Sins of the Father (34 page)

‘You…you were here earlier.’

‘Yes, that’s right, and I came back to check my facts before speaking to you.’

Emma hated the way he was looking at her, a mixture of amusement again in his eyes, along with calculation. ‘I’ve been told that you’re with the CID, but I’d like to see some sort of identification.’

He nodded, showing her his ID and then without invitation, took a seat. ‘From what I’ve
seen, you’ve got a nice little earner going on upstairs, and if you want to stay open, I want a percentage of the takings.’

‘You’re disgusting,’ Emma snapped. ‘You’re supposed to enforce the law, not use it to make money.’

His eyes hardened. ‘Fine, if that’s your attitude, then I’ll arrest you for running a brothel.’

‘And I’ll tell your senior officer that you were trying to blackmail me.’

He laughed derisively. ‘Oh, yeah? And who do you think he’d believe? Me, or a madam, even one who speaks with a plum in her mouth. Think about it. One call from me and this place will be swarming with police, and you’ll be in a cell.’

Emma felt the colour drain from her face. My God, prison! She could go to prison! He smiled, a sickening leer, and she knew there was no choice. ‘All right, how much do you want?’

He named a price and Emma balked. ‘But that’s ridiculous.’

‘For what you’ll get in return, it’s a small price to pay.’

‘Just what will I be getting?’

‘You can leave it to me to make sure that these premises don’t come into question again. Oh yes, and I’ll take my first payment now.’

With a sigh Emma rose to her feet. Going through to her bedroom, she cast a quick glance
over her shoulder before taking the tin cash box from its hiding place. It made her stomach churn to take out the money, but, teeth grinding, she returned to the living room and handed it to the officer.

‘Right, good girl. I’ll see you again next week.’

‘That won’t be necessary,’ Emma said hurriedly. ‘I’ll leave the money upstairs with my assistant.’

‘Assistant! Considering she’s a tom, that’s a good one.’ His eyes then roamed over her body. ‘I think I’d rather deal with you.’

‘No,’ Emma said, fumbling for a lie. ‘I’m not always here.’

For a moment his eyes narrowed, but she held his gaze, relieved when he said, ‘All right, I’ll pick it up from your so-called assistant, but in case you’re thinking of changing your mind, remember that I can have this place shut down any time I like.’

‘You’ll get your money,’ and though quaking inside, she added, ‘I’d like you to leave now.’

He looked momentarily annoyed at the order, but then shrugged. ‘Fair enough, but no doubt we’ll see each other again. Soon.’

When Emma had closed the street door behind him, she slumped with relief.

‘Are you all right, Emma?’

She spun round. ‘Yes, I’m fine, Terry, but how did you get down here so quickly?’

‘I’ve been here all the time, keeping out of sight but within earshot. Do you want me to take care of that bastard?’

‘If you’re suggesting what I think you are, then no. I don’t want any violence, Terry, and anyway, what good would it do? He’d only shut us down, and I don’t want that.’

‘All right, if you say so, but are you sure you wouldn’t rather pack this game in? There’s more to life than money, you know, and easier ways to make a living.’

It was as though Luke’s words had returned to haunt her. Annoyed, she snapped, ‘I tried that, Terry, and it didn’t work. Now you’d best get back upstairs.’

He shook his head, but said nothing further, and as he left, Emma slumped again. Yes, she’d tried a so-called easier way to make a living and, as she had told Luke, she’d been raped. Now another man was invading her life, this time raping her of money. Oh, she hated them. Hated them all.

Emma was a very rich woman by the time the 1950s drew to a close. She was now twenty-eight years old and all traces of the innocent girl she had once been had gone. She was a beautiful, statuesque woman who drew eyes, but one that none would dare to interfere with. She had seen too much, had grown so hard that her shell was impenetrable. Only one person saw softness, and that was her daughter, ten-year-old Tinker, spoiled, manipulative, and able to get her own way not only with her mother, but Terry Green too, the pair of them wrapped firmly around her finger.

Though Emma would never welcome Terry as a lover, over the years they had become friends, and he was one of the few men she was relaxed with. Doris had given up on him years ago, finally accepting that the man would never be interested in her. They had in some ways become a family,
replacing the one that Emma had lost, and though Terry was a strong man, it was Emma who always held the dominant role.

There had been times when Emma thought about her family, but mostly she pushed the memories away, finding the only way to cope was to keep her barriers up. There had been a time, many years earlier, when she’d been determined to see her sisters, but as the years passed with all of her letters returned, she had finally let it go. They would be grown up now, and if they knew how she made her living, no doubt, like Dick and Luke, they would reject her.

And so to avoid hurt, Emma’s veneer had thickened; her emotions firmly under lock and key. It was unfortunate that Tinker didn’t know her uncles and aunties, but Doris still lived in the flat, becoming a surrogate auntie, and with Terry coming and going more or less as he pleased, Emma was sure the child didn’t lack love or affection.

The flat was now a little palace. Emma was unable to resist buying every luxury that had been on offer when rationing ended. She had splashed out on deep red, plush, velvet curtains, a new sofa, piled with cushions, and a lovely mahogany display cabinet for her growing collection of Royal Crown Derby figurines. Yet few saw the beauty of her private quarters. Tinker rebelled, of course,
wanting to invite her school friends round, but this was the one instance where her mother wouldn’t be swayed.

‘Tinker, get on with your homework,’ Emma said when she saw her daughter daydreaming.

‘Do I have to? I hate history. It’s boring.’

‘Hate it or not, it’s got to be done. You’ll be taking the eleven-plus examinations soon and I want you to pass.’

‘I don’t care if I don’t.’

‘Well, I do, darling. I want you to have a good education, to go to grammar school and then on to college.’

‘Why?’

‘We’ve been through this before. You know why. I’ve told you over and over again, education is important. It will open up so many opportunities for you, and if you gain qualifications you’ll be able to get a good job instead of being stuck in a factory or shop.’

‘I wouldn’t mind working in a shop. Cor, especially a sweet shop.’

‘Stop saying, “cor”. It makes you sound common.’

‘Terry says it, and so does Auntie Doris. Mummy, why are they upstairs every night?’

‘Not this again. I’ve told you, they’re working.’

‘But how? They don’t speak French.’

‘Now that’s enough. You’re just asking questions
to get out of doing your homework, but it won’t work.’

Tinker scowled, but returned to her books whilst Emma watched her, lost in thought. It was getting harder and harder to fob Tinker off. Though Emma was loath to spend money, it really was time to move the business premises. The house next door remained empty and would have been ideal, but structural damage had put off any buyers for all these years, her included. Of course there was always the possibility that she could rent somewhere suitable, leaving her considerable savings intact. One way or another she would have to sort out something very soon. The situation could only get worse and she had to protect her daughter.

The room was quiet, Tinker’s pen scratching across the page, but then the child looked up.

‘Is Terry my daddy?’

Emma stiffened. ‘Of course not. What on earth makes you think that?’

‘All my friends have daddies that live with them, and Terry is always here.’

‘Well, I can assure you that he isn’t your father. He works for me, darling, that’s all.’

‘Where’s my daddy then?’

Emma had heard this question many times before and gave the same answer. ‘I’ve told you, darling. Your daddy left us before you were born and I don’t know where he is.’

‘Can’t you find him? My friends have got dads and I want one.’

‘No, darling, I can’t find him, but surely it’s not the end of the world? You have me, your auntie Doris, and Terry.’

‘I still want a dad.’

‘I know, and I’m sorry. Now come on, be a good girl and get that homework finished.’

Tinker scowled, but she did as she was told, whilst Emma picked up a book, finding that the words swam before her eyes. She had lied to her daughter again, and knew that for a while the child would be satisfied, but what about when she grew older, into her teens, what then? Would she want to find her father? God, she hoped not. There would be nothing for her there but disappointment and heartbreak. Horace hadn’t wanted her before she was born and he certainly wouldn’t want her now. Briefly, she wondered where he was, but then dismissed him from her mind. She had more things to worry about than Horace, and uppermost was finding suitable premises to rent.

When Doris came down that evening she sat next to Emma on the sofa, picked up the evening paper and scanned the front page. ‘Gawd blimey, I thought I recognised that geezer. Look,’ she said, stabbing her finger at the picture she thrust under
Emma’s nose, ‘his wife looks a right smasher, but it didn’t stop him coming here last night.’

‘Never!’ Emma cried as she took in the man’s face. He was often featured in newspapers as he was prominent and popular in the music industry. ‘You must be mistaken. Why on earth would he come here?’

‘Blimey, Em, after all these years I don’t think I need to answer that question. He came for the usual, well, sort of. He wanted a much younger girl, but in the end settled for Lucy. She can just about pass for sixteen if the lights are dim.’

‘Lucy is only nineteen–surely that’s young enough? Oh, don’t tell me he’s one of those disgusting types that turn up now and then?’

‘I reckon he was. Some geezers actually come here demanding a virgin, the daft buggers, and maybe that’s what he was looking for.’

‘You should have given him to Bridget.’

Doris sniggered. ‘Yeah, she’d have sorted him out. Men’s preferences never cease to amaze me and, if you ask me, Bridget’s got the cushiest job here. Huh, bondage! Who’d have thought some men just want a girl to inflict pain? All she has to do is whip them, hurt them, and they’re happy. It’s just as well she uses one of the attic rooms or you’d probably hear them begging for more.’

Emma’s lips curled. ‘As long as they pay for their so-called pleasure, it suits me, and as far as
I’m concerned Bridget can inflict as much pain as she likes.’

‘Sometimes I think you envy Bridget,’ Doris chuckled. ‘Mind you, I wouldn’t mind seeing you in her black leather bondage gear. That’d be a sight to behold.’

‘I can think of quite a few men I wouldn’t mind inflicting pain on, especially the latest one looking for a backhander.’

‘Yeah, I know. When that last bloke from the CID retired, another one soon took his place, but at least this time he just wants the money. He doesn’t expect one of the girls as an extra perk. The last one took his pick, usually going for a young one. Jane was his favourite and the girl said he liked it rough too, but at least he never marked her.’

Emma was sickened, closing her eyes momentarily. Then she said, ‘Did Terry check all the rooms upstairs and then lock up?’

‘You ask that every night and you get the same answer. Of course he did, and this flat is locked up like a bloody fortress. You worry too much.’

‘Maybe, but it’s better to be safe than sorry.’

‘I still think it wouldn’t hurt to let Terry live in.’

‘No, we’ve been over this time and time again. I don’t want a man in my house–even Terry. In fact, I think it’s time to move the business.’

‘You’ve been saying that for ages.’

‘I mean it this time. Tinker isn’t a baby any more. She’s getting too inquisitive. I know we’re careful, but I still have this horror that one day she’ll find her way upstairs. I want her to have a normal home, one that she can invite her friends to and not one that houses a brothel.’

‘Have you somewhere in mind?’

‘No, but we can start scouting around. It’ll have to be somewhere that’s tucked away, detached, with good, private access.’

‘It sounds like you want a mirror image of this place and that’s gonna cost a pretty penny.’

‘I’m talking about renting, not buying.’

‘Oh yeah, and how are you gonna find a landlord that’s prepared to let you turn his place into a brothel?’

Emma slapped her forehead with the palm of her hand. ‘Oh God, I’m an idiot. I didn’t think of that.’ She bit hard on her bottom lip whilst doing a mental calculation. ‘All right, I’ll have to buy somewhere, but it’ll be nothing like this place.’

‘If you ask me, the answer’s right under your nose. Keep this place for the business, and buy somewhere smaller for us and Tinker.’

Emma stared at her friend, unwilling to see the sense of her suggestion. She loved her home, her beautiful, plush flat, full of the antiques that had replaced the ones she’d been forced to sell so many
years before. Yes, she could buy a smaller house, but it would have none of this grandeur, a grandeur that she was unwilling to give up. In the past she had worried that Horace might return to sell it from under her nose, but as the years went by, her concerns diminished. If Horace tried to get her out now, he’d have a fight on his hands. She was no longer an innocent. She was a businesswoman who wouldn’t be intimidated by Horace, or any man.

‘No, Doris, I don’t want a smaller house. I love this place and no matter what, I’m keeping it.’

‘Back to square one then,’ Doris murmured, ‘but the sort of place you want will be hard to find, well, unless you’re prepared to pay a bloody fortune for it.’

Emma sat pondering, but then straightened up, her face animated. ‘There was a time when I considered buying the house next door, but the structural damage put me off. It’s been on the market for years now and would probably go for a song.’