by June Tate
Sandy muttered, ‘Watch your step with him, girl.’
He looked very surprised when she grinned at him and said, ‘Don’t you worry, we’re old friends.’
Sitting beside Vittorio, Lily said, ‘Good evening. I haven’t seen you in here before. Slumming, are you?’
His slow smile was mesmeric. His eyes seemed to see into her very soul as he looked at her. Catching hold of her hand, he said softly, ‘I don’t usually come to places such as this, my dear, but you’ve been making quite a name as a performer. I thought I should see for myself if you are as good as I’m told.’
‘And?’ she asked cheekily, raising her eyebrows.
His fingers were caressing her hand and she was beginning to feel unnerved by his touch. She made to pull her hand away, but he tightened his grip. ‘You are very much better.’
Lily was delighted. ‘Thank you.’
He looked around at the peeling paintwork of the bar with distaste. ‘But what on earth are you doing in a place like this?’
‘What’s wrong with it?’ she asked indignantly. ‘It’s full, and with honest people too.’
His gaze searched her face, looking at every feature. Lily was uncomfortable under such close scrutiny. ‘You are even more beautiful now,’ he declared. ‘You’ve matured since the first day we met.’
Her eyes sparked with pleasure. ‘And you, Vittorio, what about you? You don’t look any different. Making an honest living these days, or are you still in the same dodgy business?’
He burst out laughing. ‘Oh, Lily. You are an extraordinary girl. No one speaks to me the way you do.’
‘Frightened of ending up in the drink, I expect.’
She saw his expression change. His smile didn’t falter but the sudden cold look from the piercing eyes made her quake inside and she knew that everything she’d been told about Vittorio was true.
‘You are sometimes very foolish, Lily,’ he said smoothly, ‘but I put that down to your inexperience. Come and have dinner with me one night. I might have an interesting proposition for you.’
Tilting her head on one side, she asked, ‘What sort of proposition?’
‘I see you are a little intrigued. You will like it, I promise.’
Lily glanced over towards the piano where Sandy was playing soft music, keeping an eye on her. She looked back at Vittorio. ‘I’m sorry, but I’m not free to accept such invitations.’
The smile left his lips. ‘Don’t tell me you’re married?’
Shaking her head, Lily said, ‘No. But I’m spoken for.’
The sudden anger in Vittorio’s voice made her start. ‘What is wrong with you? I can give you everything a girl could desire and you waste yourself on some useless man.’
She was angry. ‘Fred isn’t useless. He’s a lovely person and at the moment he’s not well, so don’t you talk about him like that.’
He calmed down. ‘I see I’ve upset you. I’m sorry, that was not my intention. I’m sure this character you’re involved with is an upright figure of the local community.’
‘Yes, he is.’
The same small smile played in the corners of Vittorio’s mouth. ‘But can he give you what I can?’
‘And what would that be?’
He appraised her figure. ‘You have a great body, a beautiful face and a dream of a voice, but in this setting, it loses so much. You could sing in my club, with my band. I could make you a success. You would be somebody. I could lift you out of these sordid surroundings. Clothe you in the most expensive gowns. You would have money, jewels, position … and me.’
Lily’s eyes widened. This was far more than she’d bargained for. ‘What do you mean … and you?’
He brushed his finger gently down her cheek. ‘You would be my mistress.’
‘Your mistress?’
He chuckled. ‘Is the idea so repugnant to you?’
‘What does repugnant mean?’
‘Don’t you like the idea? Is it distasteful to you?’
Looking at his smooth skin, his powerful figure in his well-cut suit, the spotlessly clean shirt, tapering fingers with clean nails and his fascinating smile, she couldn’t honestly say yes, so she didn’t answer.
There was a look of satisfaction on his face as he said, ‘I see it isn’t. That gives me great pleasure. If only you’d let me help you, Lily. You have talent. You need someone to take care of you.’ He smiled. ‘I would very much like to be the man to do that.’
‘Well honestly, Vittorio, you’ve really taken me by surprise. I don’t know quite what to say.’
He chuckled. ‘For the first time, Lily, I do believe you are at a loss for words. Think about it. I know one day you’ll come to me, but I just hope it’s sooner rather than later.’ He kissed the back of her hand. ‘Until that day, my dear.’ He excused himself and left the bar.
Lily was stunned. Yet she was aware that she had been the centre of attention; the customers were still gazing at her with speculative looks.
Sandy came rushing over. ‘What the hell was that all about?’
‘I’ve just been propositioned.’
‘By The Maltese? What did he want?’
With a grin she said, ‘He wants me to be his mistress.’
Sandy’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. ‘Oh my God! I need a drink and so do you, I shouldn’t wonder.’
They sat together with a glass of brandy each. ‘Medicinal purposes only,’ said Sandy as he took a sip.
‘Well, what do you think?’ Lily asked him.
He looked at her in astonishment. ‘You are joking, I hope?’
‘Why? Don’t you want to see me dripping in diamonds?’ Her eyes were twinkling with delight. ‘You saw the power he has. He walked in here and there was silence. Power, Sandy. And he’s rich.’
The pianist couldn’t believe what he was hearing. ‘You surely aren’t considering his offer?’
‘No. Of course not, you silly old fart. But don’t you think it’s worth putting to the back of my mind for a rainy day?’
‘Stop messing about, Lily.’ Sandy was becoming agitated. ‘You know the man’s reputation. He’s dangerous.’
‘Yes, he is,’ she agreed. ‘But frankly, he’s also quite fascinating. I actually like him!’
‘Then you’re probably the only person that does.’
‘Rubbish. He’s got a mother somewhere. She must love him.’
Shaking his head Sandy retorted, ‘That man wasn’t born. He’s the Devil’s issue.’
‘You think I’m being tempted by the Devil? How exciting.’
‘Don’t joke about it, Lily. Please, do me a favour. Forget about Vittorio Teglia.’
But Lily knew she couldn’t. There was still only one man she really wanted, but there was something about Vittorio. Always had been. Somehow he was to be a part of her life. She knew that, and so did he.
Chapter Twelve
Today was Mary Harris’s wedding day, and she was beside herself with excitement. Today she would become Mrs Thomas McCann. There was a time when she had thought this day would never come, but all of a sudden Tom had had a change of heart and wanted to rush the wedding through. She wondered what had changed his mind, but pushed any doubts to the back of her thoughts.
Tom had rented a two-up and two-down in the adjacent road to her parents. She’d pleaded with him to look further afield, but he’d become stubborn. ‘I don’t want to walk bloody miles to work, woman, just so you can say you live in a better neighbourhood than your friends.’
It would be a start at least. Later, when they’d saved and had a child, then she would insist on a move and a good school. She could wait. She insisted, however, she have her way with the furnishings, telling Tom that after all she was used to nice things at the doctor’s house and had good taste. He gave in for the sake of peace and quiet.
Now she stood before the long mirror in her bedroom and looked at her reflection. Her wedding dress was of the palest ivory satin, scalloped around the hem of the skirt. On her head, coveri
ng her riotous raven black hair, held in place with tortoiseshell combs, was a short veil, with artificial flowers in a crown to keep it in place. She was to carry a small posy of cream and peach-coloured roses.
She was pleased at the pretty picture she made, but couldn’t stem a feeling of trepidation about becoming a wife. She’d let Tom kiss and fondle her during their courtship because she thought she’d lose him if she didn’t, but she hadn’t enjoyed these moments of intimacy very much. She was ignorant about her marital duties, for Jessy had not taken her aside to explain them, and she wondered what would happen tonight … But as she smoothed her dress and twirled around she resolved to put aside these worrying thoughts and enjoy the day ahead.
As Tom dressed for his wedding, he was already regretting the haste with which it was taking place, but he’d been so devastated when Lily confirmed there was no future for them, he’d rushed headlong into it. Now it was too late. Anyway, he thought dispiritedly, it was time to get on with his life. Today would be a new beginning.
After the wedding ceremony, the bride walked nervously from the registrar’s office clutching her posy of roses in one hand, her new husband’s arm with the other.
They were immediately surrounded by family and friends offering their congratulations. Mary smiled shyly at Tom as they were showered with confetti.
Tom, dressed in a new navy suit, looked at her with an encouraging grin. ‘Well, Mrs McCann, you look beautiful. In fact, I’d go so far as to say we make a very handsome couple.’
‘Oh, go on,’ Mary scolded, but was thrilled with the compliment.
As the small procession of guests followed them through the narrow dingy streets towards her mother’s home in College Street, Mary tried to adjust to the fact that after the wedding breakfast, she would leave as a married woman, with a home of her own and a man to look after.
Her worries about her wedding night resurfaced briefly, and the thought of sharing a bed with a man loomed large in her mind as they entered her parents’ house.
‘God, I could kill a pint,’ one of Tom’s cronies said as he walked into the parlour. Looking around he exclaimed, ‘My! This looks good.’ Mary’s mother Jessy had done her proud. The table was laden with sandwiches and sausage rolls, the sideboard covered with bottles of beer and milk stout.
Jessy had already discarded her hat and was putting on her wraparound apron. ‘Dig in, lads,’ she called, on her way to the scullery.
The younger women gathered around the bride. ‘You are lucky, Mary,’ one of them twittered. ‘That Tom McCann is such a fine catch … and so good-looking. I wouldn’t kick him out of bed, I can tell you.’
Mary eventually made her way to the kitchen in search of her mother. To her relief, she found her alone.
‘The food is lovely, Ma. Everyone’s tucking in as if there’s going to be a siege tomorrow.’
‘Well, you know what men are, love. I expect the beer’s moving too. Me, all I want is a nice cup of tea.’ She bustled around filling the kettle and setting out the cups and saucers.
‘Can I ask you something?’ Mary was hesitant.
Jessy, catching the note in her daughter’s voice, wiped her hands on her apron and with a concerned look on her face asked, ‘What is it, child?’
Mary couldn’t meet her mother’s gaze. She felt a flush of embarrassment creep over her. ‘About tonight. I don’t know what to do.’
Jessy became flustered and began to fuss with a plate of sandwiches. ‘There’s more to marriage than bed. It’s only a small part of it, more important to men than us women. You just have to put up with it.’ She looked sternly at her daughter. ‘You be a proper wife, mind. Your man has a good job, you’re a lot better off than many round here. And remember this, Mary. A man who gets all his comfort in his own home won’t go searching elsewhere for it.’ With a shamed look she confided, ‘I usually think about the shopping I’ve got to get when your father’s performing. It makes the time pass quicker.’ Picking up a plate of sandwiches, she walked briskly from the room.
‘So here’s my bride.’
Mary, startled, looked up.
Tom, his tie awry, walked towards her and, putting his arms around her, kissed her expertly on the mouth, at the same time placing his hand on her left breast, caressing it gently.
Mary pushed him away. ‘Tom! Behave yourself!’
He pulled her roughly towards him. ‘You’ve never objected before.’
‘Yes, but that was in the dark when we were alone.’
He glared at her. ‘You’re my wife now, so don’t come it. As from this morning, I have the right. And don’t forget it.’
She watched his retreating figure with a sinking heart. She had tried to keep him at arm’s length most of the time, and it hadn’t always been easy. Tom was a passionate man, and tonight he would claim his right as a husband.
Her mouth suddenly went dry; she felt sick with nerves. Seeing a bottle of sherry on the side, with trembling fingers she filled a glass then drank the liquid down in one gulp before going into the other room.
It was dark when the last of the wedding guests took their leave. Mary lingered over her goodbyes to her parents, anxious to stay within the security of familiar surroundings as long as possible.
‘Come along, Mrs McCann. Time we went home.’ Tom took a firm grip on her arm and led her towards the door.
She looked apprehensively over her shoulder towards her mother. ‘Good night, Ma, Pa. Thank you for a lovely do. See you tomorrow, perhaps.’
Putting the key into the lock of number 27, Chandos Street, Tom opened the door and lit the gas-lamp in the kitchen. It was warm inside, the embers still glowing from the fire he’d lit earlier in the day.
‘Shall I put the kettle on?’ asked Mary.
‘No, darlin’,’ he answered, slurring his words. ‘I’ll just go to the privy then I reckon it’s time for bed.’ His gaze lingered on the soft curves of her breasts and he felt a stirring in his loins. ‘Hurry up and get undressed,’ he said huskily.
As she washed her face under the cold water of the scullery tap, Mary heard Tom curse as he stumbled over something in the dark. Taking a deep breath, she went upstairs to the bedroom.
Closing the curtains, she slipped out of her dress, hanging it carefully in the wardrobe. She pulled her nightdress over her head and climbed into bed, pulling the covers up to her neck. She closed her eyes tightly, as if to shut out the inevitable. Kissing and cuddling was one thing, but what was expected of her now?
She heard her husband’s footsteps on the stairs, the handle turn as he entered the room. As he moved about, she closed her eyes even tighter to shut out the vision of him getting undressed. She felt him turn back the bedcovers, and tensed. The bed sagged as he climbed in beside her. She could scarcely breathe, she was so frightened.
‘Come here, Mary,’ Tom whispered softly as he drew her towards him. She could smell the beer on his breath, feel the stubble on his chin as he kissed her. His mouth covered hers, forcing her lips apart. She recoiled as his tongue slipped gently into her mouth. But he held her head firmly. For her there was no escape.
Tom could feel the rigidity of Mary’s body. She was paralysed with fear. ‘Relax, darlin’, I’m only going to love you, not murder you. Relax.’ He just held her, but as soon as he moved she was stiff in his arms. He stroked her gently, kissed her softly, encouraged her to let go, talking to her continuously, coaxing her, trying to reassure her. He softly caressed her bare breast, but as he suckled gently on the pink pinnacle, he heard a gasp of distaste from her lips.
Still fondling her, he tried to allay her fears. ‘This is quite a natural thing between two people in love. This is how babies are made, after all.’ He stroked her stomach, her legs, the inside of her thighs; he tried every way he knew to help her, to stir within her the fire of passion, to reach that inner core of her emotion, but to no avail. He knew he hurt her, when at last he entered her. But he’d tried to give her satisfaction. She just wasn’t responsiv
e. His passion spent, he lay beside her, his arms about her, murmuring words of love.
He lay wondering if Mary was suffering with wedding nerves. Perhaps it was just her innocence? Or could his new wife be frigid?
Mary lay stiff in his arms, listening to his steady breathing. How could he sleep after the dirty, filthy things he’d done to her?
She felt violated.
She lay still, tears trickling down her cheeks. She could hear Tom’s deep breathing as he slept beside her. She turned away from him and curled herself into a tight ball. I want my mother, she wept silently, then angrily brushed the tears away. If this was married life, she hated it.
‘You have to put up with it,’ Jessy had said. Well, if there was one thing she was sure of … she wouldn’t.
The following morning, Mary woke early, looking around at the unfamiliar surroundings, wishing she was at home in her own bed, alone. She gazed at the motionless figure of Tom and wondered how he could sleep. She felt sore and her muscles ached. Was this what they called love?
Mary slipped out of bed quietly so as not to disturb Tom and quickly dressed. As she folded her nightdress, she was horrified to see it marked with bloodstains. It wasn’t her time yet. She ran downstairs to the privy. There was just a smidgen of blood on the paper. She wondered if perhaps the excitement of the wedding had brought her period on early, but somehow she didn’t think so. Last night in bed, Tom had hurt her. Maybe that was the cause.
Returning to the scullery, she washed her hands and face, put on her pinafore over her black skirt and set about clearing the ashes from the range, before re-lighting it, and then looked in the mirror over the mantelpiece, tilting her head from one side to the other. Quite what she expected, she didn’t know. But she was surprised that she looked just the same.
Hearing footsteps above, she put the large brown kettle on the hob and went into the scullery to fetch a frying pan out of the cupboard. As she stood up, she felt Tom’s arms around her waist. She froze at his touch.
‘For heaven’s sake, Mary, will you stop this? Every time I touch you, you are like a board. You didn’t do this when we were courting. You let me caress you then. For goodness sake, I’m not going to hurt you, woman.’