Tiger Ragtime (35 page)

The palms of his hands burned her skin through the thin silk of her dress. He caressed her back, her breasts, and she wasn’t even aware that he had unbuttoned her bodice until her dress fell open to her waist. Her cheeks burned when he slipped down the sleeves and the thin straps of her petticoat, exposing her breasts.

‘Perfect.’ He thumbed her nipples and kissed each in turn. ‘Shall we continue this in the bedroom?’ he whispered huskily. Without waiting for her to reply he lifted her in his arms, carried her through to the bedroom and dropped her on to the bed. He locked the door behind them.

He undressed her slowly, sensuously, his hands lingering over her naked thighs and breasts. And when he had finished he turned back the bedclothes and laid her in the centre of the bed, watching her, while he stripped off his own clothes. He continued to look into her eyes, when he lay beside her.

He caressed her again, slowly, tenderly until the moment her passion rose to meet his. Then he lifted her on top of him. She cried out.

‘I’m sorry … I should have been gentler … you’re a virgin …’

Tears lay wet on her cheeks. His face was blurred but she could see that his eyes were still focused on her. ‘It’s all right, Aled. It really is. I love you.’

‘Darling little Judy.’

It wasn’t until afterwards, when they were lying, spent, side by side in the bed, that she realised that he hadn’t spoken one single word of love to her. Or if he had, he had whispered it too softly for her to hear.

Chapter Eighteen

David was enjoying a late lunch of pie and beer at a secluded corner table in the Gentlemen Only bar of the Mount Stuart pub, the nearest public house to the dock gates in Bute Crescent. He had gone there at Freddie’s suggestion after helping Aiden supervise the morning bar stocktake at the club. Someone had told Freddie that the Mount Stuart was the first stop sailors made after leaving their ships and that there might be a few punters among the newly arrived crews.

David was filling out his second betting slip of the day when Gertie burst into the bar, flanked by a ‘rookie’ constable.

‘That’s him,’ she screamed, pointing her finger at David. ‘That’s the bookie’s runner. Look, he’s filling out a betting slip right now.’

‘Gertie, out!’ the barman shouted. ‘No ladies or,’ he gazed frostily at her, ‘any of
your sort
allowed in here.’

‘What do you mean, my “sort”?’ Hands on hips, she rounded on him.

‘Let’s see that book, boy.’ The constable, who looked no older than David, walked up to the table and snatched the book from David’s hands.

‘You can’t do that,’ David blustered. ‘That’s my property –’

‘Is it now?’ The constable removed a notebook and pencil from his top pocket and repeated as he wrote. ‘When I removed said book from the table, suspect said, That’s my property …’

The man who had been placing the bet slunk away under cover of the altercation and David wished that he could have done the same.

‘Tut tut tut.’ Keeping a firm grip on the book, the police officer walked to the door, opened it and blew his whistle. ‘I’m surprised at you,’ he said in a disappointed tone to the barman. ‘Allowing a bookie’s runner to do business in the Mount Stuart. The sergeant won’t be pleased. He told all of us newcomers that this was a wellrun house.’

‘It is, when you coppers don’t come in here looking for trouble. And that’s a dark corner he’s sitting in. I couldn’t see what he was doing.’

‘Or the men walking up to him, I suppose?’ the officer demanded in a sceptical tone.

‘People come into pubs to have a friendly chat. Fine barman I’d be if I asked them what they were talking about.’

Two more officers rushed through the door. They stopped and looked round. ‘Where’s the fire?’ one of them asked the rookie.

‘Here.’ The officer grabbed David’s arm. ‘On your feet.’ He hauled David upright and handed the betting book over to the oldest constable. The constable flicked through it.

‘My, my, my, it’s amazing the things people do in pubs in broad daylight. And right under our noses.’ He looked at David. ‘We’re going to take a little stroll to the Maria Street police station, boy. You too, Gertie.’ He nodded to his colleague who grabbed Gertie just as she was about to sidle out of the door.

‘Let me go!’ Gertie shouted ineffectually at the constable who clamped his hand on her arm. ‘I told you what you need to know. You caught him red-handed. You don’t need me.’

‘We always need people who give us tip-offs, Gertie,’ the senior officer said. ‘And I’ll tell you something else.’ He placed his head very close to hers. ‘Anna Hughes isn’t going to like this. She’d rather die than grass on anyone in the Bay, even a customer who bilked her. As for you, boy,’ he turned to David, ‘you should have paid the lady what she wanted.’

‘I did, and she stole the rest.’ David gave Gertie a contemptuous look. ‘Bloody tart wanted every penny I had and she got it. Cleaned me out last night. Took my wallet, my train tickets, and almost a quid –’

‘No swearing now, boy,’ the constable admonished, ‘or we’ll have to charge you with using indecent language as well as running a book. As for your wallet, you got any proof the lady took it?’

‘She was with me in Barry Island. We quarrelled, I left her and when I got to the station it was gone.’

‘You walked through the fairground? Pushed your way through the crowds?’

‘It was crowded there,’ David admitted.

‘Then any one of a hundred people could have taken your wallet. Did you report it stolen to the police in Barry?’

‘What was the point?’ David asked.

‘The point is we often get the wallets back. Not the contents, just the wallets. They can incriminate a thief. Give me a description?’

‘Black, calfskin. Two pockets at the back for notes, there was ten bob in it, and about another eight or nine shillings in a button down pocket for change.’

‘Any distinguishing marks?’

‘My initials, D.E., in gold in the bottom left-hand corner. It was a present,’ David said defensively.

‘We’ll send the description to Barry the next time we contact them. You never know, something might turn up. You got anything else you want to say in your defence?’ the middle-aged officer asked.

‘Just one thing.’ David handed him Aiden’s card, which he always kept in the top pocket of his shirt. ‘I want my attorney.’

‘We don’t have those, but one of us will go down and get Mr Aiden Collins, if that’s who you want to see, boy. But now it’s time to introduce you to the delights of our Maria Street station and the cells.’

‘You’re not putting me in no cell,’ Gertie screamed.

‘We don’t put witnesses in the cells, Gertie,’ the officer said cheerfully. ‘They get nice comfortable interview rooms, with tea and ciggies on tap so they can tell us everything they know. Like who exactly put you up to shopping this boy.’

Judy woke to see Aled standing next to the bed in a white bathrobe. His hair and face were wet and he was holding out the largest and thickest white towel she had ever seen. ‘I thought you might like a bath, so I ran you one.’

‘Thank you,’ Judy folded back the bedclothes and blanched. ‘I’m sorry, there’s blood on the sheets …’

‘Don’t concern yourself. I’ll telephone housekeeping, they’ll come up and change the bed.’

‘Then they’ll know –’

‘One of the reasons I live in an expensive hotel is to buy discretion. Here.’ He wrapped the towel around her and held her close. ‘Thank you, that was a very nice after-lunch interlude.’ He kissed her and pushed her gently towards the bathroom door. ‘Bath salts are in a blue and gold jar on the windows sill. I’ll be in to wash your back …’

‘Don’t you dare. What if someone comes and sees you?’

‘One, no one can get into the suite unless I allow them to. And two, after what we’ve just done there can’t be any modesty between us, can there?’

‘No,’ she said cautiously, ‘I suppose there can’t.’

‘There’s tooth powder and new toothbrushes in the cabinet.’ He picked up her handbag and handed it to her. ‘Presumably you’ll need your hairbrush, cosmetics, and perfume.’

‘Thank you.’

‘I’ll leave your clothes on the chair.’ He slicked back his wet hair with a comb.

She started, dropping her handbag. ‘Was that a knock at the door?’

‘It was, but the outside door.’

‘The hotel staff know I’m still here …’

‘I told you, I pay for their discretion. Go into the bathroom. Lock the door. I’ll deal with this.’

‘Please don’t.’

‘Why ever not?’

Whoever was at the door knocked a second time. ‘You’re in a dressing gown in the middle of the day, Aled.’

‘I have been known to take a bath in the afternoon and even sleep when I’m tired. But I have never been known to explain myself to anyone.’ He left the bedroom and closed the door behind him.

Judy listened at the door for a moment, heard Aiden’s distinctive voice, and did as Aled had suggested.

The first indoor bathroom Judy had ever used was the small downstairs one in Edyth’s house and it was positively utilitarian compared to the luxurious brass fittings, mahogany dados, and thick white-tiled splendour of Aled’s. She found the jar of salts he had mentioned and added a handful of the turquoise crystals to the water. The room was immediately filled with the scent of violets. She dropped the towel, stepped into the warm water, and slid down, luxuriating as the warmth stole through her body.

She lay back and closed her eyes. Aled had been so gentle – so practised – she realised. But she could hardly expect a man like him to be as innocent as her. And it was only now, when she relived every kiss, every caress, and every tender touch, that she was acutely conscious that he hadn’t uttered one word of love. Not even a murmur that could be mistaken for one. But then she couldn’t imagine any of her uncles saying anything that they would have regarded as ‘soppy’ to her aunts, not even in their most private and passionate moments. Love wasn’t a word men used easily. But no man could make love to a woman the way Aled had to her and not feel something for her. Could he?

‘You’re sure about this?’ Aled asked Aiden.

‘I asked the constable who came to find me. He said that a rookie had been given information by one of Anna’s tarts, a young girl called Gertie. She’d even taken the rookie to the Mount Stuart to point out the bookie’s runner, so he wouldn’t arrest the wrong man.’

‘And the runner was David?’

‘Yes, and he was there at Freddie’s suggestion.’ Aiden looked at Freddie who was standing uneasily in front of the door, shifting his considerable weight from one leg to the other.

‘You told David to go to the Mount Stuart?’ Aled asked sternly.

‘Yes, boss.’

‘Why?’

‘Because this young girl came up to me and said she knew sailors who’d just come in and wanted to place some bets but couldn’t find any runners to place them with.’

‘Gertie?’ Aled asked.

‘Don’t know her name, boss. She was really young. Looked about fifteen. I thought she was straight …’

‘It’s not your fault, Freddie, but for future reference, don’t assume that
anyone
, man or woman or child, in the Bay is straight.’ Aled went to the telephone. ‘Aiden, you go down to Maria Street, see if you can find any of the coppers we know, and organise bail for David and any other of our boys they’ve picked up. I’ll call my solicitor and get him to meet you down there. Freddie, get the car.’

‘We going somewhere, boss?’

‘Yes,’ Aled said shortly. ‘To Anna Hughes’s house to ask Gertie exactly who put her up to wrecking our turf.’

David stood back as the officer unlocked one of the reinforced metal doors in the stone wall of a corridor that was studded with a dozen or more just like it. Humiliated and battered by a rough strip and body cavity search, and the confiscation of all his personal belongings, including his watch, cuff links, belt, shoelaces, and money, he felt totally demoralised. The constable yanked out the enormous bunch of keys and heaved the door open. He took a small key from a chain on his belt, unlocked the handcuffs from David’s wrists, and pushed him into the cell.

David shivered from more than the chill in the air when the door slammed shut behind him and the ratchets turned home. He blinked to adjust to the gloom. A narrow steel bench, six feet long, was secured by chains and bolts to the stone wall on his left. Ahead of him a set of metal bars fronted a strip of window that bordered the ceiling, but the glass beyond it was so thick with grime it was impossible to see anything except the dirt. He took a step forward. Behind the steel bunk stood a metal bucket with a lid. Then, he sensed he wasn’t alone.

He turned to his right. A second steel bench, identical to the first, was fastened to the wall opposite him. Two young men were sitting silently on it, two feet apart, their backs against the wall, their faces dull and expressionless. David recognised them: they had both been fellow students at Aiden’s ‘turf school’ in the White Hart.

David had never spoken to either of them but he found their presence reassuring after the casual, jocular brutality of the police officers.

He ventured, ‘Hello.’ When that drew no response he added, ‘How long have you been here?’

One man made a razor movement across his throat with his finger. His companion covered his mouth with his hand and pointed to the door. David nodded that he’d understood and sat on the empty bunk. He propped his back against the wall and the cold from the stone seeped through his suit jacket into his bones. Emotionally drained by the shock of his arrest, mortified by the process that had taken away every shred of his dignity, and terrified by what the immediate future might bring, it required more strength than he could muster to sit upright.

Somewhere, outside the door, he could hear a woman screaming and a man shouting. A drunk was singing ‘Land of Hope and Glory’, his voice wavering from an overdose of alcohol and emotion.

David had been locked up a dozen or so times in his life. Once in a workhouse ward when he’d had his younger brother, Matthew, and twenty other boys for company; and afterwards, when the workhouse had hired him out to a farmer who had imprisoned him in a cellar every night. Accustomed to the wide-open spaces and fresh air of the Breconshire hills, he had hated the loss of freedom and ever since, any kind of confinement made him feel physically ill. The cell wavered about him and his chest grew tight as he struggled to draw breath into his lungs.

Despite the cold, his skin burned and his mouth was dry. He unbuttoned his collar, breaking a stud in the process. It dropped to the flagstone floor with a rattle he was certain could be heard outside the cell but neither of his companions moved a muscle.

He stared up at the strip of light that was their only link to the outside world. While he was debating whether or not to walk over to it in the hope of seeing into the street, one of the men left the bench and walked to the bucket in the corner. He lifted the lid and a foul stench permeated the still, damp air.

Used to mucking out the cow sheds and pig sties on the farm, David still gagged. He tried to hold his breath. But the smell seeped into his nostrils, nauseating, polluting his lungs and mouth. He retched and turned his head sideways, spewing the beer and pie he had eaten in the pub on to the steel bunk.

The man sitting opposite him rose and hammered his fist on the door. A barred grill opened at eye level.

‘What’s the noise about?’ a gruff voice demanded.

‘Sick man in here.’

A few minutes later the door opened and a constable handed David a bucket and mop. ‘You made the mess, son, you clean it up.’

Trembling, weak and shaky, David staggered to his feet. He wiped the back of his mouth with his hand. ‘How long am I going to be kept here?’