Wishing and Hoping (18 page)

Marcie shook her head. The fact that Michael had kept things from her was surprising and got her wondering what other things he hadn't told her. She told herself that he was only trying to protect her, but at the same time she felt uncomfortable. She'd thought there were no secrets between them.

‘I think we can get more than Rafferty is offering,' Jacob continued. ‘Shall I begin making enquiries?'

Marcie sat staring into space. The nightclub had been Michael's dream, a challenge that would prove he was as capable of running such a business as his father and his half-brother. She understood what it meant to him. If this hadn't happened there would have been no question of him selling. But it made her think something else too. Why hadn't he taken her into his confidence? Like Rafferty, did he think that as a woman she wasn't capable of running a business?
Of standing up to the bully boys of London's East End?

She frowned at the power of her own thoughts. If she was her father's daughter, she would grab the money and run. She'd be the woman most men expected her to be. But she wasn't like that. She was her mother's daughter, the mother Rosa Brooks had described as ‘strong', self-reliant. ‘Can I have some time to think it over?'

She felt Jacob's eyes on her. ‘You're thinking to run it yourself?'

He didn't sound surprised and for someone who had lived through so much violence, his voice was surprisingly sympathetic. He also had great insight. Strange as it seemed, it was almost as though she could feel his mind prying into hers.

‘Am I mad?'

He shook his head. ‘No. You are not mad. You are brave and you know the old English saying?'

She nodded. ‘Fortune favours the brave.'

CARLA CASEY WAS
on a mission and didn't continue with the window-shopping she'd set out to do that morning. If she hadn't bumped into Sally Saunders in Oxford Street she would have continued with what she was doing.

Sally was warmly wrapped up in a black and white checked coat and wearing a fashionable knitted ‘pixie' hat that fastened beneath the chin. Her boots were black suede and trimmed around the top with tassels, a bit like the ones on a lampshade, thought Carla.

Sally was one of the most indomitable people she'd ever met and usually wore a beaming expression. Today she was looking gutted. She spotted Carla at once.

‘Carla! Have you heard about Michael Jones? He's been arrested for murder. Marcie's almost out of her mind with worry. What the hell is likely to happen I don't know; 'course men being men, Linda Bell could very well have been pregnant by him, but Christ Almighty, I can't see that he'd top her. Not Michael. He's not like that.'

Carla feigned ignorance though she had of course read the papers and heard the rumours. Sam Kendal – formerly Mary Brooks, Marcie's mother – was hassling her about it, asking her to find out more. It made Carla wish for Sam's old man to die so Sam could go and do the business for herself. Old Leo should be made to understand that blood was thicker than water. But Sam was having none of it.

Carla had been friends with Sam for years. She knew about her memory loss, how she'd been married to Tony Brooks but couldn't remember anything about it. By the time her memory returned she was married to Leo Kendal and a different woman than the one she had been. Saving her from the streets was all down to Leo. She owed him everything and much as she wanted to be reunited with her daughter, she couldn't hurt him. Hard as she had become, she just couldn't do it.

‘Of all the blokes I've ever met in my life, Leo is the one who's been good to me. The rest were a load of shits. He stood by me, so I'll stand by him.'

There was no arguing with Samantha Kendal when she'd made her mind up. The window-shopping was only a ‘by the way' kind of thing. She was off to do Sam's will – not that she could tell Sally that.

She feigned innocence. ‘Blimey, Sally. That's terrible. I don't watch the news much myself, but I did hear tell there was something awful happening.
Funnily enough I was just on me way over to see Marcie at the shop. I take it she'll be there?'

Sally confirmed that she would be – as if Carla needed any confirmation, which she did not. Someone was always keeping an eye on Marcie – if she but knew it.

Sally was rabbiting on. ‘Marcie reckons that keeping busy helps her stop worrying so much. Me and Allegra are standing by her, of course, looking after the kids and that when she has to go off and see her old man. Christ knows what's going to happen to him. They've charged him with murder, all because of this bloody gun that he found in his desk drawer. It's got his prints all over it. He reckons somebody planted it there, but don't know who. Not many people get to go in his office. Mainly family and friends and the club manager, that bloke Kevin McGregor.'

‘Poor girl.'

Sally carried on. ‘Terrible state she's in. The police said the evidence was overwhelming. I said to Marcie that if that was the case then he'd be called to trial in no time and not to worry. Something would turn up.'

‘Let's hope so.'

Carla Casey was a big woman with a penchant for big earrings and fur coats. She had ten fur coats – that's if you counted boleros and mink fur stoles.
She'd known a lot of rich geezers in her time and when they wanted to buy her a present she always opted for a fur coat. Some girls preferred diamonds like in the Marilyn Monroe song about diamonds being a girl's best friend. But not Carla. Carla preferred fur coats.

Carla wanted to see Marcie alone. Sally wasn't getting the message. Even though she was walking briskly, Sally kept pace with her, chatting nineteen to the dozen.

‘It's good you're going to see Marcie. She needs her mates round her at a time like this.'

Carla grunted some kind of response. If Sally regarded her as Marcie's ‘mate' at this moment in time, then all to the good. In a way she was, but being paid for it of course. Carla never did anything unless she was paid for it and her boss paid well. In return Sam Kendal received out and out loyalty. Carla believed in giving good service for good money.

It was pretty obvious to Carla that Sally wasn't going to be shaken off. She resigned herself to Sally Saunders tagging along.

‘We'll get a taxi,' she said resignedly. ‘I'll pay.'

She made the offer as though the money folded tightly in her purse was hers and hers alone. It wasn't. The boss had given her expenses – generous expenses.

When they got to the sewing room above the trophy shop in East London, a twin act was being
fitted up with angel costumes. These particular angels wore very few clothes and their wings – cunningly contrived of ostrich feathers – were a vibrant shade of pink. The little triangle covering their privates was also made of feathers, cupping the area between their legs like a feathery hand.

Carla looked at the outfits and made her own judgement based on past experience. She'd taken her clothes off for princes and kings and knew what they liked. The punters would love that look. In their minds they would imagine that the feathery hands were theirs and very much of flesh and blood and that they were the ones doing the clutching.

Designing costumes for exotic dancers was an art, an art that Marcie was very good at. She'd go far, further than she ever would in the world of high fashion where qualifications and knowing the right people went a long way on the road to success.

Marcie looked up from stitching sequins onto the tips of the feathers and saw her.

Carla gushed bonhomie and girlish glee. ‘Marcie! Love! Let me give you a big hug!'

She didn't wait for a reply. Marcie was smothered in a pair of big arms enclosed in a thick coat by a woman who stood over six feet tall in stiletto-heeled boots. For her part it was like being hugged by a bear.

‘Nice to see you Carla. I suppose you've heard.' Marcie sounded more tired than nervous.

‘You sound shattered, love. You're really up against it. That's why I'm here. And ain't that what friends are for?'

‘Thanks.'

‘Anything you want, you just have to say the word. How's the legal eagle? Is he doing his job? If he ain't and you need the best, the money's there for taking on someone better.'

‘Jacob Solomon is on the case. He's a good bloke.'

‘Ah,' said Carla with a jerk of her head. ‘You couldn't be in better hands.'

She meant what she said. Everyone who was anyone knew Jacob Solomon. In a city lousy with lawyers, Jacob Solomon was held in high esteem.

Carla glanced to where Sally was fussing over the two kids and exchanging words with Marcie's other friend – Allegra – the classy bitch who had once been Victor Camilleri's bit on the side. None of the women in this room was to know that she too had once been Victor's mistress. It was a long time ago and she'd been a lot younger then. She'd also had a different name. People in her business – stripping/exotic dancing – changed their names with as much frequency as some people changed their underwear.

Nonetheless, she'd been jealous of every other woman Victor had had since. The fact was that he too had been younger then and, despite the gammy foot, he'd had presence and been a right stud between
the sheets. She'd loved him. Always had. Always would.

Cruel, she thought, but it pleased her to see Allegra Montillado looking so pale and distant – almost as though she was on drugs, certainly not on this planet. The girl had changed since splitting with Camilleri. She didn't look glamorous. Beautiful, yes, but there were no adornments, no sparkling baubles dangling from her ears, just a single silver cross hanging around her neck.

Carla pulled herself back from old memories and glib observations. Her attention went back to Marcie.

‘Look, love,' she said, lowering her voice and looping her arm into Marcie's. ‘I think we need to have a little talk in private.'

Marcie frowned. Her head was aching and her eyes felt itchy, probably due to all the crying she'd done. ‘Carla, there's nothing anyone can do unless you can conjure up the murderer and force him to confess.'

‘That could be possible – with the right contacts.'

Marcie sighed. She was in no mood for people like Carla offering to use their weighty contacts to get her husband off the charge. It couldn't be done. The evidence, so she'd been told, was too damning.

‘Look,' she said trying hard not to sound ungrateful or impatient. ‘I've already told you, Jacob Solomon is taking care of things.'

Carla's blood-red talons traced lines through Marcie's hair, stroking it behind her ear on one side. At the same time she leaned forwards and whispered, ‘We need to talk about Paddy Rafferty and what we can do about him.'

Marcie visibly started. Their eyes met in mutual understanding.

‘I'm just taking Carla into the office to discuss a bit of new business,' Marcie called to Sally and Allegra. ‘You all right with the kids?'

‘You take your time, darlin'. Your kiddies are OK with us,' declared Sally.

Allegra smiled that same sad smile she'd had for some time now. ‘It is always a pleasure.'

Her two friends who she'd first met at Pilemarsh Home for Unmarried mothers grabbed any opportunity to look after her children. She felt for them. She'd kept Joanna. Both Sally and Allegra had given their children up for adoption.

It suddenly struck Marcie that if she wasn't worrying about her husband, she would be worrying about Allegra and the change in her. Today Allegra was dressed in a simple navy-blue dress with a boat neckline, in line with the more subdued style she adopted nowadays. The brandy brown hair that had once bounced around at shoulder level was gone. The elfin style she now sported made her unmade-up face look paler, her dark eyes luminous. The only item of
jewellery she wore was a simple silver crucifix. It had been like that for a while.

Marcie closed the door to the tiny office. Carla sat down on the hard chair in front of the desk, which was from an old set of dining chairs belonging to her grandmother. Although she could afford better, Marcie liked these old things because they reminded her of home, and sometimes, more frequently nowadays, she wished she were there.

Marcie sat in the swivel chair behind the desk, steepled her fingers and looked across at Carla. ‘You mentioned Paddy Rafferty. What do you know about him?'

Carla was slightly taken aback by the fearless look on the face of the young woman opposite her. In the short time she'd known her, Marcie had grown up. In the past she'd listened to advice and acted on it without question. Now, Carla fancied, the young woman before her held her own views and did not necessarily act upon the views or the will of others. Marcie Brooks didn't just look like her mother, she was also beginning to act like her. It struck Carla that both Marcie and her mother – Sam Kendal – would do anything for the people they loved. It was sad that they'd been parted when Marcie was so young, but still, she reasoned, it was only a matter of time before they were reunited.

Carla went straight into the speech she'd rehearsed
on the way over. ‘I've heard a rumour that Paddy Rafferty wants the Blue Genie premises and that he was pressing your old man to make him a partner.'

She could see from Marcie's expression that the fact that she knew had surprised her. The surprise was short-lived. The confidence returned.

‘How do you know?'

Carla shook her head and waved her hand dismissively. ‘It doesn't matter how I know, only that I know what a rotten bastard he is and that he'll stop at nothing to get what he wants. Has he made you an offer?'

Marcie seemed to reflect on whether she should answer before she actually did. ‘Jacob Solomon has the details.'

‘It makes sense for you to sell it. What does Michael think?'

Marcie swallowed. Mention of his name got to her badly. The world seemed empty without him, his name echoing against the emptiness. ‘He wants me to sell it.'