Tara (81 page)

Tara opened her mouth to protest, but all at once she saw it. The dead eyes, the pallor of his skin. It was obvious. She leaned forward and undid his cuff, rolling up the sleeve. Red and purple track marks from a hypodermic dotted his veins.

'Oh, Josh.' Tears welled up in her eyes. 'Why? You knew the dangers!'

'It was just speed at first,' he explained. 'I needed a boost, there just weren't enough hours in the day. Then it was cocaine and sometimes both. I only started the heroin this year. It seemed the answer at first, I was looking forward, planning and being creative again. But then the heroin took over, I couldn't think of anything but the next fix.'

'I wish you'd told me.' She took his hands in hers and squeezed them. 'I'd have made you stop somehow. It's such a wicked, wicked waste.'

'You're right, of course.' He grimaced. 'Sometimes I loathe myself so much I can't bear it.'

'Go to the police!' Tara knelt down in front of him. 'It's a huge step, I know, but once you've made it it will get easier. I'll do what I can to hold things together until we can find a long-term solution.'

He didn't answer her immediately, just looked into her eyes with his big, sad brown ones.

'I thought you'd reject me,' he said. 'But you've given me the courage I needed.' He leaned forward and held her face in both his hands, kissing her gently on the nose. 'I'll get out of your life now and let you find the kind of peace and happiness you deserve.'

She watched him walking down the road to flag down a taxi, tears pouring down her cheeks. The bold, arm-swinging march she remembered was gone. His hands were in his pockets, face hidden behind sunglasses, and he kept close to the wall, shoulders hunched.

'What a waste,' she sobbed. 'What a terrible waste!'

'Welcome home!' Tara shrieked as Harry climbed out of the car, running down the steps withher arms outstretched.

'Go easy on him, Tara,' Needles reproved her as she smothered his face with kisses. 'The man's an invalid!'

'Invalid my arse!' Harry grinned wickedly. 'My recovery will be complete once Tara gives me a dose of her special medicine.'

'I won't hang around, then.' Needles handed Tara a carrier bag. 'There's a change of clothing there. Just ring me if he needs anything else.'

'Come on in for a drink, or a coffee?' Tara said quickly, hoping she sounded sincere. 'I want to hear about the club and stuff.'

'You don't want me here.' Needles gave one of his big belly laughs. 'You two's got a lotta lost time to make up for.'

'Thanks, Needles.' Harry clapped his friend across the back. 'You've been a diamond. I'll be in touch in a day or two.'

Tara put her arm around Harry to help him up the stairs. He was still limping, but in every other way he looked like his old self.

He stood for a moment just inside the door, looking around the room. It was clear Tara had cleaned and polished for his homecoming; every surface, ornament and picture glass gleamed. There were flowers on the table and the bookcase, and he noted she'd put a little padded stool next to his favourite armchair for him to put his leg up.

'I feel different here,' he said, not really understanding his feelings. 'Like I've left Harry the wide-boy down the road somewhere.'

'That's good.' She had laughter in her voice, but understanding, too. She shut the door behind them. 'Are you hungry?'

'Starving.'

'What would you like, then?' She slid her arms round him and buried her face in his neck.

'I'd like around a hundred kisses. I'd like to peel your clothes off slowly while I nibble every last inch of skin, then see how I feel.' He tilted her face up to his.

His lips were hungry, they devoured hers, holding her so close she felt her ribs might cave in with the pressure.

'I was so afraid I would never do this again,' he gasped eventually, loosening his hold on her long enough to look down at her face in wonder. He moved her then, sweeping her over to the bed, his fingers reaching for her zip, lips on her neck, her shoulders and her breasts.

Harry had been a superb lover from the very first time but now there was extra tenderness in each caress. His lips seemed to savour the softness and perfume of her skin, his fingers were intent on giving her the ultimate pleasure. Slowly he peeled off her clothes and his own and lay back on the bed.

His skin had regained its customary golden sheen through sitting in the hospital garden in a wheelchair. Aside from the thick crepe bandage round his thigh there was no evidence of how close he had come to death. He reached out for Tara and pulled her on top of him.

'You'll have to do all the work,' he whispered, running his fingers through her hair. 'Kneeling is beyond me.'

It was heaven just to hold him, to tease him by first allowing him to slip inside her, then moving away. She bent to kiss his neck, his ears and chest, listening to his breathing growing hard and fierce. He rolled with her, playing with her, stroking her, but each time pulling her back on top of him.

'Let me in,' he pleaded with her, holding on to her hips and pulling her down hard on to him.

The expression on his face was one of adoration as his hands reached up to cup her breasts. Watching his pleasure heightened her own, and as she leaned forward to kiss him, passion flared up like sugar tossed on to fire.

'I love you so much.' Harry's voice was hoarse with emotion and Tara moved faster on him, her lips clinging to his.

'I can't hold back any longer,' she heard him gasp, his fingers gripping her buttocks as if afraid she might move away. But even as he spoke she felt her own orgasm erupt within her, making her scream out his name and clutch his shoulders as a wild and thrilling sensation overtook her.

'Oh, Tara,' she heard him whisper against her neck. 'That was so beautiful.'

She leaned back a little to look at him and her heart swelled up with love. 'I can't believe that I can feel such love, so much tenderness. It's like being reborn, all clean and shiny.'

As they lay cuddled together voices drifted through the open windows to them from the street.

'I hope they didn't hear us,' Tara murmured. 'It's so decadent making love at midday, we should be ashamed of ourselves.'

'This is the best feeling ever.' Harry turned his face into her breasts and closed his eyes. 'I haven't got to go to work and neither have you. We've got the rest of our lives to be happy together.'

'We can't stay in here forever.' She laughed. 'Someone has to do mundane things like earn money to pay the rent, do the shopping and go to the launderette.'

'Don't be practical today,' he urged her, nuzzling again at her breasts. 'We can feast on each other, we don't have to wear clothes, we can even telephone for a carry-out.'

'That sounds pretty good,' she whispered. 'Oh, Harry, I love you.'

The doorbell woke them.

'Who on earth's that?' Tara asked, looking at her watch. It was almost five. They had eaten sandwiches and drunk some wine, made love again and then slept. She pulled on a T-shirt and crawled over to the window to peep out.

'Oh, shit, Harry, it's the police,' she whispered. 'What can they want with us now? Shall we pretend we're not here?'

Harry was propped up on the pillows, long hair tousled, his face soft with sleep.

'They'll only come back.' He smiled. 'Besides, we haven't got anything to hide.'

'Speak for yourself!' She hastily pulled her knickers on and jumped into her jeans. 'Are you going to just lie there?'

Harry pulled over the bedspread, tossed a few cushions on it, then limped off to the bathroom to put his clothes on. The bell rang again just as Tara was going out into the hall, tucking her T-shirt into her jeans.

'Miss Manning?' the older of the two men asked.

'Yes.' Tara felt a pang of fear. 'What is it?'

'Could we come in to speak to you?' he said in a gentle tone she knew meant something unpleasant. It's about Joshua Bergman.'

She stared wide-eyed as they described how a neighbour had rung Chelsea police to report that Josh was back in his house late last night.

'We called soon after but we could get no reply and in fact we believed the neighbour was mistaken,' the younger of the two officers said. He was very fair, with almost white eyelashes and pale blue eyes. The older man had gingery thinning hair, with a freckly complexion and a missing front tooth.

'Spare her the blow-by-blow account,' Harry said, putting his arm around her and holding her tightly. 'Is something wrong?'

'We gained entry at ten this morning.' The gingery one looked faintly irritated by Harry's attempt to speed their report up. 'We found Bergman dead on his bed. He had taken a fatal overdose.'

Tara could hear what they were saying, but she couldn't believe it. Josh's last words to her had been that she had given him the courage he needed.

'But why? We talked yesterday. He was going to come to you and give himself up. I don't understand.'

She hadn't told Harry about him being here. Not because she wanted to hide it, but because his presence had put it right out of her mind. Now she felt him bristle.

'I'm sorry, Harry. I should have told you he was here when I got back from Folkestone. It's just we had other things on our minds.'

'It's OK.' Harry hugged her. 'Let the officers explain.'

'From the letter he left I'd say he just couldn't cope with anything any longer,' the older man said.

'He left a letter? What did he say?' Tara wanted to cry, but she forced herself not to give in to it.

'You'll be able to see it later.' The blond officer looked faintly embarrassed now. 'Much of it concerns his feelings about you and the business. I suggest you come with us to the station; we do need your help with some of our enquiries.'

They were ushered into a small room on the first floor of Chelsea police station. It smelled of stale cigarettes and the windows were frosted so interviewees couldn't even be distracted by the view. But Sergeant Baldwin was kind. He went over how Josh was found, showed no surprise at all that Josh had been hiding in her flat prior to her return to London and even less that Josh had failed to give himself up.

'He was probably more frightened of being without his heroin than the actual process of law,' he said gently.

'I should have rung you last night to check he had come to you,' she said brokenly. 'It never occurred to me he would take his life.'

'Tara.' Sergeant Baldwin's voice was firm. 'I can tell you now that it wouldn't have made a scrap of difference. If someone intends to take their life, they find a way. It would perhaps have been worse for you if he'd flung himself under a bus when we arrived to arrest him, or hung himself in a cell. At least this way you know he died peacefully, the way he'd chosen for himself.'

'But it's such a waste, he had so much talent.'

Baldwin shot her a look that suggested he saw no real loss in one more drug addict dying by his own hand, but he reached across the table and patted her hand.

'Don't fret about this,' he insisted. 'You and Mr Collins have both suffered enough, and from what Bergman says in his letter I suspect he'd been trading on your talent for too long. Would you like to see it now?'

Tara looked at Harry. He had been silently supportive, his hand in hers, but she was a little afraid that Josh's last words to her might hurt him.

'Go on,' Harry urged. 'Maybe it'll reassure you he did know what he was doing.' Sergeant Baldwin handed her the letter. Just looking at Josh's beautiful copperplate script made her eyes prick with tears. She remembered him telling her he was taught it by a Rabbi after school because his father said you could tell an educated man by his handwriting. But as Tara began to read the letter she could no longer hold back her tears. Here was the real Josh, a man who had never really belonged anywhere. It was simply marked 'To whoever finds me'.

'I have decided to end my life because I see no further purpose to it. My business is close to failure, I have disappointed my parents. I am a criminal and a heroin addict. I have lied, exaggerated and hyped my way through life, spread my little talent very thinly, and used people rather than befriending them.

I regret most of the shabby stunts I've pulled on people, all the deals which left others with a sour taste in their mouth, and all those women I treated so badly. As I sit here, so terribly in need of a friend, I can't think of one person who I haven't used and discarded, and I know I deserve what's come to me.

But of all the people I used and hurt, Tara Manning is the one who concerns me most. I want it known now that she was always the creative force behind Josh shops. It was her talent as a designer that made my fortune, and yet I stifled her, gagged and blindfolded her so she would never realise just how bright a star she was.

Why? Simple jealousy, that's all. I had been to art school, I had the right background, but I didn't have that spark of brilliance she has.

There isn't much time to make restitution, but I did call on my solicitor Mr William Bennett of Bennett and Legett of Chancery Lane this afternoon, and made a will.

I wish to apologise now to everyone I hurt. To my parents, who will perhaps never understand. To Harry Collins, who I think might. But most of all to Tara, who not only gave me her best but in the end pointed me in the right direction.

Sing no sad songs for me.

Joshua Bergman'

Harry just held Tara while she cried, waiting patiently for the sobs to subside, offering her a handkerchief and smoothing back her hair.

Sergeant Baldwin cleared his throat and shuffled one or two papers round on his desk in faint embarrassment.

'Of course the solicitors Bergman spoke of will get in touch with you in due course, but I'm sure you'd like a rough idea now of what's in the will?'