. ‘Now, come and sit next to me.’ He dropped on to the sofa and patted the cushion beside him. ‘We’ll both have a nice large,’ he eyed the waiter, ‘glass of the Windsor’s excellent sherry as an aperitif and I’ll try out all the new jokes I’ve written on you.’
‘Knowing you, Lennie, on all of us.’ Aled watched the waiter serve Judy a sherry and the rest of the guests another round of drinks.
There was a knock at the door and two waiters entered to put the finishing touches to a circular table that had been set up in front of the window.
‘So what does it feel like to be an overnight success, Judy?’ Ray asked.
‘Like most overnight successes, Judy has been working very hard to achieve that end for some time.’ Aled looked at her. ‘Am I right?’
‘I’ve been singing with my uncles’ band, the Bute Street Blues, for the last four years.’ She sat next to Lennie to stop him patting the cushion and looking at her with imploring eyes.
‘How old were you when you started?’ Ray took the chair opposite them.
‘Fifteen, but I was singing before then, in school and church concerts.’
‘And how old were you when you cracked your first joke, Lennie?’ Stan asked.
‘The minute I was born. My mother took one look at me and didn’t stop laughing for a week. Apparently I looked exactly like my father. For years afterwards she said her only consolation was that I’d been born a boy.’ Lennie pulled down a lock of his bright red hair and squinted up at it. ‘She said she had nightmares for years at the thought of a fat round female dwarf with carrotcoloured plaits.’
One of the waiters coughed discreetly. ‘Lunch is served, Mr James.’
Aled took charge. ‘Judy, you sit next to Ray. Lennie, you’ll never allow anyone to talk serious business anywhere near you, so you may as well sit on Judy’s left. Gentlemen, shall we start?’
The men waited for Judy to sit before taking their seats.
‘Knights of the round table, I give you Guinevere.’ Lennie raised his glass to Judy and all the men toasted with him.
‘I suppose that makes Aled King Arthur,’ Stan leered suggestively, to Aled and Judy’s annoyance.’
‘Hardly, they’re not married, so he can’t be Arthur.’ Lennie looked at the first course the waiter was serving. ‘Salmon mayonnaise, how yummy. I l-o-v-e pink food. Of choice that’s all I would eat.’
‘You’d starve,’ Judy said, grateful to Lennie for switching the conversation from her and Aled.
Lennie considered for a moment. ‘As well as salmon, prawns, and shrimps, I could eat blancmange, rare beef and lamb, and raspberries.’
‘All together in the same sandwich, no doubt,’ Aled chipped in facetiously.
‘No – well, not unless it was sandwiched together with the pink bits of a Battenberg cake and raspberry jam. Want me to make one for you?’ Lennie pursed his mouth and rolled his eyes upwards.
‘No thank you. And unless you want someone to be ill, I suggest you drop this conversation.’ Aled passed the salt down the tables.
‘To go back to the Round Table theme, Lennie, who do you see yourself as?’ Ray asked.
‘That’s easy.’ Lennie reached for Judy’s hand and kissed the back of it. ‘Lancelot, I couldn’t possibly be anyone else. My great good looks wouldn’t allow it. Besides, he’s by far and away the one with the happiest ending. He outlived Arthur and got the love of Guinevere –’ The end of his sentence was drowned by laughter. ‘Lancelot could have been small,’ Lennie said with mock seriousness.
‘Did you take lessons from Little Tich?’ Ray asked. ‘He’s the only other comedian I’ve heard of who made capital from his lack of height.’
‘I saw him on stage once when I was even shorter than I am now. Knee high to a footlight, as it were,’ Lennie answered. ‘But to go back to serious matters. You need me on your wireless show, Ray?’
‘Why?’
‘As a foil to Judy’s glorious voice. First rule of show business: the crass always alternates with the divine. You can’t give an audience too much of a good thing. They’ll go on expecting it, and then where will you be? Set an impossibly high standard and you’ll soon be stuck for acts. You’ll be spending the next ten years scouring the countryside for more Judys, and take my word for it,’ he added conspiratorially, ‘without success. Our Judy is one of a kind.’
‘That I believe.’ Ray looked at Judy.
She shivered at the thought of the power Ray wielded. He seemed a nice, ordinary man. She found it most peculiar to think that her voice could be beamed into every home in the country that possessed a wireless, on his say-so.
Lennie’s non-stop banter continued throughout the second course of roast chicken, bread sauce, asparagus in cream sauce, and potato chips. Aled sent frequent signals to the wine waiter who had remained to replenish their glasses with iced champagne, hock, and, when they insisted on it, water. And by the time they began eating the final course of cherry flan and cream, Lennie wasn’t the only animated person at the table.
‘All right, Mr Lane, I admit defeat, you’re a natural and I’m impressed.’ Ray pushed his empty dessert plate aside. ‘You’re welcome to accompany Miss King to London.’
‘As her squire, boot boy, footman, or bodyguard?’ Lennie demanded.
‘All four if it makes you happy,’ Ray answered.
‘And when we get to the studio?’
‘I’ll give you two two-minute compère slots.’
‘How much air time is Judy getting?’ Lennie looked enquiringly at Ray.
‘Four four-minute song slots.’
‘I know my place.’ Lennie rubbed his hands together in a Uriah Heep impression. ‘She’s the star and I’m the lowly link. But I know how to be grateful for small mercies – and cheques.’
‘I’ll make it my business to see that you get exactly one quarter of what we pay Miss King,’ Ray assured him.
‘And all expenses paid to London? That includes a first-class ticket on the train and a room in the same hotel as Judy. Make it a good one. I want to be on the same floor as her, not packed off into the attic or the cellar just because I’m small.’ He shed a few of the crocodile tears that he had honed during the Peter Pan run when Jeremy’s Captain Hook had bullied Smee.
‘I’ll tell the hotel: no cellars or attics,’ Ray said seriously. Judy found Ray and Lennie’s banter amusing, but she couldn’t help noticing that Aled, Geoff Arnold, and George Powell had been engrossed in a private conversation throughout most of the lunch and she wondered what they had found to talk about now that the club was built.
The waiters cleared and removed the table after dessert and coffee. The wine waiter offered petits fours, more coffee and brandy in the sitting area, but Ray was already looking for his hat. He retrieved it from Aled’s bedroom, glanced at his watch and made his apologies.
‘I’m sorry, Aled, but I have to get back to London. I’ve fixed a tentative date with Judy and Lennie for the middle of next month. I’ll get my secretary to confirm it in writing when I return to the office. You’ll be travelling up with Miss King and Mr Lane?’
‘That depends on pressure of business.’ Aled opened the door for the waiters who were carrying out the last of the glasses, plates and empty bottles.
‘I hope you can come, but I’ll understand if you can’t. Dinner in Claridge’s, on me, if you can make it?’
‘That bribe
is enough to make me try very hard to clear my diary.’ Aled shook hands with him.
‘Goodbye, everyone,’ Ray called out and left.
Geoff Arnold, George Powell, and Stan Peterson took the producer’s departure as their cue to leave and, as Lennie had already wangled an invitation from Stan to go backstage to the New Theatre to see an old friend who was playing Kathie in The Student Prince, the four men left together. Aled shut the door on them and looked at Judy.
‘And then there were two,’ he said lightly.
‘There’ll soon be one, because it’s time I was going too.’ She looked around for her handbag.
‘Because you have something to do this afternoon or because your uncles warned you never to be alone with me in my suite.’
‘How did you know …?’ Her voice trailed in embarrassment.
‘Because it’s what I’d say to my daughter if I had one. I would never allow a girl of mine to remain alone in a hotel room with an unscrupulous scoundrel – or, in Tiger Bay terms, a wide boy like me. Do you have something arranged for this afternoon?’ he reiterated.
‘No, but I’ve a rehearsal booked with the orchestra for tomorrow morning to see if we can iron out some of the problems you listed on Saturday, so thought I’d go through my song scores this afternoon.’
‘The problems aren’t with you, they’re with the orchestra. It was the musicians who were hitting the wrong notes.’ He poured himself another brandy and held the bottle up to her.
‘No, thank you.’
‘Sherry?’
‘I’m not used to drinking alcohol, especially in the middle of the day.’
‘I’m glad to hear it. Stan Peterson told me that there’s nothing like drink to ruin a singer’s voice, and given the number of people he’s worked with, he should know.’ He sat next to her on the sofa. ‘I think that lunch went well. Ray was keen on getting you on to his variety show. I’m not sure he was as keen on hiring Lennie but I knew that once Lennie met him, Ray wouldn’t stand a chance. Lennie’s an expert at wangling himself jobs.’
‘It was good of you to introduce us to Ray, Aled. After all, there’s nothing in it for you.’
‘That’s where you’re wrong. When you get to know me better you’ll realise that I never do something for nothing. It’s not in my mercenary nature. You will be introduced on air as the headliner from the Tiger Ragtime in Butetown and Lennie as the compère. That should boost attendance at the club.’
‘How much do you want to boost it?’ she asked. ‘The place was bursting at the seams on Saturday.’
‘Only because I gave out two hundred free invitations to the crache. The Ragtime needs more publicity if it is to become the “must be seen at” place in south Wales. And if you’d read your contract properly you’d know that I get ten per cent of any fees you’re paid for outside performances – and that includes wireless.’
‘I know, but I doubt ten per cent of my fee would pay for one of the evening gowns you bought for me.’
‘It would pay for two actually, but who’s counting.’ Aled propped his legs on the coffee table in front of him.
She looked at him, sensed what was about to happen between them but felt powerless to prevent it. He leaned towards her and kissed her. She was aware of the sensation of his lips, warm and tender on hers, his hands cupping her face, his thumbs caressing the soft sensitive skin beneath her ears.
Thoughts whirled around her head without coherency, pattern or reason. Aled was everything she had ever dreamed of in a man: handsome, wealthy, not that she had ever thought that much about riches until she had seen first-hand the lifestyle it could buy. Rooms in the best hotels, fine clothes, service and deference, which after her experience in the first store she and Aled had tried to shop in she had learned to value.
Aled was well travelled, commanded respect from everyone he came into contact with – she tried to forget the existence of Aiden and Freddie. He was worldly, sophisticated, knew how to get the best from people, and yet had none of the airs and graces she associated with the Welsh crache. And because he, too, had grown up in Tiger Bay he understood her and seemed to know instinctively how she felt and what she was thinking.
‘That was you kissing me back?’ he checked when he finally released her.
‘Yes,’ she whispered.
He looked into her eyes. ‘I don’t want you to climb into my bed out of a misplaced sense of gratitude. I meant every word I’ve ever said to you. What I’ve done for you I’ve done for myself and my club, not you. But,’ he touched her lips with his fingertips, ‘you’re very beautiful and beautiful young girls always have had an overwhelming effect on me.’
She continued to look into his eyes. The moment was so unlike any she had imagined, she didn’t know what to say. Whenever she had thought about making love for the first time, she had imagined being swept up in a moment of wild unrestrained passion, not sitting calmly discussing the situation with the object of her desire in a suite in the Windsor Hotel.
His eyes, deep blue and teasing, gazed relentlessly into hers. Before she had time to think of a reply, he kissed her again, and that time his hands roamed over her body, evoking strange new sensations that sent the blood coursing headily around her veins.
The palms of his hands burned her skin through the thin silk of her dress. He caressed her back, her breasts, and she wasn’t even aware that he had unbuttoned her bodice until her dress fell open to her waist. Her cheeks burned when he slipped down the sleeves and the thin straps of her petticoat, exposing her breasts.
‘Perfect.’ He thumbed her nipples and kissed each in turn. ‘Shall we continue this in the bedroom?’ he whispered huskily. Without waiting for her to reply he lifted her in his arms, carried her through to the bedroom and dropped her on to the bed. He locked the door behind them.
He undressed her slowly, sensuously, his hands lingering over her naked thighs and breasts. And when he had finished he turned back the bedclothes and laid her in the centre of the bed, watching her, while he stripped off his own clothes. He continued to look into her eyes, when he lay beside her.
He caressed her again, slowly, tenderly until the moment her passion rose to meet his. Then he lifted her on top of him. She cried out.
‘I’m sorry … I should have been gentler … you’re a virgin …’
Tears lay wet on her cheeks. His face was blurred but she could see that his eyes were still focused on her. ‘It’s all right, Aled. It really is. I love you.’
‘Darling little Judy.’
It wasn’t until afterwards, when they were lying, spent, side by side in the bed, that she realised that he hadn’t spoken one single word of love to her. Or if he had, he had whispered it too softly for her to hear.
Chapter Eighteen
David was enjoying a late lunch of pie and beer at a secluded corner table in the Gentlemen Only bar of the Mount Stuart pub, the nearest public house to the dock gates in Bute Crescent. He had gone there at Freddie’s suggestion after helping Aiden supervise the morning bar stocktake at the club. Someone had told Freddie that the Mount Stuart was the first stop sailors made after leaving their ships and that there might be a few punters among the newly arrived crews.
David was filling out his second betting slip of the day when Gertie burst into the bar, flanked by a ‘rookie’ constable.
‘That’s him,’ she screamed, pointing her finger at David. ‘That’s the bookie’s runner. Look, he’s filling out a betting slip right now.’
‘Gertie, out!’ the barman shouted. ‘No ladies or,’ he gazed frostily at her, ‘any of your sort allowed in here.’
‘What do you mean, my “sort”?’ Hands on hips, she rounded on him.
‘Let’s see that book, boy.’ The constable, who looked no older than David, walked up to the table and snatched the book from David’s hands.
‘You can’t do that,’ David blustered. ‘That’s my property –’
‘Is it now?’ The constable removed a notebook and penci
l from his top pocket and repeated as he wrote. ‘When I removed said book from the table, suspect said, That’s my property …’
The man who had been placing the bet slunk away under cover of the altercation and David wished that he could have done the same.
‘Tut tut tut.’ Keeping a firm grip on the book, the police officer walked to the door, opened it and blew his whistle. ‘I’m surprised at you,’ he said in a disappointed tone to the barman. ‘Allowing a bookie’s runner to do business in the Mount Stuart. The sergeant won’t be pleased. He told all of us newcomers that this was a wellrun house.’
‘It is, when you coppers don’t come in here looking for trouble. And that’s a dark corner he’s sitting in. I couldn’t see what he was doing.’
‘Or the men walking up to him, I suppose?’ the officer demanded in a sceptical tone.
‘People come into pubs to have a friendly chat. Fine barman I’d be if I asked them what they were talking about.’
Two more officers rushed through the door. They stopped and looked round. ‘Where’s the fire?’ one of them asked the rookie.
‘Here.’ The officer grabbed David’s arm. ‘On your feet.’ He hauled David upright and handed the betting book over to the oldest constable. The constable flicked through it.
‘My, my, my, it’s amazing the things people do in pubs in broad daylight. And right under our noses.’ He looked at David. ‘We’re going to take a little stroll to the Maria Street police station, boy. You too, Gertie.’ He nodded to his colleague who grabbed Gertie just as she was about to sidle out of the door.
‘Let me go!’ Gertie shouted ineffectually at the constable who clamped his hand on her arm. ‘I told you what you need to know. You caught him red-handed. You don’t need me.’
‘We always need people who give us tip-offs, Gertie,’ the senior officer said. ‘And I’ll tell you something else.’ He placed his head very close to hers. ‘Anna Hughes isn’t going to like this. She’d rather die than grass on anyone in the Bay, even a customer who bilked her. As for you, boy,’ he turned to David, ‘you should have paid the lady what she wanted.’
Tiger Ragtime Page 31