Tara (46 page)

'How's Tara?' Harry put his hands on the grille, as if trying to sap something of his father through the wire. 'I've put up that picture of her in my cell. It helps.'

'The shop's packed out all day every day, but she seems 'appy enough.'

'Has Josh moved on her yet?'

'Don't ask me questions like that, son.' George frowned. 'I don't know the answer, anyway it ain't any good brooding on such things.'

'She's such a kid still,' Harry looked gloomy. 'I don't trust Josh, he's such a fuckin' smoothie. I just can't bear to think he might be screwing her.'

'Well, use your loaf then.' George moved closer to the grille. 'Give your brief enough to clear you of the shootin', at least. You'll still get a year or so for the robbery, but you could use the time inside studyin' summat useful. I'll stick by you this time because you're my boy. But get in the shit a second time and that's it as far as I'm concerned.'

Harry looked at his father and felt a lump in his throat. George was a diamond. He never pulled a fast one on anyone, never lied or cheated.

'Did I ever tell you 'ow much I value you?' Harry said softly, wishing there was no grille and he could hug his father. 'I'll make you a promise here and now, I'll never let you down again. I'm through with thieving.'

George's eyes misted over. 'Glad to hear it, son.' His voice was gruff with emotion. 'Now tell me what else you've 'eard about this Joe Spikes. And while you're at it, what about birds you've dropped. One of them could be at the bottom of it.'

Chapter 20

'Push the other one away, idiot!' Tara sat back on a bale of straw laughing hysterically at Josh's attempt to feed the calf from a bucket.

'Don't just sit there laughing,' he shouted over his shoulder. 'Help me!'

It was Boxing Day morning and Tara was attempting to un-citify Josh. With her hair tied up in bunches, wearing old jodhpurs, boots and a donkey jacket, she looked as if she'd never lived in a town.

He had already failed miserably on feeding the pigs, by turning to run when the big sow Mildred put her front trotters up on the sty wall to roar out an ecstatic greeting. He could do no more than pat Betsy gingerly on the nose as Tara took in her oats. Now even feeding a couple of pretty black and white calves seemed beyond him.

The calves were penned with willow screens in the back corner of the barn, the floor ankle-deep in dirty straw. In an ancient jacket and trousers of Gran's, Wellingtons borrowed from Stan, with his curly black hair and olive skin, Josh looked more like some poor tinker than a businessman.

The calves had moved in on him the moment he appeared with the bucket of skimmed milk, elbowing aside the screens and both trying to get their heads in the bucket at the same time.

'Be firm with them,' Tara called out as he nervously edged further and further back. 'Slap the little one on the nose and hold your ground.'

But Josh couldn't co-ordinate holding the heavy pail and he seemed reticent even to touch the animals. Tara got up to intervene, but before she reached him his boot landed on some manure, he skidded and toppled back. The milk flew up into the air as he fell backwards, the pail clonking down on to his chest.

Tara shrieked with laughter. Josh was spreadeagled on the straw, soaked in milk, and the two calves were advancing on him, limpid dark eyes glistening at their spilled breakfast.

'Get them off me,' he yelled, covering his face with his hands as two long tongues flicked out to lick him. "They'll trample me to death!'

Tara shooed the calves back into their pen with one expert tap each on each rump, and put the willow screen back.

"They're six-week-old babies, not charging rhinos.' She was convulsed with laughter, but held out her hand to haul him up. 'Somehow I don't think you're ever going to get the hang of this.'

Josh wiped the milk off his face once he was vertical again, but he hadn't noticed where his hand had been and now he had a smear of manure right down one cheek.

'It's horrible in here,' he said petulantly, his face a picture of misery. 'It stinks, it's dirty, but I wouldn't mind it so much if you weren't enjoying my discomfort.'

'Oh, don't be daft. Can't you take a joke?' Tara took a step forward and wiped his face with a handkerchief. 'Go and change. I'll feed the calves.'

'He's no country boy,' Mabel said with a smirk as Josh disappeared up the stairs, wearing only his shirt and socks, leaving the mucky trousers, boots and coat in the porch.

'You and Tara have a cruel streak,' Amy said reprovingly, having seen the whole thing from her bedroom window. 'If Tara had just helped him with the calves he'd probably have enjoyed feeding them.'

'To each his own.' Mabel looked round from the vegetables she was preparing in the sink. 'I'll say that for Harry, he could handle everything here.'

Amy put the kettle on the Aga then turned to her mother, hands on hips. Mabel had been very jolly and amenable for the last few days, but her tone suggested she might be lapsing back into her usual prickly ways.

'Well, that is a turn-up,' Amy said sarcastically, knowing the only way to deal with her mother was outright confrontation. 'We've finally found something we like about Harry!'

'I only speak as I find.' Mabel pursed her lips and looked at her daughter defiantly. 'You know I don't really believe Harry killed that man. But he was thieving and he deserves to be punished.'

Amy shook her head in amazement.

'Mother, you're the most aggravating woman I've ever met,' she said. 'You've refused to allow me even to mention his name. You were rude to George when he telephoned. Now you say you don't believe he shot the watchman. Couldn't you have come down off your high horse for long enough to write Harry a Christmas card?'

'If I've been hard, it's only for Tara's sake,' Mabel said waspishly. 'If I showed the slightest softness towards him, Tara might take that as approval. Besides, Harry knows me better than anyone and for your information, Miss Perfect, I did write to him, soon after he was nicked.'

'You did?' Amy's jaw fell open.

Mabel leaned back against the sink, a smug smile on her lips.

'I told him what a disappointment he was to me. But I did say, too, that I knew he wouldn't take a gun to anyone. I also offered to help him get back on bis feet when he gets released.'

For a moment Amy just stared in surprise, but slowly something dawned on her.

'You mean working for you, here?' She threw back her blonde hair from her face.

'Well, if Greg Masterton sweeps you off, I'll need help,' Mabel retorted. 'And the way things are going with Josh and Tara, she won't be coming back here either.'

'Mother, Mother.' Amy burst into laughter. 'I think you are the most contrary, cunning, obstinate woman I've ever met, but I love you anyway.'

Amy was still smiling as she went into the sitting room to tidy up and put more coal on the fire. All this time she and Greg had wondered how they could ever broach the subject of them marrying without Mabel flying off the handle. But in fact her mother was already making plans, albeit cock-eyed ones. She probably knew, too, that whenever Amy was missing in the afternoon or evening she was with Greg in his house, making love.

Since that first clumsy attempt back in the summer, their love affair had become so beautiful and fulfilling. Only yesterday Greg had suggested they become engaged and put a stop to the gossip about them. But Amy wanted to wait until after Harry's trial. It didn't seem right to be planning a joyful occasion when someone you cared for deeply was in so much trouble.

'I doubt if he'll take you up on the offer, Mother,' Amy said to herself as she swept up the pine needles. 'But he'll appreciate the thought behind it.'

Josh looked at himself in the bathroom mirror thoughtfully as he waited for the bath to fill. The milk had penetrated right down to his pants, he had straw and muck in his hair, and he doubted he could wash the farmyard smell off.

He was angry, not so much with Tara for showing him up, but at himself.

'You shouldn't have come here,' he whispered to his reflection as he drew a comb through his curls to remove the straw. 'You've blown it.'

Back in London he called the shots, he knew who he was and where he was going. He should have taken her out, shown her a bit of the high life until she was as besotted with him as other girls were. But coming here had weakened his power. These three strong women had showed him a way of life that made him question his own.

It had begun as soon as he walked into the kitchen on Christmas Eve. It was the atmosphere that knocked him sideways. Twists of red crepe paper and holly adorned the old black beams among the copper pots. The big scrubbed table was laid invitingly for a late supper and every surface seemed to be groaning with more food. A huge iced Christmas cake sat on a dresser next to an equally large home-cooked ham, golden with breadcrumbs. There were mince pies on a cooling tray, a wooden trug full of vegetables waiting to be prepared, and dishes of sweets.

'This is wonderful,' Josh managed to get out. 'It looks and smells so festive. I didn't expect to find two more beauties in the same family, either!'

He had expected Tara's mother to be middle-aged and drab, not a stunningly pretty woman with a figure like an eighteen year old. Even the grandmother was majestic in a plum-coloured two-piece, white hair sparkling like frosting under the light.

Both women had laughed. Amy said he was 'gallant'and fussed over him as she poured him hot beef and vegetable soup with delicious homemade bread.

'We practically sold out of all my designs,' Tara bubbled as she related tales of the last few frantic trading days. "The new shop's a stupendous success. Josh is going to be a millionaire before long!'

'Is that so, Josh?' Amy smiled, 'or is this just Tara's excitable nature?'

'The shop has exceeded my wildest dreams.' He grinned, looking from Amy sitting at the table, her face rosy with pleasure at having her daughter home, to Mabel standing at the cooker basting the turkey. 'But it takes more than one good season to build a fortune.'

'Are you going to open other branches?' Mabel slid the turkey back into the oven and closed the door.

In a Jewish family this question would imply a collecting of information as to his suitability as a prospective husband. But Mabel sounded as if she already believed he was well on his way to building an empire.

'I'd like to,' he said cautiously, not wanting to brag. 'For the time being I want to build up both shops until I'm certain which way the wind's blowing. But that's enough business talk. Tell me about you, Mrs Randall. Tara tells me you paint!'

Josh could barely keep his eyes open as Mrs Randall showed him a couple of beautiful water-colours she was giving to people as Christmas presents. For weeks he'd barely slept, keeping himself going with purple hearts and blues. On Christmas Eve he'd limited himself to just two, relying on pure adrenaline to pull him through. But now, with the long journey behind him and the comforting knowledge that there was a huge wedge of money in the night-safe, exhaustion had taken over.

It was after ten. He heard Amy saying she and her mother were going to the midnight service soon and, although he had hoped for such an opportunity to be alone with Tara tonight, he knew he was incapable of using it.

'Poor Josh, you look all in,' Amy said gently, ruffling his hair in a way that made him feel like a small boy. 'Let me show you your bedroom.'

'Go on.' Tara grinned at him. 'Mum's right, you're dead on your feet. I'll go to church with them if you don't mind being alone.'

She looked so pretty in a cream mini skirt and jumper, a bow of tinsel still in her hair from earlier in the day. Her cheeks were flushed and her amber eyes sparkled in a way they never did in London.

'If you won't think I'm a misery,' he said weakly.

'Of course not.' She patted his arm. 'I'll see you tomorrow and show you around. Off you go!'

He was awake enough to notice model planes hanging from the ceiling in the bedroom, to see a row of Dinky toys and a couple of teddy bears on a shelf, but too sleepy to consider who this room belonged to.

'I've put a bottle in,' Amy said, turning down a beautiful red and blue patchwork quilt which he guessed was her work. She plumped up the pillows on the old-fashioned wooden bed, and switched on a lamp. 'Sleep tight, Josh.'

Josh couldn't remember a time when he'd felt so cosy. The bed was so warm and soft and the linen smelled of lavender. He could hear plates rattling down in the kitchen and Tara giggling.

Christmas until now had been nothing more than a Gentile festival which gave him an opportunity to make money. His parents celebrated it half-heartedly, by putting up an artificial tree, loading up the cocktail bar and raiding Fortnum & Mason for the kind of delicacies they saw in glossy magazines. Now he could see that his desire to come here for Christmas had been based on the same reason his parents put up that tree each year.

He wanted acceptance.

Ever since he was a small boy Josh had been aware that his home life didn't conform with other children's. He knew his parents loved him, but they never had time for him. Even when they moved away from Cable Street, there was never much of a home-life. His father only came home to sleep, and as their wealth increased his mother involved herself in charity work rather than staying at home. Had they been orthodox Jews he might have had the stability of the synagogue and all its teachings. But as it was he straddled the two worlds of Jews and Gentiles uneasily, never quite fitting into either.

Until tonight none of this had concerned him, he believed making money was the answer to everything. But suddenly he wasn't so sure.

He woke on Christmas morning to the smell of roast turkey and the sound of laughter drifting up the stairs. He was horrified to discover it was after eleven, and he washed, shaved and dressed in record time.

Later he was to discover the women had been up since six, milking the cows and feeding the animals. But his first view of them preparing vegetables and sharing a joke with Dr Masterton, who lounged in the rocking chair drinking a pint of cider, didn't tell him that.