Dreaming Out Loud (19 page)

Now

Tom thought Shirley looked more excited than Kay did. In fact, Kay looked rather preoccupied. He guessed that she might be trying to come to terms with her undoubted success in the radio play. He saw how she had to drag herself back from whichever world she had been inhabiting when Shirley took her arm and said, ‘Kay, have you been listening to me?’

‘Um . . . sorry, what did you say?’

The two girls smiled at each other and Tom thought how lucky they were to have such a sincere friendship. Kay was talented but still a newcomer to the world she now found herself in. Happily Shirley would be there to guide her.

Shirley had suggested that they go over to the BBC club. ‘We’ll have a drink and we’ll make sure you have a chat and a smile with as many of them as possible. It’s already obvious that you’re going to be the star of this show, so you don’t want to give the impression that you’re big-headed and stand-offish, do you? You’ve got to cultivate an image.’

Kay was bemused. ‘An image?’

‘You know what I mean.’

‘Yes, I think I do, but you know, Shirley, I would find it very hard to be anyone but myself.’

Shirley frowned, but Tom was drawn to Kay all the more for her unpretentious and candid nature.

‘People change, you know,’ Shirley said anxiously.

‘What do you mean?’

‘Success changes you. It happens to the nicest people.’

Kay smiled. ‘I promise you I’ll make every effort not to let that happen to me. I won’t change.’

Shirley’s frown disappeared and she gave Kay a hug. ‘Of course you won’t. Now let’s go to the club.’

‘Wait a moment,’ Kay said. ‘Tom and I aren’t members.’

‘That’s all right. I’ll sign you in, but you know, if you’re going to become a member of the BBC Repertory Company you’ll be able to join the club yourself.’

‘Am I? What’s the Repertory Company?’

‘So Julian hasn’t mentioned it yet? The Rep is a bunch of actors who are always on call. They’re an interesting lot; several of them are survivors of the group that dodged the air raids during the war by camping out in the concert hall at Broadcasting House. They couldn’t afford to have programmes like
Paul Temple
or
The Man in Black
delayed by an air-raid siren. And another thing, do you think you ought to get an agent?’

Momentarily thrown by Shirley’s lightning change of subject, Kay paused to think before asking, ‘Do you think I need one?’

‘I think you do. After all, you’re going to be in demand. And I think you should start keeping a scrapbook.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘You know – for newspaper cuttings.’

‘Shirley, I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about.’

‘It will be a sort of portfolio for you. Every time you’re mentioned in the newspapers or a magazine we’ll clip it and put it in the scrapbook. And of course we’ll keep a record of when you’re mentioned in the
Radio Times
. And your agent will want some good photographs of you for publicity.’

‘Shirley, stop! My head’s spinning. I promise you we’ll talk about this later, but now, why don’t you take us over to the Langham for this drink you’ve promised us?’

Shirley smiled. ‘Righto. Is that OK with you, Tom? Will it interfere with your plans?’

‘No, we’ve plenty of time. I booked a table at Veeraswamy’s for seven o’clock. It’s only a short walk down Regent Street. Or I could hail a taxi and we could arrive in style.’

‘Good,’ Shirley said. ‘Kay and I will have time to freshen up in the cloakroom at the club.’

Kay looked bemused. ‘What are you two talking about?’

‘I thought we should celebrate,’ Tom said. ‘I hope you like Indian food.’

‘I’ve never had any,’ Kay said.

Tom grinned. ‘I’ll start you off on something fairly mild, but in time I hope you’ll come to appreciate Indian cuisine as much as I do. By the way, Shirley, did you phone Jane?’

‘I did. She doesn’t want to join us. She said she was tired and wanted an early night, although I can’t imagine what she has done to make her tired – except go shopping, of course.’

That’s a pity
, Tom thought.
Someone else will have to stay on duty longer than I planned. I can hardly back out of the restaurant treat now. I’ll have to make a phone call – there’s bound to be a public phone at the club
. He wondered whether he would be able to claim the cost of tonight’s jaunt on expenses and immediately felt ashamed of himself for making light of the situation.

He’d had an incredible stroke of luck when he’d observed Kay’s difficulties with the Christmas tree. It had got him into the house. But that was months ago, and the trouble was that as the investigation dragged on, he had got closer and closer to Kay. He had not expected to fall in love, and the more he loved her, the guiltier he felt.

Kay had enjoyed the Indian food but the menu had left her bewildered. Even Shirley had to admit that she was baffled. Tom took over and ordered a meal that he said would introduce them gently to the dishes on offer. Kay and Shirley had been delighted with the exotic flavours, and while they were enjoying their meal, Tom had told them a little of the history of the fashionable restaurant.

Veeraswamy’s had been opened in 1926 by the great-grandson of an English General and an Indian princess. It became popular with the rich and famous: kings and princes, actors and film stars.

‘Really?’ Shirley asked him. ‘Do you think there’s anyone famous here tonight?’

‘There most certainly is.’

‘Who? Where?’ Shirley glanced round excitedly.

Tom laughed. ‘Right here at our own table.’

Shirley frowned and then her face cleared and she laughed. ‘Of course. Our very own star. Kay Lockwood.’

They had all enjoyed the meal and Tom had insisted on a taxi to take them home. He had come in for a cup of tea – it was his opinion that coffee didn’t go with curry – but he had not lingered. Shirley had wanted to talk, but Kay had pleaded exhaustion and gone to bed. She had a lot to think about.

She had seen the menu at the restaurant and thought the prices a little high. When she said so, Tom had smiled and told her that he only came here as an occasional treat. Now, lying sleepless, Kay wondered whether he dined there alone or whether he took someone with him. She could hardly have asked him.

And then there was Shirley’s idea of keeping a scrapbook. Kay thought about it and accepted that it was a good idea, but apart from publicity shots she wouldn’t need many photographs. Not like Lana. Her godmother had kept enough photographs to fill half a dozen albums. Shirley had sorted them out for her – she must wonder why Kay had put them away and apparently never looked at them since. Kay had flicked through them alone in her room. There had been an envelope inside one of them containing one photograph . . .

She knew that for her peace of mind she should leave things be, but she couldn’t help herself. She sat up in bed, switched on the bedside light and leaned across to open the drawer in her bedside table. She picked up the envelope and opened it. She sat perfectly still for a moment then took out the photograph. She forced herself to look at it. A cheerful snapshot taken by a street photographer. Two happy people smiling at each other. An everyday sort of holiday shot, and yet it told her so much more.

She ought to have been prepared for her reaction. It was always the same. She found herself shaking with anger at the story the picture told. The questions it answered. And yet she couldn’t bring herself to tear it up.

Her peace of mind torn apart by conflicting emotions, she thrust it back in the envelope and pushed the envelope to the back of the drawer. Then pushed the very thought of it to the back of her mind.

Then

Lana and Moira didn’t make the curfew. They got back to their lodgings at one in the morning. True to form, Mrs O’Brien appeared in the doorway of her room.

‘What time do you think this is?’ she demanded. ‘Been up West, have you?’

‘Actually, no,’ Lana said. She drew herself up to her full height and smiled down on the angry little woman. ‘We’ve been to Wimbledon.’

Moira suppressed a giggle at the conflicting emotions displayed on their landlady’s pugnacious face. Nobody had ever stood up to her before, and she was both astounded and angry. But also puzzled.

‘Wimbledon?’ she asked. ‘What have you been doing there?’

‘Miss Fontaine has been taking the lead in a stage play,’ Moira told her.

‘Oh yeah?
Miss
Fontaine isn’t an actress. She’s a chorus girl like you are.’

‘As a matter of fact, she’s not a chorus girl,’ Moira said. ‘She’s a solo song and dance act. At least she was until tonight. Here you are. See for yourself.’

Moira handed over an early edition of the
Express.
During the party the stage manager had gone out and bought all the papers, several copies of each, and Moira had made sure to bring the relevant paper home. She watched while their landlady squinted down at the play review.

‘So this is really you?’ she asked, looking up at Lana.

‘Unless there’s another young woman with the same name, it is,’ Lana replied.

‘Well,’ Mrs O’Brien said. ‘Who would have thought you had it in you?’

Lana, who still hadn’t come properly back down to earth, decided not to take offence. ‘Thank you for the compliment,’ she said sweetly. ‘And while you’re here, I wonder if we could discuss my renting the empty room next to mine?’

‘Why would you want to do that? It’s not half as nice as your room.’

‘Oh, I don’t want to move from my room. I want to rent both of them.’

Mrs O’Brien shook her head. ‘I don’t understand.’

Lana smiled condescendingly. ‘Well, you see, now that I’m going to be famous, I’ll need somewhere to make into a sort of dressing room. Somewhere to keep all my new clothes.’

Their landlady looked doubtful, but she didn’t want to miss the chance of letting the room without having to advertise it. ‘All right,’ she said, ‘but I’ll have to put the rent up.’

Lana didn’t ask why. She and Moira fled upstairs, managing to hold in their laughter until they reached the makeshift kitchen on the first-floor landing.

‘Hungry?’ Lana asked.

‘Starving.’

‘How about spaghetti on toast?’

‘Perfect,’ Moira said. ‘A perfect way to celebrate your success.’

Chapter Seventeen

September 1950

‘Are you on your own?’

‘Of course I am. Kay’s boyfriend is taking her and Shirley to some fashionable restaurant to celebrate Kay’s new part on the wireless. He invited me, but I told him I wanted an early night. And you needn’t keep asking if I’m alone when I phone you. There’s no need – I’m not stupid.’

‘You should stick to the phone box.’

‘I’ve told you, the house is empty. No one will know.’

Jane thought uneasily of the times she had almost been caught using the phone. When she had heard a key in the lock she had said goodbye, put the receiver down and moved away quickly, trying to make it look as though she had just come downstairs. She hoped she had fooled them.

Maurice wasn’t convinced. ‘When the phone bill comes in they’ll see you’ve been making calls. They can trace them.’

‘Why would they want to?’

‘I mean the police could trace them.’

‘Why on earth would they? As far as anyone is concerned I’m just a lodger in Kay Lockwood’s house.’

‘So if Kay asks you who you’ve been phoning, what will you say?’

‘She wouldn’t do that. She’s too well mannered. But in any case I’ll think of something.’

‘It had better be convincing.’

‘I told them my father threw me out. I’ll say I’ve been phoning my brother to get him to patch things up.’

‘Have you told the girls that you’ve got a brother?’

‘I can’t remember. I might have done when I was staying at Brook Lodge.’

‘If you’re not careful you’ll trip up over your lies. Just stick to the phone box in future.’

Jane suddenly felt rebellious. ‘Well, you know what the answer to all this is, don’t you?’

‘Tell me.’

‘You have to make sure that you find a fence and get rid of the goods before the phone bill comes in.’ Jane didn’t usually answer him back but to her surprise he laughed. ‘What have I said?’ she asked.

‘
Find a fence and get rid of the goods
. You sound like a gangster’s moll in a B movie.’

Jane found herself shouting. ‘That’s just what I am, isn’t it? You’re a gangster. So I must be your moll!’

Maurice sounded worried. ‘Don’t talk like that, baby. I shouldn’t have said that. You’re my wife and I love you. And I can’t wait until we can be together again. You mustn’t lose your nerve. It won’t be much longer.’

‘Well, why don’t you tell me where you are?’

‘I can’t do that. The person who’s helping me told me not to, and he’s not the sort of bloke you can cross.’

‘So, how will I know where to find you?’

‘I’ll tell you what to do when the time comes. But listen, why don’t you have a bag packed so you can make a quick getaway?’

‘Just one bag?’

‘We’ll have to travel light.’

Jane sighed. ‘I’ll have to leave some of my clothes behind.’

‘You haven’t got that many clothes, have you? I told you to buy only what was necessary.’

‘I know, but it will still be hard to choose.’

Maurice laughed. ‘That’s my girl. Just think, it won’t be long before you’ll be able to buy anything you want. Maybe even in Paris. Now we’d better hang up.’

Maurice cut the connection and reluctantly Jane put the phone down. She went into the kitchen to make a cup of tea. She wasn’t hungry. She was too overwrought to eat. She had lied to Maurice, or at least she hadn’t told him the full truth. When they had parted he had given her a bundle of notes to keep her going and told her to get herself some clothes – not too flashy, she mustn’t draw attention to herself.

She had done that, but what he didn’t know was that she already had a considerable amount of money of her own. On the night of the fire, when Maurice had been examining the bedside drawer in the old girl’s bedroom, she had opened a drawer and seen a bulging handkerchief case. She had looked inside and found that it was full of money. Some instinct had made her stuff the notes down the neck of her dress.

She still didn’t know why she had done this. Perhaps it was because, much as she loved him, she had never trusted Maurice entirely. Even then it had crossed her mind that he might take the jewels and abandon her. This money would be her nest egg. It would take care of her just in case she had to fend for herself.

The trouble was, she had never had so much money in her life and she craved luxury. So she went shopping. With nothing else to do to fill her days, she bought clothes and jewels without any thought of how she was going to explain them to Maurice.

As she sipped her tea she realised that she would have to leave the most fashionable clothes behind. But she would take the jewellery. Most of it was paste, and Maurice would recognise it as such. The one or two genuine articles she would have to hide from him – just in case of a rainy day.

Maurice replaced the receiver and sat back frowning. As far as he knew, they were going to get away with it. But Jane was getting edgy and there was no knowing what she might do. In her present mood she could make careless mistakes. He hoped he wasn’t going to have a problem with her.

On the way to London they had abandoned the car and caught the train. That first night in London they had stayed in a cheap lodging house near King’s Cross. When Maurice had signed the book he’d given her the new name of Jane. The next morning he had said he was going to see an old friend who owed him a favour, but he didn’t say who it was or where he would find him. He’d told her to wait there and stay in their room. Jane had been tired and frightened, and still overwhelmed by what had happened. She hadn’t argued with him. Neither of them had imagined that getting rid of the jewellery was not going to be easy.

Kostas was an old friend from Maurice’s army days. He owned a restaurant in Soho, but that was just a front. Maurice knew that the man who had been a fearless private soldier during the war had returned to his previous way of life and was a force to be feared by the rest of the criminal fraternity.

He took Maurice to a sparsely furnished room on the third floor – and then dashed his hopes. He wouldn’t touch Maurice’s hoard. He looked at the jewellery and shook his head. ‘Too hot, my friend,’ he said. ‘Your victim is bound to have listed them in her will. If I took them from you they’d have to disappear for a year or two. Maybe longer. You’ll have to find someone who can afford to wait.’

‘Who’s to say the jewellery didn’t burn with the house?’

‘Look at it. This old-fashioned stuff could only have belonged to an old woman. If these items suddenly appeared on the market someone would be bound to put two and two together.’

‘What the hell am I going to do?’

‘Don’t worry. I’ll find you someone. Maybe one of the Maltese brothers can afford to invest in them. I’ll do this for you because you saved my life at El Alamein, but then we’ll be quits, and I never want to see you again.

‘Meanwhile I’ll find you somewhere to stay – a nice little flat in one of my properties. It’s fully furnished and I’ll stock it up with food and drink, good stuff, from the kitchen downstairs. All you’ll have to do is heat it up, and if this goes on for too long someone will bring you more after the restaurant closes at midnight. You can’t go out. And the jewels stay with me. That way you won’t be tempted to go off and try to make it on your own.’

‘Wouldn’t that save you a lot of bother?’

‘Maybe so, but it would deprive me of my cut.’

‘You’re taking a cut?’

‘Of course. What did you expect?’

Maurice was silent. He knew how foolish it had been to think that Kostas would help him just for old times’ sake.

His old army buddy continued. ‘Did you tell the girl where you were coming today?’

‘Not a word.’

‘My name?’

‘There was no need for her to know.’

‘Good. She can’t stay with you. She knows nothing about me, and that’s the way it’s going to stay.’

‘Where can she go?’

‘Get tonight’s paper. Look for an anonymous small hotel somewhere far enough away from here. Somewhere boring. Will she do as she’s told?’

‘Yes. No problem.’

‘You’d better be right. If she causes trouble I’ll have to deal with her.’

At Kostas’s words, Maurice knew what it meant to say your blood ran cold. ‘She won’t cause trouble,’ he said.

‘Can’t you just ditch her?’ Kostas asked.

‘No.’

‘Sentimental reasons?’ Kostas sneered.

‘Something like that.’

‘You’ve gone soft, Maurice. I hope you don’t regret this. Convince her that it’s best for you to split up. Remind her that they’re looking for a man and a woman, and if they find you they’ll hang the pair of you and I won’t help you. Give her enough cash to keep her happy, and before you say goodnight take her here.’ Kostas gave him a business card.

Maurice looked at it. ‘A photographer?’

‘Say I sent you. He’ll take your photographs and make you some passports.’

‘Passports?’

‘I’m assuming that you won’t want to stay in good old Blighty?’

‘Too right. I wasn’t thinking straight.’

‘He’ll send the passports to me. Tell your girl you’ll get in touch with her when it’s time to scarper. Then come back here. Alone.’

Even though Kostas had said he would help because Maurice had saved his life, he had been completely unsentimental. Maurice had agreed to do everything he was told – and he did until Jane had strayed from the plan.

The silly bitch had made friends with Shirley, a young woman staying at Brook Lodge, and she had decided to move in with her and another girl who had a house nearby. He remembered their heated conversation.

‘For God’s sake, why do that?’ he’d said.

‘Because I’m lonely,’ she’d replied. ‘And that’s your fault.’

‘Don’t do it, Jane. You know I told you to lay low.’

‘You didn’t tell me how long it would be.’

‘I’m doing my best, and meanwhile it’s safer to stay where you are.’

‘And spend whole days on my own!’

‘That’s right. You shouldn’t get too close to anyone.’

‘I don’t care what you say, Maurice, I’m going to move in with Kay and Shirley.’

Jane sounded as if she was on the edge of hysteria, and if she fell to pieces it could be dangerous for both of them. He gave in. ‘Give me the phone number.’

‘I don’t know if there’s a phone. Apparently the house has been empty. You’ll have to stop being so secretive and give me your number.’

‘I can’t do that.’

Kostas had been reluctant, but he had given him permission to use the phone to keep in touch with Jane. The girl was a loose cannon, and who knew what she might do if she lost patience with the situation. But he had forbidden him to give Jane the number, and Maurice had agreed.

‘Would they know if I phoned you?’ Jane asked.

Maurice paused. Kostas phoned him now and then to tell him what progress he was making, but apart from that, he had been left severely alone. Apart from the bloke who brought him food and drink in the early hours of the morning, no one came to the third-floor flat. The other flats were empty.

He wondered what he should do. He didn’t know whether he believed Jane when she said she didn’t know if there was a phone in the house. Maybe this was a way for her to exert some power over him. Whatever the case, it was obvious that she was not going to budge.

‘All right,’ he said at last. He’d given her the number and had told her not to let anyone else have it.’

‘As if I would,’ Jane had said. ‘Do you think I’m stupid?’

Maurice had never thought Jane was stupid. He’d never thought her beautiful either. She certainly wasn’t plain, but she would never stand out in a crowd. She was entirely different from the sort of boldly dressed woman he usually went out with. He’d been drawn to women who were attractive in a flashy sort of way, demanding, spoilt, and, let’s face it, more than a little common.

Jane was different. Jane – or Irene, as she had been called when they first met – worked in a café near the station. Maurice had just got off the train and headed straight there, having left the place where he had been staying that morning then making for a town where he had a few useful contacts. He’d left in a hurry and hadn’t had time to eat. In spite of feeling crumpled after an uncomfortable journey in a crowded train, he knew he was good-looking, and he smiled to himself when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw female heads turn as he walked to the back of the room, but he kept his own head down.

The table he chose was near the swing door that led to the kitchen, and the smell of frying surrounded him, but Maurice didn’t want to sit near the window or anywhere where he would be in full view of passers-by. You never knew who you were going to bump into in these unsettled times after the war, when society still seemed topsy-turvy and it was easy to make a dishonest living if you kept moving on.

The menu, stained with tomato sauce, was propped up between the vinegar and a bowl of sugar.

Maurice studied it. The food on offer was fairly basic, and when the waitress came over with her notepad and pencil he ordered double egg and chips with black pudding, a couple of slices of bread and butter and a pot of tea. All for half a crown.

She looked at him curiously, called him ‘Sir’ and seemed to come back with his order in next to no time. Later, when she brought the bill, he gave her a bigger than usual tip – a whole shilling, in fact. He didn’t understand why, but he found himself drawn to her. Perhaps it was because of her quiet efficiency, or perhaps it was because from the very start she looked at him with open adoration.

Everything seemed to develop at breakneck speed. He got into the habit of dropping in to the café for his midday meal, and then, one day when he had been particularly busy chasing up a consignment of black market tea, he didn’t get there until almost closing time. By the time he’d finished his meal, he was the only customer left and the young waitress had finished wiping down the other tables. It seemed the natural thing to do to wait for her outside, and to his own amazement he asked her to go to the pictures.

After that she became his regular date. He was fond of her. She adored him, but nevertheless she hung on to her virginity until he put a wedding ring on her finger. By then he’d realised she knew a little too much about him, so he’d given in and bought the ring. They got married at the registry office with two passers-by acting as witnesses.