Goodnight Lady

by Martina Cole

  ‘I’m all right, Cissy, but I have a lot to think about these days. There’s been trouble with Kerry. I don’t think she’s exactly going to love me for a while. I had to do something that won’t make me the most popular sister in the smoke.’

  ‘What happened then?’

  Briony shook her head. ‘I can’t say, Cissy love. I think that’s something best left between me and Kerry.’ And me mother, she thought, because Molly was adamant that Kerry was never to darken her doors again.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Briony had dressed carefully for her meeting with Mariah, the two women were going to look at Berwick Manor and decide if it was a viable business. Briony already knew the answer would be yes, because Mariah was shrewd. All they would do today was put Briony’s stamp of approval on it and make an offer.

  She put on a deep cerise suit, the skirt full, the waistband tight. As she walked it clung to her silk stockings. The jacket was long and shapeless, cut with a square neck, and she pinned a lizard-shaped diamond and ruby brooch on to the shoulder, giving the whole outfit a touch of class. She pulled her erratic hair up into a tight chignon, pinning it carefully, though tendrils of hair escaped, framing her face with their curls. Sighing, she gave up hope of getting it smooth and put on her make-up. Finally she buttoned up her shoes and looked at herself in the full-length mirror by her dressing table. She would have to do.

  It was as she was sorting through her large black handbag that she heard the commotion in her hallway. Kerry’s voice, loud and strident, and Bernadette’s more modulated tones. With a grim face she left her bedroom and walked to the top of the staircase.

  ‘So you’re here then? I was expecting you sooner.’

  Kerry stared malevolently up at her sister.

  ‘You bitch! You bloody cow! You think you’re so clever, don’t you?’

  Briony walked down the stairs. Cissy and Mrs Horlock watched with interest, Bernadette with fear.

  ‘I tried to stop her coming here, Bri, she’s out of her mind. Don’t take any notice of her...’

  Kerry looked dreadful. Her clothes were mud-stained, the hem of her brocade coat looked as if it had been dragged through the dirt. Her legs were filthy, her white stockings black and laddered, her hair uncombed and tangled. She turned wild eyes on Bernie and shouted: ‘Oh, don’t try and smooth this over. This can’t be forgotten, swept under the carpet like the old man’s death! This is my business, mine! So why don’t you piss off out of it? Keep your nose out where it ain’t wanted!’

  Briony walked down the stairs. She looked at Cissy and Mrs Horlock and said calmly, ‘Make some tea.’

  The two women left the hallway through the green baize door, but Briony knew they would stand behind it listening. There was no way they would want to miss all this. Kerry tensed as Briony walked over to her, but Briony passed by and opened the door to the lounge.

  ‘Come in here and do your talking. And I mean talking, not shouting. I’ve got a headache actually, and your voice is going right through my head.’

  Kerry stood uncertainly. She had expected a lot, but not this. The calmness of Briony threw her, as Briony had known it would. Kerry watched Briony disappear and had no option but to follow, with Bernadette hot on her heels.

  Briony was standing by the fireplace, her immaculate clothes and hair making Kerry more annoyed with each passing second.

  ‘Look at you! I suppose you’ve got a red hat and all? What’s the saying, Bri? Red hat, no drawers? That certainly sounds like you, don’t it?

  ‘Tell me, who beat up Evander? You? I wouldn’t put it past you. You’re like a man, do you know that? You think like a man, you act like a man, no wonder Tommy Lane dumped you. It must have been like living with a queer. Two men together, only one wore a dress.’

  The barb about Tommy struck home as Kerry knew it would. As she’d wanted it to. She wanted Briony to hurt, as she was hurting.

  ‘You’re quiet all of a sudden, normally your mouth’s going like the clappers. What’s the matter? Truth hurts, does it?’

  Bernadette tried to take Kerry’s arm but she shrugged her off.

  ‘Leave me alone, you!’

  ‘Sit down, Kerry. Sit down, for Christ’s sake.’

  Briony’s voice, so calm, so clear, jolted something in Kerry’s mind.

  ‘Don’t you tell me what to do, you vicious bitch! You’ve ruined my life. Me and Evander was going away. I had a job lined up in Paris, I was going to tell you to stick your club right up your arse. We would have been all right there, me and him. But no, you had to have him removed, taken away, like so much rubbish. Well, let me tell you something else, Briony Cavanagh, I’m pregnant!’ She laughed at the look of shock on her sisters’ faces.

  ‘Yes, thought that might give you a start. I’m in the club, up the duff, by a blackie. And shall I tell you something? I’m proud of it. I hope it’s as black as night! I hope it’s so black it shines! So what are you going to do about that, Bri, eh? How are you going to sort this out? You know, all your threats and all your money and all your trapping can do nothing at all because I want it. I really, really want it. Especially now you’ve driven my Evander away. It’s all I’ll have left of him, ain’t it? All that remains.’

  Briony heard a loud sighing noise, and it was a few seconds before she realised it was coming from herself. It was as if Kerry had stuck a pin in her chest and she was deflating slowly.

  Kerry laughed at her sister’s reaction.

  ‘That’s pissed all over your fireworks, hasn’t it?’ She rubbed her belly gently. ‘Never banked on that one, did you?’

  Briony pulled herself up to her full height and, walking across the room, slapped Kerry hard across the face. Then she grabbed her arm roughly and shouted: ‘You stupid little bitch! You stupid little cow! You think this is funny, clever, do you? You think you’ve got one over on us? What are you, on a death wish or what?’

  She threw her on to the chair by the fire, then leaning over her, screamed, ‘You’ve ruined your life, you silly mare, if you could only see it! Pregnant? I could cheerfully throttle you!’

  She began to slap Kerry around the head and shoulders, holding back the urge to punch her, rip at her hair, tear her skin with her nails.

  ‘My God, girl, you’ve really done it this time. You’re right, I can’t help you. No one can help you now. You wonder why I stick my nose in your business? I’ll tell you why. Because if it was left to you lot, you’d fucking crumble. You’re all as thick as shit! You especially. You’ve got a talent, a voice, you had something going for you, and now that’s nothing, that’s all finished, because the day you give birth, you’re a second-class citizen.

  ‘I liked Evander, believe it or not, I liked him a lot. But liking him ain’t enough. With him you would have been ostracised, shut out, people would have looked at you like you was dirt! Now you’ve got all that coming anyway, and for the rest of your life. And you have the cheek to come here and tell me what I’ve done wrong. It was a pity you didn’t think of that when you was counting the cracks on the ceiling, on your back for Evander bloody Dorsey!’

  Kerry looked fearfully into Briony’s face. All the dark thoughts that plagued her in the night were being spoken out loud. The truth, as she had pointed out only minutes before, did hurt. It hurt a lot.

  Briony paced the room, her hands shaking in temper. Bernadette lit her a cigarette and passed it to her.

  Briony pulled hard on the cigarette. By now Kerry’s white face and dishevelled appearance were making her feel sorry for her sister, despite herself. She wanted to take her in her arms and tell her everything was going to be all right. But how could she? Nothing was ever going to be all right for Kerry Cavanagh again.

  ‘Are you sure you’re pregnant? I mean, are you really certain?’

  Kerry sat hunched in the chair. She looked very small and forlorn, her face stained with tears and dirt. She nodded her head.

  ‘How long gone are you? I mean, is there still time to do s
omething about it?’

  ‘I don’t know, I’m over three months.’

  Briony closed her eyes and stubbed out the cigarette, immediately lighting up another.

  Sitting down on the chesterfield, she looked at her sister, now bowed down not just with the pain of losing the man she loved, but with the knowledge she also carried his child. A child that would be spurned because of its colour. In her heart of hearts, Briony felt a glimmer of compassion for the poor unborn child, nestled so cosily in its mother’s womb. But she had to try to save the situation.

  ‘I’ll arrange for you to see Denice O’Toole, all my girls use her. She’s clean and she knows what she’s doing.’

  Kerry looked up at her sister. Her face crumpled then, tears gushing from her eyes, a terrible low keening sound issuing from her open mouth. Briony went to her and pulled her into her arms, hugging her close, stroking the dark head, and murmuring words of endearment.

  Later on that afternoon, when Briony had left Kerry in Mrs Horlock’s capable hands, she and Mariah walked round Berwick Manor with Mr Jackson, the solicitor instructed to sell the property. He was a tall thin man with iron grey hair and a small moustache, perfectly waxed. He blew his nose often, to the amusement of Mariah who rolled her eyes at Briony, making her smile.

  They toured through the rooms, taking in their size, the high ceilings and old fireplaces. There were four large reception rooms with huge windows which looked over the Essex countryside. There were two large kitchens, with pantries and what would once have been the butler’s and the cook’s sitting rooms. There was a huge cold store, with marble slabs to keep butter and milk cool in the summertime.

  A large sweeping staircase led up to a galleried landing. Off this were eight bedrooms, and above these a rabbit warren of servants’ rooms. More stairs, steeper and narrower now, led up to the attics.

  Briony saw the dilapidated state of the property, but she could also see its potential. From the upstairs bedrooms the whole of Essex seemed to have been laid out before them. The Berwick Pond Road was quiet, unsurfaced, and would ensure they kept their privacy. The outbuildings were still in a decent state. Even the stables were still usable. It was only the inside that had been allowed to deteriorate. The soldiers who had convalesced there after the war had used and abused the rooms terribly. Wood panelling was wrenched off the wall, the carpets were worn, and the curtains, once beautiful Austrian silk, were in tatters. Mr Jackson, to give him his due, pointed out the finer points as best he could. But even his powers of persuasion flagged as he surveyed the interior.

  ‘Of course, ladies, the outside is still very much as it was before the war. A very picturesque property, don’t you agree?’

  Briony walked over to the inglenook fireplace and stared at the remains of a fire. It seemed the paintings and the furniture had eventually ended up as kindling.

  ‘It needs a lot of work to bring it back up to scratch, Mr Jackson. It’s Tudor, isn’t it? Do the cottages at the beginning of the lane form part of the property, and if so are they occupied?’

  Mr Jackson was in a terrible quandary. The big blonde woman was intimidating enough, but this little redhead was worse. He wasn’t sure which question to answer first when Briony began talking again.

  ‘Also, the stables will have to be turned into garages. Neither myself nor my colleague ride. So that will be an added expense if we do decide to purchase. Also the kitchens need refitting and I notice that electricity hasn’t been installed. Another expense. How long has the house been up for sale? Since 1919? So it’s been empty for six, nearly seven, years. I should imagine the damp’s got in by now.’

  Mr Jackson leapt to the house’s defence. ‘The roof is in perfect condition, madam, I can assure you of that.’

  Briony wiped her fingers daintily on her handkerchief and said sweetly, ‘I’m glad to hear something is.’

  Mariah grinned.

  ‘If you would be so kind as to leave my friend and myself alone for a few minutes, Mr Jackson ...’ With a last trumpeting blow of his nose, he left the room.

  ‘I shall wait outside by my vehicle until such time as you have concluded your business.’

  When he had gone, Mariah said, ‘Well, conclude, Briony, conclude!’

  ‘Is he all the ticket, Mariah?’

  ‘I don’t know about that, Bri, but if he blows his nose once more I’ll scream!’

  Briony grinned. ‘It is a bit disgusting.’

  Mariah looked around the large drawing room and said, ‘So? What do you think?’

  Briony looked at her friend and smiled.

  ‘I think it’s perfect. We can do a lot with it. I thought upstairs we could really go to town, you know? There’s so much scope for the bedrooms, and even the servants’ rooms could be made up to accommodate customers. It’s exactly what we want.’

  Mariah relaxed. ‘I knew you’d like it. It’s like a shithouse at the moment, I know, but that’s to our benefit. It’ll get the price right down, but think how it could look, eh?’

  ‘I think I’d like this room in dove grey and deep burgundy, it would look stunning. We’d easily accommodate thirty or forty men here at any given time. If the cottages aren’t part and parcel of the deal, we’ll buy them somehow. They’re too close for comfort. The people who come here want guaranteed privacy and we’ll make sure they get it.’

  Mariah laughed in delight.

  ‘So shall we put in the offer today or let Mr Jackson and his client sweat it out?’

  Briony shrugged.

  ‘We’ll put in an offer. Now let’s get going, I’m dying for a cup of tea.’

  They left the house, happy now they were both in accord. Mr Jackson watched them emerge and sighed. They were not ladies, not by any standards. What was the world coming to?

  Kevin Carter was at home having his dinner. He had three young daughters, all with dark hair and brown eyes. His wife Annie was a small girl with black hair and a small, pretty face. She opened the door to Briony and smiled widely.

  ‘Hello, Miss Cavanagh. Kevin’s just having his dinner. Come through, I was making a cup of tea anyway.’

  Briony walked into the house and down the tiny hallway into the dining room. Kevin saw who the visitor was and stood up. ‘Sit yourself down and finish your meal, I’m ready for a cup of tea anyway.’

  She sat on a large overstuffed chair by the doorway. Three identical little faces looked up at her hopefully. Carmel, the eldest, said shyly: ‘Have you got something nice for me?’

  Briony laughed, and opening her bag took out three mint creams in bright green paper.

  ‘You shouldn’t ask, Carmel!’ Kevin’s voice was loud.

  Briony flapped a hand at him and said airily, ‘Leave her be, Kevin. If you don’t ask, you don’t get!’

  Ten minutes later she sat in her car, with Kevin driving her to the house in Barking.

  ‘By the way, Kevin, I want you to go and pick up a bloke for me today. Marcus Dowling. He’s interested in becoming one of the team.’

  Kevin whistled softly.

  ‘He’s getting a name for himself, is Marcus.’

  Briony cut him off. ‘When I want your opinion, I’ll ask for it.’ Her voice dripped ice and a shocked Kevin turned slightly to look over his shoulder.

  ‘Drive the car, Kevin, that’s what you’re paid for. And one last thing. If I tell you to frighten someone, that’s what you do, get it? If I want him cut, I’ll tell you. Evander Dorsey was bleeding. I never asked you to do anything but scare him. You ever take something like that on yourself again, and you’ll feel the full force of my anger. Do I make myself clear?’

  Kevin nodded almost imperceptibly.

  ‘Yes, Miss Cavanagh.’

  ‘Good, now we know exactly where we stand, don’t we?’

  Kevin didn’t answer, but Briony had not expected him to.

  Briony could hear the new band through the walls of her office. The Velvetones were good, but they weren’t Kerry. Bessie Knight, the singer, had
a good voice, but it was Kerry people came to see. She sipped at a glass of brandy and lit herself a cigarette, dispensing with the holder while she was alone. She heard a small tap on her office door and bellowed: ‘Come in.’

  Jonathan la Billière walked into the office with a wide beaming smile on his face.

  ‘Someone upset you, Briony?’ His thick eyebrows rose quizzically and she smiled.

  ‘I’m feeling a bit fragile to say the least.’

  Jonathan sat on a chair and, crossing his legs, said jocularly, ‘Drinking alone? Shouting? All the symptoms of an old maid, my dear. Be careful, you have been warned!’

  Briony laughed gently.

  ‘What can I do for you?’

  ‘I want to ask a favour actually. We’re filming again in two weeks. Now I have a little girl in mind to star with me, but Rupert’s not too happy about her. He has another one lined up and quite frankly, Briony, I couldn’t fancy her baked, fried or boiled! In fact, I want to concentrate more on a real acting career, you know. I’ve been asking around and I think I may be in line for a part. But it’s Rupert ...’

  His voice trailed off and Briony nodded at him, and smiled.

  ‘He’s mad about you, Jonathan, you knew that at the start. What you’re saying is, now you have someone else who can help you, you want me to give Rupert the bad news. Am I right?’

  He had the grace to look a little ashamed.

  ‘Well, I wouldn’t put it quite like that ...’

  ‘Of course you wouldn’t. But I would, because I always say what I mean.’

  Jonathan squirmed in his chair.

  ‘Look, Briony, the deal was a couple of art pictures then he’d consider me for something serious. And that isn’t happening. Now you hold all the cards in your hand, he’ll listen to you. In fact, you’re the only person he will listen to, period. I deserve a break ... just one break. I can act, I’m good. And I look good on film. I don’t want to spend my life at Rupert’s beck and call.’