Tara

  'Doesn't look too promising!' Josh's jubilation was barely controlled. 'I'll give him till Christmas.'

  'Don't be such a downer,' Tara snapped at him. 'He's never been like that about you. If I hear you say one more negative word tonight I'll be handing in my notice.'

  'I don't mean to be nasty.' Josh turned his soulful eyes to her. 'Yeah, I'm jealous 'cos he's got you and I think he's wrong for you. But I do really wish him success, I promise you.' He pulled a magnum of Champagne over from the back seat. 'See, I even got him a present!'

  Tara walked in the small door beside the loading bay with Josh close behind her, up three or four steps, and stopped dead.

  It wasn't the shock of seeing Harry looking indecently handsome in dinner jacket and bow-tie, but the surprise of coming out of that dark, unpleasant street into somewhere so splendid. She clapped her hand over her mouth and stared in amazement.

  The spiral staircase was gone. No more plaster partitions. Instead she was standing in a spacious, deeply carpeted foyer. To her left a wide oak staircase led up to a gallery, and suspended in the space was a huge chandelier. She barely had time to take in the splendour, or to notice the interested faces turning to look at her from beyond an archway into the bar, before Harry had his arm round her and she was being drawn further in.

  'This is my girl!' he said, grinning like a Cheshire cat. 'Did I lie when I said she was the most beautiful girl in the world?'

  'Harry!' Tara buried her face in his jacket in embarrassment, aware of all the men watching her.

  'Well, it's true.' Harry prised her off him and kissed her lightly, looking across at Josh. 'Glad you could make it, Josh, it's good to see you again. Now let me introduce you both to the lads!'

  Tara was torn between looking at the club itself and the four elegantly dressed men, Harry's sidekicks, waiting to be introduced. She wondered how Harry could have found a chandelier, brought it and hung it up without mentioning it once. Where did he learn to put in a staircase as huge as that? The striped wallpaper, the wood panelling, mirrors and carpets, how did he ever get all that together and make it look so perfect?

  'You've met Needles before.' She was jolted back to the man in front of her. She'd met him when she first came to London, though he hadn't looked so formidable then. His shoulders were like a barn door, hands like hams, and he towered over her.

  'You look very dashing tonight.' She returned his dazzling smile. He still wore his curly black hair cut very short, small dark eyes twinkling with merriment. His hand almost crushed hers and she wondered in passing whether anyone would ever dare throw a punch at him.

  'Not as gorgeous as you,' he said gallantly, his voice as adenoidal as she remembered. 'You look a treat!'

  'Well, thank you.' Tara smiled up at him. She could see instantly why Harry had clung on to this particular friend. Loyalty, trustworthiness and humour were all written on his big face.

  Harry went on to introduce Tony, another childhood friend who would be bar manager. His father was Italian and he had inherited olive skin, flashing white teeth and dark, soft eyes.

  Dennis and Alec would be running the gaming rooms upstairs. Dennis's voice had the plummy tones of public school, he was tall, thin and aristocratic-looking. But Tara felt a little uneasy looking into his cold duck egg blue eyes. His mouth smiled but somehow the rest of his face didn't join in. Alex was easier to like, a Cockney kid with a splash of freckles across his pug nose. Harry often talked about this one-time professional boxer, who'd let his passion for women get in the way of training. He wasn't handsome, too stocky, too pale-skinned, but his grin was warm and engaging; when he shook her hand he held it just a second too long.

  'Well, let's get you both a drink.' Harry patted Josh on the shoulder, edging them through to the bar.

  'Oh, Harry.' Tara's eyes shone as she looked around. 'I can't believe you've done all this!'

  Three large windows stood in front of them, red velvet curtains open to show the view of the river. In front were bench seats and tables, each with a small shaded light. She understood Harry's fascination with the river now. The sun was sinking down over towards Tower Bridge, turning the sky purple and pink. The water was silver and, as a ferry passed on its way to Greenwich, she had a childish desire to wave to the passengers.

  To her left was a long curved bar of gleaming mahogany, with a brass foot-rail, and a mirrored wall behind the optics. On the right in the corner furthest away from the windows was a small stage where a quartet of musicians in dinner suits played soft dance music, a minute dance floor in front of it. The walls elsewhere had a shelf at elbow height for standing-up drinkers, and a huge buffet was laid out on a long table in the centre of the room.

  'Don't look too bad, does it?' Harry grinned.

  'It's marvellous.' Tara slid her arm round him and kissed his cheek. 'I'm so proud of you.'

  'I had a bit of help.' He looked vaguely bashful now. 'All the lads chipped in.'

  He passed them glasses of wine from the bar.

  'These are freebies.' He grinned. 'If you want anything else you have to buy it, I'm afraid. If I'd said free drinks all round I'd have been killed in the stampede!'

  They'd come early, and as yet there were only a few people here. Josh sipped his drink and looked round.

  'How many people are you expecting?' he asked.

  'Five hundred or so,' Harry replied, his eyes straying back towards the foyer. 'Can I trust you to look after Tara? I've got to greet my guests. Have a wander round. There's another smaller bar up in the gaming rooms. I'll be back soon.'

  'Isn't it wonderful.' Tara sipped her wine and waited for Josh to make a comment. She knew he was thunderstruck but she was silently laying bets that he would come back with something sarcastic.

  'It's incredible,' he said eventually, making her eyes open wide with surprise. 'I came in here once a few years ago when Chas Baxter wanted to sell it. I didn't think anyone could do anything with it. But it would've been better for him if he'd made it a freaks' place, strobe lighting and stuff. This is a bit dated.'

  In view of his praise Tara didn't shout him down about the other comment. People were arriving thick and fast and her gut reaction was that Harry was on the right track.

  'Tara, sweetheart.' Queenie bore down on them, her mink stole flapping over one pink shoulder, blonde hair swept up into a mass of carefully constructed curls. 'Well, let me get a good look at you!' She twirled Tara around, her face rosy with excitement.

  'You look the business,' she said, patting Tara's small round buttocks in the tight suit. 'Just don't get carried away wiv the dancing and split those trousers. I bet you've got nothing on underneath.'

  'You're looking gorgeous, too.' Tara laughed. Queenie's dress was long, pink and sparkling, slashed to the knee. 'I bet you've got something on under there?' She patted her large rump and it was as hard as a wall.

  'Eighteen-hour girdle with magic fingers to hold me gut in,' Queenie giggled, whispering behind her hand. 'I doubt I can sit down, though. Sometimes I fink I should slip into middle age gracefully and get meself a few crimplene tents!'

  'Don't you dare.' Josh smiled warmly at her. He could identify with Queenie, she had the same style as many of his mother's Jewish friends. 'I like to see glamorous ladies.'

  'Where's Uncle George,' Tara asked, handing Queenie a glass of wine which she gulped down in one.

  'Out there with 'Arry.' She inclined one ring-covered hand towards the foyer. 'He's like a dog with two sets of balls tonight. Don't you just love it? Ain't our 'Arry a clever boy?'

  Queenie's joyful admiration of her stepson was like warm balm on a sore place, so different to the cautious lukewarm praise her gran and mother gave her. But Queenie had come for a party and she had no intention of leaving tonight until she'd met every single guest.

  Taking Tara by the hand she dragged her to a group of people coming through the door, and waded in.

  Harry had the mix of personalities and backgrounds just right. Old friends of Qu
eenie and George's generation gave colour and warmth. Older villains, with their scarred faces and four-hundred pound suits, added the danger, while a dozen pretty girls Miranda had rounded up from her haunts supplied the glamour.

  The Cockney hard men were obvious by their short hair, brilliant white shirts, discreet ties and expensive three-piece suits. Their women, many with beehive hair-styles, glittering cocktail dresses and stilettos, bubbled and fizzed as their tables filled up with glasses of gin and orange. Barbara Windsor arrived, greeting old friends with squeals of joy. Terence Stamp stood by the door, smiling sardonically as if wishing he could let his hair down and forget he was a star. His girlfriend was as thin as a greyhound, with long blonde hair and eyes like giant cornflowers.

  Steve Marriott from the Small Faces was chatting to George, who he'd known since he was a kid. Tara watched Queenie eyeing him up and wondered when she would ask him round for a meal to fatten him up. He'd brought a few friends with him, the men uniformly small, skinny and long-haired, looking like peacocks in jazzy shirts and velvet trousers. Their girls were model types with perfect features and skirts like wide belts.

  By midnight the main bar was so packed that Harry had to get behind the bar at one point and serve drinks himself. The small dance floor was packed with couples smooching as a singer with a voice like Matt Monroe sang 'Moon River'.

  'He's a clever boy,' Queenie said, beaming with pride. 'Good touch that, giving them wine when they first come in. Look at them now, buying drinks like they'll never get another.'

  'I didn't think this would work, not until tonight,' George admitted, tweaking his bow-tie with one hand while puffing on a cigar. 'But he's got it just right. As long as the nobs turn up to play now and then, he'll make it.'

  The party was swinging. The tables were covered in drinks, every chair was taken and the rest of the floor space taken up with people standing elbow to elbow. Laughter and chatter mingled with the dance music. A haze of smoke drifted up towards the lights, the air was filled with the smell of perfume and cigars. Behind the bar three barmaids were run off their feet as men stood three deep waving ten-pound notes.

  Tara was having a wonderful time. Josh had finally gone home and she was the centre of attention, both from the press and Harry's friends. She could see for herself that the club really was going to work.

  She was a bit drunk now, leaning on the bar watching. The band had gone, and Harry had put a tape on. Wilson Pickett's 'Wait till the Midnight Hour' was playing, the lights above the stage casting red, green and blue smoky beams of light on to the dancers.

  A group of beehived girls, joined by Miranda and some of her stylish friends, danced. They'd kicked off their shoes, forgotten about their handbags and their partners.

  Queenie was there too. She was a graceful dancer despite her weight, though clearly her girdle was cramping her style. George was sitting on the edge of the stage, his bow-tie dangling loose round his unbuttoned collar, and his braces on view. His eyes were on Queenie, too, a smile playing at his lips. Would she and Harry be like that when they got to their age?

  'Penny for them?' She jumped as Harry spoke softly in her ear, she hadn't heard him creep up on her.

  'I was wondering if we'll be like Queenie and George when we're as old as them?'

  'No.' He shook his head. 'We'll be thinner, sexier and a great deal richer. Come and dance with me. I want an excuse to hold you.'

  'Why do you need an excuse?' She leaned her head on his shoulder as they danced. She often wondered if she was the only woman in the world that got a buzz out of her man's body. Not just during sex, but any time. The sensation of hard flesh against her soft body, running her fingers down the muscles in his legs and arms, the flatness of his stomach. Even his hands made her feel weak, so strong, yet when he chose to be gentle his fingers were more sensitive than a child's.

  'Because if I stood around cuddling you people would think I'd gone soft,' he whispered in her ear, running his tongue round the edge. 'It's all a matter of face, Tara. I've got a beautiful girlfriend, they know I'd kill anyone who tried to hurt you, but I can't act like I'm going over the top.'

  'Are you going over the top?'

  'Oh, yes.' He moved one hand against her cheek, the other holding her waist, blue eyes looking right into hers. 'You mean more to me than anything else in the world. This club is only a stepping stone to a better kind of life for us.'

  Her heart thumped and she wished she could describe to him just how much she loved him. 'Would you really kill for me?' She put her lips to his cheek, ran one finger round his ear.

  'I hope no-one ever puts me to the test.'

  It was after three when the last guests left. Tara sat on the stairs, watching as Needles called cabs and helped women into coats. She was deliciously drunk, she didn't know where her shoes were and her jacket kept falling off her shoulders.

  'All right, babe?' Needles called out. 'Anything I can get you?'

  'Has Harry taken loads of money tonight?' she asked, slurring her words.

  'Looks that way, darlin',' Needles hitched up his trouser legs and sat down beside her. 'He's up there in his office stuffing it in the safe right now. It's gonna be all right.'

  'Where's your wife, Needles?' she asked. 'I didn't get introduced to her.'

  'She's at 'ome, sweetheart, tucked up in bed waiting for me.'

  'Wasn't she here?'

  He laughed, a deep growl of a laugh from his belly.

  'This is my job,' he said. 'She won't be coming 'ere. 'Er place is at 'ome wiv the kids.'

  Tara was too drunk to digest that just now, but it seemed to her Needles' wife got a raw deal.

  'I can't see you waiting till the end of the night with me very often.' Harry opened the door of the flat with Tara over his shoulder. She had fallen asleep in the cab and he'd carried her in.

  'I'll learn to drive then I can come home alone,' she replied as he sat her down on the settee.

  'I wouldn't trust you to drive safely,' he tossed over his shoulder as he drew the curtains. 'I'll put you in a taxi.'

  'Afraid of me becoming independent?' She stood up a little unsteadily, threw the cushions off the settee and unfolded the bed. It was already made inside and she got the pillows out of the cupboard.

  She could smell smoke everywhere, on her clothes, hair and skin. She wanted to have a shower, but she knew she was too drunk.

  'I suppose so.' Harry looked faintly ashamed. 'That and the fact I don't approve of lady drivers!'

  It was almost four in the morning. She had the day off this time, but it crossed her mind she wouldn't be able to stand this sort of pace for long.

  'Will it always be this late?' She sat down on the bed and slipped off her shoes.

  'Later sometimes.' Harry took off his jacket and the bow-tie he'd loosened in the car. 'Once we get big card games going it could be all night.' He sat down next to her and pulled her into his arms. 'We have to remember it's not forever,' he said softly against her hair, unzipping her suit. 'Once everything's running smoothly I'll be able to take time off. But it's going to be hard for the next three or four months. I bet Josh has predicted I'll be bust by then?'

  'No, he's given you till Christmas.' Tara giggled. 'By the way, you never told me what Josh said about you sorting out Simon.' She had seen them talking, just before Josh left, and she knew it was about that.

  'Not a lot. What was there to say? Just thanks.'

  His chauvinistic attitude suddenly irritated her – first the suggestion she couldn'tbe trusted to drive and now this put-down. Didn't he realise her brain was as sharp as his?

  'What exactly did you do to Simon?'

  'Nothing. Just marked his card.'

  Tara moved round to face Harry, her suit falling down over her shoulders to reveal her breasts. He looked unconcerned, as calm as if she'd been referring to someone back home in the village.

  'Don't try to fool me, Harry Collins,' she said firmly. 'I know perfectly well the man who was found tied up and
tortured was Simon, even though they didn't print his name.'

  'Don't ask me about it.' His eyes suddenly grew dark with anger. 'I got the negatives, and the spare prints. So I used a little force to get him to open up. What did you expect me to do, charm him? Screw him?'

  Tara drew back from him, suddenly nervous. She'd seen this attitude before – in her father!

  'I only asked,' she whispered, pulling her suit back up over her body.

  'Forget that man,' Harry almost snarled. 'Put him out of your mind. He got far less than he had coming to him, that's all you need to know.'

  Tara got up and held out his jacket. 'You'd better go home,' she said in a small voice. 'Don't ever, ever speak to me like that!'

  Harry looked up at her and instantly felt ashamed of himself for being so harsh. She looked so forlorn now, one hand clutching her suit over her breasts, her ringlets loose and bedraggled, mascara smeared under her eyes and that soft, sexy mouth quivering as she held back tears.

  He'd been speaking the truth earlier when he said she was the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen. When she walked into the club he almost burst with pride. Until tonight he'd had a rosy idea that Tara would be at the club with him most of the time. He'd imagined her at his side, having a drink and chatting to the customers. But tonight, even though it was a happy, fun-filled evening, he'd sensed the club's real style.

  It would become a villains' watering hole; he couldn't prevent it even if he wanted to. They would bring women, stylish, glamorous women, but they wouldn't be their wives. When the pubs turned out all around the East End they'd descend on him in their droves. It would be a place to take the tart you want to impress, and if you haven't got a girl, there's always the lads to chat to, or a game of poker.

  But Tara didn't belong in that scene.

  'I'm sorry, babe.' He got to his feet and reached out for her. 'It came out all wrong. I only want to protect you.'

  Tara stepped back from him, her amber eyes filling up with tears she could no longer hold back.