The Talisman (30 page)

Edward was glad when the cab pulled over. He refused the offer of certain items that could be got for a good price, and of introductions to some good clubs, and by the time he’d paid the cab off he would have liked to throttle the driver.

Dora had spent a lot of Johnny’s money on clothes, but she told herself that that was what she should be doing, she had to look the part. She had a new platinum rinse, silvery-blonde, almost white, and her face had been made up in the beauty department at Harrods. Her eyebrows were plucked, and she wore the new, deep-red lipstick. Her hair was scooped into a roll on each side of her face, the back curled into a pageboy. The clustered pearl earrings and matching hair slides made her look very sophisticated in the little black dress with the padded shoulders. It was nipped in at the waist and tight over her little bum. She had put some sticking plaster around Johnny’s ring so it didn’t swivel around her finger, and she flashed the ring and her long, red nails. She was smoking Lucky Strikes from a gold cigarette case, and couldn’t keep her eyes off herself. She kept catching glimpses of herself in mirrors around the club and liked what she saw so much that she constantly tilted her head and touched her hair.

The club was full, and the girls were working hard at entertaining. Edward sat at the far corner table, watching Dora swanning around the club. She hadn’t seen him yet, and she disappeared through a small door marked ‘Private’.

‘You on your ownsome, darling? Would you like company? We can offer some lovely champagne, and there’s small snacks if you’re feeling peckish. You feeling peckish, lovey?’

He smiled at the pouting young girl and shook his head. He asked for a whisky and soda and said he was waiting for Dora.

‘Oh, Miss Harris. She know you’re here, does she?’ She stepped back, dropping the big come-on act as he looked at her.

‘I’ll wait for her, thank you.’

‘There’s a geezer sittin’ on his own, Miss Harris, says he’s waitin’ for you.’

Dora pursed her lips and picked up her small black handbag, took out a compact and flicked it open. ‘Phyllis, you do not call customers “geezers”. How many more times do I have to tell you that? Who is he and what’s his name? You ask what he wants and then you come to me an’ you say, “Miss Harris, there’s someone who wants to speak to you.” That clear, lovey? Now, which table is he at?’

Dora moved aside the small flap covering the peephole in the door and Phyllis peered over her shoulder, said he was the customer sitting at the back table in the alcove. Dora let the cover slip back into place and smiled to herself. ‘Bring the gentleman into my office, would you, and bring us a bottle of Dom Perignon, one of the real ones.’

‘Well, Eddie, this is a surprise. Sit down – thank you Phyllis, that’ll be all for now.’ Phyllis left the champagne in its ice-bucket and slipped out.

‘You want a drink, Eddie? It’s good stuff, none of the muck we serve out there . . . You look well, nice suit, how do you think I look?’

He gave her a nod of approval, refused the drink, and noticed she didn’t touch it herself. She sipped from a long, thin glass of iced water, and crossed her perfect legs.

‘How’s your mother?’

Dora waved her hand vaguely, said her mother had snuffed it months ago, couldn’t even remember how long. ‘Pity, really, I’d like her to see me doing so well. I manage the place, you know? Well, more’n manage it – I run it, see. Johnny got enlisted, terrible shame. They picked him up for black marketeerin’ and then found out he was a draft-dodger. I worry about him because he’s in the bunkers and he suffers from claus . . . er, claus . . .’

Edward finished the word off for her, ‘. . . trophobia’. Dora nodded. ‘Yeah, it’s some kind of phobia, he don’t like enclosed places, ever since he was in the nick one time . . . Well, tell me about you.’

When she saw the gold cigarette case, the gold lighter, she gave him a quick once-over. He let the smoke drift out of his nostrils . . . He was still the best-looking man she had ever set eyes on. Trouble was, he knew it, he had that manner about him. ‘Very sure of yourself, aren’t you, Eddie?’

He laughed and suddenly he looked younger, and said he could say the same for her. He stood up, crossed over to her and held out his hand. ‘Let’s cut the crap and go to bed, I’m tired and I need a place for the night.’

She wanted to say no, wanted to say she wasn’t his for the taking, not any more, wanted to say she was engaged to be married, but she simply nodded her head. ‘Go out an’ get a cab to Johnny’s place, it’s same as last time – only difference is, it’s mine . . . I can’t be seen leaving with you, not now I’m runnin’ the place. Doesn’t look good. I’ll be with you in a few minutes, just sort out a few things. Here’s the keys, let yourself in.’

He caught the keys and walked out, closing the door behind him. Dora remained sitting for a few moments before she buzzed for Arnie Belling.

At first Arnie had not liked taking his orders from Dora, but Johnny had given him a twofold assignment. He was to act as bouncer inside the club, and he was to look out for her. He was paid extra for the latter. Only after Arnie had seen her spot a barman fiddling the till and observed the way she handled him did he begin to respect her. She had asked him simply to stand close, close enough so the barman would be aware of his presence. Then she had smiled sweetly, sat the man down and offered him a drink. The barman had relaxed, drinking, saying they were doing good business and that Johnny would be proud of her.

‘Yeah, he would be proud of me, but he’d have your balls, love. Now then, don’t make excuses, don’t even try because it would embarrass me, and it would annoy Arnie. See, your fiddle’s been copped. It’s two in the till for the club and one in the pocket for you . . . Don’t interrupt, let me finish. Now then, you’re a good man behind the bar, and you got a good line with the customers. We are making a good profit so why don’t we say two and a quarter in the till, a quarter in yours, the rest to Arnie? That way the pair of you can watch out for each other.’

Arnie watched the guy hesitate, then realize he was on to a good thing. So it was a deal and, because he was getting a share of the profits, a straight share, he worked even harder.

‘Lock up for me will you, Arnie? I got ever such a headache.’

Arnie helped her on with her mink and said he’d have a taxi outside in a minute. Dora checked her appearance once more in the wall of mirrors, made sure her seams were straight, touched her hair in the familiar gesture and swanned out.

Edward looked around the place, impressed. New wallpaper, new curtains – not exactly elegant, but certainly a vast improvement.

‘I’m very impressed, place looks quite nice. You’ve been busy.’ He helped her off with her coat, noted the label, and tossed the mink to one side.

Dora walked straight through to the bedroom and began to take off her stockings, kicking her shoes across the room. ‘I got a maid comes in every day to keep the place tidy. I’m obsessed with everything being tidy. I got a place for everythin’, probably because all my life I hadda . . . had to share everythin’ with me sisters an’ brothers, not even me own bedroom. Now this is all mine, at least until the war’s over, anyway . . .’ She was trying to sound posh, trying very hard not to drop her aitches, and Edward was amused. She reminded him of himself not so long ago. He began to undress.

‘What you laughing at?’

He stripped off his shirt and tossed it on to the small, pale pink velvet chair, then pulled off his trousers and, stark-naked, walked over to an ashtray to finish off his cigarette. He blew out the smoke and then ground the cigarette into the pristine cut-glass ashtray.

‘I’m doin’ well, Eddie, really well. I’m stashing it away and I’m enjoying myself – life’s good, really good.’

He flipped back the clean silk sheets and got into bed while she slowly removed her underwear. He watched her as she wriggled sexily out of the black lace brassière, then her panties giving them a small twirl. ‘Figure’s good, ain’t it? Not bad for my age?’

Perfect legs, tight belly and big tits – she was lucky, they were well rounded so didn’t sag or droop. He watched her cream her face, sitting naked at the neat dressing table, first the cream, then the dabs of astringent, and each piece of cotton wool she used went into the small pink velvet waste bin. She checked her eyes in the mirror, the little lines, then took the stopper from a perfume bottle and dabbed her neck, elbows, behind the knees . . . admiring herself all the time. Then, ready, she turned with a smile.

Edward lay with his eyes closed, and she stood up, hands on her hips. ‘Bloody hell . . .’ Flipping off the lights she climbed in beside him, and he grabbed her, laughing. He wasn’t asleep – far from it – and he mounted her before she’d even pulled the sheet over her . . .

Dora drew her pink silk dressing gown closer around her and carried the coffee into the bedroom. ‘You’ll have ter get a move on, she’ll be ’ere – here any minute an’ I don’t want her finding you. You know the way maids talk.’

She stood at the bathroom door, watching him as he rifled through Johnny’s shaving gear and lathered his face. ‘You know, you really are the best. I’m not just saying it, I really mean it, an artist. You could make it your profession.’

She surveyed his body, sipped the thick black coffee and reminded herself not to use too many beans in the American coffee machine, a gift from one of her customers. ‘When will you come again, Eddie? Eddie . . .?’

He splashed cold water on his face, walked past her into the bedroom and began to dress.

‘Eddie, you hear me, when are you coming back? You don’t really give a tinker’s cuss about me, do you? You know, I thought you did, last night? What did you need, a room for the night? Eddie, you deaf? Why don’t you answer me?’

Slipping into his fresh shirt he started doing up the small pearl buttons. ‘Because I don’t like to be called “Eddieeee . . . Eddieee.”

‘Oh, all right, then, Stud, is that a better name?’ Furious with him, she opened her handbag and took out two folded tenners, chucked them on to the bed. ‘You got a posh voice, Eddie, you got all the right gear. You got the lighter an’ cigarette case, but that don’t make you any different from me. You’re goin’ through one school, an’ I’m goin’ through another, but we’re the same.’

He was putting his coat on, going to walk out on her. She blazed. Nobody walked out on her, she was somebody now. She certainly wasn’t going to take it from a kid from her own backstreet slum. She hurled a pot of cream at his head, but she missed and it spattered over her new wallpaper.

Dressed to perfection, his coat on, Edward snapped his overnight case shut. Then he gave her his smile, and she wanted to cry. ‘Damn you, Eddie Stubbs, damn you.’

Picking up a handkerchief from the dressing table she blew her nose.

‘I earn good money, Eddie, and with Johnny away you could stay here, stay with me. I know how to handle the punters, I could really make it . . . You like me, don’t you?’

He looked around her bedroom, picked up his case.

‘This isn’t for me, sweetheart, and nor are you . . . Thanks anyway.’

She followed him through into the small hallway with the pink rose-patterned carpet. ‘Will I see you again, then?’

He opened the door, gave her a wink and said, ‘Sure,’ then he was gone. When she went back into the bedroom she noticed that he had taken her twenty quid, and then she saw the cream dripping down the new wallpaper. ‘Me wallpaper, look at me bloody wallpaper.’

Evelyne Stubbs’ solicitors were taken aback when the smart young man presented himself as her son. He apologized, and said he had intended calling to see them months ago, but due to his studies he had never been able to get to London on weekdays.

They reviewed Evelyne’s will in detail. Edward had hoped that the land his mother’s house had stood on would be of some value. The whole street had been bombed, and they were building prefab houses – in fact they had already rebuilt part of the street and were rehousing the homeless.

‘The land, really, is virtually worthless. Of course, that may not be the case after the war, but at present there are vacant plots of land all over London, in some places more land than houses.’

Edward took their advice to retain the plots until they were worth selling. He then asked about Evelyne’s money in the Post Office; it was a simple matter of the verification of his signature and the money was his. He stopped at the first Post Office he came to after leaving the solicitors’ office, and withdrew the 123 pounds in cash. The assistant asked if he wished to retain the old book, as there was still one pound, fifteen shillings and sixpence of accrued interest.

Edward chuckled, slipping the book into his pocket. ‘I think I’ll leave that in, for emergencies, thank you.’

After opening a bank account – his first – Edward made his way to the station and sat on the train, waiting for it to leave for Cambridge. He had hoped, of course, that his mother’s land would be worth a lot more. He recalled the days of Miss Freda and Ed, the Meadows family, and how hard his mother had saved and fought for them not to be evicted. What had it all been for? To end up as a worthless piece of wasteland. He gave no thought to Alex, beyond being relieved that the solicitors had not mentioned him. It did not occur to him that half the money he had just banked rightly belonged to Alex, or that half the property was also his. All he could think of was that now he could continue his studies, not exactly in the lap of luxury, but with more than enough to see him through.

By the time he let himself into his rooms, Edward was quite cheerful. He had only just taken his overcoat off when there was a knock on the door. He recognized the light, nervous tap, and called for Walter to let himself in.

‘I’ve just been with the board again, it’s unbelievable. They’re sending me off to the War Office, to decipher bloody codes or something. I mean, how can they do it to me, smack in the middle of term?’

Edward commiserated. Poor, blind-as-a-bat Walter. He even offered to make the poor boy some cocoa, but Walter was so depressed he refused. Walter was nudging ahead of Edward in the tutorials, he was exceptionally clever . . .