Tiger Ragtime (4 page)

‘Thank you. I could say the same of you.’

‘So, what have you been doing?’ she asked directly when he didn’t volunteer any information.

‘Growing up, seeing the world, learning a few tricks,’ he replied casually.

‘Where?’

‘Here, there, and everywhere.’

‘America by the sound of you.’

‘For some of the time.’

‘You’re not going to give me any straight answers, are you?’ She took a packet of small cigars from her handbag and opened it.

‘Have one of mine, they’re Cuban.’ He slipped his hand inside his coat and pulled out a solid gold cigar case. He pressed the catch and it flew open to reveal a neat row of slim black cigars.

She took one. ‘Nice case.’

‘Nothing but the best.’ There was no trace of irony in his voice.

She rolled the cigar between her finger and thumb and sniffed it appreciatively. ‘So, at the risk of being ignored again, how long are you staying in Tiger Bay?’

‘That depends on whether or not I find the right business opportunity.’

‘Such as?’

‘I’m thinking of opening a nightclub.’

‘That costs money.’

‘Really?’ He smiled. ‘I hadn’t thought of that.’

‘You always were a joker, Aled.’

‘How many clubs are there down here?’

‘A few.’

‘How many can hold between two and three hundred people, put on musical shows with chorus girls, singers, and entertainment and offer gambling? Roulette wheels, blackjack, poker …’

She burst out laughing. ‘It is a long time since you’ve been in the Bay. I can think of half-a-dozen cellars and small private bars where you can get a drink out of hours. The biggest casinos around here are still the open-air ones on the street corners, which the police blow the whistle on when the mood takes them. Some of the local bands play in the pubs and clubs, but dancing girls.’ She shook her head and smiled. ‘Where do you think you’ve landed, Aled, Paris?’

‘Paris nightlife was probably dull before the Moulin Rouge opened. The right club could put Tiger Bay on the map, provided it was run by the right man. Where do you and your girls pick up most of your customers?’

She drew on her cigar. ‘Same place your mother did when she was on the game: the street and the pubs that let us in. Although the bloody landlords take a cut. They demand a bob for every man they see us walking out of their door with. They keep a book and it’s pay up or get out the next time we try to work there. Friday and Saturday nights are our busiest. We all have our regulars but things aren’t what they were twenty or even ten years ago. Trade is bad, but enough crache have business that takes them in and out of the banks, shipping offices and coal exchange in Bute Street – and afterwards to my house for a little relaxation, to bring in a trickle of customers. And there are always the sailors – like yourself.’

He knew she’d thrown out the last remark in the hope that he’d tell her more about what he’d been doing. ‘Any good buildings for sale, lease, or rent in Bute Street?’

‘One or two.’ She eyed him suspiciously. ‘What trade you aiming for in this club of yours, if it ever opens its doors?’

‘The idle and not-so-idle rich who like to drink out of hours and who don’t mind paying a premium for plush surroundings. Customers who want to be entertained by professional musical shows. Men who enjoy ogling pretty girls. The gamblers who enjoy a flutter on the horses, dogs, and roulette wheel. Plus serious card players in search of a straight game with high stakes.’

‘The first thing I learned when I moved to Tiger Bay is that there’s no such thing as a straight card game.’

‘I’ll invite you to play with me and my boys some time, Anna.’ Aled flicked the ash from his cigar into the tray on the table.

‘Your boys? You’re married.’

It was his turn to laugh. ‘The ones I employ. They enjoy a game of strip poker.’

‘That will cost them if they want my girls to play.’

‘Do you do the negotiating for the girls who live in your house?’

‘If they ask me, but I don’t take a cut. I charge a flat rate of three pounds a week to cover all costs.’

‘What about special parties?’

‘It’s been a couple of years since I organised one of those. All the businessmen around here have cut back on entertaining.’

‘But you’re still in the market to run them?’

‘If someone offered me enough. You asking?’ she questioned bluntly.

‘I might be able to put some business your and your girls’ way?’

‘The last thing I or my girls need is a pimp to cream off more of our hard-earned cash the way the pub landlords do.’

‘I wasn’t talking about pimping. High class has high overheads. And, to go back to your question about the trade I’m aiming for, it’s men of means who like to watch pretty girls dancing and singing while they enjoy a drink and a flutter. Some of them might be happy to pay – and pay handsomely – to be entertained in private afterwards.’

‘And you’d want a finder’s fee.’

‘No.’

‘Then you’d allow us to use this club of yours – if you open it –as a free pick-up point?’

‘No, I want to run a clean place, publicly that is. The kind of place a man could take his sweet aged mother to, if the mood took him. Privately is different, but I’ll talk to you again, if and when I find the right place. But I warn you now, if you and your girls ever want to visit you’ll have to look top drawer, Anna.’

‘You cheeky sod,’ she said indignantly. ‘You suggesting I look anything less?’

‘Not me, Anna. I know who paid the rent on my mother’s room the week she died. And I haven’t forgotten that gold sovereign you gave me when I sailed out. You told me to hang on to it because I could cash it anywhere in the world if I needed to.’

‘And did you?’

He felt in his pocket and laid the coin on the table. ‘I’ve pawned it once or twice but I marked it so I could always redeem it.’

‘Sentimental sod underneath that hard-baked crust, aren’t you?’ Anna said fondly.

‘I’ve never had much to be sentimental about.’

A slim young girl, who looked barely out of childhood, walked into the bar and made a beeline for their table. She had a prominent nose, strong dark features, olive skin, black hair, and was dressed in an even lower-cut, skimpier, more transparent frock than Anna’s. ‘Lend us a tanner for a drink, will you, Anna?’ She turned a pocket inside-out in the skirt of her dress. ‘It’ll save me a walk back to the house. A bloody pickpocket’s just nicked my purse.’

‘Was there a lot in it?’ Anna asked.

‘A bob. I’ve more sense than to bring out more on carnival day.’ She saw Aled eyeing her and gave him a practised professional smile.

Anna looked from Aled to the girl. ‘Gertie, this is Mr James, an old friend of mine. Aled, meet Gertie, my youngest. She’s been living in my house for six months but she’s a quick learner.’

‘How quick?’ Aled continued to study the girl.

‘How long have you been at sea?’ Anna asked.

‘Long enough,’ Aled answered. ‘Put your purse away, Anna, I’ll buy Gertie a drink. In fact, how about I buy a bottle and we go back to your room, Gertie?’

‘It’ll cost you,’ she retorted boldly.

‘How much?’ Aled grinned in amusement.

Gertie flashed a quick glance at Anna who gave an almost imperceptible nod. ‘Two bob, and a bob for the barman,’ she said boldly.

‘For the rest of the afternoon?’

‘If you want to stay that long,’ Gertie answered carelessly.

Aled put his hand in his pocket and pulled out two half-crowns. ‘A bob for the barman, the rest is for the brandy, make sure it’s the best French and I’ll expect change.’

‘Can’t I keep it?’ Gertie pouted.

‘We’ll finish negotiating after you’ve delivered the goods, Gertie, not before,’ Aled said firmly.

‘I’ll be as quick as I can.’ Gertie left the table and went to the bar.

‘You’ll find her accommodating enough.’ Anna produced a small printed card. ‘My telephone number.’

‘You’re ahead of the times.’ Aled took it and stowed it into his top pocket.

‘Second telephone to go into a private address on the Bay, after the doctor and before the vicarage. Call in any time, and don’t think I’ve forgotten about that dinner you promised me in the Windsor. I’ll hold you to it.’

‘Tomorrow night, eight o’clock?’

‘I’ll be there.’ She left the table.

Aled watched her walk to the door. A middle-aged man staggered in before she opened it. Anna smiled at him. He returned her smile. She took his arm. They left the bar together.

Aled finished his drink and waited for Gertie. He didn’t doubt for one minute that Anna would have her fiver by the end of the night.

‘I’ve been looking for you everywhere, Harry.’ David tapped Aled on the shoulder as he stepped out of the pub into West Bute Street. ‘Where are the others? I lost sight of them an hour ago.’

Aled stared silently at David.

‘Harry –’

‘My name is not Harry, young man,’ Aled interrupted coolly.

‘Stop messing around …’ David faltered. The man he was talking to was blond and blue-eyed and a mirror image of Harry, but he was also dressed in plain dark working clothes, something he’d never seen Harry wear. And he was with a girl who was showing more flesh than he’d ever seen a girl display off a picture postcard.

Aled pointed across the road. ‘I believe that is the man you are looking for.’

David turned and saw Harry standing next to Mary. ‘You … Harry … you’re exactly alike …’ David stammered.

‘There does appear to be a similarity.’ Aled offered Gertie his arm. ‘There is a young girl singing with a band in the park I’d like to take a closer look at before we get down to business, Gertie.’

‘I like a bit of music.’ Gertie tucked the bottle of brandy she was carrying under her arm.

‘Good afternoon.’ Aled lifted his cap to David and sauntered away. It was then David realised that there were differences between Harry and the man he’d spoken to after all. Apart from the harsh American accent, there was ice in the man’s eyes. Harry’s were warm and friendly; this man looked as though he were evaluating everything and everyone around him with a view to auctioning them off, just like the dealers in Brecon’s Cattle Market.

‘I tell you, Harry, he could have been you,’ David insisted. They were helping themselves to a selection of the sandwiches and home-baked cakes and biscuits that the women of the Bay had set out on kitchen tables that they’d carried into the streets. The smaller children were picnicking on the blankets laid on the ground in the park. Groups of adults were perched on window sills in the side streets off the square or standing in groups eating and gossiping with plates and cups in hand. The younger housewives were ferrying jugs of home-made lemonade and trays of tea out of their houses and the older women were keeping an eagle eye on the tables, swooping down the moment a plate was emptied and replacing it with a full one.

‘They say everyone has a double somewhere.’ The maxim rolled easily off Harry’s tongue but he glanced at Mary to check she was out of earshot. There were some things he’d never told her about his past, simply because he preferred not to think about them. He’d been five years old when his mother, Sali, had married his stepfather. Lloyd Evans had never made him feel less than his son by birth and both his parents had tried to answer his questions about his real father. He knew Mansel James had planned to marry his mother but had been murdered before she had known she was pregnant. And, after being shown photographs of Mansel, he also knew that he looked exactly like him.

Since he had taken an interest in the businesses he had inherited from Mansel’s family, which were being held in trust for him until his thirtieth birthday, he had discovered that he wasn’t Mansel’s only illegitimate child. The trustees had paid out considerable sums of money over the years to settle more than a dozen claims from different women. And the family solicitor had warned him there were rumours that Mansel had fathered even more children whose mothers either hadn’t thought to approach the trust or had been paid off by Mansel before his death.

He hadn’t discussed the existence of his half-brothers and sisters with either of his parents, but the facts were undeniable. His real father had been a philanderer who hadn’t been averse to using his wealth and position to seduce young girls. He had found the fact difficult to come to terms with.

‘Same colour hair, same colour eyes, I went right up to him and called him Harry,’ David continued.

‘That must have been a surprise for the poor man.’ Harry bit into a fruit tart.

‘At first I really thought it was you, but then –’

‘You took a second look and saw he wasn’t me?’ Harry interrupted, hoping to put an end to the conversation.

‘I knew he wasn’t you because of his clothes. He was dressed like a sailor. He also had an American accent.’

‘I’ll have to see this man for myself.’

‘David told me about him but I’ve never seen anyone who looks like you in Tiger Bay, Mr Evans.’ Judy handed Harry a cup of tea. ‘And I know everyone who lives here, except the foreign seamen who only stay for a short while between sailings.’ Conscious that she’d done little to help serve the food, Judy took the empty tray from her aunt. ‘I’ll fill this up for you if you like, Auntie May.’

‘Thank you, Judy, but you’ll have to do it in Doris’s. We’ve run out of cups.’ May ran after her two-year-old son who had left the blanket to follow the older children who were climbing the park railings.

‘I didn’t realise how hungry I was until I started eating.’ David helped himself to another sandwich.

‘Here, try one of these, they’re delicious, I have no idea who made the pastry but it’s as light as air.’ Knowing his brother-in-law had a sweet tooth, Harry dropped a strawberry tart on David’s plate.

‘Moody made them,’ Judy said.

‘Edyth’s baker Moody?’ Harry asked.

‘He made the pasties as well. You should try one of them.’ Judy carried the tray across the road to Doris’s house.

David bit into the tart. ‘You’re right, Harry, this pastry is light.’

‘Lighter than mine?’ Mary looked over David’s shoulder to see what he was eating.

‘Almost as light,’ David amended tactfully. ‘Mary, you should have seen this man I met earlier. He could have been Harry’s twin.’