Tara (58 page)

'If that's his way of sorting out a problem, I hope you two don't ever fall out.'

Josh had been moody and sullen for a few days after the event; he said little when she got the flat vacated by one of Miranda's friends in Pembridge Road in Notting Hill Gate. But since then he'd grown warmer again. He'd found a girl to help her in the workroom, and even bought her a television as a flat-warming present.

Reason told her she should be entirely happy. The flat was just one big, sunny room with a tiny kitchen and bathroom, but it had its own front door, huge windows overlooking a much quieter road than Church Street, and it felt like a real home. Harry had got a friend in to paint it. She'd splashed out and bought a settee that opened into a double bed, and full-length curtains in a wild jungle print.

But even though when they were together passion wiped out all anxiety, a little voice kept telling her to be careful.

Chapter 27

'Please try and look as if you want to go to the party,' Tara begged Josh as he drove her through the City. 'You've known Harry since you were small, there'll be lots of people there who knew you then. It'll be fun!'

Josh looked his best tonight in a dinner jacket and bow-tie. His dark curls shone, his face was tanned. He looked like a man on the way to his first million.

'About as much fun as it was hearing them call me dirty Yid,' he said drily. 'I can't actually remember one nice person from that era.'

'You said Harry was kind then!'

'Well, yes, I suppose he was.'

'If nothing else you can flaunt yourself.' Tara giggled. 'What better than to come back stinking rich and rub people's noses in it?'

Tara didn't really know why she'd talked Josh into coming tonight. He was no fun when he was in this dour introspective mood and Harry didn't really care whether he came or not. But she knew the press would be there and Harry needed all the celebrities he could get on his side.

At least she knew that she was looking good. She'd made the outfit – a cream plunge-necked slinky cat-suit that fitted like a second skin, with flared trousers and a beaded wide belt slung around her hips. The matching jacket draped over her shoulders was studded with more bead work across the yoke and lapels. She had spent two hours at the hairdresser's having her hair curled into ringlets and for once even she knew she looked gorgeous!

As Josh turned off the main road just past Tower Bridge, Tara was reminded again what a gamble Harry's club was.

The Top Cat Club's green neon sign glimmered through the gloom ahead. The logo of a cat wearing a top hat seemed to defy the smoke-blackened brickwork surrounding it, the bricked-up windows, the rat-ridden air of the place.

She was surprised to see that Harry had kept all the pulleys and hoists and repainted them in the original red to match the huge loading-bay door. Aside from glass in the windows, paint and restored doors, it was just as she'd last seen it back in February.

'Doesn't look too promising!' Josh's jubilation was barely controlled. 'I'll give him till Christmas.'

'Don't be such a downer,' Tara snapped at him. 'He's never been like that about you. If I hear you say one more negative word tonight I'll be handing in my notice.'

'I don't mean to be nasty.' Josh turned his soulful eyes to her. 'Yeah, I'm jealous 'cos he's got you and I think he's wrong for you. But I do really wish him success, I promise you.' He pulled a magnum of Champagne over from the back seat. 'See, I even got him a present!'

Tara walked in the small door beside the loading bay with Josh close behind her, up three or four steps, and stopped dead.

It wasn't the shock of seeing Harry looking indecently handsome in dinner jacket and bow-tie, but the surprise of coming out of that dark, unpleasant street into somewhere so splendid. She clapped her hand over her mouth and stared in amazement.

The spiral staircase was gone. No more plaster partitions. Instead she was standing in a spacious, deeply carpeted foyer. To her left a wide oak staircase led up to a gallery, and suspended in the space was a huge chandelier. She barely had time to take in the splendour, or to notice the interested faces turning to look at her from beyond an archway into the bar, before Harry had his arm round her and she was being drawn further in.

'This is my girl!' he said, grinning like a Cheshire cat. 'Did I lie when I said she was the most beautiful girl in the world?'

'Harry!' Tara buried her face in his jacket in embarrassment, aware of all the men watching her.

'Well, it's true.' Harry prised her off him and kissed her lightly, looking across at Josh. 'Glad you could make it, Josh, it's good to see you again. Now let me introduce you both to the lads!'

Tara was torn between looking at the club itself and the four elegantly dressed men, Harry's sidekicks, waiting to be introduced. She wondered how Harry could have found a chandelier, brought it and hung it up without mentioning it once. Where did he learn to put in a staircase as huge as that? The striped wallpaper, the wood panelling, mirrors and carpets, how did he ever get all that together and make it look so perfect?

'You've met Needles before.' She was jolted back to the man in front of her. She'd met him when she first came to London, though he hadn't looked so formidable then. His shoulders were like a barn door, hands like hams, and he towered over her.

'You look very dashing tonight.' She returned his dazzling smile. He still wore his curly black hair cut very short, small dark eyes twinkling with merriment. His hand almost crushed hers and she wondered in passing whether anyone would ever dare throw a punch at him.

'Not as gorgeous as you,' he said gallantly, his voice as adenoidal as she remembered. 'You look a treat!'

'Well, thank you.' Tara smiled up at him. She could see instantly why Harry had clung on to this particular friend. Loyalty, trustworthiness and humour were all written on his big face.

Harry went on to introduce Tony, another childhood friend who would be bar manager. His father was Italian and he had inherited olive skin, flashing white teeth and dark, soft eyes.

Dennis and Alec would be running the gaming rooms upstairs. Dennis's voice had the plummy tones of public school, he was tall, thin and aristocratic-looking. But Tara felt a little uneasy looking into his cold duck egg blue eyes. His mouth smiled but somehow the rest of his face didn't join in. Alex was easier to like, a Cockney kid with a splash of freckles across his pug nose. Harry often talked about this one-time professional boxer, who'd let his passion for women get in the way of training. He wasn't handsome, too stocky, too pale-skinned, but his grin was warm and engaging; when he shook her hand he held it just a second too long.

'Well, let's get you both a drink.' Harry patted Josh on the shoulder, edging them through to the bar.

'Oh, Harry.' Tara's eyes shone as she looked around. 'I can't believe you've done all this!'

Three large windows stood in front of them, red velvet curtains open to show the view of the river. In front were bench seats and tables, each with a small shaded light. She understood Harry's fascination with the river now. The sun was sinking down over towards Tower Bridge, turning the sky purple and pink. The water was silver and, as a ferry passed on its way to Greenwich, she had a childish desire to wave to the passengers.

To her left was a long curved bar of gleaming mahogany, with a brass foot-rail, and a mirrored wall behind the optics. On the right in the corner furthest away from the windows was a small stage where a quartet of musicians in dinner suits played soft dance music, a minute dance floor in front of it. The walls elsewhere had a shelf at elbow height for standing-up drinkers, and a huge buffet was laid out on a long table in the centre of the room.

'Don't look too bad, does it?' Harry grinned.

'It's marvellous.' Tara slid her arm round him and kissed his cheek. 'I'm so proud of you.'

'I had a bit of help.' He looked vaguely bashful now. 'All the lads chipped in.'

He passed them glasses of wine from the bar.

'These are freebies.' He grinned. 'If you want anything else you have to buy it, I'm afraid. If I'd said free drinks all round I'd have been killed in the stampede!'

They'd come early, and as yet there were only a few people here. Josh sipped his drink and looked round.

'How many people are you expecting?' he asked.

'Five hundred or so,' Harry replied, his eyes straying back towards the foyer. 'Can I trust you to look after Tara? I've got to greet my guests. Have a wander round. There's another smaller bar up in the gaming rooms. I'll be back soon.'

'Isn't it wonderful.' Tara sipped her wine and waited for Josh to make a comment. She knew he was thunderstruck but she was silently laying bets that he would come back with something sarcastic.

'It's incredible,' he said eventually, making her eyes open wide with surprise. 'I came in here once a few years ago when Chas Baxter wanted to sell it. I didn't think anyone could do anything with it. But it would've been better for him if he'd made it a freaks' place, strobe lighting and stuff. This is a bit dated.'

In view of his praise Tara didn't shout him down about the other comment. People were arriving thick and fast and her gut reaction was that Harry was on the right track.

'Tara, sweetheart.' Queenie bore down on them, her mink stole flapping over one pink shoulder, blonde hair swept up into a mass of carefully constructed curls. 'Well, let me get a good look at you!' She twirled Tara around, her face rosy with excitement.

'You look the business,' she said, patting Tara's small round buttocks in the tight suit. 'Just don't get carried away wiv the dancing and split those trousers. I bet you've got nothing on underneath.'

'You're looking gorgeous, too.' Tara laughed. Queenie's dress was long, pink and sparkling, slashed to the knee. 'I bet you've got something on under there?' She patted her large rump and it was as hard as a wall.

'Eighteen-hour girdle with magic fingers to hold me gut in,' Queenie giggled, whispering behind her hand. 'I doubt I can sit down, though. Sometimes I fink I should slip into middle age gracefully and get meself a few crimplene tents!'

'Don't you dare.' Josh smiled warmly at her. He could identify with Queenie, she had the same style as many of his mother's Jewish friends. 'I like to see glamorous ladies.'

'Where's Uncle George,' Tara asked, handing Queenie a glass of wine which she gulped down in one.

'Out there with 'Arry.' She inclined one ring-covered hand towards the foyer. 'He's like a dog with two sets of balls tonight. Don't you just love it? Ain't our 'Arry a clever boy?'

Queenie's joyful admiration of her stepson was like warm balm on a sore place, so different to the cautious lukewarm praise her gran and mother gave her. But Queenie had come for a party and she had no intention of leaving tonight until she'd met every single guest.

Taking Tara by the hand she dragged her to a group of people coming through the door, and waded in.

Harry had the mix of personalities and backgrounds just right. Old friends of Queenie and George's generation gave colour and warmth. Older villains, with their scarred faces and four-hundred pound suits, added the danger, while a dozen pretty girls Miranda had rounded up from her haunts supplied the glamour.

The Cockney hard men were obvious by their short hair, brilliant white shirts, discreet ties and expensive three-piece suits. Their women, many with beehive hair-styles, glittering cocktail dresses and stilettos, bubbled and fizzed as their tables filled up with glasses of gin and orange. Barbara Windsor arrived, greeting old friends with squeals of joy. Terence Stamp stood by the door, smiling sardonically as if wishing he could let his hair down and forget he was a star. His girlfriend was as thin as a greyhound, with long blonde hair and eyes like giant cornflowers.

Steve Marriott from the Small Faces was chatting to George, who he'd known since he was a kid. Tara watched Queenie eyeing him up and wondered when she would ask him round for a meal to fatten him up. He'd brought a few friends with him, the men uniformly small, skinny and long-haired, looking like peacocks in jazzy shirts and velvet trousers. Their girls were model types with perfect features and skirts like wide belts.

By midnight the main bar was so packed that Harry had to get behind the bar at one point and serve drinks himself. The small dance floor was packed with couples smooching as a singer with a voice like Matt Monroe sang 'Moon River'.

'He's a clever boy,' Queenie said, beaming with pride. 'Good touch that, giving them wine when they first come in. Look at them now, buying drinks like they'll never get another.'

'I didn't think this would work, not until tonight,' George admitted, tweaking his bow-tie with one hand while puffing on a cigar. 'But he's got it just right. As long as the nobs turn up to play now and then, he'll make it.'

The party was swinging. The tables were covered in drinks, every chair was taken and the rest of the floor space taken up with people standing elbow to elbow. Laughter and chatter mingled with the dance music. A haze of smoke drifted up towards the lights, the air was filled with the smell of perfume and cigars. Behind the bar three barmaids were run off their feet as men stood three deep waving ten-pound notes.

Tara was having a wonderful time. Josh had finally gone home and she was the centre of attention, both from the press and Harry's friends. She could see for herself that the club really was going to work.

She was a bit drunk now, leaning on the bar watching. The band had gone, and Harry had put a tape on. Wilson Pickett's 'Wait till the Midnight Hour' was playing, the lights above the stage casting red, green and blue smoky beams of light on to the dancers.

A group of beehived girls, joined by Miranda and some of her stylish friends, danced. They'd kicked off their shoes, forgotten about their handbags and their partners.

Queenie was there too. She was a graceful dancer despite her weight, though clearly her girdle was cramping her style. George was sitting on the edge of the stage, his bow-tie dangling loose round his unbuttoned collar, and his braces on view. His eyes were on Queenie, too, a smile playing at his lips. Would she and Harry be like that when they got to their age?