The Long Firm (Sceptre 21's) by Jake Arnott

Author:Jake Arnott [Arnott, Jake]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, mobi, epub
Publisher: Hodder & Stoughton
Published: 2011-05-26T00:00:00+00:00

4

The Rank Charm School

Oh, we shall allow them even sin, they are weak and helpless, and they will love us like children, because we allow them to sin. We shall tell them that every sin will be expiated, if it is done with our permission . . .

Dostoevsky, The Grand Inquisitor

It was then that I realised I’d never be Britain’s Blonde Bombshell.

Spring 1962, and I’m in the Kentucky Club on the Mile End Road. The Krays are hosting a party for the premiere of Sparrers Can’t Sing. Joan Littlewood’s sentimental Cockney comedy. Flashbulbs popping as the Twins line up with Barbara Windsor. And I think, well there it goes. Spend all this time waiting for Diana Dors to get past it and now someone’s got there before me. Ronnie Kray’s cooing around a gang of minor celebrities, trying to herd as many of them as he can into the frame.

‘Fancy being in this one, Ruby?’ someone calls over.

Shake my head. No thank you. Don’t fancy it. Don’t fancy being a false smile in the background. Don’t need reminding that my career’s going nowhere. Why did I bother coming? I hate going to these sort of parties on my own. My agent, bullying on the phone, ‘contacts dear, contacts’.

Interesting mix of people, I suppose. The Joan Littlewood Theatre Workshop crowd slumming it prole style. East End villainy dressed up to the nines. The Krays crowing. Their big night. Even if Princess Margaret only came for the premiere and not to the party. Heavy-looking faces in dark suits congregating in little groups accorded by a protocol of respect. Gangsters on their best behaviour, struggling to make small talk with starlets and comedians.

And I’m swanning around, trying to keep the smile going. Trying not to look like my career’s up the swannee. Poise, deportment, all that Charm School crap. I need a drink. Push my way through to the bar. Pass by someone I vaguely recognise from somewhere. Slicked-back hair and slightly battered features. Piercing eyes that click with mine as I go by him. Where do I know him from? Then it drops. Oh fuck, I think, him. Another bloody reminder. Glance back carefully. He’s with a young man, not much more than a boy really. Well, that makes sense. He’s watching. A shiver of fear, I try to suppress it. Concentrate on getting to the bar.

‘Gin and tonic, please.’

‘Let me get this.’

A hand waves a note over the counter. I look around. Him.

He’s not with the boy any more but with one of the faces that I’ve spoken with earlier. Jimmy something.

‘Ruby,’ says Jimmy. ‘Let me introduce . . .’

‘Oh, it’s all right,’ I cut in. ‘We’ve already met. Harry, isn’t it? Harry Starks.’

Grinning at recognition brings out a thin scar line in his cheek. He’s more thick set than he was back then. It makes him look all the more impressive.

‘Yeah,’ I say, with a sneer. ‘We go back. Don’t we Mr Starks?’

Go back. Three years earlier.

Peter must have sent him.

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