Tommy nodded. ‘Whatever you say, this is your show.’
Eamonn stared at him consideringly. ‘You’ll do,’ he said finally.
Tommy grinned and held up his glass in a toast. ‘Do you reckon we’re safe to smoke?’
Eamonn laughed. ‘Yeah, we’re far enough away not to do them any damage. Yet.’
An hour and a half later the five witnesses were in place and whisky was poured for them all. Thirty minutes earlier Eamonn had injected both condemned men with a massive dose of Demerol. They were high as the proverbial kites. He dropped matches on to them without a second’s thought.
Well fortified with Scotch, Eamonn and Tommy watched the spectacle impassively. The five witnesses, however, were not so lucky. They saw something they would never forget, and as far as Eamonn Docherty was concerned, that was exactly as it should be.
As the two men writhed on the floor, their hair and clothes being eaten by the flames, the witnesses stared in fascinated disgust. The smell of burning flesh was overpowering and the final twitching of the charred bodies obscene. Eamonn kept throwing on more petrol, making little explosions and flames erupt. He laughed while he did it and Tommy had to admit the man was an awesome sight.
When the spectacle was over, he turned to the others present, including Tommy, and said quietly: ‘Let that be a lesson to you all. It is what happens when you fuck with me and mine. I will hunt you to the ends of the earth if necessary, and enjoy myself while I do it. In future, you report to me or my designated go-between. You keep your mouths shut and your ambition on hold. I’ll give you all you want and more, but I will not tolerate anyone trying to branch out on their own. Do you all get the picture?’
Everyone nodded, even Tommy.
An hour later he and Eamonn were on their way to their hotel; they would drive back to London the next morning. In the car Tommy said quietly, ‘I can’t believe you did that so calmly.’
Eamonn shrugged. ‘It had to be done. There’s a lot at stake here. You have to understand that or you’re no good to us.’
Tommy lit a cigarette, grateful to see that his hands were not shaking any more.
‘Fancy a bit of supper before we retire to our virtuous couches?’ Eamonn suggested.
Tommy agreed. He didn’t want to be alone just yet. He wanted to be as drunk as a lord before he got into bed.
‘No steak or pork for me tonight, I don’t think. How about a Chinky?’ Eamonn went on.
‘Without the spare ribs?’ Tommy joked queasily.
Eamonn grinned. ‘But of course.’
Chapter Thirty-Two
Cathy and Desrae were soon back on their old footing. Both ashamed of themselves, they went out of their way to be kind to one another. Desrae even told himself that he would try to like Eamonn Docherty, if that’s what it took to make his surrogate daughter happy. Since Eamonn’s visit, Cathy had bloomed. She was up and dressed and in full make-up by seven-thirty every morning, but it was three days now since she had seen the Irishman and Desrae hoped he had not forgotten her.
As the days passed, Cathy ceased looking out of the window every ten seconds in the hope of seeing Eamonn come to her door. Now, with press attention focusing on other stories, they were talking about reopening the club for their regular customers. Cathy felt this would be the best thing for Desrae, and Desrae thought it would be the best thing for Cathy. Both of them needed to be busy for their own reasons.
Cathy was hurt inside, deeply wounded, that she had found Eamonn again only for him to abandon her once more. She went over and over their evening together and tried to see what she could have done to make him ignore her like this.
They had chatted, laughed and reminisced; they had talked of their childhood, their parents, and their lives since. He had kissed her as he’d left and she knew he had wanted her then. Should she have given in? After all, she had slept with Tommy when his father had died, and she didn’t love Tommy. Eamonn clearly wanted her but she had held back, even though she’d known then that he was the only man she could ever love.
As she walked from the flat towards the club, Cathy was hailed by the Soho regulars. Her eyes were sad and her heart heavy, but she smiled and waved at everyone, stopping to talk to one of the hostesses from the Diamond Mine, a particularly rough club.
As she joked with the girl, her mind was still on Eamonn Docherty. His deep blue eyes and thick dark hair were all she could think of; his heavy body, muscular and strong, tormented her.
She walked into the shop fronting the club and smiled at Casper the manager. He was fifty-five with sparkling green eyes, a wrinkled face and the worst toupee anyone had ever seen. He had worn it for over twenty-five years and no one could remember what he looked like without it. Even when he paid one of his hostesses for twenty minutes of her time he didn’t take it off and it was one of Soho’s longest standing jokes.
But Casper, for all his ridiculous appearance and jokey manner, was a face in his own right, and one to be reckoned with in the West End. Everyone knew he could be very aggressive, dangerous if pushed, and consequently he was respected. If there was one person he really liked, though, it was Cathy Duke. He instantly noticed the sadness in her eyes.
‘Are you all right, love? You look a bit under the weather. How’s Desrae? He’s coping, ain’t he?’
‘Yes. He’s taking it hard but that’s to be expected really. We’re going to get the club going again. I thought it might be good for him, give him something to do instead of moping.’
Casper nodded solemnly. ‘Good idea. I don’t know how many people have rung about it like. You’ve lost a lot of business. There’s a new one opening in Old Compton Street, above a shop. Small-time, I reckon, mainly for the working-class poofters, but whatever, it’s all competition for you. If Joey had been alive he wouldn’t have swallowed that, eh?’
Cathy listened in silence, her mind not really on business.
‘Still, I reckon young Tommy won’t swallow it either so you’d best be prepared for a bit of the old aggro soon. I hear the owner of the club is a Malteser, Victor Bagglioni. What a fucking gobful of a name that is, eh? I don’t like foreigners. Nothing personal like, they just ain’t right, are they?’
He always made Cathy smile. Putting a hand on his arm, she said, ‘Don’t change, Casper, you’re a real tonic.’
He reddened. He liked to make his remarks as outrageous as possible, liked to shock people, and yet he knew that Cathy Duke was one of the few people who saw through him. Realised that deep down he was lonely, unhappy with his lot, but unable to change his way of life.
‘There could be trouble here, Cathy,’ he warned her gently.
She nodded and went through to the club to pour herself a brandy. It felt strange to be back, a different place now there was no prospect of seeing Joey stride in, shouting the odds and quelling any troublemakers with one glance of his hooded eyes.
‘You’d better get in touch with Tommy,’ Casper advised.
Cathy nodded, but no one had heard from him in days. Suddenly, after the tip off about the Maltese, she was frightened.
Eamonn was tired, but he knew he had to see Cathy. Now that everything was sorted out he had a few days to himself and she was the first thing on his agenda. As he made his way to the flat she lived in, he was whistling.
Then he saw her.
She was dressed simply in a cheesecloth blouse and long lemon-coloured skirt. She was braless and he could see the movement of her breasts through the thin fabric. Her long blonde hair was pulled back by two combs and her narrow waist emphasised by a thick yellow belt. She looked like every other girl in 1970s London, except she was more beautiful than anyone he had ever seen in his life. The longing for her was still there and she brought back memories he had thought buried for ever.
As he watched her easy stride, he remembered their chaotic home in Bethnal Green, and the feeling of absolute calm she’d engendered in him then. As long as they’d had one another they were fine. He had used and abused her, and he knew that. But such was the bigness of Cathy’s heart, she had forgiven him.
While still children they had been through more than most people would ever have to face in a whole lifetime. Yet they had found something in each other that had made them resilient, exceptionally close, fated to love because their lives were so similar and so blighted they could only ever find true happiness together. Only with one another could they really be whole.
As Cathy caught sight of him Eamonn saw a smile light up her lovely face and his heart opened up to her. She ran to him, eyes bright and smile wide and trusting. How could he ever have hurt someone like Cathy? he wondered. Well, he was a different person now, with nothing to prove to anyone. He would treat her right this time, he swore to himself.
‘Were you coming round to me?’ Her voice was eager and hopeful.
‘Where else would I be going? But listen, Cathy, come to my hotel. We can talk properly there. I don’t think Desrae approves of me.’
It was said jokingly but Cathy understood him and nodded. She knew she should go home and tell Desrae about the trouble at the club and her worries over Tommy’s disappearance. She knew exactly what she should do but, just like before, when Eamonn whistled she ran.
This time he would get anything he wanted from her.
Anything at all.
Cathy was impressed with Eamonn’s hotel suite and it showed. The Ritz had been just a name to them as children; certainly neither of them had ever dreamed they would get to stay there one day. She was entranced by the decor, the ornamental mouldings, subtle colours and rich brocaded curtains.
The huge double bed was also fascinating, because Cathy knew she was going to end up in it and felt both frightened and exhilarated at the same time. For all her newfound confidence, being with Eamonn once more made her feel like a naive young girl again.
Opening a bottle of champagne, he grinned at her. ‘Real Dom Perignon, not the watered-down shit you serve in your club.’
Cathy took the cut-glass flute from him and grinned. ‘There’s fuck all wrong with our champagne, mate. It’s real enough, it’s just no one’s ever heard of the label.’
They both laughed.
Sitting beside her on the brocade love seat, he hugged her to him. ‘I’ve missed you. I tried to ring but I was just so snowed under. I’ve been up to Liverpool, sorting out a few things.’
Cathy drank her glass of champagne in one long gulp and Eamonn laughed.
‘I’m impressed. That’s twenty quid a bottle. I can see this afternoon is going to cost me the national debt!’
Cathy was feeling light-headed with the unaccustomed champagne on top of the large brandy she had had earlier to calm her nerves.
‘Why are you in England, Eamonn? The other night you talked and talked but didn’t really tell me much.’
She was shrewd, he already knew that. Now he debated how much to tell her.
As he looked down into her eyes, she reached up and kissed him gently on the lips. ‘I’ve missed you so much, Eamonn. All the feelings from before, they’re still there inside me. You’re the only man I have cared about, both as a friend and a lover.’
As he kissed her back, the old feelings stirred inside her. The feeling of being a part of someone, of being safe. As his fingers explored her breasts and face she felt the first promptings of desire, and rejoiced.
Taking her into the bedroom, Eamonn closed the heavy drapes and watched as she undressed. She was so shy, so obviously inexperienced, and this endeared her to him even more. Eamonn was used to predatory women by now. His wife, convent girl and devoted mother, was an aggressive lover. But Cathy, who worked in Soho and lived her daily life surrounded by sex, was timid.
Slipping naked into bed, she waited for him. The sheets were cold and her body was tingling with goosebumps, making her more aware of it than she had ever been before. As he undressed she watched him; the champagne was making her feel more relaxed, warm inside.
Practically leaping into bed, Eamonn ripped the covers from her and stared at her in the half-light. ‘You’re beautiful, Cathy.’
He touched one breast very gently. Kneeling beside her on the bed, he stared down at her in fascination. Cathy watched his face as he touched her then his mouth was closing around one nipple. She moaned. He was biting her now, very gently, making her want him more.
Opening her legs, he moved down her body and began to caress her with his tongue.
Eamonn was expert at oral sex, he knew that. Many women had squirmed beneath him and he loved it when he made them come, felt their orgasm. He used all his considerable skill on Cathy, rousing her to fever pitch until eventually he entered her. Riding her now, he watched her full breasts bouncing with each of his thrusts. Her tiny waist made them look bigger and he felt all the excitement of the visual aspect of sex, observing her as she moved beneath him.
Her eyes were closed, lips parted, long hair trailing over her face. He felt her orgasm build and encircle him, finally casting her adrift on the hard rhythmic thrusting that brought him swiftly to a shattering climax.
As he collapsed on top of her, she gathered him into her arms, hugging him to her. He kissed and nuzzled her. ‘Oh Cathy, Cathy. That was wonderful . . . I’ve wanted you so much . . . you wouldn’t believe.’
She lay beneath him, face buried in his neck, her body tingling still, revelling in the touch of his skin on hers.
Pulling himself up, he gazed down into her face and said gently, ‘You enjoyed it, didn’t you?’
Cathy smiled tremulously and nodded. He gathered her to him once more and they lay together in silence as he waited for his heart to stop its erratic beating and his breathing to return to normal. She wasn’t lively, like his usual women, but then this was his Cathy, the girl he loved.