Georgia (36 page)

‘I don’t fancy it,’ Georgia said wearily. She was sick and tired of people for now. She wanted to be alone in her room, not getting dressed up and posing as the rising star.

‘Don’t be daft,’ Rod said brightly. ‘You can’t not turn up. We’re all ready to go.’ Rod looked like a star himself, in black leather trousers and a ruffled shirt, his hair cut in the new ‘Beatles’ style.

‘You all go,’ she said firmly. ‘Have a great time, get drunk and screw as many birds as you can find. I’m going home.’

Ian was looking at her, one eyebrow raised. A ‘does that mean you want me to come home with you’ face.

‘You go too Ian,’ she said turning away from him so she couldn’t see the sad look she knew would come into those beautiful blue eyes.

He followed her out the door, catching hold of her bare arm and squeezing it.

‘Have I done something?’ he said, his eyes soft like a puppy’s.

For a moment she weakened. His long dark lashes framing his eyes, a perfect straight nose and that soft vulnerable mouth. He was perfection, not just his angelic beauty but the depth of his love and understanding for her.

‘No, of course not,’ she lifted a hand to his face, stroking it tenderly. ‘I just can’t cope tonight. I’d only spoil it for all of you. Get drunk and be silly and you can tell me all about it tomorrow night. We’ve got a week off remember? Maybe we can go somewhere together.’

‘I love you,’ he took her face in both his hands, regardless of people barging along the corridor.

His kiss was sweet and lingering. She felt the dressing-room door open behind them and someone look out, but she no longer cared.

‘I love you too,’ she whispered. ‘Now go on and have fun.’

He was still standing by the door as she reached the end of the narrow corridor. Downstairs there were shrieks of girls’ laughter, mingling with male voices and the popping of champagne corks. ‘Love, love me do’, the Beatles’ song was playing at full volume.

She lifted her hand and blew him a kiss. She could see his soft lips curved into a smile, brushing back his floppy fair hair impatiently from his eyes. Tomorrow she had to come to a firm decision about him, it wasn’t fair to take his love yet give him no real commitment in return.

Outside in Hammersmith Broadway she slipped unnoticed through the huge crowd of fans waiting for the big stars to make their appearance. It was a hot night, only just getting dark, the traffic as heavy as if it were six in the evening instead of ten thirty. No one noticed the slim dark girl in a pink dress pushing her way through the crowd.

She would catch a tube to Piccadilly, wander about the way she used to do with Helen. Tomorrow she would go in and see Pop and the girls. By then she’d be feeling her old self again. It was just exhaustion that made her feel so prickly.

It was almost twelve as she approached Berwick Street. Nothing had changed here. It was as dirty, smelly and full of noise as always, but just seeing her front door made her more cheerful.

Bert had surprised her in the last year. He’d spent money on the house, turning the lower rooms into a suite of offices, and she was the only tenant left. What had once been the small landing outside her room was now a tiny bathroom just for her, only a shower, basin and toilet, but it was bright and new. A fitted carpet had been laid. Not only in her room but up the stairs too. The old cooker and sink had been replaced with a smart fitted sink, a baby belling cooker and a fridge. She knew Bert had made these improvements not for her, but as an investment. When she moved out he would treble the rent, or even sell the entire place at a huge profit. But at least she had no need to feel ashamed of where she lived now.

‘Georgia! What are you playing at?’

She had been so deep in her thoughts she hadn’t spotted the new maroon MK 10 Jaguar parked outside. Max was sitting behind the wheel, his arm resting on the open window, wearing a white dinner jacket.

He could have passed for a film star as he leapt out of his car. His tanned, rugged face, the white jacket gleaming under the street light, his wide shoulders, animal grace and his sensuous features were enough to make any woman stop and stare.

‘Why aren’t you at the party?’ he asked.

‘I couldn’t face it,’ she sighed. ‘Don’t get at me Max. I’m not in the mood.’

‘I didn’t come here to get at you,’ he snapped. ‘I was concerned about you. I was in the audience tonight and I thought you lacked your usual sparkle. Then the boys said you’d gone off alone. What’s wrong?’

‘I’m just pissed off,’ she snapped back at him, getting out her key and putting it in the door. ‘Don’t say I’m not even allowed an off day or I’ll spit at you.’

His big hand covered hers on the lock.

‘Come and have something to eat with me?’ His voice was softer, almost understanding. She could feel his body close to hers and for some reason it felt comforting. ‘I’ll take you somewhere nice and quiet, feed you up and let you relax. I didn’t come to fight with you.’

‘I want to go to bed,’ she said weakly. In fact she was very hungry and she knew the only food she had was a tin of baked beans.

‘You don’t,’ he insisted. ‘I know perfectly well you didn’t get up till two o’clock today. You may be tired and fed up, but you aren’t sleepy. Now hop in the car and we’ll go somewhere.’

She hadn’t the will to argue further. Perhaps it was time she talked to him instead of ducking the issue. Maybe if she told him about how bad things were he might stop persecuting the band.

He drove silently up the narrow road to Oxford Street, then turned up towards Marble Arch.

‘Don’t even think of taking me to the party,’ she said quickly.

‘Not all roads lead to Park Lane,’ he grinned. ‘Though what on earth you’ve got against a bash like that I’ll never know.’

‘Girls getting goosed in corners. Loud-mouthed louts making fools of themselves and all the PR birds falling over themselves to get one of the stars into bed,’ she said bitterly. ‘I can live without that.’

‘You sound like an old lady,’ Max smiled. ‘Could it be you wouldn’t be the centre of attention?’

‘I’m just tired!’

He was right of course, when had she ever wanted to pass up a party before? Adam Faith was fun, he wasn’t such a big shot, and if the PR girls were a pain, at least all the other performers agreed with her. ‘But we can’t go on like this Max, it isn’t fair and you know it. Our band is far better than any of the others. We deserve more than bottom of the bill.’

Max didn’t answer. They were passing the Hilton’s glass frontage, awash with golden light. A Rolls Royce drew up outside and the doorman rushed forward to welcome the occupant.

‘Petula Clark,’ Max waved one big hand, his gold watch gleaming on a thick wrist. ‘One day you’ll have a car like that Georgia. Just stop being so stubborn and listen to reason.

He took her to a small restaurant in Chelsea, ushering her through the main area to a floodlit garden beyond.

‘It’s too nice to be indoors tonight,’ he smiled at Georgia’s rapt face. She looked like a little girl tonight, in that pink cotton dress and her hair in a pony-tail. Surrounded as he was by predatory secretaries who hid behind masks of make-up, her innocence and straight talking was a tonic. ‘The food’s good here too.’

It reminded Georgia of places she’d seen on films. Honeysuckle covered walls, urns of bright petunias and pansies with little stone statues half hidden beneath the foliage.

They were the only people eating outside, soft music wafted out as they ate French onion soup and Max kept filling up her wine glass.

‘It’s like being on holiday,’ she grinned. Max could be so charming when he wanted to be. She hadn’t eaten anything more than fry-ups and hamburgers for weeks and from inside the restaurant she could smell sizzling steaks being grilled.

‘Come away for a few days with me,’ he said unexpectedly. ‘We could catch a flight tomorrow to Spain. You could have this every night.’

For a moment she could just see a golden beach, turquoise sea and palms waving in a soft breeze. She could feel the sun on her shoulders, the sand between her toes.

‘No strings,’ he smiled, sensing her temptation. ‘Separate rooms. Just time to talk and relax.’

‘I couldn’t,’ she reluctantly pulled herself back to reality, Ian’s face full of hurt. ‘Besides I haven’t any clothes.’

‘We could buy anything you need,’ he leaned closer across the table, putting one big hand over hers. ‘Of course you can come. What’s stopping you?’

‘The boys,’ she merely whispered it. ‘They’d think I’d sold out.’

‘Would you come if I said I’d allow you to make a record with them?’

Georgia felt her stomach turn over. Was this blackmail, teasing, or merely trying to find out her price?

‘Are you serious?’

He was such a good-looking man. His face in the soft floodlights had a golden glow, his dark, hooded eyes so sexy she felt she wanted to reach out and touch him even if he was the enemy.

The waiter interrupted the moment by clearing away their soup bowls. It gave her time to collect herself.

Would the thought of making a record absolve her from being alone in Spain with Max? Would Ian believe nothing happened?

‘Of course I’m serious,’ he looked at her through half closed eyes, a faint smile twitching his lips.

‘What would Miriam say about this?’ By turning the tables on him she was giving herself time to think.

‘I’d tell her and the boys we were going to see a promoter,’ he said too glibly. He hadn’t really planned anything tonight. It had all tumbled into his head when he saw her sad, troubled expression. He wanted her. He had from the moment he clapped eyes on her, her combination of girlish sweetness and the tough rock singer was enough to give any man a hard on. But for now he was content to woo her.

‘I can’t make up my mind just like that,’ she said weakly, tempted now to the point where she was almost agreeing.

‘There’s plenty of time,’ he smiled, sensing she was almost his. ‘I’m serious Georgia. I can’t fight you any longer this way. I can’t swing a recording contract for the band, but if they came up with the right song, written by themselves, we could insist they got equal billing. After the first hit, Decca might review the situation.’

The steaks arrived with a huge bowl of salad. Georgia’s mind was still churning over his idea. Was this another ploy to weaken her resolve? Could she hold him to it, get a real promise before they even talked seriously about getting on a plane?

The lack of contract for the boys wasn’t important. If her first record was a hit, there would be enough exposure to launch them in their own right. They would have the shared royalties and her debt to them would be paid in full.

The steak was perfect, succulent and tender. The wine was giving her a rosy glow and the smell of honeysuckle filled her nostrils.

Max was talking about one of his new bands. Georgia smiled as if she was listening carefully, but all the time her mind was on Ian.

He was the stumbling block. Samson for all their talent couldn’t survive without a strong singer. They would have to replace him or lose all credibility. How could she even think of putting Ian in such a precarious position?

The steaks were followed by strawberries and cream in huge glass goblets. Max filled up her glass yet again, then sat back and lit up a cigar.

‘You’re worried about Ian?’ he said, looking at her with half-closed eyes. ‘How long has it been going on?’

He hadn’t been certain before. Secret looks between the pair of them, the lack of complaints about sharing rooms. Jokes from the other boys. Nothing definite to point to involvement with the lad, but he could see that look of concern in her eyes and he knew it wasn’t for the rest of the band.

‘Eighteen months,’ she sighed. It was too late for lies. Why should she cover it up anyway?

Max crossed his legs, tilting back his chair. The floodlights reflecting on the foliage around him had turned his face green. He looked sinister now. Calculating and mean.

‘What made you get involved with him?’ he snapped. ‘He’s a nice enough lad, but by God Georgia, couldn’t you look ahead and see the problems?’

‘I could say the same about you,’ she retorted. ‘You’ve got a wife you don’t seem to consider. Did you look ahead and see that coming?’

‘Leave Miriam out of this,’ his mouth turned mean and bad tempered. ‘We’re talking about your future. I told you that lad was the weak link. He’s useless as a singer and if you stay together he’ll be a millstone round your neck. If it had been Rod I could have understood it, or Speedy. They’ve got a future. Ian’s got nothing.’

He painted the scene she’d seen so often at the back of her mind. Ian waiting patiently at home while she got all the glory, how long would it be before his role was nothing more than a lap dog?

‘Don’t you dare speak about Ian like that,’ Georgia stood up, her chair tumbling over behind her. ‘You may be my manager. But I won’t stand by and let you belittle him.’

‘Sit down darling,’ he reached out for her hand. ‘People are looking!’

Out of the corner of her eye she could see heads turning, middle-class socialites looking down their noses at her cheap cotton dress and assuming she was a pick-up.

‘I don’t give a shit,’ she snarled. ‘You’ve got no idea how much of Samson is Ian have you? Without his ideas and drive they would never have got off the ground. If you had any sense you’d be looking for another slot to fit him into, on the management side, instead of trying to get rid of him.’

A wave of red-hot anger was washing over her. This was the man who was responsible for all the problems, yet for a moment she’d been tempted to conspire with him!

‘It won’t be me who gets rid of him,’ Max arched one eyebrow. ‘The lure of fame and wealth does many things to people.’

‘You should know,’ she snarled. ‘You wrote the dirty tricks book didn’t you?’

She turned and ran then, straight through the restaurant, pushing aside a waiter, tears streaming down her cheeks, out into the street.

‘Is the young lady coming back, Mr Menzies?’ The waiter approached tentatively, his thin body bending in supplication.

‘I doubt it,’ Max snapped. ‘Just get me a large brandy.’