Then Shirley let herself go and just did whatever he asked her to.
‘Run your fingers through your hair, that’s it. Hairdresser! Hairdresser!’ And there was the hairdresser teasing her hair, giving her a wink, and the make-up girl redoing her lips.
‘That’s a lovely girl. Hold that, Shirley, hold that.’
Shirley lost track of time as they went through roll after roll of film, and all the while he was telling her how beautiful she was, how perfect. Then he changed tack.
‘Now give me something a bit different, different mood, lips parted slightly, that’s it. Now think of something sad, something really sad — yes! That’s it. Just hold it like that.’ And all of a sudden it was as if Shirley was frozen. She’d thought of Linda, and as the photographer kept snapping away, telling her how brilliant she was, how beautiful, the tears started to slide down her cheeks.
The camera kept clicking, and then he called for a rest.
He nodded enthusiastically to Shirley. ‘That was a good session, darling. I’ve got some really good stuff.’
Shirley slid off the stool and ran to the make-up room.
He turned to the hairdresser. ‘What do you reckon?’
The hairdresser pursed his lips thoughtfully. ‘I think she’s special. She could really do something.’
‘She’s a bit neurotic, though — all that bursting into tears,’ the make-up girl chipped in.
The photographer began packing away the lights. ‘Well, darling, all the really good ones are — they’re all neurotic. I mean, if all you’ve got is a face, wouldn’t you be?’
The hairdresser was quite surprised the photographer hadn’t made a pass at Shirley. Rumor had it he’d been through most of the beautiful faces in London.
Then he saw Micky Tesco walk into the studio and instantly knew why.
Micky gave a brief nod to the photographer, then turned to the hairdresser.
‘How’d it go?’
‘Fine, Micky. New girlfriend, is it?’
Micky smiled his charming, lopsided smile. ‘You might be right; there again, you might be wrong.’
The hairdresser packed up his tools and his scissors in his neat little bag. He’d never liked Micky, ever since they worked on a shoot together, finding him big-headed and pushy. And he’d heard plenty more about him since. Like he was a nasty piece of work, and even that he’d been put away for five years.
‘How’s Marion? You still seeing Marion Gordon?’ he asked with a wry smile.
‘Don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Micky replied, giving him a cool stare.
The hairdresser zipped up his bag, tucked it under his arm and left the studio.
The make-up girl was chatting away to Shirley, trying to cheer her up, when Micky tapped on the door and walked in. He took one look and couldn’t keep the surprise from his face. She looked fantastic.
She was also half-naked.
Shirley put her hands across her breasts shyly, and Micky said, ‘Sorry, I’ll wait outside.’
The make-up girl gave Shirley a nudge. ‘That your feller? He’s lovely looking, isn’t he?’
Shirley just smiled.
‘Is he your feller, or not? If he isn’t, give me a chance. I’ll move in on that!’
Shirley didn’t answer. She began to pull the Sellotape off her breasts. She looked in the mirror and she could see why Micky had been so impressed. And then Linda’s face floated in front of her again. Shirley reached for a dressing gown, tears swelling up.
The make-up girl sighed. Not again! What an odd girl. Oh well, you meet all sorts in this business. She began filling her make-up box with all her bottles and tubes. You had to admit, though, neurotic as she was, she’d certainly landed a good-looking bloke.
Sonny Chizzel’s antique shop was almost as neat and elegant as he was, with his tailored suit and cravat, his pink, clean-shaven face and his coiffured white hair. He’d never seen the woman before. She seemed nervous, well-spoken but rather shabbily dressed. The little ormolu clock she’d brought in was a very nice piece, though, and he reckoned he could get at least two grand for it.
He took his eyeglass out and put the clock down as the doorbell pinged. He hadn’t seen Gordon Murphy for at least five years, but he wasn’t the sort of man you forget. He gave Murphy a curt nod and turned back to examining the clock.
Murphy put down his briefcase, looking round the shop. Sonny hadn’t changed; he was still into this fancy Louis Quatorze stuff. He inspected an ornate dresser, tracing the inlaid wood. It was so highly polished that he could see Sonny and the woman as if he was looking in a mirror. The woman saw him observing her and pulled her headscarf round her face.
Murphy watched Sonny at work. He was a crafty old bastard, always had been. Sonny removed the eyeglass, put it down carefully, then gave a little shake of his head.
‘Mmmm, the timer’s gone, inlay missing, see... here... here... To be honest, I don’t know if I can take it... I could give you one-fifty — best I can do.’
Again the woman looked at Murphy, then turned back to the counter.
Sonny put his eyeglass in again, held the clock up, then put it down. ‘As I said, one-fifty. It’s up to you, love. Take it or leave it.’
Murphy listened to the woman trying to argue, and felt sorry for her.
‘It was my mother’s. I’m sure it’s worth more than that — it’s good, a good clock...’
Sonny shrugged. ‘Yes, well, it doesn’t work, sweetheart. Look, I tell you what, and this is my last offer — one-sixty. Now, I can’t go any higher than that. As I said, your timer’s gone, there’s inlay missing, it’s gonna take a lot of work. I’m gonna have to take this down to the workshop anyway. I mean, it’s not original, darling, it’s a copy.’
The woman nodded. ‘Yes, all right.’
Sonny picked up the clock, wrapped it in its newspaper and shoved it under the counter, then disappeared into the back of the shop, the inner sanctum.
Murphy was now opening a roll-top desk, touching the beautiful carving with his fingers. The woman was definitely edgy. Murphy wondered if the clock had been nicked. But she didn’t look like a regular or anybody he recognized. Mind you, nowadays, everybody was dealing in hot stuff. That was the way life was. He saw Sonny come out of the back room and hand over the cash. The woman pocketed it fast, fast enough to convince Murphy that the clock was more than likely hot. If Sonny Chizzel had taken a bit more time, he’d have realized it too, but he was acutely aware that Murphy wanted something. And Murphy was not a man to keep waiting.
As soon as the woman left the shop, Gordon Murphy went to the door. Sonny watched him turn the key, turn the OPEN notice to CLOSED and pull the blind down.
‘What do you want?’ Sonny asked nervously.
Murphy picked up the case. ‘Business. We talk in the back?’
Sonny hesitated for a moment. He looked at the briefcase in Murphy’s hand, then gestured for Murphy to follow him out back.
Shirley looked round her mother’s kitchen. It was a tip: the ironing board up, with a basket of ironing waiting to be done, the washing machine going, breakfast things still on the kitchen table — even the back door stood half-open.
‘Mum!’ she called out, but there was no reply. Then she heard what sounded like a radio playing in the bedroom. She put her bags down on the kitchen table and went through. Her mother’s bedroom was in the same state as the kitchen. She paused outside her own bedroom door.
‘Lift your right leg. Now hold... straighten... and lower. Lift your left leg and hold... straighten... and lower. Now, lift both legs together... lift... hold. Don’t strain, whatever you do, ladies, don’t strain... lift... and hold... and down...’ Shirley opened the door. It was a jumble of ladders, pots of paint, sheets thrown over her bed. Audrey was sitting on a chair, smoking a cigarette, her feet up on a box. She was reading a copy of Woman’s Own, as the radio cassette player on the floor beside her continued, ‘...and relax. Now lift both legs again, hold... straighten...’