Riches of the Heart (5 page)

‘You know I’m not. It’s good for the customers.’ Looking at his expensive suit and silk shirt she said, ‘Don’t suppose I can sell you anything – not from here.’

He laughed loudly, his brown eyes twinkling. Everyone else around was terrified of him, but this girl showed no fear, no respect. It was unusual, and he was enjoying himself.

‘What’s your name?’

‘Lily.’

‘Well, Lily, you look as if you’re doing all right. But you could do much better.’

There was a watchful expression in her eyes as she replied, ‘Oh, really?’

‘You could work for me.’

‘You setting up a second-hand stall, too?’

Oh, she was brazen, was this young lady. He’d enjoy smacking her plump bottom, Vittorio thought. ‘You know what I mean,’ he said smoothly. ‘You could work in my club.’

Anger flashed in her eyes. ‘No, I bloody couldn’t. I’m no whore!’

Her temper amused him; he was tired of compliant women. This girl was a fighter. There had been something about her that had caught his interest that day in the cafe. Something different – a certain spirit. He wanted to know her better. To have her in his bed – fighting with him. What a tiger she would be. Hard to control … He felt a stirring in his loins at the thought.

‘I didn’t think you were,’ he pointed out. ‘There are other jobs to be done.’

But in her eyes, Lily had been insulted and she was bristling with indignation. ‘I think you’d best be on your way. I’ve work to do – honest work!’

Vittorio chuckled to himself. ‘I’ll be seeing you again, Lily.’ He walked away, his shoulders shaking with suppressed amusement. There was no hurry. She was very young, time was on his side. But one day she would be his. He had made up his mind.

Lily knew he was laughing at her. ‘What a nerve,’ she muttered as she went back inside the shop for more wares to display. But her fingers trembled as she picked up a dress. She had recognised the expression in his eyes. She’d seen it in the eyes of her drunken father.

‘What’s up, girl?’

‘That bloody Vittorio – offered me a job in his club. Cheeky sod.’

‘You talking about The Maltese?’ Rachel looked worried.

‘Yes. Who does he think he is?’

Rachel caught hold of her arm. ‘Listen to me, Lily. And listen good. You keep away from him or one day they’ll fish you out of the docks.’

Lily paled. ‘What do you mean?’

‘That’s where some that have upset him have ended up.’

‘Then why isn’t he behind bars?’

Shaking her head Rachel said, ‘No proof. He’s a clever man, but dangerous. You watch your step. If he’s taken a fancy to you, he’ll be back.’

Later that evening, Tom McCann entered the public bar of The Sailor’s Return. The smell of tobacco and stale beer assailed his nostrils. Walking up to the bar, he greeted Declan, the landlord with: ‘Pint of the usual, you Irish peasant.’

Declan grinned. ‘Ye young varmint. I wouldn’t take that from anyone else.’

Tom studied the contents of the glass placed before him, holding it up to the light. ‘Just making sure you haven’t given me the dregs of the barrel,’ he teased.

‘You should be thanking your lucky stars you don’t live in America, my friend. For you wouldn’t get a drop.’

Laughing at the big man behind the counter, Tom said, ‘They wouldn’t dare bring Prohibition here, mate. There’d be a bloody riot in the streets. Mostly from the toffs waving empty champagne bottles.’

‘Too bloody right,’ agreed Declan.

‘The news of the Troubles in Ireland isn’t good,’ said Tom seriously. ‘I don’t know what Lloyd George is playing at.’

Declan nodded gloomily.

‘Still,’ said Tom, taking a swig of beer, ‘life’s not all bad. I had lunch the other day with a beautiful young lady.’

‘Did you now? Like the others, is she? I know your type – blonde and flighty.’

Shaking his head, Tom said, ‘No. This one is quite different. I don’t know, there’s just something very special about her.’

Declan clapped his hands in delight. ‘Never thought I’d live to see the day when wild Tom McCann, the charmer of the docks, was smitten. The next one’s on me.’

Taking his complimentary pint over to a table, Tom sat down. He always chose a seat where he could see who was coming in the door. That way there were no unpleasant surprises.

The Public Bar was L-shaped, with bench-seats around the walls and tables and chairs in the rest of the area. The partitioned end was grandly called the snug. At the opposite end, the regulars would gather to play shove-ha’penny and dominoes.

Looking around, Tom studied the usual seedy collection of customers standing, supping their beer. Two foreign seamen were being entertained by a couple of local prostitutes, fleecing the men for drinks as they fussed around them. They’ll have empty pockets before long, mused Tom.

Declan was keeping a wary eye on everyone. Because he was Irish, his pub was a great meeting place for his countrymen living in exile. He was a big burly chap, well able to deal with any trouble that might and often did occur. He had no hesitation in using the shillelagh he kept hidden beneath the bar.

With the constant flow of shipping in and out of the port, the pub had become a marketplace for stolen goods. Many a bale of silk, a case of spirits or a side of beef passed through but the police didn’t bother Declan often, knowing he kept the drunks under control. However, every now and then, they would raid all the pubs, trying to clamp down on such illegal dealings. Things would be quiet for a time, but soon trading would start again.

Tom looked up at the door opened and his mate, Knocker Jones, the rag and bone man, walked in.

‘Hello, me old mucker. Ready for another?’

Tom handed him his glass. ‘I’ll have a half in there, thanks.’

Knocker called out his order and waited at the bar. Tall and skinny, with beady eyes, he wore an old suit, a cloth cap and a silk muffler. His narrow features resembled those of a ferret, and his gaze darted everywhere. He watched the two seamen for a while then, after carrying the beer to the table, said, ‘Won’t be a minute,’ and headed over to them.

Tom watched with amusement as his friend bargained with one of the drunken men before buying a handsome watch he was wearing. The prostitute sitting with him gave Knocker a lot of verbal abuse as he walked away, but he just laughed at her.

Sitting down, he confided, ‘I’ve just ruined her night – she’d already copped her eyes on this.’ He put the watch on his wrist and studied his bargain. ‘I’ll get a pretty penny for this tomorrow.’

‘Don’t you ever stop grafting?’

Knocker looked at Tom. ‘You know me better than that, me old flower.’ Picking up his glass he took a long drink, then wiped the froth off his mouth. ‘God, I needed that. So how are you, me old mate?’

‘Never better.’

‘You sound dead chirpy. Got a new woman, is that it?’

Tom laughed. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘I know that gleam in your eye. Bit of all right, is she?’

‘I did meet a young lady the other day, as it happens.’

‘Oh, young lady, is it? That sounds a bit serious. Take some advice from an old friend. You be careful or you’ll find yourself in church one Saturday then surrounded by kids before you know what’s happened.’

The bar door opened and Amy entered. Seeing Tom, she walked over to him and sat down.

‘Hello darlin’,’ she said to him. ‘How about buying an old friend a gin?’

‘Business bad, Amy?’

‘No, I just thought I’d have the night off. Unless you want me to take care of you?’

‘You know I never pay for it. Why should I?’

Amy laughed. ‘The trouble with you, Tom McCann, is you’re too bloody good-looking. All the women would drop their drawers willingly if you so much as gave a hint.’

‘You never have, Amy.’

‘You’ve never asked me to. Anyway, I never give it away, you know that.’

Nudging Tom, Knocker said, ‘It’s much cheaper in the long run, paying a tom than getting married.
Much
cheaper. The cost of the licence is only the beginning.’ Finishing his drink he said, ‘I’ve got to go. See you soon.’

‘Well, are you going to buy me a drink or what?’ prompted Amy.

Tom willingly complied. He liked Amy. There was no side to her and he admired her spirit. She reminded him in some ways of Lily.

He wondered about Lily. It was sad that she was alone in the world so young. It made him feel protective towards her, somehow. There was an air of innocence about her, despite her sparky attitude and ready quips. A vulnerability. Yet she seemed well able to take care of herself. He found himself thinking that he’d like to be the one to do that.

‘So you’re my mother’s assistant.’

Lily took an instant dislike to Manny Cohen when he arrived the following morning as she was sorting the stock to be displayed outside.

He was short and fat, and his skin oozed with sweat as he lifted a heavy box of clothes across the floor. He reeked of stale perspiration and there were food stains down the crumpled jacket of his suit. His hooded eyes rested slyly on Lily in a way that made her flesh crawl.

Leering at her he said, ‘I won’t have to be away so often, then we can be friends.’ He caught hold of her as she went to pass by him, his hand brushing her breast.

‘Listen to me, you greasy little bastard. I work for Rachel, but that doesn’t mean I have to be friends with her son. You lay another finger on me and you’ll be very sorry.’

Outside, Lily silently fumed. Everything had been going so well for her. Now she felt uneasy. Knowing that Rachel doted on her son, Lily felt it could make things very difficult for her if he was going to be around.

‘I see you’ve met my Manny,’ said Rachel. ‘He’s going to sort out the stuff he brought today. Will you give him a hand, Lily?’

‘I was just going to hang these dresses up,’ she protested.

‘I’ll do that.’

Lily was left with no alternative but to go back into the shop. There, alone with Manny, she tried to be businesslike. ‘Here’s an empty box for any clothes we have to discard,’ she said.

He stood watching her, making her uncomfortable by his presence.

Putting her hands on her hips she demanded, ‘Are you going to stand there all day, or are you going to help? There’s a lot to be done.’

He looked sulkily at her. ‘Don’t you talk to me like that. I’m the boss’s son, remember?’

‘I don’t give a toss who you are. Rachel said I was to give you a hand, but it seems to me I’m doing it all myself. Go on outside and help your mother. I can manage.’

He walked towards her. ‘No, thanks. It’s windy outside. I’d rather be in here with you.’

Picking up an old umbrella, she clasped it tightly. ‘Keep away from me or I’ll clout you one.’

Her angry stance made him wary of her and he backed off and started working. But Lily remained vigilant.

A short while later, Rachel poked her head around the corner. She was grinning. ‘Lily? Your boyfriend’s here to see you.’

Lily felt her cheeks colour as she went outside.

Tom was standing there in his working clothes. ‘Hello, Lily.’ His eyes twinkled at her obvious embarrassment. ‘Sorry to disturb you, but how about coming to the pictures with me tonight?’

‘That would be lovely, Tom. Thank you.’

‘I’ll pick you up here at six o’clock, all right?’ He was staring past her. ‘Who’s that?’ he asked.

Turning around, Lily saw Manny in the doorway watching them, his pudgy hands wiping the sweat from his brow. ‘Oh, that’s Mrs Cohen’s son.’

Tom’s expression had darkened from the smiling countenance that had greeted her. ‘Does he give you any trouble?’

‘I’ve only met him this morning.’ She thought it unwise to elaborate. ‘Why?’

‘I don’t like the look of him – and I’m a good judge of people. If he does anything to upset you, just tell me … OK?’

She saw the fire in his eyes and the set of his jaw as he glared at Manny.

‘Don’t you worry about him,’ she said. ‘I can take care of myself.’

‘You don’t have to, Lily. I can do that for you.’ He smiled suddenly. ‘Anyone gives you a moment’s bother, you tell me.’

Anxious to avoid trouble she said, ‘Go on back to work, Tom. I’ll see you later.’

When he’d gone Manny said, ‘Big chap, your boyfriend.’

She glared at him. ‘You’d better remember that.’

Later, in the dark of the cinema, Lily felt a tremor of excitement as Tom put his arm around her. He’d bought her some chocolates in the foyer, and they ate them whilst they watched the black and white images on the screen. They laughed together at the antics of Charlie Chaplin until their sides ached.

When at last they left the cinema, Tom took out his pocket-watch. ‘We’ve got time for a couple of drinks before the pubs shut and I take you home. Come on, we’ll go to The Lord Roberts.’

Filled with consternation, Lily agreed. What was she to do? She wasn’t old enough to go into a pub. Tom obviously thought she was at least eighteen. He might be put off if he knew her real age, sixteen. And she didn’t know what drink to ask for. Then she remembered that her mother, on the rare occasions that Mavis drank, had liked port and lemon.

As they went inside the bar door, Lily looked furtively around in case her father was there. She didn’t think this was a regular pub of his, but she knew that any pub would do when he felt like a drink. Thankfully, she was safe.

‘What would you like, Lily?’

‘A port and lemon please,’ she said without hesitation.

She sat down at a table and waited, looking at her surroundings with interest. From the banter exchanged, she gathered some of the customers were locals, the others were a mixed bunch of seamen, ships’ stewards, talking about their last voyage, and one or two of the local prostitutes accompanied by their clients. Amy, sitting with a group of people, waved.

Lily found the atmosphere exciting.

‘There we are,’ said Tom, placing the drinks on the table. ‘Did you enjoy the film?’

‘Oh yes, thank you, Tom. And the chocolates – they were lovely.’

He pushed a strand of hair away from her forehead. ‘So are you, Lily.’

The touch of his fingers on her skin sent a quiver through her body. ‘What’s this – the Irish blarney coming out then?’ she quipped, covering her embarrassment.