‘Yeah, yeah! Especially if they’ve got big tits, no doubt,’ Vicki replied to hearty chuckling.
‘Hey, Ian, I think you’re in luck,’ Rhys interrupted with a glint in his eye.
‘Why’s that then?’
‘’Cos Harrods is closed on Sundays!’
Vicki and Karen just stared at each other, shaking their heads, as Rhys and Ian laughed.
‘Talking of Harrods, a funny thing happened there the other day,’ Vicki declared, her expression serious. She was on the point of developing her statement when the waitress returned, somehow balancing all four of their meals in her hands and on her arms. The smells were enticing and portions immense. They were so famished they could not wait to get stuck in. Skilfully, the waitress set the plates down in their correct positions and brought over some ketchup, vinegar and mustard from a nearby table.
‘This looks fantastic. Look at the size of your plaice, Ian, it’s overhanging your plate both sides,’ Karen commented, briefly forgetting Vicki. No one disagreed as they contemplated their meals, Ian shaking some vinegar over his chips before passing the bottle to Rhys.
‘Sorry, Vick, you were saying,’ Rhys resumed, cutting a wing off his chicken.
Vicki swallowed a slice of gammon before carrying on. ‘Yeah, a work colleague of mine, Brenda, was having something to eat with a girlfriend of hers in one of the food halls when this bloke came up and joined them.’
‘What’s wrong with that?’ Ian wondered, plunging his fork into some chips. ‘Are they a couple of lookers then?’
Karen admonished him with an unhappy expression. ‘Ian! Don’t be so crass.’
Ian placed the chips in his mouth, not knowing what crass meant but realising it was probably not very complimentary.
‘Well, he made out he owned a clothing factory near Manchester,’ Vicki resumed, ‘and that he had met Brenda at a trade show, though she couldn’t remember him. He had all the chat and that and got onto the subject of me. Somehow, he knew I was working with her and, because of my relationship with Tommy, was just gossiping about what I was up to and stuff like that.’
‘I remember you telling me this,’ Rhys interrupted without concern, slicing off a piece of chicken breast.
‘After a bit, Brenda got suspicious ’cos he seemed to go on about me a lot and she admitted she might have opened up a bit too much about, you know, me living with Rhys again and what I thought about Tommy. She was angry with herself afterwards, particularly as this bloke had a southern accent and didn’t seem to have the slightest clue about the industry. She thought she should have seen through him earlier. He was just a shitty journalist digging for a story. I don’t blame Brenda, it’s easy to be taken in by scumbags.’
‘You don’t think he was working for Tommy then, do you? You know, dredging up stuff to help him should you go after his money in the divorce,’ Karen opined, looking worried.
‘But I don’t want his money, and he knows it! He can keep it for all I care. But I can’t help feeling he’s up to something. It wouldn’t surprise me in the slightest if that journalist was working for him, you know. He’s got so many of them dangling on strings, dancing to his tune, you’d never believe it. He’s like a puppeteer.’
‘So the divorce is dragging?’ Ian asked, spearing a piece of fish with his fork.
Vicki threw her head back in despair. ‘You can say that again. He’s always coming up with some excuse or other. He just won’t accept reality and get on with it. I’m sure he thinks I’m going to go back to him.’
‘You just need to stay calm, Vicki. I know you’re impatient but next summer will be two years since you left him and he won’t be able to stop it then.’ Rhys followed up his reassuring words with a touch of her leg and a more relaxed Vicki smiled back at him.
‘He’s such a pig is Tommy. I always told you he was a shyster, Vick,’ Karen threw in. Vicki looked at her sternly but said nothing. That had not always been Karen’s opinion.
‘He’s losing it as a player as well,’ Ian broke in. He finished chewing some peas before adding, ‘He’s not even in the West Ham team now and is on the transfer list.’
‘Perhaps the New York Cosmos might come in for him with a bit of luck,’ Karen cut in. ‘That’ll keep him out of your hair for a while, Vicki, if he goes over there.’
They all chuckled but Vicki still had her worries. ‘It’s not just this Harrods business that’s odd. I’m sure I’m being followed as well.’
Rhys sighed with strained patience, but discreetly, so that no one would know, for he had heard Vicki mention this a few times before and thought she was being paranoid as she had never been able to come up with any sighting or evidence. For the benefit of his friends, he repeated what he had said to her on those other occasions. ‘Try not to let it bother you, Vicki. It’s probably nothing, but if you do come up with something, let me know and we’ll go to the police.’ Vicki and the others nodded. It was all they could do in the circumstances but agree with him.
Placing her knife and fork down onto an empty plate, Vicki suddenly blurted out, ‘Anyway, enough of Tommy Slater. We’re here to have a good time, after all.’
‘Well said, Vick,’ Karen replied, eating the last of her chips.
‘You enjoyed that, Kar?’ Rhys asked politely.
‘Yeah, delicious. Better than tasting blood all the time.’ They laughed. It had not taken long for Karen to remove the safety pin from her bottom lip.
‘You didn’t fancy sticking it somewhere else then?’ Rhys continued in all innocence.
Simultaneously, Karen and Ian blushed as bright red as the waitress’s shirt and lowered their eyes. Instinctively, Rhys and Vicki looked at each other, mouths agape, their minds working overtime, surmising where she might have pinned it. Correctly, as it turned out, they concluded that it was now more than likely attached to one of Karen’s lips that was strictly not for public view.
‘I really enjoyed that,’ Vicki pronounced with a happy face as she buttoned up her coat in the foyer of St Martin’s Theatre. Rhys and Ian were doing likewise though all Karen did was rearrange the scarf around her neck. She had yet to take off her leather jacket all evening. It had been cloyingly warm inside the theatre and she had been tempted to do so but she did not feel that revealing her T-shirt, with the slogan Never Mind The Bollocks, Here’s The Sex Pistols written large on its front was quite appropriate for such an occasion. Rhys had purchased plumb seats only five rows back from the stage in the stalls, so close to the characters in fact that Karen feared that even Detective Sergeant Trotter might throw her disapproving looks.
‘Yeah, same here,’ Karen agreed. ‘The set was gorgeous. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to live in a place as beautiful and olde-worlde as Monkswell Manor?’ she carried on, sounding like the ultra-conservative Margo Leadbetter in The Good Life.
Her friends all looked at Karen incredulously. They were certain that her punk idols, Rat Scabies, Siouxie Sioux and Ari Up would not have come out with such a comment, and this from someone who loved bands with names such as The Nipple Erectors and The Vibrators. They all began to laugh.
‘What’s so funny?’ was all a bemused Karen could say.
‘Never mind, Karen, never mind,’ Ian replied, patting her gently on the shoulder.
Yes, Karen certainly had the look but not yet the attitude of a punk rocker.
‘Now, remember what they said. We mustn’t reveal the ending to anyone, alright!’ Rhys reminded everyone.
‘Not much chance of Ian doing that,’ Karen replied, looking at her boyfriend. ‘You slept right through the last act. I had to nudge you a couple of times when you started to snore.’
‘Gerroff. You’re having me on.’
‘You were getting a bit loud, Ian,’ Vicki cut in to his embarrassment.
‘Well, it has been a long day,’ he replied unconvincingly.
Exiting the theatre, they were met by a rush of sharp, freezing wind that made them dip their faces behind their coat collars and s
carves.
‘Jesus, it’s cold,’ Rhys blurted out as Vicki hooked her arm around his so tightly he nearly toppled over. Karen’s cheeks turned almost as blue as her lips as she linked arms with Ian. ‘We’ll walk you to The Savoy,’ Rhys followed up. ‘It’s not far.’
‘You’re so lucky, you two, staying there. I’m so envious,’ Vicki commented as they proceeded down Garrick Street in the direction of the Strand where the hotel was positioned on the banks of the Thames. Ian and Karen looked at each other excitedly and grinned, saying nothing.
‘How long’s The Mousetrap been going?’ Ian threw into the conversation as they picked their way through other theatre-goers who had just exited their shows. He answered his own question with another question. ‘Twenty-six years, isn’t it?’
‘Yeah, that’s right,’ Vicki replied. ‘Just amazing.’
‘Can’t believe how, if I’m honest, because I thought it was a bit slow and complicated at the end.’
‘How would you know? You were sleeping!’ Karen interjected and Vicki and Rhys laughed.
‘Yeah, well,’ Ian blustered. He went quiet for a moment as they continued down Bedford Street. Arriving on the Strand, he piped up confidently, ‘I’ll tell you one thing, though, there’s no way it’ll last another twenty-six years, that’s for sure!’
Crossing over the road, they turned left and proceeded up the Strand until, turning right, they arrived at the shimmering, art deco, silver Savoy sign, with the gold statue of Count Peter of Savoy standing imperiously on top. They ambled underneath right up to the dark-wooded entrance doors and stood outside. Vicki noticed a few black cabs in line with yellow lights on, showing they were available, and thought she would suggest one to Rhys when they left their friends. She was so cold, the prospect of traipsing home on the draughty tube and train was deflating.
‘Well, Rhys, Vicki, we’ll grab a taxi and be on our way. It’s been a great evening.’
Vicki was perplexed, wondering whether she had heard Ian correctly. She also wondered why everyone was smiling and staring at her. Karen, in particular, could barely contain herself and her face radiated happiness.
‘Sorry, have I missed something?’
No one answered.
‘Here are the keys to the flat, Ian,’ Rhys broke in, handing him a leather pouch. ‘You know where everything is, don’t you? Just make yourselves at home.’
‘Ah, excuse me, but can someone explain what’s going on? I thought you were staying here tonight?’ Vicki interrupted, looking at Karen.
Karen shrugged her shoulders. ‘I’d let Rhys explain.’
Vicki stared up at her boyfriend with the curiosity of a kitten.
‘Well, it’s a bit of a surprise, I know, but we’re the ones staying here tonight, not Karen and Ian. I’ve been planning it for ages.’
Vicki raised her hand to her mouth, turning her stare away from Rhys momentarily and directing it towards Karen. ‘Is this true? Are you in on this?’
‘Yeah, we’ve known all along,’ Karen replied, clasping her friend to her. ‘You’ll love it.’
Letting go of Karen, Vicki turned back to Rhys. It finally dawned on her what a fantastic surprise it was and, looking through the entrance doors, marvelled at the opulence inside which she would soon be enjoying. ‘Rhys, I can’t believe it!’ she shrieked, grabbing hold of him and hugging him so hard he thought she would break his back. Her face was brighter than a full moon on the darkest of nights. ‘You sods! All of you!’ Everyone laughed, patting her on the back and shoulder. ‘But I haven’t got any of my clothes or stuff with me!’ Vicki blurted out, her practical side taking over.
‘Suits you, doesn’t it, Rhys?’ Ian joked, earning a punch on the arm from Vicki.
‘You know what I mean, for tomorrow.’
‘Don’t worry, it’s all sorted. I packed a few things you might need and checked in earlier before we met up. They’re in the room,’ Rhys answered. ‘Karen and Ian dropped their bags off at the flat this morning when you were out.’
‘Slipped in some Ann Summers, I hope, Rhys?’ Ian joked once more, earning thumps not only from Vicki this time but also from Karen.
‘God, I can’t believe this!’ Vicki exclaimed with a shake of her head. I was so jealous of you, too, you lying cow!’ she added, addressing Karen.
‘Well, we’d better make a move before we freeze to death,’ Ian interrupted, standing next to a taxi and banging his gloved hands hard together. ‘I wish I’d worn my Starskey cardigan now, it’s so cold.’ The dense plumes of condensation streaming from his mouth mixed with those of his friends and created a milky-white mist around them as if they were standing on a film set swirling with dry ice.
Rhys thrust a five pound note into Ian’s hand to pay for the cab, despite his protest, before Ian jumped through its open door inside where Karen, having said her goodbyes to Vicki and Rhys a moment earlier, was already seated.
‘Just leave the keys and pull the door behind you tomorrow. Have a good day and we’ll speak soon,’ Rhys shouted as the cab pulled away, the four of them all waving and mouthing their farewells.
With the taxi gone, Vicki flung her arms around Rhys’s neck and kissed him repeatedly on the lips. ‘You’re unreal. I love you so much,’ Vicki told him, her eyes raining mischief. ‘Come on, let’s go inside. I want to warm you up.’
‘Oh my God, look at this. I can’t believe it.’ Vicki was awe-struck as she entered their eye-popper of a room, stopping a moment to survey the surrounds, Rhys a step behind her. It was not the most expensive room in the hotel, but it was not the cheapest, either. Rhys did not reply and appeared a little nervous, to Vicki’s eye, but then again it was not a setting he was used to, she thought, nor her, truth be told. The colours of the carpet, armchair, sofa, bed cover and curtains all blended beautifully, a mix of beige, amber, cream and gold and the Edwardian yew desk and chair, so finely polished that Rhys was afraid to touch them, co-ordinated perfectly with the furnishings, as did the golden chandelier and wall lights that emitted a soft yellow glow. Also perfect was the temperature of the room, the heat rising from the boxed radiators a relieving contrast to the bitter cold outside.
Vicki strode over to the window at the far end of the bedroom, pulled back the net curtains and gazed outside at the River Thames, the water chopping black and silver in its flow. On the opposite bank of the river, Vicki viewed a checkerboard pattern of lit and unlit windows on the Royal Festival Hall while, to her left, numerous twin specks of lights eased their way in both directions across Waterloo Bridge.
‘As long as I gaze on Waterloo sunset, I am in paradise …’
Vicki may not have been gazing on a Waterloo sunset but she certainly thought she was in paradise as she sang quietly to herself, paying homage to the city she adored.
Rhys approached where she was standing, nestling her in his arms from behind and resting his hands on her belly. She stroked them with the lightest of touches. He seemed a little tense.
‘What a fabulous view, Rhys. This is a great city; I love it here, almost as much as I love you,’ and with that she gripped one of his hands and raised it to her mouth to plant a kiss. He reciprocated, kissing the top of her head, moving his free hand to his side.
‘I’m so glad you said that because I love you, too, Vicki, with all my heart.’ He kissed the top of her head once more. Still looking out of the window, Vicki squeezed his hand in recognition. Rhys saw her smile in the reflection of the glass.
Almost immediately, Rhys took a step backwards and, taking a deep breath, gently eased Vicki round to face him. They kissed passionately. Vicki still sensed his tension but thought nothing of it.
She was not mistaken, however, for Rhys was a bag of nerves. A few seconds later, his free hand having slipped unnoticed into his pocket, he pulled out a tiny Kingfisher-blue box and raised it in front of him. Vicki saw it and placed her hand over her mouth to stifle a gasp and when Rhys opened it to reveal a white gold sapphire ring set in a cluster of diamonds,
she almost buckled at the knees. Her wide eyes of wonderment misted over and she began crying the happiest tears of her life even before Rhys had the opportunity to say the words she had so wanted him to say.
‘Vicki, will you marry me?’
May 1979
CHAPTER 21
Rhys entered the Supreme the first Friday of May in the middle of the morning wearing his new dark grey pinstripe suit. He never wore a suit to work but he had just arrived from the bank where he had been to see Mr Partridge. On leaving, he had removed his tie straight away for it was strangling him. It was not so much the tie, if truth be told, as the top button of his shirt and he grumbled at the inescapable fact that he had put on weight recently. The fact that his suit trousers were three sizes larger than those of his C&A suit was confirmation enough. Relieved to have undone the top button, he unfastened two more and stretched the collar out wide across the lapels. He liked to wear his shirt in this style under a jacket, much like John Travolta had done in Saturday Night Fever, though, if he did not stop eating, this would be the only way he would ever come to resemble the snake-hipped actor, he thought with a chuckle. Rhys liked wearing his new suit and contemplated buying another though he drew the line at the pristine white one worn by Tony Manero in the film.
Other than his weight, Rhys had nothing much else to grumble about. His life could not have been better. The meeting with the bank manager had gone exceptionally well, with Mr Partridge agreeing to finance the purchase of the café in Wandsworth High Street that Rhys had had his eye on for some time and which had come onto the market. He wanted to ensure that everything was in order at the Supreme first before calling the agent to put in a formal offer and, on observing Debbie and Maureen flitting efficiently between the tables which were nearly fully occupied, Rhys rested easy in the knowledge that the customers were in good hands. He surveyed the premises briefly and was content at the standard of cleanliness and décor. He moved into the kitchen after exchanging pleasantries with the two waitresses and several customers.
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