Baxter met with Rosa on two other occasions. Each time they went to the flat, where she did her best to answer his questions. On the second occasion, she told him she wasn’t feeling very well, and he asked if she’d been eating decent food. She looked far too slender and, from what she told him, her meals were very hit-and-miss affairs.
Baxter asked if she’d like to have a meal with him. Not just any meal, but dinner at a top restaurant.
Rosa stared at him and frowned. ‘You’d take me to a restaurant? In case you haven’t noticed, I’m a prostitute.’
‘You’re also a human being,’ he said. ‘You look to me as if you could use a nice piece of underdone steak and some green vegetables.’
‘Who’s paying?’ she asked, crossing her arms.
‘Me,’ he said and smiled.
‘What’s your angle, Greg? You should know by now that you don’t have to take me out for a meal to have sex with me.’
‘I know that, and you should know by now that I’m not looking for sex. I told you, I’m a writer. I’m interested in how you react in different situations.’
She gave him a steady look, then laughed softly. ‘You’re a queer bugger, Greg. Queer but nice. You’re not a poofter?’
‘Definitely not. So, have a meal with me?’
‘It would have to be lunch. I’d miss too much custom at night, and Alan wouldn’t like that. There’s always some girl trying to take your spot, and they seem to be getting younger and younger.’
‘All right, lunch. And there’s just a couple of things I’ll ask of you.’
She stiffened, her eyes turning suspicious. ‘What?’
‘Nothing much—just please don’t wear a skimpy skirt like the one you’ve got on now, put on something that covers your top part, and don’t overdo the makeup. Dress more like an office girl. Can you do that?’
‘No worries,’ she said, looking relieved. ‘I’ll do the best I can.’
‘Thank you.’ He scribbled out the address, added the phone number and handed it to her. ‘You get a taxi and I’ll pay for it. When can I expect you?’
‘Tomorrow at noon?’
•
So that was how Frances Baxter came to meet Rosa.
Baxter hoped not only to get some nutritious food into her, but also that contact with another section of the community might cause her to think twice about carrying on her trade. When she arrived, he told her that she was being personally attended to by the woman who owned the restaurant. ‘What a classy lady,’ Rosa whispered, when she caught sight of Frances. Baxter didn’t tell her that the classy lady was his mother.
The Great Woman smiled kindly as she presented Rosa with her most famous delicacies, setting the fine china down on the white tablecloth.
‘It’s lovely food but I can’t eat all of it,’ Rosa told Baxter under her breath, blushing with embarrassment while she picked at the meal. He could tell she was enjoying the taste, but years of deprivation had probably shrunk her stomach. At least the ice-cream dessert disappeared.
Dressed in her best clothes and wearing very little makeup, Rosa looked quite presentable. That was until one looked closely at her, which the worldly-wise Frances did. ‘Rosa won’t make old bones, Greg,’ she said later, shaking her head.
Baxter sent Rosa back to the Cross in a taxi and said he’d see her in a few days.
•
The next time Baxter followed Rosa into her bedroom, he found Alan waiting. The pimp lunged at him with a knife.
Almost nonchalantly, Baxter pushed Alan’s arm aside and slapped him hard on the face. Alan stumbled. But after managing to steady himself, he had another go, this time swinging his knife in a big arc. Baxter hit his arm midway between wrist and elbow—hit it so hard that the bone snapped. Alan’s knife flew across the bed as he clutched his broken arm, folding at the knees and groaning in agony.
‘Do you really like this creep?’ Baxter asked with palpable contempt in his voice.
Rosa was standing as still as stone. ‘How did you do that?’ she gasped, watching Alan writhe and moan. ‘Like he was a child. I’ve never seen him lose.’ Then her amazement was quickly replaced by another emotion—it looked like fear. ‘You’d better go, Greg,’ she said shakily, starting to hustle him out of the bedroom. ‘You can’t be here anymore. I’ve got to take care of Alan. It looks like he needs a doctor.’
‘He’s fortunate he doesn’t need an undertaker, Rosa.’
Baxter tried to stay where he was, but she was so insistent and he didn’t want to hurt her or make her feel threatened. He let her push him from the room, then turned to her and asked, ‘Why don’t you dump the mongrel? He’s nothing but a low-life parasite.’
But Rosa shook her head. Her face was pale and her whole body was trembling. ‘You still don’t understand how it is for me. Maybe you can’t.’
‘Rosa—’
‘Just go, Greg,’ she insisted. ‘Please.’ With that, she went back into the bedroom, slammed the door and started soothing Alan. Baxter felt he had no choice but to leave.
•
A few days later, Greg and his mother were having dinner at the restaurant when the phone rang. It was a nursing sister at St Vincent’s, asking for a Mr Greg Baxter.
‘Yes, Sister, how can I help you?’ Baxter asked.
‘There’s a girl here in a bad way—I believe her name is Rosa. Another girl, Prue, came with her and brought her handbag. There are a couple of phone numbers with your name next to them. I asked Prue about you, and she said Rosa trusts you and would want you to come in. Then Prue left—just up and left her friend.’ The sister sighed. ‘Well, I couldn’t see the harm in contacting you.’
Baxter’s heart was pounding. ‘How bad is she?’
‘Very bad,’ the sister said gravely. ‘She’s overdosed on heroin.’