The Exciting Life (7 page)

‘
The housing trust?’

‘
Yes. But before she was married to Uncle Michael, she was
married to Roland Villiers, the head of Villiers Hotels. Her
brother, my Uncle James, took over the running of Villiers when
Roland died. Uncle James was also married to Alicia
Bloom.’

‘
You have a look of her you know.’

‘
So people have always said. But we’re not related. All we have
in common is that we originally come from Battersea. But because of
Uncle James, I’ve always been able to stay in any Villiers. But he
died a few years ago and Villiers is now losing out to other
hoteliers. Aunt Alice is looking to sell it eventually, but she
gave me The Fortune, primarily so I could sell it. I’ve only just
finished paying off Mario’s gambling debts and I need my own money.
But I went to look at it, and I just got this vision of a grand
emporium selling shoes and accessories, and I decided to take a
chance and build it.’

‘
But how are you going to fill a big building like that
up?’

‘
Well I’m having the top two floors converted into a flat for
myself and the rest of the place is going to be used for the
business.’

‘
Why don’t we meet tomorrow and you can show me your sketches?
I’d like to help you.’

‘
So what do you do then?’ Annie asked. ‘You say you don’t work
with your father?’

‘
I own Top Twenty Records.’

‘
Really? A record company?’

‘
Yeah. See when I was a little boy, before the war, Mum put me
on the stage. The Tiny Rocket I was called. I couldn’t sing Annie,
I just sort of shouted in tune, but I did a trade in the music
halls. By the time the war broke out, my voice had broken and I
couldn’t sing at all. I fought in Burma and helped with a lot of
the entertainment for the troops, coaching the singers and so on.
When I came home I used the contacts I’d made before the war and
started promoting. I looked after this girl called Millie Soames
for a while. Then in Fifty-Four, I got the offer from Ernie Lee to
buy Union Records, and I bought it and renamed it Top Twenty. We
did so-so until I took on a producer called Jack Wise. He’s bloody
mad, but knows what he’s doing. He produced Look All Over, and it
went to Number One.’

‘
Look All Over by Jonny Sabre?’ Annie gasped. ‘I loved that
song. That was on your record label?’

‘
It was,’ he smiled proudly. ‘It went from there. I’ve now got
a roster of twelve acts and we’ve had seven number
ones.’

‘
Gosh.’

‘
I made my first million last year.’

How
crass it was to talk about money, Annie thought to herself. It was
clearly the mark of someone who had no class. But she didn’t mind
it. The roughness behind his suave, handsome exterior made him all
the more attractive.

‘
Hopefully one day I’ll match you,’ she said
smartly.

‘
I’m not doubting you will.’

‘
So have you bought yourself a big house with your
money?’

‘
Nope. I’ve got a modest little bachelor pad in Kensington,
down the road from my office. I don’t need a big house. It’s not
like I’ve got a wife to put in it.’

Annie
smiled to herself, wondering if this nugget of information was for
her benefit. She hoped so. It had hurt her so much when Patrick had
chosen Iris, and she needed a little boost – someone to make her
feel desirable.

‘
Well it’s very good of you to still help your dad out. My
brother would be most pleased with you. He likes people who don’t
forget their roots.’

‘
Is that what he accuses you of doing?’

‘
Yes. Maybe I sound shallow, but Uncle Michael and Aunt Nesta
paid for me to go to a good school and get a good education. I
wasn’t prepared to leave and go to work in Woolworths and throw it
all away. I married Mario and had a damned good time.’

‘
I remember seeing you in the papers with Mario Stefani. Such a
glamorous couple.’

‘
We were, but the bastard left me with nothing but debts. All I
have in the world is Bruno’s. He won that in a card game. But at
least he left it to me to do as I wish, so I have that and my
hotel. But I’ve nothing else. I’ve even been reduced to renting a
scruffy flat in Fulham until I can move into the new
place.’

‘
Can’t your aunt and uncle help you?’

‘
Uncle Michael died and left the family home to Aunt Nesta. But
she had a stroke and Kenneth put her into a convalescent home in
Switzerland. He got power of attorney as Nesta wasn’t in a fit
state to make a decision, and took Tanner Beresford. He knocked
down Elliott House and built a large housing estate over it. Uncle
Michael didn’t have a lot to leave. He lost a lot of money after
the war in taxes and so on. But he left me a nest egg and I used
that to invest in my business.’

‘
If it was me, I’d take myself off to America and live with
Alicia Bloom.’

‘
I don’t want to keep on relying on my family. If I was a blood
relative it wouldn’t be so bad, but I wasn’t even formally adopted
by the Holland’s.’

‘
Really? How come?’

‘
They were too old. They became our legal guardians and they
changed our surnames to Holland, but that was it.’

‘
What about your real family?’

‘
I don’t remember my father and I only have vague memories of
my mother. She died and we were put into an orphanage.’

‘
Well it certainly doesn’t show. You come across as someone who
was born with class.’

‘
Thank you,’ she replied. ‘Just shows all the work Aunt Nesta
and Uncle Michael put in was worth it.’

‘
Well, I’ll drop by tomorrow and have a look at your sketches
and see who I think would benefit from wearing a pair of your
shoes. I know a lot of famous women.’

‘
I bet you do,’ she quipped.

‘
Cheeky,’ he smiled. ‘I’ll see who I can persuade to wear a
pair. If she’s seen out and about in your shoes and photographed,
it’ll get you publicity.’

‘
You don’t have to do this for me.’

‘
Listen, you get lots of commissions, my Papa gets lots of
work. Everybody wins.’

‘
And there was me thinking you wanted to impress
me.’

He
raised one of his heavy brows and smiled, sipping his
drink.

‘
Who says I didn’t?’

Chapter Five

April
1959

Iris lay next to Patrick, listening to the sound of the rain
beating on the window - punctuated with his snores, and realised it
was unlikely she was going to get to sleep any time soon. She
rolled onto her side and in the half-light, looked at her lover and
thought how strange men were. Patrick was probably one of the
best-looking men she’d ever been with, and yet he bored her. In her
time she’d had some ugly bastards – look at Arthur Hatfield. But
they’d had something about them that had excited or interested her.
Patrick was very pretty, but he was dull. When they were out, he’d
rarely talk to her. Depending on where they were, he’d be talking
business to some other heavy, or if they were at Bruno’s, he’d
still be drawn to Annie; and the rapport he shared with her was
more natural than anything between him and Iris. In bed he was
strictly ‘
wham bam thank you
ma’am’
. Like all men, he’d made the effort
at first, but now he was just concerned with his own pleasure,
before rolling off her and going to sleep.

But
despite that, he was probably the best catch Iris had ever had. She
didn’t tell him that she still saw Arthur Hatfield one evening a
week – although he was usually too pissed to want to do anything;
and there were her other two clients - the big boss from the
railways who would treat her to an overnight stay at The Hilton
Park Lane once a fortnight, and the judge who she saw one afternoon
a week in his chambers. She saw them purely to pay the rent and
keep herself afloat. As much as she disliked working for Annie, if
she offered her regular work, she would have given up the whoring
and stuck with modelling. But it didn’t pay enough, simple as
that

She was
also aware that Annie was still attracted to Patrick. Sometimes
they would be in Bruno’s and Iris would catch her throwing him the
occasional longing glance. That would always make Iris feel good –
knowing she was the one going home with him at the end of the
evening. Iris wasn’t even sure why Annie still wanted Patrick –
Eddie Glass was gorgeous. He was a proper man; almost forty,
confident and rich of his own accord. Not a jumped up daddy’s boy
like Patrick. Iris often wondered if she could work her womanly
ways on him, but decided not to. If she was ever going to get a
share of what she felt she was owed, it wasn’t going to happen if
she carried on stealing men off Annie.

She sat
up and lit a cigarette, and the movement was enough to disturb
Patrick. He grumbled and turned his head to look at her.

‘
Can’t you sleep?’ he asked.

‘
No,’ she smiled sweetly, reaching down and stroking his soft
hair. ‘Rain always keeps me awake.’

‘
Did you enjoy yourself tonight?’ he asked, his eyes drooping.
He wasn’t so interested in what she had to say that it stopped him
from sleeping.

‘
What, just then?’

‘
No. Dinner, with Oscar London?’

‘
Oh, that. Yes, it was very enjoyable. Are you going to invest
money in his film?’

‘
I’d like to, but his old man will probably object to me
getting involved.’

‘
What do you mean?’

‘
He’s some big wig at the BBC. I’m the son of a
villain.’

Before
Iris could answer him, he started snoring again and the
conversation was halted. Iris just carried on smoking her fag and
thinking about the evening that had just gone. They’d had dinner at
the American Steak House with Oscar London, a rather louche young
man who used to be an actor and now wanted to move into film
production. Like a lot of young upper-class men, he was drawn to
the seedier side of life and enjoyed mixing with businessmen who
operated slightly outside the law. He wanted Patrick to invest
money in the film he was making - the dramatisation of some seedy
kitchen sink novel, which he was convinced was going to be the next
big thing. Iris had zoned out during a lot of the conversation, but
now she knew Oscar’s father was a big wig at the BBC who wouldn’t
want to be associated with the likes of Bernie Collins’ son, she
guessed he’d need convincing that Patrick was respectable and
distanced from his father’s activities. An idea formed in Iris’s
head, a way she could kill two birds with one stone. But she was
going to have to sleep on it.

When she
awoke the next morning, Iris knew what she had to do. She checked
Patrick was still asleep and went into the bathroom to re-apply her
make-up. She’d never been brave enough to let a man see her without
full slap. Even though she was only twenty-three and had perfect
skin, she was convinced she looked pale and plain without make-up.
She wished Patrick would let her stay at his place. She'd visited
the neat little pad in West Hampstead before, but at the end of the
evening he would always drive her all the way back to Streatham.
Iris did her best to not listen to the paranoid voice in her head
that told her he was ashamed to have her wake up in his house. She
just put it down to men being funny.

‘
You know I'm sure you're just as beautiful without make-up,’
he called from the bedroom. ‘Come back and keep me
warm.’

‘
You know I want to look perfect for you all the time,’ she
called back whilst rubbing rose pink rouge into her cheeks. She
finished it all off with a dab of pink lipstick and went back into
her bedroom. She hated catching reflection of her new, classy self
in the mirror on her wardrobe door; then looking at the bed where
she’d entertained so many seedy customers – it made her feel
ashamed.

Patrick
was sitting up, smoking a cigarette. This was when he looked the
most gorgeous and Iris would fancy him all over again. His auburn
hair was tousled and loose, and however much he tried to push it
back from his brow, a few stands would flop back down onto his
forehead. His biceps were well-defined and on his left arm he had a
tattoo of a shamrock - all the men who worked for Bernie Collins
were expected to have it. He looked rough and sexy, and Iris wished
he’d stay like this.

‘
Come ‘ere,’ he growled.

Iris
came and sat on the bed, and Patrick grabbed her and pushed her
back and across his lap. She giggled and tried to wriggle
away.

‘
Why won’t you let me see you without make up?’ he
asked.

‘
Because I look a sight.’ She reached up and stroked his
stubbly face. ‘I didn’t sleep much last night. The rain kept me
awake.’

‘
Well I suggest you come back to bed then,’ he
smiled.

‘
No. I was doing some thinking about your meeting with Oscar
London last night. You say his father is a big wig at the BBC and
he won’t like you getting involved with his son’s film?’

‘
Yes. Even though my dad paid for me to go to Bryanston, it’s
not enough to impress the likes of Charlie London.’