Sealed With a Loving Kiss (24 page)

The conductor was harder to please. ‘Not bad,' he said snootily. ‘But this is light music for the masses, not a formal recital of the classics. Having had to wait for you to grace us with your presence, we shall now get on with our programme. We will begin with Grieg's “In the Hall of the Mountain King.”' He raised the baton, waited for the rustling of sheet music to cease, and then brought it down for the first beat.

Mary loved this piece and was thrilled at the sound the small orchestra was making considering how few rehearsals they'd managed to have. Following the Grieg, there was a piece from Tchaikovsky's ballet,
Sleeping Beauty
, and then they played through several popular tunes from films such as
Top Hat
,
For Me and My Gal
and
Holiday Inn
.

‘Thank you,' said the conductor. ‘That was almost up to the standard I was hoping for. Let us get on now with
Rhapsody in Blue
.' He looked from Mary to Robert, who was still gazing at Fran. ‘Mr Goodyear, if you could tear yourself away from ogling our new violinist. We are waiting.'

Robert went scarlet as the others stifled their laughter. He fumbled with his sheet music and blew a couple of nervous notes on his clarinet. Then, with one last desperate glance at Fran, he nodded to Mary, who was waiting patiently at the piano, and began to play the most mesmerising opening glissando. Mary's scalp tingled. She'd never heard him play with such intensity or passion before, and by the look on Fran's face, she too was completely swept away in the music, to the point where she almost missed her cue.

As the orchestra joined in and played through Gershwin's masterfully haunting piece, Mary noted with a smile how often Fran kept glancing across at Robert. It seemed the poor man had finally caught her attention and she could only hope that his awkward shyness wouldn't let him down when the rehearsal was over.

The Town Hall clock struck ten and everyone gathered up their sheet music and stowed away their instruments, in a hurry to get home or back to their barracks. Mary covered the grand piano in blankets to keep out the cold and damp, and the lady on the harp used thick old curtains to do the same for her instrument. They would be moved over the following days to the larger hall nearer town where the concert was to take place, so they could rehearse there and get used to the acoustics.

Mary glanced across and saw that Fran was deep in conversation with Robert, who no longer looked quite so shy – although his colour was a bit high and he kept clutching his clarinet case to his chest as if his life depended upon it.

Fran's face was animated, her graceful hands emphasising her words as she shook back her hair and looked up into his face. Whatever she was saying had him ensnared, but he was clearly not struck dumb with awkwardness for he was actually holding a proper conversation with her.

Deciding it would be tactless to interrupt this budding friendship of mutual admiration, Mary pulled on her gloves and followed the others outside. Perhaps Peggy was right after all, for it was surprising what one could discover about a person when they were given the opportunity to shine. And Robert had certainly shone tonight.

It was the first day of 1943, and with news of Russia's slow but steady victories in recapturing territory from the Germans, and the great advances being made by the Combined Forces in North Africa, there was finally hope in the air that this New Year would prove to be a turning point in the war.

Rosie skimmed through the newspapers she hadn't had time to read over the Christmas period, and then set them aside as she realised she hadn't really taken in any of the news at all. She would have liked to go to the charity concert this afternoon to show her support for Mary and Fran, but the timing was all wrong and she was exhausted. It had been an incredibly busy night in the bar, and because she'd managed to get an extended licence for once, the party had gone on until midnight. It had been almost three in the morning before she'd finished clearing up and could fall into bed.

She eyed her reflection in the bathroom mirror and grimaced. She needed a long session at the hairdresser's to refresh her set and get rid of the dark roots that were showing through the platinum. Her skin looked washed out, and there were shadows beneath her eyes and the tracery of more fine lines. The late nights and the stress of waiting for Tommy to discover what she'd done were really starting to tell.

She plastered on her make-up and tried to hide the ravages of the past six days with a thick dusting of powder and a swipe of lipstick. The light coming in through the window wasn't kind, for it merely emphasised the faint lines that had appeared suddenly at the corners of her eyes and along her top lip. Perhaps she should just tell him what she'd done, and get it over with. She couldn't go on like this for much longer.

She pulled on her skirt and tucked in her blouse, then brushed out her hair and tried to find the energy to smile as she clipped on her earrings. Ron would be back soon from taking the dogs for their walk, and there was the vaguest of chances that people had had their fill of drink the night before and would stay at home to nurse their hangovers. She could do with a quiet lunchtime, for her supplies had run very low over the Christmas period and the drayman wasn't due for another two days.

As she left the bathroom and headed for the kitchen, she could hear Tommy thudding up the stairs and along the hallway to his bedroom. He'd gone out very early to make his daily report to the police station and had disappeared for almost three hours – now he was in danger of being late for his stint with the Home Guard. Yet she said nothing, for it would only have been a waste of breath and he would accuse her of nagging, so she set about making herself a cup of coffee to try and boost her low energy.

‘What the hell have you done with my booze and fags?' roared Tommy as he came storming into the kitchen, his face flushed and his eyes glittering with fury.

Rosie's heart hammered as she pressed back against the draining board and blinked up at him in fear. ‘I poured it away,' she managed in a whisper.

Tommy went even redder and his blue eyes were like shards of ice. ‘You did
what
?' he roared. His hands were fists as he advanced on her. ‘You stupid, brainless
bitch
. Do you know how much money that lot was worth?'

Rosie felt the warmth of his spittle on her face and her hand trembled as she wiped it away. ‘Of course I do,' she rasped.

‘Then why?
Why?
' he stormed.

Her pulse was racing and she was finding it hard to even breathe. ‘Because it was illegal,' she stammered as she tried to edge away from him. ‘If the police found it I'd lose everything – and I couldn't risk that.'

‘Selfish,
stupid
bitch,' he snarled, his fists rising as he trapped her in the corner. ‘You only think of yourself, don't you?'

‘I have to,' she said, with rather more defiance than she actually felt. ‘There's no one else to look out for me.'

‘I'm your brother, and of course I'll look out for you,' he shouted. ‘In fact I was going to move it all today, so you and your precious
fucking
pub wouldn't get involved.'

Rosie flinched at his language but somehow found the courage to face up to him. ‘Don't swear at me in that filthy way,' she shouted back at him. ‘I'm not one of your common tarts.'

‘I'll bloody well swear at you as much as I fucking want,' he yelled, his fist hovering within inches of her face. ‘What did you do with the fags?'

‘I burned them,' she replied as she kept a wary eye on that fist and managed to wriggle out of the corner. He was perfectly capable of hitting her, for he'd done it before, a long time ago. ‘You should be grateful I didn't go straight to the police. Because I had every right to, you
rat
! How
dare
you use my place for your black-market carrying on after you promised to stay on the right side of the law?'

Tommy was white with rage. ‘Grateful?
Grateful?
' He moved to cut off her escape through the door. ‘Do you realise that those fags and bottles of booze would have set me up so I didn't have to rely on you for everything? Do you realise,' he continued as he jabbed a tobacco-stained finger at her face, ‘that they were my insurance to pay off my bastard debts and get straight again?'

Rosie was no longer cowering, for her temper was up and she refused to be browbeaten any longer by her bullying, foul-mouthed brother. She slapped away the jabbing finger and gave him a hard shove in the chest that sent him stumbling back.

‘And do you realise that you've put my home and business at risk?' she stormed. ‘I don't
care
what you planned to do with the money. It wouldn't have changed anything. You still would have been up to all your old tricks – lying and cheating and making everyone's lives a misery.'

‘I had people waiting for that consignment,' he shouted. ‘What am I supposed to do now? Eh? Eh?' The jabbing finger once again pointed at her chest.

Rosie grasped his wrist and gave it a sharp twist. She was strong from years of pulling pints, lifting barrels and sorting out drunks, and she felt a modicum of victory as he yelped in pain. ‘It's your mess, you clean it up.'

He cradled his injured wrist. ‘But they paid a deposit, and I don't have the money any more,' he whined.

‘Tough,' said Rosie. ‘And don't think you can come to me to bail you out, because I've had enough, Tommy. You're on your own this time.'

He was ashen now, the anger replaced by something far deeper and more dangerous. ‘But they're not the sort to cross. And I could be in serious trouble, you stupid cow. And it's all your fault, you stupid,
stupid
bitch. You owe me, Rosie, and I won't take no for an answer.'

Rosie eyed him coldly, aware that the mood had changed and if she wasn't careful she'd find herself giving in to him once again to protect herself from the violence she knew he was more than capable of meting out. But her fury was all-encompassing and she was incapable of keeping her mouth shout. ‘Who are these people you owe money to? More low-lifes? Other spivs?'

‘Blokes I do business with – and they won't take this lightly, believe you me.'

Rosie glared at him and didn't feel one ounce of sympathy. ‘Well, you can tell Cyril Fielding that there's no money and no more deals. And if you get beaten up, then it's your own …'

She fell silent as the colour drained from his face and he had to grip the narrow table to keep his balance. ‘God Almighty, Tommy,' she breathed. ‘What have you got yourself into this time? Who
is
this Fielding?'

He shook his head as if trying to clear away the shock and sank down into a kitchen chair. ‘How do you know about Fielding?' he rasped.

Rosie felt a pang of alarm. Tommy was clearly shaken to the core, and she'd never seen him so distraught. ‘It doesn't matter how I know about him,' she said dismissively as her thoughts whirled. ‘Who is he and what sort of trouble have you got us both into?'

His smile was sickly and didn't reach his eyes. ‘No one,' he replied. ‘No one you need to be scared of, anyway.' His hands trembled as he lit a cigarette. ‘Who told you about Fielding?' he asked as he sucked in smoke.

Rosie frowned, wary that Tommy might be laying some kind of trap which could embroil other people in his shenanigans. ‘Does it matter?'

He seemed to have regained his equilibrium, for his hand no longer shook and his expression was unreadable. ‘I don't like it when other people pry into my private business,' he muttered darkly. ‘And Fielding is part of that business which I need to keep quiet.' His arctic glare pierced right through her. ‘Who was it?'

Rosie knew then she would never tell him, for Peggy wasn't a part of this and needed to be protected. ‘I can't remember,' she said flatly. ‘And even if I could, I doubt I'd tell you, because you've caused enough trouble, and there's no knowing where it might lead.'

She regarded him evenly as she folded her arms. ‘Who is this man? And why does he have to be such a secret?'

He smoked his cigarette in silence, his gaze narrowed and fixed on a distant point over her shoulder as he thought how to answer her.

The tense silence was so great she could actually hear the blood coursing through her veins and feel it reverberate in her skull. ‘Don't even think about lying to me this time,' she warned. ‘Because if you do, and I find out, then you can pack your bags and take your chances out there on your own.'

He seemed to consider this for a moment and then gave a deep sigh. ‘He was someone I invented a long, long time ago,' he admitted.

This was not what she'd expected to hear and she stared at him as she slowly sank onto the other chair. ‘Invented? But why?'

‘I had an insurance scam going, and because it was conducted by post and in advertisements in the paper with a Post Office box number, no one knew that Cyril was really me.' He looked at her speculatively. ‘Was it Ron who told you?'

‘Why should it be Ron?' she asked defensively.

‘Because he somehow found out about Cyril just as the scam was starting to bring in a good wedge of money, and we had a set-to.' He flicked cigarette ash carelessly onto the scrubbed linoleum floor. ‘He threatened to tell the cops, so I had to leave town for a long while after that – which lost me a lot of money.'

Rosie quickly tried to work out how long ago that could have been, but it was almost impossible, for Tommy often disappeared for months, even years, on end – sometimes at his own volition, but more often to serve time in prison. ‘When was this?'

He regarded her coldly. ‘I told you. A long time ago – eighteen years – maybe more.' He took a breath. ‘So, was it Ron?'