Chapter 19
The sun-filled images still transfixed Riva as they reeled through her mind in the days after her outing, but a week had passed during which she hadn’t heard from Bobby at all. And now she was beginning to doubt herself and doubt what had happened between them.
‘This won’t do,’ she muttered as she took down a cup from the cupboard above the sink and examined it for dirty rings.
A coffee out on her little balcony with a slice of buttered toast had become part of her morning ritual, but with all these thoughts of Bobby and his uncle’s hidden palace she was feeling a bit forlorn.
‘To hell with him,’ she said, then glanced out of a window that overlooked the back of the building opposite, its windows already shuttered against the heat.
A scuffle of feet behind her interrupted her thoughts and she came away from the window to see Paloma and Brigitte, the two other girls she shared with, strolling into the kitchen.
‘Hello,’ she said with a bright smile, determined to win them round. ‘How are you both?’
Paloma glowered, darting her a venomous look, but didn’t speak.
She was tall and slender, but with a full bosom, and curving hips.
Brigitte was smaller, more energetic, quick to speak and even quicker to anger.
She narrowed her dark eyes and then nodded as if reaching a conclusion.
She came across and poked Riva in the shoulder.
‘You … think … you are better than us, don’t you?’
Riva stepped back.
‘Because you’re French. Oooh la la.’ And she performed a strange little wiggle that didn’t quite come off.
‘Of course not,’ Riva said, astonished more by the wiggle than by what the girl had said or by the poking. Although she actually was a better dancer. ‘Look, I’m ballet-trained, that’s all. I was forced to go.’
And she went up on her toes and just about managed a pirouette. It didn’t help. The girls just rolled their eyes and sniggered.
Riva tried again. ‘I’ve no more experience of cabaret dancing than you. Probably less. You’ve been here longer. I have all sorts of bad habits that I need to get rid of. Ballet habits that don’t work in cabaret. Even Gianni said as much.’
Brigitte narrowed her eyes. ‘He did?’
Riva nodded. It wasn’t quite true, but Brigitte seemed mollified and gave her a patronising smile.
All the girls had minimal job security and any one of them could be axed the moment someone younger or prettier came along.
Brigitte and Paloma probably needed to believe they were superior to feel secure.
‘Friends then,’ Riva said and held out her hand. Brigitte shook it.
‘So, who’s your rich boyfriend?’ Paloma asked, still looking dubious.
Riva frowned.
‘We saw you getting into his car.’
Riva snorted. ‘It’s not his car. He borrowed it.’
Paloma looked happier hearing that and Riva realised she would have to be more discreet if she weren’t to cause jealousy among the girls.
‘There’s a new girl coming,’ Brigitte said.
‘Dancer?’
‘Hostess. I saw her with a man coming out of our spare room.’
‘With Gianni?’
The other two exchanged looks. ‘No.’
‘Then who?’
She winked. ‘The one they are all scared of.’
‘Who’s he?’
Paloma gave Brigitte a look and the other girl clammed up. ‘See you later,’ she said and grabbed her friend by the elbow and pulled her from the room.
Well, Riva thought, what was that about?
Her thoughts travelled back to Bobby again.
Had she imagined how it had felt? Certainly, some of the shine had rubbed off from what she’d thought had been a perfect day.
A day of seamless blue skies and sapphire seas to hold in her heart forever.
She remembered Addison’s kindness and the way his paintings expressed something deeper than just the surface of a person. Hope and love, but also suffering.
And she remembered Bobby’s kiss; felt his proximity even though he wasn’t there now, and the feeling of it still rippled through her.
Later, at the club, Riva was sitting at a table and surveying the scene with Tommy-O during a break.
Tonight, his wig was black, long, straight and dramatic.
He wore an almost transparent dress of gold sequins sewn onto net, big, hooped gold earrings and a fur stole.
Bangles of gold set with glittering rubies circled his wrists.
‘Are those real?’ she asked.
‘The rubies? Nah. I’m not made of money.’
His eyes were made-up with thick black kohl and he looked stunning.
‘Mixing it up with the Egyptian princess look tonight darling,’ he said, shouting to be heard over the clatter of plates, clinking glasses, and chattering men and women. The bar was packed with sailors yelling for service and sultry girls clinging to their prey.
‘You’re wasted here,’ she replied equally loudly. ‘You should be in Hollywood.’
‘Don’t I know it, doll! Follow me.’
They picked up their glasses and found a quieter niche away from the bar and the noise faded a little.
‘So, is that real?’ She reached across to touch the stole.
‘This one? Sure is, honey,’ he said, and winked. ‘Genuine mink. Gift from a rich admirer. Wanna try it on?’
He handed it over and she wrapped it around her bare shoulders then pouted wildly as if she were a film star, making him roar with his great barking laugh and then splutter on his cocktail.
‘You got your badge yet?’ he asked her.
‘Gianni will have it for me tonight. Will it be the same as the hostesses wear?’
He nodded. ‘Pretty much. Theirs are stamped with the initials of the Malta Police and a licence number. Officially they have to be over twenty-one.’
‘Some look younger.’
He pulled a face. ‘Hmmm. They have to scarper when the police come checking.’
‘Are they paid well?’
‘They earn a landa – a kind of token – each time they persuade a punter to buy a drink. They do well enough.’
‘Do they, you know …’ she tilted her head, ‘go with the men?’
He grinned. ‘Not here, darling.’
‘There are brothels?’
He wrinkled his nose and kind of winced. ‘Officially they’re banned. Some bars have cubicles upstairs though. For a while the girls were examined for venereal disease, supposedly four times a month.’
‘Not any more?’
‘No, chérie. The Naval Shore Patrol and the Military Police come around most nights, but they deal with brawls and fights, not so much the girls.’
‘Who looks after them? The hostesses and bar girls, I mean.’
‘Murky area. Here at the club, Gianni. But he’s small fry.’
At that moment Riva saw Gianni ushering in a slight young girl with pale blonde hair, elfin features, and tiny pointed chin. She didn’t even look sixteen. ‘Look at her,’ she said.
With them was a man with salt-and-pepper hair and a cane. Even though he was turned sideways to her she felt sure she’d seen him before.
‘That girl might be the one staying at your place,’ Tommy-O said.
‘I heard there was someone … Do you know who the man is?’
‘Yes, and I wish I didn’t.’ He took her face between his hands and kissed her nose.
‘Sorry, darling girl, but I’m up next. Much as I love discussing the rights and wrongs of prostitution with you, I need a quick frock change before the natives grow restless.
And by natives, I am not referring to the Maltese. ’
She laughed and watched him sashaying across the room on his high heels until he was swallowed up by the dancing crowds. Just being with Tommy-O made her feel more optimistic and her earlier low mood had dissipated. It would be fine. Bobby would be around soon.
The long narrow room was filling up; although lined with mirrors it always seemed as if there were three times the clientele.
The band had begun playing something bright and bouncy and the men were shouting, crazy for it – mostly intoxicated sailors with their arms around heavily painted girls with whom they’d be leaving a little later.
At least at Johnny’s Bar in Paris there were no upstairs cubicles.
She recalled how she’d had to rub off the scarlet lipstick and rouge before her enraged father collected her from the police station.
It felt like a lifetime ago. She drew in her breath and exhaled slowly.
Her father. What was happening to him now?
Had the scandal broken? Or had they managed to hush it all up?
She supposed she might never know. She thought about writing to Claudette to let her know she was all right – she didn’t have to leave an address.
If she could talk to her that would be better still, but she knew she could not.
She felt a pang in her chest, thinking of her sister.
She longed so much for news of her and of her three daughters too – Hélène, élise, and little Florence.