Sandy disappeared into a small alcove off the kitchen and reappeared in chef’s whites and hat behind a hatch in the fast-food restaurant. Penny watched in amazement as he began to flip burgers, eggs, bacon and chicken as though he’d been doing it all his life.
Bobby went into the kitchen and that was the last she and Kate saw of him that shift, although they heard his name being yelled intermittently by the chefs – and not politely.
She and Kate had been left in the care of a middle-aged waitress, who’d travelled to America as a GI bride. Betty showed them the layout of the Mayflower in between regaling them with details of her life and that of the ‘waste of space worse than useless’ sergeant husband she’d walked out on after only two weeks of marriage.
‘He promised me I’d live the Hollywood high life when we were courting in Britain. But when the boat carrying the GI brides docked, he took me to a four-roomed New York apartment and expected me to set up home alongside his parents, grandmother, two sisters and brother.’
‘I’m amazed you stayed with him two weeks,’ Kate said.
‘Took me that long to find another fellow.’
Twenty minutes after Betty had begun their ‘orientation’ Penny and Kate were taking orders, ferrying food, glasses, cutlery, and serving customers.
‘This is a doddle,’ Kate declared during their twenty-minute break at a counter in the kitchen to eat chicken burgers and fries. ‘In Ponty we had to clear our own tables. Here you have bus boys to do the dirty work, leaving us clean and free to lay up the next lot of cutlery and crockery.’
Halfway through the shift, Penny’s feet didn’t feel like it was a ‘doddle’, and after spending twenty minutes trying to please an irritable family of six who didn’t want to be pleased and complained about every dish she served them – and left no tip – she felt that waitressing was a hard, very hard, way to make a living.
It was a warm, dark, velvet night when they left the restaurant by the kitchen door. She and Kate leant against the wall in the alleyway, looked at one another and started to laugh.
‘Exhaustion, hysteria or relief at the thought of not having to take another order for sixteen hours?’ Sandy appeared behind them.
‘Combination of all three,’ Kate answered.
‘Want to see the result of the kitchen initiation rites?’ He pushed the door wide.
Bobby was crawling out of the centre of the massive dishwasher. His hair was festooned with leftover spaghetti and meat sauce that dripped down over his forehead and nose.
Kate and Sandy started laughing. Penny held back, unsure of Bobby’s reaction. She needn’t have worried.
‘It’s good to know my first attempt at a full day’s work in the real world has amused my colleagues.’ Bobby turned back to the long table where the chefs were cutting, chopping and mixing and gave them a theatrical bow. ‘See you guys tomorrow.’
‘Your family may be filthy wealthy, Bobby Brosna, but you’re a sport,’ the senior chef called back.
‘May I take that comment as an accolade?’
‘You may.’ The chef saluted him.
‘You’re not going to drive your car like that, are you? You’ll stick to the leather upholstery,’ Sandy protested.
‘One moment.’ Bobby returned to the kitchen and reappeared less than a minute later, clean but dripping wet. ‘There’s a shower. The car upholstery will dry.’ He wrapped a soggy arm around her shoulders. ‘Home, woman, for some tender loving care and comfort. I deserve it.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
‘Beer and chill in the garden,’ Sandy suggested when Bobby parked the car outside the Beach House.’
‘Shower and bed,’ she corrected.
‘I’m right behind you.’ Bobby unlocked the door.
The trouble with you two is, you have absolutely no stamina,’ Sandy declared.
‘I’ll buy some with my first wages’ cheque, until then I’ll have to do without it.’ Bobby went into their bedroom. She followed.
He closed the door. ‘Do you want first shower?’
‘You should, you’re wet.’
‘We’ll share.’
‘I have to wash my uniform.’
‘Buy another tomorrow.’
She was too tired to argue with the profligacy.
They went into the bathroom and climbed into the shower. They sponged one another down, rinsed off and tumbled into bed, too exhausted for anything more than short-lived, almost perfunctory sex.
They fell asleep to the murmur of Sandy and Kate’s voices. Accustomed to the long hours and hard work of restaurants, they’d taken a couple of chilled beers they’d bought from Cosmo into the garden. Neither appeared to be in a hurry to go to bed.
She woke with a start, uncertain of her surroundings. She looked around, saw the sea through the undraped window, remembered they were in Bobby’s Beach House and relaxed back on the pillows. Unaccustomed to being on her feet for long hours, her leg muscles ached unbearably. The luminous hands on her travelling clock pointed to three.
She turned. Bobby’s eyes were open.
He smiled. ‘You’re awake?’
‘I wasn’t until I dreamt someone was stalking me,’ she reproached.
‘Come for a swim?’
‘It’s three in the morning.’
He leant over and kissed her. ‘I hate swimming alone.’
‘We have to be in work …’
‘In eleven hours. Swim for one to cool down in this damned heat and back to sleep for the regulation eight, then breakfast and work.’ He left the bed and pulled on his shorts. ‘I’d forgotten how much I love the Cape. But this house desperately needs air conditioning. When I’m talking to my grandmother again I must ask her to put it in.’
‘You’re confident you’ll talk to her again?’ she asked in surprise.
‘This isn’t the first time she’s frozen my account. But she’ll come round. I’m her link to immortality – the mirror image of the only man she ever loved – my grandfather. Or so she keeps telling me. She refuses to recognise any of my father’s other children – even the legitimate ones, because their mothers weren’t high society enough for her. And, as she’s cast my father off with somewhat more than the proverbial penny because he’s no interest in the business and would squander every Brosna penny given the chance, that only leaves me.’
‘So you’ll inherit the entire Brosna fortune?’ That was the moment she realised that one day Bobby would be rich with wealth beyond her imaginings.
‘Unless my grandmother leaves it to a cats’ home, but as she hates animals, that’s not likely.’
‘I had no idea.’ She slumped back into the bed and saw him in a new light. One she didn’t like. He’d tracked her down, wooed and won her. But was that simply indicative of the spoilt rich kid getting his own way? Sandy had certainly dropped enough hints that she’d ignored at the time.
‘Don’t hold it against me.’
She felt as though he’d read her thoughts.
‘If you’d prefer me poor, I could give the money away.’
‘You’d forgo the Brosna inheritance for me?’
‘No, but the offer sounded good, didn’t it?’
‘Only until you said the word “no”.’
‘The sea’s getting warmer by the minute.’
‘Can’t we just lie here and look at it through the window.’ She snuggled under the sheet.
‘Lazybones.’
‘That’s me.’
‘I’ll tickle you.’ He reached for her foot.
‘I’m tired.’
‘Too tired for moonlight bathing?’ He stood in front of the window and looked out. ‘It’s beautiful out there. As an artist you should never turn down an opportunity to admire beauty.’
She reluctantly left the bed and opened the drawer she’d used to stow away everything that couldn’t be hung in the wardrobe.
‘You don’t need a bikini,’ Bobby urged when he saw her rummaging through her clothes.
&
nbsp; ‘And if there’s someone on the beach?’
‘Who’d be lurking on a private beach at this time of night?’
‘You own this beach!’
‘It’s part of the Brosna Estate. Surely you didn’t think someone else owned the beach when it’s surrounded by Brosna land.’
‘I assumed the States were like the UK. No one can own a beach there. At least not between tidelines – it all belongs to the Crown and is accessible to everyone.’
‘Unless your queen takes it into her head to roll out barbed wire and fence it off.’
‘Now that’s an image to conjure with.’ She laughed at the idea of the royal family going out en masse from Buckingham Palace to hammer stakes into sand and roll out wire.
‘Here,’ Bobby threw her one of his T-shirts. ‘If you’re worried about your modesty, wear this until you’re in the water. Though why you should give a damn what I see after what we’ve been doing is beyond me.’
‘It’s not you I’m concerned about.’
‘The seagulls should be asleep. Not too sure about the horseshoe crabs, though. They might be looking.’
She pulled on the T-shirt, which smelt of Bobby and was half a dozen sizes too large. They crept past Sandy and Kate’s room, which was silent, out of the house and on to the sand.
The horseshoe crabs were moving erratically over the sand. She stopped to watch them.
‘Enormous, aren’t they?’ Bobby reached for her hand.
‘Gigantic compared to the ones on Welsh beaches and positively prehistoric. It doesn’t take much imagination to visualise them crawling around the feet of dinosaurs.’
Stepping between them they walked hand in hand to the edge of the sea. The waves were small, and they broke softly, foam-crested rivulets dissipating into silver streaks over the sand.
Bobby pulled off his shorts, flung them behind him and raced in, diving down and swimming as soon as he was waist-deep.
Feeling strangely self-conscious, although the beach was devoid of human life just as Bobby had promised, she stripped off his T-shirt and followed him.
Pontypridd, 1987
Penny left the house and returned to her studio. She opened the drawer she had dropped the photograph into and retrieved it, but she didn’t need an image of Bobby to recall the sensations of that night.
The silk-smooth water, the satin feel of Bobby’s skin against hers as he had embraced her underwater. His firm, unyielding erection when he’d pressed his body along the length of hers. Their failed attempt to make love underwater.
Their laughter had been their downfall. If they hadn’t been making so much noise they would have heard the vehicle approaching before the spotlight was switched on, embarrassing them both.
She still thought the law she and Bobby had broken that night a ridiculous one. Especially for a country that proudly hailed itself ‘the land of the free’.
Taking the photograph, she carried it back to her living room, propped it against the lamp on her desk, sat back – and remembered.
Hyannisport, 1968
The first indication they weren’t alone was a blinding white light. A metallic voice boomed through a loudspeaker.
‘Leave the sea slowly. Don’t run. Keep your hands above your heads.’
‘Not bloody likely,’ Bobby shouted back. ‘We’re naked.’
‘Naked in a public place is a felony. And you don’t sound British, so why are you using a British swear word?’ the uniformed officer demanded, moving the light so it shone full on Bobby who was standing waist-deep in the water next to Penny.
‘Because I’ve been living in Britain for the last three years. And this isn’t a public place. It’s a private beach, I’m Bobby Brosna …’
‘I’m Doris Day and he’s Charlton Heston,’ the officer mocked. ‘You’re American. You know it’s illegal to be on a beach after six o’clock at night.’
‘This is a private beach,’ Bobby repeated stubbornly.
‘There’s no fence up.’
‘Because my grandmother is away …’
‘Everyone in Hyannis knows the old lady hasn’t been here in years. You,’ the officer motioned to Penny with his gun. ‘Hands in the air now.’
‘Turn your back,’ Bobby whispered.
She did as Bobby suggested. But the disembodied voice boomed out of the darkness again. ‘Turn around. Keep your hands in the air.’
Bobby shouted, ‘My girlfriend’s shy. How about I come out first and throw her the T-shirt?’
‘Here, catch.’ One of the officers took pity on them and tossed them Bobby’s shorts and the T-shirt she’d worn. Both landed in the sea and both were soaking wet, but keeping her back turned, she pulled on the shirt.
‘Now out, both of you.’
Bobby slipped and fell when putting on his shorts, but he didn’t argue. She waded on to the sand, he crawled.
‘Hands high against the side of the vehicle. What are you doing here at this time in the morning?’
‘Swimming,’ Bobby answered.
The single word earned him a cuff across the head. Terrified, she fought panic. It was Grosvenor Square all over again, only this time there was no Uncle Haydn on hand to solve the problem. She tried to calculate how many miles away Las Vegas was.
‘We were swimming,’ Bobby repeated, his voice cracked from the effects of the blow.
An overweight officer opened the back of the vehicle. ‘Inside the cage, both of you. We’ll sort this in the morning.’
For the second time she found herself shivering next to Bobby in a police vehicle. Both of them were soaked, and wearing only a thin, wet T-shirt she felt naked and vulnerable.
When they reached the police station she was handed over to a female officer who body-searched her even more roughly than the policewoman had in London. When she’d finished humiliating her, she handed her a filthy, grey, greasy, nylon blanket, opened a door and walked her to a cage in the middle of a large room.
Sitting in it were two of the thinnest women she’d ever seen. The only large thing about them were their breasts, which as they were unevenly placed were obviously false. They were wearing enough make-up between them to grease a boat engine; their skirts were even shorter than Kate’s and the expression on their faces a mixture of terror and misery behind the paint.
Opposite them sat a beautiful girl, dark-skinned with long black hair and dark eyes. She was holding the hand of a blue-eyed blonde boy who also looked frightened. In the furthest corner from the others a black woman cowered. Two toddlers were sleeping on her lap and she clutched them tightly as if she was afraid they were going to be torn from her arms.
Stretched out on the floor beneath a bench was an old man. Stinking of alcohol, covered in vomit, the crutch of his pants wet, he twitched and mumbled in a drunken stupor.
The female officer waited for one of her colleagues to leave the desk in the room and open the cage. A thump between Penny’s shoulder blades propelled her inside. She stumbled over the outstretched hand of the drunk and reached for the cage bars to steady herself. She slipped; the blonde boy caught her.
‘Hi, I’m Paul. You can sit next to my girlfriend, Mary, if you like,’ he offered.
‘You’re Irish.’
‘Guilty.’
Relief flooded through her at the sound of an accent, which if not exactly home, was familiar. She suppressed the impulse to kiss him.
‘I’m Welsh.’
He looked at her wet T-shirt visible above the dirty blanket she was reluctant to use. ‘They caught you swimming?’
‘Yes.’
‘Were you hoping to reach Martha’s Vineyard or Nantucket?’
For the first time she saw humour in the situation.
‘I didn’t know it was illegal to be on a beach after six o’clock at night.’
‘Strange law. But perhaps they want to leave the sands free for leprechauns and witches to dance on.’
‘Shut up,’ the officer behind the desk bellowed.
&nbs
p; The door opened. Bobby stumbled in escorted by two of the officers who’d taken them into custody. He was wearing his boxer shorts and carrying an identical but even dirtier blanket than the one they’d given her. One of his eyes was swollen and there was blood on his mouth.
He gave her a lopsided grin. ‘This is getting to be a habit.’
Mary moved along the bench to make room and Bobby sat next to her on the wooden bench. He reached for her hand.
‘Look on the sunny side, Pen. At least this time we’re together.’
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
‘Should we sing to keep up our spirits?’ Paul gave the officer at the desk a sideways look.
‘I wouldn’t. The stateside police are not renowned for their sense of humour, particularly at this time in the morning.’ Bobby rubbed her hands between his in an effort to warm his own as well as hers.
‘Anyone any idea of the time?’ Paul asked.
The two girls held up their bare wrists.
‘So, they took your watches too,’ Paul commented.
‘Shut up!’ the officer behind the desk bellowed a second time. He rifled through a box of cookies and picked out half a dozen.
‘We were driven here sometime after three; it must be about four by now,’ Bobby whispered.
The duty officer left the desk and waddled to the cage. He shook his fist, but as it was with the hand holding the cookies the gesture was more ridiculous than terrifying. ‘If you know what’s good for you, you’ll shut it,’ he reiterated when he saw Bobby and Paul suppressing smiles.
The door banged open. A pale-faced officer walked in. ‘Bobby Kennedy died a couple of hours ago.’
The duty officer stopped chewing his cookies. His mouth opened, his lips fell slack and he dribbled crumbs. ‘Oh no! God no!’
Penny looked from the officers to Bobby. The only indication he’d heard the conversation was the increased pressure of his fingers on hers.
Silence reigned in the holding cage and the room beyond. Bobby’s arm lay heavy on Penny’s shoulders, but she found the pressure too comforting to shrug it off. She closed her eyes but the fierce light from the single electric bulb burnt through her eyelids. The foul smell of the drunk lying on the floor, coupled with the stench of the blanket wrapped around her shoulders, was making her nauseous. Without a watch she felt as though time had frozen.
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