Songbird. Josephine Cox
himself to say anything.
So, the moment passed, and with it his opportunity to tell her how he felt.
As they went up the steps and into the house, Betsy never knew how close he had come to sharing this last secret with her. From the relative safety of her hiding place, the woman watched them disappear into the house. ‘So young,’ she sighed. ‘Such a lovely couple.’ She drew away. ‘My life is over now, but they’ve got all their lives in front of them. Don’t be like me … so much heartache,’ she muttered brokenly. ‘Don’t waste your chances of happiness.’
Turning from the window, she drew the curtains together and ambled across the room to the sideboard. In the light from the small lamp, she opened the drawer and took out a bundle of papers tied with string.
Taking them with her to the chair, she sat down and for a moment made no move to open the bundle. Instead she laid herself back in the chair, and allowed the anger to envelop her. ‘I stood up to him once,’ she murmured proudly, ‘Oh, but he was such an evil man … an evil, evil man!’
Taking a moment to compose herself, she then untied the string and laid it carefully across her lap, then the same with the bulk of the parcel. Rummaging through the photographs, she found the one she was looking for. It was a photograph of herself many years ago. She gazed down on it with fondness. ‘That was me!’ she whispered incredulously. ‘I may be haggard and worn now, but there was a time when I could hold my head high.’
Clothed in a clinging dress that drew in at the waist and fell naturally over her young figure, and with her long dark hair caught in a black bandana about her head, she looked amazing. ‘I remember that dress as it was yesterday,’ she chuckled joyfully. ‘Purest ivory it was, with a sweetheart neckline, and a teasing split at the hem …’ She laughed out loud. ‘Cost me a week’s wages it did!’
Her mood sobered. ‘That was the night it all started to go wrong,’ she whispered, laying the photograph on her lap.
Having taken a few minutes to reminisce, she glanced again at the photograph and a whimsical expression crept over her features. ‘Was that really me,’ she asked wonderingly, ‘with a figure like that … up there on the stage with everyone looking at me, listening to me sing …’ She tried to recall the feelings, but like so much of her past, they were pushed to the depths of her mind.
She looked again at herself as a young woman with the world at her feet, and a sense of desolation took hold of her. ‘Come on now!’ she reprimanded herself. ‘It won’t hurt to remember the way it was … the laughter, the songs. You did nothing wrong, you have to remember that.’
Shyly glancing down to study the photograph once more, she gave a hearty laugh. ‘What a dress! And look at the black patent-leather high heels, oh, and the silk-stockings. It’s all coming back … and how it riled him, when the men couldn’t take their eyes off me.’ She groaned. ‘Hmh! If they could see me now, they wouldn’t even help me across the road, and who could blame them, eh?’
Standing the photograph on the mantelpiece, she began gently swirling and dancing around, losing herself in the joy of yesteryear. In her head she could hear the soft music of her favourite song, ‘I Believe’. Twirling and swaying, she began to sing …
One of her all time favourite songs was ‘I Believe’. As she sang it how her heart was filled with joy as the poignant words took her back over the years …
All alone now, with no audience and no wickedness waiting for her, she danced in the twilight, lost herself in the song, and for a while she felt incredibly free. It was easy to imagine herself back there, in the night club, with the people looking up, their hearts and minds tuned into the song and the music.
But always in the wings or leaning on the bar … he was there watching … waiting.
She could see him now, dark and menacing in her mind’s eye. It was a bad feeling.
PART TWO
London, 1978
CHAPTER THREE
HE HAD ALWAYS been confident that Madeleine would return to him. But on this particular night, he had no inkling that she was about to make a surprise entrance.
Alice Mulligan knew though, and she had done everything in her power to dissuade the girl from coming back to a man who had proved time and time again that he could make her life a misery. But her young friend was utterly besotted with their boss.
Steve Drayton had never accepted any of the blame for the couple’s rows. And this time, as usual, he believed himself to be the injured party.
Turning to Alice, the manageress of his club, the Pink Lady Cabaret Bar off Soho Square, he murmured, ‘If I find out she’s left me for another bloke, I swear to God … she’ll live to regret it.’ He stared at the little Irishwoman suspiciously. ‘You know something about this, don’t you? Thick as thieves, you two are. As a matter of fact, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if you’d known where she was all along. All right – out with it! Where is she? Is she with another man? Is that why you’re afraid to tell me?’
When Alice chose not to answer, but merely carried on removing notes from the cash register to transfer to the office safe, he grabbed her by the shoulders and almost lifted her off her feet. ‘Answer me, woman!’ he hissed. ‘Where is she?’
‘Well now, you’d best ask her that yourself, hadn’t you? You being the big boss-man an’ all.’ Small in stature but big in courage, Alice had been around the block a few times and was not one to be intimidated by the likes of Steve Drayton.
‘Don’t you get clever with me,’ he growled. ‘No one’s indispensable, lady!’
With a flick of her head, Alice gestured to the door. ‘Like I said, she’s here now, so you can ask her yourself, can’t you?’
The open street-door sent a rush of cool air through the smoke-filled haze of the nightclub. Curious, he glanced up, and there she was: the Songbird, star of the show – his woman.
Though secretly relieved to see her, Steve was inwardly seething with anger, vowing that he would make the bitch pay for humiliating him. But he was cunning enough not to show his feelings here, in front of all these adoring people. Madeleine was a valuable asset, the reason why his club had flourished. In the early days, when he had let his gambling habits get the better of him, her charismatic appeal and popularity as a singer had brought him back from the brink of financial ruin. He still owed money to some undesirable types, but was reluctant to settle his debts. Steve Drayton never liked to pay what he owed. Arrogant and selfish, he played on his sexual appeal to get what he wanted – from women – and sometimes from men, too.
In the three weeks or so since Maddy had gone on the trot, his takings had dipped to an uncomfortable level. Deeply concerned, Steve had searched high and low, had even put the word out on the streets, but to no avail. The girl had simply disappeared.
Meanwhile, Steve had recruited other entertainers but they were no substitute for Madeleine. She had a certain special something – the punters came back to hear her time and again. ‘Songbird’ was what all the regulars called her. Or, ‘our own Pink Lady’ when she wore one of her glamorous pink stage dresses. Her accompanying musicians, pianist and bass-player Dave and Dino, were very grumpy without her. In desperation, with clients and money rapidly dwindling, Steve had been forced to sack the odd cleaner and even one of his two chefs but that was merely throwing out ballast to keep the ship afloat.
The truth was, only the loyal and the believers had continued to frequent his bar, in the hope that she would be back.
Well, here she was, and now the atmosphere was charged with excitement. But for all that, he was determined to teach her a lesson.
Shoving