Free The Exciting Life by Karen Mason Page B

time she got put straight through to
Kenneth’s office.
    ‘ Hello Iris,’ he said. ‘How are you?’
    ‘ I’ve just told Annie about the fashion show,’ she replied.
‘She wasn’t happy about it. She doesn’t like the idea of helping
Tanner Beresford.’
    ‘ Why doesn’t that surprise me?’ he sighed.
    ‘ It took a lot of persuading on my part. To be honest with you,
I think she’s only doing it for the free publicity. But don’t tell
her I said that. I don’t want to cause any more bad blood between
you.’
    ‘ I don’t think that’s possible Iris. But thank you for being so
considerate.’
     
    After
work, Iris walked to Soho and it was like stepping back in time.
For a couple of years, from 1953 to 1955, she rented a room here
that she worked from. Even back then though, she hadn’t been like
the other tarts - with a ready stream of seedy men from all walks
of life queuing up to be serviced. Iris still got a better class of
punter. Maybe it was because she kept her flat in a more acceptable
condition than the other girls. Maybe it was because her maid was
an art school graduate who’d fallen foul of heroin and had to pay
her way by looking after Toms; or maybe it was because she had that
trait that was so inherent in her family - to survive and better
herself, and the men who visited her could tell this.
    She
headed to Tansy Topham’s shop on Old Compton Street. It was the
place where all the working girls went for their underwear and
props. Before the war Tansy had been a dressmaker for the theatre,
but after working as an ambulance driver during the Blitz, she’d
turned to drink and had ended up drifting over to the seedier side
of life. But she still had lots of contacts and would be the person
to help Iris.
    Anywhere
else in London, the window to Tansy’s would have to been blacked
out. But this was Soho and anything went. Headless mannequins
modelled corsets and basques in vivid red with black lace trim.
There were a few dirty books on display, and even a pair of very
high stilettos with a steel heel took pride of place in the
middle.
    Iris
stepped inside the door and was met with the smell of rubber and
leather and the sight of and racks holding whips and chains. Tansy
sat behind the counter looking like a caricature of a respectable
housewife in her twin-set and pearls. Her bright orange hair was
set just-so, but her pale face powder and gaudy pink lipstick aged
her and made her look hideous. She looked up and did a double take
when she saw Iris heading towards her.
    ‘ Well look what the cat’s dragged in!’ she gasped in her raspy,
cockney voice. ‘Where the fuck you been?’
    ‘ I’m barely on the game these days dear,’ Iris said, flicking
through a particularly grubby book of Victorian drawings that was
lying on the counter. ‘I’m a model now.’
    ‘ As I recall you were a model back in the old days,’ Tansy
smiled wryly.
    ‘ No, I’m a proper model now. I’ve got a job showing off shoes
at a design house on Regent Street.’
    ‘ How did you land that then?’
    ‘ My boyfriend’s the manager of Bruno’s the
nightclub.’
    ‘ Mario Stefani’s place?’
    ‘ Yeah, and Annie, his widow, has decided she wants to be a shoe
designer and I work for her, modelling shoes now and then. Thing is
I can’t stand her, so I’ve decided to get one up on her and
organise a fashion show at Bruno’s, but to do it I need your
help.’
    ‘ Oh yeah?’
    ‘ Yeah.’
    ‘ Alright, well meet me in The Brook in ten minutes. I’ll shut
up shop for half an hour.’
    Entering
The Brook brought back memories to Iris. It was a local pub popular
with all the working girls in the area. Iris realised her new
respectable image would stand out a mile and part of her wanted to
run out. But the other part of her was proud to show off how far
she’d moved on from it all.
    The
place was half empty, just a couple of Toms she didn’t recognise,
sitting at the bar drinking their gin and tonics and no