Georgia (27 page)

Under the loose change were several photographs. Most were of Helen when she was a child, small, crumpled pictures of a painfully thin child with a mass of hair. There was one professional studio picture, taken before she left the home in Plymouth, her hair up, wearing a print dress with a large white lace collar. With this was a snap taken at Christmas of Helen and Georgia in the market, their arms around each other, laughing.

Georgia remembered the stallholder taking it, but she had never seen the snap until now. She held it out to Babs silently.

‘Fancy her sitting and writing all this before she went.’ Babs was sobbing now, great tears rolling down her cheeks. She took the picture and looked at it, lifting it to her lips.

‘I’m glad you’ve got this, it’s something to really remember her by, you both look so ’appy,’ her voice shook and her lips trembled.

‘I’ll never forget her anyway,’ Georgia said brokenly. She scooped up the pictures and the money and put them carefully back. ‘Now what shall I do with all this?’

‘Exactly what she said,’ Babs said firmly. ‘She wanted you all dolled-up for that night. You can’t disappoint her.’

Chapter 9

A rush of blood to his head, a tingling down his spine made Maxwell Menzies sit up sharply as the girl’s voice soared out across the Acropolis.

He hadn’t wanted to come tonight. Greek family parties were almost as boring as Jewish ones. But Andreous was his brother-in-law, and Miriam had insisted.

‘Summertime!’

The last time he’d heard that song was in New Orleans back in ’58 and he defied anyone to surpass the fourteen-stone Negress who had turned his legs to jelly. This girl came close though, she might be young and slender, but her voice had the same depth and passion, and she was better to look at!

Max forgot his drink and Miriam’s tiresome family and friends all around him, all he could see and hear was the girl in front of him.

Black curls piled upon her head, fixed with glittery combs to match the long, spangled red dress. A hint of small brown breasts nestling below the plunging neckline, and when she turned, a deep ‘V’ of naked brown skin made his heart thump. But it was her eyes which held him, so sad and huge, at times glistening with tears.

‘This is it, Maxy,’ he said to himself. ‘You’ve found the crock of gold.’

*

Few men stood out in a crowd as Max did. It was not merely his rugged tanned face, height, wide shoulders and expensive clothes, but the sheer force of his personality.

As a young man he had flirted with boxing, but he was shrewd enough to know it would get him nothing other than cauliflower ears and a broken nose. He may not have won any titles, but it had left enough of a legend to intimidate his adversaries.

A burst of applause broke round Max as the first number ended.

‘That was lovely,’ Miriam put one plump, ring-laden hand on his. ‘Fancy her just working in Pop’s workshop!’

Max glanced across at Pop. The man’s eyes were glued to the stage, a smug look of satisfaction on his usually lugubrious features. Max had barely acknowledged this invitation when it arrived several weeks earlier, much less listened to Miriam rattling on about how excited Pop and Andreous were about this girl’s voice, but now he wished he’d been attentive.

She was now singing the Everly Brothers’ hit, ‘Till I kissed you’. It was slower than their version, plucking at his emotions in a way the original never had and as her body swayed with the music, Max found himself slipping into a dream.

The London Palladium, then Vegas and Hollywood. He could see himself in a box looking down at her, hear the applause, see the sparkle of diamonds, smell money. The time was right. American men had dominated the charts for too long. This stunning girl with her powerful voice could be the one to change everything.

Across the same table, Pop too was struggling with his emotions, but unlike Max he had no thoughts of money or power.

Helen’s death sent shockwaves throughout the market. He’d seen Georgia bent to the point of breaking with grief. He hadn’t heard her laugh in weeks, her face grey with pain, every line in her body showed the depths of her feeling. Yet somehow she’d found the guts to go on and rehearse.

Right up to the moment she walked on to the stage, Pop had expected her to falter. Yet she’d picked up the microphone as if she was born to it, nodded to the band and straight into ‘Summertime’ as if she was merely in the workroom. Georgia had more sides than a threepenny bit. But until tonight he hadn’t seen this adult and desirable woman.

Her slender body moved sensuously to the beat, eyes flashing, hips undulating in her clingy dress. He couldn’t help but wonder if his wife would be quite so maternal to Georgia in future.

Glancing sideways, he saw Christina was as engrossed as the entire audience, one foot tapping, forgetting even her drink in front of her.

It was the last number of the first set. A Peggy Lee number she loved. ‘Fever’.

Georgia hadn’t copied the original version. Her voice was sweeter, more melodic and she sang it with just enough humour and pace to carry it off magnificently.

The audience applauded wildly.

She was just Georgia again, grinning as confidently as she did in the market. Eyes shining, beads of sweat glistening on that small brown forehead.

Then as if remembering just where she was, she bowed deeply, and ran off stage.

The girls from the workshop were practically jumping out of their seats, yelling and stamping their feet, quite forgetting where they were.

Janet had pulled out all the stops tonight. A long black dress, glittery earrings, like an actress at her première.

She wiped a tear of pride from her cheeks and grinned at the other girls.

‘Our little Georgia,’ she sniffed. ‘I’m so bleedin’ proud of her you’d think I trained her!’

‘Now that girl’s got class. Don’t you think so darling?’ Max turned to his wife.

‘Oh yes,’ Miriam gushed, encouraged by his dark eyes studying her so attentively. ‘Couldn’t you manage her?’

‘That’s jumping the gun a bit,’ he stroked her plump arm softly. ‘She might be able to sing amongst her friends, but she’s still a bit raw and we don’t know anything about her.’

When he married Miriam she had been as slim as Georgia, shiny dark hair with eyes to match. But like most Greek women she had turned to fat, almost as soon as the honeymoon was over. Her place was in the home, a mother and housewife, but tonight she had another purpose.

‘Talk to her darling. You know how I trust your judgement about these things!’

‘Oh, Maxy,’ she cooed. ‘What a sweet thing to say!’

Max picked up his glass of brandy and downed it in one.

Miriam could be so simple. Like a trusty dog, wagging its tail after a few kind words, forgetting how often her master stayed away from home and the women his name was linked with.

She knew how to make the best of herself though, despite her weight. Once her dark hair became grey she dyed it a dark auburn, an elaborate ‘beehive’ style which lengthened her round face and showed off her jewellery to advantage. The black dress she wore tonight was cleverly cut like all her expensive clothes, drawing the eye to her good points and camouflaging the bad. A low neck revealing her smooth olive shoulders and cleavage, sheer chiffon sleeves and draped empire line, hid away the damage a life of ease and plenty had caused.

‘She could be the one to change our lives,’ Max whispered, running one finger down her arm sensuously. ‘But we don’t want to get into anything blind.’

Miriam glowed at his words. He had sulked all day about coming. The best she had expected was for him to be pleasant to her family, then insist they leave before the party even got going.

She was only thirteen when her family left Greece and opened the restaurant in Greek Street. Her parents had led her to believe London would be wonderful, but all she saw in her teenage years was drudgery. Up to her elbows in greasy dishes, dark dreary rooms and a school where the other girls laughed at her accent. Pop and Andreous both worked as waiters then, and she knew her father had singled out Andreous for her.

Back in Greece she would have welcomed the handsome young man with his soft eyes and ready laughter, but in London she saw them as a trap.

At seventeen she met Max and suddenly her mind was made up. Here was a man who wanted more out of life than waiting on tables. Little Ruth her younger sister could have Andreous.

Max was a theatrical agent then. Even in his early twenties he showed signs of what was to come. Shrewd, manipulative, with an eye for the main chance. Exciting, not just the way he made her disobey her parents and slip out to meet him, but the way things happened around him.

Faced with the risk of his oldest daughter bringing shame to their family, her father finally agreed to the wedding. Andreous married Ruth and when her father died, he left them the restaurant, and Miriam a few hundred pounds.

Andreous turned the restaurant into a club and barely scraped a living out of it. But Max used Miriam’s money to launch himself into the music world. He went to America and found talent, bringing them back to England and putting them on the road.

At twenty-three Max had been lean and hungry looking. But twenty years on, money, another stone in weight, he was in his prime. Sensuous, hooded eyes and fleshy lips promised passion. Thick black hair streaked with grey, detracted the eye from his Roman nose. A man who knew the effect he had on women and used it shamelessly. The handmade silk shirts, Italian shoes and his ostentatious jewellery were unnecessary adornments. No one ever forgot Max Menzies.

By the second set Georgia was getting into her stride. Her voice had a new maturity and range. Notes of caressing sweetness, mingled with shots of raw emotion that kept her audience spellbound.

‘When I fall in love’, had them wiping a tear from their eyes. ‘The Locomotion’ made their feet itch to dance, and finally when she burst into ‘Wonderful World’ she wrenched the last dregs of emotion from everyone.

Andreous was more than happy. His sophisticated and cool customers who rarely even acknowledged the entertainment were standing up to clap and cheer this young girl.

To think he had expected the evening to do little more than break even! They were all ordering drinks like there was no tomorrow, all because this young girl’s voice had touched a sensitive spot.

Georgia mopped the sweat off her face and shoulders in the dressing room and turned to the men in the quartet.

‘Thank you all so much,’ she said simply. They were packing up their instruments, obviously in a hurry to leave. ‘I couldn’t have got through it without you.’

She saw the exchanged glances. Four middle-aged men who’d seen everything and got credit for nothing.

‘You’ve got what it takes,’ Jack the pianist smiled. ‘But a word of warning. There’s a lot of sharks out there. Watch what you’re doing.’

‘Yes sir!’ she grinned. ‘But tell me how do I know the sharks from the nice fish?’

‘Extravagant promises,’ he turned away to pack up his music. ‘Now go on, be off with you and enjoy yourself.’

‘I hope we get to be together again,’ Georgia couldn’t find the right words to explain how much she owed her success to them.

‘So do we,’ Jack touched her shoulder. ‘Tonight was a real pleasure.’

Greek music wafted round the club. One wall was covered in a mural of a Greek town, white houses like sugar cubes underneath a turquoise sky. Candles dripping on to bottles on every table, the vine-covered pergola round the bar all gave an impression they were far away from London.

Janet and Sally were already up on the dance floor joining two snake-hipped waiters in Greek dancing. Georgia waved to them, then went over to join Pop, Andreous and their families.

‘This is my sister-in-law Miriam,’ Andreous said after he’d hugged her and introduced his teenage sons, and Pop’s five daughters.

‘I thought you were marvellous,’ Miriam said, her double chin quivering with emotion. ‘I had to find a hanky at the last song. You must tell me all about yourself.’

Georgia liked Miriam. Warmth and understanding flowed out of her, reminding her just a little of her own mother. Her dark eyes twinkled, her jewellery was dazzling and before Georgia knew it she was telling her all about her room, Helen and her hopes to be a professional singer.

‘You’ll get there,’ Miriam nodded. ‘You’ve got all the right qualities. Your mother must be so proud of you Georgia, is she here tonight?’

‘My parents are dead.’

She didn’t know why she said that. Was it pique because she’d had no word from Peter or Celia? Or protecting herself from the past?

‘I’m sorry darling,’ Miriam leaned closer to her drowning her in expensive perfume. ‘You are very young to be alone.’

But even reminders about being alone couldn’t hurt her tonight. A photographer took her picture, men in evening dress kept coming up to kiss her. Women in beautiful dresses stopped by to compliment her. Finally the grey miserable feeling she’d had since Helen’s death was actually fading.

‘You were very good.’ A deep voice behind her made her turn and look up.

For a moment Georgia couldn’t reply.

He was the most handsome man she’d ever seen. Making her think of thirties filmstars. His dinner-jacket fitted perfectly, his pin-tucked shirt like the kind she’d seen in glossy magazines. Pop had a clip-on bow tie, but Max’s was the real thing. He was a human black panther, sleek, just a little flashy and perhaps dangerous.

‘Thank you,’ she blushed.

‘This is my husband, Max.’ She heard Miriam speak but could barely tear her eyes from his face.

‘May I?’ He pulled up a chair, forcing his wife to move along. ‘I expect someone will grab you any moment for a dance, but I just wanted to say how much I enjoyed your performance.’

He talked about everything and yet nothing, his hooded eyes never leaving her face. The only clear thing she remembered later was when he spoke of managing bands and artists.

It was obvious he made money out of it, just one look at the gold watch on his wrist, the shirt and suit said it all.