Jazz Baby (11 page)

‘I don't want your bloody charity. I can look after myself.'

‘I'm sure you can but why kick a gift horse in the mouth? We go back a long way.'

‘Shame you didn't think about it when you flew off and left me for dead.'

Gritting his back teeth Jack sucked in a stream of air through his nostrils, willing his muscles to relax. ‘I'm not talking about what's past. Let's concentrate on today, on the future.'

‘You might be able to put the sodding past behind you — in case you hadn't noticed I've got a constant reminder.'

Jack refused to be drawn. He could do nothing about the past; nevertheless, there was a hell of a lot he could do about Ted's future, and if nothing else he could pull him out of his dead-end attitude. Ted wasn't alone. Thousands of others had come back from the war with horrendous injuries — and they were the lucky ones. Far more lay scattered across the fields of France and Flanders, never mind the rest of the world. He decided to push it — and this time he'd be ready if Ted started throwing punches.

‘I've got a couple of things going on which I could use some help with. First, this new airline up in Queensland. They're looking for pilots and — '

‘Not one-eyed pilots. My flying days are over, mate. I might have survived but I won't be doing any more flying.'

Heat flooded Jack's face. How could he have been so bloody stupid? So insensitive. Once he got talking to Ted he forgot about his eye. To the extent he'd forgotten the implications. He groaned. ‘Shit. I'm sorry, I didn't think.' He swallowed quickly, determined to regain his composure and follow through. ‘There's Millie's too. I bankrolled her and — '

‘You did what?'

Oh, God. Whatever had made him say that?

Ted took two steps towards him, bristling with aggression. ‘You own Number Fifty-Four? You're telling me my sister is working in the brothel you own?'

‘She's not working in the fucking brothel. She's cleaning it, and last night she sang. She's good. You'd be proud of her. She's an amazing woman. Not a girl anymore. A woman.' Jack ducked as Ted's fist came flying at him. He slammed Ted up against the wall and pinned him. ‘Not again.'

Grabbing Ted's shoulders he threw him into the armchair and stood over him. ‘Don't move or I'll belt the living daylights out of you.'

The fight drained out of Ted and he slumped down. ‘Now do you get the picture? I'm bloody useless. No good to Dolly. No good to anyone.'

‘Crap! We'll sort something out and Dolly will be fine.' Jack wished he were as confident as his words sounded. Dolly would be fine once she got over the shock of seeing Ted for the first time. Maybe he could soften the blow, warn her of what to expect. What else could he sort out? He didn't know. It was becoming more and more obvious that Ted wouldn't take a handout.

Jack sank down into the other armchair and studied Ted, refusing to dwell on what might have been had he not left him for dead and flown off to take his fury out on the German plane.

When the doorbell broke the charged silence Jack heaved himself to his feet.

‘If that's Dolly and you've pulled some smart-arse trick, so help me I'll kill you,' Ted muttered from the depths of the chair.

‘I don't know who it is. I'm certain it's not Dolly. She doesn't know where I live and there's no way Millie would have told her.'

‘You better find out then,' Ted said as he dragged himself out of the chair. ‘I'll get out of your clothes and leave you to entertain your guest.'

‘Ted, take the clothes.' Exasperated, Jack turned the handle. The cloud of perfume hit him before the door fully opened.

‘Cynthia.'

‘I hope I'm not disturbing anything. I heard something about clothes.' Cynthia swanned in and when the door to Ted's room clicked shut she cast a curious glance around the room.

‘What can I do for you, Cynthia? It's earlier than the normal hours you keep.'

‘Aren't you going to invite me to sit down?' Her hawk-like gaze swooped in on the teapot and two cups. ‘I'm not interrupting, am I?' She draped her body over the arm of one chair and crossed her long legs. ‘It's certainly not Dolly you're entertaining because she's busy with her buckets and brooms at Millie's which, after the night she had, is an amazing feat of fortitude.'

Before Jack opened his mouth to reply the door to the bedroom flew open.

‘Watch what you're saying about my sister.'

Jack groaned aloud as Cynthia preened and her eyes grew round as cartwheels. Her mouth hung slack then she let out a dramatic, shuddering sigh.

He restrained a laugh. ‘Cynthia Burgess, may I introduce Edward Bowman, Dolly's brother.' He waited for Ted's response, expecting a mouthful.

‘Pleased to meet you.' A grin quirked Ted's mouth reminding Jack of the night they'd been caught with the beer bottles they'd purloined from the pub. Jack clamped his mouth closed, the weight lifting from his shoulders.

Ted hooked his fingers into his braces and strolled closer to Cynthia. He stopped just short of her to take a long deliberate look, from the top of her shiny blonde helmet of hair to the toes of her high-heeled shoes.

Nothing played out as Jack expected. The glimmer in Cynthia's eyes brightened and her tongue moistened her lips.

‘You know my sister, Dolly.' It wasn't a question — a statement of fact.

Cynthia nodded her head, her eyes never leaving Ted's face.

‘In that case you will understand why your remark upset me.' A slight menacing growl entered Ted's voice. Rather than intimidate Cynthia it encouraged her. She rose from the arm of the chair and stood almost nose-to-nose with Ted.

She studied him for a long moment, engrossed by the livid scar carving his face. ‘Don't be upset,' she purred, and ran a delicate nail down Ted's cheek. He didn't move or flinch; he stood as though cast in concrete.

The silence blanketing the room made Jack's skin prickle. He cleared his throat. Neither Cynthia nor Ted moved, oblivious to his presence.

Fascinated, Jack folded his arms and turned his attention to the view from the window, waiting. An apparent eternity passed and then the rustle of silk. He turned back to the room. Cynthia held Ted's hand clasped in hers as she led him to the sofa.

‘Cynthia, Ted is, that is we…' Jack shook his head trying to marshal his thoughts. If Cynthia went back to Millie's and said she had met Dolly's brother all hell would break loose. Dolly would demand to be brought here. Ted would take off again and they'd be back to square one.

‘Dolly thinks I'm dead.' Ted interrupted.

‘But you're not. Not at all,' Cynthia said.

‘No. No, I'm not.' Ted raised his eyebrows, his concentration firmly fixed somewhere below Cynthia's face.

She threw her shoulders back and gave one of her ridiculous shivers. The next moment she'd be peeling off her clothes. Unable to contain himself a moment longer, Jack shouted, ‘Cynthia, it is absolutely imperative you don't tell Dolly Ted is alive.'

She dragged her eyes from Ted. ‘If Ted was
my
brother I would want to know he was alive.' She turned back and smiled at Ted. ‘You should tell her.'

‘Not yet,' Ted said, his voice calm. ‘Maybe when I'm more sorted.'

His words made Jack want to scream aloud in frustration. Why couldn't Ted have replied as sanely to him? Why the hell did it take a woman to make him rational?

‘Right. Then that's settled. Cynthia, you do promise you won't say anything to Dolly,' Jack said.

‘I wouldn't dream of doing anything Ted didn't want. Don't be silly.' Her topaz eyes widened as her stare roamed Ted's body coming to rest on his scarred face.

Ted sucked in a loud breath.

‘Would you like to come for a walk, Ted? I thought, as it is such a lovely sunny day.'

‘Ah, Ted doesn't…' Jack began.

‘It's not exactly what I have in mind,' Ted said, standing and offering Cynthia his hand. ‘It'll do for a start and we'll see where it takes us.'

As the door closed behind them Jack sank into the armchair and exhaled slowly. Cynthia had achieved in a matter of moments everything he had planned for the day and now he was at a loose end.

Dolly flayed against the intrusion. Someone was dragging her back up through a thick pea soup of sleep. Her eyes refused to open and her heavy and uncoordinated limbs might as well have been sacks of coal.

‘Come on, Dolly, you have to wake up. It's time for tea. Everyone attends tea — and dressed — so hurry up. It's Mrs Mack's only unbreakable rule. Wash that bleary look off your face and get cracking.' Alice reefed the bedclothes off her bed, destroying the blissful warmth of her blanketed cocoon.

Groaning, Dolly rolled on her side and sat up. Exhausted by a full day's work on top of a night without sleep she hardly cared if she broke any or all of Mrs Mack's rules. All she wanted was sleep. She yawned and collapsed back on the bed.

A cold washer smacked against her face making her splutter.

‘Dolly! Get up.'

‘All right, all right. I'm getting up and I'm going to go downstairs, show myself and come straight back up to bed.'

‘No singing?' Alice asked, aghast. ‘You promised.'

‘No. I didn't.'

‘Yes. You did. Right at the end of the evening. You promised the Jazz Baby would be back tomorrow night with new songs and something special.'

‘New songs and something special?' Dolly groaned. ‘I haven't got any new songs and I don't feel very special at all, in fact I feel distinctly odd.'

‘That's just from sleeping away the afternoon. Come along. If you get dressed now you'll have time to chat with Lawrence before everyone arrives and work out what you're singing tonight.'

‘I don't want to sing. I want to sleep.'

‘No, you want to sing. You told me and everyone else last night you'd found your vocation and you were going to be a singer.' The big jab Alice gave her ribs hurt. ‘The show must go on. Get moving.'

Staggering to the patterned bowl on the washstand in the corner of the room she splashed in water from the matching jug and wrung out the washer, wincing at the cold as she wiped it under her arms.

‘What are you going to wear?'

‘My new frock,' she said as she scrubbed her face. What else could she possibly wear?

‘You can't wear the same thing you wore last night.' Alice sounded incredulous, as though lack of sleep had rendered Dolly devoid of reason.

‘I haven't got any choice. If you remember it is the only frock I have. We bought it together. Unless you want me to sing wearing that rag?' Disgruntled and sick of all the hoopla and excitement, Dolly pointed to the crumpled mess of faded cotton lying at the foot of her bed.

‘You can borrow this if you like — we're about the same size.' As she spoke Alice opened the wooden wardrobe and pulled out a russet red velvet shift. Unadorned it hung loosely from the hanger. The thin shoulder straps barely kept it in place. Alice rotated it slowly and Dolly gasped when the back — or lack of it — came into view.

‘I can't wear that!'

‘Of course you can.'

Alice handed her the frock. ‘You just need these.' She lifted the mattress of her bed and eased out a small leather pouch then upended the contents into her cupped hand. Mesmerised, Dolly stared as Alice extracted a length of smooth, lustrous pearls. ‘The perfect accompaniment.'

Dolly gaped. ‘Where did you get those?'

‘Ask no questions and I'll tell no lies.' Alice grinned. ‘Don't worry, I didn't steal them. I was given them both. The dress belonged to an old friend of mine and I've been saving it for a special someone. I just didn't know it was going to be you.' Alice's words carried a whimsical note and she gave a wan smile.

‘I can't, Alice.' Dolly shook her head. ‘Thank you, but I can't wear your special frock or your pearls.'

‘Oh, yes you can and yes you will. You didn't believe me when I took you shopping and look how I turned you from a turkey into a peacock. This…' she turned the gorgeous frock on the hanger, ‘this will turn you into a princess — a very up-market Jazz Baby princess. When you make your first hundred pounds singing you can buy your own pearls and
me
a new dress.'

Dolly brushed a tear from the corner of her eye. Alice had done it again. ‘I don't know how to thank you. You are the very best friend I've ever had — the only best friend I've ever had.'

‘Come on. Enough of that sop. Let's get you into this thing.'

Dolly eased the frock off the hanger inhaling the dusky scent of rose clinging to the soft velvet and made to slip it over her head.

‘Stop!' Alice grabbed at the frock.

Dolly froze, quaking. Had she in some way managed to destroy the beautiful creation before she'd even slipped it over her head?

‘Take your underwear off.'

‘What?' The squeak in Dolly's voice filled her head.

‘You can't wear those bloomers and that camisole with it. It'll show and spoil the lines.

‘I can't…I can't…'

‘Yes. You can. No one will know. And it isn't cut to have anything worn underneath it. The material is so soft it will cling to every part of you.'

‘That's what I'm worried about.'

‘It'll be fine.'

Dolly gulped in some air and fanned her flaming face.

‘I'll turn my back. Now strip and put it on. I'm counting to ten. One…'

Too tired to argue Dolly dropped the frock onto the chair and stripped off her camisole and knickers. Goosebumps invaded every inch of her body.

‘Eight…nine.'

Grasping the frock she dropped it over her head. The caress of the soft velvet smoothed away the bumps that peppered her skin.