'I see. Well, I'd better leave you to it.' He started to back out of the room, his eyes still riveted on her naked shoulders, when he saw her fumbling at the back of the dress. 'Are you having difficulties?'
She swallowed. 'Something seems to be stuck,' she blurted out, a little hysterically at having been caught in such a situation by him, of all people. 'I can't get the blasted thing on or off.'
The suspicion of a grin crossed his lips. 'May I help you?' he asked gallantly.
'Do you want to?' she said before she could stop herself.
'Touche,' Jessop laughed, and moved forwards to her aid. 'Do you want to be in, or out of the thing?' he asked gravely, Might just as well go the full hog, she thought.
'In, please.'
He began gently to tug at the zipper and, having turned about, Connie watched his face in the mirror. It was set in concentration, and the pink tip of his tongue protruded as he worked at the fastener. It was the first time that Connie had been able to study him close up.
Now she noticed the way his thick, dark hair curled on his forehead, which was wide with a couple of furrows running across it. He had a square-shaped face, a strong, pronounced jaw with a cleft at his chin – like Kirk Douglas, thought Connie. His lips were thin but nicely shaped, matching a long, slender nose. Although his skin was tanned (a vision of week-ends on a yacht raced through her mind), his cheeks had a bluish tint, as if Jessop had to shave at least twice a day to keep a growth of stubble at bay. He smelt of cologne slightly and as Connie sniffed, trying to distinguish which expensive brand he used, Jessop raised his eyes a fraction. Connie looked at them in the mirror and thought to herself, 'I'd never noticed what attractive grey-green eyes he has, like the colour of the sea.' They seemed even lighter now as the blue of her dress was reflected in them, and when he blinked and lowered his eyes again quickly to his task, her attention was drawn to the thick, black lashes surrounding them.
'Be with you in a tick,' he said gruffly, as if aware of her scrutiny.
She stood patiently, then drew in a sharp intake of breath as the tips of his fingers brushed against her skin, making her flesh tingle, and she wondered if he had done it purposely, but decided not when, a second later, he stepped back and his face was expressionless.
'Done,' he said. .
Slowly, Connie turned about to face him.
'Thank you, Mr Jessop.'
'My pleasure,' he returned, and studied her as she stood motionless. 'Since Miss Delaney's not here, if I may I will express an opinion for her, it's a most delightful dress and you look very fetching.' She almost bobbed a curtsey but changed it to a nod.
'Going anywhere special after all the trouble you've taken?' he asked pleasantly.
'Nowhere in particular,' she replied, her nervousness of him ebbing but still feeling shy.
'Well, wherever you're off to, I hope you enjoy yourself.' He turned to go.
Just then, they heard Sheila's voice. She was talking to Mrs Jacks. Jessop and Connie exchanged glances.
'She's back,' he said, somewhat unnecessarily. 'You can show her your dress now.'
'I don't think I will,' Connie said quickly. 'It doesn't matter now.'
Sheila raised an eyebrow as Samuel Jessop walked out from her secretary's room and nodded to her as he crossed the floor to his own office, but she didn't say anything.
While Connie was getting ready that evening for her jaunt, there was a knock at the door. When she opened it, Mrs Withers stood on the threshold. As always, her skinny arms were crossed over her bosom protectively.
'A Miss Delaney just telephoned, Missy,' Mrs Withers informed her, eyeing the girl coldly. 'The message was for you to enjoy yourself tonight, and to wish you good luck.' She sniffed disapprovingly. implying that she didn't like to be used as a messenger. 'Got yourself a fancy man, have you? You didn't waste no time.'
Connie went and sat down again at her dressing table.
'Thank you for delivering the message, Mrs Withers,' she said, in a voice of dismissal.
'Hoity toity!' The landlady wrinkled her nose. 'Don't think you can bring him back here, my girl, that's all ... '
'I haven't forgotten.'
' ... 'Cos you know I won't stand for no hanky panky going on in these rooms. I told her too, that cheap hussy next door, that Tilly Liner.'
Connie controlled herself and said nothing. Mrs Withers' mouth twitched and her eyes followed Connie as she stood up in bra and panties and walked over to the bed on which the new dress lay.
'So you're off now, are you?'
'What does it look like!'
'Whoever be is, he'll wait for you outside, my girl.'
Connie merely shrugged and continued dressing.
'By the way,' the landlady went on casually, 'did your' dentist call you?'
The start of a puzzled look was changed quickly to a nod.
'He did,' Connie answered cheerfully, 'and my teeth are in perfect condition now, thank you.'
Mrs Withers looked annoyed, but since she couldn't think of anything else to complain about, she left.
Connie glanced at the clock. It was only seven-thirty, still half an hour to go, so she sat on the edge of the bed and lit a cigarette. Since leaving the Home, she had been smoking more. She had first tried it at the age of twelve when she and a couple of the older girls used to hide behind some bushes in the grounds of the Home and light up in secret. Connie hadn't liked it much but it had seemed an adult thing to do. Now, it had become a habit, and smoking gave her something to do with her hands when she was feeling awkward or bored.
She was also acquiring a taste for liquor. Back at the Home, the only times she had ever been given anything stronger than tomato juice was either at the occasional dances held in a nearby hall, or at Christmas, when the staff allowed the children to celebrate with glasses of sherry or wine.
At the Topaz club, Connie hadn't known what to order when asked, but the men she had been with seemed to know. The first man she had danced with, and with whom she had stayed for about ten minutes, had said, 'And what's your tipple, girlie?'
She had thought of ordering a sherry; they were pleasant-tasting and made one feel warm and relaxed, but the man had answered himself, after a considering look at her, 'You look like a gin and orange woman to me.'
Connie had never had one before, but she was willing to try. She hadn't liked it much but had gulped down a second before another man had asked her to dance and, without asking her, had ordered Connie a rum.
She might have ended up that evening in a bad way, had Tilly on passing, not hissed into her ear.
'What the bleedin' hell you doing, Connie? I been watching you actin' like this stuff's water! Don't show me up, kid, you're 'ere as me guest, and they might not let you come in again if you're sick all over the ruddy carpet! Stick to the same drink or you'll be blotto before you've even 'ad a chance to size up the talent 'ere, and what in God's name is that you're drinkin' now?'
The younger girl had palmed her burning cheeks. The music seemed to be blaring deep into her skull. 'I think he called it a Bloody Mary,' she had replied vaguely.
'Strewth!' Tilly raised her eyes to heaven. 'Carry on with that and you'll be too pissed to even dance straight. It's a hundred per cent proof, that stuff. Where's that guy I saw you with a minute ago, anyway?'
Connie's eyes had wavered to the bar.
'Over there ... '
Tilly saw a small, obese, balding man, a fat cigar planted between two greasy, rubbery lips, with his arm around a girl's shoulders. His hand was dropping almost casually on to the mound of the girl's right breast.
'He wanted to take me for a drive,' Connie went on, pronouncing each word carefully, 'and when I said I didn't want to, he told me he just had to go to the gents ... '
'And that's just where he isn't,' Tilly had said, looking over towards the man and his partner again. 'Look, don't waste your time with useless creeps like him, kid, you won't get nothin' from those sods unless you pay through the nos
e. You've got to learn to recognise the winners from the losers if you wanna get on in this game.' She clicked her fingers suddenly. 'Hey, I know a good'un for you. He's a new boy here, only seen 'im around once or twice before, but I'd say he's right up your street, if you're still serious about a steady bloke, that is. Go and splash your face with cold water, pat some powder on your shiny 'ooter, and I'll introduce you to 'im.' She had given a theatrical sigh. 'He's such a dish, I should really keep him for meself but, just for once, from the goodness of me heart, I'll do a buddy of mine a favour and let you 'ave him.'
Connie had done as ordered and felt revived after a wash and brush-up. She had met Philip Dual and straightaway he had informed her that she was a champagne girl. Connie hadn't minded being thought so in the slightest and soon found she liked the taste better than anything else she had been given. It had made her feel giggly and silly, yet soft and feminine, and she fitted into Philip's arms when they danced as if she had been moulded to his body. She had liked the young man at once, he seemed different from all the others she'd met that evening; more respectful, more charming, and already she had begun to dream.
'You're a real honey,' he had told her as they glided across the dance floor oblivious to anyone else. 'The best looker here, and that's what I like to be seen with.'
She had nuzzled his cheek. 'You're nice.'
They had stayed together until the early hours of the morning, when he had looked at his watch regretfully.
'I'd better get going,' he had said. His evident reluctance matched hers.
Her small nose had wrinkled in disappointment, and he had laughed and kissed its tip.
'Got to, baby,' he'd said. 'It's way past my clocking-in time.'
Although his goodbye kiss set her lips aflame, and she thought the effect was the same for him, Connie thought it would be the last she would see of him, even though she had given him her phone number and address when he had asked.
And tonight, perhaps we'll drink more champagne, Connie thought, as she inhaled another lungful of smoke. We'll get around to talking about each other, and then he'll say he loves me ... She closed her eyes dreamily, imagining a rosy future as the wife of Philip Dual.
There was another knock on her door and Connie, opening her eyes, snapped out of her reveries.
'Is that you again, Mrs Withers?'
'No. It's me, kid. Tilly.'
The girl entered and grinned impishly.
'I think you oughta know that your date's arrived, if I ain't mistaken, and you'd better go downstairs and get him outta Mrs Withers' clutches.'
Connie's eyes widened and she started to her feet. 'He's here?'
'In Ma Withers' sitting room. as a matter of fact. I wasn't under the impression that the old cow was abaht to tell you 'erself straight orf that he'd arrived, sorta keep him to 'erself for a bit longer, but her door was open as I came in and I saw she 'ad someone with her. I recognised him, so she couldn't pretend he weren't there, could she? She's right artful, that one. She wouldn't let him come up 'imself, probably don"t trust either of you ... '
'Thanks, Tilly, you're a doll.'
Connie snatched up her bag and coat and gave a final nervous pat to her hair. 'I've a feeling that tonight's going to be important to my future. Nothing must go wrong now. How long do you think he's been here waiting?'
Tilly leaned back against the door and watched Connie, smiling broadly.
'About quarter of an hour, I guess. He's got 'er so that she don't know whether she's coming or going, poor baggage.' She winked cheekily.
Connie laughed as she checked in her bag that she had everything.
'Did you see what was happening between them?' she asked.
'Shouldn't think anything was going on, leastways, not with the door still open. But them loose, floppy sleeves of that blouse she always wears was pulled way down off her shoulders. Gawd knows what she thinks she was revealing ... coupla bloody bean bags!'
Trying to control her giggles, Connie quickly sprayed perfume behind her ears and into her cleavage, then turned around.
'How do I look?'
'Not bad, I guess you'll do.'
'Thanks, Tilly,' Connie said gratefully.
'It weren't nothing,' the other girl replied, looking pleased. 'And if you two ain't engaged by next Thursday, how's about us going out somewhere?'
'You're on.'
And with that remark, Connie made her way downstairs.
'Thank you so much for looking after him while I was dressing,' Connie dimpled at Mrs Withers after she had rescued him.
Philip Dual opened the door for Connie and, as she went out, he turned back to Mrs Withers.
'Thanks for the drink. See you some time, love,' he said jauntily, and the landlady's tight lips dissolved into a coy smile.
Philip Dual was the proud possessor of a fast and beautiful sports car, and the hood was down but, before she had time to worry about the wind mussing up her hair, he had leant over her knees and flipped open the glove compartment.
'There's a silk scarf there for you, baby.'
'A present?' she exclaimed in delight.
'Well, no. I keep one handy so that people's hair stays in place. I'm considerate like that.'
Connie grimaced but tied it around her head. The motor was revved unnecessarily hard, but evidently brought the desired result as people turned to stare. They roared off to join the stream of traffic with a squeal of tyres.
'Where are we going?' Connie asked, blissfully sinking deeper into the leather bucket seats.
'I thought we'd go back to my pad.'
The initial disappointment she experienced soon gave way to glee as she realised it would be that much more intimate at his home with just the two of them. and would give them a chance to really get to know each other well.
'Hungry?' he asked, risking a sidelong smile.
'Ravenous.'
'Good,' he announced, accelerating the car and slipping into fourth gear to pass and overtake a line of trucks. 'I've got it all laid on.'
After a ten minute drive, they pulled up in the secluded car park of a large building. A man appeared from a back entrance as Connie rose from the car, and she couldn't help being impressed when Philip flung him the car keys saying, 'Garage it for me, Saunders.'
The man touched his cap respectfully. 'Yes sir.'
They made their way to the front of the building which could hardly be seen from the road as it was set way back and surrounded by trees. Philip led her through a marble entrance attended by a uniformed doorman, and said good evening to a second man seated behind a desk in the spacious hallway.
Philip put his arm around Connie's shoulders as he pressed for the lift and, inside, turned her to him and moved his arms around her.
'You're looking exceptionally lovely tonight,' he said huskily, and bent his head, his lips seeking hers.
Laughing, Connie pulled away. 'Not here, Philip,' she said lightly.
He made a face but didn't attempt to try to kiss her again. The lift doors opened noiselessly and they stepped out. Less than a minute later, he had unlocked a door and she found her self in his apartment. It was beautiful, and Connie turned to him, her eyes shining.
'Do you mean to say you live here alone?'
'My mother stays with me occasionally.'
'Ah, that would account for the feminine touches,' she said as she moved around, examining things. She crossed over to a sideboard on which she noticed a framed photograph. She picked it up and Philip answered the unspoken question in her eyes.
'Mother and I,' Philip said. 'Taken aboard the QE2 on her maiden voyage.'
'You don't look much like her,' Connie observed, head to one side.
'Take after my dear old pa. Don't worry about her, she won't be back tonight.' He helped Connie off with her coat. 'Do sit down,' he invited. 'Make yourself comfortable.'
She seated herself on a white leather swivel chair. Not purposely choosing a single-seater, it just happened to be conveniently near.
'It's really super,' she repeated, eyes wandering around the plush room.
'I hope you'll see more of it,' he said meaningfully.
Connie blushed a little and fiddled with the strap of her handbag. He sat opposite her on a couch and leaned towards an ivory cigarette box on a coffee table, flipping up the lid.
'Want one?'
'Thanks.'
She took one and waited while he lit it for her.
'A drink?' he suggested, his eyes on her cleavage as he applied the flame to his own cigarette.
She thought doubtfully of her empty stomach. 'Not right now, thanks.'
'You want to eat,' Philip stated, understanding.
'Please. Do you want some help getting it ready?'
'Baby, you just stay where you are and look pretty for me.'
She waited while he loped off into what she supposed was the kitchen, and he emerged less than five minutes later pushing a trolley laden with food and bottles. Her mouth dropped open as she stared at it.
'All that, just for us?'
'All for us,' he replied solemnly.
'Did you cook it yourself?'
He grinned. 'I cannot tell a lie. There's a restaurant round the corner, does take-away meals. Now,' he lifted the lid off a tureen. 'There's pate and hot toast, followed by bird's nest soup ... '
'I don't know if I could eat all that,' Connie interrupted, quailing at the name of the soup.
' ... Or escargots?'
She wondered which tasted worse.
'There's Duck a !'orange, with sauteed potatoes and haricots verts.'
Connie licked her lips hungrily. The sight and smell of the steaming dishes were affecting her taste-buds and she was so hungry, she didn't really care what she ate.
'Ending up with trifle and cream, or zabaglione ... I wasn't sure which you'd like.'
'It looks gorgeous, but wildly extravagant.'
Philip flung her a napkin. 'So get stuck in, baby.'
She lowered her lashes. 'Connie, not baby,' she said demurely, hoping she wasn't offending him.
'Sorry. Connie.'
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