Tara

  Harry tried to concentrate on overhearing something from outside which would give him a clue where they were. He could hear heavy traffic. There was light getting through the blindfold frequently, but that meant little. It could be any busy road from the Ml to the Holloway Road. He was dropping off to sleep when someone spoke.

  'Where to, Joe?'

  He sensed anger between them that one of them had let slip a name.

  'Joe'. Harry hugged the name to himself, sure it belonged to the man with the deep familiar voice. How many Joes had he known in his life? Joe Shepherd who went off to Canada, Joe Cohen whose father was a Rabbi and insisted his name was Joseph anyway. There was Joe Small, the ex-boxer who trained at the gym, but his voice was distinctive, like a fog-horn.

  Joe Spikes. That was the name his father had mentioned when he was inside. It had never cropped up again and he'd forgotten about it until now. George had suggested he was something to do with a South London gang. To his knowledge he'd never met the man, but then he could have been to the club one night. Perhaps that was why the voice jangled bells. Maybe he'd been barking up the wrong tree about Wainwright being connected with the incidents at the club. Maybe it went back further?

  The van was full of cigarette smoke, making him feel sick. His neck hurt, he had an itch on his foot he could do nothing about and his arms ached like crazy, but still he said nothing.

  The journey seemed to be going on forever, and now there was seldom a flash of light from outside and no noise from other traffic. They had turned on to a smaller road, he could tell by the number of twists and turns and an occasional branch brushing the van. The man in the back with him was getting restless, stretching his legs out, flexing his arms and yawning. All at once they stopped, pulling over on to uneven ground.

  'Get the gate!' The order came from one of the men up front and the van door slid back, a blast of cool clean air clearing the smoke.

  The van moved forward and stopped again while the gate was shut, then the man jumped in, panting slightly.

  It was rough ground, the van lurching and wallowing, going downhill quite steeply, winding, and he could hear branches slapping on the van. The wheels reached gravel and flat ground. More wind came in as the van came to a halt, which suggested they were now on open ground.

  The men in front got out and the back door was opened. Harry's feet were tugged sharply and he was pulled out like a side of meat.

  'Where are you taking me?' The words came out despite his determination to remain silent. They didn't reply, but the rope holding his feet together was untied.

  Two of them frog-marched him forward, holding him by the elbows. One man was just in front of him; he couldn't make out where the fourth one was. They stopped, and to his right he heard something. Footsteps! They were muffled, but on a wooden floor. They were waiting for a door to be opened. There was a scrape of old bolts, the turning of a lock. An old house or church somewhere deep in the country? The door creaked.

  'A Hammer Horror setting!' Harry remarked, and one of the men punched him in the small of his back. Fear clutched at his innards, and he struggled to get a grip on himself.

  Their feet echoed as they walked along a passage with a wooden floor and he could smell cedar clearly. Another door opened.

  'Down steps now. Take it easy or you'll fall!'

  It was terrifying to walk in total darkness down stairs he knew were narrow and old. He could feel cobwebs. The smell of musty earth grew stronger with each step and it was cold, very cold.

  Once they hit the bottom he felt uneven flagstones underfoot. Could it be the crypt of a church? The coldness, the ancient mustiness suggested it could be. Another door and this time they pushed him forward alone.

  For a second panic rose up inside him, a conviction that he was being pushed to the edge of an abyss and they were waiting for him to fall in. He teetered, gained his balance and shouted. 'Take the fucking blindfold off!'

  One of the men walked towards him. Harry had never felt so terrified.

  'For God's sake, if you're going to kill me get it over with quickly!'

  He regretted his outburst immediately. Before his words had even finished echoing round the walls, he sensed their amusement.

  'I'm going to untie you, Harry, but before you get any ideas, we're tooled up. Any aggro and we just tie you up again. Am I making myself clear?' The voice was matter-of-fact.

  'Yes,' Harry replied. Why didn't the one called Joe speak, when he was obviously in charge?

  'What's this about?' He tried to keep his voice calm and even. 'Am I supposed to have done something to one of you?' It was like playing Blind Man's Buff. His head kept moving around as he tried to work out exactly where the men were. He had a feeling they were very close, smiling at his discomfort.

  'This is my club.' The man called Joe spoke at last. 'Here you'll do exactly what I say. I'll tell you only what I want you to know. Whether or not I choose to kill you in the end will depend entirely upon you!'

  A cold chill went down Harry's spine. The voice was icy. No anger, or outrage. If this man could kidnap someone without either of those two emotions, he was capable of anything.

  He heard the man's feet move away and at the same time another man came close and unfastened his hands. For a second Harry just stood there, rubbing his wrists, but as he heard the men move away he wrenched the blindfold off. Only three of them were still in the cellar. Their faces were covered in black stockinette masks with only their eyes showing. Two wore denim jackets, jeans and black T-shirts, the third was in a brown leather jacket, trousers of a similar colour and a white Fred Perry shirt.

  'Go to sleep.' The one in the Fred Perry was the one who'd given the orders before. 'There's a bucket over there if you need it, a bottle of water and some biscuits. Don't bother to look for an escape route, there isn't one.'

  They were gone before Harry could even work out how old they were. The heavy door closed and Harry noted it was made of steel with a small hatch, just like in prison.

  He stood for some time, rubbing his wrists and just looking around. It could be a crypt, the flagstone floor and the uneven low ceiling would bear that out. But crypts were usually just rough stone, this looked like brick and it had all been whitewashed at some time. The worst thing of all was that it had no window. The ceiling curved down to four feet at the far end as if the room had literally been carved out of the earth. It measured around sixteen feet by twelve, with nothing in it but an iron bed, a rough wooden table holding the water and biscuits, and one chair.

  He looked at his watch. It was almost one. Some men would be able to work out where they were from the time. But not him, he didn't drive out of London often enough.

  He was locked in a place he didn't know, for a reason they wouldn't tell him, dressed in a dinner jacket and bow-tie. It was tempting to break down, to create a scene so the men came back, anything rather than be left alone in here. But reason told him that would be futile. They had planned this meticulously. They probably knew more about Harry Collins than he did himself!

  Chapter 31

  'What's up, love?' Josh was looking through some papers in the workroom when he heard Tara sigh deeply. 'Are you feeling ill?'

  'No!' Tara put down her pencil and turned towards Josh, her face long with misery. 'Just wretched!'

  'Tell me about it?' He came over to her and pulled up a stool. 'Harry?'

  She had come in this morning wearing jeans, with her hair pulled back in a pony-tail. He'd noticed her puffy eyelids straight away, but he'd hesitated before making any comment.

  Tara never discussed Harry with anyone, least of all Josh. She didn't want to now because she was sure he'd gloat, but it was hard to bear the pain alone.

  Josh was wearing Brut aftershave today, one that Tara liked best of all on Harry. Each time she got a whiff of it she wanted to cry. A tear trickled down her cheek. Josh reached out and wiped it away with one finger, then cupped his hand round her face.

  'You don't have t
o tell me the details.' His voice was gentle. 'I'm just your friend, ready with a hug, flapping ears, whatever you need.'

  'I think it's over,' she whispered, trying hard to hold back the tears. 'We had a row the night we got back from Paris. He hasn't been in touch since.'

  Josh slid his arms round her, the gentle, unthreatening hug of an older brother. He wanted to laugh, sing and shout. But right now he'd got to keep it cool.

  'Come on! I expect he's just giving you both time to simmer down. Was he jealous because you were with me?'

  'I don't know if he was,' Tara sobbed. 'He was kind of sarcastic about you, but mainly it was directed at me being too engrossed in my work. He scared me, Josh, he was really heavy.'

  'Sounds to me like he's got something on his mind. Can't be the club, that's doing brilliantly. He couldn't have got himself into something dodgy, could he?'

  'What makes you say that?' Tara looked up at Josh curiously. She had expected him to suggest another woman or money problems, both of which she would have rejected out of hand.

  Josh shrugged. 'I just heard a rumour the other day. Harry wasn't mentioned, incidentally, I'm just putting two and two together and probably getting five. There was some recruiting going on and a couple of the faces mentioned were mates of his.'

  'He wouldn't go back to crime.' Tara's eyes grew wide with fright.

  'No, of course not,' Josh reassured her. 'Like I said, Harry was never mentioned. Why would he need that kind of scene when he's doing so well?'

  'Do you think I should phone him?' Tara asked. 'I don't want to be pushy. But on the other hand he might think I don't give a shit if I don't.'

  'Of course you should phone him, ninny.' Josh grinned broadly. "The man's probably too scared to contact you in case you bite his head off. Now look, I've got to go over to the Oxford Street branch, I'll pop in later on just before closing. If you haven't arranged anything with Harry for tonight, let's have dinner together and discuss some new plans of mine?'

  'OK.' Tara still looked a bit glum, but Josh had made her feel quite a lot better. 'Thanks for the shoulder!'

  He put a finger under her chin and lifted it. 'You can come to me any time, Tara, about anything.'

  'You're a real sweetie.' She reached up and impulsively kissed him.

  'Well, that's it.' He staggered back, touching his lips. 'I'll never wash again!'

  Tara giggled. 'Off with you!' She pointed to the door. 'I'll see you later.'

  She rang Harry's flat at the Angel first, but there was no reply. The phone in the club rang for around five minutes and was finally answered by a breathless Needles just as she was about to hang up.

  'Hello, Needles.' She apologised for dragging him away from his work. 'Is Harry there?'

  'No, sweetheart, didn't 'e tell you 'e were shooting over to Germany?'

  'Germany!'

  'Well, it was all a bit sudden, like,' he said tentatively. 'He belled me and said he was off on an impulse.'

  'But why Germany? It's not the sort of place he'd go to for a holiday?'

  'Would he go on holiday without you, sweetheart?' He gave a rich belly laugh that soothed her. 'No, it's just a club or summat he's going to look at.'

  'So you're in charge, then?'

  'In charge of letting in and throwing out.' He chuckled. 'Tony's minding the bars and Duke does the rest.'

  'Duke?' She'd met Duke a few times at the club, and remembered him for his rugged good looks and piercing ice-blue eyes.

  'Duke's the bloke what's going to buy the club.'

  Tara was so shocked she was temporarily lost for words.

  'I didn't know that either,' she said finally.

  Needles felt uneasy. He liked Tara, she was a real doll, and anyway he didn't like to hurt ladies, but all the same! What if he was dropping Harry in it?

  ' 'Spect 'Any wanted it to be a surprise. You'd better not let on I told you.' He sounded anxious now. 'Anyways, Duke's bin coming in for weeks now. 'Arry said this was a good chance for him to hold the reins.'

  'So how long will he be gone?'

  'Oh, luv, I've upset yer.' Needles' voice dropped to a sympathetic purr. 'He might be two or three weeks, but that's nuthin', is it? 'E'll be in touch with you before long. But don't let on I told you, will you?'

  'I won't say anything,' she promised, and rang off.

  Tara didn't know how to react to the news. She was surprised Harry was selling the club, hurt he'd gone away without phoning her, yet at the same time she wondered if that's what he'd come to tell her the night she got back from Paris. Had he taken the fact she rarely went to the club now as lack of interest? Was he as hurt by her attitude to his business as she was by his lack of enthusiasm for hers?

  She spread out some fabric on the cutting table and began to arrange a pattern on it. She knew where he was now, and why he'd been a bit odd. Maybe he thought a bit of space would do them both good, and perhaps he was right.

  'Well, are you ready for the new plan?' Josh asked after they'd ordered dinner.

  They were in the Bistingo in Queensway, Tara's favourite restaurant, specialising in French farmhouse cookery. She loved not only the food – pigeon, duck and rich stews – but the atmosphere of the place, with its rustic pine furniture and clumps of dried flowers hanging from the ceiling along with copper pots and pans. Rich smells of herbs and garlic wafted out from the kitchen and soft guitar music was playing in the background.

  Josh was glad to see she'd perked up. She'd washed her hair and put it up again, with little curls round her neck and she was wearing a midnight blue maxi dress that made her look like a princess.

  'I'm dying to hear it.' She'd already explained about Harry and now she felt faintly silly that she'd let Josh see her so upset.

  'I'm going to let you have your way.' Josh smiled, his teeth brilliant white against his olive skin. 'Not all at once, I can't do all four shops right now. But we'll start with Church Street.'

  Josh was excited. He'd been through a difficult patch, but he was on top of it now and his new plans were giving him the kind of rush he usually only got from drugs.

  'Sweep everything out and start again?' she said breathlessly.

  Josh nodded. 'Not just new stock, an entire new image.' He grinned.

  Tara's mouth dropped open as Josh pulled out a file of architect's drawings, showing a double-fronted shop with huge windows that curved into a central door.

  The internal plans kept the same theme, an almost Edwardian image with lots of big green plants, raised areas with banisters round and huge pine dressracks which looked more like old-fashioned wardrobes. Old swivel mirrors, the odd dressing table or two and dressmaker's dummies completed the picture.

  'It looks expensive,' Tara commented, putting the plans aside as their meal arrived.

  'It will be, that's the whole point,' Josh explained. 'Expensive fittings, expensive clothes. We're aiming at under-thirties with money. As you so rightly said, there are enough shops catering for the hippy-dippy types. We're looking for the nouveau riche, people who want beautiful, outrageous clothes and don't mind paying for them.'

  Tara picked up her knife and fork, closing her eyes and savouring for a moment the wonderful aroma of garlic, herbs and beef.

  'And I can design for this shop?' she asked.

  'All the evening wear will be exclusively yours. Josh's eyes twinkled at her rapturous expression. 'I'm going to buy in knitwear, jackets, trousers and such like. But I want you to go to town on all those se-quinned, beaded silk and velvet dreams you've been on about'

  She wanted to shriek with delight, order a bottle of Champagne and throw her arms round Josh.

  'But I won't have time to do the everyday shops' clothes.' Tara was sure there had to be a catch.

  'We can use all the old patterns.' Josh reached for her hand across the table. 'You'll spend all your time on this. As these clothes won't be mass-produced I'm thinking of starting a small workshop with around four girls to work exclusively on them.'

&nb
sp; Tara beamed. With her own workroom she could dictate how things were done, get the sort of finish she wanted. It was a dream come true.

  'So what's this shop going to be called?' Her eyes sparkled like newly polished amber and her cheeks were flushed pink.

  'I'm not sure. Maybe Joshua Bergman written in posh gold script, but we'll see.'

  Tara sat back in her chair, too stunned to think of any more questions.

  'Finish your dinner.' Josh rapped her knuckle with one finger. 'And afterwards I'll order some Champagne to celebrate.'

  It was almost a week later when Tara began to climb down from the cloud Josh had thrown her up to.

  She woke up on Sunday morning and suddenly realised that it was now ten days since she came back from Paris. Even accounting for the fact Harry was cross with her, he could at least have sent a postcard.

  Phoning the club wasn't an optionnow. If Harry was simply tired of her she didn't want a barmaid or cellar-man telling her so. Going to see George and Queenie was the answer. She could pretend she'd gone to tell them Josh's plans and see if they'd heard anything.

  It was really hot, and Tara could imagine Queenie planning lunch outside. Every year she added something more to her tiny Mediterranean garden. The railway wall was completely covered in ivy now. Clematis, climbing roses and honeysuckle blocked out the neighbours' messy tips, a tiny pool sat in one corner with a fountain playing, and at night they had a couple of floodlights hidden under bushes.

  'Well, this is the life, isn't it?' George held up his pint of beer for a toast. Petunias cascaded over the edge of pots. Exotic lilies, nurtured over winter in the house, were a blaze of red, blue and yellow.

  'It certainly is.' Tara grinned, chinking her glass of wine with his beer. She had arrived in a long cheesecloth dress but she'd stripped off now to a turquoise swimsuit. 'Here's to more of it!'

  'You'll be sunning yourself in foreign parts soon,' Queenie said, rubbing a little sun-tan oil on her plump arms. 'When Josh opens that shop it'll be all actresses and pop stars coming in. You won't want to slum it round 'ere no more.'