Tara (51 page)

Harry might be a hero to the whole of Bethnal Green, but not to Tara. It was an unwanted reminder of her father and a timely warning not to embark on a love affair with him.

'I'm completely serious,' he said. 'I've already had some rough plans drawn up and got someone to act for me with the council. Unless they turn it down, I'm on my way.'

In another hour it would be pitch dark, but even in daylight it looked forbidding.

'Who's going to come to a club here?' She wrinkled her nose in disgust. An icy wind was blowing rubbish down the narrow street, bringing with it the stink of the river, and she felt dwarfed by the menacing, soot-stained buildings pressing in all around her. Further along the street an uncleared bomb-site had become a tip, strewn with old mattresses and abandoned cars. The only homes she'd seen were tenements, many of which were boarded up. At night it would be terrifying. There was virtually no street lighting and she could imagine rats scrabbling out of the sewers to look for food.

'Toffs,' he said airily. 'They used to come in Victorian days for illegal gambling and it was a darned sight more dangerous then. Look on the positive side, Tara. We can make as much noise as we like, drunks wouldn't bother anyone. It just needs a good publicity campaign.'

'Show me inside,' she said in a weak voice, wrapping her rabbit coat round her. He'd obviously made his mind up and the sooner she got it over with the better.

He opened the narrow door beside the loading bay and led the way in.

'Careful now,' he warned her. 'I've pulled up a few floorboards to look underneath, so it's a bit dodgy.'

A smell of mildew and rotting timbers made her pull up her collar and bury her nose in the fur. She wanted to be enthusiastic, for his sake, but it was like the set for a horror film.

'The windows are a pretty shape,' she ventured, noting their curved tops. They were boarded up at the front, but enough light spilled through from the river side to see by.

'They remind me of prison,' he chuckled, taking her hand to lead her past a gaping hole where he'd pulled up some floorboards. "They were the same in the Scrubs, I used to lie awake and count the fifteen little panes.'

To her right a metal spiral staircase led up to the next floor and ahead, through a partially broken partition, was the main part of the warehouse. She saw a vast area, with girders across the ceiling and iron pillars holding it up. It was open to the full force of the wind on the river side, the loading door having long since rotted and fallen into the mud below. A few tea chests were piled in one corner and evidence of Harry's exploratory probing showed in more ripped-up boards, hammers, levers and a pickaxe.

'Look at that!' he led her over to the river, throwing his arms wide, as if showing her the Himalayas at sunset. 'What a view! Imagine yourself with a drink in your hand, soft carpet beneath your feet, the band playing and all this!'

Tar a could only see a wide expanse of dirty river and a few barges. Below, the low tide revealed an expanse of stinking, oily mud, strewn with refuse.

'Harry, you can't possibly do it up,' she gasped. 'It's too far gone.'

She had to admit it was big enough. If it had been in Chelsea she might have been cautiously enthusiastic. But Wapping!

'This is the worst bit.' He grinned cheerfully, expanding his chest and breathing in the river air. 'But I've had a survey done and it's structurally sound. Once I've got the windows in and a new floor laid, it'll soon take shape.' He waved one hand towards the wall on the left. 'I'll have a long, curved bar there. Those bench seats that make alcoves, with a table, all along under the window. Then over there at the back, a small stage and a specially sprung floor for dancing.'

It grew more and more ridiculous as he showed her round the rest of the place. The spiral stair would be replaced by a wide grand one, a chandelier would hang above it. He even talked about removing part of the first floor to create a kind of gallery. There were to be gaming rooms on the next floor, and he even talked about making a flat for himself up in the top-floor rooms. His thin face glowed with a missionary zeal. He didn't seem to notice the cold and dirt, or be daunted by the sheer size of what he was proposing.

Until news of the poker game broke, Tara had fondly imagined he was staying away from her until he found a good job. Now she felt he was betraying her trust in him.

'So it's going to be a gambling club?' she said, tight-lipped. Her hands and feet were like ice, it was dusk now and every dark corner was scary.

'Of course. I won't lure rich people here otherwise.'

'Take me home, Harry.' She sighed. 'I'd like it to be a success, but I can't see it happening.'

He caught hold of her arm and spun her round to face him. His eyes burned brightly, his chin had a determined thrust to it.

'It will be a success, Tara, because I'll make it happen. I don't want you to come here again until opening night, then maybe you'll believe in me.'

Not a kiss, not even a few words to say that she was important to him. As the last rays of daylight left the sky she wondered why she'd ever thought he cared.

Hot June sun seared through the workroom window, even with the Venetian blinds closed. Tara sat on a chair by the sewing machine, her hair and flimsy cheesecloth dress damp with perspiration. She was hand-stitching the hem of a green crushed velvet dress, but she had to keep stopping and wiping her hands because the needle was sticking.

Below in the shop she could hear the pounding beat of Sergeant Pepper's Lonely Hearts Club Band; out in the street the ceaseless roar of traffic.

A fan beside her machine merely churned up the hot, stale air. Chemical smells from bales of fabric and damp cloth on the pressing machine mingled with joss sticks from the shop and gave her a headache.

She wanted to be at the farm, to sit under a tree and read a book, or bury her nose in her mother's roses. She wanted her own bedroom, the feeling of starched cool sheets against her skin, with a soft breeze ruffling the curtains. She wanted a man to love her, not to be torn between two crackpots who had put her life on hold while they played out their fantasies.

Harry was actually camping out in that awful building. She hadn't seen him since that day in February. He'd phoned a couple of times but all he talked about was steel beams, timber and the price of lighting.

Josh, meanwhile, was getting wilder and wilder. He'd bought a new silver Mercedes with the number plate JB 12. He continued to stage publicity stunts, including having a couple of models fighting over him at Annabel's nightclub, buying a picnic at Fortnum & Mason with a famous actress on his arm and getting Tara to make clothes for an entire rock group, for which he took the credit. He was making a fortune, there was no doubt about that, and if it wasn't for his wild social life he'd probably have opened more branches still.

Every time Tara complained about the work foisted on to her, he gave her a rise. But money wasn't really what she wanted, she never had the time or inclination to spend it anyway. Sometimes she barely went out of the building in a whole week and, aside from a night out now and again with Angie or Miranda, she had no fun.

She couldn't remember the last time she'd had a lie in, or a walk in the park. Just this eternal pressure to get things done, to solve problems, to fit in with what everyone else wanted.

The phone rang and she picked it up wearily, fully expecting it to be Josh asking when the sample dresses she was making would be ready.

'Hello, princess. Fancy a day at the seaside tomorrow?'

The shock of hearing Harry's voice and such an unexpected invitation threw her.

'I can't,' she replied, looking around her workroom at the piles of unfinished samples.

'Why not?'

She hesitated. It didn't matter how long she spent in this room, the piles of work never got smaller because someone always brought more.

'You can't think of a good reason,' he said teasingly.

'Oh, Harry, I can't take a day off...' But even as she said it she glanced out of the window. Through the blinds she could see girls in sun-dresses eating ice cream and a couple of workmen with bare chests, and suddenly the room seemed even more airless.

'You can,' he insisted. 'Look, the club's nearly ready. I don't know when I'll find a spare minute again. Just imagine a day at Southend, paddling, eating ice cream and shrimps. I'll win you a teddy bear on the rifle range and we'll ride the Wild Mouse!'

His words pulled a cord somewhere inside her, making her feel light-headed and giggly.

'OK,' she said, biting her lip because she'd committed herself now without even thinking about it properly.

'Get the Tube to Bethnal Green,' he said quickly, as if afraid she'd change her mind. 'If I come to collect you it'll take forever getting out through town. Eight o'clock all right?'

'Fine,' she said. 'I'll see you then.'

She hadn't even had time to think up a plausible story when Josh came crashing up the stairs with some dresses in his arms.

He wore white jeans and a red shirt, black curls cascading over his shoulders. At least he'd had some time in the sun, his face was tanned and his big nose was even a bit red.

'Look at these,' he said gleefully. 'What do you think?'

He was buying a great deal of stock from India now, and one of his plans was to go over there later in the year.

Tara gave them a cursory glance. They were made from flimsy cotton, with bright embroidery down the bodice; pretty but very badly made, something he always seemed to overlook these days.

'Great,' she said without much enthusiasm. He didn't listen anyway and today she couldn't be bothered to warn him about continually lowering his standards for the sake of price.

'God, it's hot in here!' He wiped the back of his hand across his forehead. 'Why don't you open the window?'

'Because it's so noisy and dusty,' she said wearily.

Josh was usually too hyped-up to notice anything unusual about his staff, but her tone of voice made him look properly at her. She was very pale, with mauve shadows beneath her eyes, and her hair was decidedly limp.

'What's up?' He moved over to where she sat and put his hand on her shoulder. Through the thin fabric he could feel how hot she was, and she seemed bony. 'Let me take you out to supper tonight?'

'I can't, I've got all this to do.' She waved a hand towards the mountain on the cutting table.

"That can wait till tomorrow.' He barely glanced at them.

'I want to go home tomorrow,' she said.

Even as she said it she knew it was a bad idea to lie. He owed her umpteen days off anyway. But once it was out she made it worse by saying her gran was ill.

'Oh, dear.' His big dark eyes softened with concern because he liked Mabel. 'Nothing serious, I hope?'

'It's hard to say with Gran.' Tara was deliberately vague. 'Sometimes she makes a big fuss about nothing, other times she says nothing. But Mum thinks I ought to go.'

'Well, one day won't be much good,' he frowned, for once thinking only of the distance and how tired Tara looked. Take a couple and don't worry about work, there's no rush for anything here.'

He suggested she went that night, and once again she had to lie and claim Greg couldn't pick her up at Bristol and there would be no buses.

Josh fanned himself with his hand. 'Well, let's just go over the road now and have a couple of drinks, they've got air-conditioning and you could do with a break. Besides, there's something I want to discuss with you.'

She could see his pupils were tiny; there was no doubt his intake of speed was getting bigger every day.

'Just a couple then.' She smiled wearily at him. 'I'll just go and wash my hands. Won't be a minute.'

The pizza place he took her to hadn't been open long and, aside from being deliciously cool, it was quiet and pretty. They sat at a table by the window looking on to Kensington High Street and Josh ordered a bottle of sparkling white wine and two pizzas.

She felt better already, with her hair brushed and the damp cheesecloth replaced by a green and white spotted mini dress. The prospect of a day at the seaside was exciting, and maybe she could even catch the last train home to Bristol afterwards to make up for telling Josh lies. Throngs of people were out in the street, most of them tourists. Tara noticed Josh's eyes were glued to Biba, as if begrudging each customer who went through the door.

'You don't have to worry about them,' she said gently. "There's room for all of us.'

'I heard they're buying Deny & Tom's.' He frowned.

Tara had heard the rumour that they were planning to take over the huge department store, too.

'If they do it'll be their funeral. It's too big, they'll never make a go of it. Don't worry so much about competition, Josh, we can learn by their mistakes. Anyway, what did you want to talk about?'

Josh launched into his idea of producing a range of clothes with his label to be sold in department stores, as Mary Quant had done. Unlike most of his ideas to expand, this one sounded sensible because it involved no real outlay. He told her he'd recently bought the freehold of a warehouse in Fulham and explained that not only could he move all the stock stored at Church Street there, but run the wholesale business from it.

'But would I be designing for this?' She was excited by the idea, as department stores would want better quality clothes than they churned out for the shops.

'Of course. Who else? But I thought I'd get another machinist in to help you.' He flicked his long hair back from his face, and smiled warmly. 'I know you're doing too much, sometimes I worry that you'll leave me.'

She saw a softness in his soft eyes that she hadn't seen since Christmas.

'I'm not going anywhere,' she reassured him, filling up their glasses. 'But I do need help, Josh. I can't go on much longer the way I have been doing. I never get any time to myself, any fun.'

'If I get someone experienced who could take over, does that mean you'd spend some time with me?' His voice was soft and sweet, but she heard the blackmail behind it and a dormant feeling of resentment was prodded into flames.