Dream On (41 page)

Ginny sat down next to Saunders with a satisfied sigh. ‘D'you know, Leila,' she said, ‘I don't think I've ever been so happy. And I want you to know how grateful I am, because it's you I've got to thank for all this. If it wasn't for you I'd . . . Well, never mind all that, I just wanna say thanks.'

In her head, Leila responded to Ginny's gratitude by telling her that the trouble with dreams coming true was that they usually – no,
inevitably
– turned into nightmares. That, unfortunately, was the cruel way of the world, as she would find out all too soon. But she actually said nothing; she just carried on flashing her tight-lipped smile and gripping the stem of her glass as though it were trying to escape.

Before Ginny had the chance to settle into her seat, Saunders was on his feet again. ‘You'll have to excuse me, Leila, but I'd better go and say hello to some of these people.' He finished off his drink and checked the knot of his tie. ‘And you, Ginny, you'd better come an' all, they'll want to say they've met the governor.' He held out his hand to her. ‘Come on.'

Ginny shrugged with mock helplessness at Leila, as she allowed Saunders to lead her away.

Leila lit yet another cigarette. She didn't particularly want it, but nor did she want to be seen sitting alone doing nothing, or worse, to sit there watching Billy and Ginny parading around the room laughing and joking like an over-excited courting couple out on a first date.

‘Penny for them?' someone asked her – or rather slurred at her in a drunken drawl – as Leila tossed her lighter back into her bag.

Leila looked up. It was Shirley. Her hair was tousled, her cheeks flushed and her eyes bloodshot and puffy.

‘Shirley! What the hell are you doing here?' Leila demanded, making sure, despite her anger, that she kept her voice low; Leila was nothing if not professional. ‘You know it's Sally's night off. I told you. You were to stay at the flat and take the calls.'

‘Didn't want to miss the party, did I?' Shirley mumbled. ‘Glad I didn't. S'lovely party.' She smirked lazily. ‘And I've been watching Billy. Real gentleman. Treating her like a proper lady. Kissing her hand like that. Nice.'

‘You're drunk.'

‘And you're jealous.' Shirley grinned, flashing one of her badly pencilled eyebrows and clutching the side of the table to steady herself. ‘Like I said before, it's your fault. You've let her . . .' She paused to gather her thoughts, to find the right words. ‘Get away with it. That's what you've done. I told you all along.'

‘Shirley—'

‘And do you know what?' Shirley dropped inelegantly on to the bench seat in the booth so that she was facing Leila. ‘The whisper is, she's not letting the girls here do any business. Well,' she wagged her finger in Leila's face, ‘I reckon that's crap. I don't believe it. She's doing a foreigner. Letting them all work without telling Billy. I guarantee it. She'll be raking it in. And he won't even care. She's got him bamboozled. Miss Innocent Bloody—'

‘Shirley. I think you've said enough. If you knew how ridiculous you sounded.'

‘Ridiculous? Me? You're the one who's letting her get away with all this. You and Billy had something special. Now look at him. The way he's looking at her. Hanging around her like a dog after a bitch on heat. It's so obvious, it's staring you right in the bloody face.' She slapped the table with the flat of her hand, knocking Leila's drink flying. The young waiter was immediately there, mopping up.

Shirley giggled girlishly until he left, then, after another struggle to recollect her train of thought, she continued her drunken monologue. ‘Anyone can see she's letting him have it to keep him sweet. But you've got to hand it to her, she's not got a bad price for it. A whole fucking club.'

Leila sprang to her feet and wrenched Shirley from the bench, signalling with her eyes to the ever-vigilant Flora that she needed help.

‘That is it, Shirley,' Leila whispered into her ear as she and Flora escorted her off the premises. ‘That's the final straw. You are out.'

‘Who is it? Is that you, Flora?' Ginny squinted at her watch through sleep-blurred eyes. Half past ten. She groaned wearily. She hadn't got to bed until five o'clock.

The knocking continued.

‘Hold on.'

She pulled on her wrapper and dragged herself through the flat to the front door.

‘Billy. I wasn't expecting—'

‘Never mind who you was expecting.' He scowled at her. ‘What did I tell you?'

‘Listen. D'you know what time I—'

‘No. You listen. I told you. Use that spyhole. And always put the chain on. You never know who might be about.'

Pleased with his concern, but embarrassed by her own foolishness – Billy had warned her over and over again about security – Ginny stood there like a child being chastised by a displeased parent. It wouldn't have been so bad if she'd been dressed properly and had done her hair. She must look a real sight.

‘Well? Can I come in?'

Ginny stepped aside. ‘Sorry. Of course. Come in.'

‘Get your clothes on. I've got something to show you.'

‘Can I just make some tea first?'

‘No. Go and get dressed.'

Ginny nodded. ‘All right.' She went back into the bedroom, shut the door and started to sort herself out. What should she put on? A dress? Slacks? A skirt and blouse? A skirt. Yes. But which—

‘How many sugars?' she heard him call from the kitchen.

Ginny mugged at herself in the dressing-table mirror. Billy Saunders was in the kitchen. Making her a cup of tea . . . ‘Er none thanks,' she called back. ‘Just a splash of milk.'

Whatever next?

‘It's just a little something. To say thank you. You've done a good job.'

‘Where is it?' She stood on the steps of the club, glancing up and down the alleyway, completely at a loss to know what she was supposed to be looking at.

‘There.'

‘What? The car?'

‘Yeah.' Saunders handed her a key hanging from a silver fob engraved with her name.

She twisted round to look at him. ‘For me? Really?'

‘Don't get too excited,' he said, leading her down the steps to where the car was parked at the kerb. ‘It's only a little Anglia.'

‘I know.' Ginny touched a tentative finger to the shiny turquoise bonnet. ‘It's the new one. I've seen it in all the magazines.'

‘Can you drive?'

She thought of the times Ted had made her drive them home when he'd been too drunk even to hold the steering wheel. ‘A bit.'

‘Well, get in, and we'll soon have you racing about like Fangio.'

‘Fangio?' she gasped, as she slipped into the driver's seat, her skirt riding up high around her legs. ‘I feel more like Kay Kendall. You know, in
Genevieve
.' She laughed happily, running her hands round and round the steering wheel. ‘Sorry, I forgot. You don't know much about the flicks do you?'

‘I could, if the right person wanted to teach me.' He reached across the few inches that separated them and let his hand rest on her thigh.

Ginny felt his heat like a brand on her flesh. She had begun to long for that touch, but didn't want to make a fool of herself by misinterpreting its intention. ‘I thought this was meant to be a business arrangement.' Her voice sounded odd. Sort of breathless.

Billy laughed easily and held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. ‘Fair enough. I ain't never had to force meself on a bird yet.'

Ginny swallowed hard. He'd called her that before. In the same sort of tone. Was that all she was to him? Just some bird?

What else could she expect, taking off her clothes and going with all those men? And she a married woman. Even if she had let Billy believe she was single.

‘You're a strange one, Ginny, d'you know that?' He half turned his body so that he was leaning back against the car door, folded his arms and studied her through narrowed eyes.

To avoid his gaze, and to hide her flushed cheeks, Ginny stared out of the window. Did he see her any differently from the way Ted had done? A bit of decoration to be used when he felt like it.

Ted.

Ginny was surprised to realise she hadn't really thought about him for weeks. The timid little thing who used to jump like a scared rabbit every time she heard a sudden noise, fearing it might be him, was gradually fading away. She no longer looked nervously over her shoulder at every single shadow, scared out of her wits that he might be standing there, asking for a bed for the night, because Nellie had locked the door on him. Or because Dilys was fed up with his womanising and – as she could now get by very nicely without him what with the extra money Ginny was sending for her and Susan – she'd thrown him out on his ear.

‘Want a fag?'

Ginny looked round, as though she was surprised to see Saunders sitting there.

‘Sorry. I was miles away.'

‘I could see.'

As he lit her cigarette, Ginny was still thinking about Susan and Ted: how she still missed Susan with all her heart, but how all she felt for Ted was contempt. Then Billy's hand brushed against hers and the confused feelings of desire and a still lingering self-doubt flooded through her again.

‘You okay?' Saunders asked. ‘I ain't upset you, have I?'

She shook her head. ‘No, I'm fine.'

And it was more or less true. She wasn't completely fine, maybe, but almost.

She didn't have Ted hanging around her neck, and she was actually having fun for a change, the sort of fun that made her feel like a woman again. She'd missed that feeling.

It was as though the excitement of the past weeks had begun to waken her from a long sleep, just as London itself was waking. She was leaving the drab blacks and greys of the bomb-sites behind and was embracing a world of brilliant Technicolor, a new way of life, where there was plenty for everyone and people were smiling again. Just as they did in the films.

And in the films, didn't the hero always win the girl?

Ginny took a deep breath, slowly raised her head and looked directly into Billy's eyes. If he really did think of her as just another bird, she was about to make a very big mistake.

‘You know what you said about not having to force yourself on me, Billy?'

‘Look, I didn't mean—'

‘It's all right, I just want you to know that I don't intend putting up a fight.'

Billy grinned happily as he reached across and opened the car door for her. ‘Well in that case, we'd better go back inside then, hadn't we? There ain't much room in these little motors for what I've got in mind.'

It was a Saturday afternoon in October and the autumn chill was really beginning to set in, but as Ginny walked along the wide London street, all she noticed was the beauty of the afternoon sun shining through the golden leaves of the plane trees. There was a spring in her step and she felt glad to be alive, as she headed for the private hotel, just around the corner from Claridge's, where she was meeting Leila for afternoon tea.

Not only was the club showing a healthy profit after being open for only a month – without her having to open any rooms ‘upstairs' – but, what was more, she was in love.

As Ginny paused at the hotel reception, Leila, who was already seated at their table, watched as she handed over a pile of bags and parcels, all bearing the names of exclusive shops, for safe keeping.

‘Bond Street, eh, sweetie?' Leila said, as Ginny joined her. ‘You've learned well.'

‘It's only what you taught me, Leila.' Ginny kissed Leila's offered cheek and sat down opposite her, moving the red-shaded lamp and the extravagant flower display to one side so they could see one another.

‘A few months ago, you wouldn't have dared touch that vase in case someone told you off.'

Ginny rolled her eyes. ‘I wasn't that bad.'

‘Weren't you?'

A formally dressed waiter appeared by their side.

‘Would you order, Leila?'

Leila did so.

Once the waiter was out of earshot, Ginny leaned across the table and whispered, ‘I still struggle with the way I talk sometimes, but I'm getting better.'

She took a gold case from her handbag and offered Leila a cigarette. ‘It is all down to you, Leila. Honestly. You gave me the confidence to do things. It's like when Billy told me to treat myself to something.' She jerked her thumb over her shoulder towards the reception desk. ‘I didn't argue, I just gave them shops a right caning.'

Leila took a deep lungful of smoke.

‘And I reckon it's down to you that I'm finding Ginny's so easy to run an' all. Hard work. But there's plenty of people helping me. You know, it still tickles me, having the place called after me.' She smiled happily. ‘I miss Soho, of course, and the girls, but I'm really happy being in charge.'

Leila smiled back at her. Much as she would have liked to knock Ginny down to size, telling her that she was no more running the place than the meanest lavatory cleaner, Leila would never break Billy's trust. It wasn't only loyalty that made her keep her mouth shut, she knew a side of Saunders that Ginny probably hadn't even imagined. ‘I'm pleased for you, darling,' she said. ‘Now, tell me all about it.'

As the waiter set their lavish tea before them, Ginny launched into an excited description of her life at the club, any shyness about her speech completely forgotten.

‘You should see the sort of people we get, Leila. Really surprising. I mean, it's in the middle of the East End, but I'm playing hostess to all sorts of customers. They're from “right across the social spectrum”, Billy says.'

As she poured tea into the delicate china cups, Leila had to stop herself from yelling out loud:
Billy says,
what do you know about what Billy says?