28

Friday night

The heels of Ruby’s shoes click along the Soho pavement, matching the quickening beat of her heart. Daisy’s dismal house is far behind her, over the river. She might as well be in a different country. Lights blaze from shops and pubs, scattering bright colour across her path. Even the streetlamps are like spotlights, following her as she walks, lighting up her way.

Ahead of her, somewhere between the groups of wandering people, laughing and joking together, out for a good time, Ruby sees that a motor car has drawn up on the pavement. Two men are carrying boxes, wooden crates, and loading them into the back of the car. She knows the men.

She would recognise Freddy Moss and Billy Walsh anywhere.

She pauses, watching from a distance, as they return to the doorway and emerge once again carrying more boxes. This is the work they are doing for Peter Lazenby, then. As Billy has told her, they are delivering goods – alcohol, cigarettes, cocaine, whatever he asks. She can’t see Peter. She can’t imagine he will be heaving boxes.

Another man appears in the doorway and she catches a glimpse of his face in the light. She does not know him. He is older. He scans the street, up and down, anxious for the Elephants to leave. Billy climbs into the driver’s seat and starts the engine. Moss talks to the man in the doorway.

Ruby takes a step back, keeping out of sight. She recognises from the way Moss is standing, up close to the older man, that he is threatening or intimidating him. The man in the doorway cowers, cringes, as if he expects to be shoved or punched. Moss does not need to hit him. The threat of violence is usually enough from a man like him.

Moss climbs into the car and Billy pulls away.

The man watches them go, glances down the street and then scuttles back inside, pulling the door closed behind him. He has not seen Ruby – and none of the passers-by has taken any notice of men loading boxes into a motor car. People load and unload goods all the time. It is only the man’s twitching that would attract attention.

She walks down the street and stands outside the door.

She had half-expected this to be the back of the Angel, but the small sign on the doorway tells her that this is the rear of the letting agency she visited with Peter’s money. It is Mr Mortimer’s office. The back door of the Angel is several steps further down the street.

So Mr Mortimer, as well as supplying flats, keeps stolen goods, or whatever was in the boxes, in the back of his office.

She turns the corner and continues to the Angel. The man at the door lets her in without question, barely acknowledging her.

The lobby is almost empty, but she can hear the music and knows that the club will be lively by this time of night.

‘Evening, Ruby.’ Daniel, the spindle-limbed young man at the cloakroom, greets her as an old friend. ‘Welcome to the family. Mr Lazenby said you’d be in tonight.’

Of course she is expected. She puts a hand to her throat.

‘Is Mr Lazenby downstairs?’

‘He’s in his office. He’s not to be disturbed.’ Daniel’s eyes flick to the stairs.

‘Who’s he meeting?’ It can’t be Billy and Moss. She’s just seen them leaving. It might be the General.

He shakes his head quickly. ‘I don’t know.’

He does know, she can tell, but he won’t say.

Ruby shakes her shoulders. ‘Well, I’d better go and see if I can find a drink.’

‘Good luck, sweetheart. You’ll do well here, I’m sure. Mr Lazenby seems to like you.’ He gives her a sad smile. ‘At least for now.’

The orchestra is playing loud and wild tonight, all shrieking clarinet and blaring trumpet. The sound vibrates up through the balls of Ruby’s feet, filling her whole body with music and excitement as she walks around the dancefloor to the ladies’ room to check her make-up. She should look her best.

The cocaine girl sits with her box of magic white powder in the corner, oblivious to the stink of the toilet, ready to dispense her wares to anyone that will pay. Ruby nods a greeting before peering into the cracked mirror and applying a fresh layer of lipstick.

‘Do you want any?’ the girl asks, gesturing to the box. ‘Keep you going?’

‘Nah.’ Ruby grins. The music is enough for her.

Another woman staggers into the room. Ruby doesn’t know her but recognises that she is in trouble. She looks haggard underneath the jewellery and the satin dress. Her eyes are wild, and one cheek is bright red, as though someone has just slapped her.

She stumbles to the sink. Ruby steps out of the way as she turns on the tap and begins to scoop water into her mouth.

‘Need to sober up,’ she slurs, pressing her cold, damp hands to her face. ‘You got any lipstick? I’ve lost mine. Ah, thanks, sweetheart.’ Ruby had not offered her own, but the girl has taken it from her hand.

Ruby watches as the girl paints her mouth; she is remarkably capable, considering.

‘Is he in?’ she asks of no one in particular.

‘Yeah, but still in the office,’ the cocaine girl answers. ‘It’s only just after ten o’ clock.’

‘Is it? I thought it was later. Lost my watch again.’ The red-faced woman turns from her own reflection and stares at Ruby. ‘I saw you with him, with Mr Lazenby, the other night. What’s your name, darling? You just started here?’

‘Ruby. Yes.’

‘Well, good luck, Ruby. You seem like a nice enough girl.’ She gives Ruby an appraising look, although she is not quite able to focus. ‘Yeah, pretty. You’ll have lots of admirers here.’ She hands back the lipstick. ‘Don’t go taking them all from us.’

‘Thanks.’ Ruby slips it into her handbag, checking the mirror one more time. ‘I won’t. Have a good night.’

The dance music is growing insistent and is more appealing than this conversation.

Ruby sits alone at a table, nursing the champagne she’s charmed from the barman for free, waiting for a man to ask her to dance. A girl might forget her troubles here, carried away on a tide of bubbles and music. She tries to relax her shoulders and let the sound and sensation of the club wash over her. Tries to ignore her unease at the conversation in the ladies’ room, and her concern for Daisy. It is what Monte Carlo would be like, perhaps, or Hollywood. She half-expects to see film stars in the warm haze of light and smoke. Like the photographs on Peter’s office wall. Daisy would love it.

‘Ruby, it’s good to see you here tonight.’ Peter is there, next to her table, smiling at her as if she had a choice. ‘But you’re looking lonely, and we can’t have a girl like you on her own, can we?’

The question needs no answer. He takes her hand, pulls her up from her seat and makes a point of considering her outfit, holding her at arm’s length and turning her this way and that. ‘Good choice.’ He approves.

‘I wanted to dance,’ she says, over the music. ‘You might dance with me.’

‘Gladly.’

They dance for a time while the orchestra plays a foxtrot. He holds her tightly against him, and she can almost allow herself to believe that it is she alone who commands his attention and that he is just as entranced by her now as he was when they first met, when he had plied her with champagne. He dances well, leading her effortlessly, with grace as well as direction. For a moment, she is floating, lost in the music, in the press of his body and the sensations rising within her.

Peter wheels her abruptly from the dancefloor. ‘Someone I’d like you to meet.’

She finds herself in front of two tall men. The first she recognises as the man Billy had called ‘General’. Haversham, Peter had said his name was. He nods in recognition and smiles as enigmatically as last time. The other is handsome, as tall as the General, and obviously wealthy. She can spot wealth from a distance; at close quarters, she can smell it. Old money again.

‘Charles Haversham, this is Ruby Mills. I think you may already have met.’

The General takes her hand, amused, and plants a light kiss on her knuckle. ‘I believe we have. Hello again.’

‘And this is…?’ Peter does not appear to know the other man. But he is playing a game. She is alert to it.

‘Forgive me.’ Charles Haversham is involved in the same game. ‘Alexander Somers. Alex, this is Peter Lazenby. He owns the nightclub. An old friend of our mutual acquaintance, Ralph Christie. And this, as you’ve heard, is Miss Mills.’

The men shake hands, make polite noises, assess one another. Mr Somers is a Member of Parliament. They establish other common acquaintances and share common views on the state of the nation, raising their voices as the music swells.

Ruby waits, listens, says nothing, because she is not expected to speak – and she has little to contribute.

‘But we’re not here for serious conversation, Lazenby,’ Haversham says, after a time. ‘I brought Somers here for light relief. Fun, dancing and all that.’

‘Then you should spend the evening with Ruby.’ Peter puts an arm around her waist and draws her closer to the group. ‘I’m sure she can offer you a pleasant time – without needing to talk politics. Ruby?’ He tilts his head. ‘Would you like to take Mr Somers for a dance? He looks as though he’ll be less clumsy than me.’

The handsome man laughs at this and nods to Ruby. ‘Well, I’d be delighted, although I can’t vouch for my dancing.’

‘I need to go and greet a few people – always the duty of a good host – and Miss Mills needs to dance.’ He hands her to Alex Somers with a gentle squeeze of her fingers.

So, this is it. This is her occupation for the evening. This one. She smiles up at her dance partner. She takes a breath.

‘I do need to dance. He’s quite right.’ She uses one of her better voices for this man. Not too plummy – he’ll be used to proper ladies, and he’ll soon recognise her for what she is if she tries too hard. She sounds as light as air, breathy, vague, girlish. Just the sort of girl to take his mind off weighty matters of state. He is a better prospect than a dock worker or smelter. She squashes down all thoughts of Daisy, standing in her grubby nightdress in the candlelit gloom of the Borough, and of the rough-looking girl in the ladies’ room. She shivers. The tiny beads sewn on her dress catch the light, making her body sparkle.

Peter meets her eye as he takes his leave with Charles Haversham. He wants her for himself; she can see it. She turns away, briefly revelling in this, and leads Mr Somers to the dancefloor.

He is a competent dancer, but a little lazy. She far preferred dancing with Peter. This one, she suspects, has not danced in a while and she needs to pay attention in order not to be stepped on. He is the sort who would prefer to sit and talk, perhaps. After a couple of dances, she pretends thirst, and he readily escorts her to a table in one of the quieter alcoves and calls for champagne.

‘It’s good to dance,’ he says. ‘I hope I didn’t tread on you too much. I’m woefully out of practice.’

‘I would never have guessed,’ she says. ‘You move very well.’

‘As do you, Miss Mills,’ he touches his glass to hers.

‘Ruby. Like the gemstone.’

‘I like it. It suits you. Vibrant, mysterious, with a subtle charm. Although not as expensive, I hope.’

‘You know your stones, Alex. I like that in a man. May I call you Alex? Yes? And no, I’m not expensive. Not really. Just shower me in jewels and bring me champagne, and I’m as happy as a sandboy.’

‘Just a carefree, easy-going sort of girl, then?’ He laughs. ‘With simple tastes?’

‘That’s me.’ She mirrors his laugh as she touches him lightly on his hand and shifts a little closer.

‘Where are you from, Ruby?’ His enquiry is polite.

‘Oh, here and there. London.’

‘You have family?’

‘No. Just me. I prefer it that way.’

‘It is easier, sometimes, I’m sure. You have a young man?’

He must know that it is unlikely if she’s in a nightclub on her own.

‘Died in France.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that. I lost many fine young men in my regiment.’ He stares at his drink. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Don’t be. I’m not the only woman in England to have lost a lover, am I? What about you? Is there a wife wondering where you are, pacing the floor at home while you’re dancing with me?’

He drops his head briefly. She sees it.

‘No. No wife. Nothing like that.’

She clasps his hand, her eyes shining. ‘Then we’re free to enjoy ourselves, Alex. You and me. Free to live life to the full, and what the hell.’

‘Amen. I’ll drink to that, beautiful Ruby.’