‘I used to come down here late at night with my friend,’ she confided to the chauffeur. ‘We used to watch all the rich people and pretend we were rich too.’
It was New Year’s Eve, she remembered most distinctly. Helen with the fur collar of her coat turned up against the cold wind, her hair like gold under the street lights, shivering as they stood in a doorway to watch a stream of cars like this one, disgorging women in furs and silk dresses at the hotel.
‘You never guessed one day it would be you?’ The man chuckled, surprised by the star’s childish confession.
‘Not even in my wildest dreams,’ Georgia laughed softly, breath hot on his neck, her perfume filling his nostrils. ‘I wish Helen was with me now. She died before I got my first singing job.’
‘Are you nervous?’
Robert Wells was over fifty. He’d been working for this company for almost ten years and in that time he’d driven more famous people than he could count. Actors, opera singers, lords, members of Parliament and film stars, but never once had he driven anyone so pent up with excitement.
‘Terrified,’ she admitted. ‘Do you think I look all right?’
He glanced into the mirror. All he could see clearly were her sparkling eyes, but he could remember the way she looked as she walked out of the hotel.
A long red clingy dress, dark curls tumbling over her bare shoulders, and a face so lovely he could hardly drag his eyes from it.
‘All right?’ he laughed softly. ‘You look fabulous. You’ll knock ’em all dead!’
Robert slowed the car, ready to turn into the forecourt. The Savoy had never looked more beautiful. Floodlights had turned it into a golden temple framed by a black velvet sky. Gleaming plate glass doors, beyond, white marble, rich carpets and chandeliers. A perfect setting for this enchantress.
Georgia smoothed down her dress, spreading her fingers out to check she hadn’t chipped the matching nail varnish. She could see Rod waiting for her by the door and she wondered if he was as nervous as her.
He looked so handsome. A white suit straight out of a Hollywood film, his black hair sleek and shiny, restyled with a middle parting, accentuating his Red Indian looks.
The car cruised slowly to a halt. A liveried doorman leapt forward to open her door. A group of fans pushed against the security men who tried to contain them.
‘Have a great time.’ Robert turned round from his driving seat to look at Georgia one more time. ‘I’ll be back to pick you up later.’
‘Well, you look the business,’ Rod said softly, taking her arm and leading her towards the open door.
‘I could say the same about you,’ Georgia touched his bow tie lightly. ‘Thank you for waiting out here for me, I’m scared stiff.’
Ahead of them as they walked up the few heavily-carpeted stairs, Georgia could see the ballroom. It was already very crowded, the soft music almost unheard under the barrage of chatter and clink of glasses.
‘I never thought we’d end up anywhere as posh as this,’ Georgia giggled to Rod, pointing up to a chandelier above them. ‘That’s the real thing, not like the kind Max has in his hall. Don’t any of you get too drunk and show us up!’
There was a hush as they walked in, people turned and stared at her and in that instant, Georgia felt a charge of something strange.
It lasted only a second. A glass of champagne was put in her hand, and all at once there were people clamouring to speak to her.
‘Congratulations on reaching number one. I’m so thrilled to meet you at last. I just love the song.’ The flattery wrapped her in a warm blanket. These sophisticated people in evening clothes, dripping with jewels seemed to know so much about her. Every one of them looked important.
Across the crowded room she could see John and Norman with two leggy, blonde girls. Les looked almost handsome in a grey suit, as a red-haired woman talked to him earnestly. Speedy’s auburn hair caught under the lights, complemented his grey velvet jacket and his dancing partner could have been a model.
Yet for all the glamour, there were no friends in the crowd. Where were all the other stars she’d met on tours? People who she could really talk to. Charming as most of the guests were, Georgia felt a little out of her depth. Lawyers, promoters, club owners, business men and their wives, surely if this party was thrown for her, real friends should have been invited too.
‘Georgia,’ Max pushed his way through the crowd, took her hands and kissed both of them. He wore a dark dinner jacket with a plum-coloured cummerbund. ‘You look gorgeous!’
With him was a tubby smaller man, reptilian eyes flickered behind gold-rimmed spectacles, his large forehead glistened with perspiration.
With one arm round her Max introduced them.
‘This is Al Green from Memphis, he flew over this afternoon to meet you.’
The name ‘Al Green’ was one Max often brought up in conversation. Georgia understood he was responsible for the glut of American pop stars that dominated the charts. He arranged tours for everyone from Elvis Presley downwards.
‘Hi there.’ The man put a podgy hand into hers, his thin lips barely moved and she could see no pupils in his dark eyes. ‘You’re quite a girl Georgia. We’ve been hearing your name even back in Memphis. This is one helluva party honey.’
‘I’ve heard a lot about you, too,’ she smiled politely. ‘How nice of you to come all this way just to meet me.’
She didn’t like him. It was ridiculous to feel something so strong when she’d only spoken a few words to him. Maybe it was just those eyes, how could anyone feel anything but repulsion for a reptile?
‘I don’t know whether I’d have come if you hadn’t been footing the bill,’ he laughed, double chin wobbling, taking out a flamboyant red handkerchief and wiping his shiny brow. ‘But now I’m here, I’m just loving it.’
Georgia looked round for Max, only to see his back view retreating into the crowd.
For a moment she just stared at the man. His dinner jacket was midnight blue, as he moved she caught a glimpse of silver lining. It was vulgar, even for someone in show business, the mark of a man who had no taste.
‘Me footing the bill?’ She could feel her heart thumping just that little bit harder. Something smelled fishy, and she was going to get to the bottom of it.
‘Well, Max is your manager,’ he licked his thin lips focusing on her cleavage. ‘Don’t that mean the same thing honey?’
What was it Max had said right at the outset? ‘I lay out all the money, and when you start earning that’s when I’ll get it back.’
All those chauffeur driven cars, champagne, new clothes, photographs, hairdressing. Everything was being logged down against money she was earning. But why should she pick up the tab for a party that was supposed to be for her? Or pay to fly this jerk over to meet her?
‘You and Max are lining up an American tour?’ The man must have got his wires crossed. Maybe Max just implied the expenses would be met by him to try and impress Al.
‘Sure thing, honey,’ he drawled. ‘I’m gonna take a look see round this little island, get myself a piece of the action.’
‘How do you think I’ll go down in the States?’ she smiled sweetly. ‘Has the record reached the charts there yet?’
‘It’s been played honey,’ he shot her a scathing look. ‘But what our kids want is good old rock and roll.’
All at once Georgia understood. Max was offering free seats on the gravy train. This man wasn’t interested in her. It was an excuse to get his podgy hands on some British rock and roll bands, kids with stars in their eyes and no experience. The pair of them were intending to expand their interests, using her earnings to finance it.
‘Where are you staying?’ she asked through clenched teeth.
‘Here, honey,’ he drawled. ‘Max booked me into a suite overlooking the Thames.’
He couldn’t even pronounce Thames correctly, making an awful th sound.
‘It was nice to meet you,’ she lied. ‘I must go and talk
to the band now. Goodbye.’
Her earlier euphoria vanished. Already the vultures were gathering and if she didn’t keep one jump ahead, she might end up with nothing.
Slipping out unnoticed to the reception desk, using the excuse she wanted to know who to thank personally for the evening, she discovered the whole event had been booked by Menzies Enterprises.
Champagne by the truck load. Smoked salmon, caviar, breast of chicken, roast beef, fresh cream gateaux, mountains of salad, all paid for by her. She was the guest of honour and the mug who’d paid for it.
Now she understood why none of her friends had been invited. It wasn’t to celebrate her success. Just another way for Max to climb further up the ladder. She was just another trophy he’d won, and tonight he was displaying her publicly.
As the prattle of high-pitched snobby voices washed over Georgia, she felt murderous.
That feeling she’d had when she first walked in! She knew what it was now. Everyone here had the same motive as Al Green. They weren’t interested in her talent, just how they could get a slice of the action.
Soon these people would be involving Max in further deals. Films, tours, advertisements, public appearances. Money flowing backwards and forwards, but somehow never reaching her bank account.
She hadn’t had a penny yet. Everything spent had been charged to Max’s office. She didn’t begrudge the boys new clothes, they deserved them. Norman’s green mohair suit must have cost a hundred pounds, John’s leather jacket another fifty, that was mere chicken feed to the amount of food and drink being consumed. Deirdre the receptionist from Max’s office in a sparkly dress costing probably twice as much as her own. Miriam across the room with a pair of diamond earrings she kept touching protectively. Max no doubt had a new car in the garage.
Was the man who owned the limousine company dancing with the Sloaney woman from the King’s Road boutique? Could the fat man with bow legs be the printer? The tall man with the beard a director of the musical equipment store? They were leeches who would suck her blood until she was dry, then spit her out and look for another victim.
‘Wonderful party darling.’
Georgia smiled at the elegant redhead who sailed past her on Jack Levy’s arm. She owned a string of secretarial agencies in Oxford Street and by Monday morning she would have a list of new contacts.
‘Don’t let anyone know you’ve cottoned on,’ she whispered to herself as she slipped into a toilet to compose herself. ‘Just stay cool and observe. They’ll soon find out you aren’t quite as dumb as you look!’
It was easy to play the role of the little innocent. The glass in her hand was just water with ice and lemon, no one guarded their tongues when faced with a girl they thought was tipsy. Listening, watching, observing, remembering names and filing them away for another time.
It was late, almost one o’clock when she overheard something interesting.
She had stopped by the buffet, helping herself to some chicken and salad. Standing just a foot or two beside her were two men. One of them she knew slightly. He was the lawyer from Decca who had been there when she signed her contract. Slim, dark haired, an accent like cut glass which belied his swarthy Mediterranean looks. The other man was smaller, sandy haired and stout. But by the way he was speaking she suspected he was a lawyer too.
‘I knew he’d be trouble when he said he had Riox acting for him,’ the man from Decca said. ‘Damn me if the little guttersnipe didn’t start asking all kinds of questions.’
She guessed the men were talking about a singer called Ricky Delaney. A tough Liverpool rock singer that Max had attempted to handle and then abandoned because of his wild behaviour. Or at least that was what Max claimed!
Was this Riox a new manager on the scene?
‘I’ve heard the name,’ the stout man replied frowning as if trying to put a face to the name. ‘Is his office in Chancery Lane?’
Georgia sidled closer, pretending to be engrossed in the food.
‘The Strand,’ the Decca man was swaying slightly as if he’d drunk too much. ‘Old established law firm. Riox’s got a bee in his bonnet about protecting the interests of young entertainers. Sharp as a razor.’
‘Eton man?’ the stout man asked.
‘Rugby I believe. Strange fellow. French father, mother, one of the Asprey family. One has to admire his integrity, but there’s such a thing as loyalty to one’s peers.’
‘Did you have a good time?’ Robert the chauffeur was waiting for her, the car gliding silently towards the steps at just a wave from one of the porters.
‘It was interesting,’ she said slowly as she sank back into the comfortable leather seat.
Robert glanced over his shoulder. The spark had gone from her, she wasn’t tired, or drunk, just kind of sad.
‘Not your sort of people?’ He had a desire to ask her if she wanted to ride in the front with him, but that would be too impertinent.
‘No,’ her voice was faint, like a child about to cry. ‘And I’ve got a feeling I’ll need to watch my back from now on.’
Georgia sat before Simon Riox’s desk and wondered if somehow she’d got it wrong.
He was only a junior partner in the law firm of Hollins, Burke and Gibson, too young, too lanky to be the formidable lawyer she’d imagined. His brown hair threatened to stand up in spikes, dark-rimmed glasses reminded her absurdly of Buddy Holly. Behind the thick glass his dark eyes were as soft as a spaniel’s.
‘Of course I know who you are,’ he laughed softly at her suggestion he wouldn’t.
His voice at least was the kind she expected, deep, resonant, entirely at odds with his almost feminine small features. She could see now he was older than he looked, at least thirty-five. ‘What I’d like to know is how you heard about me. I’m not a visible attraction like yourself.’
‘Eavesdropping,’ she admitted. ‘I heard a lawyer complaining you had too much integrity.’
She had tried four different lawyers’ offices in the Strand before she found him and now as she sat in the small oak-panelled office she was beginning to lose her nerve.
She had put on a red trouser suit because it made her feel strong and decisive, but in this formal place it looked too loud.
‘I find that very flattering,’ his eyes never left hers and all at once she knew she could open up to him. ‘I expect you feel nervous Georgia, let me order some tea, then you can tell me what’s troubling you. If I can help, I will. I’m sure I hardly need tell you anything you tell me is in the strictest confidence.’
‘I haven’t had any money yet,’ she said simply. ‘I found out last night I was footing the bill for a party at the Savoy, and flying over men from the States who aim to fill their pockets at my expense.’
He listened carefully to the whole story, looking at her over his thick glasses from time to time, writing copious notes in a thin, spidery hand.
‘Don’t be put off by my notetaking,’ he said at length. ‘I actually have an excellent memory, but writing it down helps cement it in here,’ he tapped his forehead with a pencil.
‘I felt used last night,’ she rung her hands in her lap. ‘Humiliated even. I mean can you imagine thinking you are the one they’ve all come to see, and then discovering almost every guest is on the make?’
‘I understand your feelings,’ Riox smiled sympathetically. ‘This kind of thing happens all the time, it’s all show, glitz and promotion. Max was probably astute in throwing this party. Perhaps he even had good reason to oil the wheels in America. But he should have discussed it with you. Made it clear it was ultimately your expense.’
‘But that Al Green wasn’t even interested in me. I just paid for a free holiday for him!’
‘I wish you’d come to me before you signed the contract with Decca. I could have acted for you independently, protected you from sharp business practice,’ he sighed deeply, as if afraid he was too late to help. ‘I despise people who prey on young talent and grow rich while they wear out their protégé.’
/>
‘Is it too late to change things?’
‘The contract with Decca is rock hard.’ He flicked through the copy she’d brought with her. ‘But it’s a fair one. However, your contract with Max Menzies is another story.’
‘Really?’
Riox smirked, almost as if he relished a challenge.
‘Less than three months to go. He slipped up there, but maybe he was too busy thinking about Decca’s contract. This will be a good lever to make changes. To make sure you get what you’ve earned. For goodness sake when he suggests you sign another, consult me first.’
‘Do you think it would be better to find a new manager then?’
‘Not necessarily.’ Riox had a look of cunning in his eyes. ‘Max Menzies may be too sharp, but he is the undisputed king of promotion. If you got yourself a gentler character, the chances are Max would outwit him, just for spite. There is only one way to beat him, and that is by being just as sharp yourself.’
‘What should I do?’
Simon Riox weighed up the girl in front of him and he liked what he saw. He had heard her record soon after it was released, liked it so much he actually bought a copy, and since then he had watched her shoot to overnight success.
Perhaps it was merely the blanket coverage in the press that had put him off her a little. Somehow he had formed the opinion she was just another vacuous pop star who would burn herself out with the high life. Now he could see beyond the beautiful face and passionate voice. She was highly intelligent, brave and resourceful. How many girls of her age would balk at throwing a Savoy party surrounded by all those socialites fawning at her? Indeed how many would stay sober and work out what was happening?
‘I was going to say I’ll handle it all for you,’ he smiled at her, suddenly boyish and mischievous. ‘But I can see you are a woman of action. Go to him now, tell him you discovered last night’s bun fight was at your expense. Demand to see his books and tell him I’m your lawyer. That is, if you want me to be?’
‘Yes, please,’ she said softly. There was strength in him, she felt it now, flowing across his desk to her.