‘What could I tell him? I don’t know where you are.’
‘It’s very important, Vera, that if he calls again you tell him I’m coming home and I’ll be at your place.’
‘He asked after the baby,’ Vera said, ‘but he wouldn’t give his name. Are you with Jimmy? That no good bloody husband of yours?’
Trudie hesitated and then lied, ‘Yeah, I’m with Jimmy, but I’m coming home, all right?’
She hung up. Vera lit a cigarette. She suspected Trudie was in trouble, she usually was. And that so-called failure of a racing driver that was her husband would probably be part of her problems. Vera was sick to death of always having to pick up the pieces for Trudie. It sounded like she’d have to put up with her living in her flat. She was not going to enjoy telling her partner when he came off night duty.
The main office was now the girls’ dressing room. Extra lights had been placed round the makeshift make-up tables and racks of dresses lined up. The dresser was carefully checking that the accessories to go with each garment were tagged and listed: belts, scarves, shoes — everything ready for the quick changes.
It was organized chaos. The girls were at various stages of dressing and undressing, while hairdressers teased and set hair, Carmen rollers everywhere, hairdryers blowing. Make-up artists were equally busy painting faces and bodies. From down in the club, music could be heard, the hubbub of voices, people rushing in and out.
Shirley had been made up and her hair was being backcombed into a high punk style, sprayed with golden highlights. Myra was having a fit over a dress that she screamed had been designed for a stuffed elephant.
Standing at the door with her clipboard was Mrs. Harper, the petite but fearsome-looking woman in charge of the jewel collection. She had to shout at the top of her voice to be heard over the babble as she began calling the order of the girls to accompany her to the main office for the jewels to be matched with the outfits.
Myra and Shirley were first.
‘Please get a move on, girls!’ she shouted. ‘The press have already started to arrive.’
All the noise had given Shirley a stabbing pain in one eye, while the girl was pulling at her hair mercilessly, molding it into shape.
Jukko screamed her name. She still wasn’t in her dress, and the dresser bustled over and started to shake out a delicate, shiny silk and chiffon gown.
Myra was now dressed and moving toward the door, yelling that she had asked to wear the chiffon, but they’d stuck her in a ghastly-looking old sack! She stormed out.
Inside the club it was a different kind of bedlam: the final drapes were being hammered round the catwalk, floral displays had been plonked on every available table, as the tables had not been dressed yet, and the rows and rows of gilt chairs sat tiered, ready to be placed round the catwalk. All the while the music belted out, while the constant comings and goings of dressers and models made the room seem like a bus station during rush hour.
A group of pressmen sat round a table drinking coffee, cigarette smoke creating a haze above their heads. They were checking cameras, complaining about being kept hanging round, while keeping a professional eye on all the half-naked women running in and out. Among them was Colin Soal, unshaven, relaxed, wearing a raincoat, and sporting his press card and pass. Twice he looked over to the fire exit doors, then got up and stretched.
‘Just going to see what’s the best angle to get the girls, eh?’ he said with a dirty laugh, before going on a casual wander round the club.
On instinct, the pressmen all looked up. One of the models, wearing only a long skirt, was yelling for Jukko. One of them managed to aim his camera, but the model had already run back into the dressing room.
Colin Soal held his camera to his eye while backing carefully toward the fire exit door. He quietly released the crossbar, all the time making out that he was just trying to get a good shot of the catwalk. Then he moved off to fire exit number two. He needn’t have worried about the two security guards standing on duty outside the manager’s office; their eyes were out on stalks as one half-naked woman after another rushed past. He released the bar on fire exit number two just as one of the guards was holding the office door open for Shirley.
At King’s Cross Station, Dolly was running from one phone booth to another, but they were all out of order. The only one that seemed to be working was occupied — a big man in a raincoat talking loudly on it. Bella stood outside and glared at him, but he just turned his back.
‘Emergency!’ Dolly shouted desperately, banging her fist on the side of the booth.
The man took one look at the wild-eyed woman outside and quickly put the phone in its cradle. Bella pushed past him into the booth and started dialing.
Shirley stood at the manager’s desk, which was draped with a large piece of black velvet on which the jewels were laid out, some tagged, matching earrings, necklaces and bracelets grouped together. Myra, adorned in emeralds, was moodily complaining about the weight pulling on her earlobes.
‘Emeralds, diamonds and gold cluster,’ noted Mrs. Harper.
‘I don’t give a fuck — they’re killing me!’ she moaned, but Mrs. Harper just shooed her away and motioned for Shirley to move closer. She studied her for a moment, then spoke to a small, immaculately dressed man seated at the desk.
‘The diamonds, I think, with this dress.’
The small man nodded, replying to Mrs. Harper in French. She laughed and placed the diamonds round Shirley’s neck.
Shirley could see what Myra was complaining about: they were heavy. Mrs. Harper added earrings, then slipped a bracelet on to Shirley’s wrist and stood back. Speaking in French to the dapper little man, she looked her up and down, gesturing for her to turn. Satisfied, she made a note on her board and sent Shirley to the catwalk.
As she reached the door, Mrs. Harper stopped her. ‘Oh, Shirley...’
Shirley felt her heart miss a beat.
‘As soon as they’ve photographed that set, come straight back — just security. Thank you, dear.’ She beckoned the next model in, a Chinese girl.
Shirley walked out and took her place at the far end of the catwalk. Myra was up ahead of her, posing for single shots, muttering all the time about the wankers clicking away below her. Shirley reckoned she must be wearing over a million pounds’ worth of diamonds and she could feel the watchful eyes of the two security guards behind her. The Chinese model was moving up behind her, covered in pearls.
As Myra finished her session and slouched back up the ramp, she goosed Shirley, snorting at the Chinese girl as she passed.
‘You dive down for all those pearls, darling? Your hair looks as if you did.’
The girl turned to give Myra a mouthful, but Myra was already being whisked into the office, her dresser standing by with her change of dress.
Shirley stood at the end of the ramp, turning, smiling, holding poses the way Myra did it. The cameras clicked away, while Mrs. Harper started giving detailed descriptions of the gems to the photographers.
Bella had almost reached screaming point. The police had put her through to various different stations, each one asking the caller’s name and what department she wanted.
Dolly snatched the phone. They were now through to Kensington Police Station. Dolly didn’t care which bloody department they were talking to, she just barked out names — Harry Rawlins being number one — and the details of the raid.
‘Never mind my name, just bloody listen! There’s a raid, understand me, an armed raid on Amanda’s nightclub, and it’s happening right now!’
Dolly slammed down the phone and ran across the train station.
‘Come on! We’ve got to get to the club and warn Shirley to get out of there.’