Monique laughed. ‘True. True. But you are still a pimp in my eyes and theirs.’ She gave her Gallic shrug. ‘Goodbye.’
Monique walked from the room and Maura suddenly felt flat. It seemed that she was not ‘Miss Popular’ these days. Even her own brothers were wary of her. Except for Michael, of course.
She laid her arms on the top of the desk and rested her head on them. What she would really like to do now was walk out of this office, out of this club, and in to her car. Then she would like to drive and drive and drive until she arrived somewhere where no one knew her and she could be exactly what she really was - a twenty-five-year-old girl. Not woman . . . girl.
She was startled to hear the door opening. It was another of the hostesses, a very young girl by the name of Candy. Whether or not that was her real name was debatable. She was carrying a cup of coffee. Maura sat up in her chair and tried to smile at her.
‘I thought you looked as if you could do with this, Miss Ryan.’ She placed the coffee on Maura’s desk. Maura could smell the aroma of whisky. As if reading her mind, Candy smiled.
‘It’s an Irish coffee. A very strong Irish coffee.’
Maura smiled, her first real smile for days. ‘Thanks, Candy.’
Candy sat in the chair vacated by Monique. She was a natural blonde, her hair lighter than Maura’s which was unusual as Maura’s was nearly white. Candy’s was a silver blond and she had the most amazing brown eyes. It was a startling combination. A few weeks earlier, all the hostesses had put in five pounds each and Candy had shown every one of them her pubic hair. It was exactly the same colour as the hair on her head. She had stopped all the arguments about herself, and made herself nearly a hundred pounds richer.
The girl hitched up her strapless dress. The movement seemed to accentuate her childishness.
‘You look right done in, Miss Ryan.’
‘I feel it actually, Candy.’
The girl sniffed loudly. ‘I wanted to see you about something personal.’
Maura sipped the steaming and fragrant coffee and lifted her eyebrows in an invitation for the girl to continue.
‘A bloke was hanging around outside the club earlier.’
‘What was he - a pimp?’ Maura sounded bored. This was the last thing she wanted even to think about. Let alone do something about.
Candy shook her head. ‘Oh, no. He was nothing like that. He was a policeman.’
‘A what!’
‘An old Bill. You know, lily law.’ Candy laughed.
‘What was he asking about? The night of the bombing? What?’ Her voice was anxious.
Candy relaxed into her seat. ‘No, nothing like that, Miss Ryan. He was asking about you.’
Maura’s mouth dropped open. ‘Me?’
‘Yes, you. He gave me this to give to you.’ Candy took a slip of paper from between her boobs. ‘He asked me if you would be in tonight. I said I didn’t know and then he offered me twenty quid to deliver that to you. So I did. I hope I haven’t done anything wrong?’
Maura’s eyes were devouring the words on the piece of paper. ‘No . . . No, Candy. You were right to take the message.’
She got up from her desk and, picking up her bag, slipped the note inside. Then she took out her purse and gave Candy three twenty-pound notes.
‘Oh no, Miss Ryan, I couldn’t. The bloke gave me a score.’
Maura pushed the notes into the girl’s hands. ‘You take it, Candy. You did very well tonight.’
Candy took the proffered money and smiled craftily. ‘Well, if you’re sure . . .’
Maura laughed out loud. She could feel the adrenaline pulsing through her body.
Candy stood up too and Maura did something that would make her a friend for life. She hugged the girl.
‘Candy, can I trust you never to tell anyone about this?’
She put her hand gently on Maura’s arm. ‘Look, Miss Ryan, I don’t know what was in that note. I didn’t read it. And I’m not a grass. You’ve been good to me and if I can repay you somehow, I will.’
‘Thanks, Candy. I appreciate it.’
Candy smiled and went back downstairs. She liked Maura Ryan. Whatever anyone said about her, she looked after the girls. And Candy, being honest in her own way, admitted that she would not get very far without her. It would be back to a pimp and either Park Lane or, when her looks went, King’s Cross. At least at Le Buxom she had the chance to get herself a little stake. And for that she would be eternally grateful.
When Candy left the room Maura snatched the note from her bag. It was from Terry Petherick! She could not believe it! She read it again.
‘IF EVER YOU NEED ME, CALL THIS NUMBER. LOVE, TERRY.’
Underneath was his phone number. Maura was ecstatic. He did still want her. Otherwise why would he bother to send her a note? She hugged the scrap of paper to her. Terry had put himself on the line to get this message to her. It crossed her mind that it was some kind of frame up but she had felt the attraction between them. And if nothing could ever come of it, at least she would always have the satisfaction of knowing that he had still wanted her, whatever she had done, because he must know everything that had transpired over the last few weeks. She sat back in her seat and drank the now stone cold coffee. The whisky bit into her taste buds and suddenly she realised that she was starving. She’d pack up here for the night and go home. Home to her own house. Not Michael’s flat.
She felt as if she was on a high. Monique, the reaction of her brothers to her in the Crown and Two Chairmen pub, Benny, Sammy, Jonny, Janine - all was wiped from her mind for a few precious moments as she thought about Terry. She wrote a note to Michael saying she would see him in the morning and, humming to herself, got her stuff ready to go home.
She sat on the edge of her desk and stared at the telephone. She glanced at her watch. It was twelve-fifteen. Was it too late to ring? She opened up the slip of paper and stared at the words. ‘Love, Terry’ seemed to leap off the paper. Love . . . She picked up the phone and dialled the number. Her mouth was dry and she felt lightheaded. Supposing he was asleep or had company? Her heart dropped a little at that thought. Then, before she knew it, she could hear his voice.
‘Hello? Who is this? Is that you, Maura?’
His voice was soft and as he said her name she could hear the yearning that she was experiencing herself.
She swallowed heavily.
‘Terry.’
She heard the relief in his voice. ‘It is you.’
The line went quiet as each tried to think what to say.
‘I want to see you, Maura.’ Terry sounded unsure of himself. ‘I mean, if you want to see me, of course.’
‘I was just going home. To my house. I just got the message.’
‘Can I come to your house, Maura?’ His voice was pleading.
‘I’ll give you the address.’ She could barely talk.
‘I know the address. I’ll meet you there soon!’ His voice had a jubilant ring to it that made her heart lurch in her chest.
She laughed. The ice had broken into a thousand pieces.
‘Of course. You’re a policeman - you would know my address.’
‘Naturally.’ She could practically see his little lopsided grin, could hear it in his voice.
‘See you soon then.’ She replaced the receiver and shivered with delight. She was hungry again. Only this time it wasn’t for food.
Terry Petherick was staring at the telephone in his hand. She had rung! He wasn’t wrong. She still wanted him as much as he still wanted her! He picked up his car keys and jacket and literally ran from his flat. He leapt into his car, a Ford Escort, and began the journey to Rainham. To Maura’s house.
He had found himself driving to Dean Street earlier that evening, hoping for a glimpse of Maura. That was all. He had experienced an all-consuming passion for weeks just to look at her. Ever since he had seen her the night of the bombing, it had been like stepping back through a doorway, into another world. There had been women over
the years but never any who affected him like Maura Ryan.
Every warning bell in his body was clanging and jangling at this moment, but he did not care. All he was really sure of was the fact that he had to see her. Touch her. Feel her. Even knowing what she had done - that she had been an accessory to murder. The attraction that had been between them from the start was still there like a shining beacon. He put his foot on the accelerator and whizzed through the icy streets towards her and all that she promised. For once in his life he was acting on impulse, and he was loving every moment of it. He felt alive. Really alive. And it felt good.
Maura pulled into her drive and sat in the car for a few minutes. She could feel her own nervousness and savoured every second of it. She looked at the large house sitting in ghostly darkness and for the very first time was glad to be home . . . and glad that Carla was not there. She had never been with a man since Terry, had gradually suppressed all her feelings, both sexual and romantic, concentrating on her work and Carla. And now her senses were filling her up, overflowing from her body, like the bursting of a great dam.
She got out of her car and went into her house. Her daily woman, Mrs MacMullen, had been in and as usual had left the central heating on low. The house was warm and inviting. Maura ran up the stairs like a young school-girl getting ready for her first date. She threw off her clothes and stepped into the shower, scrubbing her body until it glowed pink.
When she finally heard Terry’s car she was in her lounge in a white silk dressing gown, sipping a glass of red wine. As she heard his footsteps crunch on the gravelled driveway she felt an intense euphoria flood her body. He had come. He had really come for her. She went into her hall and opened the front door.
She noticed that he was breathing as heavily as she. And then, without a word spoken, she was being kissed. And it was all so natural, as it should have been. How it once had been. He was kissing her face, her eyes, her neck. Taking his hand, she led him slowly up the stairs and into her bedroom.
They faced one another in the soft light from bedside lamps. She stared deeply into his eyes and saw mirrored in them her own feelings of love and desire. She began to unbutton his shirt and as she pulled it from him saw the broad shoulders, the tightly muscled arms, and felt new again, as she had the first time they had made love. He opened his trousers and showed her he was hard. She traced the outline of his erection with her fingers, softly and tantalisingly. She was feeling the woman heat between her legs and the tightening of her nipples. He was naked and she watched him, fascinated, as he stood before her, proud and strong. He opened the cord of her dressing gown and she stood, quivering with excitement and longing.
She saw his eyes roaming over her body and wanted him then, more than she had ever wanted anyone or anything in her life. He pushed her backwards gently on to the bed and kissed her body, little biting kisses that were hurtful and so erotic. He tasted the muskiness of her and felt the heady delight that he had thought was gone forever. He pushed her legs up to her shoulders until she was full open to him - like a ripe pink peach. She watched him enter her with one deep thrust, and she groaned like an animal. Together they moved in perfect unison.
She matched his strokes with hard thrusts of her hips against him. She could feel the mounting excitement as she reached her orgasm and heard herself moaning and panting, begging him to thrust deeper. She could feel the droplets of sweat from his body dripping on to hers and gripped him with her legs, drawing him inside her, deeper and deeper, until she thought that she would die of pleasure. Their slippery bodies thrashed wildly as they reached orgasm. She could feel his hand squeezing her breast so hard that she cried out.
Then they lay, spent and replete, their hearts thudding against each other’s chests. They lay tangled together for long quiet minutes, savouring the familiar feel of one another after so long an absence. Finally Terry leant on his elbow and kissed her gently on her swollen lips, and she looked at his face - the face that had alternately haunted and drawn her for nearly nine years - and smiled.
‘It’s been so long.’ Her voice was so low as to be virtually inaudible.
‘Too long, Maura. Much too long.’
They lay together until their bodies became still and the passion that had encompassed them had drained away. He kissed her again, staring down at her as if he wanted to devour her. His eyes drank in every feature and his brain filed them away, never to be forgotten. And she did the same, lying there. They were both aware that it was only a temporary love affair. That in the cold light of day they would have to part, each going back to their different world which neither would ever be able to leave. But this was never said. What they had at this moment was enough for them. And if they had to part, they would at least have had this night.
Terry gathered her to him and locked her into his embrace. ‘I never meant to hurt you, you know. I swear.’
Maura spoke softly. ‘I know, Terry.’ She should tell him about the baby now. It was the perfect opening. But she could not. She would never, ever tell him about it. A lone tear slipped from her eye as she looked at him and he licked it away with his tongue. She would not tell him about their child as he would not talk about what Michael had had done to him. It was like a silent agreement, an unspoken treaty. So they lay together, speaking the love words that came so naturally to their lips. And then they loved again. Not the wild thrashings of before but a long, slow, leisurely loving that left them both breathless and satiated. Then all too soon it was the morning and they could delay their parting no longer.
‘Come on. I’ll make you some breakfast.’ She pulled on her dressing gown and went to the kitchen. The birds were singing in the early morning light and Maura wished that the day would never come. That they could keep the night forever. She heard him whistling as he showered and felt an urge to cry out. Against God. Against fate. And against injustice.
She took a loaf of bread from her freezer and made toast. She had just finished scrambling the eggs when he came into the kitchen, his hair still wet from the shower. She gave him a cup of coffee and placed his breakfast in front of him.
‘You never cooked me breakfast before.’
‘I was never allowed to stay out all night in those days.’ She made her voice light.
He smiled. ‘What are we going to do, Maura?’ The words were like a physical blow. They both knew that there was nothing they could do.
She sat at the table opposite him.
‘What happened last night was beautiful, Terry, but we must accept it for what it was - a beautiful interlude from our lives. Our real lives. Tomorrow is a new year . . . 1976 . . . and you will go back to your policing while I will go back to being Maura Ryan.’ She smiled sadly. ‘Please don’t let’s spoil it with might have beens and halfhearted promises. We live in different worlds, you and I. Worlds that can never be united.’ Her voice broke.
Terry knew that she was right, and he loved her all the more for her honesty. Too much had happened over the years. And she was more of a woman in his eyes for what had just said than any so-called Earth Mother would ever be.
They ate breakfast together, both acutely aware of the sky gradually becoming lighter outside the kitchen window. They chatted about nothing, little inconsequential things that stopped them thinking or talking about the big things. The real things. The real world. Finally Terry got up from his chair, and Maura knew that the parting had come.
‘Can’t we meet sometimes, Maura?’
She shook her head sadly. ‘No, Terry. It’s best we leave things as they are. There’s no future for us.’
‘Will you come to the door with me?’ She could hear the tears in his voice. She shook her head.
‘No. You go. I’ll sit here. I don’t want to see you driving away from me.’
‘Oh, Maws.’ He was kneeling in front of her, holding her so tight she could barely breathe. ‘I can’t go, Maura. I can’t leave you like this.’
She kissed the top of his head. ‘Go. Go on. Don’t make this
harder than it already is.’ She cupped his face in her hands for the last time.
‘I love you, Terry Petherick. God help me, I’ll always love you.’
‘I know. I love you too.’
She pushed him away from her. She had read so many times the phrase ‘their hearts were breaking’, and now she found out that it was true. Your heart could break and it was an intense physical pain that made you want to scream out, a deep roaring scream, from the depths of your body.
She sat at the table and it was as if her senses had been magnified a thousand million times. She heard his footfalls on the thick carpet. The sound of the front door closing behind him was like a deafening crash. And finally she heard his car start up. Then she listened to it driving away.
Away from her . . . and back to his real life.
It was over. The night was finished and real life had begun again. But she would carry the memory of it with her to her grave. She cried, a loud, noisy cry that was all the more wrenching because it sounded so lonely.
Terry drove home to his flat in Hampstead. He drove slowly, not in the reckless way he had driven the night before. Leaving Maura had been the hardest thing he had ever done in his life, but he knew that she was right. That she was stronger than him. Much stronger. And he guessed, correctly, that she was much lonelier. But whatever she was, he loved her.
Chapter Twenty-one
It was the third of January and Maura and Michael were driving to Lord Templeton’s office. Maura still had the glow of lovemaking on her, despite the tears afterwards. In the last few days she had somehow resigned herself to being without Terry, to being without any man, though the thrill of the sexual encounter was still vivid in her mind and body. Michael was discussing what had happened between Maura and Janine.
‘Calm down, Maws, for Christ’s sake. After what happened to Benny, you can’t blame her for getting a bit shirty. Janine’s what’s known as a shitter. And there’s plenty of them about, believe me.’
‘It’s not that, Mickey. But the fact that Roy was a Ryan is what attracted her in the first place. She was after a bit of rough and then she came unstuck. Look at how she dumped Carla! Now Roy, who’s turned out to be a bloody good provider, is in a bit of schtuck, she wants him to become a bloody bank clerk or something! It’s laughable.’