Tiger Ragtime (8 page)

‘Almost as good as your girls,’ Aled replied.

‘I heard that you enjoyed yourself at my house yesterday.’

‘You talked to Gertie?’

‘She’s hoping you’ll become a regular.’

‘No chance, but I might send for her sometime if I’m bored.’

‘Why not visit?’

‘You’ve a nice place, Anna, discreet, well-staffed, comfortable, but I feel more at home in my own territory.’

‘In other words, you wanted to see my set-up for yourself.’

‘And your girls,’ he replied frankly. ‘One or two of them are a bit rough, Colleen, for instance. She has a mouth on her like a colliery siren, but given less obvious clothes, better make-up, and perfume instead of scent, the others might clean up well enough.’

‘Thank you for the compliment,’ Anna retorted sarcastically. ‘What did you expect? Greta Garbo?’

‘That wasn’t a criticism, so you can smooth your ruffled feathers. Some men like a girl with a mouth like a colliery siren.’

‘Each to their own – that’s what your mother always used to say.’

‘Among other things.’

‘It’s all over Bute Street that you intend to open a club in the old hotel,’ Anna fished blatantly.

‘If everything goes to plan. The ground floor is large enough to take a small stage – or will be, once the rooms and hall have been knocked into one. The casino will go on a mezzanine on the first floor so the gamblers can watch the show in between losing their money, and that brings me to the top floor.’

‘Before we go that high, you seem very sure of getting planning permission,’ Anna commented.

‘I am, and that’s where you come in, Anna.’

‘Me?’ She looked at him in surprise. ‘I’m strictly a small-time business woman. I don’t know anything about nightclubs.’

‘Don’t put yourself down. You run a successful bordello –’

‘A what?’

‘Sorry, American word.’

‘You’ve been there so long, you look like a movie star, you talk like a movie star, and the way you’re splashing your money around, you behave like one. When can I expect to see you in the pictures, Aled?’

‘Never. I like to keep my face out of the limelight. And, in my black heart, I’ll always be Welsh,’ he joked. ‘You run a brothel …’

‘I prefer
house
, and me and my girls are doing very nicely, thank you. We don’t need any business partners. I made twelve quid last night.’

He whistled. ‘You must have rolled a couple of drunks to get that much, Anna.’

‘Just one. With peculiar tastes,’ she replied honestly.

‘I have no intention of muscling in on your house, but the fact that you’re still operating means you know the right people.’

‘What if I do?’ she challenged.

‘I’ll pay well for introductions.’

‘Most of our clients are small-time. Clerks, councillors –’

‘Clerks and councillors who work for the big boys. They’ll know which politicians I can pay to jump into my pocket and those who’ll turn a blind eye. They’ll also know who I should avoid. The sooner I get my club up and running the sooner I’ll start turning profits. And these people I need to be introduced to – they may like the odd private party.’

‘Introductions and the odd private party – that’s all you want?’ she asked cautiously.

‘For the moment. There may be more later.’

‘I’ll not work for you or any man. I’m good to my girls and they’re good to me. I answer to no one except myself and I’m not about to change that for all the tea in China, Aled.’

‘I’m not going to offer you a job – just commission you to run the odd special party in the upstairs rooms in the club for selected guests.’

‘I’ll charge you full rate.’

‘I wouldn’t expect you to do otherwise.’

‘Now that’s cleared up, I can relax.’ She held out her glass. He reached for the bottle Aiden had left in the ice bucket and refilled it.

‘I also need information,’ he added. ‘There was a very pretty young coloured girl singing with one of the jazz bands at the carnival. They were dressed in gold, even the musicians.’

‘That would be the Bute Street Blues Band?’ Anna eyed him carefully. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve fallen in love.’

‘I’m looking for a singer for the club. I thought I’d seen the best in America but that girl was better.’

‘She’s also respectable. And all the men in the band look out for her. The Chinese drummer has a fearful temper, as does the Arab who plays the trumpet. The white man is pastor of the Norwegian Church, and you can’t get any more respectable than that. And the three tall West Indian Negroes are her uncles and they watch her like a hawk.’

‘What else do you know about her?’ he probed.

‘Her name’s Judy Hamilton, although I’ve heard she sometimes uses King nowadays, which was her mother’s maiden name. Her father’s a drunk and a sailor. I think she’s only seen him twice in her life, and the last time he robbed her of everything she owned. She’s nice as well as respectable. I’ve sold her a couple of evening frocks over the years. Her share of the money the band pulls in playing the pubs and clubs around the Bay doesn’t amount to much. But saying that, she hasn’t bought much off me lately. She moved in with Edyth Slater who took over Goldman’s bakery just before last Christmas; works for her too when she isn’t playing with the band. And, if it’s a band you’re after, you could do worse than the Bute Street Blues. But they’re not professional and I doubt they’d work for you full-time. Steve Chan – the drummer – runs his father’s laundry; as I said, Micah Holsten – the saxophone player – is pastor of the Norwegian Church, and Abdul and the others spend as much time at sea as they can, which isn’t much at the moment but you’d have to pay them well to make them give up the day job.’

‘I’m more interested in the girl than the band. Musicians are ten a penny, get the right musical director and he’ll knock even mediocre players into shape.’ Aled went to the drinks table and mixed himself another brandy and soda.

‘Just how interested are you in the girl?’ Anna probed.

‘Very, but only on a professional basis. I use the Gerties of this world to provide me with company whenever I need it. It’s less messy that way.’

‘You always were a cold fish, Aled. Even as a boy.’

He returned to his chair. ‘When it comes to ice in the blood, I had good teachers,’ he said quietly.

‘This club of yours. If you need any young girls, I might be able to help. I know people in the valleys who are on the lookout for ones with potential. They charge ten pounds an introduction but –’

‘I’ll do my own recruiting,’ he broke in. ‘I’ll employ hostesses and cigarette girls but I’ve no intention of setting up in competition with you. I’ll have enough sweeteners to pay without bribing the coppers to look the other way every time a tart tries to pick up a customer. If my chorus girls want to make a bit on the side, that’s between them and the punters. I don’t mind them socialising, anything more will have to be off the premises. The real money is in gambling. The bar should bring in a bit but I’ll be lucky if the shows break even.’

‘You’re a pessimist.’

‘I’m a realist. This won’t be the first club I’ve owned.’

‘So, what will go on upstairs?’ she questioned curiously.

He walked to the window and looked down on Stuart Street two floors below. ‘As I said, the occasional strictly invitation-only private party for privileged customers.’

‘And nothing else?’

‘No, so you can stop feeling under the pillow for things that aren’t there, Anna.’

‘You’re not looking to put my house out of business?’

He turned and smiled at her. ‘You always were suspicious, Anna.’

‘Can you blame me?’

‘We’re after different markets, you and I. Keep your sailors and clerks. I’m after the big money. And the parties will be occasional. Very occasional.’ He returned to the drinks table and refilled her glass. ‘You said you were semi-retired apart from carnival and holidays.’

‘And my regulars. I am.’

‘I’ll pay you twenty quid a time to hostess them.’

‘What!’ She dropped her glass. ‘Bugger it!’ She jumped up and tried to dry the stain she had made on the plush upholstery with her handkerchief.

‘Leave it. I’ll call housekeeping, they’ll see to it.’

‘You did say twenty quid?’

‘To look after the customers, deal with any difficult clients and make sure there’s no trouble.’

‘In my experience if a customer is hell bent on making trouble no one can stop him.’

‘You’ve met Aiden and Freddie.’

‘They can’t be everywhere. You’ll need them in the casino.’

‘How many unemployed Freddies and Aidens are there on the Bay who’d be prepared to work for me for a tenner a week?’

‘For a snotty-nosed kid who sailed out of here with nothing more than the clothes on his back, you’ve some big ideas, Aled.’

‘Here’s to bigger ones, Anna.’ He touched her glass to his. ‘One more thing, what do you know about Geoff Arnold?’

‘He used to be a bank clerk, but like you he had big ideas. He scraped together enough money to buy a house in Loudoun Square that he let out in rooms, then another and another. Apparently he owns a dozen or more now. He left the bank years ago and set himself up as an estate agent in an office in Bute Street. But he lives somewhere posh, Rhiwbina way I think. Butetown wasn’t grand enough for his wife and daughters once he’d made a bit of money.’

‘I’m sure I’ve seen him before,’ Aled mused.

‘You have. He used to be one of your mother’s regulars.’

‘So that’s why I didn’t like him.’

‘He used to give her five bob on the nail every Friday. It was half the rent on her room. She couldn’t afford to turn it down.’

‘That’s our dinner,’ he said in relief at a knock on the door. He had several years’ worth of memories of his mother and none he wanted to revisit.

‘I hope you’ve ordered the most expensive dinner on the menu,’ she joked.

‘What else would I order for you, Anna?’ he said seriously.

David was surprised by how ordinary Jed King’s house was. He’d expected something more exotic given the King family’s West Indian blood. Also, he didn’t have that much to compare Jed’s house to.

Although he’d delivered his family’s farm produce to shops in the Swansea Valley before Harry had married his sister, he hadn’t visited many private houses aside from the few farmhouses around them, and they had all been similar to his own. The comparative luxury of Harry’s parents’ home in Pontypridd with its thick carpets, soft upholstered furniture, bathrooms, indoor toilets, running hot and cold water and electric lighting in every room had come as a culture shock before Harry had introduced similar luxuries into the farmhouse.

Jed’s back kitchen was a quarter of the size of the one at the farm. The range that dominated one wall was doll like in comparison to the massive one Mary used. But although the furniture was on a smaller scale than the pieces he was used to, they served the same purpose.

There was a Welsh dresser filled with everyday blue and white china. Two easy chairs were set either side of the range, and a scrub-down table flanked by benches, which took up less room than chairs, filled the centre of the kitchen. Waist-high cupboards had been built into the alcoves either side of the chimney breast. A marbletopped iron stand stood below the window that overlooked the yard. On it was an enamel water jug and basin.

There were a few ornaments. A framed embroidered picture of a country cottage hung on one wall, a mirror on another and neat rows of books had been arranged on top of the alcove cupboards. A green pressed-glass vase filled with the large white flowers Mary called dog daisies stood in the centre of the table. A bewildering number of chattering children sat on the benches, the older ones reading, the younger ones drawing pictures in charcoal on brown paper bags.

Given the King family’s dark skins, David was amazed to hear all of them speaking English with pronounced Welsh accents. There were no ‘foreigners’ living in the Swansea Valley or on the hills between the valley and Brecon town. And, unlike the Ellises, most of the people also spoke Welsh as a first language. The occasional English person he had met while visiting the cattle markets in Brecon and Pontardawe had seemed positively alien. As a result, he found the variety of races, languages, skin colours, and music in Tiger Bay overwhelming.

Harry had brought recordings of Negro jazz music home that David had admired and listened to, time and again. And, as he could neither read music nor play an instrument, he believed that all musicians, even Judy whom he knew reasonably well, possessed some kind of magical quality. To him, musicians existed in some world other than the mundane one he inhabited. Yet Jed seemed to live no different a life in his kitchen to the one he’d lived with Harry, Mary, his sister and brothers in his farmhouse. Apart from maybe the food. There was an appetising smell of unusual cooking in the air, which he put down to mysterious rare ingredients.

‘Sit down, David.’ Jed pointed to the easy chair opposite his own.

‘Thank you.’ David took it while Judy and her aunt gathered the children and herded them next door to Tony King’s house.

‘Judy tells me you want to go to sea.’ Jed pulled an empty pipe from his pocket and stared thoughtfully at it.

‘I do,’ David confirmed.

‘Why?’

The question took David by surprise. He hadn’t expected anyone to query his motives. ‘Because I want to see more of the world than I can from my farmhouse windows.’

‘And you think you’ll see more of the world on board ship?’

‘Of course,’ David answered. ‘I’ve always wanted to travel out of Wales, and visit different countries.’

‘Go to sea and ninety-nine days out of a hundred you’re not likely to see more than the water that surrounds the ship.’

‘But ships land –’

‘In ports,’ Jed broke in. ‘They discharge their cargoes and take on new ones. And during that time you’ll be expected to help with the ship’s maintenance that can’t be done at sea, as well as supervise the stowing of the cargo. You’ll be lucky if you’re given a couple of hours to go ashore to get drunk in a dockside pub. Unless, of course, you decide to leave the ship and look for a berth out of wherever you are, on another vessel. In which case you’d better pray you strike lucky before your money runs out. Not all ports have seamen’s missions or doss houses that dole out meals to the destitute.’