The newspaper reported that Julia’s houseboy had been arrested and charged with her murder. The motive for the killing was obviously robbery.
Neither Edward nor Skye waited around to hear the outcome of the murder trial. The houseboy was jailed for life.
Book Three
Chapter fourteen
The last eight years had been good, no one could deny that, Dora least of all. She and Alex had moved into the lucrative years of the flourishing London clubland. She had changed her looks — now she went in for the Diana Dors style, with pencil-slim skirts, shoulder-length hair and pale lipsticks. She always wore thick, false eyelashes, with midnight-blue mascara, and she had made sure she kept her figure. She squeezed herself into the skirts, wore uplift bras to help her sagging tits, and still looked younger than her age, but only at a distance. The small lines had deepened and the more she tried to cover them the more aware of them she became.
The club just about ran itself, but they had to deal with a lot of aggravation from villains demanding protection money. Alex always paid without a murmur, as he had seen what happened when other club owners didn’t. The places were ‘fired’, or fights broke out among the guests, uninvited guests who drank a skinful and then picked rows and broke mirrors and noses. Dora had been all for fighting the thugs, calling in the police, but she had as usual given way to Alex.
After the first few months Alex had realized he was not a good front man. His scarred face didn’t actually add to the ambience, and so he left it to Dora. He was always working behind the scenes, though, always there when needed, and the club ran like clockwork. He had fingers in many other small businesses — he had bought out Harry Driver years ago, and ran his sweatshops and betting shops as well as his small drinking clubs. As he did at Masks, Alex paid protection money to keep things quiet, but there was a growing undercurrent of violence as gang warfare raged between rival East End gangs for territory. Alex played no part in the violence, and became known as a ‘steady’, a man anyone could rely on, a man who always kept his word. He was an honourable man and it paid off. He was left to run his clubs and his offshoot businesses without much trouble.
After resisting at first, Dora gave way as she watched many clubs being taken over by the gangs. She also complied for her own safety. She had branched out, no longer living in Johnny Mask’s old place, and had bought herself a three-storey house in Notting Hill Gate. Johnny’s flat was known as the ‘dossing pad’, where the hostesses from the club took back their tricks — all part of the club’s ‘social benefits’.
Dora kept her own special stable of girls clean and on a quick turnaround, but like Alex she also had a second string to her bow. The Notting Hill Gate house became known as a ‘party’ place, with girls even more beautiful than those at Masks. They were from all kinds of backgrounds, but classy, and all in it for the fast money. The films and ‘private cabarets’ were expensive, and only for those with a lot of money or connections. Dora was a ‘madame’, and a tough one. She tolerated no nonsense and her house was tasteful and, above all, well run. Even more important, it was safe. The law was paid off; politicians, magistrates and the aristocracy were welcomed along with the odd chief of police and foreign diplomat. The Notting Hill Gate house was a very lucrative business on its own.
Trusted and well liked, Dora was paid handsomely for her small parties. She was also earning a fortune. Alex, of course, knew about her little ‘perks’, said that as long as she didn’t involve him it was fine, but he refused to take part in any of the activities although he kept an eye on her books.
Dora also ran a team of girls known as the ‘cash and carry’, who were planted in the casinos with ready money supplied by Dora. The big, high-rolling gamblers, the female ones with only a certain amount of money to spend each week, would sell off their jewels to continue gambling when their cash ran out. The women were mostly foreign, Arabs, Lebanese, and whenever they removed a bracelet or a ring Dora’s girls would move in and buy it for cash at a quarter of its value.
Wrapped in her white mink coat, Dora sat in the back of her Rolls. She was nervous, wondering what Alex would say. She knew how much he depended on her, and she chain-smoked, stubbing out the cigarette after one puff and lighting another immediately. The Rolls stopped at a traffic light, just a short distance from her home, on the corner of Ladbroke Grove. She leaned forward and pressed the button, the glass slid back. ‘Pull over, just for a minute.’
The Rolls glided to the side of the road and stopped, engine ticking over. Dora thought it was fate — it had to be — all these years and not a word, and tonight of all nights she saw him, knew it was him just from one look.
Johnny Mask, wearing a filthy raincoat and with a hat pulled down over his straggly, greasy hair, was picking through a wastebin at the side of the road near the traffic lights.
‘I want you to do something... You see the guy, the dosser on the side of the road by the wastebin? Take your hat off, put your collar up.’
Dora lowered the window and watched the chauffeur walk behind Johnny Mask and drop two twenty-pound notes on to the wet pavement. Johnny had stopped rummaging, was staring at something he had taken out of the bin. The chauffeur tapped Johnny on the shoulder, pointed to the ground.
‘You drop something, mate?’
The chauffeur walked on, crossed the road and returned to the Rolls.
Johnny Mask looked down at the folded bills, gave the chauffeur a look and then a smile, his old smile, patting his pockets. He bent down and picked up the wet notes, gave a shifty look round and beetled off down Ladbroke Grove.
Down and out, Johnny was still the same. Dora pressed the button and the window glided up. She knew he would be drunk out of his already addled mind within the hour. So much for the past, she was now sure where her future lay.
Dora entered the club. It was early, so there were few punters about. Those that knew her smiled, and Arnie gave her his usual welcome.
‘Hello, Lana, how’s things?’
Arnie had a fixation on Lana Turner, and as Dora looked like her he had always called her Lana. She smiled and patted his arm, knew she would miss old Arnie. She weaved her way through the tables, stopped to fix a flower arrangement, looked over at two of her girls and gave a small wave. Then she opened the door to the inner sanctum.
Alex was at his desk as she knew he would be. She tossed her mink over the easy chair and poured herself the usual iced water, and leaned on the small corner bar.
Alex barely looked up from the accounts. He had not changed much — he wore his hair slicked back, oiled with Brylcreem, but he didn’t seem to have changed. His thick-set shoulders and heavily muscled arms were still courtesy of George Windsor, as they still worked out together regularly. Because he frequently had considerable amounts of cash to bank, he carried a gun in an underarm holster, and his suits were cut by a skilled East End tailor to disguise it. He did not bother applying for a licence; with his record he was sure to be turned down.
Always immaculately dressed, Alex looked more like a City gent than a club owner in his pale blue shirts with detachable white collars, and dark, pinstriped suit. Dora often wondered if he only had the one suit, as he never wore any other colour or style. Only his face distorted the image.
Dora had never been to Alex’s flat in the East End. At one time she had wondered what it would be like, but when she dropped hints for an invitation they were ignored. Eventually she put Alex down as a skinflint because he showed no outward signs of his newfound affluence. He did not smoke or drink, and seemed to have no friends apart from George Windsor. However, he did buy a Jaguar every year, and listed it as a company car for tax purposes, although no one else was ever allowed to drive it. Alex paid Arnie a tenner a week to make sure it was waxed regularly and remained in pristine condition.