Goodnight Lady

by Martina Cole

  ‘It’s not a good idea, Mr Lane. He’s at an age when he’ll talk about things, in company like.’

  Tommy lit himself a cheroot and shook his head in dismissal. ‘Who gives a fuck. Certainly not me, love. She’s every right to see him if she wants.’

  Sally kept quiet but the thought scared her.

  Briony and Benedict chatted together and enjoyed themselves. Briony listened to all his boyish talk and drank it inside herself. Benedict, guessing he had a sympathetic ear, poured out all his doings, good and bad, with a fervour.

  When he was walking home with Sally later in the day he said, ‘I don’t think I’ll mention the nice lady to Mama, she’d think she was a bit common. But I liked her, didn’t you, Sal?’

  Sally smiled in relief.

  ‘I think you’re right there, young Master Ben. Your ma or your pa wouldn’t like her one bit. But we can keep her friendship our secret can’t we?’

  ‘Do you think we’ll ever see her again, Sal?’ He stroked the dog’s coat as it walked beside him.

  ‘Oh, yes, young Benedict, I have a feeling we’ll see her again. - In fact, I can guarantee it.’

  Chapter Nineteen

  Briony liked Mariah and liked the way she ran her houses. Both women were fighters and survivors which gave them a bond, something neither had expected. But now they owned just about every house in London between them, they were also adversaries. Although both worked their respective patches it was only natural that they would at certain times poach one another’s girls or customers. It was an unwritten rule of business.

  Mariah wanted to cement their newfound friendship with something tangible. Not just because she liked Briony, though she liked her a lot, but because Briony’s newfound status with Tommy Lane also made her a threat in certain ways. If push ever came to shove, Briony could take what was Mariah’s at the drop of a hat. She was certain that Briony was too straight and fair for such skulduggery, but there was nothing in Mariah’s book like an insurance policy. A guarantee. Which was the reason Briony was sitting in her house now, with a cup of tea and a slice of Battenberg.

  Briony wiped her sticky fingers on a napkin and grinned at Mariah amiably. Her afternoon with Benedict had made her happy with the whole world.

  ‘Now then, we’ve had the tea and cake, you’ve offered me a stiff drink, which I declined, and we’ve run out of chit-chat. So come on then, girl, spit it out, what’s the rub?’

  Mariah laughed with her.

  ‘I have a proposition to put to you, Briony, which, if you agree, will really bring us in money.’

  Briony lit a cigarette. Blowing out the smoke in a large billowing cloud, she said, ‘Go on.’

  Mariah sat back in her chair, her large breasts heaving under the strain of her tight bodice. Briony wondered briefly if they would escape their confines and burst out into the warmth of the room.

  ‘There’s a house up for sale, Berwick Manor. It was used through the war as a hospital. The place is in a right mess. It’s going for a song, and I mean a song. The thing is, between us we could restore it. It’s perfect for what we’d want. It stands in its own land, it’s big, it’s got plenty of rooms. We could really make it pay.’

  Briony nodded.

  Mariah took a deep breath. Briony was not making this easy for her.

  ‘If we both invested equal amounts of capital in it, we could make it a showplace. Private functions, our best girls working there, catering for the elite. I know you have a few faces. Well, so do I. We could double up our clients and our takings. It’s a good investment.’

  Briony smiled slowly.

  ‘I know the old manor. Who don’t? We walked past it often enough when we was kids pea picking. Kerry used to say, “I wish I lived there!” It’s a nice property, you’re right. It’s in a good location, too. We could cater to the London mob without them having to go too far. We could have weekend parties like, theme parties. Ancient Greece, French nights!’

  Briony’s enthusiasm pleased Mariah who knew now that the idea was sold. All she had to do was collect the collateral.

  ‘Yeah, we could start them Friday and they could go on ’til the Sunday night. There’s a banqueting hall there where the punters could eat, plus plenty of outhouses for livestock and that. It could pretty much be self-contained. The grounds are enormous, acres of fields, even the old Berwick pond, ducks and all! It’s very picturesque, perfect for the monied man. Near to London and discreet. Just the place for a weekend in the country.’

  ‘How much is this going to rush me then? Only if it’s going for a song, it must need a lot of work on it.’

  ‘Oh, it does, Bri. I’m not gonna try and spin you about that, girl. It needs a major redec for a start, from carpets to curtains. It ain’t been touched since 1919, then it was boarded up and put on the market. In the last six or seven years it ain’t even seen a broom. But think of how it could be!’

  Briony grinned. ‘I am. I know just the girls to work it, too. Young, pretty, wanting to make a quick few grand to set up on their own. It would be so easy. So how much money are you looking at?’

  ‘Off hand, Bri, I’d say about ten thousand each. To get it off to a good start. By my figures we’d recoup that within the first three months of opening.’

  She passed over a book where she had broken down the costs. Briony scanned the pages for ten minutes while Mariah smoked a cigarette.

  Briony was impressed. Mariah had even allowed for an odd job man. It was well thought out, and it was viable. Two things Briony found hard to resist.

  ‘Shall I tell you something, Mariah?’

  She smiled. ‘What?’

  ‘I’m in. I’m in up to me bleeding neck! This is going to be a real money spinner. It’s class, Mariah, real class.’ She shook her head in wonderment.

  Mariah clapped her hands together in excitement.

  ‘I’m glad, Bri. I think me and you could make a good team.’

  ‘Plus, together as working partners, we can’t tread on each other’s toes, can we?’

  Mariah saw the crafty look on Briony’s face and knew she had been rumbled. Sobering now, she said, ‘Well, Briony, there’s that to it as well, I suppose.’

  ‘Oh, don’t take on, Mariah. I admire your foresight. I’d have thought of something like this in your position. But I can tell you now, I wouldn’t turn on the hand that fed me. When we had all that business with Henry and his mob you was a good mate. I’d never forget that. Friends abound in our position, but good mates are few and far between.’

  Mariah’s face softened and Briony saw a glimmer of the girl she had once been. Big, beautiful and innately nice. Mariah was a nice person, except it seemed too small an epithet for her huge frame.

  Rupert and Jonathan were roaring drunk and the noise was beginning to disturb the other customers. Tommy watched them without intervening. He thought they were ponces, though he had given up arguing the fact with Briony. He watched her, dressed in a cream sheath dress, walk over to their table and cajole them into quieting down. He shook his head and walked behind the bar to pour himself a decent scotch. When the punters first arrived, they were given real drinks. When they were drunk, they were served from the ‘cottage’ bottles, the watered-down versions. They paid top price and Tommy’s excuse was, he was doing them a favour.

  As Briony walked towards him he motioned with his head for her to the offices. Briony followed him, stopping at tables to chat for a few seconds and waving at other customers. In the office the thumping beat of the Charleston reverberated through the walls.

  ‘How’d it go round your mother’s?’

  ‘It’s like a mad house, but Eileen’s all right. She seems happy enough. Tomorrow it will all be over!’

  ‘You look really lovely tonight, Bri. Really beautiful.’

  She kissed him. ‘You don’t look too bad yourself.’

  He poured her a drink and she sipped it gratefully.

  ‘That Ben ... he’s like you, Bri. I don’t just mean in loo
ks but personality. You had the same naivety when I first met you.’

  ‘When I saved your arse, you mean?’

  Tommy laughed, remembering.

  ‘He is a lovely boy though, Bri.’

  She pushed her hair into place with one hand and nodded. ‘I know. It takes a lot for me to leave him. I feel like picking him up and taking him away. But even as I am now, with all my connections, my so-called friends, I know I couldn’t do it. If push came to shove the courts would take that bastard’s side.’

  Tommy pulled her into his arms.

  ‘You’ll survive, Bri. That’s your greatest talent. You see him, you watch him from a distance. He’ll be all right.’

  Briony looked up into his face and he saw the hurt she felt.

  ‘Sometimes, in the night, I see him. I wonder if he’s ill or feeling frightened, you know? And I’m not there to comfort him. To see he’s all right...’

  ‘Look, whatever you think of Isabel Dumas, she loves the boy. She loves him with all her heart.’

  ‘But she’s not his mother, is she? His real mother. I am.’

  ‘And you’re a good mother, in your own way.’

  Briony pulled away from him and laughed scornfully. ‘Oh, yeah, I was a great mother me. I let them walk off with him. Take him from me and bring him up, a pervert and a frustrated spinster! Because that’s all she is, she’s only married in name, no other way. He couldn’t get it up with a woman, she told me that herself. I must have been stark staring mad!’

  ‘Not mad, Bri, young. Young and foolish. But think about it. Without him, you have all this.’ He swept his arms out to encompass the whole room.

  Briony nodded slowly.

  ‘Yeah, I have everything and nothing. Because without my boy, this is sweet fuck all.’

  Tommy shoved her hard in the chest, sending her drink flying everywhere.

  ‘Oh, save me the self-pity, for Gawd’s sake, Bri. You can’t have him and that’s that! You have a lot more than anyone of our station could even dream of. You could have more children, but you won’t. Don’t you think I might want a baby, a child of me own? No, of course not. You only think of yourself. Sometimes, Bri, you really wind me up, do you know that? I sometimes dream at nights of a son or a daughter, our child. OURS, not fucking Dumas’. Mine and yours! A red-headed little girl I could take out, could love, or a boy with your eyes and my hair, a boy we could bring up together, could give everything to. So don’t try and put your silly poxy self-pity on to me all the time. I’m sorry, right, heart sorry. But don’t you ever put down my achievements like that again. We worked hard to get where we are and if you would rather give it up for that boy, you’re a fool. Because with him, you’d have been scratching in the dirt, his arse would be hanging out of his trousers, your sisters would be in sweat shops working for a living and the bleeding wedding wouldn’t be taking place tomorrow, because you couldn’t buy your sister a bridegroom!’

  Briony stood stock still. Tommy had never spoken like this to her before. It was a shock and a revelation. Suddenly she saw the real loneliness in his face. The sadness in his eyes. He was right, of course, in everything he said. But being right didn’t mean she had to stand there and take it. He had embarrassed her with what he said, stung her to the quick, humiliated her. She felt her face burning and before she could think the words tumbled out of her mouth.

  ‘I’ll never give you a child, Tommy Lane, you or anyone else. So think on that! You crawl all over me, night after night, and I hate it. I hate everything about it. I allow you to use my body, that’s all. I feel nothing for you physically, and you know it. You’ve always known it. But still you want it, still you’re there, night after night, with your stupid pawing and your wet lips. You sicken me! You’re no better than Dumas, no better than the men who come to our houses. Your prick rules your head.

  ‘But, not me, mate, not me! I have a child, and if I can’t have him, I don’t want any! Not by you or anyone else.’

  As soon as the last words were out of her mouth she wanted to retract them. Wanted to tell him that it was sheer temper talking, that she was upset. Instead she stood silently as he recovered from the blow he had received.

  ‘You bitch, you fucking bitch of hell.’

  Taking back his arm he slapped her across the face, sending her flying across the office on to the desk. The inkwell crashed to the floor. In the silence, Briony pulled herself to her feet.

  ‘I’ve tried, Briony, to be a good man to you. I’ve put up with things off you another man would have scalped your arse for, and this is how you repay me, is it? Well, we’re finished, girl, after tonight. I know exactly where I stand now, don’t I? We’ll sort out the pennies and halfpennies another day. For now, I have to get as far away from you as possible.’

  Briony went to him, her eyes beseeching.

  ‘Tommy, Tommy, listen to me ... I didn’t mean it.’

  He held up his hands.

  ‘Don’t touch me, Bri. Not now, not ever again. You’ve finished anything we ever had between us. You always had the gift of the gab, didn’t you? Talked us in and out of every situation. Well, you talked yourself out of me! I sat back today while you talked me out of five grand, lady. I’ve always listened to you, let you have your head, and all the time you had no more feeling for me than a mad dog. Talk about a fucking eye opener, eh! Get out of me way.’

  Briony held on to him, grabbing the sleeve of his jacket.

  ‘Let go of me, Bri, or I’ll knock you out, I mean it.’

  She held on harder, beginning to cry now.

  ‘Please, Tommy! I never meant it, any of it, I was hurt!’

  Putting the flat of his hands on her chest, he pushed her with all his considerable strength. She flew backwards against the wall, the force knocking the breath from her body. She crumpled down on to the floor, her back aching with the blow.

  ‘Good night, love. See you around.’

  She was crying hard now.

  ‘Tommy, I’m begging you ...’

  He looked down at her and laughed.

  ‘I’ve got to hand it to you, Bri, you never did know when to give up, did you? Your big trap will still be moving when they put you in the ground.’

  He walked from the office and Briony sat on the floor and cried bitter lonely tears.

  Tommy walked from the club and out into the evening air. He pushed his hands down into his pockets and walked quickly towards the East End, his motor car left behind.

  He felt the sting of tears and blinked them back. All around him London was quieting for the night, the streets empty and void of life. He had loved her so much, so very very much. She had been like a beacon to him, calling him home to her. She was his other half, his second skin. In her, he’d had a deep abiding friendship and a love he thought could rival any in the world. He had been such a fool, a stubborn fool, not to see what was under his nose all the time! Well, they were finished, finally and irrevocably. He couldn’t think what the upshot was going to be now. He still loved her dearly, despite what had happened this night. All he knew was that this was the end of the road for them. The final parting. He never wanted to look at her lovely face again.

  In his mind’s eye he saw her as she had been all those years ago, with her belly high in pregnancy, her blue velvet suit, her stunning hair. Even then, she had had something special about her. He saw her when they opened their first house, her face serious and exquisite. What was it that made one person more to you than another? What was the magic chemistry that made only one person your life, your love? Why was he plagued by her day and night, year after year, when there were women aplenty in the world? Other women as beautiful, with better bodies and sweeter natures. Why was he cursed with wanting her? Because he still wanted her, even now. After all that had happened, he still wanted her.

  It was this that hurt him more than anything. Where Briony was concerned, he had no pride.

  Well, he decided, he would find the pride. Nothing would induce him to have her back af
ter this night’s work. Not even her tears. From tonight, Briony Cavanagh was on her own.

  And a little voice at the back of his mind said: So are you, Tommy Lane, and you’ll be the lonelier in the end.

  He stood on London Bridge later that night, and watched the traffic on the water, the boats’ hooters sounding ghostly in the light of the dawn.

  It was then, cold and tired, that Tommy decided just what he had to do.

  Briony could hear the preparations for the wedding from her bedroom. She was sorry now she had decided to have the reception at her house. It meant she had to be nice to everyone, talk and chat and be the good hostess, when all she wanted to do was tell them all to bugger off out of it. Go away and come back another day.

  It was overcast, and Briony hoped the heavens opened so the reception would be cut short. She looked in the mirror and groaned. Her eyes were swollen and red. Her face grey-tinged.

  She knew that she had blown it with Tommy, that what she had said would always be between them. It was her wicked vicious tongue that had taken her over. It was not even the truth. Just words spoken in temper, a temper brought on by hearing the truth. She felt the useless tears again and swallowed them down. She had no time for tears now. But, oh, she was hurting inside, she was in an agony of pain.

  The door was opened and Mrs Horlock bustled into the room. Briony looked at her with new eyes, saw the aged look of her face, the way the skin had sagged, the heavy jowls and ruddy complexion, and suddenly it occurred to her that years were passing with a sameness that was startling.

  ‘Come on, girl, get yourself up and eat this toast! I’ll cook you a proper breakfast later when the main work’s done. The bloody help is no good at all, a couple of nervous children! By Christ, you get what you pay for these days all right. Still, they’ll have to do and they’re showing willing so I mustn’t be too hard on them.’

  She dumped the tray of tea and toast on a small table beside Briony’s bed.

  ‘Your mother’s arrived, by the way, sticking her great galloping oar in where it ain’t wanted!’