The Factory Girl

by Maggie Ford

  ‘And you didn’t think that would matter, that the cops are too fucking dumb to put two and two together and come up with the rest of us.’

  It was Tony’s hope to brazen it out, though already he could see the money he’d get from this job slipping rapidly away from him. He had to win their confidence. That money meant everything to him, more than he’d ever seen or would again in his lifetime.

  ‘How did you come to know she went to them?’ he asked.

  The reply came back like a whiplash. ‘Don’t you think we’ve got our sources of information? D’you think we’re that dumb?’

  ‘No. I just thought—’

  ‘You do too much thinking for your own good, Tony, you know that? I’ve always said you did.’

  ‘Then why did you trust me yesterday, telling me all about what was going on. You’ve never done that before. And I was here at the time she was talking to the police. That proves it wasn’t me, Sam.’

  None of the others had said a word, but their stances spoke volumes. He tried not to show how much he was quaking. Please, he prayed, don’t let them cut me out of the deal now, not at this late stage. What was he going to tell Di? Would she drop him like a hot cake seeing no high living ahead of her any more, but he having to continue working as a small-time jeweller for the rest of his life. Jobs like these came only once in a lifetime. Sam had said to him in the most amicable terms while they waited for the others to arrive that this job was worth nearly two million, handled the right way. It had taken his breath away, but he’d been jubilant at being forgiven so easily. That was until the others had arrived. Now he wasn’t feeling at all jubilant.

  ‘You can still trust me, Sam. I’ve finished with Geraldine. She’s left. She won’t be back. She can’t do anything to us.’

  ‘Us?’ He ignored the question.

  ‘I’ve too much at stake to do you lot down. So much depends on this.’

  ‘You can say that again, old man. But she knows us all. Who’s to say she won’t go to the cops again with more names when the fancy takes?’

  ‘She won’t. She was frightened off by them, and by you and Billy.’

  Being invited into Treater’s house, he’d begun by half warning him to lay off Geraldine. Treater had even apologised, said it had happened in the heat of the moment, they got carried away, and wouldn’t happen again.

  What he said must have worked, for Sam relaxed back in his chair, at the same time as the other four – Billy, Ernie, Fruity Hicks and Jimmy with his snake-like glare – appeared to stand back without really moving. It was encouraging and Tony allowed himself a smile to encompass them all.

  ‘You can trust me, Sam, all of you.’

  ‘Of course, old man,’ said Treater evenly. ‘No question about it, and to put you in the picture, Tony, old man, we’re all going somewhere, you included, so that you’ll be able to realise just how much we can trust you. That okay by you?’

  He rose out of his chair as Tony nodded eagerly, and with them all following, led the way to where his handsome Rolls-Royce stood in the drive.

  Chapter Thirty

  It was June. Since that day Alan had rushed off to find Tony just after Easter, there had been no word of her husband. Alan must truly have put the wind up him. He hadn’t said much about it when he’d come back, she still shaken from her rough treatment, except that he’d seen him on his way. Geraldine felt so proud of him. Tony would never have had the gumption to fight back. Maybe he hadn’t even gone to give those animals a piece of his mind for what they’d done to her; had more likely crept on his belly to them, seeing the money he’d be making from the job they had planned fly out of the window if he did. She had nothing but contempt for him now.

  In a way Geraldine was glad that he’d made himself scarce. She wanted no more to do with him after the way he’d ruined her marriage. In other ways there was a faint anxiety as to where he might be, annoyed with herself for even wondering if he was all right. And anger too, yes, mostly anger, that he’d not even bothered to contact her – no doubt enjoying life too much miles away with the woman he’d left her for, to even care how she was.

  She would have thought that by now, three months on, he would have at least written about her considering a divorce. But perhaps he wasn’t so bothered now he had all he wanted. As to where he was, she had no idea. A few enquiries might have helped but she wanted only to stay as far away as possible from those who knew him and who’d humiliated her.

  Soon after Tony’s disappearance the papers had splashed news of a big robbery of around two million pounds’ worth of gold bullion from a van on a lonely stretch of road; the police had no clue as to the culprits. Geraldine wondered if it was the one in which Tony would have been playing his part.

  ‘How long would it take to smelt down that much gold?’ she’d asked Alan at the time.

  ‘Lord knows,’ he’d answered. ‘Quite a bit I imagine. Why?’

  ‘Tony operated a smelter. He never told me where, but he used to blab about things to me, how he made his money, what work he was on, that sort of thing. He never could keep a still tongue. What if the police knew where he operated and who he worked for at times?’

  They’d been walking together, hand in hand, in Victoria Park around dusk just before closing time and Alan hadn’t continued the conversation but drew her to him and had kissed her instead. The kiss had been warm and tender and she forgot to think about Tony.

  But it wasn’t simple to forget him. He kept returning to her mind, especially since the robbery – had he made the thousands he’d hoped for, melting down all that gold? Were he and Di Manners enjoying his ill-gotten gains while she was left looking after the jewellery shop, wanting only to be rid of it but unable to while it was still in their joint ownership and she at a loss to know where he was? She hated the flat, hated going back there with its echoes of what she’d gone through. She could have ceased to pay rent, the premises reclaimed, but it wasn’t her place to do that with the possibility of Tony returning at any time. Of course, there was always one way.

  ‘I could so easily go to them with what he’s told me,’ she said to Alan when two months later the police still hadn’t caught the villains. ‘Even if it is only scanty, it might lead somewhere. He could be sent to jail for a long time. I could get rid of the business then.’

  She was at Alan’s where she spent a lot of time these days, sometimes not going back to her parents’ home until next morning. They had to be aware of what they were up to, something decent people frowned on, but Mum was apparently turning a blind eye to it so it was as well to say nothing.

  There still existed something of a rift between them, their conversations stilted, Mum still cold and distant. Maybe it was becoming more pronounced with age; as they say, a person’s nature gets more pronounced with old age. Mum wasn’t that old but she was getting there. Gran had died the previous year – she was testy and frigid, and Mum took after her. Yet she was warm enough to everyone else. It was odd. True, she’d shown plainly that she’d never liked Tony, and she’d always behaved as if the sun shone out of Alan’s backside. So why couldn’t Mum start to unbend towards her now Tony was gone? It was as if she had it in her mind never to forgive her for going off and apparently snubbing everyone, being too big for her boots, no matter what she was trying to do now to make amends.

  Dad too said little, taking his cue from her mother regarding her staying with Alan all night. In a way it wasn’t like living at home as once it had been, she more a guest and wondering if there would ever come a time when this invisible barrier would be dropped and she would become one of the family once more. She’d even dropped her so-called posh talk in their company but it was a waste of time.

  There was a look of alarm on Alan’s face. ‘Please, Gel, don’t get yerself involved with the police.’

  Having just got into bed beside her, he lifted himself up on one arm to gaze at her. ‘Yer’ll be biting off more’n yer can chew. They’ll tie you up with them crooks straig
ht away once yer tell ’em yer know about your husband.’

  That was true. ‘I only wondered what would happen if I did,’ she laughed, but he remained serious.

  ‘Don’t be tempted, love. It could spoil everythink just as you and me are sorting out our lives tergether. We are, aren’t we?’ he went on in an uncertain tone. ‘Yer don’t still want ter get back at him, do yer?’

  No, she didn’t, not now.

  ‘Because if yer did, anyone could take it that yer still feel somethink for him, enough ter want ter get back at him.’

  She turned her head to look at him. ‘You mustn’t think things like that, darling. It’s just that I can’t help remembering how I felt when I found out about him and Di Manners, carrying on behind my back. It’s not easy for any woman to forget things like that. They feel cast off, rather than betrayed, sort of unlovely, unwanted. It’s a horrible feeling. But with you I feel wanted and necessary, and I do love you, Alan. If he came to me right now on his knees pleading to be taken back and offering me the whole world, I’d turn my back on him and all his promises. It’s over, Alan.’

  ‘Then why won’t you start divorce proceedings?’

  She had expected him to sink down beside her, contented with her explanation and her admission of loving him. Instead he was challenging her, demanding she prove her love. Why did she have to prove her love? Wasn’t the fact that she was in his bed, had been in his bed several times since coming back here, proof enough? In sudden anger she said as much and saw his face become grim.

  ‘I don’t want you to prove nothink, Gel. I’m not asking you ter forget him. I know what you’ve been through because I’ve been through it meself, remember? I know what it’s like to be done down. But while yer delaying things, we can’t get married.’

  Geraldine sat upright. This was the first time he’d spoken of marriage.

  ‘Are you asking me to marry you?’ she blurted.

  ‘I don’t ’ave to ask, do I?’ He was looking at her in amazement. ‘I took it yer’d expect ter marry me once you’re free of ’im. Trouble is, I keep getting the feeling that yer’ll miss all the things he gave yer. All them nice clothes, all them ’olidays you ’ad – goin’ off ter France and that Egypt thing you went on …’ Yes, it was on that Egypt thing that Tony’s affair with Di Manners had begun. ‘And all them fine friends you ’ad—’

  ‘I wouldn’t swap what you have for any of it,’ she broke in. ‘It’s you I want.’

  She heard him sigh as he sank down beside her, and pulling the cord of the light over the bed, he plunged the room into darkness. She felt his arm steal under her head, drawing her towards him and during that long kiss, his free hand explored her, sending shivers of pleasure and desire through her until they were making love with a fierce passion she couldn’t recall ever experiencing with Tony.

  Unless it was that time had dimmed it. Towards the end they’d hardly made love at all, and even before it all went wrong he’d not been as attentive as he might, and she’d know why though never admitted it to herself – in case it produced a child, cramping his style and his fun of high living. She was well out of it, she told herself as she and Alan fell apart exhausted, then realised that even as she lay there fulfilled, her mind had been full of Tony and how bad he still made her feel. Alan was right, Tony was still coming between them no matter what they did. She had to get him out of her mind but that was easier said than done. One thing, she wouldn’t speak his name to Alan ever again, not even to recall what he had put her through or even to wonder at his continued silence.

  After three months of it the old need for revenge was indeed fading, but now and again came in passing an embedded fancy to catch a glimpse of him, see him nowhere near as happy as she, the grass he’d thought so much greener with Diana Manners turning brown. The mere fact that such thoughts crossed her mind told her that she would never truly get Tony out of her mind, that divorce wasn’t the answer.

  Did Alan feel the same about his former marriage after all his years divorced from his wife? Did he once in a while hanker to see if she fared well or not in her second marriage, whether she still had him or had been left? She would never ask. For her, life was different now, as different as chalk from cheese, and she did love him.

  One thing Geraldine did feel sorry about – it hurt to see Alan doing his best to match up to giving her what she’d once had, wanting to take her to West End shops to buy new clothes.

  ‘I’ve enough clothes to last me years,’ she’d tell him, trying to be light-hearted about it.

  He would reply, ‘They’ll go out of fashion soon enough,’ and she’d have her work cut out trying to dissuade him.

  He’d take her to West End cinemas to see the latest films, or book theatre seats, though hardest of all to bear was seeing him needing to compromise by seats in the upper circle rather than the dress circle. With his business thriving he was far from hard up, but he saw himself as never coming up to the standards he was sure she’d once known, not realising for all she tried to tell him, that with it had gone many unhappy times, uncertain times, of concern and underlying fears. Money could never compensate for that. Yet no matter how many times she tried to tell him, he remained unconvinced. All she wanted now was him, yet she could see his doubts.

  Maybe it was that she had money of her own and didn’t need his. Hers was quite a sizeable bank account, she had to grant Tony that for all he’d done to her he’d always made sure of that, even more so after meeting Di Manners – perhaps then it was conscience money which she hadn’t even realised until lately.

  There was the shop too, still doing well. She’d taken Mr Bell on full-time. He had struggled on part-time money, too scared to give that up and probably go on the dole, and had been overjoyed at his luck. With him in the shop she had no need to be there, hating the place, merely paying his wages and settling bills.

  When she and Tony had first gone in he’d arranged with the bank for her to sign cheques and deal with things. But with the business still in his name she couldn’t close it down. It was now becoming a millstone around her neck.

  Nor did she set foot in the flat unless forced to. Unable to bear the place with its memories of what had happened there, she’d shudder each time, making sure Alan was there with her. It was all so unfair, Tony living it up with Di Manners, maybe abroad, South of France, New York, Rio de Janeiro, while she must keep the business going.

  ‘If yer divorced ’im,’ Alan told her when she complained, ‘yer could get rid of the whole shebang. Yer could ’ave ’im on two things, adultery and desertion – he wouldn’t have a leg to stand on in court.’

  Maybe she would. Maybe she would apply to the court and see what would happen, but it would be a lengthy business with Tony not present.

  ‘It needs thinking about,’ she told Alan and saw his face light up with relief at this first really positive reply she had given him so far.

  By now the bills were rolling in, many of which she still hadn’t settled, her nerves too wound up by Tony’s disappearance to bother with them; they had mounted up to a considerable pile. Demands had begun to arrive, alarming her at first. Tony had always been prompt with bills. Then it occurred to her that by ignoring them his creditors would get more demanding, more irate, and finally begin to threaten court action, talking of making him bankrupt. And why not? It was nothing more than he deserved, his business bankrupted, bought out, the flat along with it. She hated that flat with its memories. It would be one way of getting back at him.

  Of course with his cut of the robbery – generous he’d called it – it would be just a pinprick, but it would rile him and she’d feel better in her own small way. They could lay claim to his private and business bank accounts, everything he owned if it got that far, if they could find him! And why not? He’d left her to deal with everything, paying Mr Bell’s wages from her own bank account, keeping going a shop she hated. She wouldn’t suffer. She was his wife. No one would throw her on the streets. And she had her own bit
of money.

  With no idea where he was, never contacting her, she felt justified. In fact the idea seemed so good that she began to run up debt in his name, stocking the shop on credit with no intention of paying, and new furniture for the flat, on credit of course, on the assumption that Tony’s credit was good, even payments on the lease were allowed to accrue.

  If finally she should be turned out of the home she hated anyway, there was always Mum and Dad to go to. Surely they wouldn’t turn her away. Or she could rent a place somewhere, but her money would soon be gone and it would mean working again. She didn’t want that.

  She said nothing to Alan, he’d call it dishonest, but bankruptcy would fall on Tony’s shoulders not hers. If she left without a bean, Alan would be happier that she’d no longer be independent of him.

  Meantime there were other little things, bought on the business again on credit – new furniture for Mum and Dad which they accepted but with not all that good grace though she hadn’t expected it, they who’d never taken off anyone in their lives.

  ‘I ain’t on the poverty line,’ Dad said. ‘I can pay me own way.’

  ‘It’s just a gift, Dad.’

  ‘Gifts like that,’ echoed Mum, ‘ain’t what yer call little. Don’t seem right. It makes us look like we’re spongers. An’ we ain’t.’

  ‘Oh, fer goodness sake!’ she told them, exasperated by their attitude. ‘I’m not giving you me life blood. It’s not my money anyway, it’s Tony’s and he ain’t here, is he?’

  If it didn’t quite break the ice that still existed, it at least cracked it a little and she was heartened.

  When she bought them a wireless set, a top-class one not needing earphones but which had an aerial and a large, shiny brass horn so that any number of people could listen, she had half expected them to sniff at it. Instead they gathered around it that first night with young Fred, Evie, Mavis and her family, Wally and his, with a couple of neighbours thrown in, like ants around honey, everyone avidly scanning the Radio Times, published these past two years now. For the first time it did Geraldine’s heart good not to see her present dismissed with a shrug or maybe rejected out of hand, Mum saying as though in an aside, ‘Yer shouldn’t of done it, Gel,’ which in itself was music to the ears of one become used to being snubbed.